#but also sorry this is so long i just. love her x

[pucksandpower]

La Regina

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Charles Leclerc x Schumacher!Reader

Summary: a girl raised at her father’s knee goes from rising star to princess to queen (or in which becoming a legend runs in the Schumacher family)

You bounce excitedly in the passenger seat of your papa’s car as he pulls into the parking lot of the karting track. At 5-years-old, you’re too young to race officially, but he promised to let you drive some practice laps after the scheduled competition today.

“Remember, Maus, listen closely to the instructors and stay safe out there,” Michael says, ruffling your hair affectionately before getting out.

You scramble out after him, having to jog to keep up with his long strides across the parking lot. You reach to take his hand, but freeze when a small crowd starts converging around your papa. Men in bright vests are rushing over, cameras flashing rapidly.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” You ask, startled by the commotion.

Before Michael can respond, a curly-haired woman thrusts a baby into his arms. “Oh my god, can you just hold her for one second? I need a picture!”

Your papa looks bewildered but graciously cradles the infant, giving an awkward smile as more and more people start shoving pieces of paper and pens in front of him.

“Excuse me, please, I have my daughter with me today,” he tries saying over the chaos, but no one is listening.

You shrink back, overwhelmed by the pushing crowd and flurry of voices pleading for autographs and photos. Where did all these people come from? This has never happened before when you’ve gone karting with your papa.

Sensing your unease, Michael gently passes the baby back to its mother and kneels down in front of you. “Hey, it’s okay, Maus. Why don’t you wait for me over there?” He gestures to a bench off to the side.

Part of you wants to cling to him, scared of all the strangers crowding around so aggressively. But you also don’t want him to have to worry about you on top of everything else. You nod bravely and make your way through the throng to the little bench, watching apprehensively as your papa tries politely handling the requests.

After what feels like forever, the crowd finally starts dispersing, though a few linger behind like stubborn cats begging for scraps. Michael shakes the last few hands and accepts some papers to sign before gratefully escaping over to you.

“I’m so sorry about that, Maus,” he says, looking apologetic as he plops down on the bench. “I didn’t expect such a scene on what’s supposed to be our fun day.”

“It’s okay, Papa.” You lean against his side, still a bit rattled but comforted by his familiar warmth. “Who were all those people? Why did they want your … uhh …“ You can’t quite remember the word for the scribbles people ask famous people for.

“Autographs,” Michael supplies with an amused chuckle, wrapping an arm around you. “And they wanted photos too, I suppose. I’m … well, I’m quite a famous racecar driver.”

You cock your head, trying to process this concept of your papa being some kind of celebrity. As far as you’re concerned, he’s just your goofy, loving dad who takes you karting and makes the silliest voices for all your stuffed animals at home.

“Really? Like the famous famous people on TV?” You’ve seen the paparazzi swarming the actors and musicians during awards shows, but you’d never imagined that could happen to your own papa.

Michael nods, drawing you closer with a squeeze. “Yes, somewhat like that, though it’s a bit excessive at a small karting event.” He laughs again and brushes some of your wayward hair from your face. “But you’re right, to you I’m just Papa. I don’t expect anything more from my favorite Maus.”

You beam at the affectionate nickname, all the earlier stress melting away. Who cares if strangers want your papa’s autograph or photos? All that matters is you two spending the day together like always.

“Can we go get our karts now?” You ask eagerly, bouncing a little on the bench. “I want to show you how fast I can go!”

“Of course!” Michael jumps up and scoops you into his arms with a playful growl, making you shriek giddily. “My little speed demon is going to leave me in the dust.”

He swings you up onto his shoulders and you cling on tightly as he strides toward the pit area. A few more people spot him and make a move closer with cameras and sharpies extended, but seem to think better of it when they see you perched up high.

The two of you spend the next couple hours karting together, trading places taking warm up laps and cheering each other on. At one point, a young attendant working the pit area approaches Michael somewhat nervously.

“Um, excuse me, Mr. Schumacher?” He’s clutching a crumpled baseball cap in one hand, ducking his head shyly. “I’m just such a huge fan, would you mind taking a photo and signing this for me after your session?”

Your papa smiles kindly at the young man and takes the cap. “Not at all, no problem.” As the attendant walks away, looking elated, Michael turns to you with a wink. “See? That’s how you politely ask for an autograph.”

You giggle and mime zipping your lips. “Don’t worry, Papa, I won’t let the fame go to my head when I’m a famous racecar driver too someday.”

Scooping you up once more, Michael presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “That’s my girl. Now, last few laps — let’s see who can go the fastest without ending up in the grass!”

As evening starts falling, the two of you make your way back through the now nearly deserted lot after returning the rental karts. Most of the other karters have cleared out, leaving just you two strolling unhurriedly back to the car.

“Well Maus, despite the, uh, overexcited fans, I’d call this day a success,” Michael says, swinging your joined hands idly. “We both had our fun on the track, and I think you handled that crowd back there like a champ.”

You smile up at him, still so proud just to be his daughter. “I don’t care about all those other people, papa. As long as I have you, that’s all I need.”

Stopping beside the car, Michael crouches down and cups your face in his calloused racing palms, looking at you with such fierce adoration.

“Maus, you have me, always. No matter what happens out there,” he gestures vaguely at the empty track, “When I’m with you, I’m just Papa. My greatest accomplishment, my biggest award, is being your father. Verstanden?”

