#I keep seeing in twenty fucking twenty two posts like these

[highvern]

Honey

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

Genre: smut

warnings: strip tease, kinda public sex?, unprotected sex, creampie, simp mingyu, established relationship, dry humping (in a hot tub), fingering, face fucking/oral (m. receiving), porn with feelings, mingyu has a thing for being called husband, breeding kink

Length: ~2.8k

Note: inspired by the two seconds of mingyu in lalali. sorry @gyuswhore next time dont let your man act like a fool. this is a continuation of Drunk Goggles (Heart Eyes) but can be read as a stand alone! see below for their master list

Drunk Goggles (Heart Eyes) [f,s], Drunk Goggles (Heart Eyes) II [f]

Pre-Drunk Goggles (in order): Peaches [f], Bite the Bullet [f, h], Jealousy [a, h]

Post-Drunk Goggles (in order): Silk [s], Aphrodite [f, s], Discovery [s], Lucky Me [f], adamas et aurum [f], Baby Blues [f]

Summary: The best way to recover from the stress of your wedding and celebrate your marriage? Some private time in the hot tub with your new husband.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Twenty four hours.

You’d been married for twenty four hours and can barely keep your eyes open from exhaustion. Not because of your husband and the vigorous but romantic sex he insisted on having on every surface of the cabin your friends chipped in to rent as a wedding present. No, you’ve barely managed to touch each other beyond agonizingly fatigued kisses and sentimental cuddles. 

Last night you both barely managed to make it into the bed before passing out cold. This morning, you found Mingyu nodding off at the stove after insisting on cooking breakfast while you showered. A few lazy gropes during breakfast (Mingyu’s hand barely toeing the line of indecent on your thigh) and a hot kiss before he left the bed was all the action managed in the first day as a newly wed couple. 

It’s still a funny word: husband. For so long husband was hypothetical; a distant idea that someday you’d have one. Maybe. If you found someone you could put up with long enough to start considering them as a long term partner instead of a fling.

And then Mingyu went from an acquaintance to boyfriend in a matter of months and the hypotheticals started shaping into realities with shocking speed.

The amorphous face of your hypothetical-husband slowly started to resemble Mingyu’s day after day. Week after week. And now, after months of planning, hair pulling, and a day full of tears, Mingyu is your husband. 

And he’s waiting for you in the hot tub just outside.

It’s the middle of the day but time ceases to maintain importance on vacation. But after a late breakfast you both agreed the best thing for your aching bodies was an afternoon relaxing in the hot tub until you both pruned like raisins. 

You spot the head of dark hair belonging to your fiance husband through the glass sliding doors leading onto the back porch. Beyond him is a full view of the lake, sparkling under the sun. It’s a deception of warmth but a breathtaking sight nonetheless. 

But nothing compared to Mingyu whipping around at the sound of the door opening with a pleased smile. Until his eyes drop to your bikini. 

“Why are you wearing that?” he asks with a pout. 

Glancing down at the black two piece, you pout back. “I thought you liked this one?”

“I like whatever you wear, but the point of being married is that we can walk around naked as much as we want.”

“We already do that.”

“And it’s one of my favorite traditions,” Mingyu says, resettling across the tub to watch. “Now get that off and get over here. I miss you.”

You reach behind your back, you tug at the string of your top until the knot unravels. As the fabric slackens around your chest, Mingyu’s eyes follow with rapt attention. He’s seen you naked thousands of times but never fails to act like it's the first again. Your nipples peak under his stare, sensitive as the fabric brushes against them as you fling the top to the ground. 

“Now we’re the same,” you say with a coy smile, closing the space to the hot tub in a few short steps.

“Wrong.” He fumbles for a second, hands disappearing under the surface. The water sloshes around as he battles to pull off his shorts and drops them to the deck with a splat. “The only thing I want to see you in are those rings.”

“Mingyu!” you gasp mockingly, ignoring the heat pooling between your legs in favor of dragging out the game. “What if someone sees?”

No one will. The cabins on either side of yours are dark and empty, and most of the houses skirting around the lake are so far away no one could possibly decipher what you two were doing in the shade of the porch awning anyway. 

“Then they’ll see how beautiful my wife is.” 

Blood rings in your ears at the way he says it; fond with a hint of pride. Like he still can’t believe you said yes in the first place. Like it was ever a question if and not when.

Mingyu whines pathetically as you scramble to remove your flimsy bottoms without flourish. It's too cold to stand around and do a full strip tease even if your husband’s eyes burn right through you. They join his swimsuit at the foot of the tub before you slip into the gentle embrace of the water.

Your ass barely meets the seat before Mingyu pulls you into his lap and kisses you. Arms circling around his shoulders, you sink a hand in his hair and tug until he welcomes your tongue. Your thighs straddle across his, bare skin on bare skin only interrupted by the silky feel of water. Even that doesn’t manage to disguise the electricity between your bodies. Or the fact that Mingyu's cock is already hard and waiting for use.

“Mmm. Missed you,” he whispers into the warmth of your cheek before descending across your jaw.

Bones turning to jelly, you melt under his attention like always. Mingyu loves to make you putty with little effort. You tip your chin up to make room for his tongue over the dip between your collarbones. “I was gone for five minutes.”

“Too long.”

He punctuates the complaint with a harsh suck of your nipple. It puckers between his teeth, sensitive and needy for attention. The sting serves as the perfect distraction from his hands sliding lower to palm your ass, fingertips grazing your entrance. 

“Fuck,” you gasp. Your hips search for more pleasure, sinking back until Mingyu stretches you around his knuckles with practice ease. The water washes away any arousal lingering but you won’t give up the prod of thick fingers for a little discomfort.

“Can you say it?”

Even before it became official he loved hearing you say any declaration that he belongs to you: boyfriend, fiance, and now—

“Husband.”

Mingyu groans into your chest as you whisper his new epithet, exploding with renewed vigor across your neglected breast. Indulging in the way his cock twitches against your thigh at the word, you curl your hips into the pressure. It's a difficult choice: Mingyu’s fingers filling you just right or the tip of his cock rubbing against your clit. 

Moving back and forth, the water sloshes over the sides of the tub as you greedily try to keep both. It’s hotter knowing Mingyu gets off on it too; the way you always want more, more of him, his hands, his mouth, his cock. Even rutting across his thigh after he cums until it hurts can make him hard again if you’re enjoying yourself.

Sinking a hand down, you tug at his cock, jerking him off right against your folds. With a tight fist, you crumble Mingyu to pieces with a few short strokes. The effort is rewarded with bites into your bottom lip and a hand at the base of your spine.

“Wait, shit,” he gasps. He’s closer than he wants to be. Clear in the tightness of his shoulders and pinch around his nose. Nothing gets him hotter than the memory of your first time together, when he used you pussy to jerk himself off; coating your panties in his cum. You know he still has a picture from the second time he did it saved on his phone after all these years.

Mingyu’s lips don’t leave yours as he stands, carrying you to the lip of the tub and sitting back down. He doesn’t let you slip to your knees in front of him at first. You’re trapped with lewd kisses and the flex of his fingers into the dip of your waist until he calms. 

“Let,” kiss. “Me,” kiss. “Taste,” teeth. “You.” 

Mingyu bucks into your ass at the offer before letting go. He’s never said no to a blowjob and he won’t start now given how much you like it too. 

But he’s cocky, arms resting on the edge of the tub as he presents the nude visage of his front like a dare. It’s bold given his habit of devolving into a needy mess at the first hint of satisfaction.

Your hand keeps pace while your lips ghost down Mingyu’s neck. His nipples stiffen with quick attention, almost more sensitive than your own but that isn’t your goal right now. Your mouth starts to water when you reach his stomach, tracing the ridges and dips with all the time in the world. 

Just as Mingyu gets the first syllable of protest at the tip of his tongue, you suck him between your lips with cruel enthusiasm.

All the kinks in his armor become the highlights: a coarse lick where he leaks, a tight fist at the base, your other hand cupping lower until he moans loud enough to echo across the lake. For your own sick pleasure, you back away enough to tap him against the flat of your tongue, pink against the tip of his cock, eyes on his until Mingyu is forced to look away or risk painting your face in white far too soon.

“Slow down,” he commands. More of a beg since his head tips back when you take him until the curve of your throat objects. “Fuck–Jesus Christ.”

You arch your spine, ass displayed like a prize. Another one of Mingyu’s weaknesses. You can count on one hand the number of times he’s let you suck him off without reaching over to feel how wet you get from the weight against your tongue. If he chances a look down again (inevitable) you’ve provided a great surprise.

His cock falls from your hold long enough to rasp, “Fuck my mouth.”

At the end of the day, who is Mingyu to deny his wife what she demands for?

Timid with the first thrust like always, Mingyu plants a hand on the back of your head, fingers woven into your hair for his own sanity. You like to surprise him by filling your throat as quickly as possible just to see Mingyu squirm. Nothing makes you blinder to your own limits than his pleasure. But years of taking him make it easy to work around. 

He’s trying. The effort is in the twitch of muscles bracketing your shoulders, the gentle tugs of his fingers, the way Mingyu can barely bite back the flow of curse when you choke around him deep in your throat. Your jaw is already growing sore but no obstacle against the desire to see Mingyu shake.

Then Mingyu does something that shocks you.

Your hand pauses its work under the gentle squeeze of his. Mouth still full, you flash your eyes open to find him staring down in awe. For a second you wonder if it's just because time had been short the past few weeks between wedding planning and traveling. But then he pulls your hand away from his cock and towards your mouth, and you finally realize what caught his attention.

The rings. The plain band that matches the one circling his finger and the special one he spent months trying to keep a secret.

Mingyu kisses across your knuckles, thumb tracing the metal and stone like it’s a wonder. He did the same motion over and over again last night: walking back up the aisle as husband and wife, at the reception as you both greeted guest after guest while glued to each other, in the car ride to the cabin across the center console, before you both fell asleep still fully clothed. 

Without any words, you’re pulled up into his lap for a searing kiss.

“I love you,” he sighs. His tongue slides against yours, slick as he tastes the mess you happily lapped up at his crotch.

“I love you too.”

You feel it. Feel it more than anything in the world. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes. It shivers down your spine, and blushes across your front. The effect of those three words, simple but so much more, seems almost too much for the daylight just beyond the awning of the porch. 

Out of the water, the cool air prickles along your back, forcing your chest to cave against the cold but Mingyu is there to warm you up with the stretch of his cock. 

You hide the satisfaction in the column of his neck, teeth razing wet across the vein there. He tastes like chlorine and that expensive cologne you jump his bones for. The idea of leaving a bruise like some teenager where everyone can see settles an ache in your core. It’s the first time Mingyu is inside you as your husband and it nearly rips apart the fabric of your being,

In a frenzy, your hips rut before Mingyu can orient himself to the snug feel of your walls. The angle is nothing short of cosmic. Clit rubbing against his pubic bone, cock battering that place inside that makes your joints lock. And the stretch after an unfulfilling glimpse on his fingers only burns you hotter.

The slap of your skin against his is an afterthought, background noise to grunts and groans and pathetic whines that meld between your mouths. In the thick of need, you aren’t even kissing. Just panting into one another’s mouth with narrowed vision. 

Mingyu sinks you lower in his lap with a smooth grind. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Like my husband is trying to get me pregnant.” You go cross eyed from the drag of his thumb against your worn bundle of never. Nothing makes him more desperate to please than the thought of you heavy with his your baby. 

No chance it’ll happen any time soon but the sentiment does wonders.

Another hard thrust threatening to leave you bedridden for the next week.“Fuck—please.”

“You’re mine,” Mingyu groans.

Writhing against his grip, sweat blooms at your brow. You can’t manage to respond with more than a cracked whine. Too focused on the wave rushing across the edges of your senses. 

“There! Fuck! Right there, Gyu.” You come in hot, carried by the rough way Mingyu forces you down his cock again and again. 

Nails biting into his biceps, your insides flutter tight, trying to pull Mingyu deeper even if he’s snug to the hilt. Full, deep, stretched beyond belief. Eyes cinched, muscles vibrating, you cum on your husband's cock with a broken grunt you’ll remember to be embarrassed about later.

“That's it, take it.” Mingyu coos with an edge. “My pretty fucking girl, my wife. Mine, all mine.”

Your knees hurt and your legs are numb from exertion and a killer orgasm. But you won’t call it until Mingyu gets his fill too.

“Close?” you pant. 

A hand at your throat is the warning, already knowing your plans to goad him to the edge if he isn’t there already. His thumb cocks your chin up so his tongue can lick the words right out of your mouth. 

A few more weak movements spell his ends. Mingyu cums with a grunt. Muscles tense, stomach caved, you scramble for hold under the threat of slipping back into the hot tub from the rushes of his cock to stuff you full with his spend. You’ll be sore tomorrow from the way he forces your thighs wider, until you’re flat against him, taking it deeper.

A sticky mess grows between your legs, warmly welcomed since the last time you felt it weeks ago. A peek between your bodies gets you ready to go again. But you still crave more. Ringed white around the base, Mingyu twitches inside you again when you clench just to tease him. 

“Love you, love you, love you…” Mingyu chants into your mouth until he goes slack with a long huff.

You find rest in his shoulder. Mingyu rubs his cheek against yours, innocent and domestic. He isn’t shy about most things but after you fuck eachother silly he likes to remind the universe its from a place of devotion.

“Marriage looks good on you.” 

“You too.” You smile. “Now take me to bed, I’m not done with you yet.”

“Whatever my wife demands.”

“That's my good husband.” The hand ruffling his hair is quickly snatched away, giving Mingyu the perfect opening to toss you over his shoulder before heading inside.

--

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @bbychocolat

@dokyeomkyeom @yoonguurt @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

#svthub #ksmutsociety #kvanity #svt x reader #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #kim mingyu #svt smut #seventeen smut #kim mingyu smut #🫡 highvern

[mokeonn]

Never again.

#art #my art #simon says #I keep seeing in twenty fucking twenty two posts like these #did we not learn #did we not see the history of tumblr?? #to all you new users from twitter #there's like an hour long youtube iceberg amount of tumblr scams #and i've seen most of them firsthand #you go through this blog and i guarantee you that the original All or Nothing post is on here. #tumblr #tumblr history #all or nothing #miss officer and mr truffles #arkh project #butch pal for the straight gal #The butch pal one is especially why I hate seeing the amount of queer eye-esk show concepts #implied violence #family guy death pose #if someone asks I might do a reblog and explain a couple of these just so yall know I do NOT trust calls for crowdfunding on tumblr

[suprsingr]

-

#i'm going to keep tag-rambling because this feels like progress #other post cut me off so new post okay people can see this #if you're reading this welcome to my mental breakdown #anyway so i froze in the middle of telling this awful joke #he told us to google a quick joke and just tell it and my service was down #so i tried to remember a joke i read on a forum nearly twenty fucking years ago #i do think part of the problem was that i wasn't confident in the joke at all #everyone else's jokes were proper ones mine was just a Knock Knock joke sort of a thing #idk but i froze and it was really awful #of course people were nice about it!! and i fucking hated it so much #i just want to be able to be good for people but i'm bad for myself so i just don't know #if that wasn't bad enough then i was like. ok. i need to talk to the teacher because wtf. idk if this is sane #but the elevators were filling up and dudebro was like ''lol you waiting for everyone to go'' #and i did my autopilot thing of like ''yes! that's what i'm doing'' even tho it was not #so i got into the elevator when it came back up with these two dudes even tho I WANTED TO TALK TO THE TEACHER #sometimes i feel like my body is just a puppet and i'm the puppeteer but i'm passed out #i'll wake back up seconds after the puppet's done something idiotic and there's no going back so i'm just in hell #anyway to make matters worse part of why I got in was because i didn't want to be the weirdo staying after to talk to the teacher #i was like ''wait is this not allowed'' #why the fuck would it not be allowed #''well it'll make the teacher feel awkward'' #it is. literally. his job. :) #he's getting paid it's fucking okay but do i listen to the reasonable voices in my head? no #i listen to the voice that says ''well if you breathe it'll make people uncomfortable so you should stop'' #but then if i died that would make people uncomfortable too :) the grand paradox #but anyway my POINT is actually TWO OTHER PEOPLE WERE STAYING and I HAD NO IDEA #UNTIL THE ELEVATOR DOORS WERE ALREADY CLOSING #OKAY COOL and then as I was driving away i spotted them walking to a bar with the teacher #so if i had overcome my anxiety and stayed i could have been a normal person for a while with a few cool chill people #but instead :) i'm me

[forbidden-sunlight]

yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario: A Wendigo's Violent Love

Warning: aged-up!reader [in early to late twenties], violence, spoilers for episodes 7 and 8 in the first season of the 2024 show, possessive and obsessive behavior, Alastor is in denial, physical abuse, implication of friends to enemies.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the back button on your phone or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

Hey guys, welcome to another Hazbin Hotel fic! I know I had said that I was going to be on a break until the 8th or 14th in my last post, but I had gotten a burst of inspiration after watching the season finale and wrote this after discussing the idea with @riddle-simp and collaborated with @witch-of-the-writing-desk. It's because of these two that I managed to write 2k in a single day, so please give a big round of applause to these amazing individuals.

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see what's going on in tonight's broadcast with Hell's one and only Radio Demon!

Part Two

Alastor could not believe what had happened on the rooftop. No, he refused to believe that he was nearly killed by a hair. To almost die for his friends, a fucking altruist of all things.  Sorry to disappoint, but this is not how his story will end here. He thought viciously, tugging at his hair as memories rushed through his mind. He needed more. He needed his freedom. Yet this deal is restricting his powers from reaching their fullest potential, and it almost killed him. Yes, there has to be another way to get out of it. But more importantly….he needed to stop these feelings bubbling inside of him. These feelings he felt towards you. 

You, a simple groundskeeper who had forgotten what it meant to be a human and served as a weapon in war. You, who did not use technology like him yet still found a way to connect with the rest of the hotel’s wayward souls.

He hates it and he wants you gone, out of sight and out of mind, because these feelings have put him in more danger than necessary. When he finds the backdoor of his deal, how to unclip his wings, he will be the one pulling all of the strings and claim the power that he rightfully deserves. He is the Radio Demon, the Great Alastor! Nothing else matters to him!

He made his decision right in the dilapidated radio station to never get attached to you or anyone else again. To only focus on himself and no one else. He is in Hell for a reason, after all. He cackled, feeling the thrum of his power rising in unison with his conviction. Yes. He thought. Yes, he’s Alastor! The cold, ruthless overlord who always has room for more voices on his broadcast. Not some soft-hearted twit who would die for someone! 

But what he did not realize at the time, just right underneath the hatch, you had heard everything. 

Despite your injuries and losing both of your arms to angelic steel, you had used your strength to trek through the debris and look for him. Now knowing that he despised you, knowing that he sees you as nothing more than a weapon to use for his convenience….well, you could not blame him. You were a weapon when you were alive. You were feared, you were hated, and you did not care at the time. So why did it hurt so much when he said that? You did not know, except it was better to keep your distance from him. 

So you left the Radio Demon alone, staggering away to join the others. 

Vaggie was somehow able to find Sir Pentious’ blueprints for your prosthetics in a fireproof trunk beneath the rubble, and put in a call to Carmilla Carmine to see if she could make them with angelic steel instead of adamantine. Of course, the angelic arms dealer took a look at them first before agreeing to it, but not before telling Vaggie she must ask for your consent to do the procedure and what you wanted to add or remove. You gave your input, and the procedure was scheduled for the following week. Although you could not help with the construction of the hotel, you did assist Charlie by putting together an eulogy and memorial service for Sir Pentious. The princess was not sure when it would be held, hopefully when the hotel was finished. 

You understood, softly promising to be by her side for support, even if you had to be pushed in a wheelchair. Sir Pentious had been a good person, an inventor and a gentleman who was nothing but kind and respectful to you. Even though you offered to pay him for doing repairs on your arms in the past, he brushed it off and instead asked you to join him for tea. He…you hoped he found peace. 

On the day of your procedure, you asked the overlord a question that had been plaguing your mind since the war. “Madam Carmilla, I am a weapon. I was raised to be one, to be used and tossed aside when my usefulness had expired. So…why is it that I am bothered by what Alastor said…on that day?” You did not dare to elaborate on what he exactly said to her, just that he said that he did not want to see you anymore. Be gone from his sight and mind. 

She stared at you for a long moment before she replied coolly, “So I have heard from Vaggie. But I do not share her thoughts. A weapon is lifeless. You are a person. An emotionally stunted one, but someone is living, breathing, and who can still be hurt by what others say about them even if they can’t see it. You are upset because of what Alastor said….and in my humble opinion, whatever you feel towards him, discard it. There is nothing to gain by being close to him.” She then turned away, pulling on a pair of gloves over her hands as one of her daughters placed a mask over her face. “Are you ready to begin? This is your last chance, and I cannot promise it won’t hurt.”

“I am.” You said. “Thank you for answering my question.” 

Carmilla nodded, and proceeded to give out instructions to you and the rest of the staff in the operating room. You complied, not wanting any more time to be wasted on your behalf. At least now you knew why you were upset.  It was because you cared about Alastor. Cared….yes, that is the appropriate word. You had to distance yourself from him. It is what he wanted, so you must respect his decision as the manager of the Hazbin Hotel. 

Yes, it is better this way.

That was the last thought that crossed your mind before a mask was placed over your face, and everything fell into darkness. 

Alastor did not understand. You were doing what he wanted you to do. He did not want to see or talk to you unless it was necessary. So why was it making him angry? When he congratulated you on a successful recovery from your procedure, complimented your progress in physical therapy per Carmilla’s instructions, or how lovely the eulogy you wrote for Sir Pentious' memorial service, you showed no reaction. You simply stared at him with a hollow expression before thanking him, excusing yourself with a bow of your head. 

He should be elated. No, he is pleased. He is satisfied that his relationship with you has not gone by being professional. Why, you even pull away as soon as he lays a finger on you~! So why does it bother him that you recoil from his touch? No. He…cannot accept it. He cannot accept this.  He needed to speak to you. Discreetly. 

However, now that this new and improved Hazbin Hotel stood in place of the old one, everything is much bigger with the additional square footage; meaning there would be more ground to cover if Alastor is to ever find you, even if you do not wish to see him.

 Niffty, bless her little deranged mind, pointed him in the direction of the greenhouse. Of course, it was much bigger than the old one. But he still saw the old stained glass windows of the Moriningstar family crest lined up on the south side, allowing red light to come through and shine down on seedling trays with new shoots poking out of the inky soil. The clean, fragrant scent of herbs permeated the air as he walked through the rows of berries, juicy melons, and other culinary delights. He did not think this place would already be thriving when you were the only one who tended to it, as the hotel’s groundskeeper. However…this is you. You, who is able to accomplish anything once you put your mind to it. 

He found you hiding just beyond the apple trees, kneeling beside a bush of glistening roses, armed with pruning shears and an apron over your clothes. A watering can sat on the grass by your side. Your back was facing him…which allowed him the element of surprise. Grinning, he leaned forward, stretching his gloved fingers to lightly caress the petals of the rose you were about to snip off. 

“Oh, my apologies dear. My hand slipped!”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, emotionless [Eye Color] irises holding a steady gaze before turning away. “It’s all right. There are others that I can place at Sir Pentious’ memorial site.” You said, raising the shears to carefully cut another rose with a small snip. “Thank you for your concern.” 

The static around him buzzed, swelling in synchronization with his boiling anger towards you. “I see.” He hissed. “I am terribly sorry to disturb you.”

“It is all right.” Snip. “If there is nothing else, please allow me to finish this so that I can go on break. Niffty will not be happy if I am not out of here within ten minutes.” 

“I’m afraid we must discuss something, [First Name].” He pressed on, irritated at your uncharacteristic rudeness. “That is why I am here. So please turn around and look at me.”

You did. You placed the shears down, twisted your body around so that you looked at him straight in the eye. “Yes?” You said. “What do you need?”

He smiled, the static around him coming to a screeching halt and he was much calmer. Finally, He thought. You were looking at him, instead of avoiding his gaze. “I understand that since you have been cleared to return to work, you’ve been quite busy~! However! What I do not understand is why you have been ignoring me.” He leaned forward, feeling his eyes transform into radio dials. “You do not greet me as much as you have before, we haven’t had tea together, nor have we taken a stroll in Cannibal Colony~! So…why are you acting like I am a complete stranger to you?”

“Because I know the truth.”

Any and every thought he could have possibly said to her at this moment evaporated upon hearing your answer. “Pardon? I’m sorry but I didn’t catch that.” His voice leaked through the rising static. He felt his antlers grow, expanding past his ears with cr-crik, crick noises. Like the roots of a tree. 

“I know the truth. I know that you are angry over what happened in the war, how everyone saw you flee from your battle against Adam. I know you wish to unclip your wings and that you utterly despise me. So I am doing what you wish for. To maintain a professional relationship as the groundskeeper and the manager of the Hazbin Hotel. Our goal is to redeem sinners. There’s nothing beyond business between us.” You said with a calm and expressionless composure. “I went there that day, to the radio station. I had gone there to look for you, to make sure you were all right when I heard your words. But know this,” A sudden sheen of ice glazed over your eyes. “If you bring harm to Charlie or anyone in this hotel, I will kill you where you stand.” 

The last thread of patience in his psyche split in half. Before he could stop himself, Alastor pinned you against the ground, his hands on your shoulders and glaring at you, trying to intimate you with his true form, to scare you into silence as he had done with Husk…but you held your gaze. 

“It’s terrible manners to eavesdrop on someone, my dear.”

“And it isn’t wise to attack someone when you are not even at your full strength.” 

