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elikajinnie · 6 months ago

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I Let The World Burn For You - N.R | Part 1

P: Serial Killer!Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions, Murder, Manipulation, Attempted Murder, Injury/Blood, Teasing, Angst, Obsessive Behaviour, Mind Games, Ni-ki is a nerd.

Synopsis: You’ve always loved crime shows, captivated by the mystery and mind games, but you never expected to live in one. When a killer develops an unsettling obsession with you, you’re thrust into a deadly game where you’re not just a target—you’re the centerpiece.

Wordcount: 27k

a/n: HELLO! TUMBLR!? Since i cant have more then 1k blocks i had to split this in 2 parts! LET ME WRITE LONG FICS! PLS! ugh.. (i kept replaying the apparation by sleeptoken while writing :p) hope yall enjoy another dark romance with obsessed yet super whipped Ni-ki! ( he kinda a red flag)

See request here

You’ve always had a fascination with crime shows. The ones without too many jump scares or unnecessary gore—you could do without that. What hooked you wasn’t the blood or the screams; it was the puzzle. The way the police pieced together scattered fragments of a life, how they followed the tiniest trail of evidence to unravel the truth. Every crime media you could find, you devoured it all.

At school, it wasn’t unusual to find you with your nose buried in a crime or mystery novel. Whether it was during lunch, in the corner of the library, or even in the few precious minutes before class started, the worn pages of your current read were always in your hands. Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie, modern thrillers—you read them all.

Your classmates noticed, of course. They’d whisper about it in passing, sometimes teasing you for being "obsessed with murder books." But you didn’t care. If anything, you found their reactions amusing. They didn’t get it, didn’t understand how fascinating it was to try to outsmart the characters or piece together clues before the story revealed its secrets. Even your teachers started catching on. Your literature professor once quipped, “If I ever go missing, I’ll trust you to solve the case,” while glancing at the battered mystery novel lying atop your open notebook.

But it wasn’t just about books or shows anymore. Over time, the skills you picked up seeped into your daily life. You’d notice things—details others overlooked. A friend’s new haircut no one mentioned, the faint smell of smoke lingering on someone’s jacket, or the way people’s stories didn’t quite line up. You’d trained your brain to analyze, to question, to search for answers.

You didn’t really have anyone to share your interest with, but that didn’t bother you much. Most people at school had their own cliques, their own hobbies, and their own little dramas to focus on. You didn’t fit neatly into any of those circles, but you were fine with that.

Besides, there was something satisfying about keeping to yourself. It gave you the freedom to observe without distraction. People-watching became second nature—catching snippets of conversations, noticing who avoided who in the hallways, or piecing together which classmates had paired off in secret. It was like the school was its own crime scene, full of tiny, inconsequential mysteries that no one else even thought to notice.

You had your theories about everyone, from the student council president who always left early on Thursdays to the quiet kid in the back row who seemed to have a different excuse for every missing assignment. None of it was malicious, of course—it was just your way of passing the time.

But every so often, you’d catch someone watching you. A fleeting glance from across the cafeteria or a pair of eyes lingering a little too long in the hallway.

But every time you tried to figure out who it was, the moment would pass too quickly. You’d glance up, scanning the crowd, but no one would be looking your way. It was frustrating in a way that didn’t make sense, like trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces.

And yet, the gaze itself was never uncomfortable. It didn’t feel like the sharp, judgmental stares you were used to when people whispered about your “murder books.” No, this one was different. It was soft, almost curious, like whoever it was didn’t want to disturb you. Instead of making you uneasy, it left a warmth in its wake, a strange flutter in your chest that lingered long after the moment passed.

You started to notice it more often. In the cafeteria, during assemblies, even on the rare occasions when you’d glance up from your book in the library. It was subtle, just a sense that someone was watching, but every time you turned your head to catch them, they were gone.

It became a mystery of its own, one you couldn’t quite let go of. You tried to piece it together the way you would in a show or a novel. Who sat near you at lunch? Who crossed paths with you between classes? Who could have that kind of presence without you noticing until it was too late?

But no matter how much you thought about it, you came up empty. And the strangest part was, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to solve it. Because, in some inexplicable way, that gaze felt… safe. Like someone had taken the time to notice you—not as the “girl with the crime books,” but as you.

Still, the curiosity gnawed at you. One day, as you sat in your usual spot by the library window, lost in a particularly tense chapter of your latest read, you felt it again. That quiet, steady gaze, warm and unhurried.

This time, you didn’t look up right away. Instead, you waited, letting the feeling settle over you like a blanket. You turned the page of your book slowly, pretending to stay engrossed, all while your pulse quickened in anticipation.

And then, with deliberate calm, you lifted your head and scanned the room.

At first, it seemed like every other time. Just a sea of faces, none of them focused on you. But then, in the far corner, you caught it—a pair of eyes meeting yours before quickly looking away.

Your heart stuttered. You knew that face.

You knew that face because it belonged to Nishimura Ni-ki. Quiet, unassuming, always with his head buried in a textbook or his notebook. You hadn’t talked much, only exchanging a few words in the classes you shared or the brief, awkward apologies after he accidentally bumped into you in the hallway, scrambling to pick up his scattered books. He wasn’t exactly invisible, but he never drew attention to himself—not in the way others did.

But you also knew him for another reason. Nishimura Ni-ki was the campus prime target for bullying.

You hated seeing it. The way some of the guys would shove him into lockers, muttering cruel things under their breath loud enough for him to hear. The way others would snatch his things, throw them across the hall, or crumple his assignments into balls of paper. Worst of all was the day you saw someone snap his glasses clean in half, right in front of him, leaving him standing there, helpless and humiliated.

Without even thinking, you had stepped in. No hesitation, no second thought—you just swung. Your fist connected with the guy’s face, the sickening crack of his nose breaking echoing in the hallway. Everything had gone silent. People stared as you shook out your knuckles, glaring down at the guy as he clutched his face, blood pouring between his fingers.

Sure, you got suspended for a few days after that, but it had been worth it.

From that day on, you’d kept an eye out—not just for Ni-ki, but for anyone being harassed. You couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the way some people seemed to think they had a right to make others miserable just because they could. But with Ni-ki, it was different. Something about the way he’d looked at you that day—wide-eyed, stunned, like he couldn’t quite believe someone had stood up for him—it stuck with you.

After that, you noticed him more often. Sitting alone in the library, his hair falling into his eyes as he scribbled notes. Walking to class with his close-knit group of friends, smiling faintly at something one of them said. And now, you realized, he was quietly watching you.

Your stomach flipped as your eyes locked with his for the briefest moment before he quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the open book in front of him. You hadn’t even realized he knew who you were, let alone that he’d been the one watching you all this time.

For a moment, you sat frozen, unsure what to do. Then, on impulse, you stood up, tucking your book under your arm as you made your way across the library.

Ni-ki didn’t notice you at first. He was scribbling something in the margins of his notebook, his brows furrowed in concentration. But when you stopped in front of his table, he glanced up, and his eyes widened.

“Hey,” you said, keeping your voice low to avoid disturbing the others. “Got room for one more?”

His gaze darted to the empty chair across from him, then back to you. For a moment, he looked like he might say no. But then he nodded, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice quiet but steady. “Sure.”

You slid into the seat, setting your book down on the table. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you like an unspoken question. But it wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt… comfortable.

You sat there for a while, the silence punctuated only by the faint scratch of Ni-ki’s pencil against his notebook and the soft rustle of turning pages. But your curiosity wouldn’t let you sit still for long. You closed your book, leaning forward slightly.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, keeping your voice low.

Ni-ki looked up from his notes, his pencil pausing mid-word. His expression was cautious, unsure, but he nodded. “Yeah?”

“Why were you looking at me earlier?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “It’s not the first time, is it?”

His eyes widened, and a faint flush crept up his neck. “Oh, I—uh…” He trailed off, fumbling for words. For a moment, you thought he might brush it off or deny it entirely. But then he exhaled and gave a small, sheepish shrug. “I’ve seen you reading crime novels. A lot. And… I like them too.”

You blinked, surprised. “You do?”

He nodded, glancing down at his notebook like he was embarrassed to admit it. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t talk about it much, but I’ve always been into them. Mysteries, thrillers, true crime… all of it. I guess I just noticed because you’re always reading them too.”

A grin spread across your face before you could stop it. “Seriously? I didn’t think anyone else here cared about that stuff.”

Ni-ki’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Yeah, well… it’s not exactly the kind of thing people talk about, you know? But I’ve always thought it was cool—how detectives figure everything out, all the little clues coming together.”

“Exactly!” you said, leaning forward a little more, your excitement bubbling over. “That’s the best part. Like, the story’s great and all, but the process of solving it? The way everything clicks in the end? It’s so satisfying.”

His smile widened, and for the first time, he looked genuinely at ease. “Right? And when you figure it out before the characters do? That’s the best feeling.”

You nodded eagerly, the conversation flowing effortlessly now. You started swapping favorite books and shows, debating the best fictional detectives and the most clever twists you’d seen. Ni-ki talked about his love for true crime documentaries, how he’d binge-watch them whenever he had a free weekend. You shared your obsession with whodunits, confessing how you’d pause episodes just to try to solve the case before the big reveal.

Time slipped by without you realizing it. The library around you faded into the background as you talked, your usual quiet demeanor replaced by the spark of shared enthusiasm. Ni-ki was surprisingly easy to talk to, his reserved nature melting away as the two of you bonded over your mutual love for crime stories.

At some point, you glanced at the clock and realized lunch was almost over. You sighed, reluctantly closing your book. “Guess we’ll have to pick this up later. I’ve got class.”

Ni-ki nodded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—disappointment, maybe? It was subtle, but you caught it.

“Hey,” you said as you stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “We should talk more about this sometime. Maybe… tomorrow?”

His gaze snapped up to yours, and for a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn’t quite believe you were serious. Then he nodded, his smile small but genuine. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

You grinned and gave him a quick wave before heading toward the door.

The rest of the day felt oddly brighter. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but something about that conversation with Ni-ki lingered with you. Maybe it was because you’d finally found someone who shared your interest, someone who didn’t just dismiss it as “weird” or “creepy.” Or maybe it was because, for the first time, Ni-ki hadn’t seemed like the quiet, distant figure you’d always known him as. He felt… real.

The next day, you found yourself scanning the library during lunch without even thinking about it. And sure enough, there he was—sitting at the same table, his notebook open in front of him, scribbling something in his neat handwriting.

You hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling a little nervous. What if he thought yesterday was a one-time thing? What if he wasn’t expecting you to actually show up? But then he looked up, and the moment his eyes met yours, his face lit up with a small but unmistakable smile.

That was all the invitation you needed. You crossed the room and slid into the seat across from him, setting your bag down beside you.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“Hey,” he replied, his tone soft but warm.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to pick up where you’d left off. You talked about the book you were reading, how the protagonist was struggling to crack a seemingly unsolvable case. Ni-ki listened intently, occasionally chiming in with his own thoughts or theories. When it was his turn, he shared about a true crime documentary he’d started the night before.

As the days went by, it became a routine. Every lunch break, you’d find each other in the library, your conversations growing longer and more animated. What started as casual chats about crime novels and documentaries quickly expanded into other topics—favorite genres, books you’d loved as kids, even the little quirks you’d noticed about your classmates.

Ni-ki opened up more than you ever expected. You learned that he loved puzzles, that he had a knack for spotting patterns and solving problems. He admitted, almost shyly, that he wanted to be a forensic scientist someday, to solve real-life mysteries.

You told him about your fascination with detective work, how you’d always loved the idea of uncovering the truth. You joked that maybe you’d end up as a detective yourself one day, solving cases while he analyzed the evidence. He laughed at that, a soft, genuine sound that you realized you wanted to hear more of.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

You looked up, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I just… I wanted to say thanks,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes. “For, you know… sticking up for me. Back then. And now.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Ni-ki. No one deserves to be treated like that.”

He nodded, his fingers fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “I know, but… it meant a lot. And so does this. Talking to you, I mean. It’s… nice.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, the same kind you’d felt every time you caught him watching you. “It’s nice for me too,” you admitted, offering him a small smile.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression soft and almost… hopeful. Then he nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked.

“Of course,” you said, already looking forward to it.

You and Ni-ki walked side by side down the hallway, the buzz of students heading to their next class filling the air. He was carrying a few books in his arms, his notebook precariously balanced on top, while the two of you chatted about your plans for the day.

“I’ve got a project due for history,” you said, groaning. “I’ll probably be stuck in the library all afternoon. What about you?”

“Studying for the calculus test,” Ni-ki replied with a faint smile. “Though, knowing me, I’ll still probably bomb it.”

“You won’t,” you assured him. “You just need to stop doubting yourself so much.”

He chuckled softly at that, and the sound was warm—genuine. You had started to notice these little things about him, the way he opened up a bit more when it was just the two of you.

As you reached your classroom door, you slowed to a stop, turning to face him. “Alright, this is me. I’ll see you at lunch later?”

“Yeah, I’ll—”

Before Ni-ki could finish his sentence, someone shoved him hard from behind. He stumbled forward, dropping his books as he fell onto his knees. His notebook skidded across the floor, pages fluttering.

“Oops,” the voice sneered mockingly from behind. “Didn’t see you there, nerd.”

You whipped around, your blood instantly boiling. It was one of the usual suspects—one of the guys who seemed to make it his personal mission to make Ni-ki’s life miserable. His smug smirk widened as he stood there, hands in his pockets, his posture radiating mock innocence.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you snapped, your voice echoing in the hallway.

The guy raised an eyebrow, shrugging nonchalantly. “Relax, it was an accident.”

“Accident, my ass,” you shot back, stepping forward. “You’ve got the brainpower of a rock, but even you know how to avoid people in a hallway.”

A few students nearby paused to watch, their conversations trailing off as they sensed the tension.

The guy’s smirk faltered for a second, his eyes narrowing. “Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” you challenged, crossing your arms. “You’ll try to push me too? Let’s see how far you get.”

He opened his mouth, likely to hurl an insult your way, but before he could get the words out, a stern voice interrupted.

“Is there a problem here?”

A teacher had appeared at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, eyes flicking between you, Ni-ki, and the bully.

The guy immediately straightened, his smugness replaced with a fake innocence. “No problem, sir. Just a little accident.”

The teacher’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, skeptical but unwilling to escalate without proof. “Then I suggest you keep moving before you’re late to class.”

The bully muttered something under his breath and stalked off, throwing one last glare over his shoulder. You glared right back until he disappeared into the crowd.

With the hallway clearing, you turned back to Ni-ki, who was still on the ground, gathering his books with a quiet, resigned expression. You knelt down beside him, helping him scoop up his notebook and a few loose papers.

“You okay?” you asked softly, handing him the last of his things.

He nodded, though his cheeks were flushed, not from the fall but from the embarrassment of it all. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You stood and offered him your hand. He hesitated for a moment before taking it, and you pulled him to his feet.

“Don’t let jerks like that get to you,” you said firmly, your voice softer now. “He’s just miserable with his own life, so he’s trying to make you feel the same way. But he doesn’t get to win.”

Ni-ki’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles as he adjusted the books in his arms. “I’m starting to think you like fighting my battles more than I do.”

You laughed, nudging his arm lightly. “Someone’s gotta have your back.”

The bell rang just as you and Ni-ki made your way to your separate classes.

You sank into your seat, the dull buzz of the classroom settling around you as your mind wandered back to what had just happened. You hated seeing that side of Ni-ki dimmed by people who had nothing better to do than pick on someone who kept to himself.

Your teacher walked in, and the usual routine of class began. You tried to focus, taking notes, participating when necessary, but it was hard to shake off the image of Ni-ki being knocked down again. Even harder, was knowing that no matter how much you tried to defend him, the cycle would probably continue.

It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the way people like that bully operated—people who picked on others because they could, because it was easier to tear someone else down than deal with their own problems. What pissed you off was that Ni-ki never seemed to ask for help. He didn’t fight back, didn’t make a scene, and kept everything buried under that quiet, almost invisible demeanor of his.

You didn’t know why you cared so much. Maybe it was because he was finally someone who shared your interests, someone who didn’t see you as weird or obsessive for reading crime novels or binge-watching shows about detectives. Or maybe it was because, for the first time in a long while, you found someone you didn’t mind looking out for.

The rest of class passed by in a blur, and when the bell rang again, signaling the end of the period, you packed up your things quickly, eager to catch up with Ni-ki.

You hadn’t seen him on your way out, but he wasn’t hard to find. When you stepped out into the hall, you spotted him near his locker, his back slightly hunched as he rifled through his bag. He looked like he was in his own world, eyes focused on something only he could see.

You walked up to him, your footsteps steady.

“You good?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Ni-ki turned slightly, startled for a moment. When he saw it was you, the tension in his shoulders visibly loosened. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, his voice soft but steady. “Thanks again for earlier. You didn’t have to do that.”

You shrugged, trying to downplay it. “It’s not a big deal. He’s just a jerk. Besides, if no one stands up for you, who will?”

Ni-ki didn’t answer right away. He just stared at you for a moment, as if weighing your words. After a long pause, he gave a small, almost shy smile. “I guess… I’ve never really thought about it like that.”

“Well, now you know,” you said with a grin. “If you ever need backup, I’m around.” You tried to keep your tone light, but there was a quiet sincerity in it.

Ni-ki nodded, his expression softening, as if he were grateful, but unsure how to show it. “Thanks. I… I appreciate it.”

The bell rang, signaling the start of the next class, and you both turned to head in opposite directions. You glanced back at him before walking away, feeling that familiar pull of wanting to make sure he was okay.

Over the next few days, you found yourself in more and more situations where people were picking on Ni-ki, or even just others around campus. It wasn’t always the same faces; sometimes it was a random group, sometimes it was a repeat offender. But every time, you couldn’t just walk by.

One afternoon, you were heading toward the library when you spotted a couple of guys standing by the lockers. One of them had his hands shoved into Ni-ki’s chest, laughing as he made some cruel remark about Ni-ki’s glasses being too big for his face. Ni-ki’s eyes were lowered, his shoulders tense, his voice barely a whisper as he tried to back away, but the guys weren’t letting him go.

Without thinking, you rushed forward, your heart pounding in your chest. “Hey!” you called out, your voice cutting through the laughter. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The guys turned to face you, their expressions mocking. “Oh, look, it’s the weird kid who’s always reading those detective books,” one of them sneered. “What, you gonna cry for him too?”

You didn’t flinch. “I’ll cry if it means you get a reality check. You think picking on people makes you cool? It doesn’t.”

The bully smirked, stepping closer. “Maybe you should mind your own business, huh? No one cares what you think.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you snapped, standing your ground. “I do care. And I don’t let people get away with treating others like crap. So if you’ve got a problem with him, you’ve got a problem with me.” You took a step forward, matching his arrogance with a calm confidence. “Go ahead, say something back. I dare you.”

The guy’s face twisted in frustration, but before he could retort, another voice interrupted.

“Is there a problem here?” A teacher had appeared, walking briskly down the hall with an authoritative presence.

The bully shot one last glance at you, a sneer still hanging on his lips, before muttering, “Whatever, it’s just a joke.”

“Then keep your ‘jokes’ to yourself,” you said, watching as he slinked off with his friend in tow.

As the tension cleared, you turned to Ni-ki, who was standing there, still looking a little shell-shocked. He didn’t speak for a moment, just staring at you like you had just pulled him out of the depths of something he didn’t know how to escape.

“You alright?” you asked quietly, your voice softer now.

Ni-ki nodded slowly, though he still looked like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “I—I’m fine. Thanks again. But you really didn’t have to do that.”

“I did,” you said, giving him a smile. “I don’t let people get away with stuff like that. You deserve better than being treated like that, and so does everyone else.”

Ni-ki’s eyes met yours for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind them before he spoke. “Maybe… maybe I don’t know how to stand up for myself the way you do.”

“That’s alright,” you said with a shrug. “Not everyone does. But it’s not too late to start.”

As the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, you both began walking toward your next classes. You could feel his presence beside you, his quiet thanks still lingering in the air, but it didn’t feel awkward. You had his back, and that was what mattered.

You didn’t always receive praise for standing up to people. You didn’t always get the support you might’ve hoped for. Sometimes you’d get the sneers and judgment from those who didn’t understand, those who thought that letting things slide or keeping their heads down was the easier way to go.

But you didn’t care.

You didn’t care about the sideways glances, or the occasional whispered insults behind your back. You couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

And if that meant dealing with the backlash, so be it. You’d rather face that than let someone else feel alone.

A few days later, you woke up feeling off��head throbbing, throat scratchy, and your body aching like you'd been hit by a truck. You groaned, pulling yourself out of bed only to immediately collapse back under the covers. The thought of going to school was unbearable, and you knew you needed rest more than anything else.

The absence of the usual noise from school made everything feel stiller, emptier. It was a strange feeling, knowing you wouldn’t be there to keep an eye out for Ni-ki, to have his back in the way you had grown accustomed to.

That afternoon, the day passed slowly, and you spent most of it in and out of sleep. When you checked your phone again later, you saw that Ni-ki had sent another message: "Is everything okay? Haven't seen you today."

You smiled at his concern, typing back, "Yeah, just sick. I'll be back soon, don’t worry."

The next few days were rougher than you’d expected. What you thought was just a mild bug turned into a fever that left you bedridden. You tried to keep up with school through messages from classmates and the occasional email from teachers, but your energy was practically nonexistent.

Ni-ki checked in on you every day, like clockwork. His texts were short and to the point, but they carried a warmth that made you smile despite your pounding headache.

"Feeling any better today?" "Don’t push yourself, okay?" "I can drop off notes if you need them."

You’d chuckle at the last one, imagining Ni-ki walking up to your door with a stack of papers and books. "Thanks, but I’ll survive. Just focus on yourself," you’d reply, even though you appreciated the thought more than you could express.

Despite his reassurances that everything was fine, you couldn’t help but worry. Ni-ki wasn’t exactly the type to tell you if something was wrong, especially when it came to the bullies. The thought of him being alone, enduring their usual torment without you there to step in, gnawed at the edges of your mind.

By the third day, your fever started to break, and you felt well enough to sit up and respond to messages without immediately passing out. You sent Ni-ki a text: "How’s school been?"

A few minutes passed before his reply came in. "Same as always. Don’t worry about me."

You frowned. That was exactly the kind of response you’d been expecting—and dreading.

"You sure? No one’s bothering you?"

The three little dots indicating he was typing popped up, then disappeared, then reappeared again. Finally, he sent: "I’m fine. Just come back soon, okay?"

You stared at the screen for a long moment, conflicted. On one hand, you knew Ni-ki well enough by now to recognize when he wasn’t telling you the whole truth. On the other hand, pushing him for answers over text wouldn’t get you anywhere.

"I will," you typed back. "Just hang in there."

When you finally returned to school a few days later, you felt a strange mixture of relief and unease. As much as you hated being away, a small part of you worried about what you’d find when you got back.

Walking through the hallways felt like stepping into a space that had shifted slightly in your absence. You noticed the usual groups clustered together, their laughter echoing through the halls. But as your eyes scanned the crowd, you couldn’t find Ni-ki anywhere.

When you reached your locker, you spotted one of his friends—someone you’d occasionally seen him study with. You hesitated before calling out, “Hey, have you seen Ni-ki?”

The guy looked up, his face shadowed with something you couldn’t quite place. “He’s in the library,” he said after a moment. “He’s been there a lot lately.”

You nodded, thanking him before heading in that direction. The library was quieter than usual, the muffled hum of voices and the faint rustle of pages filling the air. It didn’t take long to spot Ni-ki, sitting at a table in the far corner, his head down as he scribbled something into a notebook.

“Ni-ki,” you called softly as you approached.

He looked up, and for a split second, relief flashed across his face. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual reserved expression. “Hey,” he said, closing his notebook and sitting up straighter. “You’re back.”

“I am,” you said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him. “What’s been going on? And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because I know that’s not true.”

Ni-ki hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the corner of his notebook. “It’s… not a big deal,” he finally said, his voice low. “Just the usual stuff.”

Your jaw tightened. You’d expected as much, but hearing it still made your blood boil. “What happened?”

He sighed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “They’ve just been… pushing things a little more since you weren’t here. It’s fine, though. I’m used to it.”

“Used to it doesn’t make it okay,” you said firmly. “Did anyone step in? Tell a teacher? Anything?”

Ni-ki shook his head. “No one really noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t care.”

Your fists clenched under the table. It was exactly what you’d feared, and it only made you more determined. “Well, I’m back now,” you said, your voice steady. “And they’re not getting away with it anymore. Not while I’m around.”

Ni-ki looked at you, a flicker of something—gratitude, maybe—crossing his face. “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” he said quietly. “Standing up for me all the time. It’s not your responsibility.”

“It’s not about responsibility,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “I want to stand up. And no one deserves to feel like they’re alone in this.”

“Thanks,” Ni-ki said eventually, his voice barely above a whisper.

You gave him a small smile. “Anytime.”

It started out subtly—so subtle, in fact, that you almost missed it the first few times. You’d grown so used to being the one to step in, to speak up, to push back when people crossed the line with Ni-ki, that it became instinctive. But recently, before you could even open your mouth or move to intervene, something in Ni-ki’s demeanor had started to change.

The next time someone shoved him in the hallway, you caught it. The twist in his face.

It wasn’t the usual resignation or silent frustration you’d seen before. No, this was different. His jaw tightened, his eyes sharp and focused, his posture just a fraction straighter. He still stumbled when they shoved him, still dropped his books, but there was a flicker of defiance there—a spark you hadn’t noticed before.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot,” one of the bullies muttered, smirking as they turned to walk off.

But before you could even step in, Ni-ki straightened up, brushing himself off. His voice was quiet but firm as he said, “Maybe you should watch where you’re going.”

It wasn’t loud, and it certainly wasn’t a full-on confrontation, but it was enough to make the bully pause for a moment, glancing back over their shoulder with narrowed eyes. Ni-ki didn’t flinch. He just stared at them, steady and unyielding, until they scoffed and walked away.

You stood frozen for a moment, caught off guard. This wasn’t like him—not the Ni-ki you’d grown used to protecting, the one who usually avoided confrontation at all costs.

“Ni-ki,” you said, catching up to him as he bent down to pick up his books. “What was that?”

He glanced up at you, his expression unreadable. “What was what?”

“That,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway where the bullies had just left. “You… you stood up for yourself.”

He shrugged, tucking his books under his arm. “Yeah, well… I figured I might as well try it.”

You blinked, surprised by how nonchalant he sounded. “Try it?”

He paused, glancing at you with a small, almost shy smile. “I’ve been watching you, you know. How you don’t let people push you—or anyone else—around. It made me think… maybe I could do that too.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You felt a strange mix of pride and worry bubbling in your chest. Pride, because seeing Ni-ki finally stand up for himself felt like a victory. Worry, because you knew how cruel people could be when they were challenged.

“Well,” you said finally, your voice soft, “I’m glad you’re trying. But you know you don’t have to do it alone, right? I’ve got your back.”

He nodded, his smile growing a little. “I know. But… it feels kind of good. Not letting them have all the power.”

From that day on, you started noticing it more often.

The next time someone muttered something cruel under their breath as Ni-ki walked past, he didn’t just look away. He turned, his voice steady as he asked, “What did you just say?” It wasn’t a shout, wasn’t a threat, but the sheer confidence in his tone was enough to catch them off guard.

And the next time someone knocked his books out of his hands, Ni-ki didn’t just bend down to pick them up. He straightened up first, meeting their gaze with an icy calmness that made them hesitate before walking off.

You watched it all unfold with a mixture of admiration and concern.

One afternoon, after class, you found yourself walking with him again, the two of you deep in conversation about one of the crime novels you’d both been reading. As you turned the corner, you saw one of the usual suspects—one of the guys who’d made Ni-ki’s life a nightmare for as long as you could remember.

The guy stepped into Ni-ki’s path, blocking his way. “Hey, got a minute?”

You tensed immediately, ready to step forward, but Ni-ki held up a hand, stopping you.

“What do you want?” Ni-ki asked, his voice calm but firm.

The bully smirked, leaning in closer. “Just wondering how long it’ll take before you crawl back into that little shell of yours. You think you’re tough now? That you’ve got people to back you up?”

Ni-ki didn’t even blink. “I think you’re wasting your time. Find someone else to bother.”

The smirk faltered for just a second, and that was all it took. The bully muttered something under his breath before walking away, clearly annoyed that Ni-ki hadn’t given him the reaction he was hoping for.

As soon as the guy was out of earshot, you turned to Ni-ki, your eyes wide. “Okay, what was that? Who are you, and what have you done with the Ni-ki I know?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I told you, I’ve been watching you. Guess I finally got tired of being the guy everyone picks on.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your chest swelling with pride. “Well, I’m glad you’re finding your voice. Just… don’t get yourself in too much trouble, okay?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, his smile soft but confident. “I know you’ll be there to save me if I do.”

You chuckled at his confidence, feeling that familiar warmth bubble up inside you. “Of course,” you replied. “But remember, you don’t have to rely on me all the time. You’ve got this, Ni-ki.”

He met your gaze, his eyes bright with something that looked almost like gratitude, but with a touch of pride as well. “Maybe. But it feels good knowing I’ve got someone watching my back.”

You nodded, feeling your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t just about protecting him anymore—it was about seeing him stand up for himself, to fight back against the people who tried to bring him down. And even though you still couldn’t shake the worry that the bullies would target him more now, you had a feeling that Ni-ki would be okay.

The days that followed were a mix of small victories. You’d catch glimpses of him, the way his posture had changed, the confidence in the way he carried himself. Even when the bullies tried to get under his skin, he seemed to hold his own. And when they tried to escalate things, Ni-ki would either meet them with sharp words or simply walk away with his head held high, no longer letting their insults stick to him.

The day started like any other—until you got to school.

The usual buzz of the morning crowd was replaced with an eerie silence. Police cars lined the front of the building, their lights casting flashes of red and blue against the gray morning sky. Students clustered in small groups near the gate, whispering to each other, their faces pale with unease.

You tightened your grip on your bag as you stepped closer, curiosity gnawing at you. Something had happened—something big.

Spotting Natty near the lockers, you hurried over, catching her arm gently. “What’s going on? Why are the police here?”

Natty turned, her expression somber and anxious. “You didn’t hear?”

You shook your head, your stomach twisting. “No. What happened?”

She glanced around nervously before leaning in closer. “Two students have been reported missing,” she said in a low voice.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Missing? Who?”

Natty hesitated, her voice dropping even lower. “It’s those two guys… you know, the ones who usually mess with people. The ones who—”

“The ones who pick on people” you finished for her, your voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her expression grim. “Yeah. Them. Apparently, they didn’t come home last night. Their parents called the school this morning, and now the police are involved.”

You stood there, processing her words. The two bullies—known for tormenting Ni-ki and plenty of other students—were missing? The news left you unsettled, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest.

“What do you think happened to them?” you asked, your voice cautious.

Natty shrugged, glancing over at the police officers. “I don’t know. Everyone’s talking about it, but no one seems to know anything for sure. Some people are saying they might’ve run away, but…” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“But?”

She leaned in closer, her voice barely audible now. “But people are also saying it doesn’t feel like that. They’re saying it’s... suspicious.”

You frowned, your mind racing. Suspicious. The word lingered in your thoughts like a dark cloud. You couldn’t help but think about Ni-ki—the way he’d started standing up for himself, the way the bullies had been pushing back harder in recent weeks. And now, suddenly, they were gone?

“Do they have any leads?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Natty shook her head. “Not that I’ve heard. The police are just starting their investigation.”

You glanced around, your eyes scanning the crowd. Your thoughts immediately went to Ni-ki. Had he heard about this yet? How was he feeling? You knew the bullies had made his life miserable, but even so, this was… extreme.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” you said, already stepping away.

Natty called after you, “Where are you going?”

“To check on someone,” you replied over your shoulder, your mind set on finding Ni-ki.

You searched the usual spots—the bench near the library, the quiet corner by the art room—but he was nowhere to be found. Finally, you spotted him by the vending machines, standing alone with his hands in his pockets.

“Ni-ki,” you called softly as you approached.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. “Hey.”

“Did you hear?” you asked, lowering your voice.

He nodded, his gaze dropping again. “Yeah. Everyone’s talking about it.”

You studied him for a moment, trying to gauge his emotions. He didn’t look shocked or upset—just… thoughtful.

“How are you feeling about it?” you asked gently.

He shrugged, his voice quiet. “I don’t know. It’s... weird. They were horrible to everyone, but this? It’s… I don’t know.”

You nodded, understanding the conflict in his tone.

“They’ll figure it out,” you said, more to reassure yourself than him. “The police are here, and they’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Ni-ki glanced at you, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”

You walked side by side with Ni-ki, the buzz of conversations and murmurs about the missing students fading into the background. He didn’t seem as unsettled as you would’ve expected. In fact, he looked… composed. Too composed. There was a calmness about him, a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there before.

It wasn’t like he didn’t care—at least, you didn’t think so. But he wasn’t fidgeting or avoiding the topic like you might have imagined. Instead, he walked with his head held high, his steps deliberate.

You glanced at him, trying to gauge his mood. “You seem… okay about all this,” you said carefully, not wanting to come off as accusing.

Ni-ki shrugged, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” you said, tilting your head. “It’s just… two people are missing. People who used to make your life hell, and you don’t look… bothered.”

He stopped walking for a moment, turning to face you. His lips curved into the faintest smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Should I be?”

The question caught you off guard. You blinked, unsure how to respond. “Well, I mean… it’s weird, right? They’re still people. Even if they were awful, it’s not like they deserved to… you know, vanish.”

Ni-ki held your gaze for a moment longer before looking away, his expression unreadable. “I guess I’ve just learned not to waste my energy on people like them,” he said, his voice steady. “They made their choices. It’s not my job to care.”

You frowned, his words sticking with you as you both continued walking. There was something about the way he spoke—calm, measured, almost detached—that made you uneasy. But you didn’t push him further. Ni-ki had grown a lot lately, standing up for himself in ways you hadn’t expected. Maybe this was just part of that change—his way of not letting the past hold power over him anymore.

Still, you couldn’t help but notice how his posture seemed different now. Straighter, more self-assured. He wasn’t the same Ni-ki who used to avoid eye contact in the hallways or flinch at the sound of the bullies’ voices. This Ni-ki was someone who carried himself with quiet confidence, someone who looked like he had nothing to fear.

And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it. Something he wasn’t saying.

You wanted to ask, to press him for answers, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the way his expression remained calm, as if daring you to question him. Or maybe it was the realization that you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

“Anyway,” Ni-ki said, breaking the silence, “what’s your plan for the rest of the day?”

The abrupt shift in topic caught you off guard, but you decided to go with it. “Not much,” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “Probably just try to catch up on homework and maybe watch something later.”

He nodded, his smile softening into something more genuine. “Sounds good. Let me know if you find a good mystery to watch.”

“Will do,” you replied, smiling back.

As you parted ways and headed to your respective classes, you couldn’t help but glance back at him. The way he walked, the way he carried himself now—it was almost like he was a completely different person.

And though you didn’t say it out loud, the unease lingered. There was something about Ni-ki that had changed, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. And as much as you wanted to believe it was just confidence.. a small, nagging part of you wondered if it was something more.

After school, you found yourself lingering by the gate, waiting for Ni-ki. You weren’t even sure why. Maybe it was just the need to talk to him again, to see if you could get a better read on what he was thinking.

He appeared a few minutes later, his bag slung over one shoulder and his usual calm expression in place. When he spotted you, his lips twitched into a small smile.

“Waiting for me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Just thought we could walk together.”

“Sure,” he said, falling into step beside you.

The walk home started out quiet, the kind of comfortable silence you’d gotten used to with him. But as you neared the park, you couldn’t hold back your curiosity any longer.

“Ni-ki,” you began carefully, “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “What about it?”

“About not caring. About how it’s not your job to care about... people like them.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “It just feels like... I don’t know, you’ve changed a lot lately. You’re more confident, and that’s great, but... it’s like you’re not bothered by anything anymore.”

Ni-ki didn’t respond right away. He kept walking, his gaze focused straight ahead, his expression calm. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders rising and falling.

“I guess I just realized there’s no point in letting things get to me,” he said, his tone measured. “People like them... they’re not worth my time. They never were.”

You frowned, your unease growing. “But... don’t you think it’s weird? That they just disappeared like that?”

He stopped walking, turning to face you. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something behind his calm exterior. Something darker.

“What are you trying to say?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm.

Your breath hitched, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in his gaze. “I’m not saying anything,” you said quickly, though your heart was racing. “I’m just... curious. That’s all.”

Ni-ki studied you for a moment longer before his expression softened, the faintest smile returning to his lips. “It’s probably nothing,” he said. “People like that... they always have enemies. Maybe someone else decided to deal with them.”

The way he said it sent a chill down your spine. He didn’t sound defensive, or even particularly concerned. If anything, he sounded... amused.

You forced a smile, not wanting to push him further. “Yeah, maybe,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

Ni-ki started walking again, and you followed, your mind racing with questions you didn’t dare ask.

As the two of you walked further down the quiet street, Ni-ki suddenly turned toward his dorm building, stopping just before the steps. He looked at you with a hint of hesitation, but there was also that hopeful glint in his eyes that always managed to make your heart soften.

“Hey,” he said casually, though his tone had a shy edge. “Do you… maybe want to come up? We could study together or something. I know exams are coming up, and it’s easier with company.”

You hesitated, clutching the strap of your bag. “I don’t know… I should probably just head home and get some rest.”

Ni-ki’s face dropped slightly, and for a second, he looked like he was bracing for you to turn him down. But the way he glanced at you—hopeful and a little nervous—made something inside you falter.

“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably. “It’ll be quiet. I promise I won’t distract you too much.”

You looked at him, at the way his bangs fell slightly into his eyes and the way he fidgeted with the strap of his own bag. He looked cute, and there was something so innocent about the way he asked, as if he genuinely just wanted to spend more time with you.

“Alright,” you finally said, relenting with a small smile. “I’ll stay for a little while.”

The way his face lit up made it all worth it. A broad smile spread across his lips, and before you could react, he reached out, his hands gently finding their way to your waist as he guided you toward the door. His touch was firm yet careful, his hands warm even through the fabric of your jacket.

“Come on,” he said, his tone suddenly brighter as he led you inside the building. “It’s not too messy, I promise. Well… not that messy.”

You laughed softly, letting him lead you into the lobby and toward the elevator. There was something about the way he was acting—lighthearted and a little goofy—that made your earlier unease fade just a bit.

When the elevator doors opened, Ni-ki stepped aside to let you in first, his hand briefly brushing against your lower back. He pressed the button for his floor, glancing at you with a grin. “I’ll even let you pick the first topic we study. Fair deal?”

“Deal,” you said, shaking your head at him.

As the elevator climbed, you realized that, despite your earlier hesitation, you didn’t really mind being here with him. There was something comforting about the way Ni-ki treated you, like you were the only person who really mattered to him in that moment.

The elevator dinged, and the two of you stepped out into the hallway. Ni-ki led the way to his room, opening the door with a flourish before stepping aside to let you in.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, gesturing around with a playful smile.

You stepped inside, taking in the neat but lived-in space. His desk was cluttered with notebooks and textbooks, and there were a few random items scattered around—headphones, a hoodie draped over the back of a chair, a half-empty mug on the windowsill.

“It’s cozy,” you said, setting your bag down by the door.

Ni-ki grinned. “That’s code for ‘small,’ isn’t it?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, I mean it. It feels… nice.”

“Good,” he said, closing the door behind you. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab us some water, and then we can get started.”

As he busied himself in the corner of the room, you took a seat at his desk, letting yourself relax.

And as Ni-ki returned with two glasses of water and a bright smile, you couldn’t help but think that maybe this was exactly what you needed.

Ni-ki handed you a glass of water, his smile warm and genuine, and you took it with a grateful nod. As you both sat down at his desk, the atmosphere felt surprisingly comfortable. The earlier tension had all but faded, replaced by a quiet energy between you two that made everything feel easy.

“So,” Ni-ki began, pulling a notebook toward him, “what subject do you want to start with?” His eyes flickered toward you, waiting for your answer.

You considered for a moment. “I guess… let’s tackle history first? That’s the one I’m struggling with the most.”

“History it is,” Ni-ki agreed, and there was a brief moment of silence as he pulled out his own materials, flipping through pages in his textbook. You glanced at the way he studied—focused but relaxed, as if he’d done this a hundred times before. His brow furrowed just a little when he concentrated, and you found yourself studying him without even realizing it.

He noticed after a second, a slight shift in his posture. “What? Is something wrong?” he asked, glancing up from his book.

“No, no, I was just… thinking.” You gave him a small smile, hoping to ease whatever concern he might have had. “You’re a good study buddy. You’re very… focused.”

Ni-ki chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I try. It’s just easier when you actually care about what you’re learning, you know?”

You nodded in agreement. The two of you dived into your history notes, bouncing ideas back and forth, helping each other fill in the blanks on a few tricky subjects. The more you talked, the more you realized how much you enjoyed this.

As the hours passed, you found that time seemed to slow down in Ni-ki’s presence. Every now and then, he’d glance up from his book and shoot you a little smile, making it hard to focus on anything else.

By the time you looked at the clock, it had already gotten late. You hadn't realized how much time had passed, so engrossed in studying and talking.

“We should probably call it a night,” you said, stretching your arms above your head.

Ni-ki nodded, though his expression was a little reluctant. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Time really flew by.” He stood up, walking over to the desk and gathering his things. He paused for a moment, glancing back at you. “Thanks for hanging out tonight. It was… really nice.”

You smiled at him, your heart warming at his words. “Of course. I’m glad we did this.”

Ni-ki walked you to the door, his hand brushing yours for a brief moment as he reached for the handle. He opened the door, and as you stepped into the hallway, he stopped you.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice softer than usual.

You turned to look at him, eyebrows raised in question.

“I just wanted to say…” He paused, as if thinking carefully about his words. “I’m glad you’re… in my life. You know, you’ve really made things a lot easier for me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure how to respond.

“I’m glad, too,” you managed, your voice a little quieter than intended. “I think we make a good team.”

Ni-ki’s lips curled into a small, genuine smile, and something about it made your chest feel lighter. He stepped closer, his hand briefly brushing your arm as if he wasn’t sure what to do next.

You both stood there for a moment, before Ni-ki spoke again, his tone soft but teasing.

“See you tomorrow, then?”

You nodded, feeling the smile tug at your own lips. “See you tomorrow.”

The music in your ears drowned out most of the world around you as you walked through the dark streets, the beat lightening your steps as you bopped your head and hummed softly. It was one of those evenings when the city felt alive but distant, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows against brick walls and sidewalks.

You didn’t notice the loud voice at first, too lost in the rhythm, but as it grew louder, it cut through the music, making you glance to your left. There, leaning against the wall of an old corner store, was a guy from your school.

You recognized him instantly. He was one of those guys who thrived on making others miserable. A bully. Loud, brash, and unapologetic about it. He was talking on his phone, his voice carrying through the quiet street.

When his gaze flicked toward you, you realized you’d been staring for too long. His face twisted in annoyance, and he barked, “What the hell are you looking at?”

Startled, you quickly shrugged, averting your gaze and picking up your pace. You didn’t have time for his nonsense tonight. The plan was simple: get home, maybe text Ni-ki, and bury yourself under your covers.

But you hadn’t made it more than a few steps when the street suddenly fell silent.

It was strange, almost unnerving. You frowned, pulling out one of your earbuds and glancing back over your shoulder.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The guy was still standing there, but something was wrong. His body was stiff, his shoulders trembling, and his head was tilted downward as if he were staring at his chest. Blood. Dark and glistening, it spilled from his mouth and dripped onto the pavement. His phone slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground.

Your instincts screamed at you to run, to do anything but stay frozen, but your feet refused to move. You could only watch in horror as his wide, terrified eyes met yours.

He tried to say something, his lips moving, but all that came out was a wet, gurgling sound.

And then you saw it.

Behind him, a figure emerged from the shadows, tall and menacing. They wore dark clothes, a hood pulled up to obscure most of their features, but what stood out—what sent chills racing down your spine—was the white mask. A smooth, expressionless face with hollow, soulless eyes staring straight at you.

In their gloved hand, they held a knife, the blade dripping with fresh blood.

Your heart pounded in your chest as panic set in. You were about to scream, about to do anything to snap yourself out of the shock, but the figure stepped forward, their movements deliberate and calm, as if they had all the time in the world.

The bully’s body crumpled to the ground, his lifeless eyes still locked in an expression of pure fear. The blood pooled beneath him, staining the pavement a deep crimson.

The figure didn’t move toward you—not yet. They just stood there, tilting their head slightly as if studying you, waiting to see what you would do.

Every instinct in your body screamed for you to run, but your legs felt like they were made of lead.

This can’t be real, you thought. This can’t be happening.

But it was. And now, the figure took one slow, deliberate step in your direction.

Run. You had to run. Now.

Your body finally responded, adrenaline flooding your veins as you stumbled backward, nearly tripping over your own feet. You turned and bolted down the darkened street, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The earbuds still dangling from your ears blasted music, a sharp contrast to the pounding of your heartbeat and the terror consuming you.

You didn’t dare look back.

Your feet hit the pavement hard, the sound echoing in the empty streets as you raced forward, unsure of where you were going. The only thought in your mind was get away. The quiet of the street felt suffocating, broken only by the occasional flicker of a streetlight.

But then you heard it.

Footsteps.

Slow, deliberate, and eerily calm.

Whoever they were, they weren’t running—they were following you. Like they knew you couldn’t escape.

You risked a glance over your shoulder, and your stomach dropped. The figure was still there, their white mask glowing faintly under the dim streetlights. They weren’t far, and their steady pace somehow made it worse. They didn’t need to run. They knew they had the upper hand.

“No, no, no...” you whispered to yourself, your voice shaky. You turned a sharp corner into a narrower street, your eyes darting around for any sign of help—a lit window, a passerby, anything. But there was no one. Just endless shadows.

You spotted an alley up ahead and ducked into it, pressing yourself against the wall as you tried to steady your breathing. You ripped your earbuds out, desperate to hear every sound around you.

For a moment, there was silence. The footsteps had stopped.

You strained your ears, listening for any hint of movement. The sound of your own breathing felt deafening in the stillness.

And then, softly, the unmistakable scrape of a shoe against the pavement.

Your heart nearly stopped as you realized they were close—too close.

The figure stepped into the mouth of the alley, their tall silhouette illuminated by the faint glow of a distant streetlight. They turned their head slowly, scanning the space.

You pressed yourself harder against the wall, willing yourself to disappear. Please don’t see me, please don’t see me.

But then they tilted their head, and you knew they’d found you.

A sharp wave of panic crashed over you, and before you could think, your legs moved on their own. You bolted deeper into the alley, praying it would lead somewhere—anywhere—but as you reached the end, your heart sank.

A dead end.

You spun around, your back pressed against the cold brick wall as the figure approached, their movements unhurried, deliberate. The knife in their hand gleamed faintly in the dim light, still slick with blood.

“W-what do you want?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hands shook as you clenched them at your sides, trying to mask the terror in your chest.

The figure didn’t answer, their masked face tilting slightly as if amused by your fear. The silence between you was suffocating, the sound of your ragged breathing echoing in the narrow alley. You pressed yourself harder against the wall, your body trembling as their slow, deliberate footsteps brought them closer.

“Please,” you tried again, your voice cracking. “I won’t tell anyone. Just—just let me go.”

Still, no response. They stopped just a few feet away, the knife glinting under the faint light. The blade wasn’t just bloodied—it was still dripping. Fresh.

You swallowed hard, your mind racing for a way out. Running wasn’t an option. The alley was too narrow, and they were blocking your only escape.

Then, the figure did something that made your stomach drop. Slowly, they reached up with their free hand and tapped the edge of the mask—right where the mouth would be. A deliberate, mocking gesture.

The message was clear: Don’t scream.

Your body froze as dread sank into your chest.

Your breathing hitched as the figure suddenly surged forward, their free hand grabbing your wrists and slamming them against the cold brick wall. You winced at the force, the impact sending a sharp sting up your arms.

"Let go!" you cried, struggling against their iron grip, but it was no use. Their hands were strong—too strong—and no matter how much you writhed or twisted, you couldn’t break free.

The knife gleamed dangerously close to your side, but it wasn’t moving. Instead, the figure leaned in, their mask mere inches from your face.

“Why are you doing this?” you hissed, your voice shaking but desperate.

They didn’t answer. Instead, they tilted their head, as if observing you up close, and the silent scrutiny sent a shiver down your spine. Their breathing was steady, calm—eerily so, given the situation.

You turned your head away, refusing to meet their hollow gaze, but their grip on your wrists tightened, forcing you to look back at them.

“Stop,” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper now. “Please.”

They leaned in even closer, the blank mask filling your vision. The faint scent of something metallic—blood—wafted into your nose, and you froze completely, your body trembling under their hold.

