#so sry again about how late it is!!

[anachronistic-falsehood]

GENUINELY going 2 fucking explode. was in the car driving and angel with a shotgun came on. started thinkin about c!philza and no word of a lie i started crying. old man is immortal and has lost so much in his lifetime and became nearly apathetic about it, lost his son, got his son back, his son LEFT WILLINGLY, and then lost his best friend and his home one after the other. i was so fucking distraught about it. ohhh cphil you had so many issues and you were no good at helping people but you are so so tragic 2 me. then i started thinking abt vash the stampede and cried even harder

[somethingshifted]

still reading stuff and it's putting into perspective how when times change advertising routes change. not everything is my cup of tea (tiktok/discord especially so) but i mean, the way i found gorillaz was from their 19-2000 game. surely that is oriented towards kids, even hewlett's own words from 2008 reflect that

so i keep this in mind while catching up

[kithtaehyung]

would u? (3tan717) | myg

3tan717 drabble #1: would u? pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | 3tan717 rating/genre: pg (18+) ; fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: you see a certain fruit-centered trend online.. and decide to test it on yoongi note: i am so so so sorry this is out on the very last day of feb but things have been absolute bananas lately! tbh i’m surprised this is even getting posted on time and i have even more to do after this is shared but eff it shibal!!! note 2: as promised, this is dedicated to the people that submitted the answers i’m using for this drabble: anon, grapes / @yoongrace, and apryl @aprylynn for this idea hehehe! also i literally just finished this so it's legit unedited so i'm sry for any mistakes! off to go prep for events now! warnings: 3tan yoongi as always, working yoongi??, kitchen, period cramps suck but yoongi to the mf rescue drop date: feb 29th, 2024, 10:03pm est word count: 2.3k

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Ugh. 

Why does this have to happen every fucking month. Why can’t it happen every three? Or six? Or never ever ever? 

Groaning, you roll over, burying your face into the pillow on Yoongi’s side. 

To some degree, you feel placated, probably due to his scent still lingering next to your dismay. He had to get up early to finish a track, but he assured you can be in the room. 

You can hear a little bit of what he’s working on as it bleeds through his headphones, and even just this sliver of sound gives you chills. Not just because of what it sounds like, but the sole fact that Yoongi’s letting you even listen in the first place. 

Huffing out a bit of amusement, you remember the last time Yoongi let you stay while he worked—albeit at his place while he went to the studio. 

Damn, how much you’ve grown since then. All those memories, those quiet times and tumultuous times, everything leading up to now. How time has molded you with knowing hands. 

However, no matter how much has changed all these months, some things have not wavered, like the fact that you needed to be sure he was okay with it—and his answer making you absurdly shy. 

Did he really have to say that you’re either staying or he’s gonna leave? That scheming motherfucker! 

Some drum beats hit your cheek before you realize the menace himself is playing multiple different ones. It’s only a couple hits before he moves onto the next, and you’re about to lift your hea—

“Fuck, where the hell is that kick?” 

Your laugh is stifled by cotton. As tickled as you are to hear Yoongi like this, you don’t wanna do anything to distract him. 

But by doing so, that causes your body to tighten and fuck, it hurts. It hurts to move, it hurts to laugh, it hurts to just exist. God, you want him to come back and join you so bad, but you don’t wanna be that person. 

…Yet. Maybe if it gets so bad you can’t even sleep? 

“Found you! Fucking finally. Thought you could hide from me, huh?” 

Oh, fucking hell, he’s adorable. 

Yeah, there’s no way you’re making him drop everything right now. This is too precious of an afternoon to stop. 

Exhaling a mile long breath, you fight through your pain and feel for your phone, groaning as you shift yourself. When in position under sheets and warm sunlight, you cycle through apps as a distraction. 

Scrolling. Scrolling. Smiling at some animal videos a bit before scrolling again. 

After all of five minutes, you start to see a trend on your feed, and suddenly get the idea to try it on Yoongi. It’s simple and harmless, right? 

You [3:30pm]: would u peel an orange for me 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, and you lift your head slightly to see if he looks at his phone. 

When he does, he checks it really quick before setting it back down on his desk, back to clicking on his screen. 

Ah. Damn. He must really be in the zone because… 

Uhh. 

Blinking, you watch as Yoongi rolls his chair out to get up, setting his glasses down and heading out of the room with a light swing of his chains. 

Uh. What just happened? Did you upset him? You’re so stunned that his swift exit has you wanting to get up and follow him.  

But ow. Ouch. It’s maddening how much your cramps are getting to you. 

Bearing the punches to your gut, you start sliding out of the bed, straining and sucking in sharp breaths just to stand and pull Yoongi’s comforter over your tension. 

Padding out the bedroom, your worries make your steps tiny and heavy, and you regret sending that text because you literally just said you weren’t… gonna…

On the dining table—quiet—lie three tangerines, peeled and placed next to vibrant scraps while your lover peels a fourth with diligent, devoted hands. 

And you can’t even form words that match how you feel. 

Your vision swims right as Yoongi looks your way, his body stilling before he puts the fruit down. 

When he approaches with concern, you answer his silent questions through hiccups, “I—I thought you left cus—you were mad.” 

“Huh?” 

“I don’t even know,” you swallow, gesturing to all of your lower half and feeling him hold the slipping blanket. “It’s just… this, I guess.”

“Does it hurt?” 

“Like a motherfucker.” 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, doll. Hold up.” Handing you the comforter, Yoongi goes to his cabinets in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of medicine before walking it over. “You gotta take something as soon as you feel it. Don’t let it get this bad.”

“I know,” you groan, resting your head on his shirt and inhaling his healing presence. “I didn’t wanna bother you.” 

Your forehead is kissed. “You’re not bothering me. Especially with something like this.” 

“Okay.” 

He walks away again to grab some water, and you watch as he pours some into an electric kettle before starting it up. 

Glancing back at the fruit, you sigh, clutching the bottle of pills while feeling the weight of his comforter. He’s probably not pleased with the way it might drag on the ground, so you gather it and pick the end chair to sit on. 

And then you sigh, “Sorry for making you peel those. I didn’t even plan on eating anything.”  

“Too bad. You’re gonna eat what I make you anyway.” 

Wait, he’s cooking? He has work to do! “You’re working, though. Don’t worry about me right now.” 

“It’ll be quick.” 

“What are you making?” 

A glass bowl and pan are procured from random places before Yoongi blinks in place. “Uhh.. You’ll see.” 

As he clunks them onto his counter and stove, you watch with hearts for eyes as he bustles around the kitchen space. Even doing things as simple as washing his hands, opening his fridge, and simply grabbing a knife gives you pause. 

And this is when you realize that you can watch Yoongi do absolutely anything and be amazed. 

Even when he stands, watching you with a look that’s wait why doesn’t he look—

“Take the medicine, baby girl.” 

Oh. 

Snapping out of your trance, you nod. “Sorry.” 

Yoongi continues to give you glances until you swallow down the painkillers, satisfied enough to continue his cooking venture when you take the second one. 

As the sun paints the apartment in marigold and light, you keep watching with a smile as he brings the kitchen to life. Butter sizzles in a pan, tangerines are getting halved on a board, and something is getting mixed with a whisk. 

Who knew that the neighborhood fuckboy would have a whisk on hand? Not the younger you, that’s for damn sure. 

But here Yoongi is, in the flesh, whisking away with veiny forearms that have you thinking the most absurd thoughts during this time of the month. The only thing that would cut through the raging horniness would be getting up to see what the hell he’s making. 

It’s starting to smell familiar though. But he put the tangerines in the pan so you don’t even know what to expect right now. 

Walking up—blanket left behind—you observe the kitchen before peering over his broad shoulder. “Mm.. Smells like pancakes.” 

Yoongi doesn’t answer, but when you see the consistency of the batter, you realize you’re correct. “Oh, it is! I’m smart.” 

“You are,” he laughs. “But you didn’t get it all the way right.” 

“No?” 

“Nope.” Yoongi then gently gets you to move before he pours the batter over the slices, and you crane your neck to watch as he evens it all out. “Just one tangerine pancake.”

“Oh, okay,” you scoff, earning a laugh at your side. “Whatever, chef.” 

“We’ll see what you say in a bit.” 

Is he gonna leave it or flip it? Probably the latter. 

“K. Gonna flip that once it’s done.” 

Nice. You smile to yourself, loving how you’re starting to really be on the same page. Nudging him, you keep watching as he lowers the heat and sets the lid on the pan. “What now?” 

“We wait,” he responds, dusting his hands together before cleaning up his mixing bowl. “And I’m gonna see if we have any sugar.”

Damn it, Yoongi cannot keep saying that two-letter word. It’s starting to be detrimental to your health. “I can help.” 

“S’ok,” he assures, nose upturned. “Just watch me work.” 

“Oh, I’m very good at doing that.” 

At this, Yoongi turns and gives you a smile that immediately reminds you of summer, and you almost feel like crying again. 

“I’ve actually never tried this, but. We’ll see if this works.” 

With nothing snarky, or teasing, or fake to say, you reply with a smile and a genuine, “I’m sure it will.” 

When he keeps staring, his eyes lower to your lips, and you don’t care that you probably look like a wreck, or feel like one. Because the way he’s looking at you now makes you glow. 

If only the kettle didn’t decide this was the moment to stop boiling. 

You were probably about to get the kiss of your life. 

But Yoongi halts in his tracks before shifting to get a mug, setting it down with a thud before checking on the pancakes. Pancake. Whatever that delicious-smelling thing is gonna be. 

“There’s some tea packets in that right drawer. Help yourself cus I’d rather you pick.” 

Chuckling, you oblige before scooting over. After seeing a small jar of granules on the counter, you start rummaging through the drawer, exploring the various options while hearing the sound of a plate behind you. 

Ah, Yoongi’s flipping it. 

As you turn, you’re just in time to watch the muscles in his back protrude through his shirt as he flips the pan, impressed as he sets the plate down because holy hell that looks great. 

“Sugar, sugar, sugar… Suga, suga, suga.” 

Laughing, you interrupt his silly search as you grab the jar you just saw. “Suga suga, how you get so fly?”

Yoongi stops to see what’s in your hand, and he huffs through a grin before grabbing it. “Thanks, doll.” 

You keep humming the song that’s now wedged into your head as you watch him sprinkle bits on the pancake. 

“I don’t have a blowtorch,” he admits, “But I do have this.” 

Rolling out a drawer, Yoongi takes out a long lighter before holding it to the sugary top, humming the same song you were just singing without even knowing it. As the sugar slowly but surely heats, you both keep humming and basking in a calm afternoon. 

And you don’t even feel the pain anymore. 

“Go ahead and sit, babe.” 

“You sure?” 

“Uh huh.” 

Following instructions, you make your way to the table, cocooning yourself in his comforter again as you await the cutest meal you’ve had in weeks. Months. Lifetimes. 

Speaking of lifetimes… You hope every version of you meets every version of him. No matter when. No matter where. Because you want every version of yourself to find happiness, and Yoongi has been the one to help you finally find it. 

And he certainly passed whatever the hell this orange theory thing was supposed to be. 

Plates are set down to break you out of introspection, and you glance up with eyes sparkling. 

When Yoongi raises a brow, you just smile. When he asks what’s gotten into you, a chuckle escapes before you shake your head, 

“Nothing, baby. Just didn’t expect all this from that text.” 

As he plops into the next chair, you love the way the sun settles on his skin. Highlights his hair. Shimmers in his eyes. 

“Don’t even need to ask, babe.” He captures your attention with a calm look. “I was waiting for any distractions anyways.” 

So this was for him, too? Good. 

Grabbing your fork, you giggle. “Sounded like you were having a little trouble over there.” 

“I was! This is what I get for not saving my shit.” 

Both of you sit back in laugher as you throw your hands out. “Do that!” 

“I’m lazy!” 

“Tough shit!” 

“I know!” 

Grinning, you loll your head before waving your fork out. “You’re gonna save those sounds, and you’re gonna remember this day and thank me.” 

Yoongi just tightens his lips in a smile, eyes creased and glimmering. “Maybe.” 

“Yes. I’ll stand there and watch you until you do it.” 

"Really.."

For the rest of the afternoon—with full bellies and clear minds—you rest on the edge of Yoongi’s bed, forcing him to find the files he needs and watching him groan his way through saving everything. 

Constantly laughing at the ridiculously random names he’s assigning them.

When he’s done, you watch as he spins around in his chair, heart thumping with anticipation as you’re met with a waiting pair of eyes.

Breathtaking. 

When he leans in, you feel incredibly shy. Always, always, always. This will forever remain the same.

And—just as well—Yoongi's kisses will forever taste like tangerines. 

Three of them, to be exact. 

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fin. :)

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how did the first 717 drabble go! | join the discord hehe

a/n: nothing much to say other than i love y'all so much! i will try responding to anything when i can (there's literally still all the 3tan12 feedback to get to) but i do read all the commentary sent in and it keeps me going strong :'))) so thank you again for being here and being amazingly patient with me. off to work on more things but i shall be back once the wild weeks are over!

a/n 2: suga suga how you get so flyyyy hahaha

[akiranzee]

Hiiiii^^

Do you stilo take request? If yes can I please request Muzan with a newly turned s/o? She just got turned into a demon and is still weak but slowly discovers her Blood Demon Art and makes hin proud

👫 • ° ` — \\ “STAY BY ME”

╰┈➤ PAIRINGS: muzan x demon!y/n ╰┈➤ W/C: 0.5k+ ╰┈➤ CONTAINS: fluff, & muzan is 1,000 while reader is 23. ╰┈➤ A/N: HELPP THIS HAD SO MANY TIMESKIPS SRY😭😭 i was actually braindead for this one

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------------Complete!------------

“y/n, you’re training again?” muzan appears right behind you, sauntering towards you as you exhaled exhaustedly, not bothering to look back at him.

for a demon, you were as weak as a human, hell — maybe even some ordinary humans are stronger than you.

“what did i say about training so late?” muzan’s voice was strict of warning, but it was far from threatening. he grabbed your wrist and tugged you back inside your shared house, but you stubbornly tried to pull away.

“i... i have to get stronger, muzan.” you stammer, “i was so weak that i almost died, but... you saved me and gave me this second chance, and i’m not gonna waste it.”

muzan can only sigh of the determination within your eyes, but he too, was a stubborn man himself. and so, he carried you on his shoulder in one swift motion, and despite your attempts to squirm and wiggle away, his grip on your waist and thighs never wavered.