In a flash you immediately flipped him over, straddling his hips as you held down his wrists over his head with one hand. The other held a garden spade to his throat and he was burning. That was when he realized you weren’t wearing your gloves, thus the angelic steel is the reason why his skin is on fire. 

“Calm yourself, Alastor.” You said. “There is no reason to be angry when I am doing what you want me to do. Nor to act as you are doing right now. I advise you to take slow, deep breaths and count to five backwards.” 

“Release me.”

“Not until you have calmed down.” The way you replied so calmly, so…lifelessly, made Alastor angry. Angrier than he has felt in a long, long time. Not since his prey had escaped the forest and he did not get to eat them. Not since his mother died, leaving him alone in the world except for a drunken asshole who wasn’t worthy of being his father. Make these feelings stop NOW

“Come to my office in exactly twenty minutes for an evaluation about your conduct at work. Do not be late.”

That was the last thing he said to you before he sunk into the grass as an inky shadow, slithering back towards the greenhouse’s entrance towards his room. He couldn’t believe it. How could you have known everything? How could he not have sensed your presence? Was he that weak? No. No, he assumed he was alone and clearly he had not been. You were an anomaly. You were raised as a weapon; to spy, to kill, to search and destroy upon the command of your master. 

So why does it still bother him? Why does his head feel like it is about to split in half as he goes over the conversation over and over in his mind? Why is his heart falling into the pit of his stomach at remembering your promise to kill him if he harmed anyone here in the hotel? Why does he have this urge to know how you truly feel towards him? Do you still care for him? Do you love him?

In twenty minutes, he needed to know the truth…or else he would go insane.

What Alastor did not realize though, as he holed up himself in his quarters until the allotted time to meet with you, Husk had seen the whole thing from the door. 

He was going to drag you to lunch because Niffty had gotten pissed that you were skipping meals again…and thank fuck Alastor did not see him. Husk, the drunken gambler and former overlord, almost flew over to you with a worried look, grumbling under his breath. Once he saw that you were all right and did not have visible bruises or injuries courtesy of a certain someone, he grabbed you by the hand, leading out of the greenhouse. He was not going to let Alastor hurt you again.

He might be a dumbass, can’t fight worth shit…but you are important to him, and he’ll protect you even if it means putting himself in the line of fire again. 

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[iznsfw]

Midnight

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 11 - An Yujin

IVE's An Yujin x Male Reader Smut

13,838 words

Categories | toxic relationship, degradation, violence, cunnilingus, jealous!Yujin

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Taylor's Version because we're cultured here. For my @usedpidemo <3

Sorry for being gone. It will happen again.

“It isn’t rocket science,” snaps Wonyoung, “so just tell me what’s better: this hot pink top or this baby pink one?”

You stare at the clothes hanging from the idol's fingers. You’re not colorblind by any means, but the two shirts look exactly the same to you. No differing hue, no richer brightness. If you picked up a spyglass to observe further, you’d still be the same oblivious man.

“Wonyoung, I don’t know,” you say. You really don’t. It’s the same truth you’d profess with a gun cocked to your temple. The mournful would know you were a martyr of honesty. “I’m a guy. I don’t usually choose between crop top number one and crop top number two.”

She sighs, lowering the hangers. “This isn’t a crop top. It’s a baby tee.”

“Someone just fucking kill me.”

Amuse dances on Wonyoung’s expression, something the face mask can’t veil. She likes pissing you off more than the world does. But at the end of the day, you’re the only guy she’d allow to be friends with her. It traces back to playground days—on the swing, fingers linked.

You look around. All the clothes hanging from the racks—dresses, crop tops (baby tees?), knitted Bangkok coordinates—share the same primary color. What the fuck was Wonyoung going on about? 

She slips an arm through the looped curve of your own. Her heels click as she’s leading you away from the hell of hyperfemininity, which just so happens to be her trademark. Not yours, though. Which is what makes this a problem. Which adds to the millions of other problems you have.

“I’m sorry,” she says. This is a tone of voice a friend uses when it’s time: sincere and loving. Wonyoung’s a good friend, your best friend. “I thought I was keeping your stress away from…”

The sentence fades out. Wonyoung avoids your eyes. You look down at your shoes. Hate it or love it, the girl you care about more than anyone else is fueling your emotions. 

She’s not Wonyoung, as many people like to believe. You’re surprised, too. When you were twelve, Wonyoung was the most beautiful girl in the world to you—just not the one you’d end up with. This girl who has your heart’s taken her Aphrodite place and needs a mask to hide her identity, too. 

The love of your life, An Yujin. Twenty years old, K-pop idol for longer than you’re able to fathom, and just about everything. It would take hours to list everything Yujin has going on. And although you know each one, it doesn’t stop you from longing.

You think about her all the time and sometimes, you pray that you don’t so the pain won’t splinter your heart.

“Wonyoung.” You’re tired.

“I’m sorry.”

The world is keen on keeping you in shreds. You see a mother and father shopping with their kid. The little boy has the same dimpled smile as your girlfriend. If only Yujin wanted to actually love you. There’s another young couple taking pictures in front of the wide mirror. Their arms are around each other, photo-ready for Instagram. Meanwhile, Yujin only posts about her ambassadorships. 

Wonyoung doesn’t look at the price tags when she places the tops on the cashier counter. The cashier thankfully doesn’t recognize her. If he did, he didn’t show it at all. She slaps a black card into his hand and soon, you’re exiting the outlet. Thank god for it. You were sure you were slowly dying.

But it isn’t the shopping or the commute or the cash that’s killing you. It’s her absence. Are you just a fan again? Feeding on a relationship that’s almost as nonexistent as it used to be?

“Are you deaf?” 

Raise your head. You’re still in the mall. The crowd bustles between you and Wonyoung, who’s looking at you weirdly.

“What?” you ask.

“I asked if you wanted ice cream.”

Oh. You clear your eyes with a blink, then realize you’re in front of an ice cream truck. Pink and white and pretty, a menu of everything delicious, and a childlike joy in the customers’s faces.

Sure is what you say. If that’ll keep my mind off her is what you don’t.

Wonyoung asks for the largest ice cream. For a girl whose physique is slim and toned, she loves to eat. You picked the habit up from her, too, but you can’t stand making her pay for your own food. A mini cup it is.

You don’t realize your silence. It’s natural—like taking another breath, like taking another look at your phone to see if she’s messaged you. 

The stretch of quietness leaves you time to ponder. The sweetness fills your mouth and you can only think that there are other people sweeter—someone with a smile worth gold and a playfulness you never get tired of. It’s not worth the trouble; you doubt that she thinks of you as often as she crosses your mind. She probably doesn’t at all.

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it,” Wonyoung adds, thumb stroking the red long spoon. “So we can just eat here and call it a day. Quick and simple.”

Yeah right.

You release a sarcastic huff of breath. The soft hills of the ice cream are delicious but none go in your mouth. “It’s fine,” you mutter. “It’s not like I have anyone to go home to.”

Every day consists of mourning and longing for a girl who isn’t even dead. She’s everywhere in Korea—TV screens, advertisements, large tarpaulins, shop standees—but the only place she can’t be is by your side. 

She’s always with you if you count your phone wallpaper being a stolen picture of her. But besides that, it’s like she’s gone. Cremated in an urn and thrown into the ocean. She’s left you behind for good.

Wonyoung puts down her cup. Sincerity’s evident on her face. “You have to understand… it’s really not all on her.”

Sure, it isn’t. But it’s hard not to put the blame on someone when the other side of the bed is empty. When your phone’s full of messaged apologies and I-love-yous that don’t mean anything. It’s fucking draining. 

You laugh. Nothing’s funny. “Are you saying it’s my fault?” you ask.

“Of course not.”

“So what the hell do you suggest I do?” 

Your voice comes out louder than you expect. Eyes dig holes into your being. Your conversation is a song everyone wants to listen to. They‘ll pick it apart, formulate theories, and wonder who’s the featured artist. 

Wonyoung’s face is full of sadness. You hate that she worries about you the way she would a child. You don’t need parental comfort and a “get well soon” balloon; you need Yujin. And that alone guarantees a wave of pity.

“Well?” you prompt her. She’s got a lot to say, and now she’s refusing to speak about Yujin.

She doesn’t continue.

Lower your tone, for both your sakes. You don’t want a fight to break out here. And she doesn’t need attention when she’s already got enough as an idol. 

Your false smile cracks and you don’t think you can hide the depth of your sadness. In this busy mall, you want to make a scene. Not just a scene, but one that involves a little illegality, which you no doubt would have done if you were raised differently.

You want to tear at the nearest man’s throat. Have him choke, slowly die, and leave his blood as a warning to everyone. His veins would be all over the floor.

You want to break the porcelain plate of banana split over a kid’s head, just to see his cracked skull. Nobody can be happy if you aren’t. There isn’t a treat that would fill the hole in your heart like Yujin does.

You want to hurt anybody, everybody, to make up for your own that’s starting to corrupt your mind.

“We can have this conversation again and again,” you manage, choking up tears, “and she still won’t come home to me.”

Wonyoung looks down at her lap. There’s two perspectives here: yours and Yujin’s. She knows her bandmate’s side better as someone who’s going through the same. She can’t play both roles, choose who’s the victim and villain. 

She’s utterly defeated. But she tries to make you get it. “It won’t be like this forever,” Wonyoung says quietly.

Forever is months of a long distance relationship. You’re in the same country but with the way she never visits and neither do you, you might as well be on the other side of the globe. It’s always texts that go unreplied, occasional pictures reacted to with a heart, that kind of stuff. Always no Yujin, always you looking for her.

You’re a puppy searching for his owner. You’re lost, lost, lost—all while Yujin’s found fame and success. But you don’t need that. You need her.

It looks like fame is more attainable. 

You lift your shoulders. Blink back your tears. “Sure looks like it.”

Wonyoung takes your hand. Her gaze is soft. “She’ll perform with me at a festival sometime next week. I’ll take care of her, pull some strings, let you guys have some time together. Right now, she just needs space.”

Space. Okay. You can do that.

A flash of lightning cracks too close. No storm on the forecast though. Embedded in the illumination, you think you saw Yujin’s face. You see her face everywhere actually—even when she’s not there.

Turn to the empty third chair beside you. If you opened your eyes wider and wished harder, would she come? Or would she be another figment of your imagination?

-

Things weren’t always like this. Once upon a time, Yujin was a love you could go back to. You met everyday, ate together everyday, talked everyday. You’re glad you were there for her after IZ*ONE’s disbandment, a great loss for K-pop. 

She sat beside you in the practice room. Gorgeous. That’s what she was. Yujin was the first love of your life, and the only one. She was pretty back then, too. She had that kind of friendly beauty—it started platonically, but oh, if you were to fall, it wasn’t a surprise. 

Somebody take me back.

Her hair was long and brown, your knuckles sliding down on it. She was dressed in baggy clothes that made her look small despite her height. You couldn’t fall more in love.

“I’m sorry about the… you know,” you said, before stopping to place an arm around her shoulder and kissing her. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but how are you?”

“Things can be better,” Yujin said with a shrug. “We’d be having our world tour, if things went differently.”

“Damn, Covid was a bitch, huh?”

Then, despite it all, Yujin laughed—that beautiful, loud laugh which made her eyes crease and the cute dimple show. You poked it, and she leaned into you once more, just how you liked it.

She nodded. The remaining parts of her giggles fought their way out of her. “Yeah.” Her eyes locked on the door of the room, as if expecting eleven girls to come back in. She wasn’t laughing anymore. “Yeah.”

Her voice faded out. Dreams were there. A bigger discography was on the way, a last in-person concert was supposed to happen. Each was crushed by circumstance. Yujin was not. She withstood every battle and came back holding a bigger sword each time.

It’s not to say it was easy.

“I can’t believe it ended that quickly.” Her sweet and remorseful smile made your heart crack. “One minute I was fifteen meeting all these cool girls, then I’m all grown up and they’re gone.”

She had to move past it. Experience battered her into maturity but she still yearned for younger days. You knew that feeling well. Barely young but barely old. You didn’t know it at that time, but it was the perfect balance. Youth was right there while adulthood waited patiently. Things went by fast and yet it didn't matter. You had each other.

“You know who won’t be gone?” 

“Who?” Yujin propped her chin on your shoulder. Her eyes glimmered with repressed tears.  

You thumbed away one that let go from the side of her mouth. “Me.”

-

You keep your promises as hard as you can, even if it hurts you.

-

You | Hey baby. Good luck on the music show!

Still nothing. You sent it today, eagerly waiting for her appearance on TV. But Yujin left no sign that she got your text. 

So, nothing unusual.

You sit down and try to assure yourself. That’s fine. Yujin’s fine. She just needs space. She needs to focus on her job where people focus on her and she can’t focus on you. Okay. It’ll be alright. It hurts, but if it’s how things should go, do you have any other choice?

The song comes on. The show is dark red with the background playing a looped animation. It’s a heart, stabbed with an arrow over and over. How familiar. The girls are beautiful, as always. Preppy but kitsch outfits were chosen for them to perform in. The varsity jackets cinematically slip off their arms and the skirts sway like they were paid to look that good. 

Smile, because this is what Yujin loves doing the most: dancing and singing for a crowd. She gave everything up for this. She deserves all this love, and she knows it. Her confidence is the sexiest thing about her.

“Baddie, b-b-baddie baddie—” 

That’s your cue. You’re on the edge of your seat. You’ll cheer for her, even from afar.

However, it’s… not her.

The voice and backtrack are different. Another girl’s taken her place. She’s tall and pretty, too. She performs the line with overflowing charisma, but she’s not Yujin. She could never be Yujin. 

You | uh

Wonyoung

Where’s Yujin???

You take no interest in the stage playing out before you. Your only concern is where their best member is. 

The response takes painful hours. It’s a live stage, so of course you have to wait till it’s over. But everything feels so wrong—the catchy beat doesn’t sound quite as good when Yujin’s rich voice isn’t playing over it. 

Wonyoung | i thought she was with you? what are youu talking about?

Yujin definitely isn’t with you. But she needs space. Besides, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. She might have just needed to visit family that would be announced by the company later. Nothing worth the panic.

But as you look at the screen, you can’t help but feel a little pain in your heart. Like grief that happens a few days in advance.

-

Wikihow doesn’t offer a proper guide in dealing with a girlfriend like Yujin. You’ve resorted to articles, to YouTube videos, to question forums. None of them help you out.

They say, in order to make the long-distance relationship better, you should communicate.

Yujin doesn’t reply to your messages. They’re always left in the conversation without a read receipt, or even a simple reaction.

They say to gift her flowers and sweet things, all through a trusted courier.

The staff always throw them out. They probably think you’re a crazy fan.

They say to let it take time. 

She never shows up. Letting it take time means that it’ll happen. But you only meet her twice a month, if you’re lucky. This time—you haven’t seen her in person at all.

But, like a dog waiting for its owner to unleash it, you wait.

-

And wait.

(What’s lost of Yujin remains as a memory: you and her in a café at midnight, looking sullenly at your cups of coffee. Who gets coffee at 12 a.m.? 

Perhaps a couple nearing the parts of their journey where they crash and go up in flames. The police would be too late.

“Okay,” said Yujin. She crossed her arms and leaned back into the detailed metal chair. “Not to be, like, you know, a nosey bitch or anything. But you’re awfully dismissive.”

Charming. “And you aren’t?” you fired back.

The thing about you and Yujin is that you could beat around the bush for days. She would ignore you, give blunt answers, and keep to herself. You would go around for a drive, sleep in a separate room. It’s all fair and square. She doesn’t bother with you, why should you?

In the end, however, you have to come to a conclusion. It isn’t pretty. 

“Babe, if this is about those MC partners I have,” she told you, sounding every bit the nonchalant partner you made obvious she was, “be a little mature. It’s a job. It pays.”

That was all that mattered to her. She grew up to be the breadwinner of her family and now the feel of paper in her palms was all she looked for. 

You looked past her. The sidewalks and pedestrian lanes were full of people, from all walks of life. There were many women who were kinder than Yujin in the masses. So why did you stay?

“You spend more time with those men than me.”

“Then step up your fucking game.” Yujin regarded her iced latté with a cold gaze. “I don’t remember the last time you got me flowers.”

“I told you, your shit security guard has—” 

You paused. Something just hit you. It was a slap that messed up all the curves and chemistries in your brain. 

“They bring you flowers?”

That’s your thing with her. Yours. You bet that she’s more confident posting the bouquets some stupid florist made for her than the ones you handpicked. Always left in the dust, always turned away.

Yujin rolled her eyes then took a sip of her drink. “There he goes.”

She didn’t see it in the same light you did. You got the thing about keeping the relationship a secret. You knew that. Yet what was better here, a rumor with a fellow idol or someone unknown? 

She gave no fucks about it at all. There she drank the overpriced coffee and looked at you casually. Yujin was ashamed of you, and she hid it so badly it was laughable.

“Thanks for being such an empath,” you said.

“Anytime.”

“Do I seriously mean that little to you?”

“I never said that. You’re the one getting your panties twisted over some sunflowers.”

“Your favorite flowers. Maybe if you showed a little more gratitude to the ones I get you than the crap they paid a florist to—”

Yujin sighed loudly. “For fuck’s sake.” 

She slammed her cup down on the table. The plastic cover was no soldier to the pressure and let the brown liquid explode all over the surface. The open design of the white table let the coffee spill on your pants.

You were horrified. Everyone was looking at you. You drew a crowd every time you were out with Yujin and for no good reason. 

“I’m tired of every conversation, every conversation we have turning into another fight.” Her chair creaked as she shoved it up to the ruined table. You flinched again. The aggressiveness wasn’t the only thing that scared you—she had this snow-cold tone that made you melt in all the wrong ways. “So if you want to say something that’s actually not trash about my job, say it now.”

You held her glare for a while. It was a new record. It was deadly, the expressionless plaque of her face. Her teeth were clenched, her whole being was tense, and all the strength she had was spoken through her eyes. You lost at keeping it.

The lurk of silence felt longer than the hours the moon was in the sky. Yujin waited. Perhaps she wanted you to speak. She smiled bitterly. Whatever response she expected, it didn’t come.

“Thought so.” She licked coffee off her thumb and let her hair be the last thing you saw of her.)

-

And wait.

(Yujin smiled when you saw her again. She threw her arms around your neck, kissed you, too. 

You never forgot what happened. You didn’t want to bring it up—she was so happy that it infected you, too. Still, flashbacks of that moment churned in your head as she picked away at her favorite food and joked around.

“I’m a terrible cook,” she said. She forked a burnt broccoli in the air and shook her head in amusement. “I can’t believe you still eat it.”

“Someone has to.”

Her smile was beautiful. Then, broccoli to your lips, she said “I’m happy you’re here,” and it was better again.)

-

And wait.

(Who’s surprised? It all went down once more.

You never told anyone that sometimes, you were tired of it.)

-

And wait.

(What now?)

-

“That’s the nineteenth time you checked your phone.” Sunghoon leans forward on the floor, thumbs mashing into the controller. He shoots you a look. “Yep, I counted.”

You’re that in love with Yujin. No surprise at all. That doesn’t stop the red in your ears though.

She still hasn’t texted you back. No calls were made, which goes the same for TV appearances. No tall girl is spotted amongst a group of five. She isn’t there to brighten up the set with her clever jokes or charisma. 

You text her continuously. Sometimes you try not to sound so desperate, so you space the messages between hours. That doesn’t work, because Yujin is still nowhere.

“Excuse me for being concerned for my girlfriend,” you say. In the darkness of your apartment, she’s the only one who can light it up. 

Sunghoon shuts the game down. He’s losing the game while you’re losing your mind. You two have your own battles.

It really shouldn’t be this painful having her gone. You’re to blame; you bought into it knowing you weren’t built for this kind of relationship—the one where you scrawl and yell while she couldn’t give a fuck if she were forced to. Her love for you is highly debatable, and you’re still here, waiting for that to change.

How did you and Yujin become a couple if you only hurt each other?

“She’s been MIA for like a week. Not counting the months I haven’t met up with her.” Your gaze keeps dashing to your phone. You’ll stand by forever if you had to, but that doesn’t make it easier. “I’m allowed to be worried, right?”

Sunghoon nods. “But that doesn’t mean you have to stay.”

“What?” 

He releases a thinly patient breath. You remain oblivious to whatever he’s referencing. 

“Dude,” he stresses, a hand in his hair, “I don’t have shit for brains. I know that you and Yujin fight like animals.” 

You wince. The elders were right. The truth hurts.

You and your girlfriend argue so much you’d think you’ve been married for sixty years. She’s a fierce woman who won’t let down an opinion if she believes in it that much. On the other hand, you won’t stop at anything to have her hold faith on your side. The walls are thin and let everyone in the dorm hear your quarrel, including poor Hyunseo. And now, your friend.

You keep your eyes on the desk below your television so you won’t have to look at Sunghoon. And even there you search for her. She could be sitting in your kitchen or studying on the staircase. Anywhere, as long as you’ve got her.

He rests himself on the sofa. There’s a very small grin on his face. “But you guys also…” 

You don’t reply. Wish you could put your palms on your ears without being obvious. You’re not sure you want to hear it.

“You and Yujin.” He turns to you. “You love like animals, too.” 

It’s a lighter truth, so why are you sad? 

“It’s kind of—” Sunghoon cuts himself off with a laugh. “You’re lovebirds. If she’s gone, you get so lonely. You’re gonna die if you don’t see her. And I know she’d do the same.”

You never would have guessed. Yujin doesn’t care about you. She doesn’t love you either. Her excuses for not visiting are perfectly designed to look like they benefit you—”I don’t want to disturb you”; “You need more sleep.” 

She’s gotten tired of you.

You lift your head from your hands. “What should I do now?” you ask.

This isn’t a venomous reply. You actually have no idea how to move forward. Yujin’s so far out of reach that you’re beside yourself, scared and helpless. You can’t disturb her schedules and start rumors. You can’t text her too much. There aren’t choices left for you to navigate. And if there are, you aren’t allowed to pick.

You want to curl yourself into a ball and cry yout heart out.

“Hello?” Wonyoung’s recognizable voice sounds out from the entrance, interrupting your trainwreck of thoughts.

You sprint from the sofa. It’s Yujin’s closest friend, the only one who might know where she’s been. You don’t welcome Wonyoung in. You don’t say “hi” or “what’s up?”. The first thing you tell her, upon meeting her at the entrance, is the only thing that’s important to you.

“Where’s Yujin?”

“Has Yujin visi—” Wonyoung pauses, realizing something. The bump in her throat resurfaces again. “She isn’t here?” 

“No. She’s at the dorm, right?” 

“Of course not. Yujin hasn’t stayed over since our last stage. Her parents said she wasn’t at their place.”

That’s more than eight days ago.

Seeing your friend isn’t so pleasant when you know that the one you love most is gone. It’s similar for Wonyoung. The horrors roll scene after scene in your minds, each one portraying Yujin in the cruelest of situations. Not everybody loves her purely—some of them want to hurt and tear and dehumanize her, and you can’t stop it. 

The sobs build up in your throat. “No.” 

“Something’s wrong, something’s wrong, something’s wrong,” says Wonyoung. It’s a singsong without the glee. She laughs nervously as she slips her hands in her pockets and looks behind you, as if it’s all just a cruel joke and Yujin’s safe and sound.

You take it all in. This can’t be real, but it is. The worst thing that could ever happen has finally unfolded. 

Sunghoon gets up, but you place a hand in front of him. He can’t save his friend from this. You feel yourself melting into the person everyone said you were: a mean, jealous god who reigned over Yujin and held her back.

Take a deep breath. “Where is she?”

"I don't know!” she cries out. The puzzle is pieced together. Yujin has disappeared, and both of you thought she was still someplace where it mattered. “She’s not answering my calls. The girls are looking for her. Her family’s looking for her.”

The fear, buried beneath the arteries of your heart, resurrects in the most cruel way. Its bony hand chokes you in its tight grip. If things went wrong tonight, Yujin would remember the merciless words you let go of the last time you saw her. They might be all she’d ever remember.

“Wonyoung.” You try to breathe. You can’t. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew!”

You’ve never seen Wonyoung this distressed. Sunghoon’s passed your barrier to comfort her, but it’s not going to happen. She’s pacing around the room and cursing every vulgarity she knows. And the thing about Jang Wonyoung is that she never, ever swears.

The anger stacks up. You did not just let this happen. All those signs—her being missing from performances, the lack of updates—you ignored all of them. 

“You promised to take care of her!” you shout. There’s no room for shame here. You can yell as loud as you want. You’ve been keeping it in for so long. ”That’s what you said to me, now you’re telling me you lost her?”

Sunghoon’s words go unnoticed. You’ve got your own conversations inside your head. The voices go back and forth, saying you’re a terrible boyfriend, saying you’re the worst match for Yujin. This is why she doesn’t love you, they say. This is why she’d rather go missing than see you.

“I’m not the bad guy here!” Wonyoung almost rips her hair out when she faces you. “I’m trying to help you! Don’t you fucking dare pin this on me!”

You and Wonyoung glare at each other. Fierce stares rip at the friendship you nurtured over a girl you both love. Love causes hate and hate causes a flurry of hands and fists. Will you and Wonyoung end up like that, too?

“Wonyoung,” Sunghoon says. His voice is surprisingly steady. “Calm down. Check your phone, Yujin might have texted us.”

Too angry to protest, similar to how she was too angry to hear a notification sound, she turns her spiteful eyes from you and on her device. 

Then, it happens.

Liz | https://gossiphangug/forum/did-i-just-see-ive-yujin

Is that …?

-

오마이갓닛 아이브안유진인가요????????

I saw Ahn yujin at the seoul city highway. i was in my car on a road trip so sorry for the blurry pic but shes so pretty in real life!!!! her face is so small ㅠㅠ i dont think she's shooting something because she's alone. i dont want to invade D: an yujin im your longtime fan!