You launch yourself into his arms, hugging as tightly as you can. “Verstanden, Papa. I love you.”

“Ich liebe dich mehr, Maus,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek to your hair. “Now, what do you say we go get some victory ice cream?”

As the two of you climb into the car, you can’t keep the smile off your face, practically glowing with contentment. Sure, maybe your papa is some big famous racecar driver that everybody wants a piece of. But really, he’s just your papa — and you’re his whole world.

***

The ringing of the house phone cuts through the tense silence like a knife. You shrink further into the couch cushions as your mother rushes to answer it, shoulders visibly taut.

“Hello? No, I cannot make any comment at this time. Yes, I understand there is interest but-” Corinna breaks off, rubbing her temples wearily. “Please respect our privacy as a family right now. Thank you.”

She hangs up and leans against the wall, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. Before she can even draw a full breath, the phone rings again, shrill and insistent. With a muffled curse, your mother snatches it up.

“What? I told you, I cannot give any statements! This is a private matter. How did you even get this number?”

You watch apprehensively as she responds again, her voice rising in distress. In the days since your papa’s skiing accident, it seems like the entire world has been hounding your family, desperate for any scrap of information.

On the TV across the room, the endless cycle of news reports drones on lowly. Images of your papa’s broken, still body being rushed from the slopes into a helicopter. Flashing advancer texts speculating on his chances of recovery from the traumatic head injury.

It makes you feel ill.

Beside you on the couch, Mick sits blank-faced, looking nearly as pale and worn as your mother. At 14, he understands the gravity of the situation all too well. Your big brother has always idolized your papa, hoping to follow in his racing footsteps one day as well. The thought of him not being there to see the realization of that dream is devastating.

Gina is curled up in the armchair, her shoulders shaking every so often with muffled sobs. At 16, she’s arguably been taking this the hardest of all you kids. She keeps her face stoically dry in front of your mother, but you can see how red and puffy her eyes are from constant crying.

As for you, at 11-years-old, you’re somehow both numb and feeling everything all at once. Part of you still can’t fully process that this nightmare is real. That your hero, your papa, could be lying comatose in a hospital, hovering between life and death. The other part of you is overwhelmed in a tsunami of terror, panic, anger, sadness — any and every emotion crashing through you at all hours.

“Kids, I’m so sorry about this,” your mother says, defeated, as she rejoins you in the living room after ending her latest call. The bags under her eyes seem to have deepened further overnight. “I know this is incredibly difficult and intrusive. But your papa is … he’s a public figure. People are concerned.”

“Incredibly insensitive is what they’re being,” Gina spits, uncurling herself from the chair enough to shoot your mother a resentful look. “We’re going through actual hell and all these people care about is getting a sound bite for the evening news!”

Corinna looks pained but doesn’t rebuke her. “I know, liebling, I know. But your papa has millions of fans all over the world who have followed his career for decades. Whether we like it or not, they care about him … and about us by extension.”

You think back to that day at the karting track all those years ago when you first realized your papa was what people called “famous”. How all those strangers clamored around him so aggressively just for a photo or an autograph. That level of fandom seemed exciting and novel at the time, when you were just a naïve 5-year-old. Now you see it for how intrusive and violating it is, this sense of entitlement people have to the private life of a public figure.

The phone starts ringing again, shattering the fragile quiet. Your mother squeezes her eyes shut and makes no move to get it this time. After four rings, the call goes to voicemail. A moment later, the tinny sound of an Italian voicemail being left blares through the speaker.

“Scusi, scusi, please, if there is any update on the condition of the great Michael Schumacher, any information at all! We are all holding vigils and saying prayers, but we must know how he fares! The world is watching and waiting!”

The words, pleading and demanding all at once, are like a slap across your face. The man’s voice is laced with such desperation, as if your papa’s life is mere entertainment to be consumedby the masses. You feel abruptly furious, incensed that a stranger’s morbid curiosity is given the same weight as your family’s anguish.

“Turn it off,” Mick mutters through clenched teeth, hunching over on the couch. “Just turn it off, Mama.”

Corinna nods numbly and reaches to end the voicemail, her mouth set in a grim line. Buzzing fills the room again as the TV drones on, the reporters’ voices a dull roar that you can no longer discern actual words from as your ears ring with white noise.

The shrill ringing of the phone cuts through once more, like a record scratching in your brain. Your mother flinches violently, hands coming up to clamp over her ears as she squeezes her eyes shut, finally at her breaking point.

Unable to watch this torture anymore, you surge to your feet and storm across the living room. You rip the phone from its cradle and hurl it against the far wall, the plastic casing shattering loudly. The ringing blessedly ends, leaving only an eerie silence in its wake.

Mick and Gina stare at you with wide, stunned eyes. Your mother simply deflates, sliding down the wall to the floor as the adrenaline drains from her body. For several beats, no one dares breathe too loudly. Then, Gina starts to shake her head slowly, tears slipping free.

“Brava,” she murmurs, the barest hint of approval in her voice.

Your mother doesn’t scold you for the outburst. She merely reaches out a hand, silently beckoning you closer until you slowly cross the room again and sink to your knees in front of her. She cups your face in her palms, her own cheeks glistening with fresh tears.

“You’re right, liebling, you’re right,” she whispers brokenly. “This is about our family, not … not the world thinking they’re owed something.”