a soft squeak could be heard as he gently dropped you to the bed, “sleep.” he demanded, and left the bedroom.

~~~~~

months had passed, and you still hadn’t discovered what your blood demon art is, you’re starting to think you don’t even have one.

no matter how many trees you’ve destroyed, no matter how much flesh you ate, no matter how much blood you drank, you were still as fragile as a human.

you wanted to give up, despite your driving force of being helpful to your beloved muzan, you were just a hopeless case of a demon.

months passed once again, and still, your blood demon art had no signs of showing. you thought to the point if it was because your training sessions were so quick, barely above three hours before muzan picks you up and drops you to bed.

so, you decided, that after he does that, you sneak out to the window, making sure to go further into the forest so he wouldn’t hear a single sound of your struggles, cluelessly unknowing about muzan’s ability to still be able to see you.

as you reached the forest, slowly, you closed your eyes and steadied your breathing, as you urged yourself forward and brought all your energy to your fist, which landed heavily on the tree right in front of you.

yet, still, nothing had changed.

thump, thud, thwack. hours had passed, maybe an hour left before the sun had risen. sweat and tears were dripping from your face, frustratedly punching the tree at random.

as a lone tear dripped down from your face, and as a loud yell emerged from your throat, suddenly, a light yellowish light had appeared from your fists, then, the tree had fallen to the ground, in a burnt color and smell.

panting, a soft, sophisticated clapping could be heard from behind you. immediately, you turned around and saw muzan sauntering towards you, “very well, i congratulate you for disobeying me once again, y/n.” the fake, friendly smile had been lost in his handsome face as he said your name, now looking at you with disappointment and dread.

a single sweat had dropped to the side of your temple, and in that swift, single second, did he finally carry you off the ground and on his shoulders.

despite his unfriendly demeanor, it wouldn’t take a genius to see the pride in his smile.

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© akiranzee || do not steal, plagiarize, or repost my works without my permission.

[cranberryjuice-posts]

Readin between the lines

Pairings - Clarisse La rue x Fem! Daughter of Hecate Reader

Synopis- both you and clarisse like eachother but Your both to stuborn to admit it

An - HAPPY VALENTINES DAY — THIS IS RUSHED IM SRY 😭😭

You knew clarisse liked you. It was obvious. How she flirted with you, how touchy clarisse was when anyone else seemed to show any interest in you. The fact you two have kissed before didnt help either, but this girl still refuses to tell you she loved you.

And it just so happened your just as bad. Clarisse would lay awake at night regretfully thinking about you and about you and your antics. You wore shorts that showed off your ass just for you to tease her with them. How you would make flirty remarks while clarisse worked out or how you would complain about how hot it was down at the lake while wearing a bikini you knew the girl liked. But you refused to tell clarisse how you liked her.

That seemed to be your relationship a constant back and forth neither girls wanting to admit they liked each-other but sure as hell getting pissed off if either entertained the idea of another girl.

——

“Oh you big baby I bet it’s not even that heavy” you teased leaning back on the bench you sat on. Clarisse dropped a heavy weight on the ground looking over at you. “Oh yeah?” She smiled sarcastically “why don’t you come over here and lift them then”

You rolled your eyes, standing up you walked over towards clarisse. Grabbing the heavy weight with both of your hands you still struggled to lift it.

After a few seconds you dropped it down stumbling back into clarisse. “Not that heavy right?”

“Shut up” You laughed looking up at the girl, smiling as she hugged you from behind with her leaning down coming closer to you.

About to kiss the scene was disrupted as silena entered the arena. “Hey Lise, Chiron wants you both” she chuckled dragging her finger between you two “for a meeting or something dont be late Yeah”

The daughter of Aphrodite gave clarisse a teasing Look making the girl sigh annoyingly. “Whatever could silena be implying clarisse” You joked

“You know not everything has to have an underlying meaning” she looked down at you, smiling you leaned into her more letting your lips graze one another’s. “Yeah but where’s the fun in that” kissing her quickly, you grabbed clarisses hand and started to lead her towards the big house

Gods you were going to be the end of her

——

“Ladies, thank you for coming and meeting us today” Chiron nodded towards you and clarisse as you entered the patio.

Mr. D grunted not bothering to look up from his cards. Chiron looked over at him with a look of dissapointment before facing you two once again. “So why did you need to see us” clarisse shifted around slightly before crossing her arms.

“Well as you know the summer is about to start, and while quest have not been given in the recent years I am in need of you two to find something for me” Chiron held is hands infront of him as he spoke. You didn’t look up but you could tell by how clarisses breath changed that she was more than excited to take this quest. “In flordia, towards Venus beach you will find an abandoned fair grounds, built many years ago by one of Mr.Ds here cults. After a large org—“

“Bascially the cult disbanded and I left a very important kantharos there and I want it back!” Mr.D sat up annoyed by the entire situation. Chiron rubbed his eyes in the gods childlike display. “Essentially girls we have chosen you two for this quest because clarisse your talent in battle and y/n your talent with magic and connection with the spiritual world, these are both traits you will need in completing this quest”

“Do you accept the damn quest or not” Dionysius sighed opening a new can of Diet Coke

You looked up at clarisse, her following suit and looking down at you. Nodding you faced Chiron once again. “We accept”

———

Sitting in the train station you smiled as clarisse tapped her leg. Finally the girl snapped groaning and standing up. “This is boring— the train won’t be here for another hour can we please go do something”

“And what are we gonna do?” You hummed, continuing to read your book. Clarisse rolled her eyes “I don’t know fucking— maybe we could get some food or something”

“Are You asking me on a Date?” Turning the page you smiled as the girl infront of you continued to get more bc more annoyed. “No I’m not asking you on a date I’m hungry and I want food”

“Then go get food what do you need me for” you continued to tease the woman. Watching as she walked away flustered, it brought a sense of accomplishment towards you— mainly because you loved pissing her off

——

“Okkkkkk— ah! There it is room 256” you smiled placing your key card into the train room door. Opening it and walking inside you and clarisse both paused taking a moment to comprehend the room.

It was small, that you expected. However the design of the room you didn’t. There was a twin sized bed pressed against the wall with a small window right up against it, a matching bed right above closer to the cieling and a flimsy ladder against the wall. Some storage underneath the bottom bunk and a small table at the other end of the tiny room.

“Nice and cozy” clarisse bitterly spoke as she pushed past you into the room. Setting her stuff on the top bunk you raised an eyebrow while closing the door. “Who said you got top bunk, shouldn’t you take the bottom you know just incase we get attacked and I need someone strong to protect me” You chuckled some, leaning against the beds you reached up grabbing one of clarisses curls twirling the hair around your finger.

Clarisse however remained unamused, her right hand finding itself on your hip. “I’m sure you of all people can take care of yourself”

“Yeah but what’s the point if I have you here” flicking the curl away you leaned up like you were going to kiss her, lips brushing and the hot breath of one another grazing each others skin you smiled pulling back and handing clarisse your bag. “Put it up for me yeah? I wanna go check out the train”

“I fucking hate you”

“You’ll get over it”

——

Walking out of the shower hall you headed back to your room. Once inside you stop to take a moment to appreciate Clarisse who was doing pull ups with the bar on the top bed.

Taking in the sight of the girl in her black sports bra and red plaid shorts that coincidencly matched your plaid shorts and black tank top, the first person who came to mind was most likely silena trying to make you two match

Clarisse dropped down from where she had once been up high, she looked confused at your two matching pjs

“Silena?” You playfully asked

“Fucking silena” she complained rubbing her eyes. Shrugging your shoulders you sat down onto your bed looking up at clarisse.

After a few moments she started to go around the room grabbing a few items before setting them on her bed, “what no goodnight kiss?” You continued your teasing strike as clarisse tried to get up on her bed.

She looked down at you with a sarcastic face “really.”

“You know it’s not good romantic practice to denye a woman a kiss”

“That’s ironic coming from you”

“And your a bully, just give me a kiss” you laughed tilting your head. After a few minutes of back and forth clarisse eventually leaned down playing a kiss on your lips. It was short and flustered, you could easily tell she was nervous. But it was still cute none the less. “Happy now?”

“Jumping for joy”

Clarisse rolled her eyes “your so stupid”

——

Two days later the train pulled into its stop at Venus beach flordia, taking your bags both you and clarisse set out looking around for where ever the cult use to be.

Following a long discarded map that Chiron had given in aid on the quest, clarisse had taken the lead charting out the way.

Soon however she came to a stopping point. Grabbing her arm you looked up at the girl with concern. “Your dehydrated, common let’s get you come water”

Clarisse shook her head “no I’m fine..” she stubbornly spoke trying to keep walking

“The quest can wait you need to rest for a moment” grabbing her hand you lead her into a near by cafe.

Ordering two waters and a slice of strawberry shortcake you sat down with the tired girl passing over her drink. Watching as she gulped it down your concern soon dissipating behind you.

You knew you liked clarisse, shit you knew you loved her but for some reason telling her how you felt just.. scared you, you didn’t want to loose her as a friend but at the same time who kisses their friends.

“Dude—“ Clarisse snapped her fingers bringing you out of your head. Now drawn to her attention you watched as she explained the plan. “We’ll wait til night fall, wherever this old cult place use to be I guess was built over with a fair grounds, after some freak accident it was closed down that’s where we’re gonna find Mr.D’s cup ”

Nodding along you took mental notes of the Important stuff. “Ok.. so what we spend five hours at the fair grounds, it’s what 6pm now the sun will set in an hour so at 12 am we head back to the train station inorder to board our next train at one”

she nodded, shaking her leg on the ground you could tell she was anxious to get moving again. Anyone would be lying if they didn’t agree that clarisse was Absolutely beautiful when she was in the middle of plan making.

——

Finding the fair ground was easy, what wasn’t easy though was having to search through everything just to find one stupid cup.

At this point you had been searching for an hour with nothing to prove for it. The only thing you did find was an obscene amount of green slime? Mucus? You didnt care all you knew was that it was acidic. In a fit of disappointment you sat down on one of the horses on the carousel. Rubbing your eyes frustrated you let out a deep sigh trying to calm down.

After a moment you started to hear music play. Looking up confused you saw clarisse standing at the control pad with a smile on her face. The horses started to move up and down, moving in a circle with the broken record music in the background.

Once the ride came to an end you looked at her with a neutral face, your arms crossed.

“What? We’re at the fair we deserve to at least have some fun” she joked.

“What happened to ‘we need to focus on the quest’ ”

Clarisse rolled her eyes “I said that when we first got here, now we’re having a break so do you wanna go again” you tilted your head some with a smile. “Yeah you come ride it with me”

“Ah see I would but who would control the pannel”

The control board sparked with electricty now working on its own. Waving your fingers at clarisse you giggled knowing your magic sometimes freaked her out.

“Whatever I can do that to” she muttered. Taking a seat beside you on a different horse you both remained quiet just looking at one another.

“I use to come to the fair” clarisse sighed.

You looked over confused at the sudden confession though you weren’t complaining. “See my mom would take me every year since I was 5, she was a military officer so she wasn’t around much but she always came home for the fair. That was until I was 9… a monster attacked me and coach hedge brought me to camp.” she paused for a moment, looking up at the dark sky completly unaware how stunning she looked in the golden light. “It been years since I last saw my mom, being here it reminds me a lot of her.. but I’m glad I’m here with you” she looked back down at you.

There was this feeling in the air— almost like you both had something to say but couldn’t find the words to express it.

Just as You opened your mouth to talk the ride jerked forward coming to an abrupt stop, falling off your horse you groaned. Sitting up and rubbing your head you found clarisse kneeling over you trying to help you up. “You allright? Everything still ok”

Nodding you let your head go. “Yeah I’m fine.. the control panel probably stopped working” giving clarisse a comforting smile she calmed down some helping you up.

“Let’s Just Go find the kantharos” clarisses Guard was up once again. You let out a disappointed sigh but agreed, feeling your cheeks grow warm as the taller girl grabbed your hand

——

Time was cutting short, 10:45 pm— the entire fair grounds checked and still no damn goblet. At this point you were convinced this was a gag quest. “There’s one place we haven’t checked” Clarisse sighed crossing her arms.

“Yeah and where’s that”

“The hall of mirrors”

Your playful demeanor soon fell “I’m not going in there” you cautiously spoke.

The stronger girl chuckled. “Why are you scared?” At first she she figured it was a joke, once realizing how serious you were she changed her stance. “What’s wrong with the hall of mirrors”

“It’s common knowledge in the witchcraft world that if you face two mirrors together that evil spirits will have access to the mortal world. Being that I’m a daughter of Hecate I’m at much more risk for danger than you as a daughter of are”

“That would of been great to know before”Clarisse let out an annoyed sigh.

“Well I didnt think we We’re going to have to go inside the damned place” you bit back not appreciating her attitude

Tapping her spear trying to think of what to do, she wasn’t about to drag you into the building but knew she was screwed in there if there was a monster without your help.

After a long moment you groaned holding your head back. “Fine I’ll go if it means finding the kantharos— but don’t say I don’t do shit for you”

—

It was just like clarisse had predicted, the cup was in the middle of the maze, what she didn’t predict was a baby hydra curled up around it.

“Fuck this is a hydra nest?!” You whispered yelled in a panic. Clarisse started inching towards the monster against your better judgement making your whisper curses in Greek at her. “When I say run.. we run” she softly spoke while placing her spear on her back.

“Clarisse don’t do it i will kill you” You threatened as she reached for the kantharos. “Clarisse?!” You spoke against your teeth. The daughter of ares however ignored you, reaching down you watched as she grabbed the cup slowly itching it away from the baby hydra

“RUN!” She yelled grabbing your hand in her free one. The baby hydra quickly woke with its prize now gone.

The screeching monster started to chase you down the maze, breaking multiple mirrors in its fit of rage. You tried not to look back but you couldn’t help. “Shit clarisse look out!” You yelled, letting go of her for a moment you tapped a bracelet on your hand revealing a shield— that you may or may not of stolen from the hephatus cabin— blocking the monsters acidic bile.

That’s what it was, all the slime you found around the park it was hydra venom mentally you beat yourself up at not realizing it sooner

Dodging past multiple dead ins you started to get anxious. Every turn every pause everything felt the same. What if you weren’t moving, what if you didn’t escape. Everything flooding your mind at once you hadn’t realized clarisse practically threw you out the maze.

Taking her spear she tossed the cup to you before using her weapon to seal the metal door shut with the electricity that conducted in the tip.

Pacing back three steps clarisse kept her spear readied waiting for the door to bust down, after what seemed like eternity the monster gave up returning to its spot in the center.

Both of you relaxed immediately. Now with the cup in hand your quest was complete.. “I guess this is it, we take that back to camp and we’ll be named successful victors” she panted slightly helping you up.

“Yeah… orr we could have a little more fun while we’re here. What was that you said about ‘deserving to ride the rides’?” You teased the now flustered girl.

——

For the remaining hour you had rode every ride that you could, it was almost like a date. A date as a real couple.

Ending the night you rode the Ferris wheel with clarisse. Stopping up at the top you took a minute to appericate the view. “You know.. we would of never gotten this if it wasn’t for you” you looked back at clarisse.

“Yeah Well you were helpful in making sure the entire quest went smoothly” she chuckled holding her head down humbly.

“That’s debatable” You laughed leaning back tracing the designs on the cup. “Not really.. you always make things go smoother so it wasn’t really a shock you made this entire shit show actually tolerable”

“Oh was that a compliment clarisse” you gave a small chuckle. Looking up you noticed clarisse staring at you with a certain softness that if anyone at camp had seen it they would of denied it was clarisse.

She shrugged her shoulders some not really sure what to do. Setting the cup aside you leaned forward some. “Well, if it weren’t for you then we could of never found Mr.D’s goblet so.. if anything your the one to thank” you smiled some at her.

It was like a scene out of a movie. Clarisse learned forward bringing her face close to yours. Both of your hearts beating loudly. “I think.. I”

“Yeah” you whispered back, sure you’ve kissed multiple times before but for some reason.. this time felt different.

Pulling eachother Close you slowly kissed clarisse. Each time before it had been a quick kiss. This time however it was slower, more intimate and loving.

Her hands holding your waist with your fingers locked in her curls. The kiss breaking multiple times only to be continued not even a moment later, both of you kissing like you needed it to breathe. You figured you had imagined it, hearing an ‘i love you’ muttered somewhere in the heated scene.

Pulling back panting you looked at clarisse with blown pupiles. “I love you to” You muttered not realizing what you said until you spoke.

“Thank fucking god” clarisse tirelessly spoke before pulling you back into a kiss.

[misotsukiiyeooo]

"Just one more?" Part 3

Pairing:Husband!Father CSC x F! Mother!Reader

A/N: I'M BACKKK!!! After the polled votes came in I immediately started to write lmao! This one will also be a bit longer since it's the last one...or is it? jkkk unless...Enjoy!

Genre: Fluff (Hint of crack)

Word count: 16.6k (Not proofread sry)

Synopsis: After Seungcheol finds out you're pregnant, again, the whole experience has been, tender, lovely, and well....shocking

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

3 Months Later

Everything with Seungcheol has been so perfect. Well, this is your fourth kid but that's what made the experience even better.

He already knew how to help you with your cravings and everything.

Telling the rest of his members was also fun. Of course, Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Joshua ran up to hug you first.

And telling your children was also exciting with Seojun, your oldest son hugging you while Jieun, your second child blabbers on how she's going to dress up the baby. Your youngest, Dohyun just smiles handing you a toy to play with him.

Today, You and Seungcheol are so excited because you can finally find out the sex of your child.

"Babe, we're going to be late!" He's rushing you, clearly he's more excited than you are.

"I'm coming hold on!" You grab your sweater and wave goodbye to your kids and thank Seungkwan once again for watching them.

Seungcheol holds your hand as you walk down the stairs. "I'm only three months, Cheol..." He still treats you as if you were going into labor this instant.

"I know....but we still need to be careful" You look at him while he continues to talk nonsense.

Entering the car, he closes your door; going to the driver's side.

"What do you think the gender is?" You ask him, curiously. "Hm, probably another boy. But whatever the gender is, I'll love them either way." He looks at you fondly.

"You're so cheesy! But I think it'll be a girl because we just had a boy and it seems like a pattern." Seungcheol thinks about it, nodding. "You're probably right, but there's only one way to right out." He starts the car.

As you enter the hospital, you are greeted with warm smiles. "Hi, I had an appointment for an ultrasound today." The nice lady behind the desk looks at you. "Oh yes, Choi Y/n was it? Please fill out these papers and bring them back to me."

She hands you some medical papers and you take them, walking to a seat where Seungcheol's already at.

After filling out the papers you hand them to the lady to take your seat again but before you even sit back down, your nurse calls you in.

"Choi Y/n?" She calls out. "Yes?" You both lock eyes, smiling. "Follow me right this way."

You hold Seungcheol's hand, excited and nervous to find out the sex.

You are seated in the reclined seat while Seungcheol stands beside you. "So you're finally three months! You're here to find out the sex, right?" You nod.

The nurse puts the cold gel on your belly causing you to twitch. You look at the screen above which shows the ultrasound.

"Seems like your baby's doing well." She continues to look at the screen. Her eyes widen, causing you to get scared.