You could feel the faint pressure of their breath through the mask, warm and unnervingly slow.

Then, they did something that made your stomach twist. They tilted their head down slightly, as if inspecting you more closely, and the knife in their other hand gently traced along the brick wall beside your face, the sound sharp and deliberate.

“Why are you so scared?” they finally murmured, their voice low, distorted, and almost playful. The modulated tone sent a chill through your entire body. Your eyes widened at the sound. “Who are you?” you managed to croak, but they ignored your question.

They leaned even closer, their voice dropping to a whisper. “You’ve been watching people. Reading their actions. Studying them.”

Your heart stopped. How could they possibly know that?

The knife stopped moving, the tip resting against the wall now as they tilted their head again, as if amused by your reaction.

“You’re just like me,” they murmured, their voice soft but laced with something dangerous. “Aren’t you curious about what happens next?”

The words struck you like a blow, and you felt the air leave your lungs. “I’m nothing like you,” you spat, trying to summon any ounce of courage left in you.

The figure chuckled softly—a sound that was more unsettling than anything else—and finally stepped back, releasing your wrists. You crumpled slightly against the wall, your hands trembling as you pulled them to your chest.

They stood there for a moment, watching you. And then, without a word, they turned and walked away, their figure disappearing into the darkness once more.

You didn’t move, your body frozen in place as your mind raced. Their words echoed in your head.

You’re just like me.

What did they mean?

For a moment, you stood there, too stunned to move, your legs shaking beneath you. The silence in the alley was deafening now, the absence of their presence almost as terrifying as their arrival.

Finally, your body caught up with your mind. You bolted.

You ran down the street, not caring where you were going, your feet pounding against the pavement. Every shadow felt like it was reaching for you, every flicker of light a reminder of that gleaming knife.

When you finally stopped, you realized you were standing in front of your building. Your hands trembled as you fumbled for your keys, barely managing to unlock the door before stumbling inside.

You slammed the door behind you, locking it quickly and leaning against it as you tried to catch your breath. Your heart was still racing, and the image of the masked figure burned into your mind wouldn’t leave.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, your back pressed against the door, fighting to steady your breath. The air in the hallway was suffocating, the stillness unnerving. Your pulse thudded in your ears, too loud, too fast, as you struggled to ground yourself in reality.

The sound of your own heartbeat felt like a drum, drowning out every other noise. You closed your eyes for a moment, willing the panic to subside, but the image of the masked figure—those hollow, unfeeling eyes—kept flashing in your mind. You could almost still feel the coldness of their grip on your wrists, the steel of the knife pressed against the air between you.

No, no, you couldn't think about that. You had to focus on something else.

Your hands were shaking so badly that when you tried to take off your shoes, you nearly tripped over them. You steadied yourself against the wall, reaching for your phone in your pocket. Your hands felt clammy as you unlocked it, eyes scanning the screen. You thought about calling someone—anyone—but who could you even call? You had no idea what just happened, who that person was, or why you were targeted.

You tapped your messages, but the familiar names on your screen did little to comfort you. Your fingers hovered over Ni-ki’s name for a moment, but you hesitated. You didn’t want to scare him. What would you even say?

You knew he’d be worried, and maybe that’s exactly what you needed. But not yet.

You let out a long, shaky breath, and after a moment of indecision, you tucked the phone back into your pocket. You needed to calm down. You couldn’t let yourself spiral.

Your eyes flicked to the window, the dim glow from the streetlights casting long shadows into the room. Every movement, every flicker of light outside seemed to twist your nerves tighter. You felt like you were being watched.

Was it paranoia?

You couldn’t stay locked inside forever. But you couldn’t leave either. Not now.

You walked to the window and pulled the blinds slightly aside, peering out. The street below was quiet, eerily so. But there was something off about it now. Something unsettling.

Was this your fault? Was it something you'd done or seen that made you a target?

You flinched as your phone buzzed in your pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. Your heart skipped a beat, but when you checked, it was just a message from Yuna—nothing urgent. You let out a breath of relief, your hands still trembling slightly.

You wanted to scream. To make sense of it all. But something told you that doing so would only make things worse.

The next morning, you woke up to a sense of dread still hanging in the air, the events from last night haunting your every thought. You had barely slept, every small noise in the dark sending your heart into a frantic beat. As you stumbled out of bed, you tried to shake the feeling off, but it lingered like a shadow.

You grabbed your phone, your fingers trembling slightly as you scrolled through your notifications. And then, your stomach dropped.

The headline was everywhere.

Student Found Murdered in Alley; Police Investigating

You stared at the screen, the words blurring as you read and reread the article, your hands shaking. They had found the body of the guy from last night—the one who had been leaning against the wall when the figure had attacked him. Blood had poured from his mouth just before the figure disappeared into the shadows.

But now he was dead.

The report didn’t offer many details yet, but the police were investigating, and they had a few leads—seeing if they found any potential witnesses. You clenched your fists, a sick feeling bubbling in your stomach as you read the lines again, trying to steady your nerves.

You were a witness.

You were standing right there when it happened, not even ten feet away. But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell anyone. The thought of speaking up made your stomach churn. What could you even say? That you’d seen a masked figure with a bloody knife standing over the body, and then you’d just run? That you’d been too scared to do anything but watch?

No, you couldn’t. It felt wrong. Almost like you were too close to the danger.

For a moment, you thought about calling Ni-ki. He’d want to know. He’d be concerned. But even the thought of telling him made you hesitate. You didn’t want to burden him with this. And besides, you didn’t even know what to say to him. How would he react?

Something inside you whispered that it was better to stay quiet. For now, at least. You didn’t know why. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was guilt. But you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that speaking out would only make things worse.

As you turned off your phone and got ready for school, the weight of the secret pressed down on you like an iron fist. The urge to tell someone gnawed at you, but something—maybe self-preservation, maybe the fear of the unknown—stopped you from speaking.

You didn’t know what kind of person that made you, but at that moment, all you could think about was survival.

And that meant staying silent.

You spotted Ni-ki waiting for you near the school gates, his back leaning casually against the wall. At first, you almost didn’t recognize him. Gone were the oversized hoodies and the unassuming posture. Today, he wore a sharp black jacket, his shirt tucked in, and his usually messy hair was swept back, revealing more of his face. The change was striking, and it caught you off guard.

When he saw you approaching, he straightened up, slipping his hands into his pockets with an easy confidence you’d never seen before. There was a glint in his eyes that made your stomach flip.

“Morning,” he greeted smoothly, his tone lighter than usual. His gaze swept over you briefly before he added, “You look cute today.”

The comment hit you like a bolt out of the blue, and you felt your cheeks flush instantly. “W-what?” you stammered, staring at him wide-eyed. Ni-ki wasn’t the type to flirt—or, at least, you didn’t think he was.

He chuckled at your reaction, his lips curling into a small, amused smile. “Relax. I’m just being honest.”

You ducked your head, pretending to fumble with your bag to hide the warmth spreading across your face. “Well… thanks, I guess,” you mumbled, trying to compose yourself.

The two of you fell into step together, chatting idly as you walked toward the school building. Ni-ki seemed so at ease, more relaxed than you’d ever seen him.

But as the two of you passed through the crowded hallway, you noticed something—every time someone called out to him, a snide remark or a mocking laugh in their tone, Ni-ki’s shoulders would stiffen ever so slightly.

“Hey, Ni-ki, looking sharp today!” someone sneered from behind, the tone far from genuine.

“Trying to impress someone? Not like anyone cares,” another voice added with a laugh.

You glanced over at him, expecting to see some hint of his reaction—annoyance, discomfort, maybe even the faint twist of hurt you used to notice in his expression when he was picked on. But before you could catch anything, Ni-ki turned to you with that same easy smile, his voice light and unaffected.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” he asked as if nothing had happened, steering the conversation effortlessly away from the taunts.

You frowned slightly, feeling like something was off. His smile was convincing, but you knew him well enough to sense that it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something guarded behind that mask of confidence, a wall he didn’t want you—or anyone else—to see behind.

“Are you okay?” you asked carefully, your voice low enough that no one else could hear.

Ni-ki’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—brief, almost imperceptible. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied smoothly, tilting his head at you like the question itself was unnecessary.

You wanted to press further, but the bell rang, cutting off any chance of continuing the conversation.

As you headed to class together, you couldn’t help but steal a few glances at him. Ni-ki had changed—there was no denying that. He seemed stronger, more confident, even… untouchable in a way. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still carrying the weight of what he’d been through.

And as much as you wanted to believe his smile, something in you knew that the Ni-ki you were walking with now wasn’t the same one you’d first met.

The days passed, and Ni-ki’s transformation became even more apparent. He wasn’t just confident now—he was bold, almost playful in the way he interacted with you. And you couldn’t deny the effect it had on you.

“Morning,” he greeted one day, appearing behind you so suddenly that you nearly dropped your books. You turned to glare at him, clutching your chest as your heart raced from the surprise.

“Ni-ki, can you not sneak up on me like that?” you huffed, glaring half-heartedly.

He smirked, leaning down to your eye level, far too close for comfort. “What, can’t handle a little excitement in the morning?” he teased, his voice laced with a softness that made your cheeks burn.

You looked away, muttering under your breath, but it only seemed to amuse him. Without asking, he reached for your bag, slinging it over his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey! I can carry my own bag,” you protested, grabbing for the strap.

Ni-ki dodged your hand effortlessly, his smirk growing. “I know. But I want to. Let me be a gentleman for once,” he said, winking at you.

You huffed again, but the way your cheeks warmed betrayed how much it flustered you.

It wasn’t just the small gestures like carrying your bag that got to you. Ni-ki always seemed to know just how to toe the line between teasing and sincere, making your heart race in ways you hadn’t expected. Sometimes, he’d lean casually against the locker next to yours, his proximity far too close to be casual.

“Have you ever read this one?” he asked once, holding out a crime novel you hadn’t even heard of. “I thought of you when I saw it.”

You blinked at the book in his hands, touched by the gesture. “You thought of me?”

He grinned, tilting his head. “Well, yeah. It’s about solving crimes. Sound familiar?”

You tried not to blush at his words, but his teasing gaze made it impossible.

The more time you spent with him, the more you noticed the little things he did—bringing you snacks during breaks, texting you links to new crime documentaries, and inviting you over to his dorm room for movie nights.

Those nights were some of your favorite moments, even if they made you nervous. The two of you would sit close together on the small couch, a bowl of popcorn between you as you watched horror movies. Inevitably, you’d end up dozing off halfway through, only to wake up hours later, cuddled up against his chest.

The first time it happened, you’d pulled away so quickly you nearly fell off the couch. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Ni-ki just laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It’s fine. You looked comfortable,” he said, his tone so gentle it made your heart ache.

Still, the memory of waking up to the sound of his steady heartbeat, feeling the warmth of his arms around you, stayed with you long after.

You couldn’t deny how Ni-ki made you feel. His presence was becoming something you looked forward to—his teasing, his warmth, his surprising thoughtfulness.

He was always there—waiting for you by the gates in the morning, walking you to your classes, and staying by your side during breaks. His confidence had grown, but so had his charm. He seemed to know just what to say to make your heart skip a beat, leaving you flustered and unsure how to respond.

One afternoon, the two of you were walking out of the library. Ni-ki was carrying your books again despite your protests, and the late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the campus.

“So,” he began, his voice casual but laced with that teasing edge you’d come to expect, “are you ever going to admit you like spending time with me, or do I have to keep carrying your books until you do?”

You turned to him, startled by his boldness, and saw the playful smirk tugging at his lips. “I—what?!”

Ni-ki chuckled, leaning in slightly as he walked beside you. “You heard me,” he said, his voice soft but teasing. “You don’t have to be so shy about it. I mean, I am pretty great company.”

Your face burned, and you looked away, clutching your bag tightly. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered, though your tone lacked any real bite.

His laugh was soft but warm, and it only made your cheeks grow hotter. “I’m just saying what’s true,” he said, his voice lowering as he added, “You’re cute when you get flustered, you know that?”

You didn’t respond, too busy trying to keep your heart from pounding out of your chest.

Later that evening, you found yourself at his dorm room again, another movie night he’d somehow convinced you to attend. As usual, he’d picked a horror film—one of his favorites, he said.

The room was dimly lit, the flickering glow of the TV the only source of light. You sat next to him on the small couch, your knees almost touching.

Halfway through the movie, a particularly tense scene made you jump, and without thinking, you grabbed onto Ni-ki’s arm.

“Scared?” he asked, his tone teasing but not unkind.

You quickly let go, crossing your arms over your chest. “No,” you said stubbornly, though the way your heart raced said otherwise.

Ni-ki laughed softly, leaning closer to you. “It’s okay to be scared. You can hold onto me if you want,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your breath catch.

You glanced at him, your cheeks burning again, and quickly looked back at the screen. “I’ll be fine,” you muttered, trying to ignore how close he was.

As the movie went on, though, the tension eased, and the warmth of Ni-ki’s presence lulled you into a sense of comfort. Before you knew it, your eyes were growing heavy, and the soft sound of his breathing beside you was the last thing you remembered before you drifted off.

When you woke up, the TV was off, and the room was quiet. You blinked groggily, realizing you were leaning against Ni-ki’s chest again, your head resting just over his heart. His arm was draped lightly over your shoulder, holding you close.

You froze, your face heating up as you tried to process the situation. Slowly, you sat up, careful not to wake him, only to find him already awake, his eyes half-lidded and watching you with a soft smile.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

“I—I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you stammered, pulling away completely.

Ni-ki just shrugged, sitting up as well. “It’s fine,” he said, brushing it off like it was nothing. “You looked comfortable.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning softly. “This is so embarrassing…”

He chuckled, reaching out to gently nudge your shoulder. “Relax. I told you, it’s fine. You can fall asleep on me anytime.”

His words only made your blush deepen, and you quickly got up, mumbling something about needing to leave. Ni-ki walked you to the door, still smiling in that soft, knowing way that made your heart ache.

It was a typical day in the cafeteria, the loud hum of conversation filling the air as you sat with your friends, idly picking at your food. The topic of discussion ranged from schoolwork to weekend plans, and you were halfway through telling a funny story when the sound of a tray nearly crashing to the ground caught your attention.

You looked up to see Ni-ki, standing awkwardly as he tried to steady himself after nearly colliding with a group of girls near the lunch line. His tray wobbled precariously, but he caught it just in time, flashing the girls an apologetic smile before quickly stepping aside.

The girls giggled, whispering to one another as Ni-ki walked off, looking slightly flustered. You could almost see the faint hint of red on his cheeks, though he composed himself quickly and made his way toward his usual spot.

“That’s Ni-ki, right?” one of your friends, Natty, said, nudging you with her elbow.

You blinked, realizing your friends were now watching him. “Yeah,” you said nonchalantly, though your gaze lingered on him as he passed by.

“He’s gotten so handsome lately,” another friend chimed in, resting her chin on her hand as she stared after him. “I mean, look at him! The hair, the way he’s dressing now… I swear, it’s like he had a total glow-up overnight.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you quickly looked down at your plate, hoping no one would notice.

“He’s always been cute,” Natty said, shrugging. “But now? It’s like… he’s confident. And confidence is hot.”

“I heard he’s been helping out in some of his classes too,” another friend added. “Like, tutoring and stuff. Smart and good-looking? Talk about the whole package.”

You tried to focus on your food, but the conversation buzzed around you, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange twinge in your chest as your friends continued to gush over Ni-ki.

“Hey,” Natty said suddenly, leaning closer to you. “You’ve been hanging out with him a lot lately, haven’t you? What’s that about?”

Your head shot up, eyes wide. “What? No, we’re just… friends,” you said quickly, waving off her question. “He likes crime novels, and we talk about them sometimes. That’s all.”

“Just friends?” Natty teased, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because he definitely looks at you like you’re more than just a friend.”

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, and you frowned, shaking your head. “You’re imagining things.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t shake the memory of Ni-ki’s lingering glances, the way he leaned closer when he spoke to you, or how his hand would sometimes brush against yours when he handed you something.

Across the cafeteria, Ni-ki had taken a seat by himself, but before he started eating, his eyes flicked in your direction. It was only for a moment, but it was enough to make your stomach flip.

Natty noticed too, smirking as she nudged you again. “See? I told you. He’s totally into you.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we please change the subject?”

Your friends laughed, but they eventually let it go, moving on to other topics. Still, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Ni-ki again, only to find him smiling softly to himself as he ate.

And for some reason, that little smile made your heart race even more than it already was.

The day had dragged on, the sun was low on the horizon as you started your walk home, the familiar path quiet except for the occasional car passing by. You had just popped in your earbuds when the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the music.

Frowning, you glanced over your shoulder, only to see Ni-ki sprinting toward you, waving one arm while clutching his bag with the other. His glasses were slightly crooked, his hair a little disheveled from the run, but he wore that familiar smile that seemed to make your day just a little brighter.

“Wait up!” he called, slightly breathless as he closed the distance between you.

You stopped, giving him time to catch his breath. “You okay there, track star?” you teased as he bent over, hands on his knees, trying to steady his breathing.

“Yeah,” he panted, straightening up and flashing you a grin. “Just… didn’t want to lose you before I asked.”

“Asked what?” you said, tilting your head.

He shifted his bag higher on his shoulder. “Do you want to come over and study? I mean, if you’re not busy or anything. I thought we could go over some of that exam stuff together, maybe watch something after…”

You raised an eyebrow at him, suppressing a smile. “You ran all the way here to ask me that?”

Ni-ki shrugged, a faint pink dusting his cheeks as he looked away. “Well… yeah. It seemed important.”

You chuckled softly, noticing how his glasses were sitting askew on his face from the sprint. Without thinking, you stepped closer, reaching up to gently adjust them. “There,” you said, your voice softer now. “That’s better.”

Ni-ki blinked at you, clearly startled by the gesture, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. For a moment, he just stood there, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place—something warm, something soft, something that made your heart skip.

You cleared your throat, stepping back and turning toward the direction of his dorm building. “Alright, let’s go,” you said, trying to ignore the sudden heat rising to your face.

Ni-ki followed after you, his footsteps light but quick, and you didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered on you as he walked behind. There was a small, almost shy smile on his face, one he didn’t bother hiding now that you weren’t looking.

By the time you reached the building, the sky had darkened, the streetlights flickering on. Ni-ki held the door open for you, letting you step in first, and as you made your way toward the stairs, you felt his presence behind you—quiet but steady.

“You’ve really got a thing for last-minute plans, huh?” you said, glancing back at him with a teasing smile.

“Only with you,” he replied smoothly, his tone light, but there was a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes that caught you off guard.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see if you can actually focus on studying this time.”

Ni-ki just grinned, following you up the stairs, his heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the earlier sprint.

The moment you stepped into Ni-ki’s apartment, you were greeted by the faint scent of laundry detergent and something sweet—probably the remnants of whatever he had for breakfast that morning.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, slipping off his shoes and gesturing toward his room.

You followed him in, setting your bag down on the floor.

“Alright,” Ni-ki said, plopping down onto the floor and pulling out his notebook. “Let’s get this over with before my brain decides to shut off completely.”

You laughed, sitting down across from him and pulling out your own notes. “You’re the one who wanted to study, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, flipping through his book. “Just don’t let me slack off too much.”

For a while, the two of you worked in relative silence, the sound of pages turning and pens scratching against paper filling the room. Every now and then, one of you would ask a question, leading to brief discussions as you helped each other out.

“Wait, is this right?” Ni-ki asked at one point, sliding his notebook over to you.

You leaned over to take a look, your brows furrowing as you scanned his work. “Almost. You forgot to carry this number over here,” you said, pointing it out with the tip of your pen.

Ni-ki groaned, dropping his head onto the desk dramatically. “Why is math like this? What did I ever do to deserve this kind of suffering?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his theatrics. “Come on, it’s not that bad. You’re just overthinking it.”

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbled, lifting his head to look at you. “You’re like a human calculator.”

“Flattery won’t get you out of this,” you teased, nudging his notebook back toward him.

He gave you a mock pout but picked up his pen again, dutifully fixing his mistake.

A little while later, you were both leaning back against the bed, taking a break as you sipped on the canned drinks Ni-ki had grabbed from his fridge.

“Okay, serious question,” Ni-ki said, turning to you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You raised an eyebrow, wary but intrigued. “What?”

“If you had to choose between being stuck on a deserted island with me or having to solve a murder mystery with me, which one would you pick?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the random question. “Uh… I don’t know. What kind of murder mystery?”

“The really dramatic kind,” he said, leaning closer with an exaggerated serious expression. “Lots of twists, lots of danger. Like, we’d be running for our lives half the time.”

You pretended to think about it, tapping your chin. “In that case… definitely the murder mystery. At least then I’d have something to keep me entertained.”

Ni-ki gasped, clutching his chest like you’d just mortally wounded him. “Wow. I see how it is. I’m just boring company on a deserted island, huh?”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “That’s not what I said!”

“Sure, sure,” he said, grinning as he took another sip of his drink. “I’ll remember this the next time you need my help with something.”

The banter continued as you both returned to studying, the playful energy making the work feel less tedious. Ni-ki had a way of turning even the most mundane moments into something fun, and you found yourself smiling more often than not.

At one point, he leaned over to steal a glance at your notebook, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Are you sure this is right?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

“Yes, it’s right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You can double-check it if you don’t believe me.”

He smirked, leaning closer. “Nah, I trust you. You’re too smart to get it wrong.”

The compliment, paired with his proximity, made your cheeks heat up, and you quickly looked away, focusing on your notebook to hide your reaction.

Ni-ki noticed, of course. He always noticed. But instead of teasing you further, he simply chuckled and went back to his own work, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

After a while, Ni-ki let out a long sigh, dropping his pen dramatically onto his notebook. “I’m officially done. I can’t stare at numbers and letters any longer without my brain exploding.”

You glanced at him, amused. “You’re giving up already? I thought you wanted to study.”

“I did,” he said, flopping onto his back like a starfish. “But now I want to do something fun. Come on, let’s play a game.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A game? Like what?”

He sat up quickly, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “On my console. I’ve got a few multiplayer games. We’ll do a couple of rounds—you’re not scared to lose, are you?”

“Oh, please,” you said, rolling your eyes as you stood up to follow him to his console setup. “You’re the one who should be worried.”

He smirked, grabbing two controllers and handing you one. “We’ll see about that.”

As the game loaded, you both got comfortable on the floor, sitting cross-legged with a pile of snacks within reach. The first match started, and immediately, the competitive energy between you two ignited.

“Ni-ki, what are you doing?” you teased as his character fell off the map for the third time in a row. “You’re not even trying, are you?”

His ears turned red as he adjusted his glasses, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. “I-I’m just warming up! Wait until the next round; you won’t even stand a chance.”

You grinned, loving the way he stumbled over his words. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

The next match started, and this time Ni-ki was clearly putting in more effort. He managed to take the lead, and when you lost the round, he leaned back with a triumphant smirk.

“Looks like you’re the one who should be worried,” he said, his tone dripping with playful confidence.

You felt your face heat up as you avoided his gaze, grumbling under your breath. “Lucky shot. I wasn’t even trying.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, leaning a little closer to nudge your shoulder. “Excuses, excuses. Just admit I’m better.”

You turned to glare at him, but the way his eyes sparkled with amusement made it hard to stay mad. Instead, you shoved his arm lightly. “Don’t get too cocky, Ni-ki. I’ll destroy you in the next one.”

The back-and-forth continued as you played match after match, the teasing only escalating as the wins and losses stacked up on both sides. Every time you won, Ni-ki would blush and fidget, either pushing his glasses up his nose or tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Seriously, how are you so good at this?” he muttered after losing another round, his voice a mix of frustration and awe.

“I told you, you should’ve been worried,” you said, grinning as you leaned back, basking in your victory.

But then Ni-ki got his revenge in the next game, and when you lost, he didn’t hold back.

“Aw, what happened?” he said, his voice dripping with mock concern. “I thought you were supposed to be good at this.”

You huffed, crossing your arms as your cheeks burned. “I just… got distracted, that’s all.”

“Sure,” he said, his grin widening. “Keep telling yourself that.”

The teasing was relentless, but you couldn’t deny how much fun you were having. Even as you tried to avoid looking at him after his jabs, you could feel his gaze on you, warm and amused.

When the final match ended—Ni-ki winning by a narrow margin—you let out a dramatic groan, flopping onto your back. “Ugh, I can’t believe you beat me.”

He laughed, leaning over you slightly. “See? I told you I’d win eventually.”

You looked up at him, your pout fading as you saw the way his eyes crinkled at the corners from his smile. For a moment, you forgot all about the game, too caught up in the way he looked so happy and carefree.

“Well,” you said finally, sitting up and brushing some imaginary dust off your pants. “Don’t get used to it. Next time, I’m coming for that win.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said, his voice softening slightly.

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you busied yourself with tidying up the controllers and snack wrappers.

You glanced out the window and froze for a moment, realizing how dark it had gotten. The streetlights outside cast long, flickering shadows along the quiet road. Your heart dropped when you checked the time on your phone: 9:57 PM.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath, hurriedly grabbing your things and stuffing them into your bag. You barely noticed Ni-ki watching you, his head tilted curiously as he leaned back on his hands.

"Leaving already?" he asked, his tone light, though something in his voice felt... reluctant.

You slung your bag over your shoulder, giving him a quick, apologetic smile. "Yeah, I didn’t realize how late it got. I need to get home before it gets any darker out. I’ll see you Monday, okay?"

Ni-ki opened his mouth as if to say something, but then stopped himself, giving you a small nod instead. "Alright, be careful."

You waved at him, muttering a quick, "Bye!" before rushing out of his dorm room and into the hallway.

The building was eerily quiet as you made your way outside, the cool night air hitting your face the moment you stepped through the door. You tightened your grip on your bag, glancing around the street. It was unsettling how empty it felt, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it.

You walked quickly, your footsteps echoing on the pavement. Normally, you’d pop in your earbuds and listen to music to keep yourself company, but tonight, the thought of not hearing what was around you made your stomach twist. Instead, you kept your ears open, alert to every little sound.

The streets were mostly quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the faint hum of a car in the distance. Still, the shadows seemed to move differently tonight, stretching and shifting in ways that made your pulse quicken.

Your pace quickened as well. The faster you walked, the closer you got to home, where you could lock the door and feel safe.

Your heart leapt at the sound of footsteps echoing behind you. They were uneven, dragging slightly against the pavement. You froze mid-step, your breath catching in your throat, and slowly turned around.

A man stumbled a little ways behind you, his silhouette illuminated by the dim glow of a streetlamp. His gait was unsteady, his head lolling slightly to the side, and in his hand was a beer bottle, half-empty and dangling precariously.

The strong stench of alcohol hit you even from a distance, and your pulse eased slightly. Just a drunk guy, you told yourself.

Still, something about the way he moved unsettled you. His eyes seemed unfocused, yet he kept glancing up in your direction, like he was aware of you but trying not to be obvious about it.

You tightened your grip on your bag and turned back around, walking faster now. The sound of his footsteps didn’t fade; if anything, they seemed to quicken as well.

Your stomach twisted, and you glanced back again. The man was closer this time, his lips curling into a sloppy smirk.

“Hey!” he slurred, his voice loud and grating. “Where you goin’ in such a hurry?”

You ignored him, your heart racing as you picked up your pace.

“Hey! I’m talkin’ to you!” he called out again, louder this time. You heard the sound of glass clinking, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him waving the beer bottle at you.

Panic bubbled in your chest. You debated breaking into a sprint, but you didn’t want to show fear—or worse, give him a reason to chase after you.

Instead, you ducked your head and turned sharply down a side street, hoping to lose him.

But the footsteps followed, faster now.

“Hey! Don’t walk away from me!” he shouted, his voice taking on an edge of irritation.

Your breathing quickened, your mind racing as you glanced around for an escape. The street was too empty, too quiet. There was no one to call for help, no open stores, no witnesses.

“C’mon, woman!” he slurred, closer than before. “Just talk to me for a second!”

He made your skin crawl, and without thinking, you broke into a run.

“Hey!” you heard him shout behind you, his footsteps pounding against the pavement as he gave chase.

You turned a corner sharply, your chest heaving as you pushed yourself to go faster. Your legs burned, your bag bouncing against your back, but you didn’t dare slow down.

When you glanced back over your shoulder, your stomach dropped. He was still following, his face twisted into a drunken snarl.

Your heart thundered as you looked ahead, desperately searching for somewhere—anywhere—to hide. That’s when you saw it: a narrow alleyway, tucked between two buildings.

Without thinking, you darted into it, pressing yourself against the wall and holding your breath. The shadows swallowed you whole, and you prayed he wouldn’t notice where you’d gone.

The sound of his footsteps grew louder, then slower, until finally, they stopped.

“Where the hell—” you heard him mutter, his voice slurred and irritated.

You peeked around the corner just in time to see him scratching his head and muttering to himself before walking away.

Relief flooded through you, and you let out a shaky breath, your back sliding against the wall as you sank to the ground.

Your hands trembled as you fumbled through your bag, desperately searching for your phone. After a frantic few moments, you realized with a sinking feeling—you’d left it at Ni-ki’s place.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath, running a hand through your hair. You were too shaken to think straight, but you needed your phone. It wasn’t safe to be out here without it.

With a reluctant sigh, you pushed yourself off the wall and started walking back toward Ni-ki’s dorm. The streets felt even quieter now, the darkness pressing in around you. Every step you took echoed loudly in your ears, and your heartbeat hadn’t fully calmed from the earlier chase.

You were halfway there when a sudden shout split through the silence, followed by a loud, sickening thud.

You froze in place, your head snapping toward the source of the sound. It came from an alley just a few steps ahead.

Instinct told you to keep walking, to pretend you hadn’t heard anything. But curiosity—morbid and insistent—had you inching closer to the alleyway. You peered into the darkness, your breath hitching as your eyes struggled to adjust.

At first, there was nothing. Just the oppressive blackness of the alley. You were about to turn away, deciding it wasn’t worth it, when you heard a faint shuffle.

And then he stumbled out.

The drunk man.

Your stomach churned at the sight of him—his steps were unsteady, but it wasn’t alcohol this time. No, it was the knife protruding from his chest, the hilt gleaming faintly under the dim streetlights. Blood poured from the wound, staining his shirt and dripping onto the ground in thick, steady splatters.

Your mind blanked as you stared, your body frozen in place. He staggered a few steps closer before collapsing onto the pavement, his lifeless eyes staring up at the sky.

You opened your mouth to scream, but the sound died in your throat as your gaze flicked upward.

He was there.

Standing in the shadows of the alley, his white mask almost glowing against the darkness, he tilted his head at you in that familiar, unnerving way, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel his eyes locked on you.

"Ah, sweetheart," his voice drawled, smooth and almost teasing. “We really have to stop meeting like this.”

Your heart nearly stopped. Without thinking, you spun around, ready to run—but you weren’t fast enough.

Before you could take more than a step, his hand shot out, grabbing your arm and yanking you back with a terrifying amount of strength. You barely had time to gasp before he twisted you around, pinning you against the cold, rough wall of the alley.

You struggled, kicking and thrashing, but he caught both your wrists in one hand, pressing them firmly behind your back. His chest pressed against your back, trapping you in place, and you could feel the heat of his breath as he leaned in close to your ear.

“He deserved it,” he whispered, his voice low and almost intimate. “Didn’t you see the way he was looking at you? Following you? Touching you with his eyes like you were something he could take?”

You tried to protest, to tell him to let you go, but your voice refused to cooperate.

“You should be thanking me,” he murmured, his tone laced with dark amusement. “If it weren’t for me, who knows what that disgusting piece of trash would’ve done to you?”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but the way he said them—like he truly believed he’d done you a favor—made your stomach twist.

“You should give me a reward, sweetheart,” he purred, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. “I’ve been so good to you, haven’t I? Taking care of all the people who hurt you.”

“L-let me go,” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling.

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh, but I’m not done yet,” he said, his grip on your wrists tightening slightly. “Not until you say it.”

“S-say what?” you stammered.

“Thank you,” he said simply, his voice still teasing but with an edge that made it clear he wasn’t joking. “Go on, sweetheart. Say thank you to your savior.”

You writhed in his grip, twisting and struggling to free yourself, but his hold was unyielding. Every movement you made only seemed to amuse him further.

“Tsk, tsk,” he tutted softly, like a parent scolding a misbehaving child. “What’s this, sweetheart? Fighting me when I’ve done so much for you? That’s not very nice.”

“Let me go,” you hissed, your voice sharp despite the tremor in it.

Instead of responding, he shifted closer, his body pressing against yours as his free hand moved. You flinched, expecting the worst, but he simply brushed his gloved fingers against your neck, gently pushing your hair aside. The motion was slow, deliberate—almost tender.

“You really don’t know how to behave, do you?” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with something darker. “Here I am, protecting you, keeping you safe, and you don’t even say thank you. Instead, you fight me. Struggle against me. Like I’m the bad guy.”

The words sent a chill down your spine, the weight of them sinking into your chest.

“I didn’t ask for this!” you snapped, trying once more to pull your wrists free, but his grip only tightened.

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it, sweetheart,” he said, his tone almost playful. “You didn’t have to. I wanted to do it. For you.”

His fingers trailed lightly over the nape of your neck, sending a shiver through your body that you couldn’t control.

“You don’t understand,” he whispered, leaning in closer until his masked face was right beside yours. “I see you. Every single day. You’re so… perfect. So pure. And they’re not. They don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

“You’re insane,” you spat, your voice shaking.

“Maybe,” he admitted with a dark chuckle. “But I’m your kind of insane.”

His hand slid down, brushing over your shoulder in a mockery of comfort. “Say it,” he murmured again, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Say thank you. That’s all I want to hear.”

Your throat tightened, and you bit your lip, refusing to give him what he wanted. You wouldn’t play into whatever twisted game he was orchestrating.

But he sighed, the sound carrying a hint of disappointment. “Still being stubborn, huh?” he mused. “That’s okay. I like a challenge.”

His hand moved to your chin, tilting your face slightly to the side. Though you couldn’t see his expression behind the mask, you could feel his gaze burning into you, his intensity unnerving.

“You’ll come around,” he said softly, his voice dripping with certainty. “One day, you’ll see that I’m the only one who truly cares about you.”

Before you could respond, he pulled back slightly, his grip on your wrists loosening just enough for you to jerk free. Without looking back, you bolted, your heart pounding as your feet hit the pavement.

But even as you ran, his voice echoed in your mind, smooth and haunting.

“One day, sweetheart. You’ll thank me.”

You didn’t stop running until the bright lights of the police station came into view. Your chest burned, your breath coming in ragged gasps, but the overwhelming need for safety pushed you forward. Bursting through the station doors, you stumbled inside, drawing the attention of a few officers.

“I need help!” you blurted out, your voice trembling. “There’s been a... a murder. And I saw him. I saw the killer!”

The room went silent for a moment as the officers exchanged quick glances before one of them, a tall man with a kind but serious face, approached you.

“Alright, take a deep breath,” he said, guiding you to a chair. “Let’s get this sorted. Where did this happen?”

You described the location of the alleyway, your voice shaky as you recounted the events. The officer nodded, gesturing for another officer to dispatch units to the scene immediately. Within moments, two officers left the station, heading toward the area you described.

“Okay,” the tall officer said, sitting down across from you with a notepad. “We’re going to need a full report from you. Start from the beginning—everything you saw, everything you experienced.”

Your hands shook as you clasped them tightly together, trying to steady yourself. You closed your eyes for a moment, forcing yourself to recount every detail, no matter how horrifying.

You told them about walking home, the drunk man, and the sounds that had drawn you to the alley. You described the killer in as much detail as you could: the mask, the knife, the dark clothes. You hesitated when you got to the part where he cornered you, his words still ringing in your ears.

“He... he grabbed me,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Pinned me against the wall. He said he was protecting me. That I should... thank him.”

The officer’s pen paused briefly on the notepad, his brows furrowing.

“He said he killed the man for me,” you continued, your throat tightening as you forced the words out. “That he was doing it because he cared about me.”

The officer leaned back slightly, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief. “Did you recognize him? Anything distinctive about his voice, his build, his mannerisms?”

You shook your head, feeling a wave of frustration and helplessness wash over you. “No. He wore a mask, and his voice... it was muffled. But he was tall, and he moved... like he was confident. Like he’d done this before.”

The officer nodded, jotting down your words. “You did the right thing coming here. We’ll have officers sweep the area, and we’ll add this information to the ongoing investigation.”

You sat in the station for what felt like an eternity, the hum of conversations and ringing phones fading into the background as your nerves took over. Every second that passed felt like it stretched longer than the last, the events of the night playing on a loop in your head.

Finally, the door swung open, and a pair of officers walked in, their expressions grim. One of them leaned in to speak with the tall officer who had taken your statement. After a brief conversation, he turned back to you and gestured for you to come over.

“They found the body,” he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with tension. “It was hidden behind some trash cans in the alley. The killer’s gone. But there’s something you need to see.”

Your stomach dropped, but you forced yourself to follow him to a desk where a computer screen was lit with grainy black-and-white footage.

“This is from a nearby CCTV camera,” the officer explained, clicking to play the video.

You leaned forward, your heart pounding as the footage started. There you were, walking down the street, your bag slung over your shoulder. You saw the drunk man trailing behind you, stumbling slightly, clutching the beer bottle. Your pulse quickened as you watched yourself pause and glance back before speeding up, the man still following.

The video cut briefly to another angle. The drunk man was now heading back down the street after you’d run. Suddenly, a shadow emerged from the alleyway. A figure stepped out behind him, silent and deliberate. The killer.

You watched, frozen, as the killer grabbed the man and pulled him into the alley in one swift motion. The man barely had time to react before disappearing into the shadows.

The screen flickered and you appeared, cautiously approaching the alley and stopping as if trying to decide whether to investigate. Then, just as you remembered, you turned and began walking away—only to get dragged in.

The next part made your blood run cold.

The camera caught the moment the killer stepped into view, just as you ran off-screen. He stopped in the middle of the street, standing there like a statue, watching you flee. Then, slowly, his head tilted upward, and he looked directly at the camera.

Even through the grainy footage, the gleaming white mask was unmistakable.

The killer stared into the camera for a long moment, tilting his head like a predator examining prey. Then, without any sense of urgency, he turned and disappeared into the shadows.

The officer paused the video, his jaw tight as he glanced at you. “The way he looked at the camera… it’s almost like he wanted us to see him.”

You couldn’t speak. Your throat felt dry, and your hands were clammy as you clutched the edge of the desk. The image of the masked figure burned into your mind was now accompanied by that chilling motion—the way he’d looked at the camera, unafraid, almost playful.

“Do you know him?” the officer asked gently, his tone careful.

You shook your head quickly, maybe a little too quickly. “No. I—I don’t know anyone who’d…” You trailed off, your voice faltering.

The officer studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Alright,” he said finally. “We’re going to keep investigating, and we’ll need to keep in contact with you. If anything—anything at all—comes to mind, you let us know.”

You nodded, your mind still racing as the image of the killer’s mask lingered.

The officer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “For now, we’ll have someone escort you home. You shouldn’t be out there alone.”

Home. The thought of being alone right now was terrifying, but staying here with the memory of that footage wasn’t much better.

As an officer prepared to walk you out, you glanced back at the frozen frame on the screen. The mask, the tilted head, the casual way he’d turned and walked away.

He wasn’t just watching.

He was toying with you.

The car ride was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the silence as you stared out the window, your mind racing with everything that had happened. The officer glanced at you occasionally, likely noticing your pale complexion and tense posture.

As you neared your neighborhood, you suddenly remembered your phone. "Wait," you blurted out, sitting up straighter. "Can we stop by my friend's place? I left my phone there earlier."

The officer hesitated but nodded. “Alright, just make it quick. What’s the address?”

You rattled it off, and within minutes, the car pulled up in front of Ni-ki’s building. You quickly unbuckled your seatbelt, mumbling a soft, "I’ll be right back," before stepping out and jogging up to the building. Your stomach churned with unease as you entered and climbed the stairs.

When you reached Ni-ki’s door, you paused, glancing back down the hall. It was quiet, almost too quiet. Taking a deep breath, you raised your hand and knocked.

It took a few moments, but the door finally opened.

Ni-ki stood there, his damp hair pushed back messily, droplets of water still clinging to his neck. He had clearly just stepped out of the shower, wearing a loose hoodie and sweatpants that hung lazily on his frame.

“Hey,” he greeted with a soft smile, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. “I was wondering when you’d come back for this.” He held up your phone, which had been sitting on his desk.

You gave him a sheepish smile, reaching for it. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I got distracted earlier and completely forgot.”

He chuckled, leaning against the doorframe as he handed it to you. “No problem. You okay, though? You seem… tense.”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, clutching the phone to your chest. “Just—uh, long day. Thanks, Ni-ki.”

Before he could say anything else, you turned and started walking back down the hall.

“Wait—” Ni-ki called after you, his voice tinged with concern. “You sure you’re okay? You’re acting weird.”

You ignored him, speeding up your pace. “I’m fine! See you Monday!”

“(Y/N)—”

You didn’t stop, practically jogging back to the police car. You climbed in, shutting the door behind you and exhaling deeply as the officer glanced at you in the rearview mirror.

“Got what you needed?” she asked.

“Yeah,” you muttered, not meeting her gaze.

The drive home was just as silent as before, the weight of the night pressing down on your chest. When the officer pulled up outside your apartment, she gave you a small nod. “Stay inside tonight. Lock your doors. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, stepping out and heading to your door.

Once inside, you locked the door behind you, sliding the chain into place for extra security. You leaned against it, exhaling deeply as your heart continued to race.

You glanced at your phone, still clutched tightly in your hand, and felt a pang of guilt. Ni-ki had been nothing but kind to you, and you’d brushed him off so abruptly.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about the killer, about the way he’d spoken to you, about the way he’d looked at you. It was like his presence still lingered, even now, haunting you.

With a sigh, you set your phone down and headed to your room, determined to push the events of the night out of your mind. You needed sleep—desperately.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts. You glanced down, seeing a message from Ni-ki.

Ni-ki: Hey, you okay? I know you were in a rush earlier… If you need someone to talk to, I'm here.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you couldn't quite shake off the tension in your chest. You quickly typed back.

You: Yeah, I’m fine. Just… been a weird day, you know?

You stared at the screen for a moment before adding:

You: Would you mind calling me? I could use someone to talk to…

It didn’t take long for him to reply.

Ni-ki: Of course. I’ll call you now.

A few moments later, your phone rang. You swiped to answer, bringing it to your ear.

“Hey,” Ni-ki’s voice came through, calm and warm, despite the underlying concern. “You doing okay now?”

You leaned back against the wall, feeling a sense of relief just hearing his voice.

“Yeah,” you replied softly. “Just… everything feels a little off tonight. I’m glad you messaged.”

He was quiet for a moment, and you could almost picture him thinking.

“I’m glad you reached out,” he said finally. “You don’t have to go through stuff like this alone. I know it might seem like everything’s chaotic, but you’ve got me. You can always talk to me.”

His words had an unexpected comfort to them, and you felt some of the weight lift off your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you said quietly. “I really appreciate it, Ni-ki.”

“I mean it,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “Anytime, seriously. If you need a distraction or just someone to listen, I’ve got you.”

You smiled to yourself, grateful for his kindness.

“Maybe we can talk more tomorrow, huh? I’ll make sure to check in on you again. Don’t want you feeling like this all night.”

You felt a slight pang of guilt but quickly pushed it away.

“I’ll be okay. And… thanks again. I’m just gonna try to get some sleep.”

“Sounds good. Get some rest, and if anything comes up, just text me, alright?”

“I will. Goodnight, Ni-ki.”

“Goodnight,” he said, the sincerity in his voice making you feel a little lighter.

As you ended the call, you leaned back into your pillow, feeling a bit more at ease.

The doorbell rang again the next morning, pulling you from your thoughts. You blinked, confused, before walking over to the door and pulling it open. To your surprise, there stood Ni-ki, looking as effortlessly stylish as ever, wearing a relaxed smile.

“I’m taking you to the mall,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You stared at him for a moment, your eyes widening. “Wait, what? You’re... what?”

Ni-ki chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction. “I figured you could use a little break. You’ve been cooped up here long enough.”

You glanced at the clock. It was a bit earlier than you expected. “But I—”

Before you could protest any further, you heard the sound of your own feet hitting the floor as you dashed towards your bedroom. “Give me a second! I need to get dressed!”

Ni-ki didn’t seem to mind. He just chuckled again, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

You quickly pulled your clothes out of your closet, racing against the clock to change, but as you did, you could hear the soft sound of Ni-ki sitting on the couch, the hum of his phone as he likely scrolled through something. Even as you hurried to change, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous—he was waiting for you.

After awhile, you stepped out, having finally gotten dressed in something comfortable but still cute enough for a day out. You were still adjusting your jacket when you caught sight of Ni-ki, his attention fixed on his phone.

“You ready?” he asked, glancing up from his phone when he noticed you stepping into the living room.

You nodded, feeling a little bashful but excited at the same time. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Ni-ki grinned and stood up, tossing his phone onto the couch. “I knew you’d be ready in no time.”

Ni-ki led the way out of the apartment, holding the door open for you. The cool air greeted you as you stepped outside, and for the first time in a while, you felt a sense of calm settle over you

As you both walked to the car, Ni-ki kept his usual easygoing demeanor, flashing you an occasional grin, but his eyes held a warmth that made you feel at ease.

Once you got to the car, Ni-ki opened the door for you with a dramatic bow. “After you, milady,” he teased, his smile playful.

You laughed, stepping into the car. “You’re a dork,” you said, shaking your head.

He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the car pulling out of the parking lot as he hummed along to the song on the radio. The drive was smooth, with Ni-ki chatting casually, asking about how you’d been feeling lately, if you were still swamped with schoolwork, and if you had any specific things you wanted to do at the mall.

“I’m just along for the ride, really,” you said, feeling a little more relaxed with each passing moment. “I’m happy to just hang out.”

Ni-ki glanced at you, his lips curving upward. “Good, ‘cause I was planning on getting us some snacks, trying on some clothes, and maybe finding something ridiculous to make you laugh.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “I’m down for that,” you agreed.

The ride went by quickly, with the two of you talking and joking about random things, from bad fashion choices to the latest crime drama episode you both had watched recently. When the mall came into view, Ni-ki parked the car, giving you a quick glance. “Ready to have some fun?”

You nodded, your smile wide. “Absolutely.”

You and Ni-ki wandered through the mall, hopping from store to store, trying on ridiculous hats and laughing at each other’s choices. He picked out a bright pink beanie with oversized ears, putting it on your head and grinning mischievously. "You should totally rock this look," he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You rolled your eyes but played along, giving a dramatic twirl. "Do you think it brings out my eyes?" you joked, striking a pose.

Ni-ki’s smile widened, and he leaned in slightly, as if seriously considering the question. "Honestly? It definitely makes your eyes pop. Maybe not in the way you think, though."

You burst into laughter, nudging him playfully in the side. "You’re ridiculous," you said between giggles. But you didn’t mind—it felt good to laugh, to feel normal for once.

After some time, you both left the store, each with a few new items in hand, and wandered into the food court. Ni-ki, ever the expert in decision-making, immediately made a beeline for the bubble tea stand. “You want your usual?” he asked, already pulling out his wallet.

“Of course,” you said with a grin. “You know me too well.”

As you waited for your drinks, Ni-ki leaned against the counter casually, his expression relaxed. “This was fun, right? I’m glad you decided to come out with me today.” His tone was light, but there was something behind it—an undercurrent of sincerity that made you pause.

You smiled back at him, grateful for the day. “Yeah. I needed this... more than I thought.”

The bubble tea arrived, and the two of you walked over to a nearby table, settling in with your drinks. Ni-ki took a sip of his, then glanced over at you, his brow furrowing just slightly. "So, how have you been holding up? I know everything’s been... a little crazy lately."

You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to drag the mood down, but knowing Ni-ki would probably notice if you didn’t say something. You took a deep breath, sipping your tea as you tried to find the right words.

"I’ve been okay," you said, after a beat. "Some days are better than others, but... it’s easier when I’m with people I trust. Like you."

Ni-ki gave you a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good. I’m glad I’m one of those people,” he said, his voice gentle.

You both fell into a comfortable silence, sipping your drinks and occasionally exchanging a few words.

Afterwards you were strolling through the aisles of the store, enjoying the soft hum of the background music and the peaceful atmosphere, when something caught your eye—a shelf full of adorable plushies. You couldn’t resist, and you found yourself picking up a cute little bear, smiling at how soft it was. But in that moment of distraction, you didn’t realize that Ni-ki had wandered off somewhere else in the store.

A few moments later, you heard the voices.

At first, they were distant, but slowly they grew louder, the tone dripping with mockery. You turned to see a group of familiar faces from school—some guys and girls who were known for their snide remarks.