— What’s she doing all alone???? 

— Yujinieee why do you look sad

— im worried for her, shes famous and a woman. she cant be by herself at night 😭

— OVERRATED……………….

— If you didn’t want to iNvAdE why did you go on a public forum and share her location? Dumb bitch.

-

You get in your car. While you collected your keys from the door, you sent your girlfriend a total of thirty texts. Yujin hasn’t read a single one. You don’t care about space anymore—that’s the last thing she needs. 

The night covers the whole of Korea with an eeriness about it. Shiver, closing your jacket around yourself. The cicadas chirp and footsteps click around when no one’s there. You can’t imagine how scared Yujin must be if these are what she’s going through outside of Seoul, the most dangerous parts.

Place your phone on its holder. It’s always switched on so you can see her picture. She might be gone physically, but she’s always there on your screen—eating lunch, looking at you with wide eyes when she realizes you’re taking pictures of her. She’s in shows. Articles. 

She’s not dead, but she’s been gone for so long you would’ve thought she was.

If you aren’t quick enough, she will be.

Before you drive, you text her again. This time around, she’ll see it. 

You | Yujinnnn how are you?? please reply to me :)i’m coming over right now <3 I’m just here!

You always are, aren’t you? It’s her who’s not.

But you get it. It makes sense that she wouldn’t want to see you after the last time you met. 

Yujin was on her phone, (like always), not speaking a word. You brought up to her that you would appreciate it if you two could go on that dream trip you planned. 

It was the one you formulated when she wasn’t in IVE yet, not even IZ*ONE. You were young and passionate—you had a lot of dreams for yourselves. Being financially stable now compared to those days in Yujin’s practice room, sneaking a little time together, you thought you should go now.

Without looking up, Yujin sighed. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m shooting with the members in Jeju. Maybe next time?”

It was always next time. And it never, ever, happened.

“Okay, when are you planning to live up to your promise?” you told her lightly.

Yujin finally unglued her eyes from the screen. You froze. You didn’t mean to sound so antagonizing. 

Yujin set her hands on her hips, standing to meet your level. She’s scary when she’s mad. The cute dimple’s gone and the brightness from her eyes dissolves. Arguments and silent treatments couldn’t train you from the way the nonchalance on her face disappeared. Or remained. 

An Yujin scares you, and it’s not a laughing matter.

“Why can’t you just wait?” she asked. Her voice was hard as stone. “It’s not that hard. You know I can’t get out of it when I signed a contract.”

Shake your head. You try to focus on the road and its twists and turns, but all you can think about is her. When the possibility that things would go wrong actually happens tonight, you’ll never forgive yourself.

You hear her yells and excuses in your mind. Always the excuses with Yujin. Ladies and gentlemen, what’s new?

Remember how you lost all kindness in that moment and started to spew all these hateful words you didn’t know the impact of. Your hands tighten on the wheel.

“That contract didn’t say you’re legally required to forget about me.”

“I would never do that!” said Yujin angrily, taking a step closer to you. Despite the comfortable clothes, she looked like she wanted to punch you. Her fists were balled and her jaw was taut. She could do it right now and not regret it. “I’m busy, I can’t just show up and say I’m bailing because of a stupid trip.”

Your mouth had fallen to the floor. How could she say that so easily? It was the first promise you made to each other. Something like that ought to be taken more seriously. 

“You think it’s—” No, you couldn’t believe it. You wouldn’t believe it.

But Yujin nodded with all the conviction there was in the world. Your heart was broken, glass shattered from the hit she blew. “As stupid as you think my career is.”

Unbelievable. The apartment you two chipped in together suddenly looked like a blur. In your timeline, the minimal stars in the sky were blobs of unfocused light. Cars looked like clear road. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair. How could she believe something so false?

“Why the fuck are you putting words in my mouth?” you snapped.

She wore this evil smile that challenged you to not back out for once. Yujin pushed you to your limits and loved it. “And why are you such a little bitch about it?”

And you swore you didn’t mean it when you took the quest, when you said—

“Why are you my girlfriend if you’re this selfish and unloveable?”

Her arrogance was gone in an instant. Yujin’s retort never came. She bit her lip tightly,  fearing her response would be in the form of a sob. It was in these moments that you forgot she cried so easily. You shouldn’t have said that. You didn’t intend to.

The words were easy to say, but hard to take back. The expression on her face changed. It went from a fiery summer to a hailstorm that didn’t want to pour down but the clouds overflowed. There was no other way out. In the close distance, you could hear her breath shudder.

Yujin crept up until you were forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Intimacy was out of the question because of her busyness. You hated that she was the closest she’s ever been now—when the tears stormed down her eyes, when her face radiated hot anger.

Her finger jabbed into your chest. She hoped its nail would transform into a knife. 

“Fuck you.” 

You didn’t intend to say what you said, but she did.

She shoved past you and was gone. Her footsteps were loud, crashing down on the floor with the impression that it’s you she’s running over. She wanted to bury you in the ground so you could never hurt her again. So she could never hurt you again.

The door slammed, and since then, you haven’t seen her.

The tear slides down your eye. You can’t hold it back anymore. Before you turn at the red light, you leave her a message:

You | And I love you.

My baby <3 

This is what you meant.

Driving in the night used to be your way of clearing your head. There’s less traffic, less civilians, less everything. The moon signaled home for everyone while you wanted to be anywhere else. It isn’t such a pastime now. Knowing that Yujin is out there, probably feeling very small and very alone—it honestly makes you want to kill yourself.

Not the first time she made you think of it.

The grass tumbles with sprinkler wetness. Trees whip past the vision of your sideview mirror. The streetlights cast a shadow over no one. She isn’t here. 

You won’t accept it. Reject all the paths that she’s been kidnapped and tortured and killed or whatever. Those aren’t true. Yujin’s doing well. She just needs a breather so she went out here.

Going on trying is exhausting. You’ve looked everywhere. You’re already at the darker parts of the highway. The road breaks into the soil and tapers off to the edge of an unprotected cliff. 

There’s no tall girl. There’s no love of your life. Considering that she isn’t here, she‘s most likely dead. She was put in a sack and thrown off this mountain. And nobody heard her screams.

You lost her. Forever.

Then a shadow of frazzled black hair passes by your window. The exhaustion’s creeping into you, so it might be a hallucination. But then you see the fabric hanging below the woman’s hair.

It’s your jacket.

You turn the engine off. Its death allows you to jump out of your car, takes one for the team so your girlfriend doesn’t have to. All the clues are there and you remain unsure if it’s really Yujin.

Until you see the strained, regretful smile that accents a dimple on her cheek.

Until you see the length of her legs as she sits on the edge.

Until you see her face.

“Yujin!” you call out. A murder of crows flies out from your feet as you sprint to her. 

She whips her head to you. Tears still speck her face but she’s wearing your jacket and your boxers. Not a wound blemishes her skin.

The relief courses through your blood like lifesaving medicine. Yujin’s safe! She’s okay. Her sneakers crash on the plateau. She’s missed you, too. The fabric of the jacket lifts to her shoulder as she raises her arm—

“You shameless motherfucker!” 

Yujin brings her hand down and slaps you right in the face. Its brutality brings tears to your eyes yet there are more on hers. Red blooms from where she smacked you. Her round little face is filled with the unholiest anger, the kind the devils would love her for. But she doesn’t seek salvation—because one after the other, she hits and pushes you backward.

The pain doesn’t stop. She doesn’t stop. The violence of it all—her hands reddening your skin, the bruises her knuckles leave on your chest, her booming voice—leaves you speechless. Yujin’s gotten angry, but never this angry.

“Fuck—you—fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” She says it like a promise, living up to it with accompanying punches to your sore body. She’ll loathe you till the day you die. It’s a pledge she makes to all her red flags. “Get out of my life!”

Yujin shoves you into your car hood and beats your stomach with a plummet of fists. Your legs crumple. The resistance is there. Your shoes try to remain glued to the ground and withstand her assault, but you’re too weak. You’re so dense around Yujin and it doesn’t stop at her little seldom glances, her little touches.

It goes right up to every abuse—the one at your belly, chest, and arms.

The air’s being knocked out of you. Each bout of oxygen you try to take is out of reach. You’re losing what’s left inside thanks to Yujin’s cruel punches. 

Her screams echo through the forest below and the sky above. Not even the crows can stand her beating. They fly away instantly, afraid they’d be next. Fear is wholly understandable. Yujin’s eyes are alight with bloodthirst.

“Stop! Yujin, it hurts!” you scream. You don’t want to push her. But if she keeps hitting you like this, you’re leaving the place seriously injured. Thus, you’re forced to knee her in the stomach. 

And you still don’t want her to leave your touch.

Yujin stumbles backwards. She looks at you, not stunned or shocked, but furious. Angry is one thing. It makes people passive-aggressive, makes them curse, makes them snarky. Furious is what gets her to stand up and approach you. Furious is what makes her throat sore from yelling and her abuse go on despite the skinned burn. 

She’s psychotic—sweat beads at her face and her hair’s messy and knotted. What scares you is how she’s growling. The raspy noises pair with the murderous look in her eyes. She’s ready to beat you up again, and you can’t run to save yourself.

Yujin hurls into you with a shout, using her height and weight to damage you. It’s effective. You lose balance and knock into your vehicle again. The metal cuts through your skin. You don’t want to retaliate. You won’t stoop that low. However, it’s starting to actually hurt.

She’s not a challenge to carry, so why does she feel so heavy right now? Her cries rock your ears like how she’s ruining your strength. She’s beating you down with the goal of leaving you a bloody mess. Yujin won’t stop at anything to reach that.

“Yujin!” 

The more purple bruises she leaves on your body, the more you’re confused. You put your arms up. That’s enough. Yujin yells frustratedly and tries to push through them. So, place your hands on her shoulders tightly. She’s a restrained animal, teeth bared and wildness still running through her blood. Her whimpers speak of frustration and her will to go on hurting.

“Baby,” you say, squeezing her, “what the hell is going on?”

"Why do you care?” Yujin's sobbing. The tears are plump and fast as she’s pushing you off her like you didn't even matter. Your touch doesn’t console her anymore. It just makes her rabid. "Go rail that bitch, you’re all hers, I don't give a shit."

You don’t know what she’s talking about. All you want to do is wipe the sadness from her face and bandage her wounds. What’s stopping that is Yujin herself.

The night is silent except for her heavy pants. Even the crickets are quiet. They seem to be watching and waiting for your next move. 

Try again: "Yujin—" 

"Just go!" Yujin screams. Deafening is not good enough of an adjective to describe her voice. It wrecks your eardrums and you think the trees whistle back because of it. The whole world is static for a minute.

She pins you into the hood of your car again, but then she's suddenly pressed to your form tightly. Her supple body's joined your touch, as if you were always one.

For long seconds, Yujin glares down at you. Her steely eyes force your breaths to shorten. She leaves you breathless in so many ways—in bed, in performances, in the hour where she’s holding you down after cruelty. Fuck. 

You stare right back at her. Yujin’s teardrops land on your face, like a perfect kiss. It won’t save you. Instead, it’ll kill you. Her fingers gather the fabric of your collar around your throat before she shoves you away.

“Forget this ever happened.” She backs off for the first time. She’s tired, too. Furiously dabbing at her swollen eyes, Yujin walks away until she’s at a measured distance where she can actually stand to be with you. “It’s over. It always was.”

She’s so… small. Yujin’s at a height equal to yours, however, there’s her legs being too thin for your boxers. Blood streams from a tiny open wound. Your jacket pools around her arms. Her teary face needs the comfort she rejects. 

You can’t bring yourself to accept that this is how she breaks things off with you. She needs you. You need her, the way gasoline needs a lit match to roar into flames, the way a knife needs ill intent to murder.

“Please. At least tell me what’s wrong. You’ve been gone for months, Yujin. Months.”

“You know what you did,” she snarls, holding her bruised knuckles to her chapped lips. “Parading around with Wonyoung in public, what were you trying to do? Just because that whore bounces on any dick doesn’t mean you have to give in.``

The bricks fall into place. They build a bigger picture where you could see everything. Yujin’s jealous. She thinks you’re cheating on her because you went out with your best friend. 

Her streak of envy is terrifying. It’s never gotten to this level though, where your cheek still burns. The same fire in her face—curled brows, eyes full of contempt—grows higher. You can’t put it out with water or snow. It’ll eternally be there inside her, waiting to be provoked.

“Is that what this is about?” you laugh. Have to crack a smile to keep from crying. 

Yujin tilts her head with a cross of her arms. “What do you think?”

“Oh, I get it. If I’m jealous because you’re with that rookie idol, it’s bullshit. But when you are, I have to get fucking assaulted.”

You’re still recovering. Your body’s sore and your legs feel like jelly. The lengths Yujin would go to make a point are terrifying.

She sucks in her teeth. “Probably because he isn’t my childhood best friend I had my fucking first kiss with.”

“Wonyoung and I were five, Yujin. She’s a friend. I was helping and spending time with a friend.”

“A friend you went on a cute little ice cream date with?” she asks. “The one you drove her to even when your car doesn’t have goddamned headlights?”

Yujin hammers a foot into said headlights. The lights resurrect and die all over again, flickering in hopes that she’d give them a chance.

How does she know about that outing? Someone must have recognized Wonyoung that day. You need to file a lawsuit against whoever took a picture. They caused Yujin’s spiral into insanity. That’s reason enough for the judge to hammer down justice.

Thumbs pressing behind her ears, she screams as loud as she can. She wants to cause an earthquake that’ll eliminate everybody, including herself. Let the mountains fall on her. At least the last thing that hurt her won’t be you. 

“Is she your girlfriend now? Is that what you went to her for: help? Forget it.” She rubs her scarlet eyes. They’ve seen things you can’t understand well—a love she thought was hers only. “I’m not stupid, and Wonyoung isn't better than me. You could’ve texted, called, anything.”

“Yujin,” you reply quietly. “If I did, would you have come?”

You could hear the labor of her breaths, the whip of a crow’s wings. Yujin’s speechless. She’s not as sinless as she thinks she is. You neglected her and she did, too. 

And, as expected, you let her go without an apology.

“P-plus, I bet my life they’re gonna say the same thing: Wonyoung and I are just friends. That’s it.”

“You didn’t call her unloveable or selfish? Wow, you really are a match made in heaven.”

Flustered: “That’s not how—”

It’s your turn to be quiet. You didn’t realize the impact of your words. They hit her harder than her punches did to you. Blood won’t seep yet there’s an ache inside her heart you’ve planted forever.

You see the shape of Yujin’s mouth quiver. No, you can still fix this. This doesn’t have to be the end.

Is it still salvageable when she’s already breaking down? Her whines ricochet and she’s crying into the sleeve of the jacket, your jacket. She’s utterly hopeless. She needs someone. You aren’t an option anymore.

She doesn’t look up from the road. One finger pointed to the car, Yujin says one thing:

“Go.”

It’s all she tells you. She’s ready for it to be over. You’re too intense. She’s gone, you cry. You’re gone, she floods the world with her tears and leaves no survivors. You fight her, she replies with a hit in the face. When she fights you, you fight as a soldier would. Your schedules collide and result in no sweet dates, no time together. You just weren’t meant for each other.

You feel like crying, too. Refuse to believe that the girl you were with ever since the two of you were teenagers—the girl you comforted before she took the risk to become who she wanted, the girl in the trainee headcount—isn’t for you. It’s so wrong. 

Shake your head. “Never,” you murmur.

"I swear to god, leave me alone. You know what? Leave Wonyoung alone, too. She doesn't want a bastard who sticks like glue to other girls."

“I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone else but you.”

She’s so perfect. Yujin’s fingers bleed from hitting you and her face is puffy with dried tears, yet she looks beautiful to you. How could you not? She’s got that sweet puppy love smile, that soft heart that’s so easy to love but so easy to break. You won’t fall for anything else.

Yujin scoffs. “How fucking romantic.” 

Romance. What a dead thing. Its corpse is still lying around and waiting for tears to turn to shy smiles it used to provoke. There’s only Yujin’s bleeding fists, dry pout, and your presence. A presence she doesn’t want.

She turns her back to you and faces the round moon in the sky. Its bright light on her, Yujin laughs into it tauntingly. She wordlessly relays her complaints to it and all of them are about you. How dare it watch idly and not let the sun take its place? 

“You’re a liar,” she spits. “What about me is worth loving?”

Maybe you weren’t enough. You loved and loved and loved her and she still doesn’t want to see the truth. You should’ve made a way to surprise her after shows. You should’ve hugged her and told her you want her rather than expecting her to know it.

“You’re an angel.” You’re near tears. You’ll fight tooth and nail for her to believe you. “You’re such a hard worker and you get me through stuff when I don’t think I can anymore. I’m sorry if I never told you that.”

Yujin sniffles while you pause. There’s more things you need to apologize for. All the times you spoke before you thought, all the times you said something you didn’t mean in the heat of the moment.

“And… and…” Swallow your pride. “I’m sorry if I told you anything else.”

Her shoulders shake. You don’t know how much that means to her. Her doubts are numberless and you just alleviated them, even for a little while. You don’t notice that you’re crying, too. 

“You have this gorgeous smile, your pretty bare face and I fall for it every damn time. You’re so adorable, baby. I think about you everyday.”

“It doesn’t work like that. I’m batshit insane.” Yujin’s inching closer and closer to the edge. She raises her hands and slams them back down on her sides. “I’m always mad, always gone, and always such a fucking bitch to you.”

“Then you’ll just have to fix that.”

“Why?”

Everyday you play a losing game against her when you’re not supposed to be opponents. You scratch and tear but it’s all out of desperation, a dog-like want to be told it’s loved. Lies have been said and the wounds have been made, but this is what you mean after all this time. 

“Because I want to marry you, Yujin!” 

The subdivisions below this mountain hear your proclamation. Nope, you don’t care anymore. Let them hear it, let them wonder about it. You love An Yujin, and that’s not gonna change.

You’re no longer embarrassed about your shaking words and tears. There’s only one thing you’re humiliated of, and that’s the lack of love you showed to her. That will change tonight.

“And when we have kids,” you cry out with your voice breaking, “I don’t need them losing the smile they got from their mother.”

Time slows down. The wind stops blowing her hair harshly. The few cars passing by are nonexistent. There remains only An Yujin, who turns to face you with bloodshot eyes and a red nose. 

The violent fire is gone from her face. Here, you see what she’s trying to hide: a tired, broken kid who needs love. She’s a girl who, behind it all, only wants you.

Yujin and you are a complicated matter. Fame skyrocketed her career while she left you in the dust. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t yours. But you go to war until you’re left to die in opposite corners of the room. And the last beats of your hearts will still be for each other.

She’s got everything you like—plump red lips, a sunshine brightness, and faith in herself—that you won’t trade a bloodless battle for. There she goes, also having everything you hate: a workaholic attitude, jealousy, and a boastfulness that, still and all, you find so fucking attractive.

You have a love that can’t be broken, a variety of jackets you hug around her. But then you possess the need to spend every waking hour with her that it gets inconvenient, and a hold over her she can’t shake off. 

Through fights and scars, you stay, because the way Yujin feels in your arms never goes out of style.

-

The rosary on your rearview mirror clinks before you take off. The headlights are off, soft music plays on your radio, and Yujin’s in here with you. You missed her so much that it hurts with just her head on your shoulder.

She’s still crying softly. Your sleeve is wet but you let her sob. You’d be doing the same were you in her position. All this time, it turns out the only thing you needed to do was put yourself in her shoes. 

Yujin’s glassy eyes reflect the road before you. They’re much better to look at than your rearview mirror. You could see galaxies in them—numerous stars, countless worlds.

“Still me?” she asks quietly. Her legs are bunched up under her chin while she’s leaning on you. Forget about the seatbelt, about the fines. They’re all not worth obeying when Yujin’s finally with you.

Ponder about what she’s talking about until you see that your phone’s on. Your lockscreen wallpaper is her. Change your phone, change your device, change your camera, and she remains there.

One hand on the wheel, your other one strokes her hair. Nostalgia pours in and you’re taken back to your shy kisses behind the building, running away from practices and meetings.

“Yeah. It’s always been you.” You look at the mirror. “Always.”

Yujin’s eyelids float closed. “I’m sorry.”

You almost stop driving. Yujin just apologized. She doesn’t do that. Whether it’s because of her ways or pride, the word never left her lips.

Not until now. And it’s in your heart to forgive her, regardless of your bruises and exhaustion.

“I-I’m sorry, too.”

Yujin buries her face in your arm and releases a held breath. There’s relief in it. She’s glad you’ve got her again. Someone has to. And you know, by her hand curling yours into place on her shoulder, she’s got you as well.

Pass through the toll gates with a kind of easiness you didn’t have before. Having her with you creates more of a difference than winning the lottery. She’s worth more than the biggest prize. Before you take out your ticket or cash or say “I’ll reload next time,” you see Yujin’s face. Once, you could only see her in your imagination, in your dreams. Now she basks in the dim yellow light with a comforted smile. Your jacket’s pooled around her legs in the form of a makeshift blanket and her midnight hair’s gotten pretty long. Her lips are kissable despite their dryness and you find that whatever An Yujin does, she makes you want to stare.

It’s a long drive. Not too long, though. Yujin lifts herself off your body to gaze admiringly at the city lights. She’s been here a thousand times before. Something about tonight makes it all better. 

A convenience store’s brightness reflects her expression on the car window. The childlike innocence in it makes you sentimental again. You and Yujin were once barely sixteen, looking out the taxi windows and not believing that life could be so beautiful.

She meets your eyes in the glass for a brief moment before you look away. Without giving her another look, you know she’s smirking through her tears.

“Eyes on me again, huh,” quips Yujin.

“I already told you, baby: you’re the only one.”

“I know that now.” Her brows raise. “Why are we going this way?”

You’re driving up a hill to her group’s secret house. Kept hidden behind trees and a well-guarded entrance, no one knows the girls live there. It’s where she’s safe, from stalkers and paparazzi and the general public. How she got out there all the way to the highway with just one post about her whereabouts, you don’t know. An Yujin has her tricks.

Pull the brakes. “Your dorm, right?” you say.

“No, I want to stay at your place.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

Yujin leans in. The windows aren't tinted, so maybe security saw you. But she’s all secure in your arms, lips on yours. 

You forgot how good Yujin was at kissing—her soft mouth feels amazing. Her daring tongue makes you a little wobbly. When it’s over, she’s never looked more sure. 

“Is that convincing enough for you,” asks Yujin, “or do I have to do it again?”

-

Her fists are bright red. The other is skinned through, overlapping with a hissing paleness. The cotton slides over the open wounds and Yujin mewls in pain. Seeing how wounded her hands are, you’re surprised she didn’t break them. 

“You spend too much time in the gym,” you note. Her arm muscles have gotten bigger and her legs are more toned than before. You wonder if she uses exercise as a way to vent out all her anger, just so she doesn’t do so to somebody else. 

Yujin can’t disagree with that. Her posture deteriorates on the carpet. The shoulders of the baggy white t-shirt lift. Almost everything you lend looks too big for her. It’s cute.

The TV’s on, jabbering with news and reporters you don’t care to listen to. It’s mostly on to fill the silence in your apartment. Yujin refuses to talk much.

Her head hangs. “I don’t know why I get so jealous.” She lifts it and there’s tears in her eyes again. “It’s so…”

Yujin’s ferocity scares even herself. There’s a lot of things and places she hasn’t met in your apartment. The kitchen has a newly installed table that serves also as your workplace. Blooming flowers decorate the front garden. But all she takes interest in are her guilty hands. She can’t believe she did what she did: used them to hurt you.

“Yujin, it’s alright. It’s over.” You tape the bandage on. “I forgive you, remember?”

“Doesn’t mean what I did is okay.”

“Then we’ll fix the damage,” you promise. Kiss her hand, then make another promise: “Together.”

The used cotton balls are blood red. Yujin watches as you throw them away and gather the first aid equipment in their kit. You didn’t think you’d have to use them. The alcohol was only ever meant for additional cleansing. The cotton buds were used for your ears. Nothing more.

Then she arrived again. And although she beat you to a pulp, you’re glad she’s home.

Things work differently with her, apparently. 

“How did you do it?” you ask. Sit beside her, your empty space finally being occupied, and hold her bandaged hand. 

Yujin fixates on the screen’s headline. It’s something about a child running away. Speaks to her, in a way. “I told Wonyoung I was going out for a walk,” she tells you simply. “I got my phone, charger, mask, that stuff. I never came back.”

And now she did. 

Her thigh’s propped over yours, reminiscent of the old times. Plus, back then, you didn’t have the TV. The apartment wasn’t this big. The deal about loving Yujin is that you dreamt bigger and bigger to make things better for her. Though she spends time in the dorm the most, you appreciate that she’s here. 

“They didn’t recognize you?”

She strokes the blunt ends of her hair. “Losing the Rapunzel extensions does wonders.”

It must be difficult being under the public eye. It’s a typhoon that isn’t afraid to rain down on her if she slips up. Perhaps that’s why she ran away. An act of rebellion done too late, too perfectly. 

Yujin wipes her face and giggles despite herself. This is the real Yujin: intelligent, prettier without makeup, and sensitive to the point that she acts up. Her fans might not like it, but you do. 

You place a hand over her knee. “You’re beautiful.”

She always is.

“That’s probably why you let me get away with so much.”

Chuckle. “You’re half-right,” you admit, finger raised and wagging.

There’s a funny smile on her face. “What’s the other half?” 

She’s right. What is the other half?

You don’t need to ask yourself a question you know the answer to. 