"Is something wrong?" You and Seungcheol both look at her. "I'm afraid I'm not able to say anything. Only the doctor could, and she shall be here shortly." She exits.

You feel anxious, many negative thoughts running through your mind. 'Is the baby sick?' 'Is the baby alright?'. Taking you out of your thoughts, you feel Seugcheol grip your hand.

"Everything's going to be okay, alright?" Just the right words you wanted to hear.

A few seconds later, the doctor enters. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Choi. Is everything alright? I just received some information from the nurse who was here, and I want to check it out for myself."

"If you don't mind me asking, what's wrong?" Seungcheol asked, looking quite nervous himself.

The doctor now looks at the screen. "There seems to be two babies in here."

"What!?" You and Seungcheol both say in unison.

"How's that possible? When I came here two weeks ago they said they only saw one?" You're utterly confused.

"You are quite early in your pregnancy so mistakes like this can occur, especially with the babies hiding and such. But yes, look here," She points to the screen. "There's two babies in here, congratulations. You're having twins!"

You're both left shocked, mouths gaped. "I'm not mad...however I'm just in shock." You let out, not knowing whether to be excited or in tears.

"What are their genders?" Seungcheol pitches in. "I'm sorry I almost forgot to even tell you. This one's a girl and the other's a boy." The doctor points at the screen, identifying each baby.

"A boy and a girl?!?" You still can't believe this.

"Yes but if you'll excuse me, I have another patient that needs to be checked. If there are any more questions, you can ask anytime, take care and remember not to stress too much." The doctor exits and you sigh, now facing Seungcheol.

"You did say you wanted another baby" He smiles. "Yeah, but I didn't expect to have babies!" You both look at each other, breaking the silence with laughter.

"I'm a bit scared though...we have to get two of everything and more stress, more waking up at night, more everything! And no wonder I'm so huge at only three months!!" Seungcheol wants to let out maybe even the tiniest bit of laughter but knowing how hormonal you are, he could never do such a thing.

"It's going to be alright baby, you need to remember; that I'm also here. I would never let you do this alone." He holds your hands.

"Hm...You're right, I'm sorry but still, these are two babies!" You let out. "I can't even imagine the boy's faces when I tell them," Seungcheol said.

Arriving home you see Seungkwan and the kids playing together. "You sure you don't want to have your own kids?" You rest your hand on your hip, smiling at him.

"No, most definitely not. I'm good as a fun uncle, not a father." He lets out a chuckle causing you to also laugh.

"Well, I have some news...we're having twins!!" His face has shock written all over it.

"Twins? Twins!!" Seungkwan rushes over to you, hugging you tightly. "Kwan...the twins, remember?"

He made an 'o' shape with his mouth and then let go, apologizing.

"When are you going to tell the rest of the boys?" Seungkwan asks. "Maybe tomorrow? I can't wait to see their faces!"

Seungcheol comes back from the kid's room after putting them to bed while you are talking with Seungkwan. "Well as much as I love to stay and talk with you, I have to get home. Practice is pretty early for us." He looks over at Seungcheol.

"Right, get home safe Seungkwan." Seungcheol waves as you walk Seungkwan out.

After saying your goodbyes' he left; leaving you and Seungcheol alone. "I still can't believe everything that's happened today..." You hug Seungcheol who already has his arms open for you.

"I know, I'm even more excited now that I know it's twins," he says as he kisses your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips causing you to giggle.

"Should we get ready for bed? You also have a long day tomorrow you know." You said earning a pout from him. "But I wanted to spend my day with you and the kids tomorrow..."

Smiling at his cuteness, you play with his hair, "How about we visit you during practice? We do have to tell the boys about the twins."

"I do like the sound of that." Seungcheol kisses you once again before you head off to bed.

Next Day

You wake up to an empty bed. However, you do see a post-it note on the side dresser.

'Good morning my beautiful wife, I made breakfast for you and the kids ;)'. Smiling at the note, you get off of bed and freshen up for the day until your kids wake up.

As soon as you got out of the bathroom Dohyun, your three-year-old was walking up to you. Slowly but surely.

"Mama, where dada go? I went to room but no one there" He has his hands in a shrugging position while shaking his head. 'Aw this cutie' You thought.

Taking him into your arms and pampering him with kisses you, finally answer. "I'm sorry Dohyun, dada went to work. Do you want to go surprise him later?"

He doesn't let even a second go by before yelling out excitedly, even waking up the rest of the kids. "Dohyun...you woke me up..." Jieun walks out rubbing her eyes while Seojun's just a couple steps behind her.

"I'm sorry kids, but Dad made you guys breakfast! So after eating, we can get dressed to see him at work."

They both look at each other, then you. "Does that mean we can see our uncles too!!" They say in unison happily.

"Yes, you can but, not if you don't eat breakfast." Seojun and Jieun race to the table to eat the food Seungcheol made in no time.

After driving to get some food, you finally make it to Seungcheol's workplace.

You enter the elevator with the kids. "Mommy, I'm so excited to see Uncle Gyu!" Jieun jumps excitedly.

"Hm, and why is that?" You ask. "Because he's so tall and I can pretend like I'm flying!" She puts one arm up as if she were.

"Well, it's a good thing we're here now." You all exit the elevator and they're already used to the place; running to the practice room before you can even get there.

As you approach, all you can hear are indistinct screams of joy.

Entering the practice room you see all the boys surrounding your kids. Seungcheol notices you immediately and grabs the food out of your hands.

"Babe...why didn't you tell me you were downstairs? I could've helped you with the food." He pouts.

"It's okay, Cheol. It wasn't that heavy." Seungcheol still takes the bags.

"Y/n!!" Mingyu runs to hug you but slows down; eyeing you. "Wow..." You laugh at his face.

"I know, right?" You affirm, moving toward him to offer a reassuring hug because he was too hesitant to do so himself.

"Uncle Gyu! Carry me, carry me!!" Jieun wastes no time asking for what she wanted this whole time.

"Ms.Jieun, please keep all arms and legs in the vehicle at all times." Mingyu bends down so Jieun can go on his back. "Prepare for take off!!" As he runs around the practice room with Jieun, you take the opportunity to head towards everyone else.

"Hey guys!" They all look at you, waving, smiling, and coming up to hug you.

"Thanks Y/n for the food!" Soonyoung thanks you while taking another spoonful. "You're welcome!"

Dohyun walks to Wonwoo- calmly sitting on his lap, you've always noticed Wonwoo was his favorite uncle. Probably because they're both calm people.

And Seojun simply talks with his favorite uncle, Seokmin. He knows how crazy Seokmin is; however, he just finds him enduring.

You sit with everyone, patiently waiting to drop the news. "When are you going to tell them?" Seungkwan whispers next to you. You hit him for whispering too loud, "I'll tell them now..."

You eye Seungcheol, signaling to him that you are ready to tell them. "So guys...I actually have some news." They look at you confused on whether it's good or not.

"Is something wrong?" Jeonghan asks. "Well, no. It's just shocking."

"Tell us, tell us!" Chan grows impatient.

"So, I went to my ultrasound yesterday, and turns out...I'm having twins!!" You finally let out.

Many expressions were shown but you can tell they were all happy; just shown in...different ways.

Mingyu, Soonyoung, and Seokmin literally jump like animals.

Minghao, Jihoon, Wonwoo, and Vernon congratulate you with the biggest smiles.

Junhui and Chan both sit down in shock.

And lastly, Jeonghan and Joshua run up to hug you, again.

"I'm so happy for you!!" Joshua tells you. "Oh my gosh! We can make them just like me and Seokmin!" Everyone pauses; looking at a happy Soonyoung.

"Or maybe not." He shuts up completely as we all laugh.

The rest of the day was spent with the kids playing with their uncles while you talked it up with the ones who weren't occupied.

6 Months Later

Everything has been going well with you carrying twins and all.

Your best friend, Seungkwan threw you a baby shower with the help of your parents.

Your kids felt the twins kick, and Seungcheol almost cried.

Seungcheol even decorated a whole room for the twins. And now you're 9 months pregnant and shopping at the mall.

"That dress in that store looks cute! Let's go Cheollie." You hold your back as you walk into the store.

Grabbing the dress in your size, you head to the changing room, Seungcheol steps behind you.

You managed to successfully put on the cozy dress but taking it off was a hassle. "Cheol? I need help."

He comes into the changing room worried. "What happened?" He asks.

"Nothing too serious I just need help taking off my dress." He lets out a sigh of relief and helps you.

As he lifts up the dress a bit you pause.

"Cheol..stop."

He looks at you puzzled, but lets go.

"Either I just peed my pants or I think my water just broke..." Eyes widening he panics. "Your water broke?!?"

You simply nod, panicking yourself. Out of all places, your water broke before; it's never been at a mall.

You knew you were going to give birth at any point just not right now!

"We-we have to go!" You groan at the contractions. You both try to walk out of the store but get stopped by security.

"Ma'am you can't leave without purchasing the dress." He puts an arm out.

"Add it to my tab, I'll call this place later. It's an emergency." Seungcheol holds you by the waist attempting to calm you before you yell at this man. But the guy once again has his arm out.

"That's what they all say. I'm afraid I can't let you leave without paying."

That's it

"My water just broke and it just so happens to be I was trying on this dress! So if you don't want two fucking babies coming out of me in this store I suggest you listen to my husband and let us fucking go!!" The security's eyes widen, looking you up and down and gulping.

"Well, I'm sorry for not reading the room. Please, go on and give birth to your twins.." He finally moves his hand and you and Seungcheol rush out of the place.

Entering the car, your screams only get louder and louder. "We're almost there, Baby. Almost there.." Seungcheol holds your thigh while driving as fast yet safely as possible.

You make it to the hospital and Seungcheol does the talking for you. "My wife is going into labor." He attempts to stay as calm as possible.

"Come right this way." A nurse brings you to a room while you're very much in pain.

Multiple nurses enter now as your contractions are getting close. "Ms. Choi, breathe, just breathe."

Did she really just tell me that?

"What the hell do you think I'm doing?!?" You counter back. Seungcheol smiles at the lady apologizing for you.

The pain was unbearable, those twins were really doing a number on you.

A doctor finally walks in, "Hello, your contractions are pretty close I see, I'm going to need you to push."

Push!?! Can't she see I can barely even breathe?!?

Seungcheol holds your hand as you are preparing to push.

"And 1, 2, 3, push!" Said the doctor. Only screams were heard; everything felt hazy you didn't know if you could even do it.

"You got this, Babe. Just keep pushing." He never once left your side as you continued to push.

"Just one more Ms.Choi-There we go. A beautiful boy!" The sound of the newborn baby crying calmed you in a way that brought you back to your senses.

The nurses took that baby to clean him while you still felt in pain. "One more Ms.Choi, you got this come on."

"I-I I can't. I can't do it" You felt exhausted, this was serious pain.

"Y/n, look at me- Look at me. You need to push; I know you're tired but there's still our daughter in there waiting to be brought into this world. So push!! I'm right here for you." Seungcheol's words help you realize, you have to keep going.

For the sake of your daughter.

You push as hard as you can, taking breaks, tears leaving your eyes, and even sweat dripping from your forehead.

But that didn't stop you from completing your mission.

And with the last push, your daughter was finally out. "Congratulations Ms. Choi, you did well."

You drop your head on the pillow, and tears of happiness and pain keep escaping your eyes. "You did it Y/n...it's all okay now." Seungcheol kisses your forehead and those are the last words you hear before falling into deep sleep.

After some time, you blink your eyes open only for them to be set on Seungcheol holding two babies in his hand. Tears of joy leaving his own eyes.

"Oh look, mommy's up! let's go say hi." He walks up to you so you can see your children.

"They look perfect, right?" He said as you can't even keep your eyes off them.

"I know, they must've gotten that from me." You chuckle at your newly found confidence. "I think they did." He adds on giggling himself.

"What should we name them?"Seungcheol asks you. "Hm..I don't know yet..."

"How about I name one and you name the other?" He proposes. "But they should rhyme, no?" You ask. "If you want them too."

"Well then, what if...she's Jisu and...he's Jiho?" You pitch in, pointing at each kid, waiting for his response.

He nods, "I think it's perfect. Jisu sounds cute like her and Jiho sounds manly like this handsome boy here." He kisses they're cheeks.

"Jisu and Jiho it is."

Reqs are open!!

This adorable divider is by @dollywons !!

Taglist!!

@jjunie-0 @minminghao @honglynights @allieyaaa @bath1lda @black-swan-blog27

[starlovesganyu]

love letters!

❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀

them receiving a handwritten note at work!

various characters x gn!reader

characters: fu xuan, kujou sara, ganyu

warnings: none

a/n: idk why i didn't start writing hsr earlier

also another short one sry

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

fu xuan -`✮´-

• lucky for her, the letter is a similar pink to her hair, so when it falls out of her bag as she's walking to her office, her coworkers just assume it's a normal letter

• until they notice the big red heart sealing it shut

• she tries to keep herself composed and professional, but the red creeping into her face is unstoppable

• whispers and snickers and be heard from the onlookers in the commission-seeing the master diviner flustered is a rare sight indeed

"quiet everyone! let's get back to work!"

• when she enters the safety of her office, she'll gently open the letter

• the first line already has her blushing uncontrollably

• when she returns home, she tries to act stern and tell you how unprofessional this was, but just seeing and holding the letter again has her all red and holding back a smile

• completely crumbles and just hugs you tightly and shoves her face into your chest

• mumbles a "thank you" and "i love you" while staring at the ground with her forehead resting on your chest

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

kujou sara -`✮´-

• upon seeing the pink letter carefully tucked into her training bag, she quickly glances around to make sure that no one is watching

• gently tears open the envelope to reveal a very childish valentines day card with pop-out hearts and everything

• can't contain her smile as she reads about everything you love about her

• unfortunately becomes too engrossed in the letter and doesn't notice the soldiers peeking around the corner of the barracks

• a click of a kamera gives away their location

• she's promptly pulled back into reality and quickly (and carefully) hides the letter back into her bag and chases after the soldiers to reprimand them

its too late

• has trouble focusing on her training the rest of the day because she can't stop thinking about you

"t-thanks for the letter S/O, but did you really have to give to me during training?"

• places the letter in a secret compartment in her desk

• wraps her arms around you extra tight when you two cuddle that night <3

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

ganyu -`✮´-

• she thought it would be another normal day at the yuehai pavilion, but when ningguang walks into her office with her hands behind her back and the smirk on her face, it all goes out he window

"looks like you have a delivery ganyu..."

• the bright red qilin quickly snatches the pink envelope and shoves a laughing ningguang out the door

• after composing herself and double checking the door to make sure it's locked, she gently opens the envelope

• will be blushing from head to toe, the tips of her ears practically steaming as she reads through your letter

• takes her a while to read, as every other line she has to put the letter down to quietly squeal and kick her feet like a schoolgirl

• carefully packs the letter back into the envelope and places it on her desk, away from anything that could damage it

• when she leaves the pavilion, ningguang gives her that smirk again, and she has to fight the urge to throw a scroll at ningguang with all her adeptal strength

• extra shy when she's around you the next couple days

• also will be extra cuddly when you share a bed!

thanks for reading!

[leclsrc]

like you should ✴︎ cl16

genre: just. Like. sexual tension…, reader is max’s gf, no explicit smut but heavy innuendos so just beware, everyone is Morally Bankrupt so turn away if u dont fancy that

word count: 11.3k  

If you don’t learn from history, it’ll stick around and find a way to repeat itself – even if the history is with your boyfriend’s rival, and its repetition happens behind his back.

auds here… hi hi hi!!! not proofread sry; i wanted to write something like this for a while haha, i had a bunch of reqs from january(!!!) that served as the basis for it. title from this it was this fic's inspo savior. full disclosure this is fiction n doesn’t at all reflect how i view max/charles :) love love love u all sorry for being mia so constantly & enjoy this jumble of sexual tension haha. happy june friends!!!

Monaco is always an affair in itself. Humid, music blaring, and full of celebrities, you pose for a few paddock pictures, exchanging no words with Max. He’s idle beside you, cap drawn over his dirty blond hair, hand on your waist, the other scrolling through emails and Instagram. Your dad’s somewhere here, too, if you remember right—he texted you about being with Christian, at a meeting somewhere about Checo or something. You can’t be arsed to remember. You flew in two hours ago after a days-long inner turmoil, trying to decide if you wanted to come at all.

Max didn’t sound too eager for you to arrive, either, but you theorize it’s because you’ve both been tired with work lately. He’s leagues above everyone else now, but the demand of work snatches what little quality time you could’ve spent with him. You suck it up, lacing your fingers together and hoping this is a dry spell—physical and emotional—that just needs to be waited out.

How’s the weather? You ask casually when you’re inside his room, burying your face into his shoulder. He presses an absentminded kiss to your head. “Should be fine.”

“Anything you’re worried about?” You make yourself busy rifling through his closet. It’s more of the same. Polos proudly showcasing the logo of the team that’s brought him to the top. He usually keeps three spare ones, but there’s an extra smaller one that you unfold and dangle in front of you. “Whose is this?”

He glances. Kelly’s. When you gesture for elaboration—Nelson Piquet’s daughter? Christian asked me to give her one. You don’t pay attention to it, folding it neatly and placing it inside again. He pipes up to answer your earlier question, voice light as it is solemn. It’s Charles’ home race.

“So?” It comes out sharper than you intend, considering Max is more a friend than his rival. You turn to try and soften your hostile phrasing. “I mean. It’s… you’ve been dominating the leaderboard.” No way you’ll show him you’re worried for Charles, too. “Their car is horseshit.” It is and it worries you.

“Yeah, yeah. I think I’ll talk to him for a bit. You’ll be okay alone?” He’s getting up already.

“Wait—” You pause when he’s kissing your cheek as a goodbye. “I thought we were getting lunch.”

“Make it dinner, then.”

“No,” you protest weakly. “I’m going to be with my dad.”

“Drinks.” He leaves no room for argument and leaves with the door shutting softly behind him. You exhale loud through your nostrils and shut the closet door, leaving to explore the paddock. It’s familiar grounds for you, not just because of Max but because of your dad, who began insisting you attend races again a few years ago. You should know Red Bull, he’d said then. The team I’m sponsoring. The team I give millions to.

Purely to appease him, you gave in and attended a race for the first time in a long stretch, just a few years ago. You’ve attended almost every race since then, and those have often blurred into one homogenous memory (sitting, watching, cheering, hugging, drinking), but the first race remains clear as the day your driver dropped you off at the entrance to the paddock, a VIP lanyard slung over your neck and sunglasses perched on your nose.

You stare at the just-closed door, his bag still abandoned on the bed, his dismissive tone, the polo you’ve just folded up. Max is hiding something—you just can’t put your finger on it.

—

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Monza 2019! The host goes, a reporter-esque smile greeting the crowds on the big screens. Monza is intimidating. You’re being guided around the ups and downs of the paddock by somebody whose name you’ve forgotten and remembered and forgotten again, short in stature with a posh English accent. Your dad is somewhere, in a meeting perhaps, which means your re-introduction to the world of racing is up to this man alone.

“Christian!” Someone says behind you, and oh right his name is Christian. Christian—Hormut, or something. You’ve blurred his last name from memory, too. Christian ends up having to excuse himself to attend to a pressing practice problem, and he leaves you with one of his drivers.

Max is his name. He’s funny, charming, and vulgar in the way all Europeans are (you’re not at all surprised when he tells you he’s Dutch), and handsome, moreso when the topic gets to racing and he starts talking quick and with passion. It’s something you admire.

“You don’t know what quali is?” He asks when he hands you a vodka soda.

You laugh. “My dad was always insanely busy with work as a kid, so I liked not knowing anything about it.” You always wanted to remove yourself from the racing and just be your dad’s daughter. “I’ve only been to a handful of races, and even then I was way younger.”

“You’ll like this one.”