She pulls your head against her shoulder and you cling to her tightly as she begins to weep in earnest, great shuddering sobs wracking her whole frame. Gina scrambles over and tucks herself against your mother’s other side, and soon all three of you are tangled in each other’s arms, letting the tidal wave of grief crest over you.

Mick stays frozen on the couch, watching over your huddle with dark, haunted eyes. For the first time since this ordeal began, the four of you are united in simply feeling, truly letting yourselves shatter. No more putting on brave faces or pretending to be okay — from this moment, you can finally grieve as a family behind closed doors, blockading out the rest of the cruel, prying world.

Later that evening, after crying yourselves into an exhausted stupor, you drift up the stairs and sequester yourself in your bedroom. You bypass the framed photos of your papa on your nightstand, the sight of his bright smile and twinkling eyes too searing at the moment. Instead, you sink to your knees in the middle of the floor and clasp your hands tightly, bowing your head to murmur desperate pleas.

“Please, please let my papa be okay. I don’t care about all his fame or the stupid reporters. I just want him to get better and come home to us. He’s not just the famous Michael Schumacher to me. He’s Papa. He’s my whole world.”

The words spill out in a torrent, all the fear and longing you’ve been bottling up for the better part of a week erupting forth. You plead to any higher power that may be listening, bargaining away your future, your dreams, anything — as long as your papa pulls through this nightmare.

How many times had you taken for granted those moments of him just being your dad — making you pancakes on Saturday mornings, dozing on the couch during family movie nights, playfully tossing you into the pool when you grew too whiny in the summer heat? You’d give anything to have those simple, precious daddy-daughter moments back.

“The world can have his trophies and titles,” you whisper fiercely, tears slipping free to patter on the carpet. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want my papa. Please, please bring him back to us.”

You curl in on yourself, forehead pressing into the floor as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. All the adoring fans, the fawning media, the hangers-on clamoring for a piece of his glory — they only know the manufactured public persona of Michael Schumacher, legendary racer and famous celebrity. But to you, he’s always just been the quiet hero tucking you into bed at night, the gentle presence reading stories in funny voices, the mighty protector pulling you in for all-encompassing bear hugs.

You miss that wonderful, silly, tender father more than anything in the world. You don’t give a damn about his racing accolades or his fame. You just desperately need your papa back home where he belongs — with his family, the people who loved and treasured him most as simply Michael.

Just Michael. Your one and only papa.

The raw ache of that longing consumes you utterly. You lay there amid the fading light from your bedroom windows, dreams and memories of your papa flickering behind your eyelids as you plead to any benevolent force that may be listening. All you want is the chance to make more joyful memories with him, to hear his rich laugh, to keep basking in his unconditional love for years and years to come.

Please, you beg the universe silently, one last time. Please let this nightmare end. Don’t let the brightest light in my world be extinguished before its time.

Let me have my papa back.

***

A tense hush has fallen over the dining room table, the clinking of utensils against plates the only sound cutting through the thick silence. Gina avoids everyone’s eyes, pushing food around her plate listlessly. Mick stares down at his half-eaten dinner, jaw working like he’s chewing over something weighty. You pick at a bread roll, too knotted with anxiety to muster much appetite.

Your mother is the one to finally break the stifling quiet, clearing her throat. “Kids, I know these last few weeks have been … incredibly difficult for us all.”

You risk a glance up at Corinna. Her eyes are tight at the corners, her mouth a taut line. Just like all of you, the constant vigil at your papa’s bedside, combined with the relentless badgering from the media, has clearly taken its toll.

“But we have to keep trying to be a family, yes?” She reaches across the table to grip your hand. “We’re all Michael has right now. We have to … to stick together for him.”

You nod numbly, swallowing hard around the lump in your throat at the reminder of your papa’s unchanged condition. The waiting, the not knowing if or when he’ll wake up, is a special kind of torment you wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Mick abruptly shoves his plate away, the porcelain scraping loudly across the wood. You all flinch a little at the harsh sound.

“I’ve been thinking ...” he starts, then seems to reconsider his words, shoulders tightening fractionally. “Well, Y/N, you know how I … how I race under Mama’s last name?”

You frown slightly, uncertain where he’s going with this. “Betsch, yes. Because you wanted to make your own name without the expectation and pressure of being Michael Schumacher’s son.”

He dips his chin once, looking almost pained. “Exactly. And I think … I think maybe you should consider doing the same.”

The words sit heavy and convolulenting between you all like a sack of wet cement. You blink dumbly, hardly comprehending what he’s suggesting at first. When the implication hits you, you actually recoil as if he’d slapped you across the face.

“What? No. No, absolutely not, Mick. How can you even say that?”

“Y/N, just hear me out,” he pleads, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “With Papa … with what happened, the paparazzi and the fans, they’re going to be watching our every move even more than before. Especially you since you’re planning to continue competing-”

“Don’t you dare make this about his condition,” you spit, fury thrumming through your veins like struck lightning. “And of course I plan to keep racing — it’s what Papa would want! I’m not going to hide from his name like it’s some shameful thing!”

Gina is watching the exchange with wide, startled eyes, her food forgotten. Mick runs an agitated hand through his hair, shaking his head firmly.

“It’s not about hiding or shame, it’s about protecting yourself! Don’t you see how crazy things have gotten? All the reporters harassing us, the fans leaving awful messages online hoping for updates ...”

He leans forward, expression almost desperate. “If you race as Betsch, you can compete without having that extra spotlight. You can just be a normal kid on the track without people peering in.”