“I brush off your crimes because… uh, I dunno. I love you?” you say shyly. The confession is truer than diamonds. You find the courage to say it in her touch, trickling over your jaw and shoulder. “I don’t even like getting mad at you. Do you have any idea how much I cry after we fight?”

Yujin brushes her thumb over your earlobe. She has this habit of causing you to burn up feverishly without the need for colds. It’s the charm in her that she brings everywhere. She knows how to make you close your eyes and have you see vividly the dirtiest things at the same time. She’s familiar with you, inside and out.

“We’re more alike than I thought, then.”

“Is that a good thing?” you ask.

She pecks your cheek. The strawberry heat of her breath is, well, a little gratifying. “You got this far,” says Yujin. “I think you can figure that one out.”

You think you’re losing your mind. 

She scatters it more by closing her hands around your face, a gentler touch than earlier. Focus your attention on her—you can’t revert it to anything else. Yujin’s got your heart locked into hers and you aren’t going to do anything about it. Not when she’s this gorgeous, this gentle, this loveable.

You mean it. 

“Thanks.” She tilts her chin, observing your soul and expressions. “For saving me.”

“You could have done that by yourself.”

“No shit,” Yujin laughs. She still has this pensiveness on her face as she strokes your lip. “But it’s nice to know someone’s gonna catch me when I fall.” 

The comfort her touch brings to you almost lulls you to sleep. She’s so soft and gentle that you forget the previous Yujin, who wasn’t afraid to throw you around. Then you study her again—almond-shaped eyes, round lips, and the knife of her jawline—and you realize that you would let her do it again.

This is love. This is love in its prettiest and ugliest form. It isn’t the type you see romanticized in movies or sought after by young girls. Love means staying, because you’re too selfish to let the other have anyone else.

It’s a little fucked up. But that’s you. And Yujin… she’s Yujin.

“It’s weird.” Her grin is mischievous. “When I ran away, I knew you’d come get me. I guess I just wanted to see if you actually would.”

The fact that she’s aware you have her anytime draws a smile on your face. It’s a real one—the ends of your lips pull and they won’t stop past the circles of your blush. You’re enough. Yujin knows you love her. There’s just these doubts sometimes, all the time. Nothing you can’t fix.

“And I did,” you say reflectively.

Her eyelids are lower than before. “That’s why I still have faith in you.”

Your heart floats. Its wings initiate all the butterflies in your stomach. They’re stressed, not knowing where they came from. Meanwhile, your head’s in the clouds and you could never feel any better than this.

After what happened, Yujin believes in you. It makes each aching muscle and permanent scar worth it. 

She gives them a one-over. “Want me to give that some amateur medical attention?”

“I-I’m good. They’re not that bad.”

“That’s okay,” Yujin says. “I’ll just bruise you up another way.”

You want to ask her what that means. Her lips on your neck wordlessly tell you exactly what she’s implying.

Her fluffy thighs top your knees while the kiss reaches up to your jaw. Yujin’s shorts ride up and you’re met with every patch of tanned, full skin closing in on you. She fully got you from that lick behind your ear. 

Sink into the bed of the sofa with no protest. She’s so deep in the crook of your neck and she wants to go further. Knowing who and what Yujin is, you can’t stop her from doing that. You don’t want to.

“My poor baby,” she breathes. Her lips pucker on your cheek, your nose, and arrive at their final destination on your mouth. Stroking your hair, Yujin pouts. “Does Yujin put you through too much?”

Your lips purse above her worrying thumb. “Kinda.”

She’s intimidating enough with the bedroom voice and eyes. You want to run for cover, scream for help. The only thing you don’t want to do is pretend this isn’t happening. 

Yujin grinds herself down deliciously. Friction gives way to heat, and it’s exactly that which gets you to put your hands on her sides and guide her. Your mixed groans spur on the dry humping. 

It’s a little taste for what comes when she takes off those shorts (oh please oh please oh please). Her wide hips come into view as she hovers her naked crotch above your mouth. Her sweet honey drips from her core and onto your waiting mouth.

“Good.”

That’s the last thing you hear before a set of powerful, full thighs immediately comes together to crush your head. Your tongue creates contact with her center and begins to lick fast. The more you lap, the more of Yujin’s juices end up in your throat. She’s a favorite food you haven’t eaten in forever, and now you’re not sure if you want to stop.

Love—a little complicated, isn’t it? You love Yujin (she knows) and she loves you (you know that, too.) Is that what makes you go on eating her out in spite of your neck being her seat, your natural need for air going ignored? Close to that. Yujin’s rich moans—heard even from her thighs, the thickest of earmuffs—trigger a sense of need in you to make her cum that originates from want, then mixes together. It’s confusing, exhilarating, and you don’t think deeper thanks to her face denting your head deeper into the pillows.

However, here’s the conclusion: you love Yujin, up to the sharp danger of death. 

She could suffocate you and not know it. Hours would go on until she notices you’re quite still. But you grab her flesh, every bit of the meaty sweaty skin, and pull her in. Because dying is worth it for Yujin. Perceive your fervent suckles on her clit that evoke the prettiest gasps from her tilted throat as a soldier’s sacrifices for his country. Interpret your nails reddening her thighs as scratches and scrawls to escape a trap you don’t want to get out of. Yujin makes you want to die everyday and she’s the best you’ve given all your lives for.

You leave a kiss on her lips before running your tongue up and down. They’re slick and slippery as they brush on your mouth. When you welcome yourself into her tight hole, you could feel her shake on top of you. She tastes nothing short of delectation. You would eat her out for days if it came to that.

Yujin curls a hand through her hair. “Fucking slut.”

The fact is further founded. 

“You like it? You like my perfect pussy?” She sports a cruel grin. You don’t know where to look: there or her supple tits bouncing as she rocks her hips. 

You shut your eyes and moan. Yujin pushes further down on your face. Her inner thighs warm your cheeks but you’re warm elsewhere, too. Something about her crazed smile while her jagged hair whips against her neck… your blood runs cold. Good thing it’s going south.

She pulls herself off you and you ridiculously chase after her. Her palm flattens you down to the sofa. Whimper, which means nothing to her. She needs to hear it. Or else.

“I don’t think,” Yujin reiterates, grip locked on the base of your neck, “I heard an answer.”

“Your pussy’s the best, baby.”

“Say it like a man. Do you like the taste of my cunt?”

“Yes!” Your words are muffled. “I want it so bad!”

Yujin’s laugh clears any doubts you might have about her enjoying it. She leans down, lets your breaths mingle, then licks her juices off your pursed lips. “Good boy.”

You’re sent back to heaven again.

Capture her clit and seize it with harsh suckles. Her deep cries of pleasure fill the space in your apartment’s four walls. If they penetrate through them the way your tongue does to her folds, the neighbors would have plenty of complaints. 

Nevertheless, you go on fucking her hole with your ready tongue, dragging every bit of the delicious wetness out and for you to take. There’s something you have to prove. What is it?

Yujin’s not worrying about that. The pressure on her most sensitive parts is overwhelming enough. Yujin pants heavily and threads her fingers through your hair. She keeps your head between her delicious thighs, nowhere else. Her hips come to and fro as though they were waves, and you’re the shore drinking up every delicious tanginess in them.

“Oh god, oh shit, you fucking—” 

She rises off your mouth but you pull her back down. You’re addicted now, riding her high. No one can pull you away from her. Her squeals are loud and her pretty head is thrown back. You catch sight of her strong jawline and the sweat rolling down her neck—there’s not a chance in hell or heaven you’d let her run away again. 

Yujin’s strong groans deafen you as she rides your tongue. She’s a source of curses and obscenity, and she gives herself out freely. Her sinful pussy is everything you can ever eat, and her moans and cries of your name are all you’ll ever hear.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” she whines. Her fingernails threaten to pierce right through your skull. “I bet you’d like that. Your dumb whore self is just waiting for it like the whore you are. Am I right?”

You nod. Rub your aching cock over your pants because you can’t take it anymore either. The hitches of her breath and how fucking crazy she is—bouncing on your mouth like it’s just another sex toy, calling you all these names you’d never use to address her in a lifetime—it’s making you pent up.

“Then just take it, baby—” Yujin’s losing herself. Her knees cage your head. “Fuck, do it!”

She twitches and shivers until you’re sure you can’t take her pending release anymore. The flood she rains down is one you drink of until no drop is left. Feel for her silken walls to have more. You’re greedy. Even here, where she‘s on top of you and choking you with her heavenly thighs—you want Yujin all to yourself.

Yujin’s pleasured noises go from deep to whiny, whiny to needy. Your jaw feels sore at this point. You’ve been at it for an eternity. But, for the first time with Yujin, you don’t feel tired. Keep a cruel suction around her nub and finger her to keep those little sprinkles going. 

Your carpet catches her afterwards, a puff of breath leaving her lips. Yours are smudged by her. You can still feel her on them.

Perhaps you should say something to kill the loud silence. Crack a joke? Talk a little again? Then Yujin’s eyes train on you, and it’s all downhill from here. 

“Come on,” she says with a laugh. Her mouth’s pulled into an eerie grin. You didn’t know you’d be so terrified to see her happy. “You really think we’re over with this?”

You’re unconsciously backing away. “Yujin—”

She rises, and you’re again thinking of how tall she is. Yujin’s leg propped over your beating heart alone could stop everything. She could crush you, and she’ll do it, so help her god. 

She strips you of your jeans and underwear. The cold air hits you and you throb harder. You’re on your trusty old sofa again, which is now witness to Yujin stroking your tip. Her lithe finger, long and thin, curls around your cockhead and teases your slit. You’re dripping, and she is, too. It’s self-gratifying to her, the way she knows she has you—your heart; your brain; your dick—all of you. 

“Whose dick is this?” 

And she still needs to hear it.

You gulp. Her voice has dropped lower and her eyes… she’ll be the death of you. “I—I—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Yujin coaxes, nothing close to gently. Her grip is tight and she’s jerking you off hard, rough palm sliding over your sensitive skin and making you weak in the knees. “You can’t avoid me, unless you’re the property of that bitch Wonyoung now.”

Her nails scrape your cock, sending your teeth burying in your lip. The pleasure is as heavy as the pain. You’re twitching in her fist, whimpering, crying. You sound pathetic, and Yujin loves it.

“N-no. I’m yours, Yujin. Nobody else can have me.” 

Because you know the lives Yujin would ruin if anybody else owned you, the tears you’d cry if you weren’t hers. Pain is a hell of a drug that turns the hurt into pleasure. It’s messing with your head. It violates, skinning away your dignity and dreams, and you can’t get enough.

“Good,” she says. She tips your chin up. “‘Cause nobody can make you cum like I do.”

Her ego can’t get any bigger but it somehow does. You look up at her helplessly, while she proudly admires the purple she’s left on your neck. Her thighs lock your hips in place. There’s no getting out from Yujin.

She proves this further by sinking her core down on you. You let out a dual moan, seizing for the other and tensing up. Yujin’s center is set on a mission to choke your length. She’s so wet and hot and tight, and you already forgot how to deal with it.

“This cock,” Yujin emphasizes, “is all mine. Every drop of cum in these heavy balls are mine. You understand me?”

Her plump ass thunders on your lap as she rides you. You spread your hands on it in a silent urge for her to go faster. And she will. 

Her wetness is enough lubricant for her to sink all the way down to your base. Feel her lips spread to allow you inside, and how they hold onto you and never let go. You’re never completely out of Yujin. It’s always her fluttering walls accommodating your girth, sliding up and down. 

“Aw.” Yujin laughs, soft and nearly delicate. “It’s alright. Don’t talk. I know you haven’t had good pussy in a while. It’s too much for you, huh?”

False concern. All false fucking concern. Yujin doesn’t give a shit. She’ll keep riding you. The impact of her center taking you to the hilt, right up to her womb, and her thighs rippling rid whatever sleep you have in your eyes. It’s been a long night, but Yujin keeps you high and awake. You’re always waiting for what she has next. You can’t miss out.

Her fingernail lightly stimulates your nipple and you cry out. The heat spreads to your legs and arms. You’re trapped in tropical weather with her being the sun that shines and shines and shines.

“Fuck, Yujin—”

“Can’t take it?” She smirks. “You’re a fucking wimp, of course not.” 

Yujin pinches your nipple and reaches to you for a kiss. Her teeth knit on your lip and you guess you know if she meant it or not. It’s one of the few puzzles you can solve about her.

The sofa starts to creak, and you honest-to-god think you’ll have to pay for a new one. Yujin’s weight batters you down on the plush. Save the distraction of her tightness draining the life out of you, you would have told her to calm down. But Yujin’s anger is like that of a jealous god—she’ll flood the world and kill to keep you.

You got to start praying for Wonyoung. But what deity would listen to you? The goddess in front of you, who’s riding you to death and isn’t that convinced you could join her in paradise?

You’re whimpering again. She massages your shoulders, rubs down your arms and returns her touch to the base of your neck. Yujin could read your weaknesses like a magazine. She knows you’ll bow down for the squeeze of her cunt, the gush of feminine pleasure, and her lips on yours.

“Cute boy.” She looks at you the same way she would a camera flash, now that she’s all too used to being its favorite: with a sickening smile that leaves you in awe. She’s a performer for you, a ticketless transaction. “Can’t believe I’m so mean to you when you have a face like that. Not that you don’t deserve it.”

You were right all along. You’re just a pet to her. She’ll keep you around for entertainment, mostly because you’re adorable in her eyes, and scold you for the littlest things. She’ll do more than scold you. 

Like right now: she taunts you, the smile on her face growing, with her fingers on your collar twisting it around your neck like a dog’s. Her other hand sifts through your hair before seizing your scalp. She then uses the grip to ride you harder. You can physically feel your tip push against her cervix, forced to reach further. 

The pain isn’t all there is to it. Beating everything, Yujin remains slick and tight. You have to fight your hardest to pull out and return inside anyway. Her fluttering walls match the throb of your cock. You’re so deep in her, so big, that Yujin can’t have too little of you. 

That’s why she makes it a point that for every move she does—ride you, lick you, kiss you—she moans heavily. It makes all the soreness worth it. The wanton expression on her face casts a spell that lets you forget about the tears you saw on it earlier. All you remember and witness are the wideness of her eyes and her parted mouth. 

“Shit, oh shit, no…” You close your eyes. Why does her body have to feel so good? Her thighs are soft on your lap, her hands are teasingly slow, and you won’t ever forget about her cunt—so fucking hot and ready. “Please make me cum, Yujin, oh my god—”

You feel delirious. All the sanity you have is lost; Yujin feeds on it like a vampire using each sweep of her hips. She feels too good. Your head’s up in the clouds but you can’t breathe. Her pumps strangle you to get the sweet fill of your semen.

“Oh, sweetie.” Yujin stops to grind herself down on you. “I always do.”

It’s purely instinct, animalistic and wild, when you release all your second thoughts and lift her up. You pin her to the nearest wall. Her back curves off it anyway, but you push it back with your steady pumps. The sounds you’re gasping are pathetic, denying you the dominance you wish you had. Yujin’s just there taking it and laughing at your efforts. The choked mixture of a chuckle and a moan escapes her and you know you’re close.

She tilts your head up and constrains you to match her gaze. You can’t. She always wins this. It’s not fair that she has that body and takes the advantage to get you sweating and whining. You don’t have a dog in the game. Yujin never loses. She couldn’t even lose your love.

“You don’t deserve me,” she says after lifting her chin. It’s true, just not in the way you think. “But I’m still letting you cum inside. So make it count.”

You were going to cum anyway. Yujin’s sweaty form pressed on the wall looks too hot and her thighs are soft around your fists. Somehow, the egoistic expression she wears that tells you she’s not kidding ties the last knot in your stomach,

You pump her hard, thinking: oh Yujin, Yujin, Yujin. Does it really have to be this way? You, improving your strokes between her legs and chasing the approval of that stupid shit-eating grin on her face? You do all this with the knowledge you’ll never be enough for her, but she stays because you can’t let go of each other. Her repeated and pretty gasps will echo in your ears forever. The punches you took stay flashing back in her mind.

You stick to each other like glue, white as the cum that fills her.

Her nails sink into your skin. Rest your forehead in the crook of her neck to breathe. Her scent is hypnotizing, somehow making sweat and sex smell like flowers. Kind of similar to how it felt like a kiss when she hit you. 

“I love you.” 

A blink and a quiet. “Love you, too,” she says finally. 

Something isn’t right. The cogwheels aren’t in sync. “After everything that happened, everything you said,” you manage, “do you mean it?”

Pull away. Stickiness and sex aside, it’s difficult. Parting from her touch is traumatic. It takes you back to when you lost her and you don’t think you can ever allow her to be alone again. In your mind, you state a reminder: Yujin will leave you over your dead body.

She doesn’t say anything, only looking at you with misty eyes, but you think at that moment, you sound exactly like her.

#kpop smut #smut #kpop fanfic #fanfic #kpop fanfiction #fanfiction #kpop fic #fic #ive smut #izone smut #an yujin smut #ahn yujin smut #yujin smut #ive yujin smut #izone yujin smut #male reader #x reader #reader insert #kpop x reader #kpop x male reader #pov smut #kofimission #commission #iz days of christmas #iz days of christmas 2023 #iz days of christmas 2023 day 11 #Spotify

[rosyblooom]

losing ur interest | op81 smau

PAIRING: oscar piastri x fem best friend!reader WARNING(S): kinda angsty SUMMARY: oscar spent the better half of his teens and early twenties pining after his best friend, y/n, with no luck. however, by the time y/n finally sees him in a romantic light, his love is long gone.

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yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, lilymhe, and 91,740 others

yourusername did i jump in the water fully clothed for my bestie only to get one nice shot?? yes yes i did that and u would do it too for a free dinner! 😌

view all 1,225 comments

username she was an employee! and she was gonna get employee of the month period y/n !!!

yourusername yessir🫡 username 🤣🤣

username so... where is this picture you speak of🧍‍♀️

oscarpiastri 40 cad of food for 1 pic...😐

yourusername not my fault u're so unphotogenic x username oscar bby the public would like to see it pls 🤲🧎‍♀️

username prettyyyy

landonorris the camera guy always gets the short end of the stick smh guess who paid for my food🤨

yourusername uhm... so anyway the weather was soo nice😋 landonorris woow

oscarpiastri posted to his story!

[ caption: This picture alone is NOT worth a fully paid meal! 2/10 ]

[ tagged: yourusername ]

oscarpiastri

liked by logansargeant, yourfriend, landonorris and 265,880 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri Two best friends in a room, they might...

view all 3,002 comments

username KISS OMG THEY MIGHT FUCKING KISS YESS PLS😭

oscarpiastri 👀👀👀 yourusername ahahahahahaha😂 username ouch...my heart hurts for osc🥹💔 username alright y/n it ain't that funny😐

username AHHJKSH they're so cute omfg

username slowly realising best friends to lovers ain't ever gonna happen with these two😩

landonorris finally give photo credits???🤨

username oop yourusername never 😙❤️

username the way y/n didn't even like the post omg crying and fucking throwing up

username 😭😭 username sigh... nobody talk to me rn 😞

f1gossipofficial

liked by username, username, username and 11,840 others

f1gossipofficial Y/N L/N, Oscar Piastri's long-time childhood best friend, was spotted entering the paddock today! Despite being a fan favourite, she hasn't attended many races and tends to keep to herself.

Nevertheless, fans are thrilled to see Y/N supporting Piastri at this year's Australian Grand Prix!

Best of luck to all drivers today!

view all 531 comments

username y/n on insta: 🤪😆🗣️ y/n at a gp: 🤐😊🙈

username LMAOO ...why is this me tho🥲 username she's so real for that lololol username ntm on my girl now, she's just shy🤣🫶

username it's so clear oscar's in love with her omg

username she's not tho☹️

username imagine if oscar wins today👀👀

username she looks so prettyyyyy <3

username ew she's just there for the money and fame🤢

username "long-term childhood best friend" what's not clicking??? yall just be saying anything smh

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: alright boys, time to get on ur zoom 🏎️ ]

[ tagged: oscarpiastri, landonorris ]

Twitter

Instagram

oscarpiastri posted to his story!

[ caption 1: When your best friend buys you pizza to make you feel better after a crash 😊 ] [ caption 2: Nevermind she dropped it 🤦‍♂️ Actually feeling worse now! ]

[ tagged: yourusername ]

A few months later...

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yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: the best type of mattress 😌 ]

[ tagged: oscarpiastri ]

ynfanpage

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tagged: yourusername, oscarpiastri

ynfanpage guys have you noticed how giddy and touchy y/n's become around oscar ever since his crash at the aus gp??? these are some pics she's posted since then👀👀👀

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username OMG YES IVE BEEN DYING TO TALK ABOUT IT

username what do you wanna bet she realised she was in love with osc that day??🥺

username IMAGINE. that would actually make so much sense!!! best friend to lovers at last omfg 😍🫶 username my nonna always said "sometimes u have to almost lose someone to realise how much they really mean to u"🥹

username Y/N IS IN THE FUCKING LIKES WTF‼️

username probably by accident🥲 username BUT WHAT IF IT'S NOT AN ACCIDENT??? maybe we'll get a hard launch soon omgg

username they're sooo dating lol

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, lilyzneimer, logansargeant and 201,888 others

tagged: yourusername, lilyzneimer + more

oscarpiastri Made some new friends at the beach today :)

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username the vibes in these are immaculate🤩

yourusername same time, same place? :)❤️

landonorris where was my invite???

oscarpiastri Non-existent 😊 username lmaoo why are they like this🤣🤣

username is that y/n and osc in the third pic??🧐

username idk but lmk when u figure it out babes

lilyzneimer super fun! nice meeting you guys 💛

oscarpiastri You too 😆

username idk oscar responding to everybody but y/n's comment rubs me the wrong way...🤨

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lilyzneimer posted to her story!

[ caption: 🍝💛💛 ]

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yourusername

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yourusername beach x (ty lovely waiter for taking my pic for me)

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lilymhe prettiest! 💕

yourusername youuu <33

username where's oscarrrr

username she's so fake😒 how is she super shy at the gp and then so outgoing here smh??

username lmao maybe bc this is her own insta?? like duh she feels comfortable on her own page wtf

landonorris alone?🤨 where's your shadow

yourusername u're so...😭 username LMAOO referring to oscar as her shadow is crazy??💀💀 username i'm cryin🤣🤣

oscarpiastri posted to his story!

[ caption: 😊❤️ ]

[ tagged: lilyzneimer ]

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yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: girls night in? yes, yes pls :) ]

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0:02 ㅇ──────────── 3:17

no part 2!

#f1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 #f1 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #op81 #op81 x reader #op81 imagine #f1 imagine #op81 x you #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri x female reader #oscar piastri fanfic #smau #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri imagine #f1 instagram au #fanfic #f1 fic #oscar x reader #op81 fic #f1 scenario #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #oscar piastri one shot #formula 1 x you #oscar piastri x you #f1 fiction

[babygorewhore]

Bite me!

Rafe Cameron x fem reader

When Rafe sees you after picking up Wheezie, he decides that he wants to win you over. Your intoxicating presence hypnotizing him despite your mysterious existence. And Rafe can never back down from a challenge.

W. C almost 3k! Part two

Warnings! News reports of violence! Daddy kink! Male masturbation! Spitting! Biting! Fingering! Non graphic mentions of blood! Unprotected sex! Breeding kink! Light choking! Hints of a sequel…👀 dividers by @xxbimbobunnyxx and thank you for always being my sexy beta reader!

Rafe seeing you, a mysterious girl walking around with his sister wheezie after he was picking her up from school immediately caught his interest on a Wednesday afternoon. You wore dark clothes, knee socks and heels despite everyone else wearing sandals and sneakers. You were stunning-no beautiful. He couldn’t keep his eyes off your magnetic smile and whip of your hair as you confidently smiled at him as Wheezie approached him. Her backpack slung over her shoulder and she gave him a knowing look.

“Seriously? She’d never go for you.” She crossed her arms as she climbed into the passenger seat and buckled herself. Rafe cast her a glare and started the car.

“What’s her name?” She tells him and he nods, savoring the way it sounds. “Pretty. How old is she? Does she work here?”

“I’m not a matchmaker, asshole.” She snaps and he rolls his eyes as he drives home.

“Just tell me.”

“Fine. She’s your age. In her twenties. Yes she works here. She’s a teacher's assistant. And she’s really cool. Kinda quiet but she’s not shy. I like her. She keeps the students in line but she’s fun! She has some crazy stories.”

“Crazy stories?” Rafe muses as they near the house.

“Yeah. She likes to go to graveyards and collect things. She said her favorite time is nighttime and she travels to places around the island for vintage jewelry and furniture.”

Rafe’s mind immediately searched for ideas on ways to get your attention with this information as he parked in the driveway, Wheezie was already half out of the car when he exclaimed, “Wait!” But she was jogging to the front door, ready to pull out the keys for the lock when he caught up.

“I still want to know more,” She lightly slapped his chest as they entered the house.

“Rafe, find her yourself and talk to her. Stop being weird or I’ll tell her you’ve been asking.” Rafe growled softly as she walked away but he knew she’d make good on her threat.

Rafe decided to take his little sister's advice and find you. He went on his phone and typed your name, searching until he found your instagram and he leaned back in his chair in his bedroom as he scrolled through your pictures. Wheezie was right. You did have a collection of unique photos. Including a collection of…vials? He narrowed his eyes but he couldn’t tell what the contents were inside the bottles. You had an array of rings. Expensive ones. But what caught his attention the most was your smile. When you grinned, your teeth looked sharp. Rafe must have been imagining things, too distracted by how fucking pretty you were.

As luck would have it, you posted on your story and he shamelessly clicked on it within seconds. You were at a local coffee shop, which happened to be only a few minutes away and he quickly got up.