You squint onto the paddock and recall the motif that’s been teeming around you all day long—red. Red, red, and more red. There are fans whose faces are painted red, bold and shiny against the unrelenting sunny weather. Internally, your curiosity is piqued. Red Bull, perhaps? “Are those your fans?” 

Max follows your gaze curiously. “Oh,” he says when he sees the crowd of red. He sips his beer. “No, that’s for Ferrari. They always attract a proper crowd in Monza.”

You hum, the name more than familiar to you. “Red sea.” You spot a few signs in Italian, a few fans taking pictures, and finally your interest wanes, eyes gravitating back to Max. “You nervous?

“Rarely am.” He smiles. “Will you be watching?”

“Probably,” you respond, momentarily searching the surrounding area for your dad. “I’ll be with my dad someplace.”

“You owe me a congratulations,” says Max as he gets up, his name being called from somewhere behind you. “Okay?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “I’ll save it.”

You’d spaced out mid-race and watched from a flatscreen TV inside instead, but lost the plot at some point, so you ask around for who the winner is. The winner ends up not being Max, you’re told by one of your dad’s assistants, Ben, when you emerge from his office after the flag is waved.

Everybody, however, is talking in a secondary racing jargon—they say things like P1 and front wing and strategist, failing to dumb things down for you. You piece things together and realize the winner is a Ferrari driver—but, if your memory serves you right, there are two drivers. You don’t know which one it is. Then again, you don’t know the drivers themselves, either.

You reunite with your dad and Christian Harper (you think) in the garage, where Ben hands you a pair of giant headphones that transmit scratchy, loud radio audio; you remove them and ask him a million questions instead. Nearby, the Ferrari garage is exploding with screams, but they don’t come close to the roars of the red crowd, which almost seems to breathe collectively, scream collectively, celebrate as one. You’re almost transfixed with how loud they are, how passionate they are, with their winner. Their golden guy. Your dad’s mouth is set in a straight line.

“Who won?” You ask, voice raised to try and become audible despite the cheering.

Ben points, squinting under his eyeglasses. You follow the direction of his finger to the finish line. There, parked beside the first place sign, is somebody standing atop his car. He’s wearing red. Showered in red. Surrounded by red. It’s tantalizing, the way his win has commanded the entire area. Your mouth is half-open, lips parted in soft shock.

You tap Ben again. “Yeah, who is he?”

“Leclerc,” he says, pinching his nosebridge. “Ferrari’s new guy. A friend of Max’s, but a rival, too.” He sighs lowly. “Your dad’s biggest problem.”

Christian Harris makes a quip about you having to go find and comfort Max, but you space out, still staring at the winner. Leclerc. You’ve got no face to his name, just the opaque visor of his helmet and the two proud fists in the air, inciting even louder cheers from the crowd. You focus harder, as if that would somehow reveal his face to you.

But he’s faceless, a winner of mystery for now—and for the rest of the evening as you’re ushered back to Red Bull alongside your dad. 

—

“Do you want to come to an afterparty?” Ben asks, tapping away on his phone. Emails and texts crowd his notifications. “We need to know if you’ll need a car tonight.” He follows you around, exasperated with your quick pace that even he can’t keep up with. “And if so, which car.”

“No, no car.” You respond, walking. “Which afterparty?”

“Any, really. There’s, uh… a Red Bull one, a few yacht ones, Max mentioned dropping by APM Monaco’s and—”

“No afterparty,” you say with tense finality once you hear the option. “All the drivers do is drink and get sleazy.”

“O-kay,” he taps. “I didn’t realize you had such a… vendetta against the drivers?”

You laugh a little, peering over the lens of your sunglasses to try and spot familiar faces. Actors, models, drivers’ relatives—the place is packed, and the weather is hot. “When did I say that?” You ask, looking around at hyper speed. 

“It was implied.” Ben pauses and eyes you, curious but already on the brink of suspicious. Your gaze is darting everywhere, clearly trying to find something to catch on. “What are you looking for?”

Caught red-handed, you slow down the speed at which your eyes scan over the paddock and settle them on your watch, pursing your lips. You clear your throat and raise an eyebrow, turning the questioning back to Ben. “I’m not looking for anyo—”

“Hey,” comes a voice from right behind you, a hand coming up to tap against your shoulder. You don’t have time to turn and identify the culprit because he moves to stand in front of you, effectively stopping you in your tracks with a teasing smirk. “Max did not tell me you would be here.” He crosses his arms. “Excited? I know I am. Home race and all.”

You swallow but your throat is dry. “I’m excited to cheer for my boyfriend.”

Charles smiles, satisfied that he managed to get on your nerves. With curiosity and anticipation, Ben keeps to himself and watches the exchange unfold, arms crossed. Charles presses on. “Are you coming to the party later?”

“I might,” you say, mind changed.

“Alright, see you.” With the sun weakening the tint of his sunglasses, and his hair raked back by his backwards cap, you have a clear view of the way his left eye drops into a smug wink. He smiles again, boyish, before he’s turning to leave you with Ben, who turns to you.

“You’re friends?”

The most decent answer leaves your lips dismissively. “Acquainted.”

—

You lose all sense of inhibition (and navigation) as soon as you step a heeled foot into the club, but it’s nothing you haven’t experienced before. Years of clubbing and fake IDs have prepared you for the tactics used to snake your way through the crowd of people, eventually finding yourself at the VIP area of the Monza afterparty, where one look at your face is enough to let the bouncer let you through wordlessly. 

“The team’s finest!” Christian greets jokingly with a smile. Why he’s here, you’ve no idea—you had an impression he had a family to go home to. “A drink?”

“I’ll explore for a bit,” you say warmly, smiling as he brings you in for a friendly hug. You peer at faces and over shoulders, taking shots off trays and flutes of champagne off tables to feel less stiff and out of place. You’re looking for Max.

But you catch somebody else’s eye, one who seems to beckon you over with a look. He’s laughing at something, decently tipsy, and—when you near him—he introduces himself as Charles. “Leclerc,” he adds, and suddenly everything clicks. The face you’ve finally matched to the name is handsome, chiseled and devilish and charming, with a warm smile that doesn’t match the dark in his eyes. He’s in the same kind of getup everyone is wearing—a tight black tee, blue jeans. But he makes it look insufferably attractive, unfortunately.

“You’re the winner,” you state, not lifting your tone to sound like a question. He is the winner. The champion of today’s race.

“Right I am.” He nods once, matter-of-factly. “You’re Red Bull’s princess, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” you say, blushing inwardly. Your face is warm and you feel flustered, but you play it cool, feigning a casual laugh. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks.” He takes a gulp from his drink, dark and potent looking. “Max mentioned you earlier.”

“Oh.” You’d completely forgotten you were looking for him. “Is he here?”

“Around. Hey, listen,” he says, turning to collect the makings of a shot, “I’m the winner, and I make the rules. Take a shot with me.”

Your eyes close in a laugh, nodding along. You’re already tipsy, anyway—what’s another shot? You take a wedge of lemon in between two fingers and a pinch of salt, smearing it along your hand as you grip a shot glass of something. You’ll know once you taste it, you suppose; no time for questions.

“You got the last lemon slice!” complains Charles across you, and you laugh, shrugging as if to say deal with it. Your glasses clink, and you throw back the liquid; it’s ten times stronger than you anticipated and for a moment you lose control over your motor skills, squeezing the lemon wedge a tad too strong so it dribbles down your chin, through your throat and the last of it trickles through your cleavage. You manage to get some, licking the salt off before the taste becomes nauseating.

Your grimace is ever so obvious, as is Charles’ inability to take his eyes off you. Fuck, he thinks. You’re exactly his type. Pretty, eyes twinkling and half-lidded with the alcohol. Your lips are bitten, caught between your lips—it’s a habit, he guesses from how puffy they are. He might have to kiss you now.

“Still need lemon?” You ask, leaning in. “I’ve got some on me.” It’s a joke but your tone suggests otherwise, eyes lingering on his parted lips for any sign of assent. Your breath smells of citrus and wildly expensive tequila. He could kiss you now. He would. He will. He has to.

You tip your head backwards, smiling and dancing lightly to the music, your hands wraped loose around his wrists, dragging him, coercing him closer. So he does, allows himself to give into it and smiles into the skin of your neck, licking over the remnants of lemon that remain. He kisses a lovebite onto the side of your throat, one dark enough that he knows—he just knows—at least one person will ask you about it tomorrow morning. 

When he parts, smiling, he asks, “Wanna smoke?” He produces a cart and waves it in between you, taking a hit and blowing grassy smoke into the air. You nod, encouraging him to take another and blow the smoke into your parted lips. All the while, he notices, your hand is rubbing over the lovebite, the soft, sore skin there.

He thinks of what you might say. The flustered explaining, the hand coming up to cover it or the sponge dabbing concealer over it. He thinks of you lying. Oh, just a guy. No, a Ferrari driver. And you’re all his, if just for tonight. And he’d be right. You were somewhat his—just for that night. The day next, Max took you to breakfast, didn’t notice the blotch of concealer, and all settled into a messy pattern of history.

—

The race is about to begin, preparations in the garage reaching their stunning crescendo. “Good luck,” you say as a sendoff, pressing a kiss to Max’s lips. He smiles appreciatively, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. You wonder absently what’s been going so wrong, but you suppose it’s a two-person job. 

You watch him board the car, your dad coming up beside you. “I still can’t believe how lucky it is that you ended up with one of my drivers.”

“Dad,” you say, warningly. 

“Just saying, honey.” He smiles. “Can you imagine anything else?”

—

“I am sure I cannot be up here.” Charles’ voice is amused, deep and echoing in the empty space of your dad’s vast office. It’s dimly-lit because he’s not here—yacht dinners have become the new venues for business deals, leaving big offices like these ones woefully empty. And yours for the taking, you’d told Charles over text when he asked what you were up to tonight.

You hum teasingly, turning. “You won today, so consider this your prize. Provided generously by a friend.” The term embeds itself into the atmosphere of the empty office and you clear your throat, turning your back to him again and walking to the window. 

The awkward air between you had, for some time, dissipated, giving way to a series of texts and calls that, for the sake of clarity and concision, you don’t tell Max about. Plus, you’re not even dating Max, you tell yourself. It’s just a fling right now, no commitment, no crazy heavy labels. You met only, what, three races ago. And to be fair, you’re not even dating Charles—you’re just friends.

“It’s crazy to think this office can be folded up and shipped halfway across the world,” you say honestly, eyes zeroing in on the city. “I mean, all this.” 

“It is just four walls,” he simplifies, nearing you, staring at the way your hair falls over your back. He’s scared to explore around and touch things—touch you—so he settles on nervous looking. “I don’t understand how this is a prize. I’m in an opposing team’s high-level donor’s office with his daughter.”

“It’s not just four walls,” you say when you turn, ignoring his second statement. “It’s a couch.” You lay both hands on the leather sofa, pointing to the two matching loveseats beside it. “It’s… a desk.” You walk over to it and prop yourself up against it, your feet tiptoeing with the height of the surface. Charles, amused, watches your long-drawn out rebuttal and takes a seat on the couch.

“It’s a lamp. A carpet. A display of Seb’s old race suit.” You point at each. “It’s a drawer.” You pull it open. “…Filled with Red Bull porn.” An assortment of hats and tees meet your eyes, all displaying the same emblem. You tug out a team polo, the same one Christian and Max and Daniil wear—and you whirl around, unfolding it in the air so Charles sees what you’re holding.

An idea enters your head. “Try it on,” you suggest, a teasing lilt in your voice. He shakes his head, laughing. Still insistent, you near him, leaning over where he sits and pressing the polo to his figure, aligning it to the best of your ability to his shoulder and chest so it looks like he’s wearing it. “Looks nice.”

He makes a noise of dismissal. “Never happening.”

“Can’t a girl dream?” You inch yourself forward so your faces are flush of each other’s. When his gaze switches to your lips, smiling and bitten, it no longer leaves. You think of how he’d look all donned up in one of these polos, these suits. The dark of the suit. He could use a break from all that red. You could give that to him.

“Okay,” he says, but it’s soft and distracted. His hand comes up to wrap around your wrist, craving for a form of your touch.

“We’d better go,” you respond, your voice decimated to a whisper. “Before my dad comes.”

“Come on, then.”

Your lips just barely ghost over his before you heave yourself back up, smiling teasingly. “Alright. Let’s go, then.”

—

You watch the Monaco race like a hawk. Ben doesn’t ask why, but internally he rumbles with questions. Why are you so invested in this one race? He chalks it up to the prestige of Monaco as a whole, and settles for that. But still—you’re interested. You watch from the garage, almost with an unrelenting stare, unwavering. Surely you shouldn’t be worried, he thinks. Max has won before. 

And Max wins again, raising the totem like it’s a crucifix. The camera focuses on your wide, proud smile and shows it to the world—there, it seems to say, there she is, the one Max goes home to! Max wins the Monaco Grand Prix—but what will become of the native hero?

You watch Max win with a proud smile, and accompanied by a nasty feeling that lines the pit of your stomach, you find yourself wishing somebody else had taken his place.

—

You never did like dabbling in racing. Your dad often encouraged you to try karting, driving, even something like PR or marketing—he’d fund it all, he promised—but you grew to almost hate the career that robbed your dad of so much time. Perhaps if you thought about it, there was one upside, and it’s sitting down across you to eat lunch.

“What brings you to the paddock?” Seb smiles. “Rare occurrence.”

“It’s part of my bid to get you back to Red Bull in 2023.” You beam back, observing his Aston Martin-green getup. “I’ve got signs and speakers loaded up in my car.”

“You always were advocating for my return.”

“You’re my favorite,” you joke. But it’s an honest quip. “My favorite Aston driver, and back then, my favorite Ferrari driver.”

It’s a statement you regret as soon as it escapes, because it gives Seb leeway to start intense interrogation. He’s always known. He’s always been observing, picking up quirks and details until he forms his own crude recreation of the big picture.

“Not Leclerc, then?”

You chew slowly, eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

He says your name solemnly, and you pause. Sigh. “What?”

Sensing your irritation, he tries a different tactic. “How are you and Max?”

Seb’s ability to almost always see through you is unrivaled. He’d been one of your closest companions back when your dad would force you to attend races and hail Seb as one of the team’s greatest. Kind as he was, he was a stellar driver, which came with the fortunate gift (and unfortunate burden) of observing everything, and being right about almost all of his hypotheses.

It’s bullshit, and you know it. He doesn’t want to know about you and Max. He might as well could’ve asked how is the weather in Wales? It’s just that farfetched—a question so unlike what usually occupies your conversations with him.

He doesn’t want to know about Max. He wants to know about you—your feelings, your turmoil, your decisions. He wants to know what’s going on with you and Max’s rival-friend-then-rival-again-then-friend. “We’re okay.”

“All good?”

“Amazing, actually.” You smile, tight-lipped.

“I met with him last night.” Yeah, you heard, you say—a party with a few notable figures. “Yeah. Him and Charles.” Jesus, Seb always finds a way to get the topic right where he needs it to be. You prepare yourself for some serious advice-giving.

He inhales, exhales. “Charles asks about you. Are you two close at all?”

No, you tell him. We know each other and that’s all.

“Well”—he says, shrugging—“I just. I don’t want you to betray anyone, not even yourself.”

It’s despicable. All you need are two couches and you’re in free Formula One therapy. They should do this to the Ferrari fans, you think. “Do you hear yourself, Seb?” Your mouth is set into a straight line.

“I’m just saying that there’s a difference—there is always a difference—between what you think you want and what you really want. Now, I can’t tell you either. Neither can your dad, or Max, or anybody. It’s all in you. You’ll know you have what you want when it’s right there.” He jabs a gentle finger onto your open palm, laid on the table. “In your hands.”

“I have what I want,” you say. 

“Do you feel it?”

Seb is met with silence.

—

“Dad?” You call, voice loud to try and capture his attention. Outside, the Monaco festivities carry on. “Simon’s just brought the car around. Are we still on for dinner, or—?” You freeze when you fully enter the office, seeing your dad on the couch pouring a bottle of Scotch. Your blood runs cold almost, and your stomach could’ve dropped right beside your sandals right then.

“Hi, honey. I was just having a drink with Mr. P6.”

Charles smiles charmingly from his seat. “Hi. You’re his daughter, yes?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, so you shut it and nod instead. “Good race,” you say dryly, hiding your disdain under a façade of politeness as you move closer to your dad. Then, in a lower tone to him only, will you be long?

“We were just finishing,” he says with a professional smile. “Was telling Charles here that luck just wasn’t on his side today.”

“Sure,” you say, clipped. “We should go if we want to make dinner. Max wants me to visit the afterparty later, so.” You make sure to look at Charles after you say it, so you don’t miss his sudden eyebrow raise and clenched jaw. He downs the Scotch and, with a smile as warm as it is fake, excuses himself for the evening.

“Well, you two should get acquainted. Who knows what his future in Formula One holds? Once that contract’s over, it’s a bidding war.” He claps Charles on the back. “One I might like to win, eh?”

Your dad makes a signal for you to shake his hand, which you do. Like always, the touches between you, however small and indetectible, are electric; you try your best not to look at him when his hand wraps securely around yours, giving it a brief shake. You feel he’s burned you. Everything burns. “We’ve met before,” you say with a polite smile.

“Lovely to see you,” he says bluntly, acting like you haven’t had him lick salt off your neck before.

“You too.” You reply. He’s departing now, collecting his phone and keys.

He turns and smiles. “Hope I meet you again soon.”

“Nice fella, isn’t he?” Your dad asks when it’s just the both of you.

“Yeah. Nice.”

—

The APM Monaco party is the only one you end up attending. Max drives you both there and gets valet to take care of his Ferrari, leading you both inside. It’s not long before you split into separate directions—you’re looking for a friend, and Max is looking for his team, who have showed up to get drunk, too. You heard Kelly was around, if that mattered. Lets leave @ 2, you suggest. Good? You both discussed it en route, and neither of you wanted to stay late. A thumbs up and heart emoji greets you back.

It’s the same text you stare at at 2:45, antsily waiting for Max at the basement parking. The lobby parking—the main entrance to the place—is swarming with people; influencers, residents, YouTubers, anyone and everyone trying to gain access and catch sight of the lucratively famous drivers.

Thumbs up. Heart. Received 1:08. 

See you at parking? Sent 1:55.

Video FaceTime Call. Missed 2:02.

WHERE ARE YOU? Sent 2:15.

Voicemail, voicemail, and more voicemail. The exit swings open and you’re 100% expecting it to be Max, profusely apologizing for forgetting your mutually-set curfew. Instead you’re faced with, as your father called him, Mr. P6.

He is, of course, smiling. Charming as ever. “I heard from my assistant that you wouldn’t be showing up to any parties. Then I hear Max wanted you to come and cheer for him,” says Charles, his usually jubilant voice low and only a little teasing. His accent is stronger here. It’s less of the English-French-Something he usually uses when speaking English and thick, more natural. “You are one good girlfriend.”

You look up from your phone and the unanswered texts—Maxie where are u? Are u bringing the car? Answer me—and narrow your eyes, mouth coming up into a frown. “What is your problem?”

“Problem?” He laughs. “I don’t have any.” He’s leaning against his car, content to watch you. Another car passes by without pausing to pick you up, leaving through the basement exit instantly. Not Max.

“Okay, then get back inside. You have a whole crowd of fans to appease.”

“I prefer it here.” He looks around the stale garage. “So peaceful.”

“It smells like gas and sweat,” you shoot back with a grimace.

He presses. “You should be happier. Your boyfriend got first place at a prestigious race.” For a moment, you pulse with empathy—you recall the beaten down look on his face when his car and his team failed him again and again and again. But you blink and swallow it.

“Yeah,” you say pointedly. “He always wins. Can you imagine if he got sixth place?”

A flash of something—something hurt, something shocked—surges in his green eyes. But like you, he blinks and it’s gone, replaced with a smile. 

“Can you imagine if he didn’t go home at night?” He teases coolly.

“Right, right,” you say, letting him win that round. “And what’s all of Twitter saying about how all your flings look ‘exactly like Max’s girlfriend’?” You raise two delicate air quotes.