“Wow, look at this,” one of the guys sneered. “All grown up, and still playing with toys?”

You felt your stomach tighten, but you didn’t let it show. You had heard this all before. Still, the words felt heavier today.

“You know, you should really grow up,” another girl added, laughing with the rest of them. “It’s kind of embarrassing, don’t you think?”

Normally, you’d brush it off with a sarcastic remark or a clever comeback, but today was different. You just couldn’t summon the energy to fight back. Instead, you gave a quiet, “It’s just a plushie,” and shrugged, turning to walk away.

But that didn’t stop them.

“Really, you’re such a child. It’s honestly pathetic,” the girl said, her voice mocking.

You stopped in your tracks, taking a deep breath. You were about to walk away again when she added something that made your blood run cold.

“You’re just as pathetic as Ni-ki. He probably doesn’t even care about you?”

The words were like a slap to the face. Without thinking, your eyes snapped toward her, your glare icy.

“You don’t know anything about us,” you hissed, your voice low and sharp. “Maybe you should focus on your own life instead of judging others.”

The girl’s expression faltered, but she wasn’t done. With a malicious grin, she raised her hand, ready to slap you across the face.

But before she could, a strong hand shot out, gripping her wrist firmly.

“Don’t even think about it,” came a low, dangerous voice.

You looked up in surprise to see Ni-ki, towering over the group. His usual relaxed posture was gone, replaced by a stance of quiet fury. The others fell silent, their eyes wide.

Ni-ki’s grip on the girl’s wrist tightened, and she yelped, trying to pull away. But Ni-ki didn’t budge.

“They can make fun of me all they want,” he said, his voice cold and low, each word laced with intensity. “But if you ever, ever make fun of her again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The girl blinked up at him, looking stunned, but Ni-ki didn’t release his hold. He was a completely different person now, standing tall that made it clear he wasn’t going to let anyone make fun of you—not now, not ever.

The group shifted uncomfortably, clearly not used to seeing him like this. Ni-ki’s gaze never wavered from the girl, who was still trying to wriggle out of his grip. He spoke again, his words cutting through the tension like a knife.

“If I hear you even think about messing with her again, I’ll make sure it’s the last time. Got it?”

The girl’s face went pale, and after a moment, she finally pulled her wrist from his grasp. She didn’t say anything else—she didn’t have to. Ni-ki had made his point clear.

As the group scattered, you stood there in shock, your heart pounding in your chest. You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

Ni-ki turned to you, his expression softening slightly, though there was still a hint of that protective edge. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

You nodded, still processing everything. “Yeah… Thanks. I guess I owe you one,” you said.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a shrug, his usual smile returning. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

With that, the two of you continued your walk through the store.

The rain poured down heavily, a soft, constant drumming against the window as you sat at your kitchen table. You were absentmindedly eating your cereal when the sound of the TV caught your attention. The news anchor’s voice was steady but the words were jarring.

“A group of teens, including some local college students, have been reported missing. Authorities are investigating their whereabouts, but no leads have been found as of now.”

You froze, the spoon in your hand slipping from your grip and clattering to the floor. The world around you seemed to freeze for a moment, your heart skipping a beat. It took a few seconds for the words to register—teens, a group, missing.

You couldn’t help but feel the creeping dread settle in your chest. You quickly stood up, your movements rushed and frantic.

You put your bowl down with shaking hands, grabbed your phone, keys, and bag, not even bothering to grab a proper breakfast. You yanked on your jacket, grabbed your umbrella, and rushed out the door, the sound of the rain growing louder as you fought against the storm.

When you finally reached the school grounds, the rain hadn’t let up. You were drenched, but it didn’t matter. You immediately zeroed in on Ni-ki’s tall frame, his head down as he rifled through his bag, clearly looking for something.

You took a deep breath and made your way toward him, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you.

"Ni-ki!" you called out, stepping forward.

He jumped in surprise, his body stiffening as he spun around to look at you. His wide eyes softened when he saw you, though there was an edge of confusion in his expression.

“Hey,” he said, his voice still heavy with sleep, probably because it was so early. "You okay? You’re all wet.”

You nodded quickly, shaking your umbrella as you stood in front of him. "Yeah, I’m fine. I just—" You paused, your heart hammering in your chest. "Did you hear about the missing teens?"

Ni-ki’s face went still for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Then he sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair, as if processing everything in his head. “Yeah. I heard. I don’t know… it’s weird, right? Some of them were people from school.”

You nodded, feeling a pit grow in your stomach. “Yeah. It’s just… strange, with everything that’s been happening lately.” You bit your lip, trying to read his face. He wasn’t showing any obvious signs of worry, but then again, Ni-ki had always been good at hiding his emotions when it suited him.

Ni-ki paused, his expression hardening for a moment. “I know. But we don’t know anything for sure yet. I’m sure the police will figure it out.”

You studied him for a moment, watching how composed he was despite the situation. He was always so calm, but today it was different. You noticed how his shoulders were just a little stiffer than usual, his gaze just a little more distant, though he quickly returned his focus to you.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, his smile returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s get to class.”

You nodded, following him, but the unease that had settled in your chest refused to leave. Something felt off.

The entire day felt off, like there was an invisible weight pressing on you, pulling your attention in a thousand directions. As you sat in class, your fingers kept scrolling through your phone, searching for any new information about the missing students. Every news site you checked had the same vague updates, all of them repeating the same information—the authorities were still investigating, but there were no leads. The unease grew heavier in your chest with each passing minute.

You didn’t even realize you weren’t paying attention to the lesson until the teacher called on you, pulling you back to reality with a jolt. You hastily tried to catch up, your mind racing with thoughts about what might be happening. The missing students. The weird, unsettling feeling that something was wrong.

As the bell rang for the next class, you absentmindedly packed up your things, your mind still elsewhere. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice Ni-ki sitting next to you, watching you with a careful, intense gaze.

It wasn’t until he spoke that you realized he’d been looking at you for a while. His voice was low, almost dangerous in its calmness.

“You haven’t been paying attention all day,” he said, his tone not accusatory but focused, like he was analyzing every little thing. “What’s going on?”

You looked up, surprised by the directness in his tone. Ni-ki’s eyes weren’t his usual playful, teasing self—they were sharp, focused, and a little darker than usual. There was something in them that made your heart race, something you couldn’t quite place.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to tell him what you were feeling, or if it was just your imagination running wild. The tension in the air seemed to thicken as he waited for you to respond, and despite everything, you felt the need to be honest with him.

“I don’t know…” you trailed off, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “It’s just… something feels wrong, Ni-ki. There’s this whole thing with the missing students, and it doesn’t feel like it’s over. I keep thinking about all of it. I can’t stop.”

Ni-ki’s gaze never left you as you spoke, and he gave a slight nod, as if he understood. The tension in his eyes didn’t fade, though—if anything, it seemed to grow.

“You’re not the only one who feels it,” he said quietly. “But you’ve got to be careful. People don’t always show their true faces. And sometimes, the things that feel wrong are just the beginning.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking into you. There was something about the way he said it—like he knew more than he was letting on. You wanted to ask him more, to press him for details, but the way he looked at you made you think better of it.

Instead, you gave a small, uneasy nod. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were already caught up in something much bigger than you realized.

Ni-ki turned his gaze away after a moment, but not before his eyes flickered down to your hand, which you had been fidgeting with absentmindedly. He seemed to think about something for a second, and then, without warning, he reached out and gently brushed his fingers over yours. The simple touch was enough to send a jolt through your body, but when he met your eyes again, his expression had softened, almost reassuring.

“Don’t let it consume you,” he said, his voice more tender now, as if trying to comfort you in his own way. “We’ll figure it out, together.”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure what he meant by together.

After school, you had made up your mind not to stay out too late. You just wanted to get home, rest, and focus on the things you needed to catch up on. The bus ride was uneventful, and you felt a small sense of relief as you stepped off and made your way home. The familiar walk up to your building gave you a little comfort, and you entered quickly, glad to be out of the rain.

Once inside, you kicked off your shoes, tossed your bag onto the couch, and went straight for the bathroom to wash away the stress of the day. The hot water from the shower was soothing, and you stood there for a while, letting it run over your shoulders as you closed your eyes, lost in the sensation of warmth and calm.

When you finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel, you dried off and got dressed in something comfortable, and started studying, but a few hours later your stomach growled loudly, a reminder that it had been far too long since you’d eaten.

You sighed, glancing at the clock. It was already late, and you had hardly eaten all day. You stood up from your desk, stretched, and made your way to the kitchen to see what you could scrounge up. As you opened the fridge, you found a few things—a block of cheese, some leftover rice, some random vegetables—but not nearly enough to make a decent meal. Your eyes landed on the empty shelf where you normally kept the essentials like eggs, bread, and a few other things.

You cursed under your breath.

You hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a while, and it was becoming apparent just how low on supplies you were. You’d been putting it off for days, but now you were paying the price. You pulled out your phone to make a quick list of the things you needed to pick up: eggs, bread, some fresh produce, and whatever else would make an easy dinner. You threw on a jacket, grabbed your phone and keys, and headed back out the door.

The chill of the evening air hit you as soon as you stepped outside. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, the rain still lightly falling from the sky. The store wasn’t too far, but you’d be walking through puddles, and you could already feel the dampness creeping into your shoes. Still, you needed the food, so you picked up your pace and headed in the direction of the local grocery store.

By the time you reached the entrance, you had that familiar grocery store smell—the faint scent of freshly baked bread mixed with the cool air of refrigeration—and you pushed open the door, ready to get what you needed and get back home.

You grabbed your essentials—some vegetables, some rice, and a few other ingredients to make the dinner you had planned.

You walked out of the store, the cold evening air hitting your face as you carefully balanced your bag of groceries. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out, glancing at it absentmindedly as you began to make your way back to your apartment. You swiped through a few messages and notifications, barely paying attention to the route you were taking.

But when you finally looked up, you froze.

The street around you didn’t look familiar at all. You glanced back, realizing you must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Your surroundings had shifted from the usual city bustle to an unfamiliar area with dilapidated houses lining the street. The buildings looked old, their windows boarded up, and the paint on the walls was chipped, peeling away from years of neglect. The street was quiet, almost eerily so, and the air felt still in a way that made your skin prickle.

You checked your phone to see your location, but it didn't help much. You could have sworn you’d taken the right path.

You stood for a moment, considering whether to retrace your steps or try to find another route back home. That’s when the sound reached your ears—a sharp, blood-curdling scream. Your heart skipped a beat. It echoed through the quiet, a cry filled with terror and desperation.

Your mind screamed at you to turn around, to keep walking and get back to the familiar streets. But something inside you stirred—a compulsion you couldn’t shake. Another scream, followed by a cry for help, rang out, louder this time. The desperation in the voice pulled at you like an invisible thread.

Without fully realizing it, you started moving toward the sound. You glanced around nervously, double-checking that you weren’t being followed, but all you could see were the looming, abandoned houses. The streetlights flickered sporadically, casting long, haunting shadows over the cracked pavement. The atmosphere felt heavy, suffocating.

You set your groceries down carefully on the ground, the sound of the bag crinkling in the quiet making you pause for a moment. You slowly made your way toward the large house where the screams had come from. It stood at the end of the street, a large, imposing structure with peeling paint and broken windows. It looked almost like a mansion at one point, but now it was barely standing, with decay eating away at its foundation.

You hesitated, but that instinct in you, the one telling you to keep moving, pushed you forward. You approached the front door, cautiously reaching out to try the handle. To your surprise, it turned easily, creaking as the door slowly opened with little resistance.

The inside was just as unsettling as the outside. It was dark, the only light coming from the weak glow of the streetlights outside, filtering through the broken windows. Dust clung to every surface, and the air smelled stale, like it hadn’t been disturbed in years. You hesitated for a moment, then pulled out your phone and turned on the flashlight. The small beam of light illuminated the eerie interior, casting long shadows along the walls.

You walked quietly, each step careful, your heart hammering in your chest. There was an unsettling silence now, the kind that makes every creak of the floorboard seem like an alarm ringing.

As you moved through the rooms, you found only remnants of the house’s former life—old furniture covered in dust, paintings half-faded with age, and broken mirrors hanging crookedly on the walls. It didn’t feel right, like the house itself was hiding something.

You continued forward, your pulse racing, until you saw the stairs. The narrow staircase creaked under your feet as you started to climb, the air thick with tension. You took each step slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. The further you climbed, the more oppressive the silence became, making you feel like you were intruding on something dangerous.

At the top you found another hallway, dark and seemingly endless. The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you slowly moved forward, the sound of your breath heavy in your ears. You didn’t know what you were expecting to find, but with each step you took, the feeling of dread only deepened.

You were too far in now. Something had drawn you here, and no matter how much you wanted to turn back, you couldn’t.

You continued down the dark hallway at the top of the stairs, your flashlight flicking over the faded wallpaper and old doors that creaked slightly with the movement of the house. The air was thick with dust, and the floorboards groaned beneath your steps as you moved forward, every creak seeming louder in the stillness.

But despite the eerie surroundings, there was nothing—no signs of anyone being here, no more sounds of distress. The rooms you peeked into were abandoned, just like the rest of the house. Some were empty, their floors covered in broken glass or debris; others held old furniture, now falling apart with age.

You moved cautiously, stepping lightly to avoid making noise, but your mind was beginning to feel like it was playing tricks on you. The urgency that had pushed you to come this far was fading, replaced by a strange, unsettling feeling.

Your flashlight beam swept over more rooms—empty, forgotten, silent. You checked the windows of each room, but they were all boarded up or shattered, the light outside barely filtering through the gaps. Nothing moved, nothing stirred. The only sound was the slow rhythm of your own breath and the occasional rustle of your shoes against the old carpet.

The stairs seemed endless, but you couldn’t stop now. Something was pulling you forward, urging you to climb higher, even though you knew deep down it might be a mistake.

You reached the next floor, your heart racing with each step. This floor, just like the others, was coated in layers of dust and neglect. You didn’t dare touch anything; you just scanned each room quickly, hoping for a clue or something to justify your presence. But still, there was nothing.

You stood in the center of the hallway, a small sense of dread growing in your chest. There was no sign of anyone, no one to help. The house was as empty and cold as ever.

You sighed in frustration, about to turn and leave, when you noticed something different. A door at the end of the hall—a door that looked… newer, as though it hadn’t suffered the same wear as the rest of the house. Something about it caught your attention. It wasn’t the same peeling wood or faded paint. It was almost as if the door had been replaced, but not the rest of the house.

You slowly moved toward it, your hand hesitating on the doorknob.

You turned the knob, and the door creaked open.

On the other side was a small, dimly lit room. It was sparsely furnished—just a single chair in the center, facing a tall mirror that seemed too clean, too pristine in this neglected space. The rest of the room was dark, the corners shrouded in shadows.

But in the reflection of the mirror, you saw something that made your blood run cold.

A figure standing behind you.

You spun around, your breath catching in your throat, but the room was empty.

You turned back to the mirror, only to see your own wide-eyed expression, the flashlight still trembling in your hand.

Was it a trick of the light?

You couldn’t tell, but the sense of dread intensified, and every instinct you had screamed at you to leave.

Your heart raced in your chest as you hesitated in the hallway, the silence around you thick with dread, you stood frozen, unsure whether to retreat or continue forward. But the distant cries for help, desperate and pleading, pushed you onward.

You slowly climbed the last set of stairs, careful with every step, your breath shallow as you tried not to make a sound. The air seemed heavier here, colder, as if the building itself was alive with something sinister. Each creak of the floorboards under your feet was unnervingly loud in the silence, but you forced yourself to keep moving.

At the top of the stairs, the floor seemed different—newer, almost cleaner than the rest of the house. You could hear faint whimpers, like someone in pain. Your stomach churned, a wave of nausea washing over you, but you ignored it. You needed to know what was happening, needed to help whoever it was.

You crept down the hall, pausing only when you reached the door at the end. It was barely ajar, just enough to allow a glimpse of what lay beyond. Hesitantly, you peered through the crack, your heart nearly stopping when the scene before you registered.

It was a girl—someone you knew well from school. The same one from the mall, the one who had tried to hit you just days ago. But now, she was in a different state entirely. Bound to a chair, her body covered in blood, her eyes glazed with pain and fear. Her hair matted with sweat, her clothes torn and stained. It was a sight so revolting it made your stomach turn.

You gasped softly, the breath catching in your throat. The scene felt surreal, as if you were watching some horrible nightmare. The blood, both dried and fresh, had stained the chair she was tied to, the dark red splotches contrasting against the pale, almost sickly white of her skin. It was a haunting sight.

A few moments of stunned silence passed as your mind struggled to comprehend what you were seeing. Then, something inside you clicked—instinct, maybe, or the sheer desperation to do something. You couldn’t just leave her like this. Not after everything you had already witnessed.

You quickly opened the door just enough to squeeze through, the sharp creak of the hinges making your heart race even faster. As you stepped inside, your feet almost felt like they were dragging on their own. You moved toward her cautiously, afraid of alerting anyone who might be nearby.

Her breathing was shallow, but she was still alive. She winced, a painful sound escaping her as you approached, her eyes struggling to stay open. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of sympathy for her—no matter the past between you two, no one deserved to be in this state.

With trembling hands, you carefully assessed her wounds. The blood was coming from several places, mostly on her legs and arms, but there were deeper gashes across her torso. It was hard to tell how deep they were, but they were certainly serious.

You quickly pressed against the worst of her wounds. She let out a pained groan, weakly trying to shift her body, but she couldn’t move much. The bindings kept her in place, and all you could do was try to stem the flow of blood.

Her body tensed at the pressure, and she let out a strangled cry. You couldn’t bear to think of how long she had been like this, how much time had passed since she’d been brought here.

As you worked, a noise caught your attention—a soft mumbling, almost unintelligible. Your blood ran cold as you turned your head toward the sound, your eyes locking on a partially open door to another room, connected to where you were. The figure of someone moved within, their back to you.

You didn’t need to see their face to know who it was.

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end as panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to remain calm. You looked back at the girl, who was still breathing heavily but seemed barely conscious.

You couldn’t leave her. You couldn’t.

But you also knew that the moment the killer came back in, you’d both be in even more danger. You had to act fast.

Carefully, you stood and slowly, almost silently, backed away from the girl, your heart pounding in your ears. You closed the door behind you as quietly as possible, the faintest creak echoing in the silence of the house. You took a breath, holding it as you peered through the crack in the door.

Just as you thought you were safe, you saw the killer reappear in the room, the door creaking open. His cold gaze flicked to the girl, who was still bound to the chair. Without even glancing around, he stepped forward, his hands moving to adjust the knife in his grip.

You sucked in a breath, watching in silence as he leaned down, brushing his fingers over her bloodied face.

The knife glinted under the dim light as he loomed over her, speaking in a low, almost amused tone.

And then, your body tensed—your instincts screamed at you to leave, to run before he noticed you.

The moment you stepped back, the sharp crunch of broken glass beneath your foot was like a thunderclap in the otherwise silent house. Your heart froze in your chest, you lifted your foot, eyes immediately widening.

Your breath caught in your throat as you heard a slow, deliberate creak from behind the door. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled. Without even thinking, your gaze snapped toward the crack between the door and the frame. And there he was.

The killer. His white mask was the only thing visible, but it was enough. You could feel the weight of his gaze through the small sliver, cold, calculating. The mask seemed almost too calm, too collected. He hadn't even flinched at the noise. No, he was waiting. He was waiting for you to realize the mistake you'd just made.

The cruel, teasing voice that followed was enough to freeze you in place.

"Well, well," he purred from behind the door, his tone dripping with amusement. "Looks like we've got a curious little mouse here, don't we?"

Your stomach dropped as the fear, the raw terror, finally gripped you. You felt your pulse thunder in your ears as he slowly, almost deliberately, tilted his head, eyes still hidden behind that mask.

Before you could even think, before your body could process anything else, you screamed. The sound was torn from your throat, pure panic flooding every fiber of your being. You scrambled backward, your feet slipping slightly on the old wooden floor as you scrambled toward the staircase, your heartbeat pounding so loud in your chest that you could hardly hear anything else.

Your mind screamed at you to move faster, but your legs felt like they were made of lead. Every step you took seemed to echo in the vast, empty space, and you could already hear his footsteps behind you—closer, too close.

You shot a desperate glance over your shoulder as you reached the stairs. The killer was still there, stepping into the hallway, his slow, deliberate pace making your heart race even faster. His mask was almost inhuman in its stillness, but there was a look in his posture—predatory, like he was enjoying the chase.

You stumble down the creaking, narrow staircase, your breath coming in ragged gasps as panic claws at your chest. Tears blur your vision, streaking your face as the blood on your trembling hands smears across the banister. You don’t dare look back. You can’t.

Above you, his voice echoes through the decaying walls, low and mocking, sending chills down your spine.

“Run all you want,” he calls, his tone light, almost playful. “You know I’ll catch you.”

Your foot catches on a loose board, nearly sending you sprawling, but you grip the railing and push yourself forward. His words follow you, slithering into your ears like poison.

“You can’t hide from me. You know that, don’t you? I’ll always find you. Always.”

The air is heavy with the smell of dust and mildew, but it does nothing to muffle his voice.

“You and that little curiosity of yours,” he sneers, his footsteps steady and unhurried. “That’s what got you into this mess. You wanted to see what was behind the curtain, didn’t you?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, your legs screaming in protest as you take the steps two at a time.

“No one else deserves you,” he continues, his voice dipping into something darker, more possessive. “Only me. And if I can’t have you…”

You swallow back a sob as his words twist, their meaning sharp as a blade.

“…then no one can.”

Your foot hits the landing, and you dart into the next corridor, the peeling wallpaper and flickering lights a blur around you. Still, his voice lingers, wrapping around you like a noose.

“You’ll be mine in the end. You know it. Why keep running, darling? Why deny the inevitable?”

You bite down on your lip to stifle the cry threatening to escape. The hallway stretches endlessly before you, and the sound of his steps—slow, deliberate—echoes closer, as if he’s right behind you.

Your chest burns as you push forward, forcing your legs to move despite the overwhelming ache. The hallway feels endless, the dim, flickering lights above casting warped shadows that seem to close in on you. Each creak of the floorboards behind you makes your heart skip a beat, his taunting voice dripping into your ears like acid.

“You can’t run forever,” he hums, his tone like a lullaby meant to unsettle. “Every step you take just brings you closer to me. Don’t you see? This is fate. You were made for me.”

A sob escapes you before you can stifle it, your body betraying the terror that threatens to consume you whole. You glance frantically over your shoulder, but the staircase behind you is empty. He isn’t there, and yet his voice sounds as if it’s just over your shoulder, like he’s breathing down your neck.

You shove open a door at the end of the hall, the old wood groaning on its hinges as you stumble into what looks like a storage room. Rusted tools hang on the walls, their edges sharp and unforgiving, glinting faintly in the pale light from a single bare bulb swaying overhead. Your breath catches as you scan the room, desperately searching for a way out.

“There you go,” he purrs, his voice impossibly close now, like he’s whispering directly into your ear. “Hide, if it makes you feel safer. I like when you play hard to get. It makes it so much sweeter when I finally catch you.”

You slam the door shut and lock it, your shaking hands fumbling with the rusted bolt. The sound of his footsteps grows louder, heavier now, deliberate in their approach. You back away from the door, your eyes darting around the room. The windows are boarded up, thick planks of wood nailed across the frames, no hope of escape.

Your breathing is shallow, uneven. Your hands curl into fists, fingernails biting into your palms as you try to will yourself to think. Focus. Focus.

Then, silence.

The footsteps stop. His voice is gone.

Your heart pounds in the stillness, the quiet almost worse than his taunts. You strain your ears, listening for anything—any sign of movement, any sound that could tell you where he is. But there’s nothing.

A soft knock on the door shatters the quiet, making you jump back with a gasp.

“Are you scared?” he asks, his voice calm now, almost tender. “You don’t need to be. I’ll take care of you. I’ll make this quick.”

The doorknob jiggles. Once. Twice. Then, a violent bang as he slams against the door, rattling the frame.

You scramble backward, your hands blindly reaching for anything, and they land on something cold and solid—a wrench, heavy and covered in dust.

Another bang. The bolt starts to bend under the pressure.

“I’m coming in, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a sickening glee. “Let’s end this little game, shall we?”

The door bursts open, and there he is, silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway, his figure towering, his shadow stretching across the floor like it’s ready to swallow you whole.

But you’re ready this time. Your grip tightens on the wrench, and as he steps into the room, you swing.

Part 2 here

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Taglist: @totallynotj3zz @starfallia @jiryunn @yangjungwonnie

@miainthestarsss @caithefly @hhyvsstuff @kkamismom12

@ilyunjina @xiaoquanquans @heeseungspookie @flwwon

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miabebe · 7 months ago

Text

The Intruder's Eye (CSC)

Was it really love if it didn't include just a little madness? What was love if it didn't cross the line? And how was it love if it didn't make one want to keep an eye at all times?

Pairing - Afab!reader x Choi Seungcheol

Word count - 6K (I failed the below 5k challenge T.T)

Genre - Oof buckle up my friends. This is a halloween special so I tried not hold back - its a psycho-thriller, there's smut and a whole lot of pyscho-ness whelp Warnings under the cut!

A/n - It's the week leading up to Halloween folks! Unfortunately I'm not the biggest fan of clowns and ghosts and vampires etc, but I do love me a good dose of psychos (who I think are scarier btw) so here you goooo! You can also check out Jeonghan's and Joshua's!

Again @tusswrites and @tomodachiii - what would I do without y'all 🫂 this piece is basically all you guys!

warnings - intruder in the house, mentions of stalking, medications, deranged characters, triggering descriptions of a home intrusion, smut, homemade porn (lol), bondage (mouth and hands), blowjobs, cum eating, riding, rough sex, mentions of toys and anal, manhandling, psycho behaviour, please forgive me I can only allow myself to be this unhinged during spooky season

It was the soft pitter patter of the rain against the car window that woke you up.

Slowly fluttering your eyes open, you looked out down the dark, lonely road on the other side, at the street lights were still obscured by the downpour. It's not as torrential as it was when you stepped out of the grocery store a while ago. It was too heavy for you to even drive then so you settled in your car for a while, waiting for the rain to get less harsh. You didn't realise when you fell asleep.

Looking at the 8pm flashing on your phone screen and the way darkness had engulfed everything around, a strange panic rose in you. You weren't really afraid of staying out too late but given the things that had been happening around you recently - you didn't want to take the risk.

Turning on the engine and shifting the gears, you took a deep breath, and started driving towards home.

The street was empty for the most part - not many cars were on the road given the warnings for the incoming storm earlier that day. You didn't have a choice but to leave - you were suddenly running low on supplies, the shopping list in your hand was almost a page long. You glanced at the groceries at the backseat with a satisfied sigh - guess the newfound cardio routine was doing a good job in working up your appetite.

As you neared your house, the streets became more illuminated, much to your relief. Unlike the rest of the town, your neighbourhood was a much safer space - there were streetlights, surveillance cameras and disguised cops always patrolling the area. Most people who resided here didn't know but many of the inhabitants of these row houses were in fact people placed on witness protection. You knew because you were one of them.

One year ago, your testimony in a high profile case had led to some very bad people finding themselves behind bars. In exchange, you were promised protection, leading to your identity being morphed and your life being relocated to this locality. You were promised that nothing would happen to you here, that you would be very safe. You believed it then, but not so much now - not when you turned into your street and noticed the camera at the end of it was short circuited. Perhaps the storms over the last few days had a hand in it.

You didn’t think much of it.

But maybe you should.

Because as you grabbed your groceries and ran to the door, fishing for your keys, you realised you didn't need them. The door was not locked.

You racked your brains to remember if you had locked the door before you left or if you were in too much of a hurry to beat the incoming rain. Your memory is a little fuzzy, it has been like that for awhile, but you were too cold and aching to just get inside to give it any further thought.

You must've forgotten to lock it - what other explanation could there possibly be?

Balancing the bags in one hand, you slowly pushed the door open as you stepped in, flipping the switches with bated breath.

Everything seemed fine, nothing felt out of place. Releasing a breath you tell yourself that everything is fine - you were clearly overthinking things. Paranoia had been a part of your life ever since the proceedings of that case - you were always wary, always suspicious, always scared. Though, you shouldn't be feeling that way anymore, you had taken your medication - you should be fine.

But how were you supposed to feel fine when every small thing made the hair on your skin stand. Like the curtains in the living room being open for example. You never kept the curtains open, especially not since your new neighbour moved in a few months ago.

He called himself Choi Seungcheolwhen he knocked on the door to offer an introduction. You didn't know if that was his real name or the one the cops had given him as a part of the programme. Either way you didn't ask him lest he might ask you yours in return - you didn't need your identity compromised, not when the gang of those convicts was still actively looking for you. You had simply nodded and shut the door.

Since then, you’ve always had the curtains closed. You had to, because somehow every time you looked out, Seungcheol was by his window, watching you. If you were being honest, Seungcheol was hot as fuck and a year ago, if a man like that was interested in you, you wouldn't have let him go. But things were different now - you couldn't trust anyone anymore.

Walking up to the window, you stumbled over the dumbbell in the way as you glanced at the neighbouring house. The two of your houses were the only ones on the street that weren't covered in Halloween decorations. It made sense - you were both single and did not have to deal with whining, crying, demanding children so there was no need for this facade.

But you weren’t that lackluster, you did buy and keep some candy for the trick or treaters though you wouldn’t know if Seungcheol had done the same - he didn't seem too particularly fond of children. He never let them near the house. In fact he never let anyone into his house. You had never seen a woman or a friendly face from town or even a family member step into his place - he pretty much always kept to himself. It’s not like anyone else in this neighborhood had the luxury for such anyway.

At present, there was no sight of him or even his silhouette, with how the curtains of his house were drawn but all the lights were still on. Sighing a little in relief, you do the same, shutting the blinds. Still feeling the weight of the dumbbell against your foot, you pushed it out of the way, wondering how it had displaced itself from the rest of the workout equipment in the first place. You hadn’t even used those in a while now.

Still lost in thought, you walked into the kitchen and as you turned the lights on, a shiver ran down your spine.

Something was off, something did not seem right.

At first glance everything seemed fine, but looking again carefully–nothing seemed right. The apron wasn't in its usual place by the spice rack, you don’t recall leaving out a glass of water on the counter, or leaving a packet of corn chips open. You never leave things out when you leave, you always put them away.

But things like this had been happening ever since you started your medication. You were more forgetful, and that was inconvenient but without your daily dosage it was like a fight between your nerves and caution - anything that moved invoked fear in you, every small sound made you shiver. There was no choice but to take those pills everyday. It was the only think keeping you sane.

Shaking your head, you organized everything back in place again. Everything was fine. You had taken an extra dosage right before you left the house, you were just a little fazed from all the chemicals. Surely it was just your imagination, it wasn't like anyone could have entered the house in your absence….right?

But there was a half eaten bowl of cereal in the sink and you… you were lactose intolerant, you didn't drink milk - that couldn't be yours. Hands shaking, you took a step back.

Someone was in this house.

Quickly opening the drawer, you grabbed a knife, gripping the handle hard and tight. The only question was, were they still in the house?

Wiping the sweat off your face, you took a small careful step out of the kitchen.

It was quiet, deadly quiet, there was not a sound to be heard, but the hum of the electrical appliances and the soft patter of the rain outside. Then you heard it, ears sharp and sensitive to the sound of water dripping. Slowly you moved towards the washroom, holding your weapon out, breath shaking.

When you cautiously pushed the door open you noticed the floor was wet, water leaking from the shower head, drop after drop. You've never had this problem before, did you have a plumbing issue?

Stepping in, you tried to fix the faucet with your free hand. But no matter how many times you adjusted the hardware, water continued to drip, rendering you unsuccessful in your attempts. It felt like a really strong hand had broken the tap which was silly because you were definitely careful with how you handled your things? Neither could have broken this nor clearly, could you fix it. Annoyed by your failure and the thought of calling maintenance, you stepped out of the shower, catching sight of yourself in the mirror.

There was a strange tiredness etched all over your features, hiding a stranger something behind it. Your eyes had sunken further into their sockets, thin wisps of hair framing your face - You’ve definitely had better days and was… was that a knife in your hand?

You glanced at it quizzically. Why did you step into the shower with a knife?

Softly smacking your head at your silliness, you walked back into the living room, leaving the tap for another day. Half yawning with tiredness were ready to retire for the night when your eyes fell on the grocery bags still waiting for you on the table - you had forgotten about it. Groaning at the thought of having to put everything away, you set the knife on the dining table and grabbed your purchases instead, taking them into the pantry. Perhaps it was because you were too deeply immersed in your organisation, but your otherwise sharp ears missed the rustling of the leaves outside, crunching under someone’s footsteps.

Going through the grocery checklist scribbled in horrible handwriting to make sure you had gotten everything, you swiftly began putting them all in their place. The pastas in the jars, the fruits in the baskets, the sauces in the tray. The heaviest thing you bought was perhaps those huge jars of protein powder. You weren't really sure why you decided to buy it - sure your doctor said you were too weak and needed to exercise to build strength but you didn't need to buy all of the products the Internet recommended to you.

Telling yourself you'll find use for it later, you pushed them onto the shelves and turned to the meat instead, throwing them into the fridge. You didn't really know how to cook meat too well but you wanted to try. Seungcheol had once grilled some meat in his backyard and came over to offer you a few bites. When you tried to take it from him at the door, he pulled his hand back and cocked his head.

“Are you not going to invite me inside?”

He was always trying to make a move on you like that. You knew what he wanted, you knew what he had his eyes on but the answer was, no. You could take the deliciously cooked meat from him but couldn't let him into the house. It was too soon to trust him.

But Seungcheol was relentless.

It was evident with how he was the only one in town who turned up at the video store where you worked. And he came everyday. Normal people didn't borrow a new movie everyday, right? Clearly he was flirting with you. Or at least he was trying to. You only ever behaved professionally with him . Except sometimes, when he asked for movie recommendations of a very specific genre. You didn't really know many serial killer documentaries or crime podcasts to suggest, so you would simply ask a colleague to take over. Over the days, you watched him consume every last bit of thrillers available in the store and distantly wondered if he had a life outside of this consumption.

Perhaps not. Seungcheol seemed a bit odd like that.

He talked to everyone in town but didn't really seem to have any friends. He wasn't home for days together sometimes - you didn't really know the nature of his job so you couldn't tell why his absence was so frequent. He always drove that tiny pickup truck of his with some weird boxes and bags hidden under big blue plastic sheets in the trunk. .

The whole deal about him was just not right. You knew something about him was not right. Even though he was incredibly pleasant on the eye, you had to be wary of him.

You had to be wary of everything. .

But maybe you weren't always as alert as you should be. Because it was only as you were putting away the last of the snacks that you heard that sound - the thumping.

It seemed like it was coming from outside…. Or was it upstairs? It felt like it was coming from right above, like the sound of someone's feet.

And just like that,, you remembered the intruder again - the one who might still be in your home.

Quickly you rushed to grab the knife from the table once more and held it out in defense. Whoever came to the house was most definitely still here, you could feel it in your bones.

As you slowly made your way towards the stairs, trying to maintain a soft footfall to avoid the creaking of the stairs, another sound took you aback.

No, not your racing heart - The doorbell.

Turning sharply, you glanced at the door with wide eyes. Who could it possibly be? At this late hour?

The ringing only became more persistent, morphing into knocks while you inched towards the door, grip on the knife tightening.

As you slowly pressed down the handle and slightly opened the door, you were met with cheerful voices, much to your relief.

“Happy Halloween!”

Before you was a tiny ghost, a pirate, a couple of princesses and a buzz lightyear, all half your height, looking at you surprised.

“Ms. L/n!”

“Hey kiddos.”

“Where's Mr. Choi?” The pirate pouted. “We thought we could finally get him to be nice to us, hand us some treats.”

“Aw.” You pinched his cheek with your free hand. The one that was not hiding the knife behind the door. “Mr. Choi isn't in town sadly.”

The little kid looked at you quizzically. “Then what are you doing in his house?”

Oh.

You blinked at him while he looked up at you expectantly.

Then your lips split into a sweet, saccharine smile.

“He asked me to look after it while he was gone.”

“When will Mr. Choi be back?”

You glanced at the inquisitive little ghost, fiddling with the knife in your hand.

Please, please don't make me use this.

“Do you want an answer or candy?” You cocked your head cheekily. “I'm only giving out one.”

“Candy!” They screamed as you laughed and reached for the packet you had just bought, ripping it open with the knife.

They watched excitedly as you dropped handfuls of chocolate into their little baskets and plastic pumpkins. With a scream of “Ms. L/N is the best!” they scurried away to their next target of the night. And so did you, tossing the knife onto the table once again.

You clutched your head and released a low hiss of irritation at the dull throb.Those stupid medicines were really getting to your head now, you were forgetting too many important things. Thank fuck for the children, otherwise you would have never remembered what really had to be done.

Locking the door behind you, you quickly made your way up the stairs. There was no need to head softly - the stairs had a tendency to creak in your house, not in Seungcheol’s.

The thumping from earlier was more pronounced now as your senses slowly cleared up, much like how the light flooded from underneath the bedroom door. The soft thumps are getting louder and louder as you neared it. With a twist of the knob and swing of the door, you tilt your head with a smile.

Light flooded from underneath the bedroom door, the soft thumping sound getting louder and louder as you neared it. Opening it wide, you cocked your head with a smile.

There he was.

Sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, Seungcheol was looking gorgeous as ever. He was dressed in just his grey sweatpants, the thick muscles of his shoulders and pecs bared before you. His biceps too were popping on either side thanks to the fact that his hands were tied at the back of the chair. Oh and his mouth was gagged shut, his words turning into muffled whimpers as he looked at you wide eyed, halting the stomping of his feet.

“I know, I know, I'm sorry.” You raised your hands apologetically. “I meant to be back soon but you know how I am, forgetful little me. I'm sorry baby.” You neared him, walking around his chair, bending to whisper in his ear. “But I see you're having your fun.”

Your eyes flickered from the tent in his pants to the laptop you left on for his entertainment, right in the line of his vision. You see yourself on the screen, dressed in the hottest lingerie you owned, looking right in the camera with the vibrator held just where you needed him and only one name spilling from your mouth - Seungcheol.

This wasn't the video you played from him before you left for the grocery store - perhaps they were auto playing, lucky him. You had hours of such footage of yourself - in all kinds of positions, with every possible toy, in role play costumes, in every possible color of lingerie, you had an unmatchable variety. The only thing common among all of them was his name. Choi Seungcheol.

Could you be blamed? The man was unbelievably attractive. It wasn't like you didn't try to avoid him, to repel all that magnetism. You were well aware of your nature - it hadn't been long since you had gotten a chance to start afresh and you didn't want to spiral again. You really really didn't.

But Seungcheol was persistent. He wouldn't stop flirting with you at any given chance, he kept trying to invite himself home, he was consistently intrusive. You kept him at bay for the longest time, at least until the day you had to return the box he had left with you, the one in which he gave you the grilled meat.

You didn't expect him to open the door with his shirt off, slick with sweat, flushed and half panting. When you caught sight of the dumbbells behind him, could tell he was working out but somehow you couldn't help but think this was probably how he looked when he fucked and god did that make your mouth water.

That day he shouldn't have invited you in. Then you wouldn't have found your resolve crumbling so weakly. You wouldn't have found yourself under him being pounded like there was no tomorrow. You wouldn't have crossed the line like this.

What started that day set off a cascade of events. Sleeping with Seungcheol became quite a regular act - there was no part of you that he had left unexplored, untouched. He was in every crevice, every cell, you were entirely consumed by him. When you were at work, all you could think about was how well he fucked you the day before. When you were on the way home, all you could think about was how well he was going fuck you today. Even after you reached, you always made it a point to immediately wash up, wear your nicest underwear and knock on his door. You always did it at his house.

He did try to come to your place a couple of times but you consistently steered the two of you back to his house somehow. It was one thing to let him cum in you but to come into your house? You couldn’t have that happening, he’d ask too many questions - why do you never use the garage Y/n? Why was it always locked Y/n? Why did you have a ridiculous number of gardening tools in your house when you don’t even grow any plants Y/n? You knew the questions wouldn't seize and the answers weren’t good for him. They weren't good for anyone who's heard them all these years.

Another reason you didn't want him home was because you didn't want to ruin the surprise.

Now, Seungcheol was a self-sufficient man. He was happy with himself, his life, his home, his solitude. It was evident all he was looking for in you was a good fuck - afterall, he would never ask you to stay the night or to be his girlfriend even though you'd been seeing each other for months. You were okay with that….. for now. The two of you were still exploring, still understanding each other's bodies and limits. You didn't mind him taking his time, you needed your time as well.

You see, Seungcheol loved his home. He loved every piece of furniture, every bowl, every mat - he was incredibly fond of his space, taking all the time and effort in the world to curate it. You, on the other hand, didn't really care much for your house. As long as it could fulfill basic needs and keep you safe, you were good - it wasn't like you stayed for long in one place anyways. But your heart knew that you wanted to stay with Seungcheol for the rest of your life. There was something dark about him too that told you he belonged with you the way you belonged to him. You wanted him to feel like he belonged to you too, you wanted him to feel at home with you. You wanted to be his home.

That's why you took months together to design and turn your house into an identical replica of Seungcheol’s.

And when you say replica you mean down to the T. Everything was the same. You made sure it was the same. All those times he was away for days together thanks to his job, you found yourself slipping into his house taking detailed notes of every object, every piece. You would only see, not touch or take anything away. Come on, you were no thief, thieves are bad people..

After that you had spent all your time online or going from store to store, finding originals and duplicates of his belongings. Given that he loved to have really exclusive pieces in his house they were not easy to procure but with a little sweet talk, a little threatening and a little unspeakable things, you had somehow managed to bring them all home. To the home you were making for him.

Earlier this week, you had gotten hold of the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle - a childhood photo of Seungcheol's family, framed and hung on the wall. It was the hardest thing to get your hands on. His estranged sister would not leave her house for long enough - it took a major occupational accident at her husband's construction site to finally get her moving.

With everything finally in place today, just as the sun began to set, you went over to Seungcheol's house to bring him over at last, to show him what you had done for him. Seeing how his front door was unlocked you stepped in, curiously looking around for him. But that feeling evaporated the moment you heard that sound - the sound of a woman moaning.

It felt like the ground under your feet had slipped. Perhaps that was why you grabbed the baseball bat leaning against the wall, to give your shaking hands something to hold on to as you made your way to his bedroom…. He didn't even bother to shut the door.

There he was, sitting on the bed with his laptop open before him, frantically getting himself off to the video of some pizza delivery girl getting her “payment”.

Porn. He was watching porn.

The moment his eyes fell on you by the door, he quickly tucked his length into his sweats and jumped off the bed, looking at you like you were crazy. Oh no Choi Seungcheol. He didn't just do that. He shouldn't have. Maybe then you wouldn't have swung the bat and knocked him out cold. Maybe he wouldn't have found himself in the middle of the room all tied up when he came around.

You just couldn't understand him. What was the need for him to look at other women or even think of one when you were right there? Was he bored of you? Were you not enough? You did everything you could to keep him - every depraved fantasy, every humiliating act, every time he was rough to bruise you for days together, you took it all, you begged for more. Then why was he doing this?

When he finally opened his eyes, he didn't answer your questions, he was simply screaming to set free. Well of course the only thing you could do was to shut his mouth in some way and with him unable to speak, you had to find other ways to get answers. You needed to find out if Seungcheol was just not attracted to you anymore.

That's why you brought out your video collection, little films you had taken of yourself back when you were still pushing him away, all while wondering what it was like to get fucked by him. His mouth may say whatever but anatomy couldn't lie right? There was something else that could stand up and answer you.

You had meant to stay and watch, afterall, you were proud of the quality of your content but the flashes of thunder outside told you that perhaps it was wiser for you to go to the store first. You knew whatever was going to transpire wouldn't be over any time soon, you had to stock up before the storm locked you in. Besides, it was Halloween night, all the cute little kids would be coming around for candy, you didn't want to miss out on that.

You didn't and thanks to them, you didn't succumb to your forgetfulness and miss out on this either.

“There there.” You cooed, removing his gag and he coughed, unable to regain his ability to speak just yet. You waited for him to come around, walking back to sit on the edge of the bed as he looked at you meekly.

“Water.” He whispered, voice just a little horse.

You raised your eyebrow. How did he manage to sound so sexy all the time?

“Thirsty are we?” You smiled. “I thought my gift might have helped.”

“Y/n please.” He groaned. “What kind of sick joke is this?”

Oh. He thinks it's a joke. A little Halloween scare perhaps. A prank gone overboard. Oh he has no idea.

“I think it's me who you take for a joke.” You glanced down at his raging boner. “Or not, considering how excited you are.”

You got up, leaning over him, hand gripping the back of his chair.

“I'll help you.” You licked your lips. “Either I'll untie you, take my little collection and get out of here. Or I'll help with your not so little predicament with any and every hole I have…. Pick your poison.”

Seungcheol looked at you wide eyed. His breath was shaking, lips were quivering and a hundred and one things seemed to be running behind those pretty eyes.

Slowly gulping, his Adams apple moving with a bob, he shut his eyes.

“It's unbearable.” He mumbled. “It's just…. Please help me.”

And you knew exactly what he wanted you to do.

Sliding off the bed, you got on your knees, crawling up to him, slotting yourself between his legs. Seungcheol’s eyes flew open when your hands found his thigh, a soft sigh tumbling out of his mouth. He loved to fuck your mouth. He loved how eager to please you always were, always trying to take in more of him, always trying to do better. God he loved it.

He watched as you pulled his sweats down the best you could and wrapped your tiny hand around his dick. He was raging hard, the tip flushed in an angry red, precum smeared all over. You were lucky he was in your control now. If he were allowed to have his way, he might just break you.

Stroking him agonisingly slowly, you inched closer to place a small kiss on his tip, the softest interaction that had ever happened between the two of you. Before Seungcheol could even relish that moment you wrapped your lips around his length and took him all the way in. Fucking hell. Seungcheol thought he was going to pass out with how intensely you were blowing him. He wished you'd untie his hands. He'd go anything to just push your head down his dick and feel himself in your throat. That was a sureshot at making him come, these shallow and fast bobs of your head were only aggravating him.

Maybe that's what you wanted. Because the moment he let out his tell tale groan, letting you know he was close, you pulled away with a pop and wrapped your hand around his cock instead. Before he could complain about losing the warmth of your mouth you began stroking him fast thanks to the wetness of your spit and before you knew it, he felt himself reaching that high, meaningless words leaving his mouth. With a few more jerks, he came all over himself in spurts, ropes of white coating his abdomen.

As he tried to battle his feelings of relief after finding a much needed release, disappointment for not coming in your mouth, and slight fear, not understanding what the hell was going on, you slowly let him go, wiping your hand on his sweats. Looking straight into his eyes, you leaned forward, gathering the cum all over his skin with your tongue and showing it to him before you swallowed it. Fuck, Seungcheol felt the blood rushing down there again. He was far from done tonight.

Getting up you looked at him questioningly though you were well aware of the answer.

“Do you need more?”

Unable to do anything else, he nodded slowly, whispering please.

Smirking, you quickly stripped yourself out of your clothes. You would have made a show out of it, tease him slowly but you were equally desperate to fuck him so you quickly abandoned that idea. Throwing your garments somewhere, you clambered onto his lap, aligning yourself over his dick. You didn't need any prep or lube, you were practically dripping from just blowing him.

Slowly sinking onto his length you threw your head back, finally feeling full. Seungcheol moaned too, burying his face between your boobs as you bottomed out, your grip like a vice. Holding onto his shoulders you began fucking yourself on his length, snapping your hips relentlessly. You could tell the feeling was too much for Seungcheol too as he bit on the soft skin of your breasts. It stung painfully but you let him - you always let him do whatever he wanted to you anyways.

“Tired?” He looked up at you with a triumphant smirk as your pace began to falter thanks to the not so comfortable position of your legs. “Are you finally going to ask me for help?”

You shook your head. You didn't want him to have the upper hand anymore.

“Don't be stubborn, doll. You know it's better when I have my hands on you.” He ran his tongue along your breast, relishing the sweet and salty taste of you. “Untie my hands and we can make this better y/n. I know how much you love my fingers up your ass, and how much you like the grip on my hands all over you and how much you want me . Come on baby, untie me.”

You didn't want to, you really didn't want to but a part of you knew he was right. He could make you feel so good.

Reaching over you pulled on the knot holding his hands together and in a flash his hands gripped the bottom on your thighs and with the sheer strength of his that you loved, he got up, lifting you along with him. Immediately pinning you to the wall, he began thrusting into you, drawing out the most exquisite moans from you as he hit the spot again and again and again. When unable to hold it anymore, you came around him, he tossed you onto the bed, pounding into you mercilessly, making you cum around him one more time before he painted your ass and back with his own release. Even then the night was far from over.