When he arrived, he searched for you, finding you reading alone in the corner of the building. Away from the sunlight as you twirled your ring on your finger. You didn’t look up immediately as Rafe neared you, smoothing down his shirt.

“Hey. You’re…?” He spoke your name, causing you to look up with a quirk of your brow.

“Yes?” He swallowed at the sound of your voice. It was low with a hint of a rasp. He set his shoulders and turned on his charm, something that always worked.

“Can I sit down?” He asked and you made a noise of contemplation before nodding.

“Sure, Rafe.”

“Of course, you know who I am,” Rafe chuckled as he sat across from you. You lean back in your seat and cross your legs.

“Well, duh. I mean you’re The infamous Rafe Cameron. Your sister talks about you a lot. About how much of an asshole you are,” You smirk at him and he rolls his eyes but you continue. “But…she does love you. You must be doing something right.”

Rafe paused at the compliment. “Yeah? You think so? You have a lot of opinions.”

“So?” You challenge and Rafe holds up his hands.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, princess. Don’t bite my head off,” He chuckles and notices the way your eyes briefly darken at the statement before it disappears. “Are you…new around here? I’ve never seen you before.”

“Sort of. I moved here a few months ago. Needed a fresh start.”

Rafe tilts his head at your answer. “Where are you from?”

“Salem.” You give him a smile and he hums.

“A little bit of a culture shock, huh? Going from doom and gloom to the beach. You don’t exactly fit in.” He shrugs and half expects you to glare at him but you instead laugh.

“Ha, that is true, Rafe. You’re asking a lot of questions. You like me or something?” Your bold question takes him off guard for a second before he decides to answer honestly.

“Yeah, I do. You interest me. You wanna go somewhere? I can get to know you a little better-“

“Who said I was interested back?” You toss at him but Rafe smirks.

“You wouldn’t talk to me if you weren’t, baby. Come on. Give me a chance. Let me win you over. Name it and I’ll do it.”

“Oh, someone’s playing a dangerous game.” You remark but you lean your elbows on the table. “But I’ll play along. How about a party?” You offer.

“A party? That’s it?”

“Not so fast. Not like one of those bullshit things you probably used to throw. A real party. One where we dress up. Where it’s dark. Good music. Good drinks. Sophisticated. I’m a woman of class, you know.”

“For you?” Rafe leans forward and inhales the scent of your perfume. The intoxicating smell lingers in his nose and he sighs. “Anything. Be at my house tomorrow at eight. It’ll be the night of your life.”

Rafe invited a list of people over at his house for that evening the next day, including Barry who was interested in seeing a girl actually out smart him with remarks as he hung up the phone and focused on the tv in his bedroom.

Reports of five people being in the hospital after being attacked by some mysterious animal who drained them of blood. Not that far away from his penthouse. He had half a mind to pull Wheezie from school but decided ultimately she would be safer in a group of people.

As the day progressed and he got the house ready, Rafe waited for you to arrive as his friends did. He didn’t invite many. Prioritizing people who would give him plenty of privacy and entertain themselves.

Where were you? He looked at his watch. It was twenty minutes later and he was getting anxious. Fuck, did you bail?

“Boo.” He heard a whisper in his ear and he spun around in shock.

You stood behind him with a wide smile but he immediately noticed your clothing. You were wearing a dress that fit your curves perfectly. Heels that highlighted your legs, jewelry that dangled from your ankles, wrists and hung above your heart. You still wore expensive rings and your nails were painted black. Your lipstick was red. Rafe breathed in deeply before trying to grasp whatever semblance of calm as he stepped close to you. And you didn’t back away.

“Mmm, you look fucking amazing, baby. Thought you weren’t going to show.”

“I’m a woman of my word, Rafe Cameron. I was exploring.” You flashed your eyes wide for a second before setting a hand on his chest. And he shivered from your cold temperature. “And damn. What a house. But what I noticed was in your entertainment room. It’s like you know me or something.” You chuckle and Rafe raises his eyebrow in confusion.

“It looks like you have a dance floor.” You crossed your arms, your hips shifting inside the material of your dress. “And I love to dance.”

“Is that right?” Rafe mused and you nodded. You reached forward and took his hand. He looked down at your laced fingers as he felt the chill raise on his own skin from the contact. “Well, why don’t you go ahead and show me, baby girl. Show me how good you are.”

You both walked to the entertainment room and he noticed the way the dim lighting illuminated how beautiful you were. You were so elegant. You walked as if you owned everything in this world and he loved that. He loved the way you marched forward but he also took in the way you watched the guests. Your eyes narrowed on their throats before they shifted back to the direction you were both heading towards.

You gently pushed Rafe down on the couch, the pillows shifting from his weight. The room was empty and you smirked at him. He went to sit up but you pin him in place by placing your heeled shoe against his chest. You shake your head and click your tongue. “No, no. You sit there. And enjoy the show. But while you’re being a good boy and listening…you can hold onto these.” Rafe breathed heavily as you gently touched your own leg that was propped up. Your palm slowly grazed your skin, moving up until you hooked your fingers along the elastic of your underwear.

You removed your shoe off him and wiggled your panties off. Stepping out of them, you dangle the soaked pair in front of him. “These are my favorite pair, daddy. But you’ll take care of them, right?”

He was rendered speechless for a second before he snapped out of it and snatched them out of your hand, causing you to laugh. He held them against his lap as you took steps back. You walked to the speaker, picked up the remote and went through a series of options before selecting a song. It was a rock song. One he recognized from social media. Living Dead Girl was the name.

You lower yourself to the ground, getting on your knees in the middle of the floor, you separate your thighs and roll your body. You take your time, running your hands all over your torso before they settle on your tits, you squeeze them lightly as you start bouncing.

Your ass moves as you crawl forward, shifting your body around so you're slowly dancing to the rhythm of the beat and Rafe felt like he was losing his mind. His cock was so hard it hurt and he was desperate for any sort of relief. He eyed your pair of panties and finally decided to use them.

He unbuckled his belt and moved down his pants, his dick stiff against his boxers as he pulled it out, it slapped against his thigh and he wrapped the lace material around it.

He gasped as he ran his hand along his shaft, your underwear clutched in his fist as he watched you start to suck your fingers, laying on the ground as you spread your legs, your fingers brushing against your bare pussy that was exposed as it glistened in the light and he moaned deeply as he tugged at himself.

“Fuck,” He huffed out. He wanted to touch you. So badly but he also didn’t want to interrupt your performance as you slapped your cunt before putting your fingers back in your mouth.

He was getting close already as he harshly jerked himself off, your underwear dampening as precum leaked out as his stomach flexed, his head falling back against the cushion. You looked like a fucking dream as you slowly stood up, continuing to dance to the music as your shoes clacked against the wood floor.

He hadn’t realized his eyes drifted shut when he felt a light tap against his cheek, snapping him out of his trance. You were leaning over him, both hands on either side of his head. Your chest right above his face. “Cum for me, daddy. Make a mess like the dirty whore you are.”

That sent him over the edge and he spilled into your panties. His release coating them as he trembled and he felt your smaller hand wrap around his cock before sliding to his balls and you massaged them. His vision went white as you pumped him through it before you gripped his chin and swiped your thumb along his lower lip. “Open.” You order and he does.

You move above his mouth and spit inside causing him to growl and pull you forward. He maneuvered you on your hands and knees on the large sofa, giving your ass a slap and causing you to whine as he yanks your dress up. He groaned at your sticky inner thighs and he ran his finger along them before focusing on your clit, causing you to buckle but he wrapped his other hand in your hair. “Uh uh, you can fucking take it, princess.”

He rubs circles on your center and you mewl as he pulls your hair harder, feeling you drip onto his fingers and he slides two of them inside your cunt, curling them deeply. “That’s a good girl. Squeezing me so fucking tight. But I think you need something to suck on while I fuck you.” He shoves your panties past your lips as he works you over, making you grind onto his hand.

Rafe runs the tip of his dick along your slit, tapping it a few times before effortlessly pushing it inside. He moans and rests his head briefly on your back, holding you up by moving his head to grip around your neck. “Such a greedy little slut,” He breathes and thrusts hard. “You fucking feel that? I’m gonna breed this tight pussy and you’re fucking mine.” He grits his teeth as he snaps his hips into you.

Your hands grip the arm of the couch as he pulls out before slamming back in, causing you to sob against your underwear in your mouth, his cum and your spit mixing in the corners of your lips as you nod your head, encouraging him to keep going.

The music began repeating, stirring him onward as you clenched around him and he smacked your ass again, feeling you grow closer. “Gonna cum, baby girl? Cum all over daddy’s cock like the good fucking whore you are.”

That’s all it took for him to feel your warm wet cunt pulse before you came all over his dick, you shuddered and cried out as he thrusted a few more times before reaching his own climax.

Ropes of cum coating your insides and he shook before catching you. His balls slapped against your ass as he pulled out of your cunt that leaked on the couch. “Fuck, baby. I think you should lick that clean, don’t you? You’re a dirty girl.” He shoves your face down and removes your panties. Your tongue laps up your own cum as he bobs your head up and down. “You listen to daddy so well,” he praises.

But at a sudden turn of events, you turn and pin him down by his shoulders and straddle his lap. You sink down on his cock again, causing his eyes to widen and pleasure to rise in his veins as you bury your head in his neck. You pepper kisses along his skin as he grips your hips and guides you through riding him.

Your wet pussy takes him to the brim and he groans against your shoulder. He feels your teeth graze his flesh before he feels a prick of pain but it quickly disappears as you wrap a hand around his throat. Keeping him in place as you rock your pelvis.

“Fucking Christ,” he manages and reaches his orgasm again, his cock twitching before his cum gushes inside you. But you still don’t remove your face from the crook of his neck and he’s all too content to allow you to fuck him however long you want as his eyes drift close.

He jerked awake and sat up straight. Minutes had gone by and he looked around. He saw you adjusting your dress, wiping your lips as a trail of red droplets dribbled down your mouth and he tilted his head, subconsciously reaching up to cup his neck.

He felt two punctures that were wet and he pulled his hand back. Rafe dug his phone out, pulling out the camera and he saw it.

A bite mark.

Everything snapped into place as he stared at you, slowly putting his phone down as you turned towards him. “Are you-did you fucking bite me and drink my…blood?”

Instead of denying it, you gave him a wicked smirk. “But you’ll keep that to yourself, daddy. Won’t you?”

Rafe remembered the news report earlier that day. People were drained of blood and how mysterious you were.

You were a fucking vampire.

“But how is that possible?” He whispered.

“Darling, you have no idea what kind of creatures are out there. You’re lucky I like you, Rafe. But I have to go. You certainly held up your end of the game didn’t you?” You giggle and begin walking away.

“Will I see you again?” He questioned and made you turn your head.

“And why would I forget someone who tastes so fucking good, baby?” You wink at him before finally exiting the room and Rafe sank into the seat.

“What the fuck?” He whispered to himself but didn’t couldn’t deny himself the truth.

This was the night of his life.

Tagging @marchsfreakshow @drewstarkeyslut @redhead1180 @rafescurtainbangz @emsgoodthinkin @take-everything-you-can @valeskafics @slvt4jamesmarch @gri959 @oceandriveab @rafesthroatbaby

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x smut #Rafe Cameron smut #outer banks #outerbanks #outer banks smut #outer banks fanfiction #obx #obx fic #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #obx x reader #rafe obx #obx smut #rafe #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe x you #rafe smut #outerbanks rafe #rafe fanfiction #Rafe Cameron x vampire!reader

[vivwritesfics]

Better Than He Ever Was - MV1

This gif makes me feral - I am on my KNEES

Y/N is pregnant and Max is sweating

Related works: Mini Me Prodigy

When Y/N Verstappen found out she was pregnant with Fabian, Max was terrified. He was utterly, utterly terrified.

He played it well, cheering and happy smiles when Y/N showed him the pregnancy test. To everybody on the outside, he was the overjoyed father to be, talking about Y/N and their baby on the way any chance he got.

There were very few people who saw beneath the facade Max was putting on. The first was Christian Horner, who himself was like a father to Max. The next was Charles Leclerc, who was way too excited at rhe prospect of being an uncle that he forgot he wouldn't actually be related to the baby.

Both said the same thing: that Max should talk to Y/N about it.

But where was he to begin? How did he tell her, after seeing how happy she was, that he wasn't ready to have a baby.

When she started showing? Oh boy.

It was never something Y/N wanted to keep hidden. As soon as she had all the tests she had taken come back positive, she posted something to all of her social media's. Max did, too, playing his part well.

Y/N didn't wear baggy clothes to hide her bump; she showed it off with pride. At every single grand prix she'd be standing beside her husband, hand over her stomach and the press took pictures of them.

Most husbands, when their wife's baby bump began showing, would be over the moon. But when Y/N started showing, it just made Max more fearful.

Y/Ns very first proper indication of the was when they were discussing baby names.

Any moment she got, Y/N was writing down potential names. She had at least twenty of each.

"How do you like Felix?" Y/N asked him as they watched a movie together. Max had been sim racing all day; this was the first proper moment she'd had to spend with him. "Or Daniel?"

"Daniel can be the middle name if it's a boy," Max said as he fed her a Malteaser.

Y/N moved over to her list of girls names. "If it's a girl, I liked Mila. Thought Mila Verstappen had a really nice ring to it."

Max just hummed.

It was two weeks after that Y/N finally sat him down.

"What's going on with you?" She asked, her hand resting on her bump. That morning her snack of choice had been stroopwafels, and she'd accidentally finished the entire box (but who could blame her? They're addictive).

"What do you mean?" Asked Max as he lifted the box to see what he was inside. Nothing, empty. He made a mental note to buy more.

A terrible, horrible feeling settled in Y/Ns stomach. "Please, Maxie," she placed her hand over his, rubbing her thumb over his wrist. "Tell me what's going on. I'm begging you!"

Max let out a huff. He hated himself. "I love you," he said, which definitely wasn't concerning. "I love you so much and I know how excited you are to have our baby, but I don't know if I can do it."

Her heart was beating so loud she was sure Max could hear it. "Wha-what are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that I'm so fucking scared, Y/N. I'm terrified of being a dad. What if I raise our child like my dad raised me and the kid ends up like me? I'd never be able to forgive myself if that happened."

Oh. This wasn't a dire as Y/N thought it was. This was something she could deal with. "Come here," she said softly and tried to pull his chair closer. Max shuffled over. He let Y/N wrap her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. "Do you remember last summer, when we went on holiday with my sister and her kids? Do you remember how they loved you so much that they wouldn't leave you alone?"

They'd rented out a villa. Max and Y/N had just come back from their honeymoon when Y/N's sister had invited them away.

As soon as they had their things unpacked, the kids grabbed their uncle Max's hands and dragged him into the pool. "Let's race!" The oldest shouted. Max was more than happy to oblige. He raced them to the other side of the pool and back, letting them win, of course.

When Y/N and his sister started on lunch, Max was blowing up the inflatable pool toys and looking after the baby. He was a natural with all three of them. Y/N watched them out of the window as she buttered the bread and passed it to her sister. That was when she realised how wonderful of a father Max was going to be. That was when she realised she wanted to have his children.

By the end of the holiday, the children were obsessed with him. According to Y/N's sister they didn't stop talking about him until at least two weeks after the holiday.

Max nodded his head. At first he'd been secretly reluctant to entertain the kids. But he loved it, and he actually found it fun. Of course, it wouldn't be the same when it was his own child.

"You're going to be an amazing father, Max. You're so kind and caring and kids love you. Plus, you're aware of how shitty your dad was to you, you know what you have to differently," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "I'll be there with you every step of the way," Y/N whispered and kissed the top of her head.

Max was still terrified, but he was trying not to be. But Y/N saw him change. He really did become that cheering and happy father he was pretending to be at the start.

Aside from Formula One, Max's life became getting Y/N whatever she and the baby were craving. Stroopwafels, mostly.

They discussed names more when Max became more comfortable. He was a big fan of Nora. Nora Sophie Verstappen. It had a very nice ring to it, Max thought. Little baby Nora.

They'd struggled to settle on a name for a boy. After Max had suggested his mothers name for the baby's middle name, Y/N was afraid Jos' name was going to be thrown into the mix. Not after all of Max's fears and anxiety. They'd decided Hugo, Hugo Verstappen was to be his name.

If it was up to Y/N, Jos wouldn't be in the child's life. But, of course, it wasn't just up to her. It was a decision she and Max had to make together.

When they found out they were having a little boy, Y/N and Max were over the moon. They decorated the nursery, painting the walls to be like a Formula One track. The bottom third was all grass, the middle was the track and the rest was blue skies with fluffy clouds.

The track went all the way around the room, with little race cars painted onto the track. There was a little Red Bull with a 33 on it, and a little Ferrari with a 16. It was a friend who painted it for them, going into intricate details for the cars and garages.

And then Y/N went into labour.

All of those fears Max had managed to get past came flooding back. His wife was about to give birth to his little boy.

Max wasn't much help through the delivery. Actually, through most of it he wasn't allowed in the delivery room, since he was panicking too much.

He wasn't a Hugo. That was what Y/N and Max decided the moment he was born. He was a Fabian. Fabian Hugo Verstappen. He was the most gorgeous little boy in the world. That was all Max could think as he stared at him, cradles in his wife's arms.

His son. His boy.

"Welcome to the world, Fabian Hugo Verstappen."

#max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x reader smut #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fluff #mv1 #mv1 imagine #mv1 x reader #mv1 smut #mv1 x reader smut #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader

[cherry-leclerc]

20/90 ☆ cl16

genre: humor, smut, angst, jealous!charles, post-break up, toxic ex trope, on & off

word count: 2k

After a painful break-up, you and Charles find yourselves taking part in what seems to be a never ending cycle. But there are rules that apply.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...car sex, riding, wrap it before you tap it!

req!...two in a day?? you guys are spoiledddd

It takes about twenty days to break a habit, give or take. There’s proof; like the time you scolded yourself into not biting your nails anymore, horrified with the idea of getting engaged with monstrous hands. Or when you swore you would never drink again after Singapore.

But it takes ninety to make a permanent change.

It was a mutual decision, it was the most mature one, really, too. He was getting more and more busy; higher demand. You were drowning with homework, and senior thesis, it was long overdue. Yet it still broke your heart just the same. We can try again in the future, he tries to reason when you sob against his chest, linen shirt growing damp, but never once thinks about pulling away. 

There is no future if there’s no you, you whimper. You feel stupid, desperate, and disgusting. It was not a lovely mix, but it was true. How could you move on when he was all you’ve ever wanted?

And there’s no present without you.

That was thirteen days ago, to be exact. Life was not better, but bearable to say the least. Often, you would find yourself stalking him on social media, unbeknownst that he did the same. You finally got your bachelor's you had worked your ass off for. He finally came to a renewal on his Ferrari contract. Life should be good.

Instead, you find yourself slumping against the cold wall, eyes squinting at the harsh sun. You’re well aware you’re panting like a beast, and sweat trickles down your face like a water faucet, but you couldn't care any less. Running was definitely not for the weak. 

Abandonner si tôt?

Directing your attention to a deep voice, your heart stops before excitedly pumping against your chest. You can feel it in your ribcage. It should be a crime how handsome he still is, the more he gets day by day. W-what are you doing here? 

His green eyes flicker against the rocks. Oh, you know. 

Are you here for me? You want to foolishly ask, but bite down instead. I thought you were already in Bahrain. 

Keeping tabs on me? 

Flustered, you narrow your eyes, feigning a normal state. We dated for five years. I know your schedule by heart. His soft features register a wave of shock, nervous fingers gripping his phone.

It was good seeing you. And he leaves.

It shouldn’t hurt so much, but it does. It feels as if you’ve scraped your knee, hit your heart, got punched square in the face, and got run over by a school bus. Infinite times. And he seems A-OK. It's against your better judgment to follow after him, to yell at him out of spite for no apparent reason. But you were not the same girl he used to know.

“Oh fuck,” Charles groans as you ride him hastily, headboard banging against the wall as he keeps a steady hold on your hip, where a path of fresh bruises lie. He almost laughs if it weren’t for you rolling your hips tentatively. He quirks a brow when you shake your head and finish around his thick girth, leaving him no choice but to follow along with a low shudder. 

“What have I done?” you whisper, delicate hands coming up to cover up your bare breasts. “Oh my God…”

“Ah,” he hums. “What a delightful thing to hear.”

Scurrying off his lap, you grab your wrinkled clothes, inching towards the exit as you wag your finger. “This –that– could never happen ever again. Capeesh?” 

Charles tries his best to hide his hurt, braving through with a nonchalant smile. “Never again.”

-

You’re eight days in when he texts you. Something about needing someone to talk to. You might have broken up, but who said you couldn’t remain friendly acquaintances? He demands you meet at your spot, and it's a slap in the face but find yourself there nonetheless. He rambles on and on about his ongoing stress, and the neverending pressure. You knew it got bad, but you never thought this much. 

“My PR manager is debating on whether I should date someone for the sake of increasing views. More attention.” 

Your jaw goes slack. “You called me for this?” Rushing up to your full height, you brush off a gust of dirt, struggling to not roll into a coughing fit. “What makes you think this is something I want to hear?”

The Monegasque’s face pinches up like a clam. “I thought you should know.”

You scoff. “Right…” He watches as you scarily pace the open field with a blank expression. It saddens him how suddenly he doesn’t know how to read you. “You’re a fucking coward.”

And you leave.

-

He follows through with it because there’s really no other choice. She’s nice, but not kind like you. She’s pretty, but not breathtaking like you. You get the gist. 

Her touch is unfamiliar and cold, forced. Abnormal. Her father is some kind of wealthy man who invests in prestigious hotels in his home country and is looking to make some more money as if what he doesn’t have is enough to serve him a lifetime. Sometimes, Charles feels for her. She probably wanted this the same amount as he did. 

Behind a screen, you live through all of it. Your friend nicknamed you as Bella-From-Twilight-When-Edward-Goes-Away. Only Edward comes back. Charles never did. But it's now been seventeen days. And you curse the day you run out of your favorite ice cream.

“Why am I always bumping into you?” you huff when you spot the brunette. He rolls his eyes. I’m the famous one here. I don’t need to follow anyone, unlike you. Where his cold tone finally blossomed from –you don’t know– but you didn’t like it at all. Purposefully hitting your cart against his own, you stroll off. “Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Superstar.”

Comedically, you both find yourself glaring as you check out from adjacent sides, a silent competition on who can get out of there the fastest. You came here just for that, he mouths from afar as your burn bright pink, gaze flickering towards your strawberry ice cream. You flip him off, but giggle apologetically when the cashier assumes it’s aimed towards her. 

Charles wants to chuckle in amusement but would rather eat his own foot than admit to that. Have a good day, you can hear his clerk tell him at the same time yours does too. Flinging your arm into the hoop on your tote bag, you run off as he races you with a full cart of groceries. There’s a curve you hit as you manage to squeeze through and smile back at your ex, somehow satisfied. Amidst skip, you feel a harsh push as you fling forward, falling onto your knees as a little boy winces, licks his lollipop, and walks away. 

Blood trickles down your knees as you fiercely turn back to look at a regretful loser. “Is it really that deep?” you spit out, ears turning bright red from your reasonable anger. He tries to help you up but that only receives him a slap in the face. “Great. I look like I just got my period. Unbelievable.” 

“You just hit me,” he speaks in disbelief.

“You just pushed me,” you retort pointing at your injury, flesh being creepily visible. “On purpose, I might add.”

The Monegasque scoffs, gently massaging his aching face, dark brows pointed at you like knives. “You’re one crazy fucking girl…”

“Thanks, I get that a lot.”

It's all a fateful haze, the way you end up in his car. You suppose it starts the moment he presses on helping you unload your groceries, as some sick apology. But it’s only my ice cream. But he sheepishly shrugs. Now blood paints his driver's seat as you sit on top of him, and occasional grunts overflow due to his red cheek. “I can’t have sex with you,” you mumble against his swollen lips, chest heaving as your tinted windows begin to fog up. It was still early, but you didn’t care. 

“And I shouldn’t want to have sex with you, and yet.” 

“Yeah,” you pant, kisses steaming up. “Okay then.”

Shame lingers on your drive back home, and grows even deeper when you realize your strawberry treat has melted.

-

You would never take yourself as a self-driven person; not like most people. It was only one of your many flaws, but in this very moment, bent over the kitchen counter, you promise to become one.

“I can’t keep going back to him,” you groan over the phone as Lily attentively listens to what she considers gossip, and you consider a mid-life crisis. “We broke up months ago, why do I keep doing this to myself?”

“Perhaps because two still care for one another.” And because you know you still love him, and he loves you, she wants to add but stops herself when you glare coldly. 

“I am so over him, are you kidding? I’ve never been better. In fact, I’m going out tonight. First man I see boom! Fuck him. Just like that.” You click your fingers magically for emphasis. 

Lily’s face drops as her eyes zigzag towards something behind her screen. Before she can try to talk you out of it, you hang up. She’s obviously joking, the Chinese girl stutters when Charles freezes, midway from hanging Alex a pair of joggers, since he had forgotten his own. The green-eyed boy forces a dark smile, tipping his head and heading out without a goodbye. 

“I should probably warn her.”

You weren’t picking up–you weren’t going to. It was starting to hit you how stupid this all was and you did not need your friends erasing the last bits of determination you had within you. Beaming at a group of guys, you can’t help but flutter your eyes as they quietly fight over who gets to have the first move. Dibs, if you must. Swallowing the last bit of your awful drink, you start making your way over before a warm hand grips your wrist. “No. I’m not doing this again.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “And you’re not doing that either, we’re leaving.” It takes a lot of mental strength to not kick him in the shin and run off, but you can’t help but slap him once again as soon as he drags you out into the alleyway. A habit you’ve picked up, I see, he growls.