He gaze hardens, then flits down to your phone, open to the unanswered exchange. You quickly shut it off but it’s incentive enough for a continued conversation. “He’s okay?”

“Getting the car.” And like divine timing,  a text from one of Max’s strategists dings in your inbox—a picture of your boyfriend, passed out on the floor of someone’s (you presume his) car. Should be fine by morning we’re about 5 min from his flat. But you don’t have a key to that flat, you realize, because Max suggested you both stay at a hotel for some “much needed relaxation” (you are anything, anything but). 

Can you leave the key? You type, then stare. Max’s girlfriend for almost four years and you have no key. To his home. Embarrassed, you try rephrasing the text but nothing works. You’ll just sleep at the hotel, you think.

You delete the text and press a hand over your face. Fuck’s sake. You’re going to have to ring your driver—thus alerting your dad—at three in the morning for a car because your boyfriend is piss drunk.

“I’ll bring you home.” You look up, almost forgetting Charles was there. He pats the front of his car. “Hotel or Max’s flat?”

“Hot—hotel,” you say, breath catching from stress and embarrassment. “Hotel. Sorry.” You’re embarrassed. You’d gotten that dig on him for being P6 less than two minutes ago, but now you’re climbing into his car, meek and with small, unassuming movements. You almost want to apologize, but that might worsen the awkwardness of it, so you purse your lips and stay relatively quiet.

He doesn’t gloat, like you expect him to, like you maybe would if you were in his position. He does, however, sport a insufferably self-satisfied smirk, like he knows he won tonight somehow even if he didn’t even snag fifth. You grumble quietly from the leather passenger seat, opting to admire the lit-up nightlife of Monaco, alive as ever even as the night wears on.

“Is Max home safe?” He asks, stifling an even bigger smile.

“Oh, go fuck yourself.” You scroll through your many notifications, and find no text from your drunk boyfriend. You look up, finding you’ve turned away from the city centre and into the darker, less populated area. “Where are we?”

“A shortcut.” He revs faster.

“Yeah. Okay. Like, where, specifically?” Your eyes analyze your unfamiliar surroundings. You’re not familiar with Monte Carlo at all to begin with, so the lack of buildings is setting off every internal alarm bell.

“Well,” he chuckles, sensing your apprehension, “it’s a shortcut. Cuts six minutes out of the drive to your hotel.”

“I thought everything was close together here,” you quip, relaxing a little. 

“Not to a native. I know places.”

“Sure.” Your voice wavers. “Charles, I’m going to jump out of the car window if you’re shitting me, I sw—”

Charles throws his head back to laugh, like he can’t even believe you just suggested that. As if deep in thought, he sticks his tongue into his cheek and laughs a little, with exasperation almost. This girl, he seems to think. You stare, transfixed with all the little flexes his face makes.

You break contact when his eyes flicker to your figure, looking at the console first then the window, as if caught stealing a cookie from the jar. “Sue me for being concerned,” you add, for an extra layer of defense.

“You are like your dad.”

Your face warps into one of disdain. “Never say that to me again.”

“Just in the way that”—he waves his hand around to get his point across, laughing as he focuses on the road ahead—“you two are always serious, always working. I mean, you never attended races, even before.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I like to think you and I know more about each other than we let on.”

He’s right, but you won’t say it. You two have a connection so unlike what two acquaintances, friends, share. It’s undeniable and thick and impossible to uproot, an easy and intense dynamic at the same time. You know so much about him. You know how to make him laugh, hurt his feelings, get his eyes to flutter all pretty. But he knows those things about you, too.

“You only attend races for Max, yes?” He adds.

The utterance of Max’s name gives you mild whiplash—it reminds you you’re on the way to your hotel, to check if your boyfriend’s okay, and not on some drunken joyride with his friend-rival. You clear your throat and try to segue out of the topic. “I just—I take work seriously. I take everything seriously.”

“You shouldn’t.” His eyes flit over to you again, up and down, the low cut of your dress, the way your crossed arms are effortlessly pushing your tits togeth—

“You should loosen up,” he says with a cough, looking back up.

“Thanks for the tip, Leclerc.” You smile phonily, eyes still out the window. “I’ll be sure to put it to good use.”

“Okay.” He says lowly. Then, as if to set a challenge—“Put it to good use now.”

“Now?” How? You almost add, parting your lips to let the question slip past. You stop yourself before you can, though, letting your still hazy mind run through your own fabricated answers. How do I loosen up? Then, to yourself again, for you?

It’s dark outside, and even windier when you roll down the window of his car. He drives fast, steadily but scarily fast—with the kind of control he’s built over a career around a car. You peek out, facing the dark hilly terrain, spotting the city lights in the far distance. Your hair flies over your face when you turn, finding more empty road. Everyone’s in the city. In the thick of the partying.

You dip out of the window more, letting yourself feel the breeze—it whips at your face, cold and smelling of the coast. In the car, you maneuver your legs to keep yourself upright properly, and more of your leg shows as a result, the material riding up on your thighs.

Charles maintains composure, his pace slowing so your hair brushes against your face more gently. Still, a soft, high-pitched yelp of excitement and nerves escapes your bitten lips. He wishes he could watch—he wants nothing more—but he has to focus on the road. He does allow himself fleeting, hot glances at you—your legs, your lithe hands on the window’s base keeping yourself upright, the way your dress hugs your waist. He might die.

“Careful,” he says, raising his voice firmly. He is genuinely concerned for you when he spots one of your hands lifting to rake the hem of your already short dress further down. It’s cold, you’re thinking, but you let your flimsy grip tell him the same story.

Still focusing on his next turn, he drives one-handed, reaching his other one over to help you out. Out of his immediate sight, you shut your eyes and allow yourself to shiver from the feeling of his hand, warm and calloused and big, on your knee, inching higher and higher upward and eventually wrapping loosely around your leg just above your knee, holding you steady.

A shaky breath leaves you, and you’ll say it was because of the wind, but you’ll know you’re wrong. Your hand moves down, to meet his, to let your fingertips skate over the expanse of his hand until your fingers are wound tightly around his. It’s dark. It’s intimate. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Your mind is buzzing, red hot and clouded, when you begin to lead him upward, higher, until your interlocked hands are just under the hem of your dress, dangerously close to where you need him most. An invitation. 

But when you crack your eyes open again you see you’re near the city, abandoning the safety and darkness of the shortcut, and the illusion is shattered.

“Get back in,” you hear, and when you feel the tension of his hand pulling yours, you let him tug you back inside. Your hair settles by your face, and you almost reach up to comb it neat before realizing your hand’s still caught in his. Slowly, your gaze meets his—his eyes bore into you, dark as the night outside. They don’t flicker when you hastily pull your hand from his grip, sighing shakily.

The next turn brings you back into the city, structures gaining a semblance of familiarity. The window, still open, is chilly against you, your cheeks cold with it, your shoulders inflicted by a mild wash of goosebumps. “Have fun?”

You clear your throat. “Not much,” you lie through your teeth, chewing on your lip. 

“We are near the hotel.” The hotel, the party, the grand prix, Max. Reminders of what you’re supposed to be paying attention to ripple through your head as the car snakes through the city. It’s one of his other cars, so it’s not distinct enough that people are peeking inside; still, he rolls up the window for your sake.

He drops you off at the basement parking, not at the lobby. Privacy reasons, he says. He’s sick of parking outside. You bite back a quip about his nasty parking and stay still, heart beating quick.

“Thanks,” you say softly. “For driving me.”

“You’re welcome.” A hand rests on your thigh and you don't feel the resolve to jerk it, instead relishing in its warmth there. “Get there safe.”

“Safe? It’s one elevator ride,” you say tersely, rolling your eyes. He squeezes, his touch feather light, and your breath hitches. You need—

“I hope Max is okay.”

You blink and then move your thigh so his hand slides off; he doesn’t put up a fight, and you don’t encourage him to. “So do I.” It’s right as you’re closing the door when Charles says see you? You meet his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, and shut the door fully.

—

“Yeah,” you say after a period of silence. “I feel it.”

Across you, hair raked back by a headband, Seb maintains lack of conviction. You’re not telling him the truth.

“How’s it feel then?”

“Just… good. Like thrilling.” Like danger, in a good way, peaceful and calm and patient and not complicated. You know what you want. You want the ring-clad hand wound around yours, on your thigh, stubble against your jaw. You want that. You know you want that.

But do you have it?

—

Max’s agenda in Barcelona starts on the eve of quali day. He arrives at your hotel and is greeted with music—it flows from the bathroom, where, upon his inspection, he finds you, swiping a dark line of eyeliner on in the mirror. You meet his eyes briefly, but you say nothing before continuing, humming softly to the Drake song that plays from your phone. He can tell instantly: you’re pissed.

“I’m leaving,” is all you say, dismissive and standoffish. You provide no follow-up.

Still, he tries to apologize. “The meeting ran late.” Silence. “Your dad discussed budgetary stuff.” Silence. “I’m optimistic for pole tomorrow.” And again, silence. “Come on, babe. I’m sorry. Really.”

“Okay.” You pause. “What was Kelly doing there?”

His mouth opens and then closes. “Wh—”

“Ben told me.” You wave a wand of mascara around.

“She was listening.”

“What’s her business?”

“Listening,” he emphasizes.

“Bullshit.” You’re on—he guesses—eyeshadow now. “Every time the topic gets to her, you get all skittish. As fuck. You think I don’t notice?”

“Babe,” he says, defensive, “it’s only because I couldn’t even stomach the idea of being with someone else.” And it’s cheesy and corny, but it must work, because your eyes flicker with something. Love, perhaps—clarity. Realization that you’re being irrational (are you?)

“I think I’m just,” you croak. “Just. Missing you. We never spend time together anymore—and after the stunt you pulled in Monte Carlo—” You press two delicate fingers on either side of your nosebridge to emulate your disappointment. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? You were in someone’s car, blacked out. And no apology. Nothing. Just invited me to lunch the next day with your dad.” A topic you hate and a man you detest spending time with.

“I know. I’m sorry, baby.” He comes in to hug you from behind and thanks the gods that you let him, your hands encircling his wrists. “I was being stupid. Won’t happen again.”

You just nod along, still annoyed but enough that it’s beginning to melt off. Max is sated. But even then, he should’ve known that the flicker of something in your eyes wasn’t love or clarity, the flicker he catches again in the mirror when he presses a kiss to your cheek.

It’s neither. It’s guilt.

—

Quali is relatively uneventful—Max gets pole, and Charles gets something something. A good place, front row you think, but you fail to remember. Ben told you the standings, but you weren’t focused; you’ve been spacey, distracted, mind irreversibly stuck on something else during the session. Max can tell, and offers to take you out to dinner, but you decline so he leaves you by yourself nursing a Tylenol. The night is almost over, and you’re collecting your car keys and slinging your bag over your shoulder—but the evening is punctuated by a familiar English accent.

“Come on,” goads Lando, voice petulant and whiny as he tugs on your wrists. “Max said he’d be busy so he needs a proxy. He sucks at the game, anyway, you’re not filling big shoes or anything.”

The tradition (you use the term loosely) of drivers’ poker, started by Lando’s desire to master the game, is apparently so important it demands your attendance. You’ve had your run-ins with poker before, so you feel assured, but none with a volatile group of competitive guys like this one, so it’s on the fence.

“Where?” You suppose, though, that your mind could use a little clearing. A game, a win of sorts.

“My hotel room. I’ve just”—he types rapidly on his phone and presents your text exchange with him—“sent you the number.”

“Who’s playing?” You walk to your car and he follows, still insistent.

“The yoozsh,” he says, shortening usual the way a prepubescent boy might. “Alex, me, Charles, Carlos, Lance. We play a good game. The stakes can get pretty high. And I’ve won a couple times, so beware.”

You laugh a little, raising your brows skeptically. “Sure.”

“I’m dead serious, mate.” He says solemnly as he waves goodbye, standing idly and watching you start your car through the half-rolled window. “See ya. I am going to kick your ass.”

—

“Is this the part where you kick my ass?” You laugh, everyone peering at Lando’s shit hand that he’s presented to the table. “Out!” The game’s since been decimated to just you, Charles, a pool of money, and a thick atmosphere of slow, deliberate silence.

The rest of the players watch you and Charles, conveniently seated across each other, entranced by the easy back and forth that swings between the both of you. You peer down at your cards, then half-lidded, back up at him. His eyes bore into you, challenging, amused.

Tense, you hear faintly. Lando’s unsolicited commentary. In between you both is a scattered pile of creased bills of varying currencies, chips, a condom thrown in by Lance, and a few spare coins. It’s a huge pool despite how random it is, and even if it doesn’t cost much to anybody in the room considering how much you all earn, the prestige of calling yourself a winner still takes precedence.

Underneath the table, your foot brushes against his, the tip of your heel to the side of his sneaker. You poke your tongue into your cheek to conceal a smile, refusing to meet his eyes again.

“You seem nervous,” he says, trying his best to elicit a reaction out of you.

“Could say the same to you,” you quip, tracing the hem of his jeans with your foot. His breath hitches and you take it as a win, smiling to yourself.

“I’ve had a four game winning streak.” He fans his cards out. “Nothing to lose.”

“Oh?” Your legs continue to intertwine out of sight of everybody else, the friction of your bare calf to the denim of his jeans a warm addition to your already intense match. “Say bye to five.” Lando deals the final cards and the tension hangs heavy, palpable in the air as you both calculate your next moves. Carlos eyes the two of you, sensing something else is at stake here. The air is just too heavy.

“We’ll see,” he whistles, revealing his cards. The group seems to hold one collective, bated breath, waiting for you to take your turn. You do so with a self-satisfied smile, your foot still intertwined with his calf as you begin laying your cards down on the table. You slowly reveal a stunning winning hand, and Lando is the first to get up and cheer loudly. 

Charles shrugs and hands you your victory with a handshake, pushing the pool of winnings in your direction. “Congratulations.”

“When you’re with a winner,” you tease lowly, just in Charles’ earshot, “you are a winner.”

He snorts. “Whatever you say.”

You both miss Carlos and Alex exchanging a glance first with you and Charles, smiling teasingly at each other—and the way his eyes go from yours, to your lips, and back to your eyes—then with each other, eyes half-wide and half-puzzled.

—

The race is intense, and Max suffers damage in the middle of it. It’s a rare occasion, but it costs him place after place until he’s vying not for P1, but P4. He doesn’t win today. You watch Charles cross the checkered flag yourself, watch the footage of him throwing his fists up in the air.

You’re there to watch the Red Bull engineers grumble, mutter dissent, wish themselves luck for the next weekend. You’re there when your dad says Charles is the team’s biggest liability. Imagine if we had him, he’d said. You imagine Charles in a Red Bull suit, but the image is cut short by your boyfriend’s arrival to the garage.

The video feedback on your father’s TV, of Charles spraying champagne all over everywhere, his green eyes meeting the camera with a brilliant charm, is abruptly cut off and you turn to find Max entering. His demeanor is stormy.

“P6,” you say immediately, sensing the pending grumbling. “Not so ba—”

“It’s a shitshow,” he retorts, disgruntled. But he’s at the top of the standings, leagues above the rest; he has nothing to worry about. Driving-wise, at least. “Fucking shitshow.”

“Max,” you comfort. “You did well. The damage was out of your control.”

But he’s pissed, and in the thick of his emotion, he pays your sentiments no mind. To him. it’s all the same regurgitated bullshit. Eventually, though he calms down, finds you in the motorhome and wraps you in a loose hug. “Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You smile. “Love you, too.”

He leaves early for a meeting—so many meetings, these days—and promises to meet you for dinner, requesting you text him. You watch him leave, slip into his car and drive off, and then call yourself a car to the hotel. You figure it’s high time you spend quality time with Max, what with all the instances you’ve been fighting or ignoring each other.

You leave at six, taking the elevator to the basement to get to your own car, parked there. You’re optimistic. A dinner. A date. Finally, some time with him. This is what you want. The coil in your belly, though, and the congratulatory text left unsent, tell you a different story. It’s one you choose to ignore.

The elevator has a bar slotted across the back wall that you lean on, typing updates to Ben and Max. The drive shouldn’t be long, you hope. You can’t navigate the new city fast enough. The door dings open and you make a move to exit, but you’re stopped by a figure across you.

Charles, in his Armani tee, arms crossed and eyes flashing with recognition when the doors reveal you. He’s still fussed up from the race, probably forced to stick around for promo pictures and interviews. His hair’s damp still. You notice the imprint of his balaclava is only just starting to soften and fade.

Your words tangle in your throat. “Congratulations,” is all you can muster when you see him. You don’t inch close. He, too, remains stagnant, standing perfectly still. Not even a smile. Like the tension between you forms a barrier as physical as it is emotional. “You drove great.” Your hand tightens around your phone, where you’ve just texted Max that you’re leaving the hotel.

“We should really stop meeting in parking garages.” He says lowly, with a small smile. 

You step forward twice. “I was just leaving anyw—”

“Wait.” For a second, his voice breaks and he sounds—desperate, almost. “Remember Monaco? Last week. You told me you liked winners.” Somehow you find yourself allowing him to near you, stepping backwards for every step he takes closer, even if you realize you’re hogging the elevator, and that people might be waiting to arrive to this floor. “You told me… imagine if he got sixth.”

He steps into the elevator with you, and the doors automatically close behind him; it remains still, but he presses the stop button for good measure. He’s right in front of you, tired eyes and stubble and tall, broad, big. He sees right through you. He knows you. Your buttons, your quirks, everything.

“It was a joke,” you say, attempting to establish composure as you pocket your phone. You fail. You always fail. It’s him. Still, you try, hard enough that he thinks you don’t want him to come even closer, to cage you against the back wall of the tiny basement elevator. “I apologized.”

“Nevermind that.” A hand on the bar of the elevator, just by your waist. His grip is tight. He needs to channel all this want somewhere. “What do winners get?”

“Charles.” Your voice comes out shaky.

“Just this once,” he says. He needs it so bad. You’re so pretty today, eyes looking right up at him, lips bitten the way they always are. He’s taller, he’s bigger, he’s got the upper hand physically—what, with the way you’re crowded up against the wall, nearly having to go on your tiptoes if you want to maintain distance. Your eyes flutter. Just this once. Four years. Just this once. Break a rule. But this isn’t a rule, you remind yourself woefully—it’s all the rules. “I care for you, you know.”

Your silence grants elaboration.

“You’re too serious. But everyone around you is, too.” Closer. “Max, your dad, your coworkers. You just need someone who can calm you down. Help you get peace of mind. No complications, you know.” Closer, even closer. “Someone who’s patient. Calm.”

You stare up at him, your hands unmoving until they’re slowly coming up to press against his abdomen, the hard surface there. You could push him away. You should, in fact, push and forget and walk away and apologize for the delay. But they remain planted there, eyes still meeting his. They’re so green, green and staring right into you, his parted lips just a little chapped, his stubble uneven and getting longer. You want to feel it rubbing your chin raw. Your inner thighs. 

He steps closer and now you’re on your tiptoes, legs spreading a little to accommodate him. His hands are still on the bar. Yours, on his abdomen. You miss the way he squeezes the bar, so strong and with so, so much pent up feelings you’d think he bent it out of shape. He wants so badly for you to be his. And more than that—if that were even possible—for him to be yours. 

Lightly, you bunch up the material of his tee, cotton wound in-between your fingers. Push him, you tell yourself. Push him away. Let go. You’ve had your resolve tested before. But you know better. You know that it’s never come to this. Again, he steps forward, and this time a hand leaves the bar and rests, gentle as it is firm, on your waist, just below it—his thumb presses against your hip. Your breath hitches.

Push him.

He comes closer and you’re fully pressed against the wall, half-seated on the bar, half held up by him—your skirt’s ridden up, legs spread and dangling on either side of his figure. Silence. Your breathing. Your eyes, big and anticipatory, staring into his, dark and desperate. 

Push him.