Heat rushes up the back of your neck in waves of humiliation and rage. How dare he insinuate that inheriting your papa’s legacy is some kind of burden to be shrugged off? That the name Schumacher is a burden to bear rather than a badge of honor?

“I’m not you, Mick,” you bite out, fists clenching beneath the table. “Maybe racing under Mama’s name helped you deal with the pressure better and that’s fine. But I’m proud to be Michael Schumacher’s daughter! And if people can’t respect that, if they think it means they own a piece of me, then they can go to hell!”

“Language!” Your mother gasps, both appalled and slightly impressed. But you ignore her admonishment, too fired up to rein it in now.

“What, you think pretending to be someone else is going to spare me from living in Papa’s shadow anyway?” You shake your head adamantly, leaning across the table towards Mick. “It’s not, and you know it. Even if I raced under a fake name, everyone is still going to know exactly who I am and make comparisons.”

Slamming your palms on the table, you surge to your feet, chair screeching harshly against the floor. All the pain and uncertainty of these past few weeks is bubbling over into bitter, biting words.

“So why should I hide it? Why can’t I take pride in my name and my heritage? Maybe it’ll mean more scrutiny, but it’s a million times better than feeling like I have to be ashamed! Like I can’t fully honor Papa and make him proud!”

Chest heaving, you stare down a wide-eyed Mick, almost daring him to challenge you further. He seems to read the conviction blazing in your eyes, features softening into chagrin.

“You’re right ...” he murmurs with a wince. “You’re right, Y/N, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

You hold his repentant gaze for a long moment before deflating back into your chair with a muted thud. In the ringing silence, you can hear your mother’s soft sniffles from the far end of the table. When you look over, she has her head bowed, hands pressed to her eyes as she cries quietly.

“M-Mama?” Gina ventures in a small voice, reaching across to grasp her mother’s wrist. “What’s wrong?”

Corinna lowers her hands, swiping at the tears streaking her cheeks. When she meets your bewildered gaze, her expression is a complicated brew of pride and heart-wrenching sadness.

“Nothing is wrong, liebling,” she assures Gina with a watery smile, before turning back to you. “Y/N, you’re so much like your papa, do you know that? So brave and determined … so full of that same fighting spirit.”

She dips her chin, lips trembling faintly. “He would be so proud to hear you defend his name like that. To see you ready to take on the weight of wearing it, regardless of what the world throws at you.”

More tears spill forth, but she brushes them away impatiently with the backs of her hands.

“But liebchen, you have to understand … Michael spent decades bearing that scrutiny and expectation. People analyzing his every move, always under a spotlight so harsh it burned. I never wanted that for any of you.”

Sliding her chair back, your mother crosses to kneel before you, cradling your face gently between her palms. Her eyes are shining but intensely serious, almost pleading with you.

“The Schumacher name casts such a long shadow, one so great that your own light can be eclipsed before you ever have a chance to properly shine. I don’t want you smothered by that burden, mein schatz. I want you free to make your own amazing mark on this world, completely unchained.”

You feel your throat grow tight at her words, the weight of them ringing so true and terribly sad. You reach up to circle your fingers around her wrists, holding her hands to your cheeks like vices.

“I know, Mama, I know,” you whisper roughly. “But that light you want me to shine? Papa is the one who sparked it inside me in the first place.”

You meet her watery gaze steadily, willing her to understand the conviction taking root inside you.

“The joy and passion I have for racing doesn’t come from some anonymous dream. It comes from him — from the nights he spent giving me a play-by-play of his biggest victories, from the days we spent at the karting tracks making memories, from everything I want so desperately to honor.”

Leaning forward until your brows nearly touch, you let the pleasing words spill out directly from your heart.

“So please, please don’t ask me to race as anyone other than your daughter, yes, but also proudly as Michael Schumacher’s daughter. That name isn’t a burden or a shadow to me. It’s something I want to carry forward and make blaze even brighter.”

Your mother’s eyes slip shut as she draws in a shuddering breath. For a long moment, she simply holds your face cradled in her palms, seeming to bask in your impassioned words. When her eyes finally open again, they are overflowing with a fierce tenderness.

“Oh liebchen,” she murmurs, voice thick with an odd mix of grief and wonder. “You are your father’s daughter through and through. So determined, so unafraid to face the world head on ...”

She strokes her thumbs along the apples of your cheeks, swiping away the dampness there. “I only hope he knows just how brightly his fire still burns in you. How it is living on in the most brilliant way.”

Surging up onto her knees, your mother pulls you into a fierce embrace, tucking your head beneath her chin. You cling to her tightly, drawing strength from her warmth, her tireless support and love. Over her shoulder, you can see Mick and Gina watching silently, their own eyes overly bright.

When your mother finally leans back, cupping your face once more, her expression has regained some of its usual firmness and resolution.

“Very well, then,” she nods, offering you a watery but determined smile. “If you truly feel ready to take on the world, to claim that name and legacy as yours, then we will face it together. As a family.”

She rises lithely to her feet, drawing you up along with her. Gathering Mick and Gina in with the sweep of her arms, she folds you all in her protective embrace, holding your foreheads together in the center.

“You may be Schumachers, but that name does not define or limit you,” she declares, quiet but firm. “It is simply one part of your identity, one piece of the incredible legacy you inherited. What you choose to make of it, how brightly you make that legacy burn, is up to you alone.”