“Why are you still doing this?” you whimper, glassy eyes looking up in complete defeat. “You broke up with me. I agreed. We’re supposed to be moving on from one another. Why can’t you at least try to let me go?”

It’s a punch to the gut, the sound of your raw voice, broken and weak. He takes a clumsy step back, chest tightening from the tense situation he has wheezed himself into. “Believe me, I’m trying but I just can’t…”

Your nose is runny, mascara coats you like a baby racoon, cheekbones are splotchy as if you’ve just been hit, and you were still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Which is part of the reason why he can’t walk away from everything you've been through. 

“Well you’re not going to try, but I am. For real this time.”

-

It’s been ninety-two days, a lot, but not enough at the same time. But there was a piece of you that knew you weren’t missing him as much. So, maybe–it was. Enough, you suppose. It still hurts a tiny bit sometimes, watching him pose with fake smiles, or maybe they’re genuine, you can’t really tell the difference anymore. The way his eyes learned to sparkle for her over time. Fake can become real, it appears. But you being yearnful didn’t mean you weren’t moving on for your own sake. This was good, a new start. The kind you now looked forward to.

And it only took ninety-two fucking days.

taglist: @urfavnoirette @lpab @d3kstar @namgification @myownwritings

*feel free to let me know if you would like to be included in the general taglist!!

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #formula 1 #scuderia ferrari #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #charles leclerc x female oc #charles leclerc x female reader #formula one

[gimmethatagustd]

wanna stream a porno | kth

At this point, attempting to deny that you have feelings for Taehyung is laughable. Even his subscribers can sense the chemistry between the two of you.

○ Pairing: Dom!Taehyung x Sub!Reader

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Frenemies to lovers, sex work, fluff (?), smut

○ Word Count: 4,846

○ Warnings: Sex work (cam), MC uses they/them pronouns, Tae refers to MC as bunny and bun - aka rope bunny which is the term for the person being tied up in a shibari scene, bdsm, bondage, impact play, spanking, use of degrading language - that isn't actually meant to be mean, voyeurism, exhibition kink, Tae makes MC call him daddy so they won't dox him lmfao but it's not a kink - he's doing it as a joke to tease MC, blow job, vaginal fingering, sex toys, crying during sex, subspace/dropping, unprotected vaginal sex, forced orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, implied aftercare

○ Notes: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, BESTIES 🫦 I hope you enjoy the final installment of The Wannabe-Photographer Chronicles! Photographer Tae will be missed 💔 I definitely did not proofread this, so abandon all hope, ye who enter! My brain is literally broken.

○ Post Date: February 14, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Crosspost

○ What was Jai listening to? One Of The Girls (Sped Up) - The Weeknd, JENNIE, Lily-Rose Depp

The Wannabe-Photographer Chronicles (mini-series) Masterlist

“Too tight?” Taehyung murmurs against the curve of your ear, his breath tickling your neck. 

It’s embarrassing how your body reacts to the sound of his low, velvety voice. You'd snorted when Taehyung first told you that people on the internet paid money to listen to his dirty talk and watch him jerk off. There was no fucking way; he had to be lying. You’d been sure of it. 

But now… 

Taehyung reaches around your body and tugs on the rope he’s just tied your wrists with. It looks rough, black, and twisted but smooth as it rubs against your skin when you move. 

You shiver and shake your head, forgetting what you’d discussed earlier in the day until it’s too late. The smack to your ass stings, and you bite your bottom lip to keep from making any sound. 

“What did I tell you, bun?” Taehyung asks softly, running his palm across the skin he just smacked. He squeezes your asscheek and jiggles it before removing his hand. 

“I have to use my words,” you speak up like he told you to, even though your voice is hoarse with desire and nervousness. Because, fuck, are you nervous. 

“Mhmm…” Taehyung hums in agreement, though he sounds distracted. 

You can’t see him from where you kneel on the floor in his bedroom, but you can feel it when he gets up. If you wanted to, you could twist around to face him. It would be difficult, though, with how much of your body is tied up. 

Taehyung spent at least twenty minutes carefully weaving intricate patterns against your naked skin, crossing the rope in what almost looks like a star formation across your back that wraps around to the front of your body, keeping your arms tied to your sides and your hands bound in front of you. The rope cages your chest like a harness and extends down to wrap around your legs, forcing you into a kneeling position and making you unable to straighten your legs. 

It took you three weeks of practicing before Taehyung could fully tie you up without you going into a panic attack. 

“It’s not too tight,” you announce after clearing your throat. 

You watch as Taehyung circles your body until he stands in front of you. He reaches out to flick his middle finger against the underside of your chin, prompting you to tilt your head back to look up at him. 

“My little rope bunny looks so pretty, all tied up for me,” Taehyung says with a sparkling grin that makes your whole body flush with heat. 

“I want to tell you off so badly right now,” you hiss through gritted teeth. Your frustration only makes Taehyung’s grin widen. 

“I bet you do. It’s a shame you can’t, but rules are rules.” Taehyung shrugs, not at all nonchalant in his mocking tone. 

You close your eyes as he trails his finger down your throat and past your collarbones until he reaches one of your nipples. Usually, it would take more than a gentle brush of a fingertip against your nipple for you to feel aroused, but there’s something about being tied up that has heightened your senses. Every minor touch has your nerves sparking and fraying at the ends. Taehyung isn’t even doing anything, and you’re already wet and aching. 

“Taehyung,” you do your best to sound steady and fail. 

“Let me fix the cameras and figure out what I’m gonna wear, okay? I’ll be quick; I promise.” 

Taehyung rearranged all the furniture in his bedroom to leave an open spot in the corner of the room where he set up cameras and photography lighting. His laptop rests on an end table nearby, the screen showing a mirrored image of you kneeling on the floor on a pale pink silk sheet, fluffy pillows surrounding you in a half-circle. It’s all very Y2K, softcore aesthetic – not what you’d expect from Taehyung. His followers are mostly young women, though, and he says he likes to play up his soft side for them. 

It sounds ridiculous, but there’s something about being tied up in such a gentle environment that’s making your pussy throb. 

Taehyung is quick, as he promised. He returns, shirtless and wearing a pair of black joggers to match the black rope wrapped around your body. You drag your eyes over his torso, admiring the flat plane of his abdomen and the swell of his pecs. Smooth – it’s the best word to describe Taehyung. His voice, body, and charisma when he murmurs sweet seductions in your ear are always so smooth. 

When he catches you staring, Taehyung winks at you. It makes you flustered despite your desire to remain neutral, and you quickly look down to find something else to focus your attention on. In Taehyung’s hands is a long, rectangular purple box. He sets it down next to you on the floor and opens the lid. 

You gasp when you see what’s inside. 

“Taehyung…” 

“It’s for later. Don’t worry about it,” Taehyung says softly, pressing his index finger against your parted lips to quiet you. 

On instinct, you close your lips around Taehyung’s finger and suck it gently, swirling your tongue around it. Taehyung’s eyes flutter closed for a few seconds until he pulls his hand away. 

“You’re such a slut.”

“Fuck you.” 

You can’t help but grin when Taehyung sticks his tongue out at you. He’s an idiot, but you love it. You love him, maybe. To be determined. 

Or never. Never is also fine. 

“So… what the fuck is gonna happen now? I’m starting to cramp,” you complain as Taehyung messes around with his laptop. 

“What?” Taehyung spins around quickly, nearly sending one of his floor lamps crashing when his elbow collides with the stand. “You’re in pain? Where? Let me loosen–” 

“Oh my god, Taehyung, I’m fine. I just don’t feel like kneeling naked on the fucking floor while you dick around!” 

With a snort, Taehyung turns his back on you. 

“I’m just trying to take care of my little movie star, alright?” 

The nickname, if that’s what you can even call it, makes your stomach flutter. It doesn’t matter that you’re trying your best to stay unaffected by Taehyung’s bullshit; Taehyung has you under his spell like he always does. 

“I know what to say…” you insist with a pout, flexing your fingers. “Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for good…” 

It’s elementary, but all the prep Taehyung made you do leading up to this moment showed you how important having a system is, be it a random safe word or the colors. What you don’t want to tell Taehyung is how comforting the rope is. You don’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that you like being restrained. It’s like a tight embrace, and the rope causes goosebumps to spread across your body when its silkiness rubs against your skin every time you shift positions. 

Watching you over his shoulder, Taehyung calls you softly, “I’m going to start the session if that’s okay?”

You nod, adrenaline buzzing through your veins as you hear the little pings from Taehyung’s laptop, indicating that people are paying to join the livestream. It’s still shocking that Taehyung has such a large following. However, it makes sense now that he has been so interested in erotic photography and film for his projects as a university student studying art. Funny how your roommate, Hoseok, never bothered to tell you that his friend does amateur porn – though Taehyung was quick to make it clear that he has never had anyone else on his stream before you. 

You’re special.

You wonder who might be sitting on the other end, paying to watch Taehyung pleasure himself every Wednesday night. 

“It’s hump day,” Taehyung had said with an exasperated sigh when you’d asked why he chose Wednesdays, as if you were the stupidest person on the planet for asking such a question.

The worst part is wondering if someone watching Taehyung’s stream will recognize you. Taehyung doesn’t shy away from showing his face, but he’d offered you a mask or only to use camera angles that wouldn’t expose your identity. You’d turned down both offers, though you can’t remember why. You can’t remember much of anything, your mind going blank the moment Taehyung addresses the anonymous subscribers waiting for porn. 

“Hey everyone, it’s nice to see you all again this week,” Taehyung greets his followers with a deeper and richer voice than you’ve ever heard him use. It makes your body tingle. “For those of you following me on my socials or who joined last week, you’ll know I promised to do something special for Valentine’s Day, right?” 

You can’t see the laptop screen; Taehyung is standing in front of it. He’s also blocking the camera, so the people logged into the session can’t see you yet. 

“I have a special guest,” Taehyung shifts to the side so you’re in view, “This is Bunny, and it’s their first time on camera like this, so please be kind.” 

Unsure of what to do, you wave your fingers in a greeting, unable to do much else since you’re all tied up. It must be enough because Taehyung smiles when he looks at you, and you feel your face heat up from the gentle gesture. 

Luckily, Taehyung’s attention quickly returns to the livestream chat. Apparently, Jimin is hanging out in his bedroom, moderating the chat to ensure no one posts anything inappropriate. Knowing Jimin will be watching excites you a little bit. 

“Ah, no, we’re not dating,” Taehyung chuckles, and it’s strange to be able to say that you know Taehyung well enough to know that this laughter isn’t genuine. “Don’t get any ideas, though. Trust me. Our little bun might look harmless, but it’s a ruse.”

You can’t help but snort. You’d think Taehyung is stalling, but you’ve learned that his subscribers expect a sort of parasocial relationship with him. He usually warms up by feeding into that. As weirdly cute as it is, your nerves are making you impatient. 

“Even though it’s my bun’s first time, I don’t think we need to take it easy on them,” Taehyung smirks into the camera, and more pings ring through the bedroom. 

Each ping indicates that the livestream viewers are leaving messages in the chat and sending Taehyung money to request specific actions – actions he refuses to tell you about because that would ruin all the fun. 

“Hmm…” Taehyung murmurs, eyes dragging from the streaming platform’s chat feature to you, wrapped up like a pretty present for him. The look is weighty and dark, which Taehyung has never had while looking at you. 

Suddenly embarrassed, you drop your gaze as Taehyung approaches where you kneel. 

“Are you ready, bun?” Taehyung’s question is softer than the look he gives you. 

You nod in return and hope your nerves aren’t visible to Taehyung’s loyal fans. It would suck to fuck this up for him, as much as he annoys you. Admittedly, ever since that impromptu threesome with Jimin, Taehyung has been acting different around you. He’s been almost… sweet. 

Taehyung takes out a black, wide-end riding crop from the purple box. He hits the palm of his hand with it a few times as though testing it out. He looks good, the muscles in his biceps shifting and bulging every time he winds up to flick the crop. Your entire body shudders when his dark eyes flit down to meet yours. 

“How many times do I have to tell you to speak up, hm?” 

Taehyung falls into character quicker than you expect. It gives you whiplash watching him push back his hair, now a light minty color that looks pretty against the pink surrounding you, his gaze an oppressive force crushing you harder than the rope ever could. Your attention briefly falls on the laptop when a few pings ring out. 

What if people don’t like you? What if you don’t do well? You’d agreed to do this because Taehyung wanted to expand his portfolio, just like every other time you agreed to spend time with him. You both know that isn’t why you’re here, even if neither of you want to say it out loud. 

“Bun.” Using the flat end of the crop, Taehyung lifts your chin to look at him instead of the laptop. “Don’t think about them. Just focus on me, okay?” 

“Okay,” you breathe, suddenly feeling lightheaded. 

Taehyung drags the crop down your chest, tapping lightly at your tits to watch them bounce against the black rope. Goosebumps rush across your skin like waves in the wake of the crop’s path down your body. 

“How many should I give you?” 

You blink a few times, eyes suddenly bleary as you watch Taehyung walk around to stand behind you. The camera captures your side profile, allowing viewers to see you and Taehyung clearly. Despite Taehyung’s reassuring words, it’s hard not to think about the anonymous people watching Taehyung caress your body. 

“How many what?” Your breath hitches when Taehyung’s hand replaces the crop to run up the length of your spine until he reaches the back of your neck. 

“For your punishment, bun. How many hits do you deserve?” Taehyung asks, his voice with a deep timbre. “Lean forward.” 

Taehyung squeezes the back of your neck and pushes, forcing your upper body down a bit further while you stay kneeling. Lifting the crop, he smacks your ass three times in quick succession, each hit a sharp sting that makes your body jolt. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp as you struggle to keep your balance. “Is that really necessary?” 

Taehyung clicks his tongue, and even though you can’t see him, you’re sure he has an infuriatingly smug look on his face. 

“Count them,” he murmurs loud enough for the stream to pick up. 

It’s strange how pliant you become with each hit. Something about the pain zaps something in your brain, sending your nervous system haywire until the stings turn into pleasure. Taehyung focuses each hit on the same spot until your skin becomes tender, but he doesn’t stop until your entire body shakes. 

“T-twenty,” you count with a shudder, tears lining your eyelashes and fingers squeezing the ropes on your chest to give you something to hold onto, though it does nothing to ground. 

“Very good.” It’s a simple statement, but Taehyung’s praise does something to you. Either that or it’s the feeling of the crop being dragged over your sore asscheek to dip inward. 

You gasp when Taehyung pushes the crop through your pussy, spreading your lips open and running the crop along your folds. You’re soaking wet and on edge from him spanking you, so the glide is easy for Taehyung as he begins rubbing your clit. The crop is warm from your body heat, and though the shape is sharp and angular, any amount of stimulation feels good. 

“Please,” you beg, bending forward further to expose more of your pussy. 

The ropes around your legs keep your thighs spread, putting you on display for easy access. Even though you can’t see it, you’re sure your arousal glistens in the bright lighting, and you can feel your juices leak down your folds. 

Taehyung runs his thumb through your pussy lips, swishing your arousal around, dragging up and down your clit before he eventually sinks his index and middle fingers into your pussy. 

His name almost slips out when your thighs begin to shake. You want to call out his name and beg him to fuck you, even though everything in you doesn’t want to give him that satisfaction. It’s just too good, and you haven’t fucked since that time with Jimin. Taehyung said it would be better that way to help with your nerves, but now you’re feeling desperate, and you hate the feeling of needing to be filled. 

“Fuck, look at you. You like being tied up like this, don’t you?” Taehyung smirks when he tosses the crop to the side and uses his other hand to stimulate your clit while he continues fucking you with his fingers. 

You moan loudly, completely forgetting about the people watching Taehyung getting on his knees to finger you, twisting each time he pulls out, just to plunge back in and press downward to stimulate your front wall. 

Remembering the rules, you swallow your pride and do what Taehyung wants. 

“Yes, daddy.” 

It’s humiliating to call Taehyung that. You hate it, but you can’t say his real name on air, and this was what he’d told you to call him – or else you’d be punished. He won’t let you cum if you don’t behave. Though you can’t deny how good Taehyung sounds when he groans at the name, nor how good it feels when he speeds up his fingers. 

“Say it again,” Taehyung murmurs, leaning forward to press his bare chest to your back so he can reach your ear. “Baby, say it again.” 

“Yes, daddy.” 

“Fuck.” 

Grabbing your hips, Taehyung yanks you back so he can switch places with you, now kneeling in front of you. Being on this side gives him a better view of the livestream chat. Whatever he finds there makes him smile, something lopsided and suspicious. 

“They do have a pretty pussy, don’t they?” Taehyung grins into the camera, reaching forward to cup your pussy. He crowds your space, forcing your face against his crotch when he leans in. 

Despite how embarrassing the action is, you mouth at the bulge in his joggers.

“Hurry up,” you whine, knowing Taehyung might scold you but uncaring. “Fuck me already.” 

A slap to your tender ass makes you cry out in pain. 

“Our friends think I need to do something about your bratty mouth, bun,” Taehyung points out with his arms crossed against his firm chest. “They’re right, of course. You’ve always been so bratty with me.” 

“Fuck you,” you hiss quietly, both hoping no one hears you and also that they will.

“You’re cute when you’re acting like a slutty little bitch.” 

Taehyung tongues the inside of his cheek and turns to the box that had held the riding crop. The insults scratch some itch in the back of your brain, and your pussy betrays you by pulsing with need. 

From the box, Taehyung pulls out a pink cordless wand vibrator. The head is smooth and fat, the rest of the wand sleek like Taehyung’s fingers as they grip around the handle. Anticipation burns in the pit of your stomach while you wait for Taehyung to turn the wand on and press it against your swollen, neglected clit. 

Instead, once the wand is on, Taehyung presses against the bulge in his joggers.

“Oh my god,” you moan as Taehyung drags the wand up his cock until he reaches the head. He circles it slowly, hips subtly thrust forward. 

It makes sense that people pay to watch Taehyung masturbate. He’s pretty when he does it, staring directly into your eyes as he whimpers, breathy and sweet.

Each of his little moans makes you wetter, and your body continues to tremble with need. It’s so unbelievably hot how he tilts his head back, exposing the V of his jaw and his Adam’s apple, bobbing each time he swallows. 

“Do you think I’m pretty, bun?” Taehyung smirks, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he finally removes the wand from his clothed cock. It’s hard to see the wet patch in his clothes from how dark the material is, but you know it’s there. 

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper as Taehyung grabs a hold of your jaw and gives you a quick but firm squeeze that pushes your cheeks inward.  

“I know you do.” 

Letting go of your face, Taehyung hooks his thumbs in his joggers and pulls down far enough to take out his cock. It bobs and hangs heavy in front of your face, close enough that the tip brushes your cheek and smears precum across your face. 

“Be a good bun and suck my cock, yeah?” 

Not needing to be told twice, you lean forward to lap at the precum dribbling from Taehyung’s slit, making him groan. His body trembles slightly as you suck him into your mouth, and it feels good to know you’re not the only one affected.

Reaching for the wand again, Taehyung runs the tip along his shaft as you suckle the head of his cock. You can feel the vibrations in your mouth, and the sensation seems to travel down the rest of your body as your pussy pulses. 

“Fuck,” Taehyung moans, throwing his head back as you take more of his cock down your throat. “Don’t go any faster. Keep it nice and slow.” 

He only lets you suck him off for a bit longer, just enough to get his cock nice and wet from gagging around him. Then he tugs on your ropes, pulling you off of his cock as you gasp for air. 

“You okay?” Taehyung brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, wiping away spit and precum, you’re sure. It’s disgusting, but he’s so gentle when he does it that your face grows hot.

“I’m fine.” 

“You look pretty like this,” he murmurs. “I can’t wait to fuck you, baby. Been thinking about it for weeks.” 

It isn’t until Taehyung cradles the side of your face and slots his lips with yours that you realize you haven’t even kissed. You usually don’t, too caught up in the carnal need to consume each other in other ways.

But kissing Taehyung feels good.

He holds you gently as your lips glide together, Taehyung tasting himself on your tongue and moaning into your mouth when he does. You pant against each other in between kisses, Taehyung using the opportunity to bite and suck on your bottom lip until you’re pushing yourself against him, seeking more. You just want to be close, closer. 

“Turn around,” he breathes against your spit-slicked lips. It isn’t easy, but he helps you move until you’re facing away from him. 

Without being told, you begin to lower your upper body onto the floor, but Taehyung stops you with an arm around your chest. 

“Wait.” It’s spoken against your ear, his breath hot like your core as it pulses when you realize what Taehyung is doing. 

He turns on the wand to the lowest vibration setting and carefully slips it through the rope wrapped around your hips. Placement presses the head of the wand directly to your clit. 

“I can’t,” you squeak, hunching over as the subtle vibrations ripple through you. Normally, the setting would be too low to get you off quickly, but Taehyung has been edging you this whole time. 

“It’s okay if you cum, baby. I wanna see how many times I can make you cum.” 

Taehyung bites the curve of your ear before shoving the middle of your back until your upper body rests on the floor and your ass is in the air. He’s gentle when he presses his cock against your entrance, the glide easy from how sloppy wet you are. You can hear him bottom out, the sound of your arousal gushing around his cock with each wet slap of his thighs against yours as he thrusts in and out of you. 

It only takes three deep strokes before you cum, pussy fluttering around Taehyung’s cock and your body shaking underneath him. The ropes prevent you from wriggling and writhing, and the vibrator on your clit prolongs your orgasm. You feel like it never ends, just wave after wave of pleasure, making your body lock up. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, Tae-” You’re cut off by Taehyung’s hand slapped across your mouth. 

“Behave, bun,” he growls, never letting up his pace despite how violently your body reacts to the prolonged orgasm. 

Grabbing the rope tied around your back, Taehyung pulls on it, forcing you to rock back and forth on his cock at the pace he wants. You’re so wet that he slips in and out of you with wet squelches loud enough to be heard by all his subscribers. 

“Oh my god,” you moan as your body rocks against the pretty sheets and fluffy pink pillows. It helps stop you from chafing against the floor, but you don’t care. All you can focus on is how good Taehyung feels, his cock filling you up and his hands tightening the hold the ropes have on the most sensitive parts of your body. 

“God, you’re always so fucking creamy,” Taehyung groans, slapping your ass to watch it jiggle on his cock. 

You feel another orgasm ripple through you, having barely recovered from the other one. Taehyung fucks you through it still and then fucks you through the next one. 

By the time you’ve cum for the fourth time, tears stream down your face. 

“Please,” you sob, the buzz of the vibrator and Taehyung’s moans flooding your brain until there’s nothing left. 

“One more, bun,” Taehyung grunts as he reaches over to pull the wand out of the ropes. He tosses it to the side and replaces it with his fingers, rubbing quick circles over your clit. “Come on, give me one more so we can finish together.” 

The remaining pressure inside of you bursts the moment Taehyung starts playing with your clit. You feel your pussy gush around his cock as you cum even more than before, so much that you can feel it leak down your thighs and soak the bed sheet below you. 

A flurry of pings reminds you that you’re on camera. You can barely think straight long enough to understand what that means when Taehyung lets out a broken moan behind you. 

“Oh fuck, you just squirted, fuck baby, why are you so hot.” Taehyung’s grip on your hips hurts when he finally cums, still thrusting even when you’ve both been pushed beyond overstimulation. 

When he finally pulls out, you sag to the floor. Your entire body aches from being tied up and pounded into, not to mention how sore your ass and clit are from the constant stimulation. 

“You’re trying to kill me,” you accuse weakly as Taehyung takes a deep breath, head thrown back, chest sweaty. He’s still wearing his joggers, and his soft cock hangs over the waistband, shiny with cum. 

“Fuck,” Taehyung groans, running a hand over his face, “Alright, that’s, that’s all for today.” He crawls over to the laptop and gives the camera a salute. “See you all next week, assuming I’ve recovered.” 

The final pings ring out from the laptop before Taehyung snaps it shut and falls back on his butt. He finally tucks his cock back in his pants and turns to where you lie, weak on the floor. 

“Shit, let me get you out of this.” 

You’re in a haze, something floaty and free, like a cloud, and Taehyung caresses your wispy body as he unwraps you. Your head lulls to the side, and you let Taehyung lift your limbs and shift your body until he’s finished with all the ropes. 

“How are you feeling?” Taehyung asks, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

Content. Satiated. Happy. In love.

“Tired,” you mumble as you stare up at Taehyung. His eyes are bright, and his cheeks are a soft pink, youthful, and pretty. 

“We can take a bath and then go to bed. You’ll stay over?” His voice is a hopeful lilt when he asks, and your stomach flutters. 

“Yes, daddy.” 

Taehyung’s mouth morphs into that lopsided grin you pretend to hate so much. 

“I love it when you call me that.” 

“I hate you,” you spit out, but Taehyung kisses you before you can pout more.

It’s a slow kiss, far too gentle for what you’ve all just finished doing. Taehyung sighs into the kiss, tilting his head to deepen it, though his lips glide languidly rather than rushed with need like they had before. 

You slip your arms around his broad shoulders and appreciate the stretch of being free from your restraints. 

“You did so well, seriously. I’m really proud of you. You were so sexy and, fuck. I’m…” Taehyung trails off as he helps you stand up, keeping you cradled against his body when you start to sway. “Thank you for doing this with me.” 

You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck and find no bratty comeback, only a flood of happiness that nearly chokes you. 

“Maybe we can do it again if you wanna,” you offer with your lips against his neck. His skin is salty with sweat, but you flick your tongue against him anyway, just to make him squirm. 

Taehyung pulls back slightly to stare at you. “For real?” 

“If you keep asking, I might change my mind!” 