“It can be—”

You adjust your grip around his tee, ready to loosen it and let go and—and for a second you feel the solid plane of his abs—

“—my prize.”

Push him. You tighten your grip, and pull him in to slot your mouths together. 

His lips are warm, and soft, and he has another hand on your jaw now, but it’s so big it’s at your neck too. You part your lips to let his tongue slip in, and the kiss is nothing if not desperate. He’s wanted this for so long, to feel you like this, have your lips pressed against his. And you’d be dishonest if you said you disagreed. You don’t want to part for air. You feel like this could satiate you enough, just the movement of his lips, the scent of his cologne.

He needs to be closer to you—so he places two hands on your waist and naturally, it lets your legs wrap around him. You can feel how hard he is, and the reminder is dizzying. He wants you. But there is no upper hand here. If he lets his hands wander, he’d feel the damp of your panties and realize you’re just as bad as he is.

But for now it’s a kiss, messy and hot—passionate and just one big breath of finally. Your hands go from his abdomen to his face, cupping him on either side. It’s romantic, fuck—but you’ve craved this for so long, you cherish every second. His stubble rubs your chin raw. You trace patterns on his face, find indents of moles with your eyes closed. The kisses are searing. 

Even if you both want it, and even if this creaky elevator grants you a semblance of the privacy, you both know this won’t be leading to sex. Just this—just this. It’s all he’s ever wanted. Your hands on his jaw, his shoulders, the nape of his neck. His, on your waist, your throat, your hips. Your gasps mingling with his. 

The kiss takes and takes and takes, and it’s long, but you take and give four years’ worth of want and tension and frustration. You part, forehead pressed against his, and the absence leaves you empty—you inch forward and kiss him again, let it consume you, before you part again.

His eyes won’t stop staring. In the way they always look at you. With want. With something. A glint.

“First and last,” you say, lifted against the wall of the elevator, your hands around his face. Your thumbs roam over his face. He sets you down, breath heavy, and still his hands are on your waist and yours on his face. It was your cue to leave. But you can’t. Not yet.

Your thumbs go over his eyebrows, his eyelashes so his eyes flutter; the mark of his balaclava, the indent there; his nose, his cheeks, wiping the sweat there, then lower, finally to his lips. One thumb rests softly in the centre. Just seconds ago those lips had been pressed to yours, bringing a type of clarity you never knew existed. Everything, for just those moments, made perfect sense.

“You lie.” He repeats.

You tiptoe to kiss him again and he can’t seem to get enough, his eyebrows furrowed—so much he almost looks angry, anguished—when you kiss. “First and last,” you say breathlessly when you pull away.

He shakes his head. “You’re going to come right back to me,” he says, with so much finality and conviction it’s almost a fact. “You always will, you always do.” His eyes are shut even when you don’t kiss, relishing in your proximity. 

And when you part, he watches you leave, with something between desperation and anguish. You don’t realize, he thinks, just how deep he is in his attraction. His connection to you. It consumes him, burns him alive, and it’s leaving him for someone else.

You ring the elevator open again, wiping your lips. He lets it close, leaning against the wall himself. And you both realize, with a heavy breath as you climb into your car and he disembarks the elevator: there is no way either of you will resist it anymore. That was the first, yes. But to say it was the last would be stark, stark lying.

—

You’re still licking syrup off the corner of your lip when you walk out of the hotel breakfast buffet, letting Max explain the fundamentals of a race to you. He’d apologized earlier, for not meeting you at the Monza afterparty last night—he’d gotten caught in something or other. But he’s kind, and inserts a few jokes here and there to get a laugh out of you, your eyes crinkling under the heavy lens of your sunglasses, sandals clicking against the outdoor garden cement floor. 

He’s talking, and then trails off. Oh, he says, this is a mate of mine. You look up to make small talk and smile politely, but your face falls faster than you can pick it up. Tall and in sunglasses, too, is Charles Leclerc. You thought they were colleagues, not friends—this is chaos. You reach out to shake his hand, your free hand coming up to press against the splotch of concealer. Just in case.

The handshake is stiff and it reminds you of tequila and lemon, salt and teeth and kitten licks down your throat and right to the crest of your cleavage. But you blink and shake once, up and down. Firm.

“Nice to meet you.” He says, smiling. Then, to Max: “Girlfriend?”

“Hope so,” jokes Max, eyeing you. You laugh.

Charles smiles to himself, smug. He eyes you through his sunglasses with something caught in longing and want. “I hope so, too.”

—

Dinner is short and, despite your best efforts to make it a good one, boring. The food is good and sufficiently expensive, the way all European restaurants are. But nothing flows, ebbs. You talk of the same things: Red Bull, Red Bull, and if you have time, Red Bull. You ask about work, but it’s nothing you haven’t already heard. Max doesn’t ask about work, so the conversation descends into a limbo of silence and sips of rosé. “I’m pretty sure the next race is going to be great.”

“Charles drove great today,” says Max. “Didn’t he?”

You pause, then nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I mean, objectively so.”

“I was going to congratulate him… lost him on the paddock though.” He sips, drawing it out. “You seen him?”

“No,” you say, pithy. “Haven’t.”

“Okay.” He waves his hand upward to signal the bill. “I’ll drop you off and head out for the night. Helmut stuff.” 

You’re torn between feeling suspicious and recalling the events of the elevator, so you nod tersely instead and make the necessary small talk from the table to the car. His hand on your waist, the same place Charles’ was just hours ago. It sends you into a cloudy mental spiral. Just thinking about it—about the way he’d gasped your name in between kisses, like he’d die if you didn’t kiss him again.

“I’m sorry,” Max says when he pulls up at the hotel entrance. “For all the work stuff. And for inviting you to lunch with my dad.” A weak laugh escapes you and you find his hand to squeeze it. It’s okay, you convey, and hope it’s enough that he lets the topic quell for now.

Your silence is permissive, so he continues. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Leans over and presses a sure kiss to your cheek. “As soon as I can.”

You nod and climb out, praying he didn’t see you shudder. The trek to the elevator, eyes skittish and searching for a sign of Charles, is tiring, and you find reprieve only when you’re pushing the door to the penthouse suite open, toeing your sandals off and dropping your bag just by the entryway. You freeze when you hear a glass clink from the living area. You’d gotten this suite for you and Max, and definitely nobody else.

Brandishing a bunch of keys in-between your fingers, you tiptoe into the area and find, to your confusion and shock, your dad. He’s seated on the couch toying with a glass of whiskey, eyes lighting up when he sees you, even if you look like a psycho with claws.

“Hi, honey.”

“Dad.” You drop your keys on the coffee table as you near him, and exchange a kiss and hug. “Wh—did you get a key from…?”

“Ben.” He smiles. “I thought I would surprise you.”

“Yeah, you more scared me.” You quip, laughing. Then you recall a detail and follow-up on it. “Max—um, he said you had a meeting?”

“Meeting? None scheduled tonight,” he says, frowning and opening his Calendar app. Nothing.

A dry quiet creeps up into the room and settles.

You pour yourself a glass and seat yourself beside him, drinking. You share a conversation for the duration of two glasses and then he’s leaving. The kiss he stamps on your forehead, you notice, is more meaningful, conveys a deeper message, lasts longer. He knows what you know now.

The usual sleepiness that comes with alcohol doesn’t arrive and you fall into an uneasy sleep; it doesn’t help that Max calls in past two, saying he’s crashing at the hotel room he bought for his dad instead of your hotel. You listen to the slurred voicemail, eyes shut and nose buried in the pillow. Eventually you lull yourself to sleep, awaiting the promise of morning and clarity.

—

Morning brings a day off. A break. But your mind does not cease to be cloudy, instead becoming even more muddled with questions and pivots and forks in the road. It helps, you suppose, that Max isn’t home. It might’ve worsened everything. You wrestle your way through a glass of water and a cup of tea, try out yoga, and even attempt going back to sleep. But it’s no use; you’re antsy.

So instead of suppressing the thoughts, you theorize, it’s better to lean into them. Succumb to them, the tempt and guilt of them. It might help you navigate the confusion of everything. So you do—you think of your years-long history with Charles, your relationship with Max. The hiding, the suppression, the pretending. Fleeting touches.

You think of how well Charles knows you, inside and out, of how good he kissed you even if he hadn’t ever kissed you before. His hands, the way he said your name, the hitch in his breath when your hands dared to venture just a little lower. The want, the pure want—the want so unadulterated even one kiss was enough. Images of close calls fill your head. All the times you were high, giggly and leaning into him, on the edge of flirty in some dark corner of a club. Your connection has always been, and will always be, completely and absolutely undeniable. No matter how hard you try.

Guilt fills you at the same time. And with the guilt—confusion. Where is Max? He wasn’t at a meeting last night, and you suspect you know exactly where he is. Who he’s with. Can you really be angry, though? Is it a feedback loop of the same thing, the same morally grey actions? Is this all your relationship has been reduced to? Questions, questions, and more questions flood the corners of your head.

Thoughts are put to a standstill when the door shakes with two knocks. 

You rake your hair back and climb out of bed, into the main room, still in your lace pajamas. It might be the complimentary hotel breakfast or Max arriving, you guess. Maybe your dad—he’s apparently in the business of keying himself into your hotel rooms.

So you don’t bother looking through the peephole, undoing the latch with haste and dexterity before you’re hauling the heavy door open and staring breathlessly at the other side.

—

Abu Dhabi greets Max and you with fanfare, with a plethora of paddock paparazzi and even a few gossip rags asking questions. Some journalists drop a check-in, cameras zeroing in on your intertwined hands and your shared smiles. She’s the World Champ’s! seems to be the pervasive headline lately, and your pictures from today will no doubt exacerbate it.

He squeezes your hand when you finally gain semi-privacy, entering the motorhome. Your dad sees you, sees Max, offers a wave that you both return. Your eyes go from wide and smiling to a little blank and dismissive, a change minute but noticeable. “You okay?” He calls after you when you enter his room.

You drop your Kelly—the bag—on the seat by the door and gather your hair to rest on one side. “Fine. You nervous?”

 “The planned strategy was horseshit.” Max is right and for the sake of your dad, it worries you.

“Yeah, yeah. I think I’ll talk to Dad for a bit. You’ll be okay alone?” You’re getting up already.

“Wait—” He pauses when you’re kissing his cheek as a goodbye. “I thought we were getting lunch.”

“Oh.” You pause to think. “We can get dinner, then.”

“No,” he says. “I’m going to be with Jos.”

“Drinks.” You leave no room for argument and leave with the door shutting softly behind you.

He stares at the just-closed door, your bag slung over the chair, the way you keep pressing against a certain spot on your neck. You are hiding something—Max just can’t put his finger on it.

[mimisplayground]

Heyy

I love the idea of toxic! Price ♡ and was wondering if u could do Price x college student reader who's relationship is like almost a forbidden relationship cuz of their age gap or cuz Price is army man whos killed people.

Reader can be like an innocent bunny or a wannabe bad girl looking for trouble

₊˚♡˚˖ I love ur works and feel free to ignore this! ⁺˚♡˚

I was listening to greedy by tate mcrae & diet mountain dew by lana del ray while thinking of all the cod boys and feel like Price would fit greedy to a T

Oh my gosh yes?? (sry it took me so long to get to this i have been sooooo busy icky)

But like imagine bragging to all your friends. You’ve got this older boyfriend in the military. High ranking too, a demanding man who holds your waist just a smidge too tight when in public with you.

And your friends laugh and giggle and listen in awe when you tell them that he’s amazing in bed. That you never knew you could cum so hard until he got his hands on you.

You always tend to leave out the small parts that your friends call “red flags.” Like him being a little too controlling over who you’re around, how late you’re out, where you go. Because he wants you safe is what he always says.

The first (and last) time you had screamed at John, calling him an over controlling dickhead, he had shown just how little he could care. Didn’t pay an ounce of attention to you, ignoring you, brushing you off when you said you were going out. Effectively showing you how much you depended on him. The funds you had for going out suddenly gone, the little gifts he would get you disappeared, the small kisses and loving gestures completely gone.

It took all of a month for you to crawl back into your Captains arms, on the couch while he soothed and rubbed your back. Calling you his sweet girl and asking if you were ready to be his again.

Holds your hand so sweetly while he pounds into you :( kisses all over your face while muttering into your ear about how your his. His sweet girl only, that he was all you needed. And you nod and babble along with him as you agree.

He leaves your legs absolutely quaking with how he pummels your pussy as you scream for him. Has you calling him sir and captain in bed because he loves the power dynamics.

Shoves a ring on your finger when you cum around his dick, telling you to let everyone know that he was your fiancée now.

Because John Price IS a greedy man, and when he wants you, he plans to own ALL of you :(

[xshines]

mizu x reader enemies to lovers

sry for being inactive, im lazy af; also i might continue this one

Falling pieces of snow slowly began to cover the surface of the broken sword, thrown somewhere in the distance on the cold ground, no longer incapable of saving you. The cold snow slowly began to compact and melt beneath your shivering, warm body. The cold metal of your rival's sword blade hugs your thin neck. You dared to look up at her as she hovered over you, her expression blank. She finally has you. She looks at you lying so pathetically in front of her now. She squints those blue eyes of hers to scan you once again, your scratches, your torn clothes, a moment longer she lingers on your torn side, which stains your clothes and the snow beneath you with a dark crimson. But finally her eyes land on your face, finally able to take a closer look at the face of one that has been getting under her skin so much lately. Her enemy. Oh, how she hated you.

You know your fate very well, you are very aware of what is about to happen. Even though your body is shaking from exhaustion, from the snow and cold wind, you try not to show your fear. Despite your increasingly throbbing wound, you don't even hiss or whine. You're not asking for mercy. On the contrary, you frown and even give her that defiant look. Like you're daring her to cut your neck.

She hesitates, hesitates the longer she looks into those big eyes of yours. She has killed countless men, but their facial expressions were different, they were afraid, they were begging, they were screaming, asking for mercy. You are different. The sight of your helpless body, covered with blood dripping from your side, invokes sympathy and nostalgia in your eyes. For some reason, she finds in them a strange innocence that she herself was stripped of a long, long time ago. You look so soft. You look so pretty. “You’re so young…” her voice whispers while her eyes stare into your face. You could only wonder why she hadn't yet swung her blade and sliced your neck cleanly once and for all. "Does it matter now?" You answer in an equally quiet, hoarse voice. The cold wind blows strands of hair and sticks them slightly to your forehead.

Your words echoes in her head. She is brave. You haven’t shown fear nor pleaded for life, which makes her feel…something. She is strong. The cold blade still doesn't pierce the soft skin. "Why didn't you ask for mercy...?" She speaks quietly, only a silent breeze passes by, whispering snow in her hair. She is special. Not many survive an encounter with her, even those who have begged and fallen to their knees.

More and more you felt the blood flowing down your side, staining your clothes and coloring the snow. You just snorted at her question. Despite how much blood you've already lost, you still collect the remaining energy to growl in response. "I am not a dog. I'm not going to whine for mercy." You even dared to give her that determined look again.

All sorts of thoughts were running through Mizu's head now. She’s not afraid. She doesn't know her place. She's just like me. She lowers her katana. Her enemy is more than just an enemy.

"What are you doing?" The question falls from your lips as your eyes follow the blade as it moves away from your neck. „You should kill me.”

The moral monologue battles deep within Mizu. She still wants me to kill her. I should kill her. With the sound of the blade, Mizu raises her sword and returns it to its scabbard. Her gaze falters — a rare moment of weakness. "How old are you?" She steps closer as her voice echoes in the snow-covered landscape, while her blue eyes scan their enemy's body, taking in every tiny detail — bruises, scars, wounds. A glance at the blood that continues to seep down your side and stain the snow. An unexpected feeling, unknown to her, wells within her. An urge to protect this young person, as if you had reminded her of her younger self.

This sudden change in attitude surprises you. You swallow, gritting your teeth as you consider whether to answer the question or ignore it. After all, you no longer have a weapon, and even if you wanted to get up and run away, with this wound by your side, it wouldn't be difficult to catch up with you. "… 20." Mizu frowns when she hears the answer. She really is just like me. You are only a few years younger than her, but you have already chosen this terrible path of violence. “Stand up” she demands quietly. You look sharply at Mizu, as if trying to feel the catch. Slowly, you tuck your legs and push yourself up into a sitting position with your arms. You grit your teeth and widen your eyes as now your wound reminds you even more of its existence. After a moment of deep breaths, you gather yourself to get up. You'd rather bite your tongue than hiss in pain in the presence of your enemy, and finally you slowly, swaying slightly, stand in front of her.

Mizu’s gaze remains fixed on her rival, not taking her eyes off you for a single second. She sheaths her katana entirely, and a soft snow breeze fills her senses. The sound of snow crunching beneath her enemy’s feet resonates inside her mind, echoing inside of her heart. "What is your name?"

You think for a moment. You don't have the strength to think about why she's suddenly asking you so much information about you. The only thing you focus on is the throbbing pain at your side. "[Y/N]" You reply quietly, your head slightly bowed as you grab your side and try to apply pressure to your wound. “[Y/N]…” Mizu repeats after you. Her enemy’s name echoes in her mind, as if a whisper. The cold wind passes by, caressing her senses, touching her face with invisible fingers, carrying a hint of fresh winter air. Her blue eyes soften, as if looking at the most beautiful thing in existence. “Your name…is beautiful…" she sighs, unable to take her eyes off her enemy. “…like you,” Your face relaxed slightly at this sudden compliment. It's been a long time since anyone complimented you or your appearance. You opened your mouth as if you wanted to say something, but after a while you remembered the situation you were in and frowned again. She is your enemy. „Shut up” You groaned, unable to hold in the pain any longer. You lowered your head and clenched your eyes and teeth. When you looked at your hand, entirely stained with blood, you shuddered. Mizu watched your reaction very carefully. Deep down, she admired you for still having the nerve to tell her to shut up despite bleeding profusely and being on the verge of death. She's strong. She’s beautiful. “I’m taking you with me,” Mizu said sternly, as she approached you. She lifted you, her enemy into her arms.

Her closest enemy. Oh, how she adored you.

[nightmaretimemachine]

THE SERIES

: THOUSAND YEARS

Gun Park x Fem!Reader

A/N : this is my first EVER writing and my first language is not english, so if it's bad I'll try to fix it as much as I can, but for now this is what I got. If a lot of you guys like it, I'll make sure to keep writing.

Starting with 14 years old Gun (with no UI) to 20 :)

This? Just a Prologue. Gun is a bit ooc sry

—

Yamazaki Yuzuru.

The man that got feared by all. Who knew he would have such a soft spot for a simple woman like you?

You were his everything since the beginning.

The Yakuza clan of his back in Japan, always been the villain in everybody eyes. Sometimes he hated how all the eyes were looking at him while he's walking down the hallway of the school.

God, how he just wanted to snap at them

But you.

You were . . Different

Since the day that you came into the school, looking all innocent. All those soft smiles and those sweet laugh of yours when all the others kids making friends with you, and complimenting you.

Since the day you sat down next to him in the class, trying to make friends with him. Not knowing who he is. Like really? Does this girl knows anything?

" I already tell you my name " You said, still trying to make friends with him for the last 10 minutes.

" Yuzuru " is all he answer.

But when you gave him that stupid gorgeous smile of yours. He couldn't help but glance at you once more, admiring thoes innocent eyes.

He knew you'll stay away from him when the rumors about his clan spread across the school. Why? Because everybody does.

What he didn't expect is that even all the rumors of the Yamazaki Clan spread all around school, into your little innocent, peaceful mind. You still talk to him.