She pulls back just enough to meet each of your eyes in turn, her own gleaming with resolute pride.

“So let them watch, let them scrutinize and sneer and make their judgments. You will simply keep chasing your passions and living your truths. Yes, the world may know you as Schumachers, but you alone will define what that name represents, now and for generations to come.”

***

The roar of the engines fades as you cross the finish line, taking the chequered flag. The broadcast team erupts in excitement.

“Unbelievable! Y/N Schumacher has done it — the daughter of the legendary Michael Schumacher wins the Formula 2 championship in her rookie year!”

You can hardly believe it yourself as you start your cooldown lap, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The pit crew is cheering wildly, holding up the #1 sign. Your race engineer is on the radio, his voice cracking with joy. “You’re a champion, Y/N! A first-year champion!”

“What an incredible drive from the young German. Shades of her father with that relentless determination and racecraft. She’s carried on the Schumacher name proudly.”

As you return to the pit lane, you spot Mick getting out of his own car. He has a huge smile on his face, eyes shining with pride. You take a moment to drink it all in as you bring your car to a stop and he’s the first one there, ripping off your helmet so he can hug you tightly.

“You did it! I’m so proud of you!” He’s beaming as he pulls back to look at you.

“Aww, Mick ...” You blink back happy tears, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what you’ve accomplished. “I couldn’t have done it without you pushing me every single race.”

Mick shakes his head dismissively. “This was all you. You were the faster driver this season, plain and simple.” His face falls a little. “I really thought I had you there at the end, but you just wouldn’t give up.”

You grin cheekily. “Of course not! I’m a Schumacher — we never give up.”

“What a beautiful moment between the siblings. You can see the immense pride Mick has for his sister, despite coming up just short of winning the championship himself.”

The rest of the team surrounds the two of you, lifting you both up onto their shoulders as the celebrations kick into full gear. You lock eyes with Mick over the sea of smiling faces and he winks at you contentedly.

Later, after you’ve returned to the garage, you find a quiet moment alone with Mick. He pulls you into another hug, this one more lingering.

“I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You’ve worked so incredibly hard for this.” Mick’s voice is thick with emotion.

You squeeze him tightly. “Thank you, Mick. That means everything coming from you.”

He pulls back, cupping your face fondly. “I remember when we were kids, dreaming of following in Papa’s footsteps. And now look at us!”

You laugh, a few happy tears spilling over. “I know, it’s crazy! I couldn’t have done this without your help, you know. You’ve been by my side every step of the way.”

“A storybook ending for the Schumacher siblings. Y/N cementing herself as a future star, with her older brother not far behind.”

Mick shakes his head adamantly. “No, Y/N, this was all your talent and determination. I just got a front row seat to watching greatness in the making.” His eyes are shining with sincerity.

You throw your arms around his neck, struck by how lucky you are to have such an amazing brother. “I love you, Mick. Thank you for always believing in me.”

He hugs you fiercely. “I’ll always believe in you. You’re a champion now, but I know this is just the beginning for you.”

The team arrives then, champagne bottles in hand and ready to continue the celebration. You pull back and grin at Mick mischievously, cracking open the first bottle with a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you … for now.”

The bubbly liquid sprays everywhere as you both dissolve into laughter, reveling in this perfect moment of sibling bonding and love. Mick pulls you into a wet hug, so proud and grateful to share this with you.

“And an iconic image — the Schumacher children celebrating a Formula 2 title just like their father did in the upper series so many times before. A changing of the guard, with the name Schumacher set to dazzle racing fans once more for years to come.”

Later that night, after you’ve showered off the champagne and slipped into comfy clothes, there’s a soft knock at your hotel room door. You open it to find Mick standing there, shifting awkwardly.

“Hey, you’ve got a second?” His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, like he’s been crying.

“Of course, what’s up?” You gesture him inside, concerned by his demeanor.

Mick enters slowly, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. He seems to be struggling to find the words.

You rest a hand on his arm. “Mick, you can tell me anything, you know that.”

He nods jerkily, finally meeting your eyes. “I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You have no idea how much it means to me to see you accomplishing your dreams.” His voice catches with emotion.

“But?” You prod gently.

Mick’s eyes water again. “But … it’s also really hard for me. This was my dream first, you know? To become a champion like Papa.” He swipes at the tears angrily. “And now you’ve beaten me to it. I’m just … I’m struggling with that a bit.”

Your heart clenches at his quiet admission. You pull Mick into a tight hug, rubbing his back soothingly. “Oh, Mick … I’m so sorry. I never wanted to take that away from you.”

He shakes his head against your shoulder. “No, no, it’s not your fault at all. You earned this, fair and square. I’m just … dealing with some complicated emotions, I guess.”

You push him back by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes intently. “Mick, listen to me. You are one of the most naturally gifted drivers I’ve ever seen. This is not the end for you, not even close. You’re going to be a champion too, I know it.”

Mick seems to deflate slightly at your words, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you state firmly. “We’re going to take this to the top level together. And we’re going to make Papa even more proud than he already is.”

A slow smile spreads across Mick’s face. “Together,” he repeats, reaching out to take your hand and give it a squeeze.

You squeeze back reassuringly. “Always together. You and me, just like when we were kids. We’re a team, remember?”

Mick nods, the brightness returning to his eyes. He seems lighter now, the melancholy cloud lifted by your words of encouragement.