You try to wiggle out of Taehyung’s arms, but he keeps you close. It’s fine; you don’t really want to be anywhere else but here, pressed against Taehyung’s broad frame, blanketed by his gentle attention.

Even if he is annoying. 

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

#taehyung x reader #bts x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung fanfic #bts smut #bts fanfic #the wannabe photographer chronicles #wsap #jai writes #gimmethatagustd

[https-yeonjun]

oh, baby (c.bg)

wc. 1149

genre. smut

request. trying to get pregnant w beomgyu so y'all have been having sex nonstop everytime you're ovulating

tags. husband!beomgyu x fem!reader, breeding kink, pet names (baby), implied kitchen sex, implied shower sex, unprotected sex (lol duh), impreg kink, pussy drunk beomgyu, (slight) marking, manhandling (if you turn your head to the side and squint), mommy used twice non-sexually

a/n. repost; i was thinking about this nonstop since i saw the request anon i need to kiss your brain. you sent this over almost two month ago i'm sorry it took so long but i hope you enjoy <;333 thank you to @sunnylovespickles and @huenation for helping me read this and organize my thoughts

more of my work

you and beomgyu had been married for a year and a half when he finally brought up the idea of having kids with you. you were scrolling through your feed in bed one night when you stumbled upon a post from an old classmate at her baby shower. beomgyu absentmindedly responded, i bet our kids would look cuter, prompting the very serious and incredibly long overdue conversation about one day growing your little family. and after that night and some doctor’s appointments, he was determined to get you all pretty and round before the end of the year.

one thing about beomgyu is that he genuinely cannot keep his hands off of you. so on a sunday morning, when he wakes up to an empty space in the bed beside him, he searches for you all over the house before stumbling into you in the kitchen. he sees you making pancakes and can’t help but think about your kids one day running around, helping you cook, and setting the table. he wraps his hands around your waist from behind, his hard cock prodding your ass. nuzzling his head into your neck, he mumbles, good morning, baby. you hum in response, melting into his touch. he takes this as an opportunity to slyly turn off the stove. you whine his name, protesting for him to let you finish cooking. but that doesn’t stop him from pulling you towards the island and hoisting you up on the counter. he looks up at you with a smirk. you’re the only thing i wanna eat this morning, baby.

a few days later you find beomgyu sitting at his desk when you come home from the gym, he glances up at you but his eyes can’t help but stop at your chest glistening with sweat, your boobs spilling out of your tight sports bra. and of course that naturally leads him to fantasize about what your boobs would look like when you’re pregnant, so swollen and so so beautiful. going to take a shower, then we can figure dinner out. you tell him as you retreat to the bathroom. it’s not up to five minutes later when you hear the shower curtain open, your husband slides in behind you. if we’re gonna have a baby, we should start saving on our water bill, don’t you think?

but beomgyu wasn’t the only one who was entirely insatiable. some days, like today for instance, when you spend the entire work day thinking about your husband and how much you need him to fuck you, the last thing you want to see when you come home are his friends sitting around your living room. internally groaning, you wave to them while signaling to beomgyu to follow you into the bedroom.

“your friends.” you state one the two of you are in the privacy of your room.

“what about them?” he asks, his face marked with confusion. you give him a look that conveyed frustration and yearning and the realization dawns on him.

“aww,” he coos. “does someone need me?”

“please can you just tell them to go home?” you whine and without hesitation he leaves the room. you sink into the bed for what feels like an eternity until beomgyu saunters back into the room towards you.

“took you long enough.” you mumble as you pull him closer to you.

“i was gone for five minutes.” he chuckles in response.

“felt like twenty.” you reach up to kiss him passionately, your hands trailing up his torso, taking his t-shirt up with it.

“can we–” he tries to break away from this kiss. “can we slow down?”

“need you so bad.” you mumble against his lips.

“yeah?” he asks coyly.

“yeah,” your hands race to unbutton your work pants. “need you to fuck a baby in me.” beomgyu’s eyes widened. sure, you had both agreed to try for a baby but to hear you say this so explicitly just confirmed for him that his desires to start a family with you weren’t one sided. beomgyu joins you in taking off your clothes, his hands swiftly unbuttoning your shirt, nearly ripping the buttons off.

you’re laying in bed clad in nothing, with beomgyu hovering above you. his gaze falls upon you, tracing your form, as if you were the most alluring thing he’d ever seen.

“you’re so beautiful,” he breathes out before leaning down to kiss you. “i know i joke a lot,” he confesses between kisses. “but i want this so bad. you, us, our family. everything.”

he slips his throbbing cock between your warm folds causing you to let out a soft gasp. “me too. i want you. everything.” you parrot his words. he steadily grinds his hip against yours as he stares into your eyes and for a moment it seems like it’s only the two of you in the world.

loosely wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him down into a kiss. your hands explore the contours of his body trying to find the best way to keep him in your grasp, to make sure that this was not an eerily realistic dream and he was actually here with you, in you. “i love you.” you moan out clenching around him.

his eyes close shut and a groan erupts from his throat when he feels your walls tighten around him. “fuck, your so… so tight baby.”

beomgyu accelerates his thrusts, his movements becoming sloppier and messier by the second. your hands find themselves resting on the nape of his neck, playing with his hair. he hides his face in the crook of your neck, taking this as an opportunity to paint your skin with marks in between the sloppy kisses he was leaving.

as he inches closer to his climax, you feel his movements slow down as he fucks deeper into you. he’s trying to prolong his orgasm, trying to feel you around him for longer. “m’gonna cum, baby. gonna get you all pretty and pregnant for me. gonna make you a mommy tonight.”

his eyes clouded over as his movements became weaker and hips began to stutter. you let out a loud moan, your eyes fluttering closed when you felt him pumping his load deep inside you, filling you up with his seed.

still inside of you, beomgyu rolls over so you are laying on top of him. he caresses your hair, whispering i love yous between kisses on your forehead. you rest like that, tangled in each others’ arms, for a moment before you convince him to take a shower with you. when you actually get pregnant, you make it a routine to look at your baby bump in the mirror every morning. beomgyu sitting in front of you, tenderly caressing your round belly before pressing a loving kiss and murmuring something about you being the prettiest mommy in the world.

taglist: @atinyniki @boba-beom @dearlyjun @wiisoob @isabellah29

fill out this form to join my taglist!

#fay's works #txt smut #tomorrow x together #beomgyu #beomgyu smut #choi beomgyu #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

boo! surprise bitches! i'm doing kinktober this year! finally doing it! bet you didn't see that one coming, did you hehe 🕸

there is a good mix of both short and long stories coming your way throughout this (and i will also still occasionally post other fics this month that aren't related to this). also, a handful of these fics are darker in nature, thought it was fitting for halloween, so remember to read the warnings, if there's something that's not for you then please, as always, be kind to yourself and don't read the story.

masterlist | join my taglist

day one | sore

stepbro!sirius black x cheerleader!reader + dubcon massage

day two | don't smile

steve rogers + throat fucking + size kink

day three | stuffed

devil!eddie munson & angel!steve harrington + tentecles + double penetration in one hole

day four | a little fashion show

best friend!stiles stilinski + lingerie

day five | stay still

peter parker + bondage

day six | hold up, let me record this

jj maybank + tittyfucking + sextape

day seven | the palace guards

guards!poly!marauders x princess!reader + secrets relationship

day eight | it’s practically like we’re down there with them

mob boss!bucky barnes + exhibitionism

day nine | keep that pretty mouth shut

tommy shelby + keep quiet quickie

day ten | I couldn’t find it in me to wake you

poe dameron + somno thigh fucking

day eleven | I just want you a little longer all to myself

matt murdock + secret office sex

day twelve | nothing more than a toy

rafe cameron + using you like a toy to masturbate with

day thirteen | I still got a few rounds left in me

boxer!steve rogers + bathtub sex

day fourteen | open your fucking mouth

dark!wild west cowboy!joel miller + gun kink

day fifteen | tiny

miguel o'hara x fairy!reader + extreme size difference

day sixteen | the wall between us

cult member!steve harrington + fem glory hole + breeding

day seventeen | be a rebel, be bad, stay here and cuddle with me

spencer reid + aftercare

day eighteen | pleasant pile of pillows

brother's best friend!james potter + pillow humping

day nineteen | ring ring

sam winchester x reader x bf!dean winchester + phone sex + cheating

day twenty | window

perv!neighbour!billy russo + voyeurism

day twenty-one | say yes

fiancé!bruce wayne + possessiveness

day twenty-two | i can think of something better than that

bucky barnes + anal

day twenty-three | double check

dark!professor!ben solo + power imbalance + manipulation

day twenty-four | maroon

vampire!remus lupin + biting + blood kink

day twenty-five | i want you

pirate captain!miguel o'hara + sex as payment

day twenty-six | teamwork

pro football team!avengers (bf!steve rogers, bucky barnes, pietro maximoff, clint barton, sam wilson, tony stark, thor odinson) + gangbang

day twenty-seven | my little flower

din djarin + fantasy au + cockwarming

day twenty-eight | hysteria

doctor!aleksander morozova x hysteria patient!reader + historical au + fuck machine

day twenty-nine | can't fight the moonlight

werewolf!bucky barnes x gf!reader + predator/prey + monsterfucking

day thirty | magical mimic

eddie munson x witch!reader + magical mutual masturbation

day thirty-one | you can’t put it in

stepbro!peter parker + halloween pussyjob

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #kinktober 2023 #steve harrington smut #eddie munson smut #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers smut #peter parker smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara smut #din djarin smut #poe dameron smut #spencer reid smut #remus lupin smut #sirius black smut #james potter smut #bruce wayne smut #joel miller smut #tommy shelby smut #matt murdock smut #billy russo smut #rafe cameron smut #the darkling smut #ben solo smut #jj maybank smut #stiles stilinski smut #pietro maximoff smut #sam wilson smut #sam winchester smut #dean winchester smut

[yxngbxkkie]

pranking the husband (l.y.f)

okay, so i saw this tik tok today and instantly had an idea for my baby, felix 🫢 this is fucking adorable. i love it, i hope you love it 🩷

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

~

You keep giggling to yourself while in the bathroom, and you're surprised Felix hasn't come to ask you what's so funny. You glance over your shoulder, a smile on your lips as you watch your husband scroll through his tik tok.

“Cutie,” you mumble to yourself, making a mental note to kiss him after you finish the tik tok you're about to make.

While scrolling through your for you page this morning, you found a trend that you wanted to try on Felix. You're typically not one to make tik toks, but you don't actually post any of them, but this one makes you want to see how he'd react.

You stealthily put up your phone, checking to see if both of you are in it before hitting record. You fluff your hair and check yourself out in the mirror.

“Babe, how much longer do we have?” You ask him, knowing you need to leave in twenty minutes.

Felix doesn't look up from his phone, answering your question. “Twenty minutes. Are you ready?”

“No, not yet,” you sigh and rest your hands on your hips. “I'm not sure I really like the outfit I'm wearing.”

Your husband lifts his head, his eyes roaming down your body. “You don't? I think you look really good, sweetness,” he smiles at you, seeing the love in his honey-brown eyes.

“God, I love you,” you smile at him, blowing him an air kiss. “But, I think I'm going to change. There's another outfit I've been dying to wear.”

Felix pouts but gives in, nodding his head. “If it'll make you happy, go ahead,” he mentions, puckering his lips for a kiss.

You melt at his cuteness, feeling your heart fluttering in your chest. You reach where he's sitting before planting a kiss on his lips. You giggle softly and pull away before he can deepen it.

“Okay, can you get out real quick so I can change?” You ask him nonchalantly, taking a step back.

Felix nods his head, closing the apps on his phone as he stands up. Your jaw drops a bit as he just strolls out of the room. You glance towards your phone when his voice echoes into the bedroom.

“Wait!” He rushes back in, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Why am I leaving the room? You got changed in front of me earlier.”

You bite your lip, deciding to keep playing along. “Well, I wanted the outfit to be a surprise,” you tell him while leaning against the bathroom door frame.

He narrows his eyes at you before walking closer to you. You go back into the bathroom, holding your hand out in case he tries to tickle you. He's sneaky like that.

Felix finds your phone propped up and points a figure at you. “You sneaky! You're doing a bit,” he figures it out, laughing cutely.

You giggle as his arms wrap around your waist. You hug him tightly, both of you swaying in your shared bathroom. “I saw it on tik tok,” you tell him, combing your fingers through his hair.

“I can not believe you almost got me,” he laughs, pulling back. His gaze meets yours, and Felix smiles softly before kissing you again.

“I love you, my baby,” you grin, planting short kisses on his lips and cheeks. “Plus, you should know that I prefer to strip in front of you.”

Felix's smile turns into a smirk, one of his hands finding a place on your waist. “You love my eyes on you,” he impossibly moves in closer, his chest pressing against yours.

“Baby,” you sigh, tilting your head back when he starts kissing your neck. “We're gonna miss our reservation.”

“What if,” Felix trails off, placing a chaste kiss on your lips, “we canceled.”

You pout at him while grabbing a hold of one of his hands. “But, baby, we've already had to cancel on them once. I don't want to do it again. Chan was telling me how excited he is for tonight. And, two, I got all pretty for you. Don't you want to show me off?”

“You do look pretty,” Felix sighs, taking in the outfit you've “decided” to keep on. “And, I love showing you off. Can I eat you out when we get home?”

You throb at his question, squeezing his hand you're holding. “I can never say no to you,” you chuckle breathlessly, leading your husband towards the front door.

~

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8 @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n

#lee felix #lee felix imagine #lee felix imagines #lee felix x y/n #lee felix x you #lee felix x reader #lee felix scenarios #lee felix fluff #lee felix drabble #lee felix fanfiction #lee felix fanfic #lee felix fic #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic #stray kids drabbles #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff

[familyvideostevie]

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help. 

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable. 

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets.  You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her."  Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

__

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something. 

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

[everythingne]

christmas in monaco - cl16 [2]

Trying to even bring up boys with Max ends up in a fight. You and Charles have a heart-to-heart. Daniel and Carlos help you devise a plan.

warnings/notes: comparing Max to Jos during the fight, mentions of shit parents, one (1) jab at Kelly, the chapter is serious and then Daniel shows up and that goes to shit, the last bit of set up before i go full scooby-do search party through the doors on you guys

verstappen!reader x charles leclerc, secret dating/brothers best friend

prev | next

-

You know you're in for it when you open the door to Max's apartment, groceries tucked lazily in one arm and coffees in the other and he's staring at you.

"What?" You ask as if you have no idea what he wants. You can see Penelope laying on the floor, coloring while some cartoon you've never heard of plays, and thus immediately switch to Dutch.

"[Why do you look like you're mad at me?]" You say, walking over to where he sits on the kitchen island, plopping down the groceries, and handing him the coffee you'd bought. Kelly's off doing god knows what today, leaving the two of you to watch Penelope before you return to your apartment next door.

"[Who is he?]" Max asks, taking the coffee with a nod of a thank you as he helps you organize the groceries. You knew posting that picture would cause this conversation, you and Charles had spoken about easing Max into the fact you were dating at all, and maybe it wasn't the best idea. Max had been fiercely protective over you since you were kids, you don't know why you assumed he'd stop now that you were adults.

"[I haven't told anyone yet. We're keeping it hush.] Okay?" You speak softly, setting down some things for dinner. Simple pasta, since Penelope had picked that over pizza--as long as you made her meatballs as well. You pluck the ingredients from the mess of other groceries, making sure you have everything as Max leans back in his seat.

"[Oh, so I'm just anyone now?]" Max lifts his hands in agitation, the same accusatory tone of your father's ringing in Max's voice. You swallow your vitriol, crossing your arms taught over Charles' hoodie you wear as you cross the room, then you tug up the red sleeves of the hoodie as you set down the ingredients for dinner by the stove.

"[Max, come on.]" You urge, hoping he'll drop it. But he's as stubborn as your father and as impatient as him too.

"[No, I feel like I have a right to be upset over this, how long have you two been seeing each other?]" His pointed glare at you as you whisk out a pan from under the stove makes your skin burn hot. You pause, mouth opening and closing as you slowly slide the pot onto the stove. If you say two years, does that link you to Charles too quickly? But if you lie, will Max see right through you? And you can't dodge the question, not here, not now.

"A couple months." You say. Yeah, twenty-four of them, then you scoff when Max makes a face, "[Stop acting like a child.]"

"[And how come Danny knows?]"

"[He found out on accident, and honestly I remember now why I didn't wanna tell you.]" You huff, filling the pot with water and clicking the burner on. You tie your hair up lazily, looking over at Max as your crack-open fridge next to the stove and then turn to grab the ingredients to make the sauce, "[you're treating me like a toddler.]"

"[You're my baby sister, I feel like I am kinda... obligated, to be concerned?]" Max's voice is sharp as you start to whip up the same sauce you've been making since you were fourteen. Max stands up and crosses the room to stand next to you, "[And I'm not treating you like a toddler. It's my job to protect you as your brother.]"

"[I'm a year younger than you! I'm not a baby, you just don't trust me, which is fucking stupid because I'm not the one dating a woman almost a decade older than me!]" You huff as you turn to Max, who tries to stammer some defense to his situation but you don't give him a chance to, "[and I don't know why you think I can't date drivers, by the way, you trust those guys with your life but not my heart?]"

"[Those guys are cheaters, I don't want you hurt.]" Max runs a hand through his hair, watching as you continue making the sauce. You can tell, just by his eyes, that he's thinking of the times you used to make him pasta after races growing up. You try to not think about the past.

"Who?" You ask, looking at the sauce and burning the red color into your retinas, mentally praying that he's not catching onto you.

"Lando, probably." Max huffs, stepping back, "Charles."

"Charles?" You hum, hating that you come to his defense immediately and not Lando's, "[The guy who just announced the girl he's been dating for two years?]"

"[He's done some interesting things.]" Max says in his defense and you can't help but laugh. You knew before Charles met you he had been a bit of a womanizer, or 'man-whore' as your friends so kindly said. But with you, it was like Charles was a brand new person.

"[You're so overdramatic.]" You deadpan, turning to add the noodles to the sauce and Max scoffs.

"[I'm trying to protect you so you don't end up with someone like Dad!]"

"[You haven't even met my boyfriend yet and you're assuming the worst! Why are you being such a dick, Max!?]" You slam the spoon down and then flinch, remembering Penelope is in the other room the second you do it. It takes a few seconds, and then her little head peeks around the doorway.

"Are you fighting?" She asks sweetly and you shake your head.

"No, Penny, it's fine." You try to smile at her, but Max seems to have taken another level of offense to everything.

"Y/n. [Go fuck off to your mystery boy, why don't you?]" Max takes the spoon off the counter. His cold shoulder isn't something new, but it's the way he says it, sounding like the harsh whispers your father would pass at you in public, makes you swallow hard. You walk across the room, grabbing your purse and car keys off the table before kneeling down in front of Penelope and kissing her hairline.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay honey? Sorry if I scared you when I slammed the spoon down." You squeeze her in a tight hug, closing your eyes as you feel Max's eyes burn into the back of your head.

"Okay, Tante Y/n." She smiles, throwing her tiny arms around you, "And it's okay, I thought you dropped it."

You step back, kissing her hairline again, before getting up and leaving the apartment in a breeze, coffee forgotten. Your hands fumble with your phone, finding Charles' contact and sending him a quick message as you try and calm your anger.

--

You have a spare key, and as you jiggle your phone and keys in your hands to find it, the door swings open and two arms wrap around you. Laughing softly, you bury your face into the fabric of Charles' sweater and sigh heavily. He's warm, smelling of the usual cedar cologne you'd bought for him a while back. He also smells weakly like his hair products and if you try to search for it, your perfume lingers on his neck.

"Hi, amour." You murmur into the fabric and he bends at the knee enough to scoop you up to carry you the few inches inside before popping you back on your feet as he uses one hand to push the door shut.

"Hi." He says back, stepping back and squishing your cheeks in his hands and peppers soft kisses to your hairline, "Sorry about Max."

"It's fine. He's just being overprotective again." You kick off your shoes and follow Charles to the living room, flopping down on his couch and burying your head in your hands.

"You know if..." Charles sighs, hand coming through his hair and then pausing as he scratches at his neck, "If it's gonna be easier for you, I can try and talk to him?"

"No... I should tell him, he's my brother. I just don't think now is a good time?" You say as Charles pops down next to you on the couch and you shift so you can lay his head in your lap as you kick your feet onto the coffee table to rest, "he just seems so... agitated."

"Because you're dating?"

"He's afraid I'm gonna end up with someone like Dad. That's the problem. He doesn't trust anyone with me and gives them no chances. He thought Jolie was a drug dealer for like, six months!"

"She's a teacher?" Charles turns to you and you can't help but just laugh because that's Max.

"I know!" You huff.

Silence lulls for a while, and then Charles sits up and grabs you to unceremoniously pull you against his chest as he lays you both down on the couch. your face squishes against his hands as he peppers soft kisses to your hairline, the apples of your cheeks, and your nose, before pressing one long kiss to your lips. Pulling back just enough to murmur,

"I wanna spend Christmas with you, properly, this year." He says against your lips, your eyes fluttering before he presses his thumb to your pulse to draw you back enough to make eye contact, "I want to be able to post you, to talk about you with everyone because you're so fucking amazing, and I wanna meet your siblings and your mom and go on holidays with you guys and have our moms meet because Maman and Arthur both adore you and..."

Charles drawls off for a moment, hands coming up to cup your face as he thumbs along the warm, delicate skin of your cheeks, "I want, one day, to be able to get down on one knee and give you my whole heart."

Your pulse rams under his touch, cheeks dusted red, eyes wide but happily smiling as he leans in to lock in a long kiss, then he peppers some pecks on the corners of your mouth.

"The problem is, I can't do anything without Max knowing about us. Two years of us dating without telling him is already bad enough and he's been in my life since we were kids--even if we absolutely hated each other at first." Charles sighs, pressing a final quick kiss to your lips before letting you rest your head on his chest, "I feel terrible he doesn't know."

"But you know what he said." You sigh, closing your eyes against the warm fabric of his sweater--the grey one you'd bought for him a while back.

"I know, but we're either going to tell Max, or Max will find out." Charles sighs, "I prefer the first if I'm honest."

Even as you nod in agreement, you feel sick. The bubble of you and Charles had been safe for so long, that you weren't sure if you wanted to let Max in. But he was your brother, a year and fifteen days older, and you had told him everything up to this point. You'd be lying if you said you didn't also feel like shit for keeping Max out of the loop, but yet you feel like you have to.

"How'd Daniel find out?" Charles asks after a moment and he looks at you with those big eyes that make your heart thrum under your skin, love, and adoration seep from him and you don't understand at that moment how he could've ever been a womanizer when he looks at you like you hung the moon and stars just for him.

And then a small smirk peeks across his lips, "Because I know how Carlos did--"

"That one was your fault, Leclerc." You poke his chest, "Not locking the driver's room door was stupid."

"It was! But we're lucky it was Carlos."

"We're lucky we were only kissing."

"[We could've done more.]" He teases, making sure to really ramp up his accent as he speaks French so it's a bit harder for you to follow along, but you get the gist and whack his chest.

"Daniel saw me leaving, he was in the area doing media stuff." You explain, "I guess he saw me leaving."

"Oh, I thought it was because he moved in downstairs last week." Charles hums and you snap your eyes open and exclaim--

"What?!"

"Mhm. And Carlos lives in this building too." Charles looks over at you from where his eyes had been burning a hole in the ceiling, "Mon chéri, a lot of the drivers live in Monaco."

"I'm gonna lose it." You grumble, then pause, sitting up so you're hovering over Charles, one of his hands slides to support your waist immediately so you don't slide off.

"Carlos and Danny know." You say.

"Mhm."

"And... Carlos is your best friend--"

"--Arguably--"

"--and Danny is arguably Max's best friend, behind you."

"Uh-huh."

"...What if we ask them for help?"

"Absolutely not am I asking those two," Charles says and you huff.

"Come on! We clearly can't do it ourselves!" You exclaim, bouncing yourself on him with your arms, making him grunt as your body weight hits him.

"Daniel will tell us to do some sort of skit and Carlos will say for us to just say it!" Charles grips your waist and pulls you closer, "I don't need their shit advice."

"Maybe we need their guidance, and I promise it won't be bad! I promise! We can invite them over, have some wine and dinner, and voice our concerns--maybe they know something about Max we don't! Maybe they'll know he won't be mad or something."

"Y/n." He sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

"Charles!" You whine, "Look, if they give us shit advice, we kick them out and go back to the drawing board."

"Fine. But I'm holding you to this."

--

"I'm going to kick Danny out in about five seconds." You hiss to Charles and he laughs.

"Dude!" Danny shouts from where he sits on the floor, "I'm just saying, Max likes Charles. We all see it!"

"Believe me." Carlos hums into his wine, "There's a reason that... what is it... Lestappen shit is so popular. He's not gonna be mad its Charles. If it was like... me? Probably. Charles and Daniel are probably the only two drives you could date."

"And Yuki." Charles hums, "I don't think Yuki could do wrong."

"He might stab someone with the chef's knives he got for Secret Santa." Daniel points out and you snort.

"But you seriously have nothing to worry about." Carlos nods, "Honestly, you both are so stressed about it, I don't think either of you can think clearly."

You huff, "I feel like I can be stressed though. Max will either be fine with it or hate me forever."

"No, not forever, étoile." Charles hums, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as he draws you close.

"I don't think Max can physically hate you. I think he'd explode." Daniel hums, "Remember when you were sick and he thought you were ignoring him but you just literally couldn't hear out of one ear and he almost had a crisis?"

"You remember that?" You blink at Daniel. That had been only shortly after you'd met Daniel, the first race of that season. You were so delirious you couldn't remember most of the weekend, but you remember Christian and Daniel holding that over Max's head for weeks after.