He was surprised, and impressed even though he didn't wanted to admit.

You still sitting next to him in class. Offering him your pen when he forgot his. Wanting to sit together while having lunch. Even fixing his tie when he was too busy focusing on you something else.

Eventually you became friends.

Both you and him don't remember how long but. .

Long enough you make him fall in love with you.

His first thought, was that it's was just a simple crush, nothing much really! There's nothing wrong with how you offering him your pen and giving him that smile of yours. There's nothing wrong with how you laugh when he tries to help you with your works but ended up forgetting to done his. There's nothing wrong with how his heart skipped a beat when you walk side by side with him and your fingers lingering with his.

There's nothing wrong, right?

Hah yes. Yes, there's something wrong.

All of those feelings were gettig stronger at that one evening that he decided to walk you home after school again.

He wasn't worry oh yes he was, he just thought maybe he could do a little walk before going home.

But when you reach your home and you turn around to give him a little pecks on his cheek, whispering those three words into his ears. He freezes.

Even when you went into your house, closing the door shut. He's still standing there, thinking what just happened.

And when he got home. He couldn't stop thinking about you. He knew in the morning he needed to ask you about the kiss that you gave him that evening, but for now he needs some rest.

The sun rises and as usual he was waiting for you at the gate. Waiting to see does innocent eyes light up everytime you see him, or those stupidly gorgeous smile of yours when he walk into class with you.

But instead, you never came.

He was worried. Did something happened? Did you wake up late? Were you called in sick? He needed to check on you.

So, he decided to walked to your home, where he left you yesterday evening.

And when he went there. .

His heart breaks in to millions pieces.

There were police officers everywhere, all the neighbors around the streets freaking out, and your mother and father . . are on their knees crying.

And you were.

You were dead.

The report said there's a robbery happenedat midnight, your parents were working all night that they didn't have time to check on you.

Of course you did locked all the doors and windows but. . Criminals these days aren't stupid.

His fist clenched with rage. Anger fills in his chest.

He didn't have time to confess. Why did you have to leave so soon?

God pray for those men, cause he'll hunt down those fuckers who messed what was his.

All he wanted to do was to walk up to your now colded body and wrapped his arms around yours, not wanting to let you go.

But real eyes, realize.

If he really did love you, he'll let you go.

So, he did.

He turned around, and walk away from the scene. Fuck the school. He was going to find those fuckers first.

Before he could go anywhere further, he stopped. Glancing back at your body. Opening and closing his mouth, before he finally speaks.

" I love you too "

Before walking off, completely. Fading away into the shadow.

– ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ6 YEARS LATER ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ—

It's was another boring days that he needed to accompany Charles's daughter, Crystal. As her bodyguard.

There's a school festival going on. Crystal wanted to see the concert, but when they got their and Crystal seem to get upset with something about the school she ended up wanting to leave.

Not before a young man who came up to talk to her. She told him that she didn't like the school, that everybody only looks on the outside more than the inside.

But when the young man tries to touch her, his hand came up wrapping around his weist tightly. " She already has enough of all of you, step aside pretty boy " He said.

Before the young man snatched his wrist out off of his. " You little– " His cursed, before the fight was about to begun.

" Daniel! " A female voice shouted out, a very familiar one. His obsidian eyes shot up to see a young woman.

Who look exactly like you.

" I'm sorry! Whatever happened really! Just let him be " You said, trying to calm both of them down. Standing between two of them but your eyes we're lock with his.

His eyes were blocked from his glasses, the light of the sun shines on it just right, but that's doesn't make his body language any harder to read.

He supposed to fight back, he supposed to say something and threatening both of you, but instead. He freezes.

As you gently tilt your head to the side waiting for him to say anything.

Before Crystal came up and accept the apologies, and also apologize for saying something mean to Daniel, she was just a bit upset from what she sees.

You nodded, and accept her apologies as well. You were about to open your mouth and say something in return, before a man voice shot up.

" Tell me your name " The man who was just attacking Daniel before asked.

You gave him a questioning look before you gave him your name.

And he freezes even more.

Aren't you. . Aren't you're dead?

Before he could ask you anything more you were already walking off with that young man, Crystal was trying to asked if he was okay but he only gave her a simple nodded.

But when he glances at you once more, admiring those gorgeous smiles and does innocent eyes that he missed so much.

He knew he still has his chance.

He just need to make you remember him. Needed to make you remember everything.

Even a thousand years, he'll always wait for you.

He'll always love you.

( It's bad, I know. I'M SORRY! IT'S MY FIRST FIC AHHHHH )

[onlycrystal]

nanami brain-rot

cw! professor!nanami x student!reader (age gap; reader is in her 20s, kento in his 30s), ddlg, sexual content (im too lazy to write allat)

not proof read, I wrote this in like 30 min at 1am im sry if it aint too good

currently thinking about professor! nanami...

who is sitting at the coffee table of his cozy, charactered apartment. he reads the latest newspaper and sips his earl-grey tea, relaxed, much unlike you. finals are coming up, and since you can barely understand general chemistry, your procrastination gets the best of you. you’re seated on nanami’s sofa, wearing one of his oversized collared shirts. he always thinks its so cute how they completely engulf you in fabric. however, 7 unfinished, late assignments from professor suguru’s class, are all due in a week.

you groan and bury your face into the palms of your hands, “you will not pass my class if you dont submit those assignments” you mock your professors words, and stare back at the unfinished work. suddenly, you realize that you’re in a relationship with a professor. he can help you, right? i mean, he may teach biology, but the man is smart.

“namiiii~” you whine as you look at the blonde, stoic main across the room from you with doe eyes. he replies without looking up from his newspaper, “yes, doll?” 

“i dont get this, can you pleaseeee help me?” sighing, nanami gets up from the coffee table and approaches you. “you know how much i hate doing work in my free hours” nanami slightly grumbles as he sits next to you, attaching his long, slender hands to your hips. he slightly picks you up, and moves you between his legs so you're sitting in his lap. “...but for you, ill make an exception.” he rasps against your ear and kisses it. his actions makes you blush, but no. you needed to focus on your work.

“i just don’t understand all these theorems and laws” you whine and shift in his lap, feeling defeated from how deep you've gotten yourself in this shit. you realize you shifted a bit too much and blush hard at the feeling of hardness start to develop from underneath you. nanami leans forward, which brings you to rub against him harder. you blush even harder, and he just points at the paper and begins to explain, “lets start with boyle’s law, darling. you use it when...” you drone out his voice, and embarrassingly enough, find yourself start to heat up down there. you rub your thighs together only slightly so he wont notice. feeling him so hard down there is so distracting. you just wanna forget about all this work and f-

“babygirl, are you even listening to me right now?” you dont even realize he's talking until he speaks that last word, which brings you to snap out of your dirty day dreams and look up at him. you meet his gaze to be acknowledged with a cold gaze. “y-yes! yes, im listening” you stutter out, gulping.

he shuts your notebook a bit harshly and slides it across the table without getting up. he puts his dainty hand on your chin, and forces you to look up at him. “recite boyle’s law.” he says, slightly smirking as he slowly starts to piece together why you weren't listening. your eyes shoot across the room nervously “ummm... i-its.. uh...” you trail off.

he removes his hand from your chin. his large hands meet your hips again, as he moves you closer to him. soon enough, you’re pressed up against his chest and crotch. “aww, is my little girl so desperate she couldnt focus away from daddy?” he whispers in your ear to be met with no response.

he slightly thrusts towards your lower body, earning a sweet whimper to fall from you lips. “asked you a question, baby” you nod your head yes hesitantly and are suddenly turned around. your eyes widen at how close your faces are, and the intimacy of the whole situation. nanami crashes his lips onto yours, which forces a muffled mewl to fall from your lips. his hands travel up and down your body before they meet your chest and begin to fondle your breasts. your whines and whimpers aren’t censored anymore when nanamis lips move onto your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin and turning you into a moaning mess. your hands meet his hair and tug slightly at his blonde locks. his touch was just so satisfying. your body continued to grind on his crotch with was now fully hard, causing you to moan sweetly and kento to groan onto your neck. in desperation, you frantically unloosen his tie and start to undo the buttons of his chemise before he grabs your wrists and stops you. “ah, ah, ah”

he chuckles when he removes himself from your neck and looks at your face. you look desperate; big eyes, pouting lips, lip tint smeared, and hickies on your throat. that said, he wasn’t looking as uniformed as he did. you had messed up his neat hair, got some of your lip tint on his lips so they appeared more kissable than ever, along with his shirt barely even being kept on. grinning, he removes his glasses from his face and cleans them with his shirt. looking down as he cleans them he says, “maybe i gotta fuck some knowledge into my little princess, isn't that right, dear?” he teases, but desperate as you are, you nod without shame. he chuckles at you again, contributing to your embarrassment before putting his glasses on you. “even wearing my shirt, baby, so cute” you blush, and he abruptly hooks his finger around your underwear and tugs them down. 

nanami rubs circles you on your clit and teases a finger at your entrance. “d-daddy...” you mewl which only makes him grin harder. “gonna make my baby smart.” he says before he jams 2 digits into you. you throw your arms around his neck, tugging hard at his hair as you’re reduced to moans. he continues fingering you, as he uses the thumb of his other hand to continue rubbing circles on your clit. you squirm in his lap as your orgasm approaches, sweetly moaning as you release all over his fingers. he hums as he stares you in the eyes, licking your slick off his fingers clean.

“since you’ve been so obedient, ill let you ride me.” he says curtly. you blush hard, but the thought of his dick sends butterflies to your stomach. you shyly zip down his pants and bring down his boxers, letting his fully erect cock spring free from his pants. you align yourself with his dick, and slowly let yourself down on his length, inch by inch. you whine at the stretch, and hear nanami let out a low moan. “fuck, you’re so tight” he tilts his head back slightly. finding yourself now comfortable to his length, you slowly start to bounce up and down on his cock. he lets out groans and moans, his hands stay glued to your tits, fondling them with every bounce. you lose your composure, getting even dumber, chemistry the farthest thing from your mind, as his glasses start to go crooked on your face. he looks at you and chuckles “daddy’s cock fuck you even stupider? its okay baby... you feel so fucking good” you whine at his dirty talk, hands gripping his shoulders tightly as you bounce relentlessly on his dick. “n-nami~ gonna- c-cum~” you moan loud as his length hits you in all the right places. he moans into your ear “princess~ fuck” he releases into your pussy as you cream all over his dick. you pant hard as you stay close to his chest, basically hugging him. you face him as he plants a kiss on your cheek and pats your head.

“’ts okay, honey. i have an idea... how bout now i only let you cum if you answer a question correctly?” you gulp, you sure were in for a long afternoon.

[mitsuyaya]

[ househusband’s gripe ] okkotsu yuuta

contains: 512 words. fluff, reader and yuuta are married

summary: Like all the things in this world, being a househusband has its pros and cons — and the biggest detriment in yuuta's case, is keeping you in his arms for a long time.

end note: cross posting 4/6 of my yuuta's bday bash from ao3. i just missed him sry 😔

jjk masterlist

Without any other complaints, Okkotsu Yuuta loves being a househusband.

It may be because of the simplicity of taking care of his spouse, the home he'll spend his eternity with the person he loves and his little bundles of joy, a product of his love and devotion for you. And possibly, because of how easy it is to dedicate his life, time and effort to something other than exorcising curses.

If the Okkotsu during his teenage years, one that was devoid of warmth and comfort, were to be asked – he would've never seen himself be a househusband, let alone be married to someone other than loneliness.

To be cladded with nothing but the responsibility of keeping the house stable, keeping the home the both of you would live in until your last breath, be filled with comfort, passion and serenity.

It's an unbelievable occurrence that he'll willingly do over and over again – because he knows, it's worth it. Serving you and the family he meticulously crafted is worth it.

Especially when at the end of the day, the house that was barren, that you can almost see a weed tumbling like in an old western movie, would be filled with noises he longs to hear after an exhausting day.

“Darling, I'm home! Did you miss me?”

It's your voice that'll fill the house, that'll fill the emptiness he felt the moment you stepped out of the house and bid him farewell.

But despite the contentment he feels, there's one thing he has a complaint on, there's one thing that makes him irritated — how his job as a househusband meant he can't keep you in his arms for too long.

Maki and the other's said that he's dramatic, complaining about how unfair it is for you to spend all day on your job: leaving first thing in the morning, that sometimes you two don't meet, and returning late in the evening, that oftentimes, he's already asleep.

Call him childish but honestly, he doesn't care. It's unfair, at least to him that is – all he wants is to be cuddled in your warmth or to cuddle you for as long as God would let you both. All he wants is for you to be in his line of sight all the time, to be only filled with your presence and nothing more.

Yuuta, your husband, wants time to stop the exact moment he had you in his arms. He wants it to stay that way, be interrupted by nothing and no one else. He wants to be drowned in your love and attention – it's what he deserves, it's what he needs, it's what he yearns for.

“Darling, why are you so quiet? Don't you want a hug hm?”

It is unfair, it is worth the complain,

but if it meant that it's him you'll be coming home to,

it's you he'll wait for at the front door,

it's him you'll praise for doing a good job,

it's you he'll wake up to —

“Welcome home, pretty. I miss you.”

then, he wouldn't mind, one bit.

[glitteryapricotranchbiscuit]

Saw your post about sending in thirsts ideas…

No cause imagine kaeya pouring wine on himself and then making you licking it up-

♡ lovestruck gn!reader trying to help Kaeya ♡

!● warnings: gn!reader, drunk Kaeya, giving bj, no real plot just very smut, NSFW🔞 no minors or I’ll eat u alive

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

note: ngl, where do ya'll get those ideas because DAMN i am on my knees for cleaning this man up <333 enjoy! (also sry again for being "late" kek)

It was not unusual of you to find yourself in the warmth and cozy ambience of the Tavern in Mondstadt, where the warm light and bustling atmosphere of drunken people create a perfect setting for an encounter you have tried to have too many times. Your eyes always end up landing on one specific person, almost every evening. Obviously, it was the one and only Kaeya Alberich. The one and only… he was perfect in your eyes, his long hair smoothly falling down his neck, his perfect smile, his one eye which you could lose yourself in… and you were pretty sure you would do anything to be near him but you thought too much to ask first. Through these frequent visits into the tavern, you’ve come to know Kaeya over time, studying his way of talking and also how he dresses up or drunkenly flirt with others… You were sure this wasn’t direct stalking! You were just admiring his beauty and so did certain others in the tavern notice too, such as Diluc, he knew that you always had your pretty eyes laid on his brother. He warned you about Kaeyes scheme but you honestly did not care less. Probably because you were too much fallen into the whole of hopeless love towards his smug face. Nothing that Diluc could change anyways. You sighed and took your drink in your hand towards your lip, taking a big sip. It was almost time for you to go back home. As soon as you were about to stand up, Kaeya, clearly drunk, walked over to you. Out of all the possibilities he chose you to talk to. As if it was a dream!

“Are you leaving that soon?”, he asked it so smoothly as if he knew you before. Out of shock you couldn't say a word and just started to blush a bit. “Oh yeah, haha”, he started to laugh a bit and took it without asking for your wine glass. It was still half full. “We never talked before, right? I swear whenever I saw you here I thought we talked all the time…”, just maybe, maybe this was inside his head. “I mean, are we talking right now or not?”, you chuckled a bit, not knowing how to react further. He liked your boldness, even if it was in your opinion bold of you to ask back. “You were talking with your eyes several times the other nights or evenings in the Tavern, didn’t you?”, he now asked, leaning down on the table to read your expression better than before. As if he caught a criminal, you blushed in embarrassment and tried to talk your way out, but you only heard a hearty laughter from him. “It’s okay, no need to be shy. I always struggled to talk to you.” WHAT, the handsome man out of this town struggled to talk with you? Your mouth was open in shock. Before you could ask why, he took your hand. “You know, when I see someone as beautiful as you, I can’t leave the night to you all alone.”, he winked and the fairytale-like story ended as soon as you smelled his alcohol miles away. You sighed and looked a bit disappointed but still smiled. Maybe this was an indicator for Diluc to step in as he was watching the scene from behind the bar. Diluc walked behind Kaeya and coughed up to gain his attention. Surprised by the loud sound, Kaeya turned around and accidently poured the remaining wine from your glass on the table.

“Haha, Diluc, wha–”, but before he could say more, Diluc took him by the arm and dragged him out, apologizing to you afterwards. You saw Kaeya taking a bottle of wine from Venti who laughed his ass off that Diluc tossed his brother out, soon enough Venti also was kicked out. Of course, it wasn’t nice of Diluc to be this rough to his brother so you decided to leave the Tavern, also since the evening was kinda a boomer now. The cold night hit you, looking around as if you would find Kaeya somewhere. To your surprise you spotted him sitting on the ground, holding his head with one hand while the other one was holding the half full bottle of wine. Oh poor man, drank too many glasses of wine. A wonder that Diluc didn’t take his bottle away. You approach him carefully and lay your hand down on his shoulder. To his surprise it was you again. “That’s awkward. Did you follow me? Or did my grumpy brother send you to get his bottle back, hm?” You shook your head and kneeled down to him. “No, I just can’t leave the night for you all alone, Kaeya Alberich.”, you said smiling. This caught him off guard and you could see him laugh genuinely this time. “Wonderful idea, the night is still young.”, he stands up and offers his hand to you, which you took without thinking. “Let me bring you home.” You smiled and took his offer. But instead of him leading to safety, you and him were in his apartment, kissing on the couch, while you both continued to drink the last drop of the bottle. As he was reaching to place the bottle back to the table, Kaeya accidentally spilled the wine on him. He laughs a bit. “Haha, my apologies…”, then an idea struck his head and he leaned into you, smiling dirty. And your brain stops working while you just admire his warmth he radiates… and also his breath which smelled badly of alcohol. “I bet I could make this evening way more interesting for you…”, he said and reached out to your red cheeks, caressing it a bit. As if someone else is moving your body, you nod. You definitely saw in his eyes a little surprised and relieved look. Kaeya loved to tease you, even if you guys just met a few hours ago. He continued talking: “... hehe, how eager of you to nod before I even said what you could do to help me. How about you lick my wine stained chest, would you do that for me?” You nod and lean into him, whispering into his ears. „Does this turn you on, captain?“, you said almost out of breath. He wasted no time and uncovered his chest, pouring a bit more wine on himself from your half full glass he did not put away before. His skin tone matched perfectly with the red wine, shining in beauty every drop falling into the curves of his muscle.