After that he fucked you almost till dawn, pushing you to the limit as he made you cum so many times, you couldn't even keep count anymore. All you knew was that every bit of your body was screaming and creaming in pleasure - it was confirmed, you had to have Seungcheol for life, you had to do whatever it took to keep this insane man forever. You didn't know how but you could think about that later. For now, as day break approached, the two of you passed out in his bed.

Seungcheol looked at you under the afternoon sun streaming into his room. You were fast asleep - he tried waking you up a couple of times but you just would not budge. Finally giving up he resorted to just staring at you.

Last night was…. better than Seungcheol’s wildest dreams. He always knew he was a bit of a freak, but he didn't think he'd find someone to match it in this quiet town he had been reluctant to relocate to. Even when he first met you, he thought you'd be one sweet love making session at most but you took him completely by surprise. You were as wild as he was - you were down for anything he asked, you never said no and most importantly, you enjoyed it all. Seungcheol thought he had hit the jackpot with you.

But yesterday was most definitely not normal. At that time he was thinking with his dick because all the blood in his body was clearly there but as he looked back at what happened, nothing about it was right. You had knocked him out, tied and gagged him up before you left him. You had hours of footage of you pleasuring yourself to the thought of him…

Seungcheol had noticed the dates. It was way before the two of you had begun your little arrangement and he didn't know what to think about that. There were tiny sirens going off in his head telling him to run as fast as he could but Seungcheol couldn't stop staring at you. You were ridiculously beautiful and he just had the best sex of his life last night.

When you whined softly and turned over in your sleep, Seungcheol finally rolled off the bed and dressed himself. Finding your scattered clothes on the floor he gathered them, looking at them with a frown. He couldn't have you wear these again and his clothes were far too big for your tiny frame. Maybe it was time to start making room in his closet for a few of your clothes.

Knowing how tired you must be given last night's events, he silently fished out the keys from the pocket of your pants and decided to bring you a fresh pair from your house.

He shouldn't have gone over. He never should have stepped into your house. Maybe then the tiny sirens in his head wouldn't have become a full blown ringing.

If he had never discovered the truth of your house, if he wasn’t staring at an exact replica of his space, maybe he would've never come to terms that last night was indeed extremely abnormal.

You were not normal.

Something was very very wrong with you, the dozens of medications on the dining table were a testament of that. Seungcheol knew he had to go. He had to leave you and that house and this town. He needed to run away from this madness.

But when he turned to leave, he felt his heart stop just for a second.

There you were, right at the door, dressed in yesterday's clothes, looking at him expressionlessly. Your eyes ran over his face as he felt the hair on his skin stand.

He had to go, he had to get the hell out of here.

“Oh baby.”

You cocked your head at him, leaning against the frame with a small smile.

This was an expression you had never seen on Seungcheol's face before - a mix of shock and fear and repulsion. You could tell he wanted to run. You knew he would end things now, you knew it was over but alas, it was too late to let him go.

You couldn't let him go.

Taking a step ahead, you slowly closed the door behind you, inching closer to him, yesterday’s knife stashed safely in the back pocket of your pants.

“Do you want to see what's in my garage?”

A/n - As usual, comments and reblogs are much appreciated - I'd love to hear your thoughts, it really helps :) You can also read Jeonghan's and Joshua's :)

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tetzoro · 8 months ago

Text

☽◯☾ - THE LOVE COOK

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : Sanji has always had an affinity for cooking but nothing could ever compare to cooking for you. But his plan backfires and he realizes he’s in for more than he bargained for.

꒰ content ꒱ : MDNI. perv!sanji x dom!reader ; minor food play, handjob, minor cum play, lots of praise, unprotected sex, creampie, cunnilingus, usage of good boy (once), — WC : 4.6k

⭑ 𓂃 ꒰ Waxing Crescent ! ꒱ — kinktober masterlist

Sanji's always had an affinity for cooking. Since he was young, his love for it wove into the depths of his very being, one of the things he greatly identified with.

Under Zeff's vigorous training, the young cook fought to chase his passion, learning everything he could in what it meant to be a chef that was fit enough for the seas. And as time went on, it only strengthened. Year after year of trying new recipes, of feeding people who were hungry and above all, never wasting a drop — the bond grew along with him.

But as he got older, there was a new bonus for cooking. One that was filthy and always left him feeling like a perv, and yet — he couldn’t stop indulging himself.

Sanji really, really loved cooking for women.

It's honestly sinful how much he enjoys serving them food. How he makes sure his fingers grace their lap with a napkin — the fleeting touch of their thigh sending a thrill throughout his body, always ensuring to push in their chair a little too tightly so their chest presses against the table, and of course, feeding them a heartfelt compliment here and there while eating up their flustered state.

Every cook loves to see the reaction their food can evoke in people but Sanji takes it to a new level.

Women ooh and aww over his cooking, after that first bite he can clearly see it written all over their beautiful face’s. The direct line of pleasure he supplied them effortlessly coating their features, eyes rolling to the back of their head at the divine taste of their favorite foods.

But the real treat is when he hears their moans of approval. Quiet, loud, breathless, guttural, he’s heard it all. It's only natural that he savors the sound in the deepest banks of his memory to touch himself to those keepsakes later, pairing it with their heavenly expressions as his fist closes around his cock.

So when he finally has you as his little taste tester, sitting across from him as he serves you, the game changes. Suddenly, all of the other women he’s served pale in comparison to your reaction.

The moment the dessert coated fork touches your mouth he can see the explosion of gratification before him and he counts every blessing he has front row seats.

The small smile that graces your face, licking the extra cream off your lips as if you couldn’t get enough, an elongated yet quiet hum followed by his name and whatever praise you had for him immediately had his cock swelling in his trousers, pushing against the tightness of the fabric.

For a breath, he was just as dazed as you, watching your signs of contentment, your taste buds positively satisfied with all the flavors he lovingly poured into the dish.

But he needed more.

He needed to hear your praise once again.

“You like it?” Sanji barely managed to ask, straightening up as he tried to hide his lower half behind the counter.

“Like it?” You swallow down the food, your pretty eyes meeting his and he feels as if he was brutally shot by cupid's arrow, headshotted and left without any hope of being saved. “I love it.”

Something electric buzzed in the room that felt far too foreign to Sanji. Compliments would always effortlessly spill from his lips as easy as breathing but the way you were looking at him whisked every last drop of air from his lungs, suffocating them with the addicting allure of your praise.

The roles were suddenly reversed and now you were the one who was eyeing him.

Stalking up like a panther ready to strike, you rise from your chair and make your way over to him with a dark look in your eye he hasn’t been privy to before. Each movement was dragged out, languid yet precise. Like this was the moment you had been patiently waiting for and the thought drove Sanji close to madness.

“Mon-cheri–” Sanji started as he backed up against the counter under the intense aura you were emitting. It wasn’t a well thought out plan as you begin to corner him, effectively catching him in your little trap. He can’t lie and say the energy didn’t excite him, but it was certainly unexpected. Far too long he had been pining over you, dreaming of a moment like this but now that it’s here, he’s not so sure what to do.

“You know what would make this taste even better?” A redundant question as you don’t give him a chance to answer.

Taking your pointer finger, you gently scoop up some of the whipped cream off of the delicious pastry that Sanji had ever so graciously made for you. With a measured stroke, you glide his cherished creation down his neck, along his pulse point so you can feel how vigorously it races for you, his heart throbbing viciously against the chamber of his ribcage.

“W-what are you doing?” The question falls flat, dithery nerves striking up a cord within him that had him wanting to reach for his nearest cigarette to cope with the heart palpitations you were giving him with each move you make. “Wait, don’t waste it!”

“Waste it?” You tilt your head as you stand before him. His hands clutch onto the edge of the counter behind him in an attempt to steel himself. A soft puff of air caresses Sanji's skin moments before you lean in with your tongue peeking out of the confines of your mouth. dragging the pink muscle along his neck, you hum in approval at the sweet taste. “Just what I thought, even sweeter.”

His face burns red, the flames desperately licking at his cheeks under the sear of your compliments. Normally, he would be the one gifting them out, carried with a sweet melody of adoration. The energy he so readily gives out is now crashing back at him in full force and the poor cook can only tremble in anticipation.

Sanji's eye pinches shut in hopes of taking a moment to gather himself. But you were equipped with another dose of admiration, ready to pour it over him until he felt drowned in affection.

“You have such a pretty face, Sanji.” You push his hair back, revealing both of his closed eyes. “And beautiful eyes, I wish you’d show them more.”

Your wish is his command after all.

Slowly, Sanji's eyes begin to open — showcasing the birth of a new day as he reveals the beautiful blue that pools in his irises. The kind that reminds you of the All Blue book he’s shown you countless times when the two of you would curl up together while keeping watch for the ship. But once they lock onto yours, they abruptly morph into the stormy seas of the new world, holding the utter excitement of uncharted territory that’s waiting to be claimed.

“What are you doing?” Sanji asks the question again.

“Nothing.”Your voice carries a silken lilt that smoothes over him like a balm. “Nothing you don’t want me to do, at least.”

“Like what?” He breathes out. If it wasn’t for the close proximity due to you crowding him in the small corner of the kitchen, he doubts that you would’ve picked up on his shaky words.

“Oh Sanji,” The giggle that spills from your lips has his knees buckling, hands twitching to touch you and he swears he might fall over for a moment from the mountain of sheer desire he’s trying to hike through. “Don’t be so coy. You’re the one that’s always flirting with me ever since I joined the crew, did you not mean all the wonderful things you said?”

“O-of course I meant them!” Sanji's face becomes coated in a dark pink once again, the blush spreading throughout his cheeks as blood starts to drip from his nose. He quickly catches it with his hand, all too acutely aware of his traitorous body. “I'd never lie to you, my sweet.”

“Then don’t act so surprised.” Your hands slide up his arms, eyes intently watching him as he shudders under your touch. “And let me kiss you.”

Without another breath, lips softly collide. An explosion of shooting stars burst between the two of you as sparks caress your body. It's tender, unpracticed, and entirely wonderful. Utilizing small movements as you slowly figure out the rhythm of each other's mouths. How do his lips move? How do yours? How could they mold together so you can share the same breath?

After a few moments, you begin to gel against his – growing needier, craving more. Suddenly, the little pecks aren’t enough and your senses long to be invaded by everything that makes him up.

So, you boldly take the first step, your tongue pokes out to trace along his lip, feeling him out while your taste buds engrave the flavor to memory. His tongue follows suit, the soft muscle touches yours and after that, you blur into each other.

Like waves that grace the shoreline, you find a steady tide of give and take — back and forth as you learn what he likes, what will draw him back in, what will pull him under your current.

Following a steady motion that you two create together, your own song dedicated to your souls courting each other, dancing around feelings the other had been too scared to speak of.

Reluctantly, your lungs scream for reprieve so you pull apart, a thread of saliva connecting you as you pant heavily, breaths fanning each other's face.

Sanji’s blown out eyes are stuck on your lips and you realize that air be damned, nothing would nourish you more than the way he kisses every emotion he’s ever held for you against your lips, grabbing at you like you’re the very thing that’s keeping him tethered to this world.

Another collision and you’re back to it — more desperate than before. The few moments you went without him felt like eons and you had to make up for lost time. A reunion that proceeds past this lifetime, one that was premeditated as the connection only strengthens with each glide of your lips.

His tongue swirls around your own, hungered grunts breaking out from deep within his chest as he grows addicted to the way you taste. Hands grasping and pulling along your body as if he needed more, needing to fully melt into you.

And you’re more than ready to let him.

Leading him to the couch, he lands with a soft thud before you begin to straddle him. The anticipation drums in his ears, blood pumping at an abnormal rate as it figures out where to flow. So much has already pooled all the way to the tip of his cock, painfully pressing against the confines of his trousers. The rest threatens to gush from his nose at an alarming velocity and it’s taking everything in him to hold it back.

All of Sanji's muscles grow taut in an attempt to reign himself in, locked in place as he waits for you to make your move to do something that would hopefully help relieve him of this agonizing pressure. He was simply pretty putty that laid in your tender yet tantalizing hands, leaving you to pick him apart and shape him into whatever you wished for as long as you just kept playing with him.

“How pretty.” You coo as you get rid of his suit trousers, freeing his needy cock by sliding the fabric down his thighs a little. Through a practiced motion, you spit into your hand, wrapping it around his length to spread some more slick.

Sanji gasped, jaw hanging open once your fist closed around his leaking tip, giving it a gentle squeeze.

His face said it all — he was looking up at you with such awe and desire. The kind that made him think you strung up all the stars and moon just so the beams would cascade along your skin so beautifully — just as it is now.

Pockets of light illuminate you so he can see everything you’re doing through an ethereal filter that the heavens themselves must’ve constructed.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered, jerking into your divine hand. The honey coated compliment was so sincere, genuine, uttered in a complete state of reverence. It melted your heart to see him still wanting to give so much even though your intention was to focus on him.

Sanji deserves to be worshiped. It’s something you’ve thought to yourself for quite some time. sure, he could be a bit much sometimes, going over the top with compliments and relentlessly chasing after women.

But after spending so much time at sea with him, you’ve started to peel back the layers behind the woman chasing persona he loves to wear so much. To the man who had unshakeable morals, who protected those who needed protecting, to feed every hungry person — friend or foe.

Sanji has so much to give, so generous with all the love he holds in his body. The love he so desperately wants to receive back but hides it behind cheesy pick up lines that can be dismissed with a laugh.

But enough was enough. It was Sanji's turn to be adored, to be told all the beautiful things about himself while you stroke his cock and coo at him until he spills all over your hand.

Which is exactly where you had him now.

“You’re so sweet, Sanji.” You pepper a kiss along his jaw and to his scruffy chin, wrist leisurely flicking as you hold his cock in your hands. It was pretty, which was fitting. Long with a tip so red you thought he might burst. Luckily, most of the blood stayed pumping between his thighs rather than from his nose. For now, at least.

“You’re the aah-“ His blonde locks toss as his head hangs back, heavenly bliss whirling around him as he curls his toes — trying not to cum so quickly. He was so sensitive but he wanted more, greedy for everything you were more than ready to give him. “Sweet one.”

“No, no, Sanji.” You lightly nibble on his ear and his hips stutter up with a loud groan. “You’re going to listen to me, okay? If you want me to keep going, you just have to sit there and be good for me. No complimenting me, no trying to please me, we’re focused on you right now, okay?”

Sanji didn’t know what to say. Primal instinct told him to sit there and be quiet but how could he when you were an angel sent down from heaven, just for him? The pleasure you were feeding a starving soul like him was too good to pass up.

“Okay.” He manages to choke out as his release pools deep into his gut, threatening to spill out everywhere. All he needed was that extra push.

“Good boy.” The phrase falls out of your mouth like a purr and he immediately cums into your hand with a whine, biting his lip trying to stay quiet. You don’t stop your movements as you press your lips against his, swallowing his whimpers as you start to overstimulate him.

But you’re merciful, and you don’t want to punish him. The only thing on your mind is making him feel loved, feel wanted, feel adored.

“Let me —” Sanji starts to move, adjusting himself to tuck his half-hard cock away.

“Ah, ah, ah.” The smirk that takes up your face was killer as you brought your messy hand toward your mouth. You make a small show of playing with it, feeling how sticky it was, how it ran down your finger before plopping it into your mouth. “Don’t want to waste any of it, right?”

Sanji couldn’t even speak, the words stolen right from the tip of his tongue as yours danced between your fingers, removing every trace of him. You move down to kneel in front of him, the gasp he lets out sending a shiver down your spine. Anticipation bubbling up inside of you as lust pools in your gut, starting to burn with need.

Holding his half-hard cock in the palm of your hand, you swirl your tongue around, cleaning up the residual mess he made with a few precise movements. You lick along the length, feeling him hardening under your ministrations.

It only encourages you to engulf him in your mouth, showing him how far you could take him down your throat. Sanji groaned in response, fingers digging into your hair as his thighs tensed.

Once you’re finished, you remove your own panties from under your skirt and climb into his lap to straddle him once again.

“Sanji, you really are just so sweet.” You repeat your words from earlier, gliding your now bare, drooling cunt against his stiff cock, “Makes me want to eat you up.” You pause, sucking a mark along his neck before whispering in his ear. “…devour you.”

Sanji was truly at a loss for words. Always the one so readily equipped with a line to show his undying admiration was now struggling to string together a coherent thought as your slick started to cover him.

“Like look at these wondrous hands.” To make a point, you hold them up as you continue to grind against him. “Always providing for us, making the world's most delicious food and spoiling us to your heart's content.”

Tugging his hands, you make sure they cover your chest so he can get a proper squeeze in that causes his nose to drip yet again, his cock undoubtable leaking with more pre-cum.

“I'd do anything for you.” He whispers, thumbs gently brushing over your nipple. Sanji was eerily quiet for a moment as he caressed the plush of your flesh, transfixed on the sight before him.

“Anything?” The question hangs in the air as you brush his bangs to the side. His slightly sweaty forehead helped keep some of the pieces tucked from his eyes, both of his eyebrows now on full display – just like you wanted.

“Anything.” He breathes the word out like a prayer, a promise that he’d never deny you of what you’d ask of him.

“Are you ready for me?” Your thumb trails along his parted lower lip, his darkened eyes hazy with an overwhelming lust but entirely set on you.

“Please.” He moans as you line up your soppy entrance with his cock, slick with your saliva and twitching with need.

“Anything for you, monsieur.” Slowly, you lower yourself on his cock, letting him feel every inch of himself bury into you at an agonizing rate. Your wet, welcoming walls greedily sucked him in, wrapping snuggly around him so tightly that his head grows blank.

Sanji's moans fill the room, his hands gravitating toward your waist as if it was pulled by another force, thumbing circles against your skin. It's taking everything in him not to bury his fingers into you and slam you down onto his cock, letting the most primal part of him mount you and take you in a way that directly challenges his morals.

The pace catches him off guard, fingers quickly moving to dig into the scratchy fabric of the couch. It wasn’t enough to steady him, the precipice of his release hastily rising at a rate he could barely keep up with.

The way your warm walls constrict around him, enveloping him in a way that makes him think you never want to let go. He barely has enough strength to pound up into you, opting instead to capture your nipple in his mouth, latching on while his hand caresses your other breast.

Sanji has always had a silver tongue, able to sing the sweetest praise and compliments toward any woman within a 20 foot radius. But you never thought about how well his mouth would be used in other ways. His soft tongue caresses your pert nipple, hardened by the contact and the slightly chilly air in the kitchen.

Lithe fingers gently pinch your other one, before trailing down along your sides and slipping between your thighs to roll your neglected nub between his digits. The sudden pressure gives your body an electric jolt, lurching forward and pressing your chest into Sanji's face more.

Each roll of your hips earned another tender groan from the man below you, lost in a haze as you continuously fed him the sin that he had been craving for as long as he can remember. He pulls back from between the valley of your breasts, looking up at you with hearts flitting around in his eyes, his cock twitching in tune with its beat.

“Want you to come for me, mon-cheri.” He releases his mouth from your breast, looking up at you, limbs still twisted around you as he drives into you harder.

“Yeah? Want me to come all over your pretty cock?” You mewl, pressing your body flush against his as your own thighs start to tremble.

“Yes, please! I need it, need to come with you.” Sanji’s voice almost cracks under the intensity, gripping onto your shaky thighs as he begins to meet you thrusts, fucking himself harder into you. Your body jiggled under the intensity, spiraling you to your high and threatening to unravel you to your very core if you let go.

So you did – letting the blinding white wash over your vision, course and tremble through your body as he fills you up with ropes of cum. Sanji all but whined, biting his lip in pure ecstasy as he teeters over the edge of oblivion.

The two of you try to catch your breath, a pair of lovers leaning against each other more out of necessity than comfort – but it was welcomed nonetheless. Sanji drew little circles along your back, the glide of his fingers soothing you back down from your high.

He gives you a quick kiss on the forehead, moving you so you’re sitting on the couch, your head lolling to the back of it as you stare up at the ceiling.

Sanji shakily rises to his feet, swiftly moving toward the kitchen to get a fresh cloth to clean up the mess between your legs. But his keen eye spies something else that might serve more of a purpose right now.

“May I ?” Sanji asks, kneeling down from where you are sitting on the couch, gently wedding himself between your knees. Taking the whip cream he had swiped on his finger, he drags it along your inner thigh and throbs at the way you gasp in surprise. “After all, I still haven’t gotten my own taste yet.”

“But I told you –”

“Oh sweetheart, I know what you told me,.” Sanji pries your legs open a little more, licking his lips as he takes in the way his cum is oozing out of your pulsing cunt. “Would you really deprive me of this?”

The sheer eagerness fills his eyes like wide saucers. The over enthusiastic man before you was more than ready to please you now, holding back this entire time as you had your way with him. He had been so patient that maybe he did deserve a reward.

“No.” Your voice is a little quieter yet filled with unbridled curiosity. The ghost of his tongue gliding over your nipples earlier resurfaces and you shudder in delight.

“Good, so good for me.” Sanji praises, licking up the stripe of frosting that laid defensively on your inner thigh, dragging it all the way to your cunt. The soft breathes from Sanji tickled at the sensitive flesh and had you trying to squirm away. But he had quick reflexes, gently digging in fingers into your hips and pulling them closer to his face. “Wouldn’t want to waste a drop.”

Sanji lapped at the cum dripping out from your entrance, ensuring to clean up all of the mess he left behind. The taste of your shared essence hit his taste buds and he swears he’s never tasted anything better. Groaning into your cunt, he clutches onto your plushy thighs and begins to eat you out like a starved man.

The vibrations from his guttural grunts directly attack your clit. The hot flash of pleasure coursed through your veins, spreading along to every nerve that was attached to your body, singing out in ecstasy as your thighs began to tremble and lock around his head.

For added leverage, you weave your fingers through the soft, pretty strands of his blonde hair, tugging on them like reins that will steer you right to the climax you were steadily building towards.

“‘m close.” You gasp, not giving him a chance to move his head as he’s locked in. But you don’t hear one noise of complaint – instead, it was just another groan of approval that ripped through your body and pushed you towards the edge.

Stars burst behind your eyes, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream as Sanji worked you through your orgasm, squeezing out all the pleasure before overstimulation started to bite at you. Using his hair, you pull him apart from your sensitive cunt. The blissed out smile on his face no doubt mirrored your own.

“magnifique.” Sanji breathed out, watching as your chest heaves under the fight to catch your breath, your lungs desperately gulping down air as it took everything in you to float back down from your high. He leaves a wake of gentle kisses along your inner thigh paired with the soft praises he coos at you. “The heavens orchestrated this moment for us, my own little angel coming down to save me.”

Sanji places one last kiss on your knee, tempted to go all the way down your leg and worship every inch of your skin. He rises back up, grabbing the cloth he had originally set out for and returns back before humming a tune that you hadn’t heard before.

“What’s that song?” you ask softly, body twitching in anticipation as Sanji runs the cool cloth between your legs and being very careful not to overstimulate you. Too much. His eyes flash up towards yours once you speak, his attention always set on you no matter what task he’s working on. This was no exception.

“There used to be a beautiful singer that would visit the Baratie when I was younger. She’d come in every few weeks and sing for everyone there.” He goes on to tell the story while still cleaning you up, kissing every freckle and mole he can spot as the cloth tenderly glides along your skin. “She sang many songs but this one was my favorite. It was a love song that told the story of a couple who longed to find adventure together, going as far as transcending time and space to meet each other in every life.”

“That's lovely.” You give a small smile as he finishes. Sanji reaches for your panties, sliding them back up your legs before it’s back where it belongs. His palms caress down your thighs as he rises back up, pressing a warm kiss against your forehead that made your head all fuzzy. “I've never heard you sing before.”

“Then you should come into the kitchen more often while I’m cooking, Mon-Cheri. I'm always humming a tune.” His thumb trails along your bottom lip – mesmerized at how swollen and kiss-bitten it was. You push forward, giving it the slightest amount of pressure as you return the favor.

“Maybe I will.” Sanji gives you a little wink, stepping back for a moment as he fishes through his pockets to find what he’s looking for.

“It would be my greatest honor to have the most beautiful person in all of the seas accompany me during my tedious tasks.” Sanji flashes his most charming smile before he places a cigarette in his mouth and sets it aflame with his trusty gold lighter. “Now, let’s have you finish your sweet treat so I can indulge in mine again after.”

tags : @ambiguouslady42 ᡣ𐭩

#☆ 𓂃 Kinktober !#◟˚. ☁️ ⋆ daydreams.#sanji x reader #sanji smut #one piece smut #one piece x reader #op smut #op x reader

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irreverent-saints · 16 days ago

Text

PREVIOUS NEXT FIRST

Unwanted Visitors

Idun had salt in her nostrils and a breeze through her hair. There were no clouds upon the sky, no whitecaps in the sea, and no buildings for miles. She snuck into a dense patch of growth and hauled out a narrow boat. To even call this vessel that was generous. Worms had left intricate patterns as they burrowed into it. The planks had warped apart, held together by straw, tar and faith. Were it not waterlogged, it could have made for decent firewood. Not much else. Idun looked over her shoulder. She dragged the boat over the most sandy part of the bay and mounted a makeshift trolling line with a bright red bobber. Then she pushed herself out. She did a test run in the shallows, making sure no holes were leaking. After gathering confidence she rowed out at sea.

She ventured further, a long stretch of bright white sand. Then she passed an underwater cliff, and there was nothing under her but black sea. She swallowed, staring back at her line. She rowed carefully, testing the give against waves. The sea remained calm. She held her hand against tar. Dry. For now. Idun moved slowly for about half an hour. The red dot ebbed. She leaned over, wrapping the line around a sturdy stick. The boat kept jerking. She pressed her thighs against the edges and lowered her torso, intent on reeling in her catch. With each wrap around the stick, the fight grew heavier. The first glimmering fish emerged near the surface. A sizeable cod. Two more. She grinned, strands of hair sticking to her face and briny grime up to her elbow. She lugged them in and bled them. Then she rowed back to shore. She hid her boat near the roots of a tree, covered with twigs and straw. Then she put her catch into a waxed cotton sack, tucked her flyaways to the side and softened her face. She walked up to the road when she gleaned a figure near the shore. She adjusted her coat and straightened her back. The man approached. Idun tensed up.

“Good day, nice place to go for a walk, isn’t it?” Paal said. Idun nodded.

“Fresh air is good for you.” she said.

“Are you sure thieving from the ocean is a good idea,” he asked bluntly. Idun froze.

“What. Why?”

“I saw you. Don’t do that again. At best you could drown, at worst the curse could spread to our seas,”

Iduns heart pounded as she stared at the man. He stood in the middle of the road. A stern look on his face as he carried himself with the understated discipline of a soldier.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said, continuing to slowly walk. He stepped in front of her.

“These waves have pulled so many good men under, I would hate to see you go as well,” he said. Idun took a deep breath.

“Would you?” She sneered. “I’d be shocked if anyone at all cared what happened to this hag,”

He smirked.

“They are scared of your curse, not you,” he said, bringing out a small notebook. He scribbled something down. “in fact, I’m sure they would love to be able to talk to you under less… tense circumstances,”

He handed her a small piece of paper.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Summer festivities. I will help host it. Give yourself a break from all this suffering and have some fun for once,”

Idun looked at him stunned. He kept that same sly grin.

“I’ll… see if I can fit it into my schedule.” She said, tucking it away.

They parted ways, and she hurried home. She glanced at the paper one last time before settling in to prepare the fish. She put them in a smoke chamber and bundled up in her chair. There she grabbed hold of a large cape. One side was pale and dusty, the other a deep, varied green with hundreds of scraps poking out. She sewed bits of dry moss, old rags and whatever she could find onto it until it moreso resembled peat than an outfit. If nothing else it meant she could spend her evening stabbing something a few thousand times. By dusk she looked over her piece, satisfied with her progress.

And by early morning Idun was back in the birch forest. The trees grew sparse, rarely taller than her head, She held a long spike in her hand, making her way to the Deep Woods. Her steps were silent, always aware of her intrusion. She reversed her cape to the beige side and put up the hood. The cloth limited her vision. Small price to pay. She picked up speed. On the way she looked out for lichen, birchbark and the odd spire. Those giant trees loomed in the distance, shrouded by mist.

She trudged her way through a dense patch of birches. As she emerged from the foliage, a large shadow shifted. She jumped, tripping over herself. There, so deceptively quiet, a Jotun walked across the terrain. The fog softened his outline, and it was as if every sound had been wrapped in cotton. A gentle wind howled throughout the landscape. She froze in place, ever so slowly moving closer to the ground. He was in no hurry. Each step gingerly placed ahead until he was close enough to reach out and grab her. Idun cowered. He sauntered in her direction. She tried to shuffle backwards as his paw landed a few meters from her. The faintest sound of gravel shifting, and a wash of displaced air. Were she to close her eyes, nothing more would indicate his presence. Another step. Closer. She could barely think as his massive shadow fell over her. A few hairs from the tip of his tail grazed her, and with that he had passed through. Idun felt as if her chest was going to burst. The Jotun looked to the side, assessing his surroundings with curiosity. He glanced down. His whole body seized. His tail flung and he slammed his foot down, quaking the earth. Idun ran towards the trees. He stood still. They both stared at each other.His shoulders slowly sank, and the quills that had stood out in all directions soon laid neat against his skin. He nodded slightly, lowering his ears.

“morning. I didn’t see you there,” he said. Idun laid there dumbstruck.

“G-good morning...” she stuttered.

“You look familiar,” he said, taking a step closer, she hid behind a birch, it failed to provide cover, “you’re the one that didn’t attack,”

“Oh no, I would never,” she said.

“How interesting. What are you doing here?” He asked, Idun shrank.

“Oh the usual, enjoying this wonderful nature we have all been blessed with,” she bluffed, doing her best to project her voice.

He squinted.

“And what does that entail?”

“Observing the birds, getting some fresh air in my lungs, exercising my body,”

The Jotun nodded.

“What great activities. Have fun with that, and don’t go further into the woods,” he said with a grin. Then he stood up, looking over his shoulder with narrow eyes, “also. I don’t recommend wearing those colours out here, I can barely distinguish you from the ground,”

“Thanks for the advice!” she said, clenching her jaw. He reached into a satchel strapped to his waist, retrieving a bright red leaf. The giant knelt down before her, in doing so his thighs encased her like walls. Any and all escape routes cut off. He stretched his hand out, leaf pinched between two claws that somehow failed to even bruise it.

“Here, carry this. Lets not startle each other again,” he said. She reluctantly grabbed hold of the leaf, big as parasol above her head.

“How nice of you,” she said. With no further courtesies the Jotun left.

Idun stared, puzzled and amazed. The Jotun disappeared into the Deep Woods. She didn’t follow.

Idun then spent a few days eating cod and pondering her life.

Then more time passed, the Jotun’s word had fallen on deaf ears, and she was halfway up an almond tree. She had arrived by vine, and from there it grew so tall that she could more or less walk upright along the branches. She inched toward the drupe when the ground shook. She froze in place. The huge wooden doors opened, as if the very mountain pried apart. In between foliage she gleaned the Jotun as he stretched and looked around. He hunched slightly over, letting out a deep rattle, almost a yammer. She draped her camouflage over herself and flattened against the tree. One gruelling pull forwards, one glance over her shoulder. Repeat.

The jotun scratched his chin. He proceeded to move in a casual, yet deliberate fashion, scanning the ground. A lean on caught his eye. He furrowed his brows, gently poking at it with his paw. Idun stared, praying that no human remained inside. He paused, ripping a part of the wall off before studying the makeshift shelter further. Satisfied with his assessment he kicked it apart as if it were made from tissues and matchsticks. She heaved. He made his round. When he was on the very opposite side of his garden she crawled further out on the branch. One almond of this size could make for several meals. The best way to go about it was to cut the stalk, and hopefully not go tumbling along with her catch. She could then collect them on her way back. She wrapped her legs tightly, retrieving a machete as she began to hack off a pod. As each fell down, the branches shook. She clutched against the branch, palms sweaty and a heartbeat in the hundreds. Four down, and she didn’t die on the way. One would have to consider that a victory.

She inched backwards, always aware of the fifty feet drop. She made her way down one branch, and from there she could climb the vine she had come from.

A huge shadow moved between the leaves. She seized. Then she flattened against the branch, barely gleaning a huge torso. She put up her hood and ruffled her cape, making sure every single piece of her was covered up. The Jotun browsed the shrub. He snapped an almond off of the branch. Idun clutched, knuckles white. He popped the whole thing, pod and all, into his mouth. A sickening crunch rang out. She laid there frozen as he helped himself to more. His wrist went past her, barely avoiding her cape. The spurs on is arm flew over her head. His chest hummed subtly, rapid, deep clicks.

He froze in place. Idun held her breath. His hand hovered just over her, radiating heat. He turned his head to the side. His eye flashed, a strange, crescent pupil. His ear flicked. Iduns arms began to tingle, numb from holding onto the branch with all her strength. This being was infathomable in scale. Not just in mass, but in the way he seemed tuned into the most subtle of movements. As if his very senses moved through the land in fractals, any and all intrusion accounted for. She felt as if a single stray hair, or a little too sharp an inhale would betray her location. She had his breath on her neck. Warm, slightly damp air washed over her. She clenched her jaw, moving only her eyeballs to gaze up at him. The side of his face took up most of her view as he slowly continued to chew the almond. She stood still. His pupil moved. He stared directly at her. A single, yellow eye through thick foliage. His pupil narrowed. Neither of them moved an inch.

A loud crackle. Singed fur. She grappled the twig, breathing in sharply. The jotun twitched. He stumbled backwards, holding his hand up to under his armpit. She gleaned a bright red stain. He heaved. Her ears rang. The jotun rubbed his wound. He glanced back at the tree before stepping away, slumped back and ears hanging low. He moved sluggishly, massaging the bloody spot as he slowly retreated to his cave.

Idun hurried down, collecting her catch. She rushed away from his garden. On the way she passed three bright red puddles in the soil. If not him, me, she thought, looking away.

#im so busy with life so this was delayed sorrryyyy #also i am changing update time to Thursdays to accommodate life #monster romance #anyways #STARTLED

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meimei-archives · 6 months ago

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Wait cause I would love to see body party part 2 either there being sneaky behind closed doors when no one around or he wins a match and she’s has a surprise for him back in his hotel room

BODY PARTY PT2!:: rafe cameron

WARNING! :: professional!boxer!rafe, manager!reader, descriptions of; fighting, bleeding, and cleaning up injuries. (m&f!receiving )oral, fingering, choking,unprotected sex, slight strip tease, (munch!rafe)

SUMMARY!:: when Rafe gets offered a headliners match against the WBO champion, you decide to grace him with a surprise once your both back at his hotel room you managed to slip into it before bed.

A/N!:: wait I’m genuinely curious if I should make boxer!rafe into a mini series, like bringing him to meet your family for Christmas or something idk, but also, thank you for sending in this idea I love it and I’m sorry it took so long to answer!

You sort of had a reward system at this point. You and Rafe had been seeing each other for a few months now, he was now preparing for a fight that had been pretty hyped up in the press for a while now. They called it a dream match, two of the most talented brawlers within the lightweight division.

Rafe was on the rise for a past injury that set him back last year and now he’s back on the come up. He had taken his spot in the back of the line and had passed through opponent after opponent each fight, earning him his winning streak since his return. He buzzed with excitement taking on the baby face, the guy who was currently holding WBO title Rafe had held in the past and he was hungry for another run with it.

JJ Maybank was one of the hottest guys on the card, you had to consider yourself lucky to be in a main event with this guy. He was a sly dog, talked major shit, he could back it up with his hands, and that was another reason for Rafe to absolutely hate his guts, had it not been for the fact that JJ and Rafe grew up on the same little island of outer banks where they could never seem to mix well together.

You had talked to Rafe just before he was called to walk out to the ring, you find yourself sitting yet again front row this time you could see his family halfway down the row being blocked by Kelce and topper who sit nonchalantly next to your seat as the watch Rafe stand in his corner talking to his trainer and cut men as they retreat from the ring to the sidelines.

You don’t even spare a glance as JJ’s theme song hit for his walk out, the crowd having a mixed reaction, you keep your eyes glued to Rafe who almost like a magnet his eyes were pulled from the referee to you, a small smile finds his lips which earns one back from you. Mouthing the words ‘good luck’ and blowing an unnoticeable kiss to his which earns a grin from.

As the announcer talks about the premise of the match your eyes stick to Rafe’s figure, glistening under the bright lights almost giving your surroundings a sterile look as a small sheen of sweat prickles his skin. The stubble of his mustache growing in as well as the shaggy hair growing in after months with his buzz cut, you can’t help but eye him more as your eyes trail down his body.

The firmness of his chest, his sculpted abs that satisfied every itch in your brain perfectly, and the small happy trail that travels from his navel past his shorts that makes you bite your bottom lip thinking about what’s hidden past them. Sometimes you felt like a perv for how much space you have saved in the corner of your brain with thoughts of Rafe.

Taken out of your thoughts by the ring of the bell and the ref allowing the open space be used to go at it. The sight of the two men crowding the ring with their gloved fists up makes your stomach churn. Rafe had trained so hard for this fight alone, and you doubt he would go down at all. He had the height advantage, knowing he lost a bit of weight to match the blondes weight class for this fight.

The two don’t even bat an eye as they refuse to tap gloves and start slugging their fists at each other, the dull and short lived ‘thunk!’ That follows with every blow makes your body tense and cower. They both were hard hitters, and even if those gloves were there to at least cushion the hits the sheer power behind both of their hits were not made for the receiving end to feel any types of good.

And for some reason as you study the way JJ frolics about the ring casually with no fret and sweat beginning to make his hair stick to his skin he looked as if he was caught off guard with how much Rafe could easily want more after being untangled by the referee or even being pushed against the ropes, Rafe was never the type to back off in a fight, his libido and persistence was not as matched on JJ’s end; who subsequently enough was already succumbing to a swollen eye and bruises patching up on his face and body.

You had all high hopes for Rafe although you need he doesn’t need hope, he looked equally spent within the first round and only a minute left on the clock for their first go, he was breathing heavily with a touch of annoyance on his face, because even with a mouth guard in JJ Maybank has officially found a way to talk shit through the thick rows of rubber that slightly gives him an impediment.

They throw continuous stiff shots at each other, with a mixture of water and sweat flying off of them with each explosive blow to their bodies. You were a big ball of anxiety the second his trainer turns in his seat directly in front of you and mumbles “you think you could step in for me and talk to him. I know you got some advice for him- he takes it the best from you” his words come out slightly foggy due to the loudness of the crowd around you. “Yeah, he looks like he needs a couple of words” you respond quickly as he helps you over the barricade and onto the concrete floor your heels scrape gently making you cringe.

As the time runs out his trainer gives you a gentle pat on the back and gives you hand into your designated corner where Rafe meets you with half concerned eyes. “What’s the matter?” He readers your expression as you put down the small stool they gave to you for him to sit. “Nothings wrong, just came to talk; you gotta keep your head up, this kid likes to keep his low so it’s easier to lay those punches when all he does is retract from the high right hooks you throw” you cup his chin and pour water into his mouth and over his shoulders cooling his skin.

“He keeps trying to lock up with me” he rolled his eyes making you laugh as you guide him to breath slowly and deeply, the cut men rubbing Vaseline on the cuts and bruises forming. “If anything resort to body shots, if he’s backing you into corners head shots, you have the height advantage so it takes nothing for you to swing low” you advice pouring water past his pouty lips as he spits the water into the small bucket a cut man held out.

“Deep breaths, aim low, don’t let him wrap around you, alright?” You say sternly with only a few seconds on the time for their break before they’re ordered to clear ring, you give his chin a gentle squeeze “good luck” you mumbled once more before leaving the ring and using the empty spot next Rafe’s trainer Mike who looks at you with hopeful eyes. “So…?” He asks making you smile “He knows what to do, I think because Rafe is used to bigger guys he doesn’t really know where to focus” you watch intently as they change up the foot work; JJ coming out the corner looking less fresh faced and more sluggish with every step.

Rafe’s shoulders roll back as he takes on his stance with his gloves and head up, and an intense look in his eyes, his energy non-stagnant as they center and throw hooks and blows at each other, and it wasn’t until Rafe had backed JJ into a corner and throwing hooks and jabs straight to his ribs that makes you wince and actually lock into Rafe’s actions.

JJ had his guard up blocking his face with his gloves, and once Rafe knocks one of his hands guarding his face he dropped a mean right hook almost stunning you as your whole body tenses seeing how the young blonde wobbles a bit. Rafe pulls himself away and letting JJ find his footing in the center. You could tell by his body language that the punch square in the face had pissed him off, the both of them carrying fire in their eyes as they square up once more in the center.

Your eyes widen and could barely keep up in real time with the flurries of punches they were exchanging, in the moment it felt like whoever stopped throwing first was ought to be knocked out cold by the end of it, yet the crowd cheers on and they all sat on the edge of their seats in suspense. It was when the bell had rung for the second round to end and teams to flood the ring you watch Rafe retreat to his corner, his skin red with blood gathering at his upper lip you rush up the steps into the ring before anyone else with water and tissue in hand Rafe sits in the all to familiar stool.

“Jesus, you two are going at it harder than people during a Black Friday sale” you joke trying to lighten the mood, Rafe’s eyes don’t leave the opposite corner as his jaw ticks and tighten against his guards you cup his face making his eye look at you sharply before they soften looks up at you his eyes once a stormy blue almost instantly resorting back to their usual icy color. “Deep breaths, put your arms above your head” you whisper to him and he follows your instructions as the hands working with you continue their duties.

“You’re doing good, just keep doing what you do. He looks tired, it’s like he’s only running on adrenaline so keep pressing him; he’s trying to play the energy game and you’re already winning” you speak over the loud music as Rafe listened nodding his head taking in every word. “Do I look like I’m slowing down?” His voice beared genuine curiosity only getting a head shake “if anything you’re fighting like this shit just started. The move with knocking his glove down was smart, if you keep doing things like that I’m pretty sure you’ll win via knock out” you wince at the memory as you could see some of the sweat flying to the mat with how hard Rafe had punched his opponent.

“Okay” he whispered as you use the last few seconds of his break to give him more water and put in his mouth guard before exiting the ring. The match becoming more excruciating as it drags on as the both are exchanging blows and bleeding with busted noses and lips eventually Rafe throwing a nasty right hook to JJ’s jaw that makes him drop to the floor his body slumping against mat the referee immediately checking on the younger boy before calling it and proclaiming Rafe as the winner.

A rush of pride surges through your veins, entering the ring as Rafe pries off his gloves his focus immediately on you as you always down walk up to him with a shining smile that makes your cheeks sore, his lanky arms wrapping around you in a tight hug, as the heavy belt wrapped around his waist; shining and thick, it presses against your lower stomach “I’m so proud of you” your words are muffled as your face presses against his shoulder.

You both pull away keeping a professional mask on in these moments Rafe got to give his final statements on the fight before exiting back to his locker room letting him shower before you clean his cut lip and the small scratches on his face and body. Putting away the small first aid kit you hold his jaw gently “I have a surprise when we get back to your place” you whispered making a mischievous and all to familiar smile tug at his bruised pink lips “yeah?” He asked his fingers fiddle with the large golden ring that encapsulated his finger.

“You didn’t want a celebration party, but I say; me and you just need to have our own celebration” you smirk and rough lets out a husky laugh as he moves to change into more comfortable clothes and gather his belongings as the two of you plan to leave. “What kind of celebration?” His voice finding its usual flirty tone he has when it’s just the both of you “it wouldn’t be a surprised if I told you” you teased as he holds the lockeroom door open for the two of you to leave.

It had never been unusual for you and Rafe to leave events with each other, the public had grown familiar with the close ‘friendship’ between the two of you through interviews and social media since Rafe had begun his boxing career. Privately the two of you had changed the dinamic nature from being friends to an eerie limbo of being domestic and sexual partners with no real label yet.

Checking back in was a breeze as you had booked separate rooms to avoid suspicion; yet you know majority of your night was going to be spent in his room. The dim orange light fixing from the beautiful chandelier that filled the spacious room, the texture white walls detailed with gold paint around the edges, or the large drapes above the one singular window that was covered, and the wall behind the bed as neutral tones of creme and beige with dusty rose gold accent covers the room giving it an almost vintage vibe.

Rafe drops his bags at the foot of the bed frame with an exhausted sigh he takes off his navy blue bommer jacket that covered his polo shirt, you take the jacket out of his hands and set it on the arm chair in the far corner of the room, you grab his arm guiding him to the edge of the bed. “Why don’t you relax hm? I’ll be back in a second” you mumbled as you stand between his spread legs holding his face in your hands gently grazing your thumb over the bruise that was leaving a big purple splotch on his jaw.

“Are you coming back with my surprise?” He asks his eyes lighting up with excitement like a dog who can hear their owner entering the house. “Maybe” you shrug pecking his lips and turning away to the bathroom near the entrance to his room finding the silky robe in a navy blue with his last name on the back with a set of lingerie that hugs you in all the right ways and does every curve of your body justice under his sink where you knew he wouldn’t look.

The robe was actually Rafe’s, it was one of his favorite peaces of gear to match his shorts and gloves, you let the fabric swallow you, being more loose on you than him, you smile at yourself in the mirror as you tie it closed letting it compliment your waist. You give yourself the final touches before walking back out slowly Rafe’s eyes latch on to you with an unmatched ferocity that sends a shiver through your bones.

Walking closer to the dirty blonde haired man it seemed he finally realized what you were wearing as you slowly turn around to show off his last name on your back like a trophy you slip open the robe as you whispered “congratulations champ” as the silk pools around your feet revealing your skin and the warm air in the room shifts. “c’mere baby, let me see you close up” he groaned, his voice slightly slurred as the pain in his jaw twangs every time he speaks.

Holding out a hand to you which you take with no hesitation, putting on a show as you walk with a slight sway to your hips that makes him watch you close and calculated like he was on the hunt and your were his pray who so innocently was frolicking about. When you take up the same space between his legs Rafe’s hands drop from your hands to the back of your thighs groping at the fleshy skin “best surprise could’ve asked for” he mumbled as he presses himself against your lower tummy.

His nose grazing your skin making you tense only to relax at the feeling of his soft warm lips pressing underneath the wire of your bra, the room filled with a distant buzzing and heavy breathing. “Didn’t expect this huh?” You looked down at him as your hand races through his hair, your nails purposely scratching against his scalp making Rafe moan. His weakest point that you had discovered after 2 weeks of sex all over your shared apartment. “c’mon now you’re just teasing me” his voice almost twisted in a whine.

“Well how about you lay back and let me help you relax on your big night” you push his shoulder gently guiding him to rest against the mattress as his buff arms flex as they rest behind his head. You get on your knees as the dull ache is a second thought the moment you begin to unbuckle his belt and pull his boxers and pants down in one full swoop. He was already hard and eager in your grip, the sloppy sounds of your slick palm fisting over his cock.

A small wince leaves his lips and Rafe doesn’t know if he’s palpitating or if hearing his heartbeat in his ears was normal, but the thought loses his the second Flattening your tongue against the underside of his cock you dragged up against the vein running up to the tip— he let out a rich moan that ended with a groan "shit". His head was thrown back against the mattress and his breathing was labored.

His hand rests on the back of your head not moving as he watches you take him deeper and deeper, feeling the way his hips were grinding into your mouth makes you pull away as spit gathers messily at your chin as thin strings of saliva latch from his cock to your mouth making you giggle. “fuck” whispered as you swipe your thumb over his sensitive tip as you lick a long stripe from the base of his cock to his tip swirling your tongue around him before pushing yourself to take him in the back of your throat feeling an impeding gag as your eyes cloud with tears.

Rafe on the other hand felt like he was ascending to a parallel universe pure pleasure, as the slick sound that come from between his legs makes them shake as your hand wraps around his dick filling the space that your mouth couldn’t handle. “fuck you’re gonna make me cum quick” he groaned as his hand travels to cup your face he sits up watch the way you look utterly fucked out just by sucking him off.

His thumb presses against your plump bottom lip as he looks at the way your pretty lip combo smudge on not only your face but his cock, and it makes his head spin. “Wait baby, hold on” he huffs out, pleasure so apparent in his tone as you pulled off his cock you slightly pout looking up at him with smudged makeup and your hair messy, Rafe can’t help but instinctively smile “I want you to ride my face” he whispers as his chest rises and falls and baited breaths as he watches your face twist in confusion yet regardless you stand up stripping yourself of your panties and slowly straddle his lap, he lays back like once before comfortably as he reaches his hands out to guide you over his face.

Groaning at the sight of you glistening wet and ready for him “fuck s’so pretty” he slurs before he sensually licked from your entrance to your clit and sucked with fervor making you moan as your back arches and your hand pushes his face deeper between your thighs. The feeling of his tongue almost as if he had to lick every inch of your pussy his hands grab at your ass making you arch deeper making a raw moan cut through the heavy air “fuckkk Rafe” you squeal as your thighs tighten around him.