On impulse, you throw your arms around him again, nearly knocking him over with the force of your hug. Mick laughs delightedly, squeezing you just as tightly.

“Thank you, Y/N. I needed to hear that from you,” he murmurs shakily into your hair.

You pull back just enough to grin at him cheekily. “What are little sisters for?”

Mick lets out a surprised bark of laughter, warmth and affection shining from every part of his expression as he gazes at you fondly. “You’ll always be my little sis, champion or not.”

It’s your turn to laugh, swatting at his chest playfully. “Well this little sis just kicked your ass this season, so show some respect!”

Mick’s eyes crinkle with mirth. “I’ll remember that for next year, believe me.”

***

It’s a crisp autumn evening at the Schumacher family home in the Swiss Alps. You’re curled up on the plush couch in the living room, flipping through a magazine while your brother paces back and forth anxiously.

“Will you please sit down?” You ask, eyeing him over the top of the pages. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Mick runs a hand through his tousled blond hair. “Sorry, I’m just … worked up, I guess.”

You set the magazine aside. “About what? We haven’t had a race in weeks.”

He stops his pacing to face you. “You know the season’s almost over, right? And Haas still hasn’t said anything about re-signing me for next year.”

“Oh, Mick.” You offer him a sympathetic look. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. You’ve had a solid season.”

Mick flops down next to you, deflating a little. “I don’t know. There are so many other options on the table. What if Haas decides to go a different direction?”

“Then you’ll find another seat,” you say firmly. “Any team would be lucky to have you behind the wheel.”

He manages a half-smile. “Thanks. I just wish I had your confidence sometimes.”

“What can I say?” You flash him a cheeky grin. “It’s a gift.”

The peaceful moment is shattered as both of your phones start ringing in unison. You exchange a puzzled look before digging them out.

“My manager,” Mick says, furrowing his brow as he answers. “Hello?”

You do the same, pressing the phone to your ear. “Hey, Nicolas, what’s up?”

For the next few minutes, you and Mick are silent, listening intently with rapidly changing expressions — yours elated, his crestfallen. When you finally hang up, Mick is staring at the floor, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Well?” He asks, voice tight. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

You take a deep breath, trying to tamp down your surging excitement. “Ferrari wants me for next season.”

Mick’s face falls even further, if possible. “You’re kidding.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this!” You can’t keep the grin from overtaking your features. “Can you believe it? Driving for the Scuderia! It’s a dream come true!”

“Yeah, for you maybe,” Mick mutters darkly.

You blink at his tone, smile fading slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He drags a hand down his face wearily. “Haas declined to re-sign me for next year.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What? No, that can’t be right!”

“Afraid so.” Mick’s voice is flat, resigned. “They said something about … needing to bring in fresh blood or some bullshit excuse.”

You scoot closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Mick, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

“Don’t be.” He tries for a nonchalant shrug, but it comes off as dejected. “At least one of us is moving up in the world.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?” You protest. “We’re teammates! We were supposed to take on Formula 1 together!”

Mick snorts humorlessly. “Looks like that’s not going to happen after all.”

An uncomfortable silence stretches between you. You open your mouth, searching for the right words of reassurance, but come up empty. How can you comfort him when your own dream has come true at his expense?

“Hey.” Mick’s somber tone breaks the quiet. “I’m happy for you, you know. Really, I am.”

You meet his sincere gaze, feeling your eyes start to well up. “I know. But that doesn’t make this any less shitty for you.”

He manages a rueful smile. “What can I say? I’m a realist.”

“So what are you going to do now?” You ask quietly.

Mick lets out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions. “Keep grinding, I guess. Look for another seat, any seat, even if it’s not in F1 next season.”

“You can’t give up on F1!” You protest instantly. “You’re too good for that, Mick.”

“Am I, though?” He lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Face it, Y/N, you’ve always been the better driver. This just proves it.”

You shake your head adamantly. “That’s not true at all! You’re every bit as talented as me.”

“Then why did Ferrari pick you instead of me?” There’s no accusation in his words, just weariness.

You falter, mind churning as you search for an answer that won’t come. “I … don’t know.”

“Exactly.” Mick closes his eyes briefly. “Maybe it’s for the best. At least this way, one of us still gets to live out the Schumacher legacy and race for Ferrari. Carry on the family name, you know?”

“But you’re a Schumacher too,” you say, feeling your throat start to tighten with unshed tears. “It should be both of us out there, not just me.”

Mick reaches over to give your hand a comforting squeeze. “Hey, don’t cry about it. I’ll be okay, really.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” You swipe angrily at the moisture gathering in your eyes. “It’s not fair, Mick. It’s just not fair at all.”

He levels you with a look that’s decades older than his years. “Life rarely is. You know that as well as I do.”

You fall silent, unable to formulate a response. He’s right, you realize with a pang. The two of you, of all people, should understand that success and failure often go hand-in-hand, even for the most talented competitors.

Pursing your lips, you lean forward and pull Mick into a fierce hug. He tenses for a split second before wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“I’m still so proud of you,” you murmur into the crook of his neck. “No matter what happens, you’ll always be my incredible big brother.”

Mick lets out a shaky exhale against your hair. “And you’re the most badass little sister a guy could ask for. Ferrari has no idea what they’re in for.”

You pull back just far enough to meet his eyes, emboldened by the warm affection shining in them.

“Just promise me one thing?” You ask.

He arches an eyebrow quizzically. “What’s that?”