“Come on, enjoy yourself.”, he almost purred his words like a needy cat. Without much restraint you lean onto him and start licking carefully up the wine on his bare skin. Both of your hands were on the side of his waist for balance. Starting from his chest you saw how some wine got down to his stomach, you followed the trail and licked it back up. Starting to get more confident you let your intuition lead. Closing your eyes to concentrate, your tongue worked very hard to get every single drop. While you were drunk to suck his chest clean, you did not notice how aroused Kaeya got. Holding his mouth shut with the back of his hand, looking down to you. His cheeks are burning hot, with a shade that matches him so perfectly. You did not stop licking him and went onto his sensitive nipple, which made him moan out. For a second you stopped and looked up to him. “S-shit, please don’t stop…”, he begged almost for you. You smiled and kissed on his chest before flicking your tongue on his hardened nipple. While doing that, your hands on his waist smoothly wander up and down him, arousing him more and more. You loved his little moans. It made you feel hot too, and then the helpless grabs on your back … you wanted more. Kaeya then lightly pushed you to look up to him.

“I think some wine went down inside my pants…”, he looked at you as if you could read his mind that he wanted a blowjob from you and not more cleaning off the wine from his chest. Since some wine and your own spit run down your chin which you whip off with your hand away before nodding again. You accept his offer again, getting down on your knees and opening his pants to reveal his hard dick. “T-this is my first time…”, you said but wrapped his dick with both of your hands looking up to him. “But I think I know how to do it.” With this, you squeeze a bit on his dick before giving it little kitten-like licks on his tips which were dripping pre-cum. You continue a bit while never stopping looking up at him, then you put it slowly inside your mouth. Kaeya moaning melody and putting one hand on the back of your head. Not to push you down to choke on his dick, he placed his hand lightly on your head to guide you better. “You're doing great.”, reassuring you to keep going. This pushed your confidence to take him halfway into your mouth, starting to bop your head in the process, earning more moans from Kaeya. While you worked on his dick, he watched every single movement you did. Caressing your hair and shamelessly moaning under his breath. Kaeya admires your beauty and thought to himself why he did not talk to you earlier. Everything you did to him right now and before was almost too much to handle. While you sucked him off, even with less experience, he did not care less since he was drunk with lust and the wine. “F-fuck… keep going… please faster..”, he says while sinking into the couch. His head hitting the sofa cushion, his eyes slowly rolling back while he moans louder. His chest visibly went up and down. This made you use your tongue more and bop your head faster until Kaeya accidently came into your mouth without any warnings, surprising you. His hot semen fills your mouth slowly, while he holds your head still. “Shit, sorry … felt too good~” His semen filling your mouth pretty good. You let go of his dick to spit it out on your hand. Coughing a bit, “It’s.. it’s okay~”, you smiled. After Kaeya took his half-hard dick back into his pants, he took your hand with the semen on it and licked it off you, before giving you a kiss to push the semen back into your mouth, forcing you to swallow it. As he let go of this sloppy kiss, he grinned and whispered only for you to listen. “Maybe we could do this more often, what do you think?”

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[dokidokidraft]

MHA boys HC pt.3

includes: Keigo Takami/Hawks, Touya Todoroki/Dabi, Hanta Sero Warning: tiny bit of suggestive content for keigo! (meant to be fem!reader but no pronouns/body type mentioned)

~Keigo Takami/Hawks~

-Going flying with him before bed ✨ he’ll take you all around the city and back again. Even if he’s tired, you can’t get out of it.

-Always has to make sure a feather is on you at all times. You have a necklace with one of his. He often tickles you from it when he’s at work and bored

-Good morning and good night texts

-Dinner with him looks like him just scarfing everything down and going to bed. Unless he’s on a day off, then you guys might watch a movie later

-Loves chicken. If you make some for him he would have literal hearts in his eyes

-Please, I just want to steal his jacket

-Pretty lazy. After work he’ll just chill in the apartment. If you ask how his day was you’ll just get a “it was fine” and he won’t elaborate unless you really push it

-Chronic manspreader

-Lots of suggestive comments

-He’s definitely a bit of a perv once you get to know him. Just pervy words though, he’ll never act on them. “Hey baby bird, what if I told you those pants will be on the floor in a few hours?” Usually never means it though

-Probably doesn’t have time for a lot of dates, but he apologizes repeated and eventually makes it up to you

-Helps you with your makeup. He’s a model, so he probably can do it better than you (sry). He especially loves to do your eyeliner to match his

-Wears earrings (dying for this man rn) once he met you he made sure they matched with your outfits whenever you guys go out

-*winks*

~Touya Todoroki/Dabi~

-Doesn’t really like to go on dates, thinks they’re a waste of time. If you guys do go on a date, its late at night, somewhere outside

-OR shopping dates to hot topic (he will then parade you around in your new clothes, showing you off around the LoV is his favourite pass time)

-Teaches you how to fight. He’s kinda a bad teacher but he’s trying

-You often run your hands over his scarred torso and tell him he’s beautiful. He got emotional the first couple times (if his tear glands weren't burnt he would be crying)

-Definition of big spoon. But like…big spoon when you’re on top of him (?) you’re lying on his chest while he’s on the couch, his arms wrapped around you and just staring at the ceiling. You’re so small in his arms ^-^

-Give. Me. His. Leather. Jacket

-Emotionally closed off. You ain’t getting a reaction from him, I’m sorry

-Needs help with his hair. I’m 110% sure that it’s bleach/dye damaged

-He’ll steal buy you jewelry. Often times with a cerulean gem so it matches his eyes

-Encourages you sm. You wanna get a piercing? Already booking you an appointment. Tattoo? Yes ma’am. New dress? Suddenly the money has been sent to your account. You don’t even know where the money comes from (and you don’t dare ask)

-While you (might) want the safety of a studio, he gladly does his own piercings. They usually get infected though, so just be ready for some serious complaining

-Husky voice 24/7

~Hanta Sero~

-Attempted to do the Spider-Man kiss scene with you. Ended up falling down and getting a mild concussion ✨

-Lays in his hammock with you. He’s a lazy boy and takes lots of naps

-B e a n i e s

-Definitely goes skateboarding & tries to show you how

-Sleepovers with him are the best because he has endless snacks and drinks. Also has a dvd player for his fav movies

-Button 👏 up👏 shirts👏

-Will randomly start speaking in Spanish. Best part is the nicknames “Mi amor”. Even better if gives you little hand kisses

-He’ll always “forget his notes” so you have to go over to his dorm and help him. Always ends up with the 2 of you making out though ;-;

-Flirty as hell (but only around the bakusquad so he can show u off)

-Reads tons of manga (canon) so he’ll probably read em with you 🫰

-He’s honestly super chill and won’t get jealous easily. He’ll give people little glares but that’s about it

-Does the Killua walk (you know what I’m talking about)

-Tape fixes everything

-“your mom” whenever he’s losing an argument

Hope you guys enjoyed!

@Kimyou draft I have neverwritten hcs for Sero before so I hope these were up to your expectations!

[pvnks0ul]

when i kissed the teacher (18+)

◈ professor!riri w. x fem!reader

sypnosis: When the course of her marriage has run awry, Riri finds herself entertaining your little crush on her.

⚠︎: deluded & kinda obsessed!reader, college student!reader, age gap, cheating, a lil dramatic coz it's in readers pov mostly, older (think late 20s-early 30s) + married!riri, car ess ee ecks, strap on (reader receiving) + oral (RW receiving), no resolve (sry lol), lil plot 4 🌽, sub!reader/Dom!riri, smut under the cut + ! amateur writing ! (Your only warning)

"Mhmm..fuck–!" Riri mewls as her hand shoves your head deeper into her cunt, your tongue pacing the most intimate part of her before licking a stripe up to her clit, kneading it just how she taught you, "Y-yeah, just like that."

Riri knew no argument would justify her continuous crimes of adultery but with you being just around the corner conveniently after each one made it easy to cough up excuses. She was very aware of the crush you had on her, so she always made sure to smile in your very general direction, calling on you first if your hand was raised because she liked the way you'd bashfully take on th challenge, even if you weren't completely sure of it.

It's not like you were a saint either. Infact, some would say you were even worse. Especially after you were caught spitefully facing the wedding picture of her and Raven, the wife, down in the early mornings if you arrived to class before her. She tried to talk to you about how disrespectful it was, but you didnt seem to care as she didnt even notice till you said something about her ring.

That landed you your first referal from her, alone. You liked riri, but were still highly upset! You just wanted her to focus in class with no distractions. You weren't actually trying to be disrespectful. Riri senses this from across the room. She watches you solemnly after you'd rolled your eyes at her. And that was just unacceptable, she had to make sure you knew that which is why she makes sure the door is locked, checking the empty hallways and unpinning the little piece of fabric that covers the window in the door before pulling out a chair next to your desk.

You'd been acting out of character alot lately and she just wanted to check in. She cared a little too much & got a little too close. The supportive hand on your knee, turned into you laying your head on her shoulder, and ended with her blouse sleeves rolled up to her elbows as she worked her way knuckle deep between your sticky thighs, lowly whispering praises as you spread yourself to accept more of her from under the desk.

When it's over, your looking at her with nothing but pure unfiltered adoration and it's bad for Riri. It's terrible for her because she doesn't feel like she just did the worst thing possible by betraying her wife instead, she was thinking about when the next time she'd be able to have you again.

Mewling around her mound, you find yourself desperate for her approval. Your brown orbs glancing up for her usual nod of approval only to find her head is thrown back against the seat of her car. Thats how you know she really needed this and you cant blame her. Spending all day in a stuffy classroom only to come home to a nagging incompetent wife just couldnt be a desirable life for anyone, you tear up sometimes just thinking about how hard it must be for Riri.

"C'mon baby." she grunts, her eyes finally gracing you, her lids were low but still, it was enough to motivate you. You groan into her at the petname, circling her clit before sucking it into your mouth and she ruts against you desperately. Your only purpose was to make her bust in your mouth again.

It takes just a few more seconds of you lapping over her pussy to have her quivering thighs clenching around your head. And you love it, the lack of air encouraging you to continue, if anything. Riri grinds her hips against your face, a hint of a whine slips past her lips as she rides her high out on you. You keep going, trying to lick her dry, suckling right from her creamy hole, Riri sucks her bottom lip under her teeth at the sight and she wants you to keep going but once she reaches the end of it she's pulling your head away by your ponytail, not wanting to overstimulate herself. You whine at this, but settle for laying your head on her quaky leg until she comes down.

"C'mere." Riri demands in a hush tone. You use her sticky thighs as support to lift yourself up, sliding right into her lap, your thighs being separated by her bare one and she grips your chin, forcing you impossibly closer into her bubble. Her dark brown almost black orbs hypnotic and locking you in their lustfilled haze as they dropped to your wet lips before back up to your blown out eyes.

You're so beautiful and she cant tell you that because she knows how you get. It was an aggravating cycle. She'll give you a compliment and then you'll bombard her with a good 50 or so questions concerning reasons why she won't choose you than.

And every single time it always ends up with you sulking back into the passenger seat, not wanting to finish anything you started as fat tears cascaded down your cheeks, asking her to drop you off or notably ditching her class the next day.

So she admires you in secret while her thumb swipes away at the slick of your full bottom lip. She brings it to her own mouth, sucking her juices off her finger in one swift motion. You gape at the vulgar display infront of you.

She brings her face closer and a gasp slips past your lips, now brushing lightly against the other, "You're gonna get in trouble.." You speak, referring to your lipstick stained lips, developing a perfect pout and Riri has no choice but to give in. She rolls her eyes before tilting her head and leaning forward, "..If that happens I'll handle it." she corrects you, finally connecting your mouths in a dreamy kiss, you push your chest into hers with a moan, kissing back with just as much intensity and her rough hands drop to fiddle with the ends of your skirt, pushing the fabric up your plush hips.

She smirks against you when she finds that you dont have any panties on, she lays her hand dormant on your mound excluding her thumb as she uses it to dip between your warm folds, cooing proudly to find it absolutely sopping. You press your chests together her with a whimper, "m-more, Riri!"

She complies, "Course..", her fingers playing with the tip of your puffy clit, your hips twitching into them, "What is it? Can't handle me no more?" she mumbles. You shake your head no, you were just so sensitive because of how busy and negligent– she’d been this week when you were becoming accustomed to getting her every night. It felt like you would cum right now if she'd asked for it.

Riri smirks at the sour expression on your face, "All you want is for someone to rub on your pretty little clit, huh?" her cool breath fans your burning cheeks as you shamelessly follow each roll of her thumb across the bud,

You nod your head at whatever she just said and she knows that look on your face, you’re close... but already?

Just when you're on the brink of a climax, you grab at her wrist and yank it away from your heat, your thighs closing with a quickness. Riri cuts her eyes at you, curious to what you're doing. You wanted to finish with her inside but if you so much as let her get a few more strokes in, it'd be too late because you don’t think you have energy to go again.

You pant against her dress shirt as she holds you up with her hands around your back, "Do you have it with you?"

And Riri catches onto what you mean, she settles you with one hand while reaching in the small black tote bag in the backseat with wet fingers.

"When I'm coming to see you..." . She returns with the harness–attached dildo and you can feel your hole clench around nothing at just the thought of being full again. "Always." she speaks in that raspy tone.

"Up." Riri taps your side, signalling you to move so she can slide it pass her thighs and you happily abide.

She guides you over it once its secured, using your slick as lubricant for her dark brown piece she lines it up with your hole and settles it half way in.

Your eyes are already closing shut as the curved girthed allowed it to touch both sides of your walls, "Nmph-! Fuck!", Your hips twitch, not sure if you can handle all of it, worried she's too big. How'd you ever get it all in before?!

Riri disagrees, gripping the globes of your ass, spreading them as she pushed her pelvic up into you, opening you to fit her like a glove with each thrust earning her high pitched shudders against her ear as you held her dress shirt between closed fists, "S'too much.."

She scoffs at this, "You wanna be good for me, right?" She whispered lowly, rubbing at the smooth skin of your hips.

"Y-yeah, for y-you–!" You groan while holding her face in your hands, admiring all the little details you could see from up here and Riris chest burns at your words, more specifically the last bit. You never failed to keep her wrapped around your fingers when you always said shit like that.

Riri kisses your palm before bottoming out with a final push in. Your spine feels like it'll break from how fast you arched it on impact, your wet clit pressing into the bottom of her white shirt and waist band of her boxers and you're already shaking against her.

Riri holds the ends of the back of your thighs, trying to be patient and wait for you to calm down but you whimpering in the crease of her neck was not helping, she swallows thickly, thinking of ways to try and prevent herself from slamming you down on her dick, "...lemme know when."

It takes a good minute for the pain to subside, for you to feel the familiar inkling of heat in the pit of your belly, waiting to blaze so, you swirl your hips a bit, the tip scraping the bottom of your cervix with each one and you desperately need more.

"Oh fuck!" you use Riris shoulders to lift yourself a few inches before plunging, your sap drenching her legs and creating a noticeable puddle on the fabric under the strap from how long you were warming her.

The girth of her faux brushing your walls almost teasingly from how horrible you were at fucking yourself, but with the way your thighs were starting to burn so easily, you wouldn’t be able to do finish on your own. You just needed a little bit of help.

"Please.." You whined into her, buzzing with ecstasy, messy thighs pathetically quivering as you opened yourself for her viewing pleasure, "I– just want you to fuck me, Riri.." she doesnt hear whatever else you managed to slur, too busy eying your pussy in awe of your pink slit just barely swallowing all 8 inches down to the base.

She quiets you with a sweeter more innocent kiss while pressing the button on the side to recline her seat, letting you rest while she takes care of it.

Riri grabs you by your waist, your head tucked as your shuddered breaths pricked the skin of her neck, steadily she ascends your lower half before bringing you back down with a wet slush, repeating her steps over again. Each gasp gets stuck in your throat as her dick stretches you out and stirs all the creaminess inside, making goosebumps rise on your skin with every thrust.

You whine louder, acrylics breaking through the sleek material of her shirt, nipping her skin as you felt the fire in your belly turn inflammatory, she was fucking you so good and you didnt want her to stop but the clenching was inevitable, halting her strokes in their place with each one.

Riri reluctantly slows to a stop, she could feel your ass jiggling but now she wanted to see it all for herself. Your eyes dart open immediately after, and you're frowning down at her because you were so close.

"Turn around, I wanna see sum."

Riri holds your thighs and the base of the strap so she can pull out smoothly. They slide up to your waist when you sat down with your back to her chest and you could feel her pebbled nipples against your skin.

She bites down harshly on her bottom lip as she enters you again, your crying and panting as she sunk deeper but she knew you'd get off better this way.

"Yeah, i know..." she coos sincerely trying to soothe your nerves, "...but you gotta take all of it f'me." she holds you down with her free hand as she effortlessly grazed that soft spot once again, grinding into you at an unsteady rhythm.

Riri pushes your back in and your back forms a perfectly sharp arch, she grabs handfulls of the flesh in one hand before smacking down on the other. The pained yelp you let out contrasted drastically to the gush of juices you leaked over her dick and already messy boxers. She does it again, switching sides and kneading the sore skin of the one that got spanked then spreading to see the aftermath.

Riri groans at the sight of clear strings creating ill shaped webs dripping at both holes. Boldly, she releases your ass and presses her thumb into the crease, going all the way down, lubricating the pad before pressing into your button. You whimper at her curious prodding & rubbing but never once did you tell her to stop.

Your head lowers in shame from how much you were enjoying this as you gave her a better angle to fuck you from, just shutting your eyes as you let her have her way with you.

Riri bounces you on her lap a few times, the sound of your pussy turning her on even more, "You're real dirty, baby." She mocks while removing her thumb, drawing her arms around your waist and forcefully bringing you back to her chest, her faux shifting inside of you.

She moves down your mound, brushing over the tip of your clit before thrumming harder, playing with the silky bud. You squeak & squirm, reaching down to try and stop her but all she does is thrust her hips up in response.

Everything was starting to move too fast for you as she swirled all 4 of her fingers over your sensitive nub, her hips working into you at the same time and all you could do was pathetically wait for it to come crashing down.

"God—ah! 'gonna make me cum!" you wail pitifully and it really is pathetic how quick it was but you truly couldnt help it.

"Uh-huh..." She hums, her grip becoming harsh as she pulls on you with so much vigor your ass starts to clap against her bare thighs. Riri bites her bottom lip as she fucks you harder, your pussy squelching endlessly just for her, "Go 'head then baby, dont make me wait for it." You nearly go cross-eyed at her accent, sloppily grinding your clit into her gungy palm for more stimulation as she brings you over the edge with a final roll of her hips.

Your whole body spasms as you cry out her name, Riri watches in amazement, her hands gripping on your hips and leaving deep dents in their wake as you whine and pant and tremble ontop of her.

"Breathe, mama." she encouraged before she kissed behind your ear. Riri continues to pump you sloppily, helping you through the overstimulation since your thighs were still trembling and you weren't forming coherent sentences. Just biting down on your already swollen lips as a desperate attempt to hide the taboo eruption, clinging onto her for dear life and Riris buzzing under you. She wants to fuck you again. Have your short acrylics scratching up her back, neck and thighs but she knows it’s not a good idea. Especially since you’d definitely miss your curfew for the umpteenth time.

She's gauging your every move before she takes a chance and leans in, grazing her teeth at the bottom of your neck to prep for the fresh row of hickies even when she knows she shouldn’t be leaving evidence muttering, “You did so good f’me.” After each one and she prays it distracts you enough for her to effectively slide her wet piece out.

was kinda scared to post this one butttt, imma thug it out for my riri girlies ‹𝟹🥲

🔖: @sapphicbarbz @shurislover @s0lam33y (special thanks to @lppriceisright for proof-reading some of this for me!!)