His hand travels between your thighs as he continues to lick sloppy stripes against your pussy lazily, you can already feel the trembling in your thighs as your fingers grip harder against his shaggy hair making him hum against you sending vibrations up your body “pull harder, baby” he groans lazily as if nothing could pull him away from latching his mouth onto you and making you finish on his tongue.

Once Rafe could feel the pressure and stinging sensation in his scalp he hums “that’s it, be a doll and cum for me” he groaned against you, your head tossed back as you feel the warm and tight sensation that was growing in your lower stomach, you don’t know how much more you could take but out of pure desperation for release you grind your hips against him.

He placed his hand on your ass, kneading the flesh harshly as the other finds your pussy; groaning into you before easing his finger past your entrance. the added stimulation had you mewling. The sounds you make are music to his ears. He presses his nose on your clit, inhaling your scent deeply before his tongue dives inside your waiting pussy. You pull onto his hair, writhing against his face.

The thickness of another added finger was making you dizzy It feels like you’re high, stomach tightening with each second “you’re gonna make me cum” you whine as if the feeling was pushing you to the edge you look between your shaking this to see Rafe absolutely lost in the taste of you; his eyes rolled back, and his face glistening with a flush to his cheeks and in that moment you melted away with the hot white feeling of your orgasm practically hitting you like a car.

Rafe licks up every trace of your orgasm until you wince and pull away with a whine you adjust yourself to sit on his lower stomach still sensitive yet satisfied. The man beneath you sitting up looking just as clouded with lust as you do, capturing his lips in yours with an unmatched intensity as you taste yourself on his lips.

The rough palm of his hands pulling you as close to him as possible like in any moment you’d disappear. Growing more and more desperate to feel you he pulls away from you with hesitation pressing his forehead to yours. “Lay on your stomach for me baby” he whispered and letting you move with calculated ease as you move to the headboard and grabbing a pillow you can lay down underneath you before arching your back and shiver slightly at the cold air that hits you between the thighs.

Arching your back gives Rafe the perfect sight of your ass. You could feel his palm caressing and needing your skin before giving it repeated harsh slaps that had you quivering. Nothing compared to the beautiful stinging feeling on your skin given by him.

"Want you inside me so bad" you mumbled as your fingers grip the sheets, you were so needy that you were dripping down your thighs and it didn't take much for Rafe to run his tongue over his lips and grab onto your hips pushing his tip against you and pushing into you slowly before bottoming out.

The sharp grip he had on your hips kept you grounded as he set a steady pace that had you panting and moaning. Hearing yourself made your face heat up, dropping your head into the sheets hoping to muffle the pleasure falling from your lips.

"Don't get all shy on me now" Rafe says as his hand pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail, pulling your head away from the sheets "I wanna hear you. Don't hide from me" he says breathily as his thrusts become more sharp and the sound of him pounding into you was hard not to hear.

"I can't help it. It's too good" you slur your words as you begin to bounce and grind against him to meet his hips. It felt like he was in your stomach and you didn't mind at all, your hands clutching the sheets tighter as he used his other hand to wrap around your throat. As his grip around your throat tightens, you couldn't even gather your words as he hits a spot that has you breathing shakily and your moans are even more louder.

"Right here? Does it feel good here?" He asks as he drags his cock against that same spot again and again "yeah, it feels so fucking good Rafe" you moan as your eyes roll back. The feeling of his sweet lips on your skin as you feel like you're in heaven.

Your thighs are practically shaking at the feeling, pleasure practically taking over your body as Rafe pounds you into his mattress without a single care in the world. Pushing your face against sheets while he becomes sloppy and rougher with every passing second you could feel the pressure in the pit of your stomach growing and waiting to be released.

"I can't take it" you moan as you shake your head "I'm gonna cum" you whimper as you feel warm tears slide down your cheeks. "I think you can baby, you wanna cum so bad right? So take what I give you" he orders sweetly in a faux tone. His thrusts are non stop and you can't help but let the pleasure envelope you.

"Oh fuck" you gasp as the feeling of release comes closer "cum on my cock. I know you can '' he coos at you while pulling your hips into his harder than before tipping you over the edge as your walls clench around him sporadically earning a guttural moan ripping through Rafe's throat.

"I'm close, where do you want it?" He asks as he continues to fuck into you "inside. Please cum inside me Rafe" you beg before you feel the pressure in your stomach let loose "I got you, you're okay" he praised as his fingers rubbed down your spine leaving goosebumps up and down your body.

A few more thrusts slow and deep have your toes curling and sending Rafe into an orgasm struck daze. "Fuck you feel so good" he groans as his hands rub against the red warm skin of your ass. Leaning of you and kissing up your spine as you both bask in your pre orgasm clarity.

You both were practically glowing as Rafe waited until he softened inside you to pull out "you did so good" he whispers sweet nothings to you as he pulls out and watches his cum drip down your inner thighs.

The both of you settle into the bedsheets the body heat coming from the both of you feels comforting, Rafe doesn't want even the slightest bit of space between the both of you as he pulls you by your waist until your pressed flush against his chest.

“Congratulations champ” you huff out making Rafe snicker “thank you” his words are followed by an impending silence, although you do know eventually you would be walking back to your own bedroom with sore and shaking legs but that was something that you would have to worry about later.

As for now you would enjoy his warmth that radiates against your skin.

#meimei-archives 𖥔 ͙ࣳ ⸰ֺ ⭑ ఌ #obx smut #rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe smut #rafe x reader #drew starkey x reader #outer banks smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fluff #rafe cameron x black!reader

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jjjjisun · 2 months ago

Note

Nun Kim Lip doing unspeakable things w/ Jae who has a wife

New Covenant

Kim Lip X Male Reader | 2980 words

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Buy me a Ko-Fi.

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Author's note: First non-incest fic?

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The church was filled with the familiar hum of Sunday service, the parishioners' voices blending in a monotonous rhythm that once comforted me. Today, however, my mind was elsewhere. I stood up from the pew, mumbling a vague excuse to my wife, her eyes barely flickering away from the hymnal. I slipped out of the row and made my way to the back of the church, the echo of the sermon fading behind me.

The bathroom was quiet, and the cool tile contrasted with the sanctuary's warm wood. I splashed water on my face, trying to calm the restlessness that had been gnawing at me all morning. The door creaks open, and I glance up, expecting to see one of the elderly parishioners. Instead, Sister Kim Lip slipped in, her habit rustling softly as she moved.

She didn't say a word, just locked the door behind her and turned to face me. Her eyes, usually downcast in modest piety, were ablaze. She stepped closer, her breath hitching slightly. I could see the pulse at her neck, quick and fluttering, like a trapped bird.

"Sister—" I started, but she cut me off, her fingers pressing against my lips.

"Not here," she whispered. "Not as Sister. Just Kim Lip."

Her hands slid down, tracing the line of my jaw and the curve of my neck before resting on my chest. She was close, too close, her breath mingling with mine. I could smell the faint scent of incense that always lingered on her clothes, mixed with something sweeter, more intimate.

"Kim," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "What are you doing?"

A small smile played on her lips. "What I've wanted to do since I first saw you."

Her mouth met mine, soft and tentative at first, then firmer, more insistent. I was frozen, shocked by the suddenness of the sheer wrongness. But my body responded despite my mind's protests, my hands finding her waist, pulling her closer.

She moaned softly, the sound vibrating against my lips. Her tongue swept into my mouth, exploring, claiming. I could taste her, sweet and forbidden. My hands moved from her waist, tracing the curve of her back, feeling the heat of her body through the thick fabric of her habit.

She pulled away, her breath ragged. "I see you every Sunday," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "With her. But I want you to be mine. Only mine."

Her possessiveness sent a thrill through me, even as it set off warning bells in my head. This was wrong, so wrong. But the way she looked at me and the raw hunger in her eyes was intoxicating.

I turned her, pressing her against the counter. Her breath hitched as I kissed her again, more profoundly this time, my hands roaming over her body. I could feel her heart pounding, matching the rhythm of my own. The room was spinning, the world outside fading away. There was only Kim, her body pressed against mine, her mouth hot and eager.

Her hands fumbled with my belt, her eyes never leaving mine. I could see the desperation in them, the raw need. I knew I should stop her, put an end to this madness, but I couldn't. I was drowning in her, lost in the sensation of her touch and taste.

She slid her hand inside my pants, her fingers wrapping around me. I groaned, my forehead resting against hers. She stroked me slowly, her thumb circling the sensitive tip. I was stiff, achingly so, my cock throbbing with need.

"You're mine," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Say it. Say you're mine."

I was lost, caught in the intensity of her gaze, the pleasure of her touch. "I'm yours," I whispered, the words falling from my lips before I could stop them.

She smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of her lips. She hiked up her habit, her legs wrapping around my waist. I could feel the heat of her, the dampness of her desire. I gripped her thighs, my fingers digging into her soft flesh as I thrust into her.

She gasped, her head falling back, exposing the long line of her neck. I pressed my lips to her skin, tasting her, feeling her pulse quicken as I moved within her. She was tight, her body gripping mine, pulling me deeper.

The room filled with our breaths, harsh and ragged, the wet sound of our bodies coming together. I could feel the pleasure building, a coiling tension in my gut. Kim's nails dug into my back, her body arching against mine.

"Mine," she whispered again, her voice a soft chant. "Mine. Mine. Mine."

I came with a groan, my body shuddering as I spilled into her. She held me close, her body milking mine, her breath hot against my neck.

We stayed like that, our bodies entwined, our breaths slowly returning to normal. The reality of what we'd done hit me like a punch to the gut. I pulled away, my hands shaking as I righted my clothes.

Kim watched me, her eyes never leaving my face. She didn't seem embarrassed or ashamed. Instead, she looked satisfied—like a cat that had gotten into the cream.

"This can't happen again," I said, my voice hoarse. I ran a hand through my hair, my mind racing. "This was... this was wrong, Kim."

She stepped closer, her hand cupping my cheek. "Wrong?" she echoed. "How can something that feels so right be wrong?"

I shook my head, stepping away from her touch. "I'm married," I said. "I... I have to go."

I turned and unlocked the door, slipping out before she could stop me. The church was quiet, the service still droning on. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. What had I done? What had I let happen?

As I returned to my seat, I could feel Kim's eyes on me, burning into my back. I slid into the pew, my wife glancing at me with a slight frown.

"You were gone a while," she whispered. "Everything okay?"

I nodded, forcing a smile. "Fine," I lied. "Everything's fine."

But it wasn't. And I knew it never would be again.

My mind was a whirlwind as I sat through the rest of the service, Kim's taste lingering on my lips, her scent on my clothes. I could feel her eyes on me, a constant reminder of what we'd done, what I'd let happen, and what I'd wanted to happen.

As the congregation began to file out, I hung back, my feet rooted to the spot. I watched as my wife left with the others, her eyes scanning the crowd, looking for someone. She didn't notice or see the turmoil raging inside me.

Before I could change my mind, I turned and returned to the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar as if expecting me. I slipped inside, locking it behind me.

Kim was there, her habit gone, her body clad in a simple white slip. She was kneeling on the cold tile, her hands clasped in front of her, her head bowed. She was praying, her lips moving softly, reciting gospel after gospel.

I stood there, transfixed, watching her lips form familiar words. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God..."

I moved closer, my body responding to the sight of her and the sound of her voice. I reached out, my hand tangling in her hair. She looked up at me, her eyes wide with desire and something else—something darker.

She rose to her feet, her body pressing against mine. I could feel her heat, her need. I backed her against the counter, my hands gripping her waist. I lifted her, setting her down on the edge. She spread her legs, welcoming me in.

I dropped to my knees, my hands sliding up her thighs, pushing her slip out of the way. She was bare underneath, her flesh hot and damp. I leaned in, my tongue tracing the line of her slit. She gasped, her body arching, but her voice never faltered, never stopped chanting the sacred words.

"And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory as the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth..."

I licked her slowly, my tongue delving into her folds, tasting her. She moaned, her body shuddering, but her voice remained steady, her words clear. I found her clit, my tongue circling the sensitive nub. Her breath hitched, her hands gripping the counter, but she didn't stop. She didn't falter.

"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life..."

I slid a finger into her, then another, my tongue still working her clit. She was wet, her body welcoming, her inner muscles clenching around me. I could feel her tension building, her breath coming in short gasps, but her voice never stopped. Never wavered.

She came with a cry, her body convulsing, her inner muscles milking my fingers. But her voice kept going, her words a steady stream of sacred promises.

I stood up, my body aching with need. She looked up at me, her eyes glazed with desire. She reached out, her hands grasping my belt. She undid it, her eyes never leaving mine. She slid her hand inside, her fingers wrapping around me. I was hard, my body throbbing with need.

She slid off the counter, her body pressing against mine as she sank to her knees. She looked up at me, her eyes wide with desire and devotion. "This is my body," she whispered, her tongue licking her lips. "Given up for you."

She took me in her mouth, her lips wrapping around me, her tongue swirling around my shaft. I groaned, my head falling back, my eyes closing. She took me deep, her throat relaxing, taking me in.

She pulled back, her lips tight around me, her tongue working the underside of my shaft. Then she plunged forward again, taking me in, deepthroating me. I could feel her throat muscles working, her lips tight around my base.

She pulled back again, her eyes looking up at me. "This is another way," she whispered, her voice husky. "To consume the body of Christ."

I groaned, my hands gripping her hair as she took me in again, her mouth hot and wet and eager. She worked me, her mouth and tongue driving me closer and closer to the edge.

But I wanted more. I wanted all of her.

I pulled her to her feet, my hands gripping her slip. I pulled it off, leaving her standing there, naked, her body flushed with desire. I turned her around, bending her over the counter. I gripped her hips, my body pressing against her.

She looked back at me, her eyes wide with need and desperation. "Forgive me, Father," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "For I am about to sin."

I slid into her, my body filling hers. She gasped, her head dropping, her fingers gripping the counter. I moved in her, my body claiming hers, my hands gripping her hips.

She was tight, her body welcoming, her inner muscles clenching around me. I could feel her tension building, her breath coming in short gasps. She looked back at me, her eyes glazed with pleasure and pain.

"Mercy," she whispered, her voice a soft plea. "Mercy, Father. Forgive me for my sins. Forgive us for our sins."

I moved faster, my body driving into hers, the sound of our flesh coming together filling the room. She was chanting again, her voice a soft litany of pleas for forgiveness, for mercy.

I reached around, my fingers finding her clit. I rubbed it, my body still moving in hers. She came with a cry, her body convulsing, her inner muscles milking me.

I came with her, my body shuddering, my seed spilling into her. We stayed like that, our bodies entwined, our breaths slowly returning to normal.

But I knew, as I pulled away and looked into her eyes, that this was far from over. We had sinned, had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. And I knew, with a certainty that sent a shiver down my spine, that we would sin again. And again. And again.

I couldn't stay away. Despite the guilt gnawing at me and the fear of what we were doing, I found myself back in that bathroom, the door locked behind me, Kim Lip pressed against me. Her habit was gone, her body bare, her breasts heaving with each breath.

I didn't wait or waste time on gentle touches or soft words. I spun her around, her back to my chest, my hands gripping her tits. I squeezed, her flesh spilling between my fingers. She gasped, her body arching, her nipples hardening to points.

"You like that?" I growled, my voice low. I pinched her nipples, rolling them between my fingers. She moaned, her head falling back against my shoulder.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But this... this is wrong. We can't—"

I cut her off, my hand wrapping around her throat, my other hand still groping her tit. "Wrong?" I echoed. "You didn't think it was wrong when you were begging for my cock."

She moaned again, her body writhing against mine. I could feel her ass pressing against my cock, could feel the heat of her through my pants. I released her throat, my hand trailing down her body, over her stomach, to the juncture of her thighs. I cupped her, my fingers sliding through her folds. She was wet, her body ready.

I undid my pants, my cock springing free. I didn't bother with foreplay, didn't ease into her slowly. I gripped her hips and thrust into her, my cock filling her in one swift movement. She cried out, her body tensing, her inner muscles clenching around me.

"Forgive me, Lord," she whispered, her voice trembling. "For I have sinned."

I fucked her hard, my body slamming against hers, the sound of our flesh coming together echoing through the room. She braced her hands against the counter, her body taking each of my thrusts, her tits bouncing with each movement.

She started to recite prayers, her voice a soft chant. "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..."

I groaned, my hands gripping her tits again, squeezing them as I fucked her. She moaned, her body thrusting back against mine, meeting each of my thrusts.

"Blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus..."

I slid one hand down, my fingers finding her clit. I rubbed it, my cock still moving in her, my body still slamming against hers. She cried out, her body tensing, her inner muscles milking my cock.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners..."

She came with a cry, her body convulsing, her head falling back against my shoulder. I could feel her pleasure, could feel her body pulsing around mine. But I didn't stop, didn't slow down. I kept fucking her, kept rubbing her clit, kept groping her tits.

"This is a covenant," she whispered, her voice breathless. "A new covenant. A way to save the sins of all in the world."

I groaned, my body tensing, my release building. I gripped her hips, my fingers digging into her flesh as I moved in her, as I chased my pleasure.

"No," she whispered suddenly, her body tensing. She tried to pull away, tried to escape my grasp. "Not inside. Not without—"

I held her tight, my body still moving in hers. "You can tell them it was immaculate conception," I growled in a low voice. Tell them the Holy Spirit came to you in a dream and blessed you with a child."

She shook her head, her body still struggling against mine. "No, please—"

But it was too late. I came with a groan, my body shuddering, my seed spilling into her. I held her tight, my body pressing against hers, my cock still buried deep inside her.

We stayed like that, our bodies entwined, our breaths slowly returning to normal. She was silent, her body tense, her mind racing. I could feel it, could feel the turmoil within her.

I pulled out, turning her to face me. Her eyes were wild, her face flushed, her lips swollen from our kisses. She looked... debauched. A fallen angel, tainted by sin.

"They'll never believe us," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "They'll cast us out. They'll—"

I cut her off, my lips crashing against hers. I kissed her deeply, my tongue sweeping into her mouth, claiming her. When I pulled away, her lips were even more swollen, her eyes wilder.

"Let them try," I growled, my voice low. "Let them try to cast us out. To shame us. To condemn us." I cupped her cheek, my thumb brushing against her skin. "We have a higher purpose now, Kim. A new covenant. A new testament."

She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. She was scared, I could see it. But there was something else there, too—something darker, a hunger, a need, a desire for something more, something forbidden.

I smiled, leaning in, my lips brushing against hers. "Trust in me, Kim," I whispered, my voice soft. "Trust in our path. Trust in our sin."

And as she looked up at me, her eyes filled with desire, fear, and hunger, I knew. I knew that she was mine. I knew that she would follow me, no matter where this path led us or how dark, twisted, or sinful it became.

She was mine.

And I was hers.

And together, we would forge a new path. A new covenant. A new sin.

#artms smut #kim lip smut #gg smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #artms #kim lip #smut #kpop #artms kim lip #girl group smut #loona smut #loona kim lip

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ma1dita · 3 months ago

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in someone's good books

'between certainties and doubts' installment part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader) wc: 2.4k a/n: MDNI - smut ahead! semi-public sex, fingering (fem receiving) kind of a handjob. remus 'on company time' lupin. hit the stacks baby. finally i can be free from this. enjoy.

—

Remus Lupin was a typical bookworm.

Before he warmed up to his best friends, he reckons the first-year version of him spent a straight two months worth of free-periods nestled in a dusty corner by the library window. The stacks welcomed him every time he walked through the creaky doors—books were more reliable than people after all. The endings of stories never change, and Remus liked that. Cautious to his core, he always liked knowing what comes next.

Despite the slight scent of mildew and the dust bunnies that lined the corners, he liked spending time here even as the years passed because not only was it quiet, but the boys never dared to bother him here. It was almost as if he’d cast Protego at the entrance, forming an imaginary line that they would rarely cross unless truly desperate or bored. They could find other things to entertain themselves with without causing alarm or giving Remus early-onset wrinkles.

Usually, that is.

Plus Madam Pince really had it out for the other three (okay, maybe just Sirius and James—Peter by association, but also because he left food wrappers and crumbs everywhere), all but shining star Remus Lupin, who still helped out with sorting books whenever he had a free period. Suggesting to use the Dewey decimal system instantly made him Madam’s favorite—but actually charming the books to float into their proper sections was always a chore.

The other boys didn’t really understand how hard it was to juggle work and school, with all of them being pureblood. There was no reason for the Marauders to be in the library—the action was always elsewhere. Also, James was frustratingly naturally gifted at everything, Peter liked studying with tea and scones in the kitchens, Sirius was purposely dancing on the line of failing to keep his parents mad and doing decent enough to make the cut to be an Auror, and well—Remus Lupin was a boy who’s used to working extra hard for what he wanted, even if he acts like none of it is ever a big deal. Even if his best friends offered to help out with the little things—he liked to have something to do with his hands, and he really liked being here.

Though a bookworm he may be, among other things, Remus was still very much a boy with…urges.

Somewhere between the summer after sixth year into seventh, he realized that you satisfy that urge quite well.

So he comes to the library to decompress from everything going on in his life, away from the noise. But when you’re around, he finds himself reveling in it. The Transfiguration essay he was going to do during his break was the last thing on his mind—doing you sounded like a better idea in his head. The whimpers falling from your bruised lips suddenly became much more interesting as he pressed you against an alcove in the bookcases farthest from the door, a few rows away from the restricted section (since Madam Pince makes a habit of patrolling it like a hawk) and away from prying eyes. You’re grappling to hold onto something—accidentally nudging a book off a shelf he was re-sorting. He’ll do that later. The only thing on Remus Lupin’s agenda for the next 45 minutes is making you come and keeping you quiet.

The hardcover book smacks him in the forehead with a thunk, and you both giggle through conjoined lips at the pained look on his face.

You lean up to kiss the reddening mark. It matches the flush of his cheeks.

“Poor baby,” you coo, a nasty smirk on your face, and Remus rolls his eyes, making quick work of tugging your underwear down–-he likes the visual of them hanging off your leg when he fucks you. There is virtually no space between your bodies as if he’s ready to burrow you into the shelves, and honestly? It sounds hot, and so does the low growl of his voice as hikes your leg higher over his waist, “Shut up. S’your fault I’m like this. Coming in here looking like that,” Remus grumbles, fingers sliding through the buttons of your shirt so he can paw at your breasts.

“What do you mean? I’m in my uniform, and I was just trying to do homewo—”

You moan through a bitten lip as he fondles you roughly, other hand on your ass and his mouth—Godric that mouth will be the end of you. The fucker is a biter, and his tongue soothes the angry mark he’s imprinted onto the junction of your neck and shoulder. You try your best to hold in your gasp but then he’s kissing your cheek to be mean as he plunges two of his fingers into your slick warmth, probing, searching for the spot that will make you go insane.

“Hush now, lovely girl. Be nice and quiet for me and Madam Pince, will ya?”

Remus chuckles when you slap his chest—the both of your bodies going still for a moment when the sound echoes, eyes shifting awkwardly around the stacks to see if anyone’s coming your way. The only person coming soon is you—embarrassingly quick as you can feel yourself unravel at his touch that hasn’t ceased, and Remus is printing his lips onto the swell of your tit as your standing knee buckles.

“Please…fuck, baby…” you swallow, sounding strangled as he shushes you, swirling his thumb around your gushing and hungry clit. His hand is slippery with your arousal, fingers fucking you faster—that alone enough to carry your weight and push you further against the shelf that digs into your back.

To be honest, Remus’s fingers are cramping like a motherfucker, but he’s too enthralled with the way he takes your breath away. Only he can do this, and your desperation is for his eyes only. You sought him out, knowing he’d be working today, walking in here during his shift with your skirt rolled up and tits pushed up by God’s greatest invention, a push up bra.

He’s only human.

Kind of. His hunger for you is otherworldly, and much of it doesn’t make sense, like how he’s fully getting off from feeling your pussy clench around his fingers. Fuck yes, the grip alone makes his arthritis flare up but like hell is he going to stop now.

Remus is anything, if not determined, to see things to the end. Plus he really likes the face you make when you come.

“Mmm, oldest trick in the book, baby. Gotta try harder next time,” he grins, and then your face matches his. You got exactly what you wanted. His nose scales the expanse of your neck, inhaling your scent, your sweat—he wants it all as he mutters, “Like it though. You’re always needy for me.”

Before you can protest, a third finger slides home, and he lets go of your leg to instinctively clap his free hand over your mouth. You moan straight into it, eyelashes fluttering as he expected. The both of you pause to catch your breath and readjust, and he feels you kiss his palm.

“You like it. Being needed by me.”

Remus doesn’t deny it— it was bound to happen, just as he knows the next step of this rendezvous is holding you up into his arms so the momentum of your passion isn’t lost.

“Jump.”

Closer now, with your hands encircled around his neck and thighs wrapped around his hips, he sees the look in your eyes as his fingers press further into you. Remus plays you like how you played the piano at your grandma’s house last summer—meant to invoke a feeling, to make a sound. With purpose. He remembers how it felt to fuck you on top of it too, discordant banging of keys and hips sounding like music to his ears.

“Remus!” you whimper into his ear, tongue gliding across his earlobe, and with that sound he’s convinced his name, his existence isn’t a slur. He’s good at this. He’s really fucking good at this.

His thumb nuzzles your clit in just the right way before the air is forcibly taken from your lungs and all of your senses are screaming his name.

You however, have to bite his hand instead as he looks down at your seizing form, nodding along with you as a consolation.

“Mmmhm. Give it to me, lovely girl. Like being desired by you,” he breathes heavily. One would think that he’s the one who had the mind-numbing orgasm. Your legs are shaking still when you grab onto him for support, and his hand is stiff and slick as it slides away from your opening, juices dripping down the inside of your thighs.

“Is there any difference?”

Gulping down air, he looks at you with a heady smile, “You’re needy for me. But you don’t need me.” His lips suckle on his pruned fingers, savoring the taste of you while he can, and he watches you blink slowly.

“And how do you feel about me?”

There’s no surprise on his face; you ask this often. Reassurance from Remus always seals the deal you’ve made, ever since last summer, whether you have to ask for it or not.

His lips quirk upward, pressing a sodden thumb against your lips, making you taste the euphoria he made you feel.

“Easy answer right here for you,” he says sweetly, but his actions are the opposite of that—he’s dragging your hand over the hefty bulge in his trousers, heavy and firm as you stroke it.

“Too easy,” he mumbles, checking his scratched wristwatch. There’s enough time, if you’re still down, but then he notices you’re pouting with swollen lips.

“M’not easy, Remus.”

“Course not, baby. But your reaction says otherwise,” he mutters against your cheek. Still, you’re pulling his fly down, sticking your warm hand and cupping his cock as if it’s a life or death decision. Remus takes a deep breath, and you stare up into his eyes with your brows furrowed and your grip tightening by a fraction that he feels deep in his balls.

“You know the answer, cariad,” he chuckles tightly, chewing at his lip, “you’ve got all of me in your hands.”

Good enough for now.

You drop to your knees with a thud, and Remus looks at you like he’s won the lottery watching you reach between your drenched thighs to wick up some of your arousal and spread it on his. Fuck, maybe he isn’t that much of a fuck up then, and maybe he did something so right in his past life to warrant the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen enjoying his cock like this, whenever he wants.

Remus Lupin counts his blessings, but of course, they never last long. He’s jinxed himself—swears he’s about to bite his tongue off when your thumb swirls around his cockhead and your plush lips barely touch the tip when the sound of the heavy double doors slam open across the library, with his three best friends yelling out, “MOONY!” in purposefully grating voices. There’s a few minutes to spare—the three of them wouldn’t know their way around here even with wands to their foreheads so with wide eyes, the two of you sort yourselves out and tuck everything back in (unfortunately for him). There’s a twitch in his eye when his favorite people round the corner, bumping into one another like the three blind mice.

“Whatcha doin in here, Moons?” James says in a voice that’s definitely not meant for inside.

The mentioned boy swallows, shrugging his shoulders and running a damp hand over his hair. You cringe, turning away to look for a book.

“Nothing important, lads. Is it time for lunch already?”

“Hurry up or they won’t have any more of the good rolls!” Peter says worriedly, easing up when Sirius pulls him into a headlock, “There will never be enough if you’re around Wormy. Save some for the rest of us!” He grabs Remus by the scruff of his neck like a pup, all three of them turning to walk back down the aisle now, and then James spots you. The Head Boy has to promote goodwill with all students of Hogwarts after all, and he’s been trying to prove it these first few weeks of term.

He calls your name, grinning, “Find what you’re looking for? Or you reckon they should fire my boy?”

Stiffening, you swivel on your heel with shaky legs, “No, uh… he did great! Finally got my copy of uh…” you pick up the book that hit him in the face earlier, staring down at a brand-new copy of Magical Pest Control: Keeping Gnomes Out of Your Garden.

Your glance at Remus says only two words.

Kill me.

“Well….alright! See you in class!” James says awkwardly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and the motherfucker who left you hanging is stifling his laughter. You hope his dick stays hard just to spite him. Jerk.

“Bet she has trouble keeping gnomes out her garden,” Sirius waggles his eyebrows—you can hear it in his voice, not having to see him. Remus isn’t laughing anymore.

Your underwear is nowhere to be seen—you’re crawling around for it like a jackass for about five minutes before Remus pops his head back into the aisle after giving the boys a shitty excuse of having to remind you when your book of choice is due. None of them remember that the books Accio themselves back to the library.

He’s grinning again at the agitated look on your face, still hard like you expected when he presses you against another shelf, kissing you with the intention of easing your mind.

It works like a charm, both of your tongues wet and warm, dancing so fluidly that you get whiplash when he drags his mouth away, almost taking you with him.

“Pick this up later?”

“You couldn’t resist, could you?” you groan, your knuckles knocking against his clothed shaft, and it makes him hiss, especially so when he realizes you’re trying to reach for the scrap of lace he tucked into his pocket.

“Can’t resist you,” he mutters, succumbing to the taste of your lips once more, and pulling your hands away daintily, “never can. I’ll find you later, Something you need to return that’s overdue.”

“Haven’t even checked out my book,” you say with a quirked brow, teasing him—and he looks back at you several times as he walks away, a stupid smile on his face.

You barely hear Madam Pince clear her throat behind you moments later—asking why you have such a strong interest in garden gnomes.

—

i don’t do taglists anymore! follow @ma1dita-mail and turn on post notifs :)

#remus lupin x you #made by ma1dita ♥︎#remus lupin x reader smut #marauders era smut #marauders x reader #harry potter x reader #remus lupin fanfic

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pricesgirl · 5 months ago

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Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

Y/N

"Now this one's called Mouser," Powder says, shoving the mini smoke bomb into my palms.

"Mouser?" I peer at the scrawled whiskers and ears.

"Yeah, silly, 'cause it's a mouse," she giggles, prodding one of the ears. "Ya like it?" She looks so hopeful when she asks that, like a puppy just wanting to make its owner happy.

I nod, smiling. "I love it. It's so cute. What color does it boom to?"

"Guess!" Powder singsongs, and I groan.

"Don’t make me guess. I hate guessi—"

"Just guess! Pleeeaase."

"Fine... pink?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Blue?"

"Guess again!" But before I can... BOOM.

I jolt awake in bed, panting softly. This is an infestation, relentless and vile. First, she worms her way into my daily routine, always there… looming. It’s disgusting, absolutely revolting. And now, this ridiculous fixation is ruining my sleep schedule—worse, my study schedule.

I find myself at my vanity, applying a ridiculous amount of makeup to hide the bags under my eyes. It’s fine, just a slip-up—one tiny mistake. Nobody has to know everything fell apart. Not today, not ever.

My hairbrush clatters to the floor as I throw it, frustration rising. No. No. My entire day cannot be derailed by this one tiny lapse. It was just a dream. My subconscious was simply in the mood to revisit the past, nothing more.

I take a deep breath and focus, moving with deliberate precision. When my hair is halfway secured in a perfect pink bow, I grab my uniform. The school uniform is simple—appropriate, modest, as it should be. Certain people, however, don’t wear it that way, why did my mind jump to her so instantly? There are plenty of other people who flaunt the dress code, make a mockery of it. Why her? It’s infuriating. Completely nonsensical.

I grab my bag from its designated spot by the door, double-checking its contents—binder, planner, pens in their correct case, and books for every class, organized by schedule. Satisfied, I sling it over my shoulder and head downstairs, the rhythmic click of my Mary Janes echoing throughout the otherwise empty house.

I move through the familiar routine—toast, tea, and the faint hum of the dishwasher in the background. Every detail falls into place, a perfect puzzle...

Until I step outside. The cool morning air brushes my skin, crisp and biting, and my mind drifts again. Why her? I shake the thought away, gripping the strap of my bag tighter. This is school. My space. My domain of control and focus. She can’t ruin that too. She won’t.

By the time I reach the front gates, my mental walls are firmly in place. They hold strong as i rush over to Cait and Mel waiting by our grouping of lockers. But then I catch a flash of blue in the corner of my vision—braids swaying, a grin that’s far too self-assured. My barricades shudder, and I bite down on my lip. Hard. Hard enough for those tiny droplets of blood to form.

I force my eyes forward, swallowing the sharp sting. Today will be just like any other. I won’t let her mess it up.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

School’s supposed to be a regular thing for me—well, that’s a lie. I only show up when Silco’s got that whole “I’ll cut your allowance!” thing looming over my head.

He's always 100000% bluffing, the mans a softie at heart.

Anyway, I only actually give a shit about the damn place when I’ve got a deal lined up. And hey, two days in a row?

Fucking impressive.

Todays little deal is 3g of molly, ecstasy, MDMA whatever floats ya boat.

It's a person by person basis. The pompous little Pilties will always call it Molly, like saying ecstasy would give them a fucking meltdown.

Like somehow Molly makes it sound all sweet and innocent—total bullshit to be honest.

As I march through the school parking lot, boots thudding against the cracked tarmac, I spot her. Miss Saboteur. I shove the bag of pills out of sight, just in time.

Ha, not today, toots.

She's standing there with her little Piltie entourage.

Honestly, it's pathetic. Her naivety to the class divide. And she let me tell you Y/N must be insanely thick because its very, very obvious.

You can even see it in the lovely parking lot.

On one side, you’ve got these busted-up Chevys and beat-to-hell sedans. On the other? Shiny Cadillacs and those fancy little luxury cars, the ones that scream Daddy’s money with every brrrrr of the engine.

A very diverse range if i do say so myself.

But ladies and gents, deny it all she wants, roots stick—Zaunite dirt doesn’t just brush off.

I toss the little purple baggie into locker 505 as requested, and it lands with a soft plop at the bottom. Job done.

The bell rings, but who even cares? School’s just a place to mess with people, anyway. Everyone’s all in their little cliques, walking like robots to their boring classrooms, all stiff and predictable.

So fucking boring.

I shove my way through the crowd, elbowing a few people ‘cause why the hell not? My boots clunk on the floor, and I can practically hear them wincing behind me. Good. I love that sound.

The second-floor art stairwell is, by far, the best skipping spot.

none of those nosy hall monitors or teachers lurking. Plus, it’s got this weird, artsy vibe from all the random graffiti and doodles left behind.

Honestly? It’s mostly me. Who else has the guts? Or the creativity? Maybe Ekko, when I rope him in. He always starts with "Jinx, don’t," blah, blah, blah—but give him five minutes, and he’s tagging like it’s his idea. Classic

So, I’m waiting for him now. He’s my usual skipping buddy—rebelling against authority and all that jazz.

By the time Mr Boy Saviour appears I've got a shit eating grin on my face as a doodle a certain girl on the wall, a little too focused on getting the details right.

"Look," I chuckle, "she's got horns."

"That Y/N again?" He leans in front of my masterpiece, raising an eyebrow.

"No," I giggle, lying through my teeth. "Totally not."

Liar, liar, liar.

"Gosh Ekko, get off my back, heard of artistic expression?" My grin vanishes, like, boom, gone in an instant.

Poor guy’s used to my outbursts by now. He just plops down next to me when I curl my knees to my chest, all casual-like, like I didn’t just snap at him for no damn reason.

But there is a reason, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

"I don't even get why you still talk about her, Ekko," I mutter into the fabric of my ripped tights. "I fucking hate her."

"Right, don't lie," Ekko says, leaning back against the wall, his voice all too casual. "You’ve been drawing her nonstop for the past week."

I huff, glaring at the floor.

Typical. He always knows.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Calls me out like it’s nothing. I roll my eyes, sinking into my knees even further.

“Shut up, Ekko,” I mutter, my fingers twitching against the ripped fabric of my tights. “It’s not like that.”

It totally is, though.

"Don't lie, you've been drawing her for days," Ekko says, grinning like he knows something I don't.

I squint at him. "I’m not—" I cut myself off, glancing at the sketch again.

Shit.

He leans closer, all smug, "Oh really? Then what’s this?" He points at the doodle like it’s the evidence that’ll finally put me on trial.

"Fuck off," I mutter, tossing the pen in his direction like it's some kind of missile, damn wish it was before stomping off.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: hey this is my first fanfiction on Tumblr, hope you like it :) please like and reblog!

#arcane #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn kiramman #ekko #ekko league of legends #ekko lol #caitvi #jinx league of legends #jinx #jinx arcane #jinx smut #jinx x reader #jinx x y/n #jinx x you #jinx lol #ekko arcane #arcane lol

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xo2dee · 4 months ago

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🗨️ OPIA/GOJO NSFW WEEK 2023 - DAY THREE: BODY WORSHIP

PAIRING: Gojo Satoru/(Fem)Reader. WARNINGS: MDNI/18+ ONLY. Body Worship, Cockwarming, Slight Body Insecurity. WORD COUNT: 1,642. SUMMARY: Between the sheets, he finally bares all to you. Or: You admire Gojo.

A/N: gojo with scars was something we got horribly robbed of.

JJK MASTERLIST

Milky white skin was what you saw glimpses of at times; a stretch of his arms upwards, like he was cat, letting his shirt ride up and see the beginning of his abdomen lingering down into his groin. A knotted row of abdominal muscles was after that, or perhaps the sleeves of his shirts stretching over his biceps whenever he flexed at them at you for the, ‘Gun Show’ (or maybe you got a peekaboo of that white hair sitting snugly in the middle of that delicious V-line he possessed). Though you supposed your favorites was seeing his hands (long fingers curving and pressing into your thighs) and the sharp junctions of his collarbones (your mouth lingering about the area, pressing chaste kisses to him as he trailed a finger down your spine), yet, all in all, for someone such as Satoru being so close to you at times it was odd to see him completely bare to you.

Which was why when you finally saddled him down (literally) and splayed your fingers across the expanse of his torso before your other hand wiggled its way underneath his shirt to pull it off of him, you took extra precaution to notice that he seemed to… retreat into himself. His shoulders raising to almost… hide himself, but you paid it no mind for the time being as to not intrude him. Instead he let you ride him that night with kisses pressed along his jugular, taking him fully within you as he moaned and his nose scrunched up with red cheeks underneath you, until you were both satisfied and his cum sat inside of you.

However you laid on top of him to bask in the post-coital bliss, the both of you catching your breaths and communing through the lust infested pheromones fogging up your brains and kept his cock inside of you as it began to slowly soften. You fluttered your eyelashes against his throat in butterfly kisses as his fingers traced your spine, your cheek lying against a particular rough patch of skin that you’d only seen a handful of times that made your hand ghost across his abdomen until you were tickling your fingertips across the rather long and deep scar. His reaction was instantaneous, spurning a conversation you’d been longing to have since you’d caught glimpses of it.

Satoru reacted underneath you, a snort bubbling out of his chest at your touch as he laughed and wiggled underneath you, “Don’t do that.”

His laughing caused his entire body to move, hips rocking up into you to as his cock jutted up against your insides abruptly. You fought back a squeal, your stomach flipping in circles and hair prickling across your body as you pinched his nipple, “Don’t laugh when you’re inside of me!”

“Well don’t tickle me when I am!” he batted your hand away, his body trying to turn away from you yet not getting very far considering you were attached to him like a leech, and that he was still inside of you. Your knees hit the mattress with huff, wincing at the soreness sitting heavy in-between your legs as you lifted yourself up to sit fully atop of him.

Palms splayed out and finger spread across his chest, you took him in as he gazed up at you, “I wasn’t tickling you… and you of all people aren’t ticklish…”

His thumbs began to rub circles onto your hip bones, a shrug accompanying him later, “You don’t know that.”

The statement made you pause, different situations and scenarios running by your brain in millisecond’s when you considered every possible moment that you had touched him. Surely you would’ve taken notice to that before with how many times you’d snuck your hands under his shirts for warmth and he never once jolted whenever your fingertips pressed so softly against his skin, tracing the sculpture of his muscles as you went. Yet of course, that particular scar wasn’t something he showed off too often; more-so he seemed to cover up as much possible. You wiggled your pinky finger over to where the blemish began, voice coming out softer than you expected, “Is it just that particular spot…?”

Satoru shrugged again, his expression and his tone trying to be as nonchalant as possible “Could be… Sometimes it’s a little more sensitive than the rest.” His voice, however, ended up tapering off in the end, blue eyes in the creamy moonlight losing focus on you as they seemed to find another memory to gaze upon. His pupils dilated only once, lost in the fire of whatever he was remembering before it quickly dissipated and he was back to looking at you.

You frowned, looking down at his body.

“This is the only scar you have…” You began to speak quieter.

“You’re right, and for good reason.” He began to grow quieter.

Satoru didn’t have to tell you, but you more than obliged to let him know you understood.

In the moonlight, you could appreciate him further; all the jutted dips and smoothness where he remained remotely untouched that someone was a perfect metaphor for who he was. His body reminded you of a painting, dips and texture when you ran your fingertips across the canvas akin to how it felt to caress his skin. That scar was its own brush of paint, roping together into an abstract of art that you were eager to admire and even more eager to be able to touch.

With Satoru’s sculpted body on display you slid your hand down and pressed it onto his tight stomach, feeling the muscles twitch and flex underneath your touch as you began walking your fingers up and down each abdominal muscular tissue with a small grin on your face. Once you got to his faint happy trail you ran a slow fingertip along it while hearing him hiss through his clenched teeth in pleasure and his body twitch at the sensation as you did so, a quiet laugh leaving you before tracing your fingers back along each taut part of him.

“Oh my God – babe, you can’t laugh when I’m inside of you,” his cock twitched against your walls, your lips twitching at his hitched breath as you didn’t answer him, leaning down to press a kiss in the middle of his pectorals. His low sigh encouraged you, peppering kisses along his torso much like he did your own in your own form of body worship.

A higher-pitched noise sounding like a whine left him as whenever you laid back down and folded your body fully into his own, kissing around his ribcage as he jumped and you backed off to blink coyly up at him, watching as he kept his eyes on the ceiling and his parted, pink lips continuing to match the coloring on his cheeks, “Still so ticklish? Or are you just sensitive?” you teased.

His fingers dug deeper into your hips, his body shifting to accommodate you and a sigh pushing through his lips whenever you pressed your cheek back into his chest with your arms weaving around his body. His tone was slightly shaky when he answered you, “I don’t know… It – It feels good though, so you can keep going,” he admitted perhaps a bit too shaky for his own liking as his breathing began to speed up the more you kissed along his chest.

You hummed against his hot skin faded with sweat and with Satoru’s sweet sighs and relaxing muscles egging you on, you kissed that old, fading scar. You kissed it with an overwhelming amount of affection, a reminder that he was still gorgeous with it and a reminder that he was strong enduring even the harshest of battles and coming out from them alive; a reminder that his scar (mental or physical) was a symbol of keeping his promise. He blew air through his mouth then, a sigh so soft and full of longing it made you realize he never really had the attention towards himself that way – be it his own reasoning and all.

Each kiss you placed onto his warm skin you sighed afterwards, discreetly inhaling his scent each time you did so for how good he smelled and how his natural scent brought you comfort more than you could imagine. As you felt along his body, you began to feel the jittery nerves you had before slowly begin crawl back into the depths of your mind to be forgotten for the time and to be replaced with the burning affection you had for him. You found your way back to his face with a chaste kiss pressed to his mouth, one filled passion in its own sense and with enough undertone of your meaning in it for him to understand your point. Your heartbeat slamming against your ribcage into his own, his fingers digging slightly into your face and yours lingering about atop his chest, and the wisps of his hair tickling your cheeks as your lips molded together in the perfect fit of the puzzle you’d been searching for. His gratitude in the form of words he couldn’t find for the situation, and you realized suddenly neither one of you minded that each other were naked and could find comfort in the skin-to-skin contact.

You pulled off of him and he grinned at you, all shiny white teeth and batting eyelashes, “Awh, don’t get all sweet on me.”

A scoff left you, the words on the tip of your tongue yet not leaving you just yet. “You say that, but your ears are red, Satoru.”

“That’s because you’re on top of me and I’m still inside of you.”

“Riiiight.”

The rest of your words were lost within the sheets; silk and passion mixing together as you both had found a newfound appreciation within each other.

#{🩸} nee fics #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo satoru

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mrs-hatake · 5 months ago

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So~ I saw ur lad boys requests were open 👀🍵 and I was wondering if I could request their reaction if you were wearing a mini skirt and it accidentally rides up

a/n: sorry i'm late, anon! i hope you like it ^-^

Sylus:

April showers bring May flowers. As well as cool and sunny days. When one can finally shed off their thick winter coats and slip into something lighter, more colorful and maybe top it off by wearing a cropped jacket.

Y/N is strolling down the streets of Linkon, accompanied by children’s laughter and much needed heat after the long winter season. She doesn’t always spend her day off downtown, choosing to be lazy at home and recharge. But seeing how lovely the weather has gotten, she finds herself out of her pajamas and into a cute white knit top and black mini skirt.

She doesn’t do much downtown; window shops for about an hour, grabs a late breakfast and stops by a flower shop. When she enters the park to rest under a large tree with its leaves acting as an umbrella to shield her from the scorching noon sun, she spots an ice-cream truck.

Happily eating her ice-cream, Y/N doesn’t notice a couple of boys chasing each other on their bikes. They rush past her, kicking dirt in their path and sending a strong gust of wind Y/N’s way.

“Watch it!” Y/N yells after them, grumbling at how reckless kids are getting with each passing year.

“Nice view.” Comes a comment, along with a satisfied whistle.

Y/N turns, anger burning in her eyes and a stern talking to on her when she is met with a familiar handsome face, “Sylus?” She asks, her head tilting to the side.

“In the flesh.” The man in question is sitting on a bench not too far from where the ice-cream truck is, a book between his large hands.

“What are you doing here-” Y/N cuts herself off when realization dawned on her that Sylus had seen her pale yellow underwear when those stupid boys zoomed by in their bikes, hiking up her mini skirt.

A pretty blush dusts her cheeks and Y/N quickly averts her gaze from Sylus’ amused reds.

Zayne:

Linkon’s Public Library is one of the city's most prominent buildings despite libraries being an outdated concept. After all, thanks to modern technology, everything is now digitized and an individual can gain access to billions of doors of information with a simple tap of their smart wrist watch.

Still, despite such conveniences, many still seek the warm embraces of a library. A place that feels familiar, as if reuniting with a relative after years apart. Even someone who has never been in a library before, can share this sentimentality. The aroma of book pages and the feel of the leather on the tip of the fingers, no modern device can replicate such sensations.

It’s why Y/N is spending her lunch break at the library instead of being at the cafeteria, eating and catching up with her colleagues. Although she loves them and would die for them, sometimes she needs a break.

And one of her favorite hobbies is picking up a book from the library and reading about previous generations, decades and centuries and their lifestyle.

She’s currently in the 21st century section, scanning the titles of various books when one at the very top catches her eyes; Surviving Quarantine and Covid-19.

Y/N reaches up to grab it but the shelf is way too high for her to reach. Even when she stands on her tiptop, Y/N’s fingers still struggle to graze the book. She stretches and stretches to no avail. She tries to jump but that doesn’t help her wrap her fingers around the thick book.

Just as Y/N tries to stand on the ledge of the book case to give her an extra boost, warmth engulfs her and an arm appears in her line of vision. Y/N is caught in a daze as a smooth looking hand easily grabs the book and pulls it out of the row of books.

Following the arm, Y/N is pleased to see her doctor, “Zayne!”

Zayne isn’t someone who can show emotion on his handsome and youthful face but he has been trying as a small smile tugs the corner of his lips.

“You should be more careful,” Zayne says as a form of greeting, “Your skirt was riding up. You never know who might be watching.”

Flushed with embarrassment, Y/N takes away the book, “Will do.” she chuckles awkwardly, unaware of the way Zayne’s gaze darts to her hips and back to her eyes.

Zayne will take this to his grave but he was spending the past ten minutes watching Y/N trying to grab the book. Every time her skirt hitched, Zayne leaned further, nearly falling off of his seat, trying to catch a glimpse of Y/N’s underwear. And he would’ve been successful if he didn’t hear people making their way to where they are. After all, only Zayne is allowed to watch such a mouthwatering sight.