"I do because he almost lost his mind for like four hours thinking you were mad at him and ignoring him. And then you rolled over and woke up from your nap." Daniel finishes the unceremonious story and Charles and Carlos burst into high-pitched laughter.

"He didn't think to like, shake her shoulder?" Carlos asks between laughter, finishing off his wine and grabbing a bottle from the little makeshift bowl cooler you put on the floor. He pours himself another glass and then tops everyone else off before putting the bottle back.

"He knew she was sick, and Y/n specifically told him not to touch her or go near her while she was sick." Daniel explains, thanking Carlos before taking a sip of the wine, "It was ridiculous. And then he made her promise that she wasn't actually mad."

"It was pretty funny." You grin and Carlos nods.

"So then Daniel is right, Max can't stand you being angry at him. So he can't be angry with you. If he is, he's a hypocrite, and fuck him, obviously." Carlos raises his glass in mock toast as sarcasm bleeds through his sentence halfway through, "But I can't say he won't be mad. He might be furious when he finds out, you have explained how protective Max can be, but I think he'll feel better knowing it's Charles."

"Charles is like his best friend," Daniel hums, "if you're dating someone he trusts I'm sure he'll feel better about it."

"Didn't we just make this point?" Carlos turns to Daniel who nods.

"Yeah, but it's a good one, so make it again."

"Max trusts Charles so it's fine," Carlos says and you laugh, waving your hands.

"Okay, so how the fuck do we do this?"

The plan is simple but effective. And it takes a few words to describe; be exactly the same, but a bit less secretive.

And the best way to start that is via social media. Once again.

-

y/nverstappen made a new post! ↴

liked by carlossainz, charlesleclerc, maxverstappen, and 412k others..

y/nverstappen: he called me his star <3

joliejolie: CYOOTIE PATOOTIE WHHAAAT

user1: caption??? GUYS?? CAPTION??

maxverstappen: i still don't know who

charlesleclerc: thanks for using all my film

charlesleclerc made a new post! ↴

liked by ynverstappen, danielricciardo, landonorris, and 612k others...

charlesleclerc: never getting rid of this camera.

user2: get me someone who will do this for me.

danielricciardo: DUDE THERE ARE KIDS HERE.

⤷ landonorris: im covering oscar and logans eyes

⤷ logansargeant: yeah ok.

⤷ charlesleclerc: ill get worse

⤷ oscarpiastri: pls no

⤷ carlossainz: ill buy u wine if you do

⤷ danielricciardo: DONT ENCOURAGE THAT WE DONT NEED A FUCKING HOMICIDE ON OUR HANDS??? CARLOS???

⤷ ynverstappen: why is DANIEL on damage control??

user1: why is this the sweetest thing ever?

ynverstappen.jpg: make a jpg coward

⤷ charlesleclerc.jpg: who says i dont have one.

⤷ landonorris.jpg: its just priv.

⤷ danielricciardo: unpriv coward

⤷ charlesleclerc: ok ?

⤷ ynverstappen.jpg: YEAAA SECRET CHARLES PHOTOS!!

charlesleclerc.jpg made a new post! ↴

charlesleclerc.jpg: in her own world.

arthurleclerc: vomiting. put clothes on.

y/nverstappen: TWO shirtless photos. BRO.

⤷ charlesleclerc: oops.

maxverstappen: so she takes after you with not wearing a shirt?

⤷ charlesleclerc: low blow

⤷ ynverstappen: accurate blow tbh

landonorris: where is ferrari's pr manager.

⤷ carlossainz: no one can help her.

ynverstappen.jpg made a new post! ↴

y/nverstappen.jpg: some fuckin gems in my camera roll recently

charlesleclerc: omg finally a feature

danielricciardo: WHEN WAS THAT TAKEN I DO NOT RECALL

⤷ carlossainz: shit talk night w her and charles

⤷ danielricciardo: after the advice?

⤷ ynverstappen.jpg: yes and u still owe me a new shirt >:(

maxverstappen: can you ever post a nice photo of me on here?

⤷ y/nverstappen: nope <3!

charlesleclerc: the banana is so old why now

⤷ ynverstappen.jpg: comedy

-

And by god, it starts working.

You're walking with Charles, hands intertwined as you wiggle through the tiny stalls in the small market that's popped up for the holidays. You both find a small corner to hide, stealing a chaste kiss and then you pop a chocolate strawberry in his mouth.

"Oh, damn." He hums, "You are right, these are amazing."

"I told you!" You grin, peeking behind your shoulder to see if anyone is watching. You swear you make eye contact with Max, but the longer you look the less the guy looks like Max so you turn back around.

"You good?" Charles rests a hand on your waist and you nod, taking a strawberry into your mouth and sighing.

"Mhm. Just hate hiding." You lean into his touch, letting him wrap a firm arm around your waist as he peppers a few kisses to your hairline.

"Hey, think about it this way." Charles says, "Soon we won't have to."

As you step back and agree, Daniel pops up next to you with big wide eyes--and not the usual excited ones you're used to seeing.

"Hey, Max, on your six." He pokes your shoulder and you make a face, before Daniel waves his arms around in some sort of odd gesture and hisses out to you, "Clock direction!"

"Oh-!" You whip around as Charles' hand moves off your waist and walking towards you is none other than your brother. Offering a soft smile and wave.

"Hey! Didn't think you'd be here!" You call and he pokes your arm, crossing his arms over his chest as you, Charles, and Daniel kinda scramble to make it look like nothing was going on.

"Kelly wanted to grab some flowers for the kitchen," Max hums. The two of you hadn't really apologized for anything said during the argument. In your family, arguments were never really apologized for, you kinda of just moved on from everything. So even if there was still a bit of an awkward twinge, nothing was said.

"Oh! Somehow Charles and Daniel haven't had the strawberries so I brought them here to try them." You smile, and someone's hand comes to your jaw. You blink as Charles uses one of the napkins to poke your cheek.

"You got chocolate on your face, somehow." He murmurs and you laugh, grabbing his wrist and taking the napkin into your own hands.

"Thank you, Charlie." You blot where he says the chocolate is and you notice Max giving you a weird look. Looking over at your brother, you go to say something before Daniel pulls Max away to look at something, mouthing to you both,

"Be more discreet, maybe?"

And you can't help the giggles that leave your mouth as you lean into Charles and he wraps an arm around you, laughing out apologies.

Yeah, Max was gonna catch on.

-

and now you and Charles had to get real good at lying and dodging watchful eyes. Monaco was a small little country, and now that it would be filled with more people who knew you, it was about to become a real challenge to see if you could make it through the holidays without anyone knowing or noticing.

Oh, especially when your Christmas Eve dinner was now going to have the Leclerc's stopping by as well.

taglist. thank you!

@angelayse @iamahallucinationnn @ilove-tswizzle @supremebaddietrash

#f1 fanfic #formula one fic #formula one fanfiction #max verstappen fanfic #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smau #f1 smau #formula one smau

[theemporium]

[4.1k] as promised, jack throws luke a belated birthday party before the season kicks off. except, luke gets more surprises than he bargained for. (smut)

series masterlist

.

“I don’t get why we have to do this.”

“I’m just following instructions.”

“I already know Jack is throwing a party, there is no surprise.”

“I know. You have said it thirteen times since we left the apartment.”

Luke shot the older defenceman a look, his face blank and unimpressed. It had been bad enough that Jack had barged into his room at an ungodly hour on their off day, rambling away so fast that it took Luke a few minutes to even realise what he was saying. He had clothes thrown at his face and told he had fifteen minutes to get out of the house before he was dragged out. 

He was only mildly surprised to find John waiting outside their apartment complex, two coffees held in his hands and looking just as thrilled as Luke to be awake so early. And just like Luke, he had been given close to no instructions on what to do, other than keep Luke out of their apartment until everything was ready. 

Whenever that would be.

“I don’t get why we couldn’t just hang out at yours.” Luke said, leaning back against the hood of the car as he shovelled the ice cream around the small tub he was holding. “Or why he demanded I spend the day acting like a seven year old.” 

“To say goodbye to your youth before you turn twenty,” John replied.

Luke frowned. “I’m already twenty.”

“Semantics,” John shrugged.

Luke stared at his teammate for a few moments, letting the silence envelope them. He got along well with John, probably better than some of the older teammates. He didn’t want to say it to anyone else—like Jack or Quinn or his parents—but it was a little intimidating. He wasn’t the youngest guy in the team, and he knew he had others his age. But sometimes, the older defenceman were just…a little intense. 

He knew they meant well. He knew they only wanted to help and guide. But it was hard to believe the words they were saying when it was still pre-season, when Luke still felt like he had to prove himself on the ice, even after playoffs.

But John was a nice middle. He wasn’t old but he was experienced. He understood it a little better than some of the others. Luke might have even gone as far to say that John had been the closest thing to an actual friend that he felt on the team, like somebody he thinks would genuinely hang out with him outside of team hangouts and post-game pub crawls.

Luke’s eyes narrowed in suspicion at the older boy. “Do you know what Jack is planning?”

He could see the beginnings of a smirk tugging on John’s lips.

Luke pointed his little spoon in accusation. “You do!” 

“Eat your ice cream, Luke.” 

“Surely I get birthday boy privileges or something.”

John’s face broke out into a full blown grin. “Thought you were already twenty? Not technically the birthday boy then, are you?” 

Luke only rolled his eyes as the boy beside him cackled, but there was the makings of a smile on his face too. 

…

He had made the mistake of underestimating a Jack Hughes’ party.

Luke knew what his brother was like. He knew how his mind worked and how he thought and how he acted. He knew just what certain words and phrases really meant. He knew the kinds of tricks Jack tended to have up his sleeve. 

He had ranted to John about as much all day. He had warned you about the same.

He was fully equipped to be prepared with whatever was on the other side of the door.

And yet, Luke still found himself standing frozen in shock when he opened the apartment door to so many fucking people screaming happy birthday at him. More people than he ever considered possibly fitting into their apartment. 

Every surface had more bottles of alcohol on them than he could count, there were balloons and other decorations taped to the wall, and he was pretty sure he saw a fucking keg hidden amongst the crowd.

It was the most Jack Hughes kind of thing to throw him a party that resembled a frat party, more than a fucking birthday party. He shouldn’t have been surprised and he still was because, honestly, he didn’t think it would be much bigger than the team and their partners and some extra friends. 

Luke didn’t think he knew half the people in his house right now. Maybe more than half. 

And still, staring at the large group of people, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over the crowd as if he would be able to spot you in seconds. 

But he couldn’t.

Instead, Jack was dragging him into the apartment with a shove and a big smile. He had a drink pushed into his hands seconds later, more people wishing him a happy birthday and the overwhelming realisation that his social butterfly brother was going to drag him around to meet every single stranger currently in his house. 

And as much as he wanted to claim it was horrible—and it kind of was, socially—Jack undoubtedly knew how to throw a great party. 

He was in the middle of listening to some retelling of a goal from a game that Luke didn’t even care about when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He glanced around him, everyone far too focused on the storytelling before he slipped his phone out. He wished he was embarrassed with the way his smile grew when he saw it was from you. 

cherry🍒: which room is yours? 

cherry🍒: please answer quick before i break into your brother’s room

Luke pressed his lips together, trying to resist the urge to smile or laugh.

hockey boy: is there a reason you’re trying to sneak into my room? 

It didn’t even take a few seconds after he pressed send for you to respond. 

cherry🍒: stop being a smart ass and tell me which one

cherry🍒: otherwise i guess jack gets your present 

And it was stupid, really. He didn’t know what you got him. It could be a card for all he knew, and he would be grateful for it regardless. But still, something about the implication of your words made his cheeks flush in response. 

And something quite possessive bubbled in his chest at the idea of anyone else being in his position. 

It was his gift, after all. He had every right to feel possessive over it. Or, at least, that was what he told himself as he quickly responded. 

hockey boy: second door on the left

He watched the bubbles appear on his screen, let the seconds pass painfully until your message came through.

cherry🍒: come and get your present, birthday boy ;)

He stared at the text for a lot longer than he cared to admit before he was snapped out of his thoughts, feeling someone’s pointy elbow digging into his side. His head snapped up, finding Jesper staring at him with a slightly concerned look.

“You good? Your face has gone red.”

He could almost feel his cheeks burn hotter in response. 

“Uh, yeah,” Luke cleared his throat and gave the older boy a slightly strained smile. “I must’ve drank a little more than I expected. I’m just gonna go splash my face and I’ll be back.”

Jesper’s brows furrowed together. “You sure? I can go get Jack—”

“No, no,” Luke quickly reassured him, giving his shoulder a small pat and squeeze before he took a step away from the crowd. “Promise I’m all good. Just need to freshen up.”

Jesper didn’t look convinced but Luke didn’t give him much time to say anything else before he rushed off. 

He kept his head down, trying to avoid eye contact and getting dragged into conversations as best as he could. He gave polite smiles when he could, pushing through the crowd of people without a second thought before he made it to the corridor that led off to the bedrooms.

It was quieter, which was expected with most of the guests in the main communal areas but Luke didn’t give much thought to them or anything else as he made a beeline for his room. 

His heart was thundering in his chest as he reached for the door, quickly sliding inside and shutting the door with a heavy sigh before he finally turned around. He leaned back against the door, taking in the sight of you casually sitting on his bed like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Maybe because, for some reason that was beyond his own understanding, it was. 

You sitting on his bed, leaning back against your hands as you grinned at him. Your white dress was a stark contrast against his navy blue sheets, resting around mid-thigh and it drove him crazy. Almost as crazy as the cherry red lipstick did. 

“Happy birthday, Hughes.”

His nose scrunched. “You can’t call me that when my brother is under the same roof.”

You snorted. “Aw, you know you’re my favourite.” 

Luke didn’t bite back his smile this time. “Is that my birthday present?” 

You grinned back, patting the spot on the bed next to you. “Why don’t you come find out?” 

He barely had a chance to sit on the bed before your hands were on him, fingers lightly tugging on his curls as you pressed a smacking kiss onto his cheek with a cheesy grin. 

“Happy birthday, Luke.” 

He huffed out a laugh, turning to look at you with an elated expression. “Thanks, Cherry,” he murmured, almost shyly as your fingers remained in his hair, playing with his curls like it was instinctive. “How are you enjoying the party?”

Your lips twitched upwards. “Your brother sure would’ve made a great frat boy.”

“It’s his true calling,” Luke joked.

“And you’re a popular boy,” you commented.

His cheeks flushed. “Oh no…I…I don’t know half of them, to be honest. Maybe even more than that.” 

Something glinted in your eyes and you smiled at him. “So I’m one of the lucky few people who actually know the birthday boy?” 

He swallowed. “One of the few, yeah.” 

“I’m honoured,” you hummed, tilting your head to the side. “I’m guessing you won’t be missed if I keep you up here for a bit, then?”

He blinked, staring at you for a few seconds before he remembered he had to respond. “Uh, yeah, no. We can…we can stay here for a bit. Or a while. Or however long you want.” 

You tucked your lip between your teeth. “Good. Get comfortable.”

His eyes widened a little. “Huh?” 

“Get comfortable, Luke,” you repeated, something quite like pride blooming in your chest as you watched his face blush in response. “Need to give you your birthday present.” 

“Oh,” he murmured before he realised. “Oh! Right, I—” 

Luke glanced at you for a second, seeing if you were going to give him any hint on what was happening but you just smiled at him. He cleared his throat, almost embarrassed by the way his dick twitched in response before he shuffled back onto the bed until his back was pressed against the headboard. 

“Is this okay?”

“Perfect, baby, always so perfect for me,” you murmured, not wasting any time as you began to crawl towards him. 

He gulped a little, watching you like he was completely entranced. He expected you to swing your leg over his lap, to feel your thighs on either side of him as you settled yourself on him. He waited for you to be close enough before he could reach out, before he could pull you closer. He itched to have his hands on you.

But you crawled until you were kneeling beside him, your knees brushing against his thigh and hand on his stomach—but it still didn’t feel close enough for his liking. 

Yet, when he opened his mouth to speak, you were already leaning forward to kiss him.

The way he moaned in relief the second he felt your lips on his was almost pathetic, but Luke couldn’t bring himself to care. You shifted in your spot before your free hand cupped his cheek, guiding his head so you could deepen the kiss with a swipe of your tongue against his lips. 

He parted his lips with no hesitation. 

“Hm, good boy,” you hummed, your breath tickling against his lips and it made his cock strain in his jeans. 

“Always for you,” he responded, almost like it was instinctive. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up, for his body to flush in realisation.

But he could feel your smile widen against his lips and it made it worth it.

You pulled back, panting softly as your hooded eyes took him in. Your gaze glanced over every inch of his face before they lingered on his lips. Your eyes darkened and your lips twitched as your hand moved to cup his jaw, to let your thumb slowly swipe over his lips.

“Cherry red looks good on you, baby,” you commented, and it was only then he noticed how smudged your own lipstick looked. 

“Might give you a run for your money,” he retorted, his voice a little lower and rougher than it was moments ago.

“Hm, I bet you could.” 

He gulped a little, the blood roaring in his ears as he felt the anticipation of your next move crackle under his skin like lightning waiting to strike. He watched you closely like he was scared to miss something, like this would all end if he looked away.

“Relax, Luke,” you said in a softer voice, the hand on his stomach lightly fisting the material of his shirt. “You trust me, right?” 

He nodded.

“And you’ll tell me if you wanna stop?”

He nodded again.

“Good,” you murmured before you were leaning in again. “Then sit back and enjoy your present, birthday boy.”

And every other coherent thought Luke had in his brain went completely out the window as you leaned in to kiss him again. 

There was the distant thumping bass sounding from the main room that made him feel like he was back to the party just over a month ago. When he was in the small bathroom with you, feeling just as hot and flushed as he did now but for very different reasons. And if he didn’t have your tongue in his mouth, he was sure he would have appreciated how poetic it all felt.

But he really, really couldn’t bring his brain to do anything except focus on you, you, you.

A needy noise sounded from the back of his throat as your hand on his stomach travelled downwards, as the heel of your palm pushed against the bulge in his jeans. 

“So responsive,” you murmured between kisses as you continued to palm him over his jeans. 

He felt breathless, his brain feeling fuzzy and his body feeling overwhelmed as he desperately tried to keep up with you, to kiss you back, to not buck his hips like he desperately wanted to do.

“This okay?” 

He sighed, nodding his head.

You hand paused, and he almost whined in response, before your fingers paused at the button of his jeans. “Still okay?”

He nodded again.

“Words, baby. I know you can use them for me.”

“Yeah, still okay,” he managed to get out between gritted teeth, almost sounding wounded as he felt your fingers circle his button before slowly popping it undone. He let out a staggered, heavy breath as your hand slid into his jeans, until the warmth of your palm squeezed his cock over his boxers. “Oh, fuck.”

“Shhh, can’t be too loud, baby,” you murmured, watching the way his head slumped back against the headboard with a thump. “Not when they can hear you.”

“There’s music,” he defended weakly, his eyes fluttering shut as you slowly began to stroke his clothed cock. 

“Your pretty noises are louder,” you teased, unable to help yourself as you leaned forward to press a kiss to the hollow of his neck. “Help me get these off, yeah?” 

Luke could only find it within himself to nod and lift his hips to help shuffle the fabric of his jeans and boxers to pool just above his knees. “Please.”

“No need to beg this time,” you assured the boy, pressing another kiss just under his jaw. “Gonna give the birthday boy what he wants.” 

He blinked his eyes open, expecting to find you staring back at him. Instead, your focus was on his exposed dick, resting against his stomach. He swallowed a little, suddenly self-conscious and painfully aware that despite the amount of times you had made him come, this was the first time he had ever…well…it was the first time you had ever seen his dick.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Nothing except a noise mixed between a moan and a whimper as your thumb traced over the slit on his head.

“Pretty boy, pretty cock,” you commented casually, like your thumb wasn’t spreading the small beads of precome over the head of his cock.

“Cherry,” he breathed out, fighting the urge to clench his eyes shut. “Fuck. Please.”

“I like when you say my name like that,” you confessed, turning to look at his flushed cheeks and glossy eyes that were already staring back at you. You never once looked away from him as you raised your thumb to your mouth, wrapping your lips around it.

He gritted his teeth together. “Shit.” 

The eye contact remained as you licked the palm of your hand before reaching down to stroke his cock again, no layers of fabric acting as a barrier anymore. Just your warm, wet palm slowly pumping the length of his hard cock, in his fucking bedroom when a whole party of guests celebrating him were just god-knows how many feet away.

“Fuck, yes,” he moaned out, slumping back against the headboard again as you continued to stroke his cock. His eyes fluttered shut as a small voice in the back of his head muttered about how much better it felt when it wasn’t his own hand. 

“That’s it, baby, just sit back and enjoy,” you whispered, closing the distance between your lips and his neck once again. Your breath tickled along the column of his neck, sending small shivers through his body as he tried not to twitch his hips.

“Feels good,” he managed to blurt out.

He could feel your smile against his skin. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded hopelessly, his hands fisting the duvet on either side of him. “So good.”

“Hm,” you hummed in amusement, your teeth lightly nipping a spot just before his ear. “You gonna last long, baby?” 

He shook his head, whimpering.

“Gonna be a good boy and come for me?” 

He nodded without a second of hesitation. 

And then he felt your lips against his ear, your breath warm and your voice sultry as you whispered, “then come for me, Luke.”

And he fucking shattered. 

White, hot pleasure exploded through him. He could feel it in every nerve in his body, from the tip of his fingers to the end of his toes. He could feel the rush down his spine, the spots dotting his vision as he tried to ground his bearings. He could feel his cock twitching in your palm as he came, as ropes of his come exploded over your hand and his thighs and stomach.

“Holy shit,” he breathed out, chest heaving with soft pants as he took a few moments before he turned his head to look at you.

“Like your birthday present?” You asked with an innocent smile.

Luke snorted, not replying as he leaned forward to press his lips against yours. It felt like the natural response and you didn’t seem to push him away. 

When he pulled back, he reached for a box of tissues and handed you a few to clean yourself up whilst he did the same. It was only thirty seconds of silence before he opened his mouth to say something, his brain still fuzzy and the oddest urge to say ‘thank you’ on the tip of his tongue when he heard familiar voices on the other side of his door.

“Nah, I swear Jack said his room was to the right.”

“He said left, dipshit.”

“No, he definitely said right.”

Luke’s eyes widened as he turned to look at you, a sudden burst of adrenaline and panic ridding him of whatever post-orgasm brain fog he was experiencing seconds ago. “Get under the bed.”

You blinked. “What—”

“Get under the bed now,” Luke hissed as he quickly scrambled to pull his boxers and jeans up.

You listened to him, despite his confusion, as you quickly slid off his bed and crawled underneath the frame. You disappeared just as the door to his room burst open and Luke was met with three very familiar faces grinning at him. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LUKEY!” 

Despite hearing their voices, the shock of seeing three of his closest friends didn’t hit him until they were standing right in front of him. His heart was still thundering in his chest and his brain still felt a little delayed, but the smile on his face was genuine as he took in the sight of Mark, Ethan and Rutger.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” Luke retorted, shuffling off his bed. He contemplated hugging them before remembering what had just occurred seconds ago and thought better of it. 

“You really think we were gonna miss your birthday?” Ethan asked with a scoff.

“I mean, it was a few weeks ago…”

Rutger lightly punched his arm. “Don’t be a dick, we just flew from Michigan to be here.”

Luke raised his brows in surprise. “You did?”

“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world, bud,” Mark replied, a softer smile on his face. “You may have hit the big leagues but you can’t get rid of us.”

He swallowed back the lump in his throat, an odd pang of homesickness in his heart craving to be a college student in Michigan once again. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I think the better question is why the fuck you are hiding at your own party,” Ethan spoke up, slapping his arm around Luke’s shoulders before he began guiding him to the door. “Your brother splurged on a shit ton of booze downstairs, we should be taking advantage of that.”

“And kicking their asses in beer pong,” Mark added with a grin.

“Let’s fucking go!” Rutger whooped, already the first one out the door with the expectation of the others to follow.

“Gonna embarrass them all,” Ethan grinned, turning his head to look at Luke before he frowned a little. “Hey, what’s that on your neck?”

Luke’s eyes widened as his hand instantly came up to his neck, as though he would be able to feel the lipstick staining his skin. “Uh…it’s…a rash.”

Ethan’s brows furrowed together. “Damn, really? It kinda looks—”

“Are you two coming or what?”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “We’re coming!”

“Hurry up or Mark’s my partner in beer pong!” 

Ethan scoffed, his mouth parting in offence. “Absolutely not—” 

Luke didn’t get much of a chance to say anything else before Ethan and the others all but dragged him back into the party. The guilt of leaving you in his room swirled inside him, but he waited until the boys were distracted before he managed to slip his phone out of his pocket. 

hockey boy: i am so sorry about that

hockey boy: i didn’t mean to leave you like that

hockey boy: i feel like a dickhead 

His lip was tucked between his teeth as the typing bubbles appeared. 

cherry🍒:  don’t worry about it, luke

cherry🍒: have fun with your friends 

cherry🍒: hope you liked your birthday present ;)

His cheeks burned but he grinned down at his phone.

hockey boy: don’t think anything can top it

He paused for a few moments, glancing up to find his friends still lost in some debate on who was gaining Mark as their beer pong partner before his focus shifted back to his phone. With some lingering confidence and the shots Ethan made him do as soon as they left his room in his system, he found himself typing and hitting send before he could over think it all.

hockey boy: next time i get to make you come

hockey boy: it’s only fair 

Luke watched as your response came in soon after. 

cherry🍒: maybe you can show me how good you really are with those hands of yours 

.

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