A mischievous grin tugs at your lips. “That you’re not going to take it easy on me whenever you’re back on the grid.”

***

You take a deep breath as you pull your sleek new Ferrari up to the iconic factory in Maranello. This place holds so many memories — some joyful, others bittersweet. Your father cemented himself as a legend here, and you can’t help but feel the weight of that legacy on your shoulders now more than ever.

The door swings open and there stands Fred Vasseur offering you a warm smile. “Y/N, welcome home.”

You return the smile, unable to mask the flood of emotions. “It’s good to be back, Fred.”

He gestures for you to follow him inside. “I’m sure this place brings back quite a few memories.”

“You have no idea,” you murmur, taking in the familiar sights and smells. The rosso corsa that coats every surface, the scent of machinery and high-octane fuel … it’s intoxicating.

A tiny you runs through the hallways, giggling madly as your frantic mother tries to catch up. “Mick! Y/N! Get back here this instant!”

Mick peeks out from behind a workbench, sticking his tongue out at Gina, who playfully swats at him. You spot the perfect hiding spot — a massive green recycling bin tucked in the corner ...

“Y/N? Are you still with me?” Fred’s voice breaks you from your reverie.

You shake your head. “Sorry, got a bit lost in thought there. This place just … feels like stepping into the past.”

Fred nods knowingly. “I can only imagine. But today is about your future with the team.” He leads you through the winding corridors, pointing out various departments. “Over here is aerodynamics, that hallway takes you to the design labs ...”

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Your father’s voice echoes down the corridor, his tone playful but tinged with desperation. You stifle a giggle from your hiding spot as his footsteps draw closer.

“Michael, any luck?” That’s Paolo, one of the mechanics. You chance a peek and see half the team has been enlisted to search for you.

Your dad scrubs a hand over his face. “She’s too good at this game. Should’ve known better than to play hide-and-seek in a place this size.”

You chuckle softly at the memory, prompting a curious look from Fred. “Sorry, just … reminiscing again.”

He gives you an easy grin. “By all means, feel free to share. I’d love to hear some of those old stories.”

You take a breath, composing yourself before launching into the tale. “Well, there was this one time when I was maybe … four or five? Mick and I were causing an unholy ruckus as usual, and Papa suggested a game of hide-and-seek to wear us out. Big mistake on his part.”

Fred’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “Let me guess, you proved to be a master hider?”

“You could say that.” You grin mischievously. “I found this big recycling bin, crawled inside, and stayed completely silent while the whole team tore the place apart looking for me. Papa was just about to call in the overalls for backup when Paolo finally peeked in the bin.”

Fred throws his head back with a hearty laugh. “I can just picture your poor father’s face when they found you! He must’ve been both relieved and completely exasperated.”

You nod. “Oh, he wore that particular blend of emotions often when we were young terrors around here.”

The two of you continue chatting amicably as Fred shows you around the various facilities — the simulator room, the engine workshop, even the gym and physiotherapy center. With each new area unveiled, another flood of nostalgia washes over you.

You and Mick sprint into the wide-open workshop, engines and miscellaneous car pieces scattered all around. Gina is closing in, her longer legs giving her an advantage.

“Got you now, you little gremlins!” She scoops Mick up with one arm, then turns her sights on you.

You let out a shriek of laughter, dodging around a massive piece of equipment as your mother joins the chase. “Come here, Maus! It’s time for your nap!”

You shake your head furiously. “No nap! No nap!”

Corinna’s hand finally snags the back of your shirt, and you erupt into a fit of giggles as she pulls you into a hug ...

“That’s some smile you’ve got going there,” Fred notes with a wry grin. “I take it another happy memory?”

You give an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. Just … remembering how this place used to be our personal jungle gym. Mick, Gina, and I would run absolute loops around Mama while she tried to wrangle us for nap time.”

Fred chuckles fondly. “I can picture three tiny terrors leaving chaos in their wake.” His expression softens. “It must be incredibly special to be back here after all these years. To follow in your father’s footsteps like this.”

You swallow hard against the swell of emotions. “It’s … overwhelming, if I’m being honest. But in the best possible way.” You glance around at the familiar setting with new eyes. “These halls practically raised me. And now … now I get to write my own chapter here.”

Fred gives your shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “You’ve got a long road ahead, but I have complete faith you’ll make us all proud, Y/N.”

You straighten your shoulders, giving him a determined nod. “I’m ready.”

As you follow him further into the factory, you can’t help but revel in the rush of coming full circle. Yes, this team, this place, is indelibly woven into your childhood. But now … now it’s time to create new memories.

To race.

To win.

To become a legend.

***

The crowd outside the Ferrari headquarters swells as you emerge from the famous red doors for the first time as an official Scuderia Ferrari driver. Shouts and cheers erupt from every direction, fans pressing forward eagerly with pens and photos clutched in their hands.

“Over here, Y/N!”

“Un selfie, per favore!”

“Can you sign this for my daughter?”

You plaster on a polite smile, trying to graciously oblige as many autograph and photo requests as possible. But the throngs only grow more insistent, hands grabbing at you from all angles as the crowd closes in. Your heart races and you feel yourself starting to panic at the lack of personal space.

“Per favore, let her breathe!” An insistent voice cuts through the commotion in lightly accented Italian.

The crowd parts slightly as a familiar, lean figure pushes through — your new teammate. His green eyes meet yours with a reassuring look as he plants himself firmly by your side.