Caleb:

Finally…Finally, after six long months, Y/N wakes up with excitement buzzing through her veins and heart thundering wildly. Today’s the day Caleb is coming home after his training program.

She spends an hour and a half in her bathroom; washing her hair with jasmine scented shampoo and rubs honeydew scrub on her limbs and abdomen, shaves all the tiny hairs littered across her body and curls her hair just the way Caleb likes it.

Y/N then spends another hour trying to choose the perfect outfit to greet Caleb home.

After three mountains of clothes pile up in her room, Y/N decides to wear a white off shoulder top with a matching mini skirt.

Just as Y/N is doing her makeup, she hears a car door slamming from outside her window. Eyes widened in alarm, she rushes to her window where she spots Caleb leaning into the window of the electric yellow cab.

Oh, no! He’s home early!

As if on maximum speed, Y/N spreads peach colored lip gloss across her lips and pats a thin layer of powdered blush on her cheeks in less than twenty seconds. She takes the stairs by two and is out the door just as Caleb is waving off the taxi driver.

“Gege!”

Caleb turns at the sweet call of his meimei, her cute nickname at the ready when it dies on his tongue.

Everything around him slows. The sounds become muted and his surroundings fade away into a blur. Except for Y/N who shines like the morning sun.

She is running towards Caleb but at the same time, curls bouncing in tune with her breasts and her skirt swaying with the breeze.

Every time Y/N comes down from the stone stairs of the entry path of their grandmother’s home, Caleb’s blessed with the sight of Y/N’s cute lace pink underwear.

How Caleb wishes he’s wearing his video recording lenses right now. He doesn’t ever want to forget this heavenly sight.

“Gege!” Y/N calls again before jumping into Caleb’s eager and greedy arms.

“I’ve missed you!” She smiles up at him, “Did you miss me too?” she pouts at him and it takes all of Caleb’s will power not to kiss her.

“Y-Yeah…” Caleb clears his throat, hides his face in her hair and inhales her scent–jasmine and honeydew– to calm himself down, “I’ve missed you too.”

Pleased with his answer, Y/N beams at him, pretty eyes glowing with delight like the night stars.

Y/N leans into the hug, unaware of how her warmth sends a thrill down her spine, how his heart is beating so loud he’s scared she might hear it. Heat pools Caleb’s in his stomach, a familiar sensation that he had tried not to chase after so he gently, albeit regretfully, pushes Y/N away.

Before she can pout at him–pretty eyes filled with unshed tears– and send Caleb into a frenzy, he rushes to say, “I got you a present!”

Grateful for the distraction, Caleb guides Y/N to their grandmother’s house. As much as he wants Y/N, wants her for himself, it’s not the time…yet.

#i wanted to write more for caleb but then i remembered that it isn't just him here lol #love and deepspace fic #sylus x reader #zayne x reader #caleb x reader #sylus x y/n #zayne x y/n #caleb x y/n #sylus x you #zayne x you #caleb x you #lads fanfic

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chilling-seavey · 2 months ago

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The Silver Arrows (gr63 + nr6)

↳ A/N: I am so excited to announce that I have written this fic as part of my first ever participation in a writing fest! Rare Pair Fest gave me the perfect 'excuse' to write the fic that had been marinating in the back of my mind for weeks and although it was hard to keep it under wraps, I can finally reveal it to you all!

↳ Disclaimer: I am so sorry for this Lewis Hamilton/Brocedes erasure just to satisfy my own fantasy…I respect you and all your accomplishments, Lewis, this is just for writing purposes for this one fic, I swear. Additionally, Nico is not married in this specific timeline; I cannot stomach writing him being unfaithful to lovely Vivian.

↳ Written For: @rarepairfest || Read on AO3

↳ Summary: Abu Dhabi 2016 ends with the high of Nico's World Championship win. Out of everyone in the world, only George knows that Nico plans to retire now that he's won the title. On their last night as teammates, they decide to celebrate the end of an era properly.

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Teammate Nico Roseberg x F1 Grid Girl (Nameless)

↳ Word Count: 22.6k

↳ Warnings: 18+, smut, mmf threesome, George is bi-curious (with arguably internalized homophobia) and his teammate helps him explore, oral sex (m and f receiving), nipple play, spanking, dirty talk, very minor degradation ("slut"), begging, rimming, anal fingering, cum play, anal sex, vaginal sex, George cries from pleasure, use of condoms.

The grid at the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix was buzzing with excitement for the last race of the 2016 season. Twenty-two cars were lined up in their grid boxes with mechanics and team members fluttering around them, working between the plethora of lucky fans who weaved their way through, donning VIP passes around their necks. The busiest section of the grid, unsurprisingly, was the front row, where two silver Mercedes W07s were lined up and prepped to perfection.

The Mercedes Formula 1 team was a force to be reckoned with ever since they took the Constructors title from Red Bull’s domination two years earlier. Since then, Mercedes had been at the top of their game in car after car that was virtually unbeatable. The engineering of such a beast was the talk of the sport but their impressive driver lineup was partially to thank too; without skilled drivers, their car wouldn’t be half as impressive to watch.

Nico Rosberg, just thirty-one years of age and starting from the second spot on the grid at the aforementioned Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, had been Mercedes’ pride and joy for six years. Despite consistently being a top contender during Mercedes’ dominant era in the last two years, he had always fallen just short of claiming the coveted World Champion title, narrowly outpaced by the likes of Sebastian Vettel and Daniel Ricciardo, respectfully. Heading into the final race of 2016, however, Nico held a narrow twelve-point lead in the Drivers’ Championship. Everything was on the line.

The driver breathing down his neck in the standings was none other than his teammate, George Russell. At twenty-six, George’s journey in Formula 1 had begun modestly with Williams, where he honed his skills and captured the eye of Mercedes who soon scouted him as their second driver. He joined the elite team just as they began their first season of success—a success many credited to George’s arrival. Though he had yet to claim a World Title, he was just twelve points shy of his teammate in the lead. What he wouldn’t give to beat his more experienced counterpart and snatch that Championship trophy before him.

There was no doubt that Nico and George were incredible teammates; arguably a pairing of an era. Both were fierce and strongly skilled competitors on the track but also got along incredibly well off track. Nico took George under his wing from the beginning, sharing in their history at Williams and helping to mould the development of their beloved Mercedes together. They were friendly with each other but, like the mindset of every Formula 1 racing driver, once they were in the car, it was every man for himself.

George stood outside his car, his focused gaze lingering on the bold red ‘6’ on his teammate’s car a few paces back from his as he fastened up his white race suit and made sure the wires and cords were in place. Nico was already in the car as the second passed towards the race start, helmet on and speaking to one of his mechanics who was leaning over the car into the cockpit. Tearing his eyes away with dire need to focus on his own race, George pulled up the headband from around his neck to secure it around the crown of his head to keep his hair out of his face, before taking his balaclava from the team member beside him.

Then, he was glancing at the young woman standing in front of his car, donning a purple dress and red beret, her gaze almost distant. He gave her a discreet once over before speaking to her, his words unintelligible.

She hadn’t anticipated being spoken to, especially not over the roar of the machinery and the twenty-two cars being started up, and so she leaned in a little towards him, “Sorry?”

George leaned in too with a small smile, speaking a little louder, “I said, your feet must hurt in those shoes.”

She glanced down at her ridiculously high heels then back up at him with a smile of her own, “It’s okay. I can lean my weight on this.”

She lifted the long metal dowel she had been holding onto, the sign secured at the top and reading RUSSELL 63 in bold type. The job of a grid girl wasn’t difficult (and arguably not important, either, in the grand scheme of things) but it paid sufficient money and she silently deemed herself quite lucky to have been assigned to the young and handsome George Russell for the season; always the one to be holding his sign in front of his car before every race.

Most of the grid girls weren’t acknowledged by their drivers and they were all strictly told to not speak unless spoken to so their shifts of standing and holding a sign were quite tiresome. George, however, always at least said hello to his assigned grid girl and, the odd time, shared a brief, surface level conversation. He was humble and kind and it always made her feel welcome in a grid riddled with men, or so he had hoped.

George pulled his helmet on over his balaclava and then climbed into his car, donned with the number 63 in brilliant sky blue against the silver livery. His team helped him get situated, hurrying to make sure everything was in order as the seconds ticked by. The crews started to move off the grid and that meant so did the grid girls. George was already intensely focused in his car so he didn’t even notice her slip away with her sign. She was used to it, going about undetected. It was her job to stand there quietly, after all, not to be his friend.

The grid girls made their way through the empty pitlane and into the large building that divided the circuit from the paddock. A perk of the job was getting to watch the races from the private Formula 1 VIP balcony and there, the girls gathered just as the formation lap came to an end. Twenty-two cars lined back up in their grid boxes to await the green flag at, subsequently, the illumination of the five red lights.

The engines rumbled from the cars, waiting patiently as the lights turned on slowly, one by one. George’s hands tightened on his wheel, staring up at them through his visor with nothing on his mind but to drive. Everything else fell away once he got in that car. He had a one track mind.

The five lights went out and he slammed his foot down on the throttle, tearing off from the first place line ahead of his counterparts and keeping his place. He cut into the first corner, keeping back his teammate with practiced ease and staying firmly in first. George let out a breath. Inhale, exhale. He just had to bring it home.

George drove a brilliant race; keeping his lead through all fifty-five laps without a single mistake. He knew it was yet another flawless race to add to his ever growing collection—another trophy to make room for on his shelf—but he knew it wasn’t enough. No matter how great of a race he achieved that day, his World Championship rested on the faults of his teammate. And his teammate was virtually faultless.

George led Nico past the checkered flag, ahead by only half of a second. As the two Mercedes crossed the line, fireworks erupted above the Yas Marina Circuit, bringing them home beneath sparks of pyrotechnics. As George slowed into his cool down lap, all he could hear was the roar of his car and the raggedness of his breathing, grounded by his racing heart thudding in his ears and an evil pit of disappointment churning in his stomach.

On his left, the identical car of his teammate met his pace and George raised a gloved hand out of his cockpit in a congratulatory thumbs up. Nico offered the same sentiment in return; and his hand was almost quivering with adrenaline. Just as Max Verstappen’s Red Bull and Sebastian Vettel’s Ferrari pulled up on either side of Nico for their own congratulations, George looked back to the road ahead to bring his car safely back to the team.

The radio in his earpiece crackled to life and his engineer spoke to him, “Amazing drive, amazing season, George. We’ll get ‘em next year.”

George pressed the button on his steering wheel to reply, keeping his answer polite and genuine and as void of the storm of emotions within him, “Yep. Thanks, guys. The whole team…everyone at the factory…everyone watching at home. What a season. Congrats to Nico. Onto 2017.”

Once parked in parc ferme, George went about the routine of getting out of his car without much thought. His mind felt like it was full of static, a jumble of emotions that he couldn’t quite work out in his hazy mixture of adrenaline and disappointment. On the other side of the pitwall, he could hear the roar of Nico’s Mercedes doing celebratory burnouts on the straight, clouds of smoke of burnt rubber rising from the asphalt and into the night sky.

George greeted his team over the metal fences, sharing hugs and pats in congratulations on his most impressive season to date. George knew he drove an impressive season and he knew Nico was just slightly better, but it didn’t make the sting of watching his dream slip through his fingers yet again any easier.

It was a blur for Nico, too, in his own way as he shared hugs of camaraderie with a few of his fellow drivers who came to congratulate him, barely recognizing who was who with how intense everything felt in that moment. Despite his internal battle as the pain of being runner-up settled uncomfortably in his heart, George met his teammate in the middle of parc ferme and gave him a congratulatory embrace, giving him a pat on the back and to his helmet. Through Nico’s open visor, George could see the crinkles by his eyes with how big he was smiling.

George headed into the FIA building and up the stairs to the cooldown room, his helmet and gloves in hand. The hallway was lined with the grid girls in their matching outfits and ridiculous heels, applauding for the top three, and he passed by them without another glance, still far too in his mind to think of manners at that moment. But, when he walked by that one familiar face just before reaching the door, she sent him a smile more genuine than the plastered on ones her counterparts wore. He smiled faintly at her in return and slipped into the cooldown room.

He set his sky blue helmet and matching gloves on the P1 pedestal and took the water bottle instead, unscrewing the gap and taking a lengthy sip to cool (and calm) down. Sebastian was already in there and he drifted over to George for a pat on the shoulder and a congratulations on his win and successful season. George tried to accept it with a smile but even he knew it must have fallen a little flat. In return, the well-versed five-time Champion offered him some brief words of wisdom that were drowned out by the influx of cheering coming from the hallway.

Nico came nearly bounding into the room, still donning his helmet and knee pads, embracing team members as he went. Lingering to the side with his water bottle, George watched as Nico took off his helmet and balaclava and set it aside to finally breathe, his blonde hair matted across his forehead and sticking up in all directions with sweat. George was sure his hair was no better and he turned back to the pedestal to take his Pirelli 1st Place Cap and put it on.

From behind him, Nico’s hands rested on his shoulders, giving him a little excitable shake to grab his attention. George turned around and Nico’s infectious smile had George’s bitter edge softening a little and he found his own lips turning up in the corners. Then, behind the explosions of fireworks and the noise of celebration muted through the windows of the cooldown room and the lively chatter from the hallway, Nico spoke in a lowered voice meant just for him, “Couldn’t have done it without you. Next year; yours.”

The honesty in Nico’s words hit him straight in the chest and George just stood there for a moment as his elder teammate—and, in the same breath, his mentor—gave him another pat on the shoulder. George stood and watched him for just a moment as he drifted away to speak with someone else, letting the meaning behind his statement settle on his conscience. Out of everyone in that room and, really, everyone in the world, only George knew the secret that Nico carried.

He was going to retire.

He confided in George that the season he won his World Championship would be the season he would announce his retirement from Formula 1.

With the adrenaline from the race diminishing and the reminder of how much George had accomplished under Nico’s wing, his momentary jealousy fell to pieces at his feet. Nico had meant so much to him over his career; even from his awkward beginnings at Williams and Mercedes Juniors…it had always been Nico who helped to mold him into the record breaking racer he was that day. To think they had just raced their last race together suddenly felt incredibly solemn.

George’s feet carried him across the room to where Nico and Sebastian were talking animatedly, sharing in their joy and excitement. The sight of him had Nico slinging an arm around his shoulders—having to raise up on his toes slightly to do so, however—and pulled his younger, lanky teammate closer, contorting him into a weird hunch.

“You’re a good rival, Georgie.” Nico teased lightheartedly. “Giving me grey hairs early and everything.”

Sebastian smiled between the two in their matching white and teal race suits as he sipped his water.

“Some might say I learned from the best but I’d have no clue who they’d mean.” George shrugged sarcastically, earning him Nico’s fist rubbing playfully at the top of his head. George slunk out from under his arm and gave his shoulder a shove, the two of them sharing lingering grins.

The post-race interviews and podium celebration went by in a blur for George. He hardly recalled lifting his first place trophy in the air or speaking to Coulthard about his feelings on the race and the season in front of the crowds, but, if nothing else, the shower of sparkling cider that was sprayed in his face by the hands of his teammate snapped him back into it. It would be their last podium shared and George was determined to make the most of it; drenching Nico in sticky expensive bubbly.

He and Sebastian shared the responsibility of pouring the remainder of their bottles into Nico’s mouth, the newest World Champion tilting his head back to catch the bubbling streams of liquid until it was cascading down his chin and his neck and soaking his race suit even more. George tried not to stare, not wanting the cameras to pick up on the fact that he was trying not to engrave the sight in his mind.

And then it was done. Trophies were carried off the podium and empty bottles were passed aside and media duties down in the paddock were completed routinely. George went through the motions like any other race despite the fact that he kept finding himself nearly glued to Nico’s side like he was his damn trophy-wife. He didn’t mean to look so pathetic, trailing alongside his World Champion teammate—whom he had four inches on; making his shadowing all the more ridiculous looking—through their post-race routines, but Nico didn’t bat an eye. He always liked George and was more than happy to accept his company on what only they knew would be their last race together. George was special to him.

They shared the excitement in the Mercedes garage where the team was spraying more champagne and hugs were going around from person to person. Even George got his fair share of hugs for a successful season and, of course, for helping achieve yet another Constructors Championship for Mercedes. Amongst all the chaos, George ended up in the striking quiet of the paddock out the back of the garage for a moment to breathe, leaving Nico to his conversations with nosy news outlets shoving microphones in his face.

George’s ears were ringing a little from the noise of the evening from the screaming of the crowds and the explosions of the fireworks, most of the paddock having either gone home or were busy in their associated garages to pack up from the end of the season. He rested back against the wall and took a cleansing breath, staring up into the inky night sky above Abu Dhabi and the waving palm branches along the strip.

The sound of a door opening had him turning his head to the side, watching as a group of grid girls came walking out of the building, back in their street clothes and chatting together. He stayed where he was, illuminated by the lights along the back of the Mercedes building, his eyes lingering on the one familiar presence amongst the small crowd. As if sensing his stare, she met his gaze and they shared a small smile. George cocked his head to call her over.

She parted ways with her colleagues, sharing end-of-season hugs and promising to stay in touch, and as they headed for the exit of the paddock, she made her way over to George. She hiked her bag higher on her shoulder, falling to a stop in front of him.

“Hey,” George pushed himself away from the wall a little to stand in front of her.

“Hey, race winner.” she smiled fondly, her voice a warm polite drawl.

George shrugged, “Race winner is nothing compared to what I could have had today.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” she tutted, “Five points difference is almost entirely unheard of; you’re an incredibly impressive racer. This season was no more than a matter of chance at the end of it, really. Next year I’m sure you got him.”

“Yeah, well…” George faded out. His mind went back to the fact that he would have a new teammate next year, no longer sharing the highs and lows with Nico. It wasn’t his news to share and yet he really desperately wanted to tell her; to tell someone.

There was a pause between them.

George changed the subject slightly, “Are you coming back for next season?”

“Yeah, I hope so.” she replied, “Will you put in a good word for me?”

“You know I will.” George smiled honestly, his big blue eyes lingering on her. He added a flirty, “I want first choice for the most beautiful girl on the grid after all.”

“Oh really?” she flushed modestly, playing it off with a light tut.

“Yeah, really.” answered George with ease, “I think it’d look entirely wrong to have you out there holding any other driver’s number other than mine.”

“All I’m hearing is confirmation of the rumour that Formula 1 drivers are selfish.” she teased with a playful smile.

George laughed out loud, a warm, genuine sound that filled the night air in their momentary privacy. He was still in his racesuit and damp from champagne, his 1st place Pirelli cap still on his head and hiding his mess of cider-drenched hair. In the artificial illumination of the paddock under the night sky, he almost glistened, and the slight flush of his cheeks appeared extra rosy against his fair skin.

His brief laughter at her tease faded and the two of them just stared at each other a moment, as if memorizing one another. It wasn’t new, him staring at her. Most of the time he only really saw her when he was busy preparing for a race and she was stationed at the front of his car with his sign, but, in the odd times where nothing else held his attention, he always enjoyed staring at her. The fact that she always stared right back was almost thrilling, sending his heart doing somersaults in his chest.

After a moment, she broke their shared silence first, “Winter break is going to be painfully long.”

George’s lips turned up a little at the corners, as if easily understanding the underlying meaning behind her statement and sharing in its sentiment, “Incredibly so.”

“You know—” she started.

At the same time, George spoke too, “I wasn’t sure if—”

The two of them shared soft laughter at the synchronization and then she gestured to him to speak first.

“I was just going to say,” George cleared his throat, staring into her eyes like he always did when he spoke to someone, “I wasn’t sure if you’re living in the Monaco area but I wouldn’t mind maybe grabbing a coffee or something together over the break?”

Her eyes widened at his offer, taking by slight surprise, “Oh. I mean…yeah. Yeah, that’d be really nice.”

George’s face relaxed, “Yeah?”

Just then, the back door opened and out came Nico, surprisingly alone. He let out a heavy breath and stalked over to the pair of them, clapping his hand to George’s shoulder with that smile that hadn’t seemed to leave his face since the checkered flag.

“Hey, what’s going on out here?” he greeted.

George offered him a polite smile, hiding the slight swell in his heart at the sight of his beloved teammate, “Nothing. Just chatting.”

Nico glanced between you both and then sent George a pointed glance, “Just chatting? You’ve got a beautiful girl in front of you and you’re just talking about, what, the weather?”

“No,” she cut in with a casual statement, all without taking your eyes off George in front of her, even as Nico glanced your way, “he’s been a pretty good flirt too.”

Nico’s face contorted into an expression of amused pride and he looked back at his teammate, giving George’s shoulder a squeeze, “Oh, really now?”

George let out a breathy chuckle, pushing a hand through his hair, “I wouldn’t say flirting. Just...friendly conversation.”

“Friendly, huh?” Nico teased, his grin widening, tightening his hand on George’s shoulder, “Well, I’ve seen your every-day version of friendly, and let me just say, it’s not half as charming as what I just walked in on.”

She laughed softly, the warm atmosphere between the three of them feeling effortless, “He is always incredibly charming.”

“I should have known you’d be good at this, Georgie.” Nico badgered with a voice thick with friendly teasing, “Always a smooth talker when it counts.”

George chuckled softly, his smile returning to its usual confident charm without taking his eyes off the young woman in front of them, “I dunno, I’m still trying to figure out just how to properly impress her.”

Nico smirked, leaning in just a little closer to his counterpart with his hand squeezing his shoulder, his voice dropping to a lower, almost conspiratorial tone, “Well, you might want to do more than talk. You know, it’s the actions that really do it.”

She couldn’t help the slightly nervous laugh that slipped from her lips at what the older man was implying; her hand raising to cover her mouth and she turned her face away to hide her amusement. George was thankful that at least that way she would not have to face the crimson that was inching across his cheeks at the same time. Nico only grinned and gave George’s shoulder a jostle.

Then, he was speaking, “Right, so what do you two say we keep this little party going? I was thinking about having a little private celebration back at my apartment if you both would be interested. I’m flying back to Monaco tonight and you’re welcome to join me. Celebrate the right way, yeah? Just us. What do you think?”

George exchanged a quick glance with her, a shared look of intrigue and curiosity. His heart leapt into his throat: a private celebration…just them. When he didn’t see any hints of doubt on her face, he turned back to Nico with a slight nod, “That sounds good.”

“Great,” Nico said with that handsome smile of his, “I have to wrap up some things here but let’s meet at the hangar at 10:00.”

“10 is good.” George nodded in agreement.

“‘Sounds good’, ‘ten is good’; everything is good to you tonight.” Nico laughed teasingly, far too excitable to have much of a filter, and gave George’s bicep a squeeze as he stepped away. “See you then.”

As Nico disappeared inside, George turned to her with a soft smile, his voice quieter now, trying not to let the hints of trepidation appear, “Well, looks like we’re in for an interesting night.”

She smiled back and George could have sworn he saw a sparkle in her eye as she replied, “I’d say so.”

George was definitely not a virgin, he would have that known, thank you. He had a handful of girlfriends in his twenty-six years and plenty of blurry one-night stands or the odd repeat no-strings-attached connection—the joys that came with a Formula 1 career, really—and he prided himself on his well-trained collection of sexual experiences over the last decade. Sure, the beginning few were memories he kept locked away but he had definitely grown and, not to be cocky or anything, but he was sure his recent few partners in passing would gladly speak to his skills.

Despite the double-digit body count he held in his back pocket, sitting in Nico Rosberg’s Monaco penthouse that Monday night, George suddenly felt incredibly inexperienced. He had shared his teammate’s private jet back to the Principality, went home just long enough for a quick sleep and shower and shave, before finding himself sitting on the expensive white sofa in the living room.

Nico was across the room, pouring drinks at the silver bar cart, still buzzing off of his day-old Championship win and talking excitedly about this or that, his voice almost echoing in the spacious apartment. George bit his tongue from reminding him that technically he wasn’t World Champion until the formal awards’ ceremony in a fortnight; who was he to deny his comrade his excitement after he had been so kind and taken him under his wing for years.

On George’s right, his grid girl was sitting beside him in a modest floral dress with her hair done and a light face of makeup, resting on the couch where his arm was draped over the back. He could smell her perfume with how close she was and he kept catching himself glancing between her and Nico like he didn’t know where to look. She was listening politely to Nico’s ramblings, pitching into conversation where she could and seeming to fit in just fine with the two of them. George might have been a bit in awe of her for that.

It wasn’t unheard of for some of the grid girls to be invited to parties with the drivers and even to spark up hushed relationships with them here and there. Some of her colleagues spoke in whispers about their own thrilling one-night-only stories that had her sworn to secrecy; so once she found herself sitting in the multi-million euro penthouse with not one but both handsome Mercedes drivers, she felt a little out of her depth.

Naturally, she shifted a little closer to George’s side, marginally so. He noticed, stealing a glance her way, and his arm around the back of the couch dropped a little closer, just enough to brush his fingertips over her shoulder and the light fabric of her dress. He hadn’t realized how captivating her profile was until then, really taking a moment to stare at her in the cozy light of the living room and the orange-hues of the setting sun over the skyline.

Nico, finally finishing pouring the drinks, flashed a cheeky grin as he turned back toward the two of them with the three crystal glasses balanced in his hands, “Alright, I’m thinking we all need to toast to this incredible season.”

He came over to the couch and she and George took their glasses from him with soft thanks. Nico then sat on George’s other side, sandwiching him between them both, thighs touching. George scuffed the toe of his socked foot along the hardwood chevron floor as he shifted in place and raised his hand to meet in the middle to clink glasses.

From his left, Nico announced, “To two championship wins, being the best damn team in the sport for the third year running, and to George carrying on the Mercedes domination for years to come.”

George could feel the young woman’s eyes glancing between them at that last sentiment but no one spoke to it. Instead, they shared fleeting notes of agreement and clinked their crystal glasses together before taking a sip of their drinks. The momentary silence stretched on for a moment before Nico leaned forward, setting his glass down on the coffee table with an exaggerated sigh.

“You know,” he began, his voice laced with amusement, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen George this quiet in my life.”

The young woman laughed softly, glancing at George, “Really? He seems pretty comfortable to me.”

Nico smirked and lounged back on the couch himself alongside them both, “Oh, he’s comfortable, alright. Too comfortable, if you ask me. Georgie here normally never shuts up. He only gets like this when he’s got something—or someone—on his mind.”

George groaned, already feeling the heat in his cheeks, “Blimey, mate, do you ever stop?”

“Not when I’m right,” Nico shot back, winking past him to the woman on his other side, sharing in the moment of playful banter, “and judging by the way you’ve been sitting so close to her since the second you sat down, I’d say I’m right on the money.”

Where others might have been passive in the private company of two Formula 1 drivers, this young woman refused to back down, meeting Nico’s teasing gaze with a smirk of her own, “Maybe he’s quiet because you haven’t allowed him a word in otherwise since we got here.”

“Oh, she’s quick,” Nico declared with a playful grimace and a playful scoff.

George shook his head at his ridiculousness, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. He could feel his heart beating hard in his chest and with another sip of his liquid courage, he wanted to see just how much he could push this. So he turned to the woman on his right, his voice quieter but no less playful, “I think he’s just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Nico echoed, feigning offense, “I don’t get jealous…I have no need to get jealous. I’m just...invested in my teammate’s happiness, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied effortlessly, taking another sip of your drink, “and how exactly do you plan to ensure his happiness?”

Nico leaned back in his spot, his smirk taking on a more wicked edge, “Oh, I’ve got a few ideas.”

She leaned in, prying a little further, “Perhaps ideas that tie into your toast of ‘George carrying on the Mercedes domination’?”

George and Nico exchanged glances as if debating if they were going to bring up the secret that only they knew. George knew it wasn’t his place to speak so he let the silence linger for only Nico to fill it how he saw fit. Finally, after a beat, Nico’s eyes softened under the lingering stare of his younger teammate and he looked back over at her.

“Well,” he began with a breath, his voice steady but tinged with gravity, “between us three here, I’ve made a decision. After the awards ceremony this year, I’m retiring. I won’t be back in Formula 1 next season.”

George’s eyes flickered to the young woman to gauge her reaction, watching how her eyebrows raised and her mouth fell open slightly. She blinked once, twice, and then, “Oh. Wow. That’s…a big decision.”

Nico chuckled warmly and clapped a hand on George’s shoulder proudly, “Yeah. I’ll be passing the reins on to my very capable mentee here. So, I thought tonight could be a celebration of sorts—of everything we’ve accomplished together and our final season as teammates. One last hurrah.”

“That’s...huge,” she said finally, leaning back slightly as if giving the moment the space it deserved, “I mean, congratulations, of course, but it’s hard to imagine Formula 1 without you, Nico.”

“Yes, it will be an adjustment but it feels right.” Nico shrugged, glancing back at George who was already staring at him unwaveringly, big blue eyes almost unblinking. Nico was used to his teammate’s intense gaze, and he reached over to gently nudge George’s cheek with a friendly smile, trying to bring the mood back to where it had been. “Enough of the heavy stuff now. How about this celebration?”

“What exactly did you have in mind?” George asked, trying to keep his voice at an even tone so as to not expose the anticipation of the unknown that was bubbling up inside him.

“Well,” Nico reached forward to pick up his glass again, always such an expert at playing it cool, “I was thinking we could move somewhere a bit more comfortable…a little bit more intimate to kick this up a notch. What do we think?”

George’s mind raced as the unspoken invitation settled over them. His heart warred with itself—one part of him burning with curiosity and a longing he hadn’t dared name, and the other whispering that this wasn’t who he was. At least, not who he thought he was supposed to be. He glanced at the woman with them to gauge her reaction, surprised to see the intrigued smile on her face and the way her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. Without a word she nodded in agreement and then met George’s gaze to hear his thoughts.

Now both she and Nico were looking at him expectantly, and George didn’t know what to do. He had wanted to take her out properly first—have a real date, ease into something meaningful—before suddenly jumping into bed with her. And for a threeway at that. Yet the thrill it held, the lack of barriers or awkward first-date conversations, was tempting.

And then there was Nico.

George’s gaze flickered to his mentor, his friend, the man who had guided him through the ranks of Formula 1. Nico was everything George had aspired to be—brilliant, charismatic, unshakably confident. George had admired him since his awkward, gangly teenage years, staring up at the podium where Nico stood as the rising star. He couldn’t deny that he always knew Nico was attractive but he never let himself think anything more of that; their shared ice baths or training sessions were simply professional and he was very good at putting things out of his head when he needed to.

Oh, God, he had truly pushed so much out of his mind over the years: so much he didn’t want to burden Nico with—hell, burden himself with. Now, George was trapped between a beautiful woman and a gorgeous man with the offer of exploring more without complications or judgment dangling right in front of him. Was he really considering this?

For a fleeting second, his old instincts kicked in, the ones that had always whispered to him to stay safe, stay predictable. But then Nico smiled at him—warm and encouraging—and the last of his resistance unraveled. He knew he’d be absolutely stupid to decline. Besides, deep down he must have been prepared for this offer in some way based on how thoroughly he showered before coming over.

Fuck it.

The plush king size bed sank dreamily under George’s weight as he settled on the edge of the mattress. His eyes followed Nico’s movements as his mentor set his half-empty crystal glass on the nightstand with a dull clink, his navy button up already unbuttoned twice from the top. George wasn’t sure when he had done that but, regardless, now he found his eyes lingering on the pale triangle of exposed skin beneath the jewel toned fabric of his shirt.

He was torn from his thoughts by a gentle hand on his shoulder and, from behind him, his gorgeous grid girl leaned in to press a fleeting kiss to his cheek. She gave his shoulder a squeeze as she settled in place on the bed beside him, draping herself against his body and nosing at his earlobe. From only the fleeting touches but with the promise of more dangling in the weighted tension in the room, George could feel his cock twitch in his slacks in anticipation.

Nico finished their trio on the girl’s other side, the two men eyeing her up as she settled between them. Almost like he were an experienced pro in more than just motorsports, Nico’s hand gravitated to her thigh and just up under the hem of her floral dress. George’s eyes were locked on the subtle movement, watching the way goosebumps rose over her smooth skin under the ghostly touch of Nico’s slender fingers. Nothing had even happened yet and George was already feeling his heart racing hard in his chest.

“You look so nervous, George.”

Nico’s sudden statement had George’s attention snapping up from the girl’s lap to his teammate’s smirking face. He was sure he looked a mess, flushed cheeks and all. It was getting harder to hide the intrigue that he was once so good at pushing to the back of his mind.

“First threesome?”

George chucked faintly, trying to brush off the hints of uncertainty and anticipation brewing inside him without showing just how much out of his depth he really was, “Something like that.”

“We’ll take it slow,” Nico promised in a breath, his voice warm and low and comforting.

His hand slid farther along the inside of the beautiful woman’s thigh and her attention was drawn to him, pulled in by his alluring presence that even George couldn’t fault her for. Nico was, in all senses of the term, completely captivating. The woman between them was no less than beautiful herself and George had accepted that realization since the first few races of the season when she was assigned as his Grid Girl. Now, looking between them as the two beautiful figures stared at each other with a shared tension of desire blossoming between them, George didn’t know who to focus on more.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to grapple with that decision for long because they both then leaned in to share a tentative kiss between them. George’s heart leapt into his throat, watching as she and Nico eased into lingering kisses that filled the quiet bedroom with the soft sounds of their lips meeting and parting. With an instinctual lick to his lips, George watched the connection of their mouths and the lock of their lips, how they moved together like some effortless dance.

Her laugh was sweet and low against his lips and George could see Nico smile into it as his hand raised to cradle the side of her face. They were a vision George couldn’t look away from, taking in every atom of their connection like he wanted them engraved in his brain so he could still see them when he closed his eyes. He caught himself lingering on Nico’s profile a little longer, taking in the flex of his jaw and the lines of his face as he kissed the beautiful woman in front of him. In his hazy mind, George wasn’t sure if he wanted to be Nico or be the one he was kissing like that.

Forcing the thought aside, George shuffled a little closer to the pair and let his hand rest against her thigh, gently caressing just beneath the hem of her dress. Despite the uncertainty of the situation, George had gone through the rhythms before; well versed in touching and pleasuring women. The goosebumps that rose over her thigh as his fingers played with her skin were a hint of proof and the way her breath hitched as his fingers slid farther along her inner thigh sealed the confirmation.

She pulled away from Nico’s lips and turned her head towards George, easily taking him in for a just as needy kiss. George groaned lowly as he met her pace, eyes fluttering shut to melt into it as he tasted her mouth for the first time after a season of dreaming about it. Perhaps, if he was delusional enough, he would claim he tasted Nico’s mouth on her tongue. Maybe that’s just what he told himself.

With the ever-present awareness that Nico was watching them, George put on his best efforts, helping himself to her mouth with his tongue until she was whining into his sloppy kiss. Nico’s hands slid around her back and unzipped her dress and, without breaking away from George, she let the floral fabric fall down her arms.

She wasn’t wearing a bra and almost immediately, the older man’s greedy hand went right to her chest, pinching one of her hardening nipples between thumb and forefinger. Nico had a sly grin over his handsome face, watching the way her skin pebbled under his touch before he was dipping down to take her nipple in his mouth.

She broke away from George with a sweet smile and a little gasp, leaning back onto her hands to stare down at the way he sucked on her breast and slicked her up in his spit. George watched his teammate’s mouth work on her just as intently while his hand tugged at the bunched up fabric of her dress around her waist to encourage her to lift her hips so he could take it off of her. She complied obediently and the dress was discarded to the floor.

The rustling of sheets, of clothes, the panting of breaths, and the landing of wet kisses over slowly exposed skin; the bedroom was a flurry of rising passion. The trio ended up moving more to the centre of the bed, the woman’s lips being shared between the two men as they stripped down until the three were only left in their underwear. She was framed by two handsome, well built, athletic men, urging her hands to touch all over them, wherever she could reach. Despite her attention, George’s eyes kept flicking over her to Nico.

He looked so casual like he had been doing things like this all his life, busy tending to the beautiful woman between them with his lips on her neck and making her expression fall into withering pleasure with ease. George took his hand from between her legs, fingertips faintly slick from the dampness that saturated her panties, and, in a fit of bravery, reached his hand out to rest on Nico’s bare knee. The man didn’t even flinch, still licking and sucking at the woman’s neck.

George slid his hand up higher, feeling the faint hair and firm muscle of Nico’s thigh under his damp fingertips. He caressed his skin slowly, timidly, testing the waters and the limits. He felt so wrong for doing that, as if at any moment, his teammate was going to pull away from his ministrations and tell him off. But he didn’t. In fact, George could have sworn he saw him spread his legs a little wider on the bed to permit him closer.

The gorgeous woman giggled, watching George’s hesitation. With a brave hand, she took his wrist and pulled his hand across her lap and right to the front of Nico’s snug briefs. George nearly choked on his spit, eyes bulging out of his head as he stared at his hand on Nico’s crotch. He could feel the shape of his dick through his briefs, the warmth of him, the thickness.

George swallowed, trying not to think about the fact that he was nearly salivating.

“Is he hard already?” she asked in a purr, interrupting his short-circuiting mind as she pushed her hand through his hair.

George licked his lips, watching his hand timidly rub the obvious bulge beneath the thin fabric, barely managing out a, “Yeah…getting there.”

Nico pulled away from her neck with a playful smile, directing to the group, “We’re getting nice and acquainted now, aren’t we?”

His eyes were on George’s next, a storm in his irises that had the younger teammate’s stomach flipping with unspoken anticipation, and his smile still ever present on his face. Nico licked and bit his kiss-swollen lips as George palmed him warmly over his underwear, letting out a small hum of approval at the friction. George pressed his hand down a little harder, feeling the way Nico’s cock twitched and his hips bucked up ever so slightly against his touch. His lips parted in near awe.

The woman’s dainty fingers pushed through George’s hair again and scratched gently at the nape of his neck, pulling a small groan from his throat, his eyelids fluttering dreamily. He felt like he was dreaming; a wonderful, pinch-yourself kind of dream…and nothing that noteworthy had even happened yet. Then suddenly, he wasn’t quite sure who exactly made the first move, but Nico’s underwear was coming off and he was settling himself back against the upholstered headboard entirely nude.

Nico’s dick was impressively average. The thought had George almost laughing out loud with the irony of it all; Nico Rosberg, Mercedes’ Golden Boy, Formula 1 World Drivers’ Champion, a man larger than life itself, had a perfectly standard cock. Oh, how to humanize the man he had put on a pedestal for so long. Of course, there was nothing wrong with that and, even still, George found himself craving him more than ever. It was getting harder to push those thoughts to the back of his brain and hide them under forgotten memories.

George watched as the girl crawled her way up Nico’s outstretched legs and leaned over him for a sloppy kiss. Her lacy hot pink thong was nestled between her cheeks and George’s eyes lingered on the curve of her ass and the flesh of her hips and the slight arch of her back. His hand reached out to drag down her spine, feeling each soft bump of her vertebrae until he reached her tailbone and then caressed his warm palm over the shape of her ass. She pulled away from Nico’s lips and tossed her hair over her shoulder as she glanced back at George, giving him a sly smile and a little wiggle.

“You can spank it, if you want.” she told him.

Nico’s fingers threaded through her free flowing hair to brush it out of her face absentmindedly, his attention drawn back to George who lifted his hand just enough to drop it back down against her ass with a sharp smack. Her soft gasp was almost erotic in itself and George let himself squeeze the blushing flesh of her ass in his greedy hand. Then, without another word, she was moving down Nico’s body, kissing down his chest and faint abs and settling herself between his legs.

“Perhaps we should start off with our World Champion?” she purred.

George tried to ignore how that simple sentence sent a plethora of emotions through his mind and heart—a reminder he wasn’t World Champion and a reminder that he wasn’t either giving or receiving. Perhaps he would do well with some watching to start off.

So, George shifted forward on the bed for a better view as she teased her tongue along the length of Nico’s dick all while her siren eyes stared up at him. She took him in one hand, helping to smear the tip against her spitty lips before finally taking the head in her mouth. Nico sucked in a tight breath at the sensation and George’s eyes flicked up to him for a moment, watching how his face contorted in a pleasured furrow as he stared down at the woman between his legs.

She hummed pleasantly as if she was thoroughly enjoying herself and her free hand reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. Almost by instinct, George reached forward and gently brushed her hair back from her face and held it in a messy makeshift ponytail for her so she could more easily start to sink her mouth lower on his teammate’s cock. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of her lips wrapped around his girth, the slight stretch of her jaw to accommodate him, the dampness that lingered behind from her mouth on every up-stroke.

Just then in a voice far too complacent for the circumstance, Nico cocked his head at George, “Come up here, mate. The view is incredible.”

George tried to ignore how the ‘mate’ made him feel a little funny and, instead, he gently let go of her hair and shifted farther up the bed to join Nico back against the headboard. From that angle, almost shoulder to shoulder with him, he could see directly down his naked body to where the woman was sucking pleasantly on his cock. George was entranced for a moment, watching her pretty face nestle itself lower and lower towards his teammate’s pelvis, taking more and more of him as her mouth made the filthiest sounds.

“Such a good girl,” Nico praised lowly, his voice thick with pleasure, while his hands took over in her hair to hold it back from her face himself, guiding her into her steady motions.

George tore his eyes away from the woman to glance to his right where his teammate was resting comfortably against down-filled pillows and the upholstered headboard. Nico’s eyes were heavy-lidded, pupils dilated with lust, and his jaw momentarily tightened in unrestrained satisfaction as a faint flush touched across the apples of his cheeks and down his neck. It was a version of Nico that George had never seen before; so pleasured and without inhibitions. Enchanting.

Nico let out a small breath that was laced in with a groan as the wet sounds of the woman’s mouth on him grew louder, more pronounced, as she worked him masterfully. George glanced back down at her, watching Nico’s fingers tight in her hair and how his bicep tensed slightly as he tried not to yank her too far down. Without a thought, George’s hand reached for the front of his underwear and gave himself a small squeeze over the thin fabric.

He hadn’t realized he was already growing hard until that moment, finding his dick straining against the material of his briefs under his palm. George sucked in a tight breath as the pleasure sensors sizzled under his touch and he kept his palm rubbing over his clothed erection with his eyes flicking between the woman giving the blowjob and the handsome man receiving it. A moment later, his attention still focused between his counterparts, George slid his hand under the waistband of his underwear to touch himself properly, giving himself a few lazy and restricted strokes with his fingertips.

It was a whole new situation for George; sitting there watching two people succumb to their desire right in front of him. He couldn’t look away at first, taking in every ounce of their moment, until, again, he glanced over at Nico sitting shoulder to shoulder with him. It was as if the look of his teammate’s expression was more interesting than the sight of the woman going down on him. George couldn’t look away.

After just a moment, as if sensing he was being watched, Nico glanced over at George and their eyes met. They were sitting so close together on his bed that it almost felt like their noses were about to touch. A sly smirk grazed Nico’s face, his blue eyes flicking between George’s own and his lips parted in near-wonder as he stared right back. A certain motion from the woman between his legs had Nico’s eyebrows furrowing for a split second and his breath inhaling, all without taking his eyes away from George.

“Like what you see, George?” Nico taunted, his voice a little breathless, the slight hint of an accent that embraced his words feeling a little thicker.

George licked his lips, his hand still working beneath the confines of his underwear as he firmly kept Nico’s unwavering gaze. Distracted by their eye contact, George didn’t even realize that his touch on himself started to grow a fraction more insistent.

“Yeah,” George replied in a breath, his chest feeling tight from how hard his heart was pounding, “Very much so.”

“Yeah?” Nico played some more. His eyes dropped down George’s lean and fit torso to the moving lump under the front of his underwear where his hand was moving around his cock. Nico, more sure of himself at thirty-one than George still was at twenty-six, reached out to grasp George’s wrist and pull his hand out, “So come participate. Never took you to be just a spectator.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt.” George protested meekly.

“What if I want you to interrupt?” Nico challenged.

The two men stared at each other for a moment, the only sounds in the room being their rhythmic breaths and the lewd noise of the woman’s mouth still working lazily around Nico’s dick. The tension was crawling up George’s spine and wrapping itself around his throat. He felt sick with anticipation.

Before he could make any move, Nico was sliding his hand around the back of George’s neck and grabbing firmly. It was a move he often did after races, a moment to pull their helmets together for a head bump in shared congratulations behind the noise of parc fermé, but here, now, it held so much more behind it. His slender fingers curled into the roots of George’s brunette waves, giving him a little tug at the nape of his neck to pull him closer. George couldn’t help the small gasp that slipped from his throat.

Their noses bumped first and George sucked in a breath, his wide eyes still boring into Nico’s half-lidded ones no matter how much he was turned on at that moment. He could feel Nico’s ragged breaths against his cheek and it had him habitually licking his lips once more, wetting them, mind whirling over what this night was going to progress into.

Then, in a moment equally fleeting and painfully long, Nico pushed his lips onto George’s.

The first kiss was messy and off-centre, earning more skin than lips to meet, but it was immediately followed by a second where Nico took the lead and slotted their lips together properly. George initially tensed, inhaling sharply into their motionless kiss and freezing in place. But, when Nico went to pull away, George all but lunged forward, grabbing the back of his teammate’s neck in return and yanking him back into a heated kiss.

Nico groaned lowly into it as they shared slow, sloppy, tentative kisses, hands grasping onto backs of necks and skin feeling hot to touch. As their heads tilted to deepen their kiss, George slid his hand down Nico’s chest, resting it over his pecs and feeling each rise and fall of his every breath. George’s mind was whirling, and yet, at the same time, felt like it was filled with nothing but static. Was this really happening? He would pinch himself but, fuck, he really didn’t want to risk waking up.

“Holy shit.”

The pleasured groan from farther down the bed had George realizing that he had almost completely forgotten that his gorgeous grid girl was even present. She had her hand still lazily stroking Nico with her wide, amused eyes staring up at the both of them with her bottom lip between her teeth. There was a certain twinkle in her eye that betrayed just how much she was into the unexpected sight before her.

“Don’t let me stop you.” she all but purred, reaching up with her other hand to tug at the waistband of George’s underwear.

He took her prompt without question and lifted his hips to shove his underwear down, leaving him just as bare as Nico, and then her hand went to his hard cock too, having them each in her grasp to pleasure them simultaneously. George shuddered both at her touch and the obvious fire behind Nico’s gaze directed right down to his groin.

Nico let out a playful wolf-whistle, “Impressive, Georgie.”

George could feel the blush trailing down his neck and over his collarbones, flushed from lust and from the unexpected praise and attention from his teammate. He shifted in place and grasped the side of Nico’s neck as he leaned in to start to kiss at his neck with a small whine. George’s legs fell open a little more, hips nudging up against the hand of the beautiful woman who was currently giving him a lazy handjob, all without stopping his ministrations along the column of Nico’s neck.

“That’s more like it.” Nico exhaled, almost a hint of pride in his voice, and he draped an arm around George’s shoulders to keep him close, succumbing to the sensations of the younger man’s lips on his neck. George could feel his eyes on him, how he stared at him as the woman tended to him in generous strokes. When she finally took George’s dick in her mouth, he pulled away from Nico’s neck with a tight gasp.

“Fuck.” George hissed, glancing down at her as she batted her lashes back up at him from between his lazily parted thighs.

He was nearly leaning entirely on Nico at that point, draped naked on the bed with his head resting on his teammate's shoulder, feeling the warmth of his bicep against his shoulder blade. It was as if any care or concern had dissipated in George’s mind—the presence of lust had a way of doing that. Shamelessly horny, he let his body mould with that of the man beside him as he succumbed to the warm, wet confines of the gorgeous woman’s mouth on him. Sure, it wasn’t the most mind-blowing head he had ever received but there was something about that situation as a whole that made George’s nerve endings tingle.

She shared the both of them, going back and forth to tend to each of them one at a time, making sure to keep the other nicely stimulated with her hand when it wasn’t their turn to take up her mouth. The men lounged together in naked bliss as they watched her, and George caught himself often glancing to his right just to stare at Nico just a little more. In the last six years that George had been in Formula 1, never had he experienced teammate bonding quite like this.

George couldn’t help himself as the magnetic pull in his chest urged him closer and he pressed a kiss to the corner of Nico’s mouth. The elder turned his face towards his younger counterpart, smiling that cocky handsome grin of his, before leaning in to meet him halfway for another proper tongue-led kiss. It stirred a feeling of unexplainable desire in George’s stomach, a thirst that felt far more quenchable now than it had in years prior when he had been smothering any fleeting concept of this that might have crossed his mind. Everything—Nico—was once so unattainable. Now, everything felt within his reach.

George’s cheek sizzled where Nico pressed the pad of his thumb, forcing his mouth open a little wider to push in his tongue. Like putty, George melted, parting his lips and accepting the invasion as he raised a hand to grasp the back of Nico’s neck and hold his mouth on his. There was a roughness to the way Nico kissed; like even this was a competition. On the track, George might have been his fiercest competitor, but, here, now, all he could do was fold under Nico’s assertive dominance.

After a moment, when they pulled apart to breathe, there was a string of spit connecting their lips and it broke, dripping down George’s chin. His wide eyes were all over the face of his mentor, trying to gauge his reaction or perhaps receive any hints of guidance as to what to do next. Nico smeared the slick of spit across George’s swollen bottom lip with the pad of his thumb before squeezing the younger man’s chiseled face between thumb and fingers, pinching his cheeks as he admired him.

“You’ve always been such a pretty boy.” Nico all but purred.

George felt his cock twitch in the firm grasp of the woman laying between his legs. Her soft giggle in awareness floated in the air of the bedroom.

And then, much to Nico’s pleasant surprise—and, in all honesty, surprise of George, himself—the younger man was shifting in place in a fit of bravery and then leaning himself over his mentor’s lap. The woman still held her hand around the shaft of Nico’s cock, watching in awe as George tentatively licked up the side of it and then wrapped his spitty lips around the head.

His heart in his throat, George had the sudden realization that he had never sucked a dick before or, rather, gotten anywhere as close to one as he was in that moment. Suddenly he was just there with his lips wrapped stupidly around the head of Nico’s cock and not knowing what the fuck to do next. What had he gotten himself into? He was in far too deep now.

The feeling of Nico’s fingers pushing through the roots of George’s hair had the tension in his body relaxing slightly, melting downwards into the mattress and over Nico’s thigh and, ultimately, causing his mouth to move deeper. With a gentle voice laced in pleasure, words chosen as if he knew just what to say, Nico spoke to him, “That’s it, Georgie. Give it to me how you like to receive it.”

The woman was still nestled between Nico’s thighs, her hand still holding his dick upwards for George’s mouth to sink further down on. With a giddy grin, she encouraged, “That’s so hot.”

George withered, letting out a faint moan with his mouth full of dick. Strangely, it was intensely arousing, as much as he might have hated to admit it. Sure, he liked pleasuring his partners but up until that point, it had only ever been women—never having even thought about how sucking dick could get him just as turned on. But, here he was, mouth fucking salivating, and almost instinctively finding a pace to start to bob his mouth around Nico-freaking-Rosberg’s cock like he couldn’t hold himself back any longer.

Nico still had his hand carding through George’s hair, petting him, applying just a little pressure to the back of his head as if to guide him downwards. George could feel his eyes on him, watching his every ungraceful move, likely seeing how unimpressive he was being, hardly able to take much of him in his mouth at all.

But then, Nico breathed out an almost dreamy, “Fuck, George…that’s a good boy…I know you can go deeper.”

Good boy.

Nico praised him in that same tone he used when they were in training sessions together—so kind and genuine and friendly—something so warm that made George just trust him from their first week of mentorship. That voice that pushed George to challenge himself, to lift more, run faster, push harder…anything to earn more of that professional praise from his mentor. That’s all it was, wasn’t it? Professional?

George’s entire body shuddered at his words and his hand reached over to hold Nico still, taking over from the woman. He tried to push himself deeper, gagging around him wetly as a result. Nico groaned tightly, his hips trying to nudge up into his mouth at the restriction.

“Loosen your throat and relax your jaw,” the beautiful woman instructed George softly, setting her fingers against his jaw to help him, “breathe through your nose…there you go.”

George whimpered and gurgled around Nico’s dick as it took up his mouth. It certainly didn’t feel average anymore with the way his jaw was already starting to cramp up from the unfamiliar motions. After a second, he had to pull back to breathe.

He stared down at the swollen red cock in his hand, glistened in spit and precum, easily slicking up George’s hand as he started to stroke it like he would his own. The pretty sounds that came from Nico’s throat spurred him on to keep that pace going, soft breaths and handsome moans that went right to his dick.

George was very aware of his gorgeous grid girl sharing the moment from beside him, guiding him without judgement. He couldn’t help but be drawn closer to her, too, emotionally and physically, as he leaned in to capture her lips in a searing kiss. She kissed him back without question, hands sliding over his broad bare shoulders as her tongue slipped past the seam of his lips and, at the same time, George kept his hand tending to Nico’s dick in firm strokes.

Almost as if sharing the same mind, she and George ended up moving downwards together and, as he took Nico back in his mouth, she leaned in to drag her tongue over his balls and along the base of his dick. George moved his hand away and, instead, set it over Nico’s abs, feeling the taut muscle there and the steady rhythm of his every jagged breath, giving them room to use nothing but their mouths on the World Champion.

“Jesus Christ,” Nico cursed through his teeth, staring down at his body as the two of them shared the responsibility of sucking him off.

Their tongues clashed as they licked up and down the sides of his cock, taking turns to take him in their mouths for proper suction. George could feel himself getting sloppier as the seconds passed, as if his rising lust was making him impatient for something more. He was always a competitive soul—perhaps it was a requirement to be a Formula 1 driver—and so soon he was wrapping his hand around Nico’s cock and guiding it away from the woman’s mouth just so he could have his turn again, determined to deliver the best results he could.

For a split second, as his throat struggled to accommodate the unfamiliar invasion so much so that his eyes were burning with tears, George swore he might entirely throw up. He tried to relax, easing himself down more with a gentle shake of his head, until, finally, his nose brushed the coarse trimmed hair that lined Nico’s pelvis. Nico tossed his back against the pillows and headboard with a stiff groan, his fingers flexing into George’s brunette waves with a tight tug of pleasure, holding him right down on him for a moment longer, just to feel the way George’s throat constricted around him.

“Fuck—” Nico dragged out the vowel before releasing George’s hair.

George sat back with a heave of air, coughing wetly and dribbling spit down his chin as tears streaked across his flushed cheeks. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing out a raspy, “Blimey—”

The woman beside him smiled sweetly and leaned in to kiss up his neck rewardingly, nipping at his earlobe with a playful coo, “Baby’s first deepthroat.”

The men chuckled lightly at her statement, George’s face a flushed pink and his expression already looking entirely fucked out and not much had even happened just yet. But, before George could even get his wits about him, Nico was shifting on the bed and gently guiding George to take his place. They swapped positions in silent agreement and George flopped backwards on the expensive mattress and down-filled pillows with a panted breath, staring up wide-eyed as Nico took control.

“Think our boy deserves a reward for that.” Nico said, half to the woman with him and half to no one in particular.

“He definitely does.” she agreed with a smile, adjusting herself on the large bed so she was draped out beside George’s lanky body. Her hand immediately took to his chest in playful caresses that rose goosebumps under her touch.

George might have looked at her in that moment in any other instance, but with Nico clearly having a plan in mind, he couldn’t look away from him. Especially not when his teammate was guiding his legs farther apart so he could situated himself between them and lean down to kiss his thighs.

George inhaled tightly, arms draped lazily beside his head with his fingers curling into the pillowcase absentmindedly. He stared down at the way Nico’s soft lips pressed open mouthed kisses up his inner thigh—tender, patient—like he was something more than just that lanky, awkward, big-eyed kid with the shit haircut that Nico took under his wing six years ago. George’s mind swirled through every excuse in the book as to why Nico wouldn’t want him like this and on the contrary, why, it seemed, he so suddenly did.

The beautiful woman shared in the joy of kissing over George’s smooth skin, trailing kisses over his collarbones and shoulder and up the column of his neck. With all this attention, George was squirming. Nico tightened his grip on George’s thighs, holding him still so he could continue the ministrations of his lips without interruption, trailing higher and higher and higher. From the teasing alone, the anticipation, and the unfamiliar scratch of Nico’s stubble against his skin, George felt his cock twitch.

“Want it that bad, hm?” Nico teased lowly, his hot breath falling against the supple skin of George’s inner thighs.

George could only let out a small whine, almost entirely involuntary. His cheeks flushed pink at the sound that came out of him and his fingers clutched the pillowcase on either side of his head, trying to ground himself to keep from embarrassing himself in front of Nico. He had always been so concerned with what Nico thought of him but as he laid there, naked and waiting underneath him, he started to realize that Nico really looked like he wanted to be nowhere else but right there.

With a firm hand, Nico wrapped his fingers around the thick shaft of George’s cock and lifted it up and away from where it had been resting against his pelvis. Even from only that miniscule touch, George’s eyelashes fluttered as the heat of it shot up his spine and he pressed his teeth tightly into his bottom lip. From his throat came a tight, “Mm—”

Nico shined a handsome smile up at him as his hand slowly started to move in testing strokes, gliding along with the foreskin that hugged his cock, pulling downwards to reveal the swollen pink head. George’s breath caught in his throat and his eyebrows raised almost clean off his head, staring down wide-eyed at the very real visual of his own damn teammate touching him so sensually.

From beside him, George was aware of the girl beside him as she kissed his neck and her slim fingers rubbed over his nipples, grounding him in the familiarity of female companionship in this sea of uncharted territory. He felt like he was tingling all over from the way she played with his sensitive nipples to the lazy strokes of Nico’s ridiculously soft hand on his dick, his body thrumming with need and pleasure.

When Nico finally lowered his head down and dragged his flat tongue up the underside of his cock, George’s head fell dully against the pillow with a silent gape to the ceiling. And then, when Nico wrapped his lips around him entirely, George’s eyes quite literally rolled, head arching back a little more with his fingers tightening around the fabric of the pillow case.

The faint rumble of George’s chest could be felt under the woman’s lips as she kissed across his pecs and she smiled against his flushed skin, her voice as soft as velvet, “Does that feel good?”

George swallowed thickly as he heaved his head up from the pillow to look down at Nico between his legs, his expression settled in a permanent state of pleasured surprise as he watched his teammate set a gentle pace around his cock. When Nico raised his eyes upwards, meeting George’s gaze with those sea-blue eyes he had grown all too familiar with over the years, George withered. With a breathy whine, he answered the woman, “Ye-ah-”

The slight suction of Nico’s mouth had George’s response breaking in the middle into a gasp. His toes curled. It definitely wasn’t George’s first blowjob—not by a longshot, really—but something about watching Nico be the one to go down on him like that (with impressive skill, might he add) after so long of smothering any and all potential to the back of his mind had George really feeling like this was the best thing ever.

The woman’s tongue lapped at George’s nipples while her fingers toyed with them in precise rubs. All the points of stimulation on his body were ablaze and George felt drunk and he hadn't even finished the one cocktail Nico had made him earlier.

Once he settled into the feeling of Nico sucking him off, George rested his head back on the pillow with pleasured pants of breath and he slid a hand up the gorgeous woman’s spine and then guided her mouth to his by the back of her neck. They kissed sloppily and he fed her his sweet moans by the grace of his tongue, fisting the roots of her hair at the nape of her neck as if he needed something to hold onto.

With one particularly delicious suction from the mouth on his cock, George flew a hand down to grab a fistful of the blonde hair nestled between his quivering thighs. Nico groaned around his dick at the faint pull of his hair as if in surprise but he didn’t let up, keeping his hand moving in those idyllic twisting strokes while his mouth followed the rhythm, making sure to hollow his cheeks every time he pulled upwards.

George had to pull away from her mouth to heave in some air into his lungs, his breaths falling ragged as he felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening in the pit of his stomach. Her forehead rested against his temple as her fingers played with his sensitive nipples, her voice angelic as she whispered filthy words to him to egg him on while Nico worked his magic.

“You like watching the World Champion sucking your cock?” she whispered against the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine, “Making you such a pretty mess, hm? You’d let him do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

George couldn’t help the ever so discreet nod in silent response. His cheeks burned crimson at the realization of what he had just admitted. She smiled, half proud and half sly, but didn’t draw attention to it.

With one hand lazily resting between her shoulder blades and his other burrowed in Nico’s hair, George was sandwiched between the two most gorgeous people he had ever seen, he was sure. The lewd wet sound of Nico’s mouth gagging around him had George’s eyes struggling to stay open, his expression nothing short of erotic as he watched his newly World Champion mentor taking his whole fucking dick down his throat like it was his day job. George swore stars were spotting his vision.

He could feel his orgasm approaching, rising and rising to that precipice. He tightened his fingers in Nico’s hair, desperate to keep him going, so badly wanting to come in the warm, wet confines of his perfect fucking mouth—

And then, all at once, Nico pulled away and George was left with that rapidly fading feeling and a heaviness of disappointment.

“Nico,” George huffed, his voice thick and whiny in frustration, dragging out his name just a little longer than normal.

“Come on, we’re just getting started.” Nico replied playfully, politely wiping his mouth with the side of his forefinger and thumb as he sat back on his haunches, “Don’t want to come before you get to really enjoy yourself, do you?”

Although George partially wanted to protest, he knew he was right. He kept his mouth shut.

Nico cocked his head at the woman still curled up at George’s side, “C’mere, baby, your turn now.”

George watched as she untangled herself from under his arm and shifted to where she was directed, draping herself out on the spacious king size bed. Watching her move like that, flushed with arousal and donning only her skimpy panties, George couldn’t help but be drawn after her, following her into a new position and helping himself between her legs. She giggled sweetly up at him as he linked his fingers in the sides of her underwear and started to pull them down her legs and he couldn’t help but smile right back.

This was the gorgeous young woman he had been silently eyeing all season, desperately trying not to let the sight of her holding his name at the front of his car distract him from his race preparations. Now—although faster than he had anticipated—he had her in bed and he wasn’t about to let any opportunity pass him by. That was not what that night was about, after all.

George could feel how achingly hard he was, throbbing between his legs, made only worse by the generous attention from Nico moments earlier, but he stayed focused on his task at hand. With the woman’s panties dropped to the floor, George gently pushed her thighs apart and leaned down to kiss the inside of her knee. He tried to take his time but who could blame him for ending up almost rushing to trail kisses down her inner thigh. It was as if he could smell her, the natural pheromones luring him closer to her cunt until his nose was brushing against her clit and his tongue dropped out for a taste.

The sweet sound that slipped from her lips made him shiver and his arms went around her thighs to hold her on his mouth as he tongued lazily at her cunt. George had always been perfectly happy giving just as much as he enjoyed receiving and, in that moment, it was shown as clear as day across his face as his eyes fluttered shut with a pleased moan.

“Fuck—” she gasped to the ceiling, her fingers threading through his tousled hair in a snug grip.

She tasted as good as he had imagined on those lonely nights in hotel rooms and as his tongue worked her greedily, he couldn’t help but grind against the mattress with a muffled groan. Her hips pushed up against his mouth for more and he dragged his tongue up to her clit to kiss and lick and suck on it just to earn the prideful sight of her back arching off the bed with a mewl of pleasure.

The noise of foil tearing had George momentarily pulling away from her pussy, his lips and chin shimmering from how wet she was, and he glanced over curiously to where Nico was pulling out a condom from its wrapper. Nico shuffled closer to the pair of them and, much to George’s surprise, gave him a small spank to get him to move out of the way.

She must have seen George’s displeased expression at being interrupted because then the woman was offering him a curl of her finger and a sweet, “Come up here.”

He shifted out from between her legs to let Nico take his spot and he moved up her body, following her guidance to straddle her head. George’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip at the positioning but there was a twinkle in her eye that gave away her own sureness while her warm hands slid up his tone thighs and then wrapped around his throbbing cock.

She started stroking him in both hands, staring at his dick angled right towards her face as she spoke casually, “You’re really good at eating pussy, you know that?”

George chuckled modestly, “You think so?”

“Mm, mhm.” she nodded in passive agreement before guiding his dick in her mouth.

George withered and tilted his head back as he pushed a hand through his hair to get it out of his face before he was looking back down at her and the way her lips were wrapped so perfectly around the girth of his cock. His lips pulled into a tight line behind a stiff groan and his hips pushed a little towards her face to sink deeper into her mouth.

“Ready?” Nico’s voice came from farther down the bed.

“Mhm.” she answered around George’s dick.

When George glanced over his shoulder to watch, he noted the way she spread her legs wider and bent them back to encourage Nico closer. He had put on the condom by then, one hand grounding himself with a gentle hold on one of her ankles while his other slid the protected head of his cock between her slick folds. There was some strange heart stirring in George’s chest at the sight of Nico slowly pressing into her, the combination of their initial sighs and gasps at the sensation. He wasn’t sure if it was lust or jealousy…maybe an evil combination of the two. In the back of his mind, he wasn’t sure which individual he was jealous of in that moment.

He looked back down to the woman splayed out across the bed, taking in her furrowed expression of pleasure behind his dick in her mouth. Her sucking was languid now with her focus divided between him and the fact that she was now getting fucked. George nudged his hips forward again to encourage her silently, thrusting into her mouth just enough to earn a slutty whine from her.

“Shit,” Nico groaned from behind him, more to himself than anyone, and yet the tight hints of ecstasy in his voice sent a shiver down George’s spine, “that’s so fuckin’ good…”

She moaned around George’s dick, her hands grabbing at his thighs as they framed her head as her mouth tended to him sloppily. He tried to focus on her with one hand on his waist as he lazily trusted her mouth, shuddering at the feeling of the ridges on the roof of her mouth against the sensitive head of his cock and the way she moaned and whined around him. But, despite it all, George kept catching himself glancing over his shoulder to where Nico was.

The faint creak of the bed beneath Nico’s every firm thrust from behind him had George’s mind wandering to thoughts he had always been so good at repressing. He couldn’t stop staring at him, almost getting a kink in his neck with how much he was trying to contort himself.

Only seconds later, the tap on his thigh had George looking back down to the woman beneath him and she ordered with a gentle, “Turn around.”

George didn’t question it before he moved off of her and turned around to face Nico instead and she guided his leg back over her face to take his dick back in her mouth. George flinched at the sensation, settling into his place there as he appreciated his new view of Nico grasping onto her thighs and fucking her strongly. Nico sent him a sly smirk and perhaps there was a hint of a wink there too.

Not wanting to crush the poor woman entirely, George adjusted himself on top of her and settled forward onto his forearms on either side of her body, allowing her to keep his cock in her mouth as she pleased and earned him a front row view to the man of the year being balls deep inside her. George’s fingers grasped onto the duvet beneath them as his eyes trained in on the steady thrusts of Nico fucking into her sopping cunt and pulling back out in rapid succession. The lewd sound had his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, insides burning at the rhythmic pants of his teammate that were now more than just from a good workout.

Nico carded his fingers through George’s hair with a warm, tight chuckle, “You like watching, don’t ya, Georgie?”

The slight condescending tone in his voice had George’s stomach churning with lust and his eyes flitted up to Nico’s face who was already staring down at him intently. There was a slight darkness to his eyes that came with the onset of lust and it was an expression that George had to look away from due to the intensity behind it.

In silent reply—and, also, wanting to participate—George lifted a hand up to glide his fingers through the coarse trimmed hair along the gorgeous woman’s pelvis and let his fingertips graze her swollen clit. She gasped around his dick and George took that as incentive to start to rub at it properly, finding a pace of firm, tight circles that had her hands tightening on his thighs on either side of her head.

“Yeah…good boy,” Nico purred breathily, fingers still tightly wound in George’s hair.

“Christ,” George groaned through a lick of his lips, watching him fuck her so deliciously behind his fingers working sloppily on her clit.

“Hear how wet she is?” Nico asked.

It was easy to, really. George had been in a haze at the rhythmic sound of her sopping cunt taking his every thrust greedily, filling the bedroom with it. George slid his fingers lower to spread her lips apart to watch every inch of Nico’s dick filling her up snugly before pulling out only halfway and plenty smeared in her arousal. She made the prettiest sounds too and George at least had the privilege to feel the vibration of each around his dick in her mouth, but, selfishly, he just wanted more. He wanted a turn…with either of them, honestly.

Just then, almost like he could read George’s mind, Nico pulled out of her. He was so hard that when he did, his cock bobbed lazily in the air for a moment, right in George’s face, the condom glistening in the bedroom light. Always such a good teammate, George knew what he wanted without needing to be asked and he leaned right in and wrapped his mouth around it. Nico’s hand tightened in his hair and he let out a rumbling groan as George sucked him clean, seemingly unbothered by the taste of latex that lingered under the sweet taste of her creamy wetness.

“Who knew you were such a slut, George.” Nico chuckled, low and rumbling in his chest, eyes watching him suck him clean, “I mean, fuck, I knew you were a bit of a flirt but, mmph—”

George didn’t speak to how his teammate’s words sent fire through his veins. Instead, he let him pull his mouth off with his fist in his hair and Nico then slapped the head of his cock against George’s lips and tongue. George tried not to writhe behind the lewd action, still aware of the girl he was on top of who was swallowing down his dick eagerly.

He choked out a messy groan, eyelashes fluttering as he glanced up at Nico kneeling before him.

“Wish I knew you were into this sooner,” Nico purred as he smeared the protected head of his dick across George’s swollen bottom lip, “we coulda had a lot more fun as teammates.”

George didn’t have a moment to properly linger and process on what the fuck he meant by that before they were, yet again, switching positions. He somehow ended up with a box of condoms in his hand, having taken Nico’s place between the woman’s spread thighs. She was touching herself lazily, modestly manicured fingers swirling over her clit and messy pussy, batting her lashes up at him with that sweet smile he had grown so fond of over the season.

Nico was behind him, watching like a true and honest mentor, his hands resting on George’s waist and his lips trailing lazy kisses up the side of his neck. It made it extremely hard to focus on rolling the condom on, George discovered, but soon the wrapper was discarded to the side and he was shuffling closer to his beautiful grid girl.

He leaned down over top of her, sinking onto his forearms on either side of her head with her legs hooked around his thighs. They shared whispered giggling ‘hi’s in their newfound intimate proximity just before their lips met in a slow, sensual kiss. George ground against her a little, letting the length of his erection glide between her slick lips a few times, the both of them sharing soft pleasure breaths of anticipation.

And then he was sinking inside her entirely, slowly, patiently, making sure to draw the moment on so they could both feel every inch stretching her out. Her hands grasped onto his shoulder blades with a tight gasp into his mouth, skin slick and flush with sheens of rising sweat. George blinked a few times languidly to catch his bearings as he sheathed entirely inside her snug body.

Suddenly he couldn’t recall the last time he had a proper lay; the last time he had time or energy to properly take some girl back to his hotel room and fuck her emotionlessly into the sheets between the hazy lines of NDAs. Maybe it had been a while…maybe his mind had been too preoccupied.

Preoccupied with the woman now beneath him, staring up at him with the sweetest pleasure across her face, and preoccupied with the man situated behind him with his firm hands groping his ass. Nico gave him a spank. George hissed at the sting.

“C’mon, Georgie,” Nico taunted, “Fuck her good now.”

George slowly started to move, easing out of her about halfway before sinking back in entirely. The soft, pleasant hum she let out went right down his spine.

“Christ…” George muttered under his breath, words wavering with the overwhelming sensation of her pussy squeezing around him in all the right ways. His nose brushed against hers as their breaths fell in sync and she turned her face to his to capture his lips with hers in a sloppy kiss. He groaned into her mouth as he set a gentle pace, grinding deeply into her in curling thrusts that had her toes curling.

“That’s it…” Nico praised lowly from behind him. He followed George’s movements by a hand on his ass as if guiding him, feeling every tension and release of his muscles as he thrusted into the beautiful woman beneath him.

George shivered at the feeling of Nico’s lips on his spine but he didn’t let up, keeping himself busy with the woman he was fucking so deliciously. Nico kissed along the dimples in his lower back and his strong hands kneaded the flesh of his ass at the same time. When his lips pulled away, he gave his bum a sharp spank.

“Mmph—” George muffled in surprise at the sting, right into her mouth.

The woman giggled sweetly and ghosted her fingernails up and down his sides, touching him all over, adding to the sensations of the situation. Nico leaned down farther, his plush lips kissing the base of George’s spine and, finally, over the flesh of his ass. With a gentle, testing bite, Nico chuckled lowly at the way George flinched.

Nico pulled back again and went back to the massage of his hands over his glutes, squeezing and rubbing as George kept lazily rocking into the woman beneath him. With a hum of approval, Nico spoke, “Those gym sessions really pay off for you, George. I mean, fuck.”

“Mm, just wanna impress you,” George rambled without thinking of the implications of what he was saying. He meant it as in Nico was his professional mentor, okay? Seriously, he did.

Nico chuckled, “Well, consider me greatly impressed.”

The woman’s hands slid up the side of George’s neck as they gazed into each other’s eyes, pupils dilated with lust with every lazy stroke he gave her. She pulled her legs back a little more to allow him closer, making sure he was giving her every last inch in beautiful precise thrusts that had her mouth falling open in a silent gasp. God, she looked just as beautiful getting fucked as he had always imagined. He couldn’t stop staring at her.

He couldn’t stop staring at her even as Nico kept groping the flesh of his ass and kissing and biting over his hips and glutes. With one hand, Nico reached between George’s legs and gently squeezed his balls, urging a low groan of pleasant surprise out of the younger man whose hips jumped a little into their next stroke. George faltered a moment, unfamiliar with the situation, but Nico just encouraged him on with an angelic praise.

“Keep going, baby.”

George’s insides churned at the pet name, succumbing to its order without thought, and he went back to those slow but sure thrusts into the beautiful woman’s pliant body.

Nico spoke from behind him like he was the angel or devil on his shoulder with one hand gently fondling his balls, “Good boy. That’s it.”

George leaned down again to steal more kisses from the woman beneath him, letting his tongue explore her mouth with filthy bliss as they shared pleasured breaths. He was all too aware of Nico behind him, left in the darkness of his peripheral vision to really see what he was plotting. It didn’t take him long to figure it out, however, because not long after Nico removed his hand, he was, instead, spreading George’s cheeks and leaning down to kiss wetly right over his perineum.

The little breathy whimper that slipped from George’s mouth was almost entirely involuntary, breaking away from the woman’s kiss with a flutter of his lashes at the surprise of the sensation.

Staring up at his expression, she smiled, “Oh wow, yeah, you like that, don’t you, baby?”

Nico chuckled lowly from behind him as George entirely stilled, all of his senses turning towards him, waiting for more. He complied, leaning down again to, now, drag his tongue right up between his cheeks, once, twice, and then left a wet kiss right over his asshole.

George kept the unwavering eye contact of the woman beneath him, his expression frozen in surprise but not distaste either as if he were silently gauging how he felt about the situation at hand. He could feel the faint stubble of Nico’s trimmed facial hair against the supple skin of his ass, nestled between his cheeks that were spread by his teammate’s firm hands. George squirmed a little and, shamelessly, found himself pushing back on his mouth.

“Mhm,” Nico mumbled against him in a muted praise, tongue lapping at him purposefully.

His warm breath fell in soft pants against George’s skin, the younger man so attuned to every sensation that even the slightest touch had him shuddering. The woman beneath him dragged her fingertips up his biceps and back down as his arms framed her head, her siren-eyes staring up at him and every flutter of expression that grazed his face.

“Yeah, does that feel good?” she taunted sweetly, her manicured fingernails rising goosebumps over his arms, “Never had someone eat you out before, have you?”

“Jesus—” George choked out. That was answer enough.

His mouth fell slack as Nico pressed the tip of his tongue firmly against the puckered muscle and teased him with precise swirls. A small gasp slipped from George’s throat and he caught himself pushing back a little more. Nico moaned against him at his eagerness, the vibration making George whither.

“You’re so lucky,” the woman purred up to George, her well-crafted words spurring him on, “getting rimmed while being nestled in a warm, tight pussy. Best of both worlds, isn’t it, love?”

George groaned in response, as if his mind was so overwhelmed that all words just left his brain entirely, and the reminder of his current positioning had his hips nudging forwards into her some more. She let out a tiny moan in surprise, fingers curling around his biceps as he ground into her, finding a shallow pace that allowed him to keep grinding into her while also grinding back on Nico’s mouth. He felt like he was dreaming.

From behind him, Nico shook his head just a little to really nestle himself between George’s cheeks while his tongue and lips moving in a lewd sloppy dance. He was taking his time with it, working him into it, taking breaks from tonguing at his asshole to kiss and tease his cheeks and his perineum and even down to his balls. It wasn’t long before George’s body was relaxing under his touch and he could see him starting to open up just a little.

“Look at you, pretty boy,” Nico commended, pausing just long enough to spit right onto the tight rim of muscle and let his middle finger smear it in, “so ready and wanting.”

George panted out a, “Please.”

“Yeah?” Nico taunted, gently prodding at his asshole with the tip of his middle finger and letting it slip inside just to the first knuckle. His voice was honey sweet and laced with a hint of deriding that, on the receiving end, made rouge blossom across George’s cheeks, “Yeah, you want more, baby?”

George almost didn’t recognize his voice at how whiny and pathetic he sounded when he repeated his stupid little, “Please.”

“Such good manners.” the woman beneath him tutted.

She was so patient, George thought for a moment as he stared down at her and was lost in the comfort of her gaze. So patient to lay there, filled with him, while he was simply unmoving. Not even looking bored by it, she genuinely looked as though she were enjoying herself. In the intensity of the moment, George made a mental note to put a fucking ring on her finger.

Perhaps in his momentary distraction with the gorgeous woman staring up at him and his chaotic thoughts clouding his mind, he hadn’t noticed when Nico had retrieved a bottle of lube. The sudden pop of the lid tore him back to reality. He tried to look over his shoulder.

“This okay?” Nico asked, the lust in his voice momentarily replaced with that same serious and concerned tone he used when he was first leading George through a few beginner training sessions in that first year. Nothing like this.

“Yeah,” George replied in a breath, “I want it.”

The sudden drip of ice cold lube between his ass cheeks had George gasping tightly. Nico hushed him sweetly and his warm fingers followed, rubbing it in generously over his tight rim of muscle before prodding at it again. His middle finger found its way back inside him, easing down to the second knuckle before slipping back out a little.

Nico took his time, easing him open one finger at a time, relaxing him with kisses over the base of his spine and his hips and his thighs. George felt nearly boneless, and he was sure if he were in a cartoon, little birds and stars would be floating around his head. He slumped down onto his forearms on either side of the beautiful woman’s head and they both leaned in for a sloppy kiss at the same time.

Almost subconsciously, George started to grind his hips into her and, equally, back on Nico’s hand. Always having been a giver, he was finding his rhythm in what it entailed to be a receiver at the same time. And, God, had he not anticipated how good it would feel to have someone’s fingers up his ass; to have Nico’s fingers up his ass.

George moaned into her mouth, his fingers tangling in the messy locks of her hair that was draped out around her head as he had her pinned to the bed. Her dainty hands reached down to grab two snug fistfulls of his ass, keeping him spread for Nico’s fingers and to, also, guide his grinds into her as he pushed his cock deeper. His spread knees kept her legs splayed open on either side of his body, helping to keep him in perfect position with his hips up to welcome Nico’s fingers while his lips and tongue stayed tangled with hers.

From behind him, Nico was three fingers deep in George’s ass, slicked up heartily in lube until it was nearly dripping down his hand as he set a steady rhythm. The wet squelch of his fingers thrusting gently inside him filled the bedroom behind the trio’s panted breaths and soft moans and, with an attentive eye, Nico was laser focused on the way George was squeezing around his fingers. He was so easy to stretch open, so relaxed and trusting, falling so effortlessly into submission for someone who had no experience.

Nico leaned down and let his tongue join his fingers, just to give him a little treat of added stimulation, and his free hand rested overtop of the woman’s on George’s cheek in an absentminded action. George pushed back on Nico’s mouth more insistently, gasping and groaning into his kiss as his body ached for more. Between the touch of his teammate and the tight squeeze of that perfect pussy around his dick, he was nearly going insane.

As if reading his mind, Nico adjusted his position behind him, rising up properly on his knees between George’s legs, and he pulled his fingers out of him slowly. George whined at the sudden emptiness, breaking his kiss to try to look back at him over his shoulder with a kiss-swollen pout.

“Hang on, Georgie,” Nico all but purred, popping the cap on the bottle of lube again, with a tension in his voice as if he, too, were being held back.

The woman beneath him gave George’s ass a smack and he turned his face back towards her with a surprised gasp. Her feet were linked over his thighs and she pushed her hips up to meet his, trying to get him to go back to fucking her while Nico got himself ready. George dipped down to lick his way into her mouth again and complied, giving her a few hard shoves that had her jaw falling slack despite the pleasured expression on her face.

Nico spanked him weakly to get him to stop a few seconds later and, obediently, George pushed his ass back towards him as if presenting himself. Honestly, he wasn’t sure where half of these moves came from or where he learned them; it was as if his body and mind were working on some subconscious, instinctual level. It was fine, he was too horny to be embarrassed.

“Such a good boy,” Nico breathed, situating himself right up behind him and he dragged the protected head of his cock between George’s cheeks, “You still want this?”

“Yeah…” George exhaled, feeling like he had tv static in his brain, he was chalked so full of anticipation, “Just go slow.”

“Of course,” Nico rested his left hand on the small of his back while his other angled himself to press against his hole, “you know I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you, Georgie.”

“Mm…” George bit his bottom lip.

The woman beneath him still held two hands on his ass to keep him open, staring up at him with comfort in her gaze. She spoke to him in a smiling whisper, “Deep breaths…just relax…it’s gonna feel so fucking good.”

“Mhm,” Nico agreed as he slowly started to press himself into him, “you’re nice and prepped too…all lubed up and everything…”

George’s fingers tightened around the bedsheets and at first he swore he was about to claw up the bed at the pressure that filled him, inch by steady inch. It was the strangest sensation he could ever attempt at describing. It wasn’t necessarily painful but it sure was unlike anything else he could ever think of comparing it to. His eyelids fluttered and he let out a short, shaky breath.

“There you go…” his sweet grid girl praised under her breath, “Nice and easy…”

Nico’s hands gripped his hips in a firm grasp as he bottomed out and he groaned out the most erotic sounding, “Fuck, George—”

George could have come right then and there, hearing him like that—hearing him moan his name like that. And once he slowly started to move, rocking into him in short, cautious thrusts, George’s eyes nearly rolled.

“Jesus Christ—” George choked out, hanging his head, almost forehead to forehead with the woman beneath him, “Feels so big…”

She ran her hands up and down his back, holding onto him warmly, asking with a smiling, “How’s that?”

“So..fucking good,” George mumbled as if he were drunk, his words a little slurred.

“Yeah, you like that?” Nico purred, voice thick with lust, his fingers kneading into the flesh of George’s hips with his pelvis pressed against his ass, “You like being filled?”

“Uh huh,” George stumbled out.

His eyes were struggling to stay open with the overwhelm of it all; being buried inside a beautiful woman and having an equally as beautiful man inside him at the same time. It was unreal. He had always thought taking anal would be incredibly uncomfortable and painful but, to his pleasant surprise, he truly never knew it would ever feel this good.

From behind him, Nico slowly started to ease out, only about halfway, before sinking into him again in a gentle, slow, testing push. George’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip through a muted groan at the slick friction, subconsciously pushing back into him at the same time.

“Shit,” Nico moaned handsomely, starting to thrust into him a little more consistently, a little faster.

George gasped tightly, his slender fingers curling into the sheets on either side of the woman’s head, still trapped on top of her (and inside her). His eyebrows were furrowed as if in concentration, focusing on every ounce of sensation that this night was offering, feeling every inch of his teammate’s cock stretching him out. George withered, his scrunched expression melting into pure, erotic pleasure as the seconds passed and, soon, his expression was straight out of a cheesy pornography magazine.

George’s eyes were closed so peacefully, long lashes resting against flushed cheeks, a low, warm moan falling from his chest as the slick sound of bodies filled the room. Nico was setting a good pace, fucking into him enough to have the steady clap of skin joining in the lewd harmony with the squelch of lube, and George swore he was in fucking heaven.

With a needy whine, George pushed back on him again, meeting his strokes with a quivering, “Ooh, fuck yeah.”

“That’s it,” Nico exhaled thickly, pulling a hand back to slap down crisply against George’s ass without stalling his movements, “good boy.”

The woman beneath him let out a little moan of her own as his shifting had his cock starting to thrust into her in messy, shallow motions, finally giving her some friction that she had been deprived of while patiently waiting for him to get comfortable. Her fingers grasped George’s back and her trimmed nails dug into his muscle, staring up at him with nothing but lust in her eyes and across her expression. With the way he moved, she was burning for more and he could feel it in the way her hands were pawing at his back, almost like she didn’t want to appear too needy but couldn’t hold it back anymore.

When he fluttered his eyes open again to meet her gaze, she barely had to say a word before he was leaning down and taking her lips with his in a filthy kiss. It was made messy by his ungraceful movements on top of her, torn between wanting to focus on fucking himself back on Nico or fucking himself forward into her. George moaned into her mouth between sloppy kisses and the fingers of one of his hands tangled into the roots of her hair in a snug grip.

A few seconds later, George broke away from her lips as Nico slowed his thrusts to a stop. Desperate to keep feeling that intense pleasure, George pushed himself back on him a little harder, a little faster, ultimately causing himself to fuck into the beautiful woman beneath him at the same time. Nico shuffled closer so George didn’t have to move too much, allowing him to be buried nice and deep inside his grid girl while still properly taking his teammate’s dick, letting him set his own pace and, ultimately, do all the work.

George choked over a needy groan, not caring how pathetic he must have sounded as his hands pressed hard into the mattress and he let his instinctual desire take over, shoving hard into the woman beneath him and letting himself recoil back against Nico’s cock. The three of them were a mess of panted breaths and pleasured sounds; the luxurious Monte Carlo bedroom rising in heat and housing the lewd harmonies.

“Fuck!” the woman gasped from the bottom of the trio, her legs tucked around George’s thighs, “You’re so fucking deep, holy shit—”

George’s jaw clenched for a moment, trying to hold himself back through the way she squeezed around him and how her nails dragged across his back. She truly sounded like he was fucking every sound from her chest, matching the pace of his sloppy thrusts even with his limited range of motion with Nico still so close behind him. The woman reached a hand down to rub at her clit, arching against the bed with a cry to the ceiling.

The feeling of Nico’s hand on his shoulder startled George out of his reverie for a moment but he didn’t falter for long, far too drunk on the euphoria to stop. Nico spanked him again with his other hand, still knelt motionless to let George do all the work. A true mentor; making sure his mentee knew the ropes.

“Look at you, Georgie,” Nico praised warmly, spanking him again, “such a little slut, aren’t you?”

George let out some sound that sounded equally like a moan and a whimper and something like choking on air. How was this real life? He felt like this was some out of body experience or some really fucked up wet dream and any second now he would wake up in his driver’s room with sticky shorts and a nagging dread that Nico heard him moaning in his sleep through the thin walls of the motorhome.

That definitely hadn’t happened before…

But here, now, that dreamy fantasy that George had once tried so hard to suppress was all too real and feeling all too good.

“Always such a good boy,” Nico praised on, his hand firmly gripping George’s shoulder and undoubtedly watching the way his ass jiggled with every collision of their slick bodies, “what would you twenty-year-old self think if he saw you now? Little Williams Racing protégé…never properly thanked me for giving you my seat.”

He was only teasing and George knew that—he knew Nico well enough by that point—but the words still stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was almost as if Nico knew that his younger self idolized him to the point of guilt-ridden infatuation. Truly, honestly, what would younger George think if he saw what was happening now?

It was hard to think about with the state of putty his brain was in; molten from the pleasure and exertion of the moment. George was still going at it like it was a race of his own, feeling that all too familiar hunger for a win. He wanted to fucking come so bad.

It certainly didn’t help that the woman beneath him—who he had been fantasizing about since the first race of the damn calendar that year—was all but crying on his cock, writhing and moaning and gasping and doing everything he elaborately imagined. Why was this night suddenly his subconscious come to life?! Not that he was complaining by any means but he was certainly going to need a good few days to process this.

“Don’t stop! Fuck, I’m gonna come!” his beautiful grid girl cried out, eyes screwed shut and head tossed back, her hair splayed out across the wrinkled bed sheets, “Yes, yes, yes, yes!”

“That’s it, keep going,” Nico encouraged him with another swat of his ass, “Make her come. Make her come all over your cock.”

“Fucking…Christ…” George groaned through his teeth, desperately holding himself back as her pussy squeezed tightly around him with her impending orgasm.

She looked a vision when she came, falling perfectly silent as she gaped to the ceiling and her body shuddered and tremoured beneath him. George desperately tried to keep going, grinding insistently into her to work her through it. And then, her hands flew up to grab his waist as she gasped out of it, a dreamy smile coming to her face with a gasping, “Oh, fuck.”

George dipped right down to swallow up her lips in a kiss, sharing hungry breathless kisses as she slung her arms around his shoulders. Nico’s hands rubbed down his back and, with his younger teammate momentarily distracted, slowly pulled out of him. George broke away from the woman’s wet kiss to glance over his shoulder at him in protest.

He didn’t need to say a word before Nico was explaining coolly, “I want to look at your face when I make you come.”

George barely had a second to process those words before the woman beneath him was wriggling out from under him. The bed squeaked faintly with the ungraceful scramble of three to switch positions until George had taken her place in the centre of the bed on his back and she was situating herself beside him. His cock was still so hard that it was angled right up against his pelvis, swollen red and leaking all over the thin line of downy hair that stretched up to his navel. Nico, still, was kneeling between George’s legs and he grabbed the backs of his knees to push his legs up towards his chest.

George groaned tightly at the unexpected stretch with his body nearly folded in half. Nico soothed him with an easy and reassuring, “I know how much you can bend. I see you stretching in the gym.”

The awareness that Nico had seen him in the gym had George’s teeth sinking into his bottom lip. No, he hadn’t just seen him and been present and helped him out, he had taken notice. George couldn’t help but wrap his hands around the backs of his thighs to pull his legs farther back.

“Oh my God, someone’s eager,” Nico chuckled almost darkly at his obvious eagerness.

Normally, George might have offered some cheeky rebuttal, leaning into that comfortable banter between him and his teammate. But, instead, he had a very firm one track mind. With a bat of his lashes and a pathetic pout, George could only spill out a, “Please. Please put it back in.”

He might have been drunk on pure, raw need, but he still noticed the way Nico’s expression flickered with a sense of carnal lust at that simple beg. Then, the older man shuffled closer on his knees to position himself right between George’s legs, angling the protected head of his cock against his gaping hole.

“Yeah, please, Nico, please…” George rambled wetly, fingers tightening their grip on the back of his own legs as he watched intently.

From beside them, the well fucked woman reached out with the bottle of lube in hand and dribbled more onto the head of Nico’s cock and right over George’s perineum, watching it drip downwards. Nico smeared it in with his dick and then slowly pressed back inside him.

George’s eyelashes fluttered as he stared up at him, his breath coming out in a wavering, “Oh fuck.”

“Mm, that’s it,” Nico groaned lowly, sinking into him all the way until his balls were pressed against the curve of George’s ass.

“Mhm,” George bit his lip harder at the realization of just how close they were, buzzing through every nerve ending in every spot where his skin touched Nico’s. It was red hot. And now, being laid out on his back, George had a front row view to watch what Nico looked like when he fucked him.

Almost right away, Nico was finding his pace again with his hands pressed firmly on the backs of George’s thighs to keep him bent in half. With his breath halting in his throat for a moment, all George could hear was the sloppy squelch of the lube with every firm thrust from his teammate, creating a dizzying rhythm. His aching cock bounced against his pelvis, still wrapped in the condom that was smeared in creamy streaks from the beautiful woman he had just made come moments earlier.

George inhaled sharply, and without thinking, he reached out and set his hands on Nico’s chest as if to ground himself.

“Yeah, good boy,” Nico praised breathily as he kept thrusting into him, “taking every inch of me.”

George slid his hands down his chest, shamelessly touching him in all the ways he had pretended he didn’t want to right down to his waist where he pressed his fingers into his pale flesh as if to help tug him into his every movement. It was wholly erotic and George could feel his toes curling as his head arched back against the pillows.

“Sh-Shit, Nico—” George let his name slip from his lips in a whimper of pleasure. He let go of his teammate’s body to, instead, grab the back of his own knees to hold himself spread.

“There you go, Georgie,” Nico purred, wrapping his hands firmly around George’s ankles, “Take it.”

From beside them, the woman had been watching intently, not wanting to interrupt. Now that they had found their pace, she moved in. Her hand took George’s place on Nico’s chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the slight sheen of sweat under palm, and she leaned in to kiss his jaw. Without faltering, Nico turned his head to accept her lips on his, kissing her lewdly while still fucking into George.

“F-Fuck,” George stumbled out, watching the two most gorgeous people he knew make out right in front of him.

He felt like he couldn’t get enough. Of anything and everything. The only word his brain could think of was ‘more, more, more’. And, since he was so well past the point of no return on his shame or dignity, he let himself say it outwardly.

“More,” it came out like a raspy croak, breaking in his throat like he was barely pubescent, “Please, more.”

Nico and his beautiful grid girl broke apart and, in the light of the bedroom, George could see the hairline string of spit breaking between their lips as they pulled away. He stared up at his teammate as if he wasn’t sure if he had even said those words out loud.

“Needy fucking boy, aren’t you?” Nico chastised lightly, proving that he had, and then fucked into him a little harder until the clap of their skin got louder, “Always wanting all the attention.”

“Ohfuckyeahplease,” George heaved at the change in intensity, staring up into Nico’s handsome face with a blue-eyed stare that could melt ice. His eyebrows were peaked in just the right place to make him look as if he were in a state of awe, his lips pouted with a blubbering, “Please, please…just like that.”

“Such good manners,” the woman cooed as she rolled the used condom off his dick. He wasn’t even sure where she put it before she was leaning down and lifting his cock up from his abs and wrapping her swollen lips around him.

George, incredibly sensitive, had his eyes fucking rolling at that added sensation, one hand flying to the back of her neck and his other splaying across the sheets for something to hold onto. She sucked on his cock at the same pace as Nico fucked him, sending George’s head spinning.

“Ho-ly shit,” George withered. His head arched back against the bed with a choked gasp, “Holy ffffuck—”

Nico’s grip on his ankles tightened, his firm gaze sweeping between watching himself fuck into his younger teammate and staring at the expressions that painted George’s face. Flushed and horny, George was in a complete daze and barely unable to keep his eyes open although he tried.

The bed creaked under Nico’s every sharp thrust and he held George’s legs back farther so he could get a better angle. George crooned erotically at the stretch up his thighs (and deep inside him) and his hand on the back of the woman’s head kept her swallowing down his cock at the same time. She moaned and gagged around him, draped half on top of him to get herself facing down between his bent and wide open legs while Nico held control.

George writhed and moaned, sheets curled in his fingers with his other hand tangling in the back of her hair. He stared up at Nico the best he could no matter how much his eyes wanted to shut with the intensity of it all. He could barely offer a pleading little nod, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, mouthing a broken, “Yes…”

“Yes?” Nico echoed out loud, his eyebrows raising without a falter of his motions.

The woman lifted her head up from between George’s legs with a spitty gasp and cough, blinking herself back to reality for a moment before leaning in to kiss along Nico’s happy trail as he kept fucking into the whimpering man beneath him. When she moved back, she readjusted herself beside George and leaned down to kiss his neck instead and he couldn’t help the frown that came to his face as the rising intensity tapered with the loss of her mouth on his dick.

His arm was still lazily around her, hand cupping her bare shoulder as if to keep her from leaving his side. Not that she was planning on it because the way she was kissing and licking and sucking over his neck and collarbones made it very clear she was very happy where she was. George tilted his head back to give her room to kiss up the column of his neck and she licked over his Adam's apple and nipped at his jaw.

Nico let out a tight groan, “You feel so good, Georgie.”

George couldn’t answer behind the beautiful woman’s tongue helping itself to his mouth. His lips smacked wetly with hers despite the way his body jostled slightly with every firm thrust from the man above him, his slick cock bouncing. He was so fucking hard and so turned on that he was leaking all over his abs, smearing sticky precum across his flushed skin, and he just had to reach down to touch himself.

He barely got a hand around his dick before Nico was swatting his hand away to do it himself. Nico matched the pace of his relentless thrusts with his hand pumping George’s cock, giving him that glorious added stimulation that he had been craving.

“Ah!” George all but squeaked, breaking away from the kiss, “Nico! Fuck! Don’t stop!”

“Not gonna stop,” Nico promised breathily, his voice a velvety purr. His hand stroked him off, made easily slick by the combination of spit, precum, and the presence of lube that seemed to be covering almost every part of their bodies. Then, he adjusted his position just a little more, pushing into him just a little more straight-on, and like the flip of a switch, George’s entire body turned boneless.

“Ohh-hh-hh—” George withered, eyes rolling shut, “Fuck-ing— yes, right there—”

He could hear the sweet giggle of the woman beside him, barely recognizing the heat of her hand on his chest or her lips attaching themselves to his neck again, fingers swirling over his hardened nipples. The feeling of Nico drilling right into his fucking prostate had tears burning in George’s eyes and one trailed down his flushed cheek. George couldn’t lay still. Nico held a firm grip on his ankle to keep him from getting too far, fucking him into submission on his king size bed and expensive sheets.

It was fine, though, really. George felt too much like the personification of putty to really move, the logical part of his brain that was desperately clinging onto this newfound pleasure refusing to let him wiggle away from this. Nothing had felt quite like this before.

He felt as though the heat was rising in his body, a sizzling warmth pumping through his veins and swelling through his cock as it throbbed in Nico’s hand. George’s hands flew to the sides, gripping the sheets until his knuckles turned white, trying to steady his breathing with how fast and desperate it was coming now.

“Oh, look at you,” the woman praised him angelically, her words echoing in his ears.

“Nnngh—” was the only sound George could manage to get out as his body slowly but surely grew into tension. He desperately tried to keep his eyes open, staring up at Nico above him and the way his jaw was clenched in concentration. The pad of Nico’s thumb grazed over the underside of the head of his cock with every firm stroke and George could feel himself getting closer by the second.

“Come on,” Nico said through his teeth, keeping his firm pace going, “That’s it.”

“I’m gonna come…” George managed out in the most pathetic whimper known to man, making him sound like was about to sob. “Please…please, Nico, please, please—”

“That’s it, Georgie,” Nico praised. “Be a good boy and come for me.”

George had never felt the build up like this before. Sure, it had always been an overwhelming feeling but, now, he felt almost beside himself with the intensity…and it just kept building and building. His breaths were growing more and more jagged, laced in with moans and anticipatory whimpers that grew pitchier, fists tugging at the sheets with his bottom lip lodged between his teeth as he stared up at Nico.

When the build up reached its peak, George’s eyelids fluttered erotically like he was being fucking posessed and his breath caught in his throat, body tensing for a split second as if he had hit a brick wall. Everything halted.

Much to his surprise, the first shot of cum streaked right up to land across his cheek.

Quickly, it was followed by a second that landed across his lips.

George couldn’t even react to the fact that he just came so hard that he came on his own face as he felt like he had lost complete control of his body as his orgasm tore through him. He was sent into pleasured convulsions as Nico fucked him through it and kept stroking him off at the same time. More thick spurts came out, albeit more tame than the initial few, painting up George’s chest and abs in ribbons after ribbons as he sobbed out his teammate’s name with a voice filled with nothing but pure eroticism.

He sounded like a fucking pornstar as he gasped and moaned and cried through it. George, in all his hazy euphoric glory, swore it was never going to end; the intense waves of pleasure just kept rolling through him in a seemingly never-ending progression. It truly felt like he was experiencing an orgasm for the first time all over again. Unreal.

Nico let go of George’s cock in a hurried motion as he pulled out of him and rolled off the condom. He barely had it tossed to the side before his hand was taking its place around his dick and he gave himself a few desperate pumps. In seconds, he was coming too, streaking right up George’s abs, mixing in with his own mess of cum, and the last few drops painted the shaft of George’s softening cock.

George had barely had his wits about him to properly appreciate Nico’s face and sounds when he came; merely hearing the echo of his moans somewhere in the haze as he shuddered on his bed and let him come all over him. Blinking away the tears from his eyes as his orgasm finally tapered off into that post-euphoria buzz, George’s eyes was honed in on Nico’s flushed face and pleasured expression, watching as the older man dragged two fingers through his cum on George’s abs and then lifted his fingers.

George, as if driven by instinct, let his swollen lips part and let him slide his cum-covered fingers into his mouth. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Nico’s gaze, staring up at him as he sucked on his fingers and licked them clean. The slightly salty taste startled his taste buds but there was almost an underlying hint of sweetness that had George shamelessly enjoying it. Or maybe it was just the fact that it was Nico’s cum he was being fed, by the hand of the man himself, after near years of suppressing his strange desire for just that.

Nico pulled his fingers from George's mouth and then dragged his wet fingertips over his spitty lips, gathering up some of his own cum to then push back in against his tongue. With a breathless purr, Nico praised him, “Good boy…cleaning up your mess without a single complaint out of that pretty mouth of yours.”

George hummed around his fingers, eyelashes heavy and fluttering. When Nico pulled his fingers back out, a thin string of spit broke between his fingertips and George’s pouted lips. The woman beside them, who had been watching the whole ordeal with a front row seat, moved in to clean up the rest without a word.

Once her lips met George’s cheek in an open mouthed kiss, his hand blindly raised to rest around her bicep as she leaned in and started to kiss and lick up the cum that was still streaked across his cheek and smeared around his lips. The two of them soon melted into slow, sloppy kisses, breathless and wanton, almost more tongue than anything else.

When she pulled away, she swiped the pad of her thumb over his bottom lip and George draped an arm above his head with a breathy sigh as his eyes fell closed. He swallowed thickly as he caught his barings, melting into the comfortable mattress beneath him.

And then, with a tone taking on a bit more seriousness, Nico asked him, “You okay?”

George nodded, dazed, “Mhm.”

“Yeah?” Nico chuckled warmly, his hands rubbing up and down the outsides of George’s thighs that still framed him, easing him out of his pleasure, “You took it like a fucking champion.”

“You really did,” the woman agreed with a hint of pride in her voice.

“Fuck,” George croaked out, his voice suddenly so rough that he had to clear his throat. His eyes fluttered open again to look up at the two beautiful people knelt over him, his gaze drifting to Nico as he replied cheekily, “Yeah, you reckon we’re both champions now then?”

The trio shared breathy laughter.

The woman draped herself out beside George on the large bed and his arm naturally went around her, pulling her close as he turned his head and pressed a kiss to her temple. Nico shifted off the bed, announcing he was going to get a damp cloth to help clean them up and they let him go. Comfortable in the presence of his beautiful grid girl, George, at the same time, felt a strange emptiness as Nico disappeared around the corner and into the ensuite bathroom.

She tilted her head back against George’s arm to meet his gaze, bringing him back to their moment with a playful, “Quite the first date then, hm?”

George’s expression broke into a handsome grin and he offered a lighthearted eyeroll and a, “You can say that again.”

“Mm, I was surprised you asked me out, honestly,” she stated casually.

“Really?” George glanced at her. Her cheeks were still rouged from the remnants of their escapades. “Why?”

“Because it was always painfully clear that you had eyes for Nico.”

She answered like it was nothing more than a declaration of the weather. George shivered.

Before he could even figure out what to reply with, Nico returned to the room. With him, he carried three warm, damp cloths and the trio shared the responsibility of cleaning themselves and each other up, wiping away sweat and lube and cum from their flushed skin. Then, laying together in a euphoric tangle all together on Nico’s expensive bed sheets, nude, George was blissfully in the middle.

No one spoke for a moment; simply catching their bearings. George stared at the ceiling.

After a moment, he worked up enough courage to turn his head to the right to look at Nico. He was already looking back at him.

Nico’s lips pricked up at the corner in a small smirk and he took the initiative to lift his hand up to press the pad of his thumb against the corner of George’s lips, “You have a bit of—”

George stayed still, staring at him, as he wiped a bit of cum from the corner of his mouth.

George’s mind was spinning. Did he always have such thoughts about Nico because he felt protected by him? Just held him on a pedestal because Nico was the one who took him under his wing and helped him develop into the driver and title contender he was? Or was there more to it? As he laid there, naked, in Nico’s bed, it felt equal parts terrifying and improper and, yet, as if it were right where he was meant to be.

There was so much still unsaid between the three of them as the night dragged on, logistics and meanings behind their night together needing to be discussed. There was a lot George needed to wrap his mind around, having to figure out where he stood with both parties and what his own reflection of self looked like moving forward. It wasn’t all going to be figured out in one night. So, for now, he let himself simply take the moments as they came.

Technicalities could be smoothed over later. It wasn’t a race. Besides, he had the upcoming season to focus on and prepare for, in which he would be taking the position of first driver. He had big shoes to fill.

And eventually, a year later, with two races still left in the season and forty-six points ahead of the runner up, George Russell won his first World Championship.

He went over to Nico’s to celebrate.

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thesvnandthemooon · 4 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤

a/n: not too happy with how the beginning turned out, but the second half of this has to be one of my favorite things i’ve ever written

summary: natasha romanoff x female!reader. based on the movie “the notebook”; you’re allie, nat’s noah. fluff + angst

warnings: car crash, trauma, blood, memory loss

word count: 8.8k

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

The consequences of your actions couldn't have been sweeter.

Your parents don't end up approving of Natasha, but maybe that's okay. Even two years later, they refuse to talk to her. You don't talk to them, either.

You don't tell them the big news.

They don't get an invite.

They also don't see you in your wedding dress.

Your father doesn't walk you down the aisle. Instead, Peter takes over that job for him.

It took Natasha three months to figure out what to wear. To you, it never mattered — she would've look gorgeous in anything. But, when you see her waiting for you in her white suit, you're very happy about her choice.

It's a small wedding, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Just the closest friends, and a few distant relatives who were kind enough to show up — not many of those, obviously. But you'd always suspected your aunt Vivian would support your little act of rebellion.

She sits in the second row, beaming just like Peter. When she hugs you after the ceremony, she whispers: "Your mom will come around eventually. If she doesn't, then she's missing out."

You're not sure about the first part, but the second? That, you know is true.

Natasha doesn't let go of your hand the entire night. During the vows, the toast, your first dance as wives. Her eyes are on you, as well. You're not doing anything extraordinary, other than wear a wedding dress, but she's looking at you like you hung the moon.

Your honeymoon is just as special. After a few weeks in Italy, you make your way back to where you're happiest. Back to the place that keeps pulling you in like a magnet, back to your world of coffees and canoes and mornings in the lake.

You'll always return to this house, that much is clear. You remember what Natasha said when she first brought you here — for someday. Away from everything. Away with someone.

That someone somehow turned out to be you. As you watch her reach for the key and unlock the door, you couldn't be more thankful for that fact.

"We need a bed", you mumble. You still haven't upgraded from the mattress you've been using for years now.

She glances at you, the soft sunlight catching her hair. "I like the mattress. Very grounding."

"Haha." You smirk and grab her hand, letting her lead you inside. The smell of pine and dust is comforting. It feels like a home, even more so than the apartment you bought in New York City together.

The floorboards creak underfoot. You look around, taking the familiar space in. It's old and worn, the kind of place that wraps around you like a warm blanket. Natasha drops your bags by the floor, then stretches her arms above her head with a satisfied sound.

The surface of the lake outside shimmers. You step out onto the porch and grab the broom to remove all the old leaves and dirt that have accumulated during your absence. Inside the kitchen, Natasha starts cleaning the kitchen so she can get started on dinner.

"Feels good to be back", you call, wiping the chairs and table down with a rag.

"Feels like we never left", she replies, her voice distant from the kitchen. You hum to yourself and wring the rag through your hands. Natasha's right — it really does feel like slipping into a life that was already waiting for you. But getting here wasn't easy at all.

You straighten up and make your way to the small garden just in front of the porch. Potted plants are lined up on one side of the stairs, so you crouch down and check on them. It rains often enough out here, but they look a little dry — understandably so, since it's July — so you grab a watering can.

Being back here brings back memories. You still remember that day, that conversation with Simon that started with a simple "I think we need to talk."

The heavy silence that followed, his breathing quiet and suddenly uneven. His question whether there's someone else. Your admittance that, yes, there always had been.

Your carefully composed world crumbled within hours.

It's a blur now. Your parents' fury, their desperate attempts to reel you back in, your mother's sharp warnings that you'd regret this. Beneath her mask of composure was an insecurity, stemming from being defied by her own child for the first time in her life.

You were told you'd regret this. But you got on the jet with Natasha, your hand in hers, and you didn't regret a thing.

Two years later, you're still waiting for said regret to set in. You don't see it happening, though. Not now, not ever.

A clatter from the kitchen pulls you back into the present. You pull out a few weeds and toss them into the compost, then you make your way back inside. Natasha's boiling water for the pasta now, so you wash your hands and grab a few cans of tomatoes. Right as you put them into a pot, you feel the familiar weight of her arms around your waist. Her lips meet your neck, soft and unhurried.

"Quiet here", she murmurs, pressing another kiss to your jaw. You turn your head and she kisses your nose.

"It's always been like that."

"I like it." She pauses, her hands running up and down your sides. "It feels a little empty, though."

You open your eyes and look at her, eyebrows raised. Natasha smiles faintly. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It is empty", she mumbles, her nose nuzzling your cheek. "We should find a way to change that."

"Fill the house with pasta?"

"Maybe." Her hand slides to your stomach and slips under your shirt. Her palm is warm, but the wedding band feels cold against your skin. "Maybe not."

Whatever that's supposed to mean — you already know you'll need more room.

. . .

The drive from the airport feels longer this time. The once familiar road seems new, the trees look bigger. Inside the car it's quiet, save for the soft breathing coming from the backseat that has replaced the sound of the radio.

A turn, then another. Finally, you pull up in front of the space that, no matter what, is always one you can retreat to.

Natasha moves her hand from your thigh to undo her seatbelt, then she slides out of the car. She opens the door and gently scoops the little bundle out of her car seat. To your surprise, Masha stays asleep, even as Natasha adjusts her position in the crook of her arm. Her red wisps of hair stick out in all directions.

"She's getting heavy", Natasha mumbles, following you to the house.

"Well, she's not a tiny little newborn anymore. She's growing."

Your wife frowns at your words, despite knowing they're true. Maggie started crawling last week — she's anything but a newborn at this point.

"Still a baby", she mutters, glancing at your daughter. Her pacifier moves a bit as she sucks on it.

"Yes, still a baby." You drop your suitcases next to the bed — or rather, mattress. "Dammit, Nat. We really need to get a bed."

"Why?" Natasha bends down to place the baby on the middle of the mattress, lightly rubbing her tummy when she squirms in her sleep. "This is safer. For her."

You huff and kick off your shoes. "So what, we're just never upgrading? We'll just sleep on this thing forever?"

"You didn't mind back then", she mumbles, sitting down next to Masha. Her fingers brush over the baby's tiny sock-covered feet. "Besides, she can't roll off if there's nothing to roll off of."

"Can't argue with that." You join them right as Masha stirs again. Her eyes blink open, her pacifier falling out as she yawns and stretches. You smile and brush some hair out of her face. "Hey, honey."

Masha blinks up at you, fists clenching and unclenching, still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Natasha scoops her up and holds her against her chest.

"Yeah, that was a nice nap", she says, kissing the baby's cheek. "You're all warm, Masha."

"Looks like someone is ready for a swim", you comment, already getting up to grab your swimsuits. Natasha looks at you and you pause. "What?"

"I think we should wait with that."

"What, why?" You pout and open the duffel bag anyway. Inside, you store your swimsuits and towels. "It's sweltering."

"I don't know how clean the lake is", she argues. Masha coos and Natasha gives her a quick smile. "She's too young."

"Oh, please." You slip your shirt off and momentarily leave Natasha speechless. But then she remembers that you aren't exactly alone, and that you also probably wouldn't take kindly to being ogled in front of your daughter, so she averts her eyes. "We went skinny dipping, like, dozens of times."

"Yes, but we're not 9 months old", she says, focusing on Masha again.

"You're sure?" You smirk as you catch the way her ears turn pink. "You get just as fussy when you're tired."

"I do not", she scoffs. But Masha, letting out a sleepy whimper and rubbing her face against Natasha's shoulder, proves your point. You raise an eyebrow.

"See? Identical."

"Oh, enough." She gets up, balancing the baby in her arms. "You're serious about swimming?"

"Very much so." You manage to close the clasp of the bikini top you're wearing and put your hair up into a bun. "Come on, we'll be quick."

Natasha narrows her eyes but doesn't argue, instead rocking Masha and rubbing her back. "We can take her down to the dock, let her dip her feet in. But that's it."

The sun is beaming down at you, but the trees surrounding the lake provide some shade. Natasha watches you as you jump into the water, then she sits on the dock. She keeps Masha cradled to her chest protectively, so you tread back to the dock and raise your eyebrows.

Your wife shoots you the most unimpressed look known to man.

"You promised", you remind her, splashing some water on her legs. The baby giggles, her arms flailing.

"What if I drop her?"

"You won't." You reach out and touch Masha's bare foot. "Just a quick dip."

She hesitates for another moment, but then sighs and adjusts her hold on the baby. Slowly, she lowers her from the dock until her toes touch the water. Masha's eyes widen, her entire body going stiff — but then she lets out a surprised little squeal.

"Oh", Natasha mumbles, watching the baby's mouth form an o-shape. She starts kicking her feet and gurgling in delight. "She likes it."

"Of course." You smile and lean back in the water. "I knew she would."

"Yeah, yeah." She scoops the baby back up and kisses her cheek, expertly ignoring her wails of protest. "That's enough for now."

"Oh, come on. What are you scared of?" You reach out and gently grab Masha's foot. "That the fishes are going to nibble at her little toes?"

"Hilarious."

The baby reaches out toward the water again, her hands grasping at the air. Her feet keep kicking, but Natasha doesn't budge. She's read too many horror stories about recreational water illnesses. Sure, Maggie is over the recommended 6 months old now, but your wife likes to be safe.

"It's time for lunch, anyway", Natasha adds, using the hem of her shirt to dry Masha's feet. "I bet she's hungry."

"Probably", you agree half heartedly. You sigh and get out onto the dock again, water dripping from your body. Natasha stands up as well and wraps one arm around your waist. She pulls you closer and gives you a kiss.

"We'll go swimming later", she mumbles, her hand drifting to your front. Her fingertips gently skim over the stretch marks there. "When the little fishie is asleep."

It's not the breeze that makes you shiver. You lean into the touch and press your lips against the corner of her mouth. "You better keep that promise."

"I always do", she teases. She grabs your hand and raises her eyebrows, a playful smile on her face as she starts leading you back to the house. "Come on. Milk for the fishie, and steak for us."

Later that night, when Masha's asleep, you take her outside in her stroller and leave it close enough so you're able to see and hear her. Then you pull Natasha to the dock, kissing and tugging each other's clothes off, giggling like teenagers whenever you need to part for a moment.

Your shirt ends up god knows where — in a bush, maybe, or in the old canoe. You don't really pay it any attention. You're far too focused on getting into the water again.

The lake is still warm enough from the sun that'd been shining all day, but now that it's windy and dark out, it almost feels cold against your skin. You gasp at the feeling, and Natasha quickly wraps her arms around your waist.

"It's freezing", she whispers sweetly, trailing kisses along your jaw. "I bet it'll take you less than twenty minutes to want to go back inside."

"A bet, huh?" You smile, but a shiver runs through you and the accompanying clattering of your teeth interrupts you. "If I win, you're on diaper duty for the rest of the week."

"Deal." She kisses your lips, her own plush and warm. "If I win, you're singing me a lullaby every night. The entire week."

"Oh god." You grimace, but Natasha kisses it off your face. Her hands run to your back and she tugs at the clasp of your bra. You quickly squirm away from her wandering hands. "Hey! Behave."

"No fun in that", she replies, her hands splaying out on your back. Then, without a hint of a warning, she pulls you under the water with her.

You gasp and close your eyes on instinct, your arms clinging to her. The water soaks into your hair and fully envelops you from head to toe, and when you surface again, laughter bubbles between you. It's a silent night, save for the sound of your giggles and the distant hum of cicadas.

You lift your hands to wipe the water off Natasha's face and she pauses. Her fingers tuck a wet strand of hair behind your ear as she studies you with that look you by now know intimately.

The lake around you ripples, but neither of you move. Then you hear Masha fuss in her stroller, and you both smile knowingly.

You lean in and press your wet lips to hers, the lake water as sweet as the day you first tasted it on her tongue.

. . .

"No!"

Your voice cuts through the silent summer air, loud and sharp in a way your kids aren't used to. Archer looks up, his eyes wide and his arms stretched out to the sides.

"Don't even think about it", you say, quickly walking down to the dock. Masha grins up at you from the water and waves innocently. You grab your son's shoulder and point a finger at your daughter. "You too. You're right in front of the dock, it's dangerous."

"I'm not that close", she protests, and Archer nods enthusiastically.

"I'm careful, mama."

"I wouldn't listen to them", Natasha calls. You turn to see her on the porch, carrying Lilia in her arms. She's wrapped up in a towel, her face sticky with strawberry ice cream. "Remember the tree incident last year?"

"How could I forget?", you grumble. "I can still hear your cries, Archie."

He pouts, his shoulders slumping. "That was different."

"You fell into a bush", your wife says, walking up to the dock. "Headfirst."

"You were stuck for, like, five minutes", Maggie adds, a grin on her face. She swims backwards to give Archer more space. "It was so funny."

"It was not funny. Your brother could've gotten hurt."

"Listen to your mother, bud", Natasha says. She adjusts Lilia on her hip and brushes her hand over his damp curls. "We don't need an emergency room visit this summer."

He groans and drags his foot over the wooden dock. For a moment, you think he's accepted defeat — but then he suddenly sprints forward and leaps into the air, yelling a triumphant "ha!" Water splashes everywhere, even managing to get into your eyes.

"Archer Romanoff!", you scold as you wipe your face. Your voice gets lost between Masha's and Lilia's laughter. "Alright, that's it. Do I really need to take away your ice cream-privileges?"

He surfaces again, water dripping down his face. "No fair! Lilia ate all my ice cream!"

"Kid's got a point", your wife mumbles, glancing at your youngest. She just looks up at her with wide, innocent eyes, her cheeks covered in the ice cream she's eating. "Great, it dripped on the towel."

"We'll wash it. What we can't fix as easily, however, is a broken skull. So no more jumping when someone else is that close to the dock!"

"Fine", Archer relents. He splashes some water at his older sister, who grimaces and slaps the back of his head. "Ow!"

"No fighting", you remind them and glance at Natasha. Your wife is busy cooing at Lilia, who's having the time of her life being coddled. "Seriously? Why do I always have to be the bad cop here?"

"Because you're good at it." Natasha kisses Lilia's nose and smiles, moving the child onto her shoulders. "Besides, they're just playing."

"He splashed water at her."

"And she retaliated", she argues. "No harm done."

You sigh and glance at the kids again, who seem more peaceful now. Or, as peaceful as a five- and ten-year-old can be. Archer's spinning in circles, while Masha has plopped into the inflatable donut you brought.

"Want ice cream", Lilia suddenly declares.

You want to argue, but then press your lips into a thin line and give Natasha a pointed look — your turn. First she hesitates, but then lets out a sigh and slowly shakes her head.

"No more today, bub. Too much sugar."

"But it's summer!", Masha protests. Ankles crossed and arms behind her head, she looks like the human form of relaxation. "Also, I only had two today."

"Two's enough", you say before you can stop yourself. "We're having dinner in about an hour, anyway. Any special requests?"

"Can we have pizza?", Archer requests.

"You sure can", Natasha says, "but you're making it yourself."

"What? On my own?" He gapes at her.

"Exactly", she confirms. "Come on. I'll even help you with the dough."

The kids scramble out of the water and start running toward the house. Lilia, clearly wanting to join in on the fun, squirms until Natasha puts her on the ground. She runs after them as fast as her short legs allow her to.

For a moment, it's just you and Natasha again. Hands intertwined, the setting sun warm on your skin, the familiar little house in front of you full of life now.

. . .

Sometimes, life isn't fair.

You can talk about karma all you want, believe in fate, hope for justice. Trust that, somewhere out there, there's a referee who'll make sure everyone gets what's fair to them.

Oftentimes, that's not the case. You can close your eyes and pretend the truth doesn't exist, but it will hit you straight in the face anyway.

You're distracted when you get into the car. A sleepless night due to your son who started yelling at his computer at 3am, eight hours of work in an overfilled office, a fight with your wife that you caused — now you're exhausted, irritated, and understandably so.

You step out of the building and toss your purse into the passenger seat before getting in the car. You check your hair in the rear view mirror, quickly spotting the dark circles under your eyes and the wrinkles forming around them.

Whether you believe it or not: you're getting old.

With a sigh, you fire up the engine and roll out onto the road. From that moment on, it's like you're moving through a fog.

The world is distant, your thoughts jumbled. You turn corners, the streets blurring in front of your eyes. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel restlessly. All you want is to go home — little do you know that you wouldn't be able to do that for a while.

You're not thinking about the road.

In hindsight, you'd like to say that all it took were a few seconds of carelessness. But no. It was more, way more. That one specific second, however, where your focus wavers entirely, is what changes everything.

A sudden swerve from the car in front of you. You hit the brakes too late. Then, your world shifts into chaos.

The screech of tires. Your body thrown against the seatbelt. A flash of metal. The sickening crunch of impact. Blood on your tongue, a ringing noise in your ears. Your own heartbeat, and the deafening silence that follows.

. . .

The harsh light is what you notice first. Bright, blinding you, making your head pound even as you squint. You try to lift your hand to block it out, but your limbs feel too heavy.

Then the smell. Sterile, clinical, unfamiliar. A soft beeping sound in the distance, rhythmic and insistent.

You blink rapidly, trying to shake the fog from your mind, but nothing clears. You try to swallow, but your throat is as dry as sandpaper. It feels like you haven't used your voice in days. Instead, you attempt to sit up, but your body protests with a dull ache. You somehow manage to turn your head.

Next to you, a silhouette jumps up from a chair. Her face is familiar and unfamiliar at once, but she looks worried — so worried.

"Hey, hey", she says, first reaching out but then pulling back her hand. "You're okay."

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out at first. In that moment, you don't know much — but you do know that speaking shouldn't be this difficult.

"...Where?", you eventually manage to get out.

"Hospital. You were in a car crash."

You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, trying to remember, remember anything, connect some dots, fill the overwhelmingly large gaps.

You draw a blank.

"Who are you?", you ask, voice weak. The woman stiffens, then slowly moves to sit down next to you on the bed. Grey hoodie, dark circles under her eyes, unwashed hair. Clearly exhausted, probably hasn't slept properly in a while.

You search her face, and even if your heart beats faster at the sight — you don't recognize her. Not like you should.

"Natasha", she mumbles. "Your wife."

You nod again. "I...I don't...remember."

The words hang in the air between you. Natasha — your wife — hesitates before touching the back of your hand. Her touch is warm, comforting. Your brain may not recognize it, but your heart does.

"We have kids", she begins, quietly. "Masha. She's 17 now. Won a soccer tournament last month. Archer, he...he games a little too much. But he's a good kid. And Lilia is so smart. She's like you, you know."

You don't react. You try to assign faces to the names, but you can't. All you can imagine are three kids, faceless, practically strangers.

A mother, you wonder. I'm a mother.

You give her another pleading, disconcerted look. Everything about this is weighing heavily on your dazed mind. Why can't you remember who you are? Why can't you recognize the woman you supposedly married?

Natasha's fingertips trace the back of your hand as she starts to explain. A car crash, where the driver in front of you lost control of their vehicle. A traumatic brain injury. Retrograde and anterograde amnesia. Gaps in your memory, which are temporary (according to the doctors), but unsettlingly large.

"I know it's confusing", Natasha continues, her voice breaking. "But it's okay. It's normal. I mean, you were in a car crash. You need to recover, and you're getting better already."

"I don't feel better", you mumble. Someone knocks on the door and you look up. "What...?"

"The kids", she says, already on her way. "I asked Peter to watch them."

"Peter."

It's a statement, but it sounds like a question. Funny enough, you do remember that name. Your brain manages to flash you a picture of a teenager in an oversized shirt and Hello Kitty sweatpants, but then it's gone. You wonder whether it's a memory.

"I'll explain later", she says softly. She turns, her hand on the doorknob and her expression tentative. "Do you want to see them?"

Do you want to see them? No. Not in this state. Not knowing that you forgot your own children. The kids you carried, birthed, loved.

But you need to see them. Because you did carry, birth, love them. Because you owe it to them, in a way.

"Yeah", you murmur. Natasha nods and opens the door. One after the other, three kids enter the room. The oldest girl looks a lot like you, but her hair is entirely Natasha's. Then a boy — a middle schooler — with unruly hair and an expression torn between deep worry and mild boredom. The last one is a girl, only ten years old, who clings to Natasha's side.

They all stand there, staring at you, and you look at the woman who's supposed to be your wife. A silent call for help.

She quickly turns and nods at the kids. "Go on, say hi."

They hesitate, but then Masha steps forward. Being the oldest, she understands this situation the most — but even for her, processing this is difficult.

You can't blame her. You're an adult, and you can't quite process it either.

"Hey, mom", she mumbles. "You feeling okay?"

"I'm fine", you say, blinking a few times. You reach out and touch her hand, and while your brain may not recognize the girl in front of you, your body still does. "I'm sorry, I..."

"You really don't remember?", the little girl — Lilia, you remind yourself — asks. She's still half-hidden behind Natasha, who looks like she wants to jump in and shield you from all of this. But she can't. This is your moment, your choice.

You don't say anything for a long moment. You could either lie ("Of course I remember you, don't be silly sweetheart") but you know that Masha and Archer are both old enough to see through that. You shake your head.

"I'm sorry", you say, then add: "honey."

"It's okay", Natasha says again, almost as if trying to convince herself by repeating those two words over and over again. "Mom just needs some rest, yeah?"

"Sure", Archer mumbles. He gives you one last cautious look, then shuffles out of the room with his hands buried in the pockets of his cargos. Outside the room, a man — dark hair, friendly face that's lost its usual happiness — ushers them back into the waiting room. He glances at you and smiles weakly before turning and leaving.

Natasha closes the door and sits down next to you again. She pulls out a ring and places it in your palm. It's identical to the one she's wearing.

"You don't have to put it on", she says right as you're slipping it onto your finger. She swallows at the sight, her facade cracking. "Oh."

"Look", you murmur, cheeks red with a shame that's completely out of place in this situation, "I don't remember much about you. Or the kids. And I'm sorry for that. But you said you're my wife, and if you are, I'm probably really lucky because my heart keeps doing this weird thing when I look at you."

Natasha nods and exhales shakily. Her fingers touch yours, brushing against the wedding ring, and you stay completely still. You turn your hand so it's palm up and gently grab her hand.

"I am your wife", she says, voice breaking as she holds back tears. "You have no idea how lucky I am."

You close your eyes and squeeze her fingers. "For now, I'd like to be able to know who I am first."

She laughs and nods, tears making her vision blurry. "We'll get there."

. . .

The memories creep back in an agonizingly slow fashion.

Being back home does help, even if you struggle to associate anything major to the house you're in. Natasha told you that you bought this house right after you got pregnant with Archer, but you don't remember that. But, when you step through the front door for the first time after the accident, your brain provides you with the feeling of carrying your newborn over the same threshold years ago.

It's just a fragment of the memory, but it lays the groundwork for everything to come.

Recovery is frustrating and confusing and painful. You're physically stable, but mentally, you're in a fog.

Doing mundane, everyday tasks isn't an issue anymore. You make coffee in the mornings (even if your hands sometimes still feel like they don't belong to you; you've shattered more cups within a week than you have in your entire life), you shower, you even do Lilia's hair and make sure she gets into the school bus.

What else do you remember? Truthfully, not much. It's mostly fragments at this point, emotional recognition and muscle memory. One evening, when you're on the couch, you remember your first day of school. But looking at Natasha, not much comes to mind. All you know is that she's safe.

With the kids, it's similar. You don't remember anything, basically, but you can feel they're yours and you can feel you love them.

Masha is the most mature, being 17 years old already. She hides her pain well and, instead of wallowing, tries to bond with you — she knows how to make you feel included. She tells you about what happened at school, plays songs she claims are your favorites (sometimes, you do recognize the melodies), watches tv with you.

Archer is distant. He spends most of his time either playing video games or doing homework. His interactions with you are limited, but you'll catch him looking at you when he thinks you aren't paying attention. He's waiting for you to be his mom again, to be that woman who ruffles his hair and makes him eat his vegetables, who plays Mario Kart and goes to the LEGO store with him.

Lilia is too young to fully understand, too small, too hopeful. She curls up beside you without hesitation and hands you books you very well know she could read on her own. You still flip them open and read the stories to her, quietly hoping that it'll help. Sometimes, it does, and you suddenly see a much smaller version of her in that same spot next to you.

One day, you catch Natasha in her office. She's been spending more and more time in there, mostly when you're busy around the house. When you walk in, she closes the notebook on her desk and turns to look at you. Her eyes soften and she smiles and, oh, you forget about the weight in your chest. You feel the love between you, decades old and steadier than anything, and in that moment, it's enough.

You smile back and pause in the doorway. You still feel like you don't belong into this house, like you're an intruder. You know that's not the case, but your mind is as much of a traitor as it is a stranger.

"What are you doing?", you ask, head leaning against the doorframe.

"Writing", she replies and turns around in her desk chair. "You okay?"

There's that question again. You force another smile.

"I'm okay."

"Hungry?"

You should be. It's almost dinner time. You shake your head — you're rarely hungry these days.

"No."

Natasha nods, then gestures at you to come closer. You hesitate before approaching her.

Her eyes study you in a way that makes your skin tingle. The silence in the room is only adding to this strange, but not unwelcome, feeling. You avert your eyes before everything can become too much.

When Natasha speaks up again, she sounds choked up. "Come here."

You look at her.

"Please", she adds, almost pleading.

Another step. You sit down on her lap and glance at her. Her arms wrap around you, safe and solid. Something flashes in your mind, something warm and familiar, and you freeze to make it last.

"You know what this feels like?", you mumble when you're certain the feeling won't slip from your grasp again.

Natasha raises her eyebrows. Her hand gently runs up and down your back. "What?"

You rest your head against her shoulder. You know her scent, that much you're sure of. "A house."

"Mhm?"

"With a lake", you continue, struggling to explain. "I remember a mattress.”

She closes her eyes and turns her head, her nose nuzzling your hair. Tears aren't something to be ashamed of, but she won't let you catch her crying again. All of this hasn't been easy for her, either.

"Anything else, love?"

"A mattress on the floor", you mumble. "God, my back hurt."

"Yeah." She laughs, but it's a broken sound, muffled by your hair. "Mine did, too."

"Why'd we sleep on the floor?", you ask, still confused.

"Don't ask me", she murmurs and kisses the top of your head. It's an absentminded gesture, but her heart feels lighter when you lean into the touch. "We just forgot to buy a bed, I guess. We got used to the mattress."

"I think I liked it."

"You did?" Natasha smiles, her lips pressing against your cheek. "So did I."

. . .

A few weeks pass. The fog starts to lift, the haze thins. Things become easier, memories clearer.

Masha, still pink and squishy, wrapped into a towel. Nurses and bright lights. Salty tears on your cheeks, Natasha's hand on your head.

A canoe, old and shabby but staying afloat. Summer air on sunburnt skin. Aloe gel on shoulders and a wooden dock beneath your feet. Sweet kisses, slow and unhurried.

Seeing yourself in a wedding dress for the first time. Trying it on three kids later, with a body that's changed. Natasha standing behind you, closing the zipper. Fabric that feels much more snug. Her lips brush against your shoulder.

"You got even more beautiful. Must be magic at play here."

An elementary school. You can't tell whether it's yours or one of your kids's, but the fading chalk drawings are pastel and the air is musky after it rained.

A drive-in. A diner. A jet, with an odd symbol everywhere. Emergency room visits and first words, lullabies and a tattoo shop, stars and wilted flowers. Natasha and you in a dark hallway, Natasha and you bathing Archer for the first time.

Memories that come back gradually only to disappear again. They're not permanently gone — but sometimes, keeping them alive is hard. It hurts to look at your daughter's face and briefly forget her name, it hurts that you can't make pancakes the way you used to, it hurts you don't know your son's favorite movie or the name of the football club your daughter plays in.

Your photo album, some pictures faded, some corners creased from years of handling, helps. You sit on the couch, legs crossed and fingers tracing the images in front of you.

A picture of Natasha, her arms wrapped around a younger version of yourself. Trees in the background, and a blanket with a baby sleeping on it — Lilia, maybe half a year old. You squint, trying to remember that day.

A tap against the doorframe makes you look up. Masha stands there, arms folded, watching you.

"Hey", she says. "You okay?"

"I'm alright", you quickly say, blinking the sudden moisture away from your eyes. "What about you, honey?"

"Fine. Finished one of the books on my summer reading list." She moves to sit down next to you and peeks at the pictures. She taps the one you were looking at. "That's a good one", she says, smiling.

"I don't remember much", you admit.

"Yeah? Well, we decided to go on a picnic." Masha points at the trees. "A bird managed to crap on Lil's stroller."

"Language", you say without really having to think about it. Masha's smile widens. You can see something of Natasha's in her eyes.

"That was very you, mom", she says, nudging your shoulder with hers. "Come on, you gotta know what I'm talking about. Archer got chased by a dog. Mama had to grab that beast's collar. The owner threatened to sue her."

"Yeah", you say slowly. You glance at her and smile tentatively. "I think Archer climbed a fence."

Her eyes light up. "He did, yes. And mama dragged the dog back to its owner and absolutely bawled him out."

You nod, the weight on your shoulders having lessened. You remembered something else — not much, but it's a little step in the right direction anyway.

Maggie flips to another page and points at a picture. "Here. Try."

You study the image carefully. It's another one of you and Natasha, but this time, you're on a dock. You can barely see your faces, since they're turned towards one another — her nose brushing against yours, your smile wide, tiny wrinkles around your squinting eyes. A lake stretching out behind you, with a kid's head poking out in the distance.

"Oh", you mumble. You hesitate, but the warmth in your chest tells you to keep going. "It was summer. There was this- this house...and a lake. We spent our summer there."

"We spend every summer there", your daughter reveals. "Except for the one where you had Lilia."

"Right", you mumble. "Was there a storm that night?"

"Yes!" She nods, her red ponytail bobbing up and down. "The power went out. And-"

"And the kids were scared, so we lit candles", Natasha finishes the thought from across the room. You turn around, spotting your wife in the doorway to the living room. In her hand, the notebook. She tilts her head and smiles, something thoughtful glistening in her eyes as she watches you chase your own memories. "We told ghost stories."

"Archer couldn't sleep", you whisper.

"He slept in our bed", Natasha confirms. "He stayed there the entire summer, even if he kicked me all the time."

"Yeah", you mumble, looking back at the picture. Suddenly, it's all so vivid in your mind. You can pierce together fragments until they form something akin to a full memory.

When you meet Natasha's eyes again, something in them has changed. She looks resolute as she steps up to the couch, the notebook still in her grasp.

"There's something I want to read to you", she says, sitting down next to you. Masha gives her a curious look.

"Oh, really?"

"You're going to bed", she tells your daughter. "This is something I want to discuss with my wife, not your mom."

Masha looks like she's about to protest, but then her shoulders slump in defeat. She understands what Natasha means. She gets up, kisses you both on the cheeks and then heads upstairs. Once her bedroom door has closed, Natasha opens the notebook.

"I wrote this", she says, briefly glancing at the pages. "It's pretty long, if I'm being honest."

"What is it?", you ask, doing your best not to peek.

"Uhm..." She hesitates. "Our story. Beginning to end. The entire thing."

You stare at her, baffled. Your wife is telling you that, somehow, she managed to squeeze 23 years of history into one single notebook. Highs and lows, tears and laughter, everything you went through together to get here.

Then, you tear up. You remember pieces of those more than two decades. Natasha remembers enough to write a book about them.

"Okay", you mumble, sinking into the couch. Natasha squeezes your knee, looking like she's close to tears herself. She clears her throat and open the first page, skimming it.

"'We met at a fun fair'", she begins. "'You wore a dress. I hope you won't be too mad about me saying this, but you had zero aim."

You smile and shake your head, your hands covering your face. She keeps going.

"'I tried to ask you out. You resisted, obviously. You were stubborn, and so was I. There was a risk to going out with a complete stranger, but I loved taking that risk.'"

"Ferris wheel", you whisper, voice muffled.

"Yeah." She nods. "'You left again, with your friend. I felt like the most unlucky idiot in the whole world. But then I saw you again, on the ferris wheel, and I decided that it was now or never. I got up-'"

"And climbed." You brush the tears away. "Could've fallen and broken your neck."

"I didn't", she argues softly. "I made it over to you."

"You smelled like sugar", you add. "Like...beer and sugar. It was so odd."

Natasha lets out a quiet laugh, but it's a pleasantly surprised one. She looks up from the pages, her eyes searching your face. "You never told me that."

"I didn't?" You glance at her, eyebrows furrowed. You can still smell her scent from that moment, how sugary and bitter it was at the same time. "Huh.”

"That's good", she says, encouraging you. Reading about your memories seems to coax more of them out of you. "Want me to keep going?"

"Yes", you immediately say.

And so she does.

Your first date, in a diner. The first kiss afterwards. Nights of sneaking out, staying with her.

The house by the lake. The mattress. The three years of separation in between, and your engagement to Simon.

Peter telling her about everything. Meeting again, kissing, sleeping with each other.

Breaking off the engagement. Leaving town, heading to New York. Staying with SHIELD for a while. The weeks that followed.

Memory after memory. Some feel like echoes, others like dreams. Some pop between your fingers like bubbles, others seep into your bones, like they've been waiting for you to find them again.

You don't remember all of it. You've blocked many things out completely — like the fact that Natasha had dinner with your family once —, which leaves you feeling unsettled.

Some of it seems too meaningful to forget. But then again, you couldn't remember Natasha was your wife when you first woke up after the accident. Now, you can at least recall saying 'yes' in front of the altar, and how you danced afterwards, and how your lipstick had stained the corner of her mouth.

Eventually, she closes the notebook. She's only gotten through less than twenty pages.

"There's more", she says, looking at you. "A lot more."

You nod, rubbing your face. "I feel like I won't be able to remember half of it."

"You don't have to remember it now", she says gently, her hand reaching out. You grab it and keep it in your lap, playing with her fingers like you used to.

Like you used to — there. Another memory.

"It's hard", you admit. "It's like I'm chasing ghosts. Like...like I can't catch them before they disappear."

Natasha hums, staring at the wall for a moment. Covered in family pictures, many of them taken in that one beloved place. The one place you've visited almost every summer, where you've gone through so much, experienced so much. A place you've returned to at various stages of your life. A place that, without any doubt, will always be there.

"You know what might help?", she says absentmindedly.

"What?"

Your wife looks at you and squeezes your hand. "Being there", she says, her smile tentative but knowing. "The house. The lake. The dock."

You swallow, looking past her at the pictures. At this point, you feel like your brain is teasing you. You can feel the thick summer heat, hear the sound of cicadas and the water lapping against the shore. But the memories actually associated to those distant sensations? You can't grasp them.

"It'll help?"

"It might."

You hesitate, but something inside you pulls towards the idea. To the familiarity of it, even if the familiarity feels foreign right now.

"It can't hurt", you admit. "I mean, it's summer anyway."

"The kids don't have school", Natasha adds. She leans in and kisses you way too briefly. You've grown more used to physical affection again, but she's still scared of making you uncomfortable. Her hands feel warm and solid on your sides. "I'll pack, we're leaving in the morning."

. . .

It's you who points at that one roadside diner you've been going to for the past ten years.

The looks you get from your family make you pause. Nobody speaks, they all just stare. Finally, Natasha squeezes your thigh.

"Bet I can guess your order."

"No way", you tease, simultaneously trying to remember your usual. Cheeseburger? Maybe fries? Definitely no pickles.

But Natasha, knowing you better than the back of her hand, rattles down your order without having to think about it. The word 'milkshake' triggers something, and you smile softly as you lean back and gaze at her.

"You'll share your whipped cream?", you ask.

"Wouldn't be a proper date if I didn't", she mumbles, grabbing your hand.

Normally, a flirty little comment like this would be enough to earn gagging noises from the kids in the backseat. But they know that everything is still fragile, so they stay quiet.

Arriving in front of the house makes you close your eyes. The sight is painful, but it sparks so many memories that it's almost overwhelming. The porch, the wooden steps, the trees surrounding the house.

"We're here", Archer says, turning off his Nintendo.

"Yeah", Masha mumbles, looking at the house with a thoughtful look on her face. "Still the same."

The kids unbuckle and get out of the car. They're all eager to return to this place, this house that feels more like home than anything else ever could.

You look at your wife and open your mouth, but for a moment, no sound escapes from your parted lips. Her face blurs, and so does her name. You exhale and squeeze your eyes shut again, your hands trembling.

"Natasha", you manage a few seconds later. You forgot her name. Even if only for a few seconds, you forgot her name. She swallows and nods. She noticed — of course she did. She's been hyper aware of everything surrounding you since you got into that accident. "Oh god, I..."

"Hey", she says, leaning over to pull you into a hug. You bury your face in her neck and fight the rising panic. "You're just nervous. It's okay, I promise."

"It's so foggy", you mumble, breathing her in. "I thought this was supposed to help."

"We're not even inside yet, love." She pulls back and kisses you on the cheek. Outside, you hear your children's voices as they run around the front yard. Masha stops on the stairs and turns to look at you, the breeze tousling her red hair. Worry fills her eyes when she realizes you're still in the car.

"What if I don't remember?", you ask, your eyes meeting Natasha's again. "What if the memories stay gone? What if..."

She brushes some hair out of your face and smiles softly. The sadness in her eyes is unmistakable, but so is the steady love there.

"Then we'll make new memories. Come on."

She leads you out of the car and wraps her arm around your shoulders. The kids chatter excitedly as she unlocks the door to the house and lets them all storm in. Again, it's a small space — two bedrooms, one of which you added when you got pregnant with Lilia, as the space had started to feel a little too snug.

It's cozy, lived-in...and even familiar. The feeling of stepping into this space never changed.

It feels like a memory — that was your first impression you ever had of this house. Turns out you still remember that.

Your eyes sweep across the room. The kitchen you renovated, the little living room, the windows that provide a view of the lake. The dock. Even the hammock is still intact, though the pattern of the fabric has faded over the years.

"Where's the canoe?", you mumble. Before Natasha can answer, you speak up again. "It fell apart, didn't it?"

"It rotted", she says, nodding. "It was fine the summer before."

"Shame."

"I agree."

"Mom?"

You turn and look at Masha, who's holding a mug in her hand. A chipped mug.

"Yes?", Natasha says, rubbing your arm.

"Can I make coffee? I'm kinda tired."

"One cup", you murmur, resting your weight against your wife's side. She leans in and kisses your temple. Then she walks you outside, to the dock and the lake. She shows you the letters you carved into one of the wooden boards, which are the initials of all your names. She makes you sit down and dip your feet in the water, causing a memory of Masha doing the same thing — only as an infant — to light up in your mind.

You watch Archer sit in the hammock and stare up at the sky. Lilia joins him, and they squabble over who gets to sit in it. A cat appears from the bushes that are on the other side of the lake, and they both get up to try and lure it with 'pspsps'-noises and a bag of pretzels.

You go back inside and make dinner. You recall the first fight you had, which makes Natasha laugh and pull you into a kiss. You curl up on the couch, with Lilia in your lap and your head on Natasha's chest, and watch the same black and white movie you watched in the drive-in way back.

"Still old", she mumbles into your ear. You smile and tilt your head up. Her lips press against your forehead.

Once the kids are in their pajamas, you all gather in the main bedroom. Archer drags his mattress into the room, so Masha and Lilia follow in suit, and now you're all cuddled up. Your oldest daughter brought your beloved mug along, this time filled with milk instead of coffee.

Your voices are soft, the words hushed. The kids have started chattering quietly — well, Lilia not really; she's out cold.

You look at Natasha again. Her eyes meet yours, and you recognize everything your brain can't remember.

Can't remember yet, you remind yourself. You've gotten this far, and you'll get further.

"I love you", you mumble. "I know that much."

"I love you too", she whispers, her lips pressing against yours in a brief kiss. You close your eyes and sink into this feeling. It's a feeling you may not always remember, but will always recognize. "You don't need to know me for me to love you."

Masha and Archer both cuddle up at Natasha's side. Your daughter reaches for your hand and you squeeze it. When Natasha starts humming the tune of a Russian lullaby she used to sing to the kids when they were still little, you close your eyes and quietly hum along. The melody returns easily, and the memory comes to life again, vibrant and warm.

A nursery, a swaddled baby, a nightlight in the shape of a sailboat. Drops of warm milk on wrists, feverishly reddened cheeks, the uncertainty that comes with being a new parent.

Outside, the water laps at the shore. The moon bathes the room in a milky light. No light pollution out here, thankfully.

The kids go quiet. Natasha pulls out the notebook and opens it, finding the page where you left off during the car ride. You glance at it, then lean up to kiss her cheek. Her voice is a quiet murmur when she begins telling the story of your first months of marriage. Not all of the memories return as readily, but that's okay. Listening to her retell them may be enough for now.

You turn your head and bury your face in her chest. Her heartbeat is a rhythm you'd recognize in a thousand lifetimes.

You thought it all started at the fun fair, where you met. But lying here, with the lake outside and the mattress on the floor, with the chipped mug in your sleepy daughter's hand, you realize that this is where it began.

The walls hold secrets that never touched the notebook.

It all started in a small house by a lake, and it ends there as well.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #fanfic #marvel mcu #marvel #lesbian #wlw #x reader #fluff #light angst #fanfiction #oneshot #moon’s fics

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