“Give her some space!” Charles barks out in English this time. “She can’t breathe!”

You shoot him a grateful glance as the fans reluctantly take a step back. Charles gently takes your arm and pulls you out of the scrum.

“Sorry about that,” he says with an apologetic smile, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. “I know how intense they can be around here.”

“No, thank you,” you reply earnestly. “I was about two seconds away from an anxiety attack.”

Charles chuckles. “Well, we can’t have the new driver cracking under pressure on day one.”

You make a face at his teasing remark. “Watch it, pretty boy.”

Laughing, Charles puts his arm around your shoulders in a friendly gesture. “Come on, I know just the place to escape the madness for a bit. Dinner’s on me.”

He guides you across the plaza and down a side street to a cozy trattoria — Ristorante Montana, known as the unofficial “Ferrari restaurant” frequented by team members. As you enter, a stout woman with a warm, welcoming smile emerges from the back.

“Ah, Charles! Welcome back. And this must be ...” Her eyes widen as they land on you. “Oh, la piccola principessa is all grown up!”

Flustered, you open your mouth to respond, but the woman has already swept you up in a tight embrace.

“Rossella, you’re smothering the poor girl!” A elderly man’s voice calls out in amused rebuke.

“Hush, Maurizio, and pour us some wine!” Rossella releases you and holds you at arm’s length, beaming. “Michael’s little girl, all woman now. I’ll never forget the first time your father brought you in here as a bambina.”

She gestures to a framed photo hanging on the wall of a much younger Rossella standing next to Michael, who is holding a grinning toddler — unmistakably you.

“He was so proud,” Rossella continues misty-eyed. “Just like I know he would be of you today, following in your father’s footsteps.”

You swallow hard, touched by the warm welcome and memory. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Charles watching you with a soft smile.

Rossella shifts gears abruptly, all business. “Now, what will you two have? The usual for you, Charles? And for you, la principessa, I insist you try the gnocchi al ragú. Just like my nonna used to make it.”

As Rossella whisks off to the kitchen, Maurizio appears with a bottle of deep red wine and two glasses.

“To new beginnings,” he toasts with a wink, pouring for you and Charles.

You raise your glass to clink against Charles’ with a smile. “New beginnings.”

Over pasta and wine, you and Charles fall into an easy rapport, bantering back and forth as the weight of the evening’s earlier stress dissipates. You find yourself repeatedly distracted by the dimpled grin that lights up his face whenever he laughs at one of your quips.

“So is this a regular hazing ritual you put all the rookies through?” You ask innocently. “Get them away from the crowds and ply them with wine so they’re too drunk to be nervous on day one?”

Charles barks out a laugh. “You’ve found me out! Although I do seem to recall my own initiation being a lot harder. Maybe I’m going soft in my old age.”

“Old age? You’re what …12?” You retort, eyes dancing with mirth.

The waiter arrives with the dessert menu, but Rossella shoos him away.

“No, no menu. I’m bringing you the tiramisu to share. My secret recipe.”

Charles groans in delight. “You’re a legend, Rossella.”

She pats his cheek affectionately before disappearing again. A comfortable silence falls between you and Charles as you each take a bite of the rich, velvety tiramisu.

“Mmmm, this is literally heaven,” you murmur happily.

Charles hums in agreement around another forkful.

Your eyes catch movement out of the corner and you turn to see Rossella returning, carrying a large framed photo under her arm. She sets it down on the empty chair next to you with a proud grin.

It’s a glamor shot of you from a recent photoshoot for Vogue Italia — hair and makeup impeccable, lips parted in a secret smile as you gaze directly at the camera.

Rossella rests a hand on your shoulder. “For me, bellissima? So we can hang la principessa right next to il padre.”

Touched, you take the proffered sharpie and scribble out a quick inscription before signing your name with a flourish at the bottom.

“Grazie mille,” Rossella breathes, throwing an arm around you to squeeze you against her ample frame. “You’ve made this old heart very happy tonight.”

When she finally releases you, you see Charles watching you both with a soft, almost wistful expression. You raise your eyebrows at him in question, but he just shakes his head with a smile.

As you and Charles prepare to depart, Rossella calls out once more. “You come back soon, eh principessa? I have more pictures to collect.”

You throw her a wink over your shoulder. “D’accordo, d’accordo. We’ll be back soon!”

Out on the street, you pause, conscious of the evening rapidly drawing to a close. You turn to Charles, studying him properly for the first time. His deep green eyes crinkle at the corners as he meets your gaze.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely. “Really. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t swooped in to rescue me back there.”

Charles shrugs nonchalantly, but his expression is kind. “We look out for our own in Ferrari. That’s what teammates are for, no?”

A beat passes, the momentary tension thickening between you. Then Charles seems to catch himself, clearing his throat.

“Anyway, I should let you get going before your handlers send out a search party. Need me to call you a car?”

“No, no I’m good,” you reply quickly, trying to mask your disappointment at the night ending. “My performance coach has the car around front.”

You start to turn away, then impulsively pivot back. Rising up on your toes, you throw your arms around Charles’ neck and pull him in for a brief, platonic hug.

“Seriously, thank you,” you murmur in his ear. “For everything.”

As you pull back, your faces are just inches apart. Charles’ eyes are warm, his gaze intense. For a dizzying moment, you’re certain he’s going to kiss you. Then just as suddenly, the moment passes and he steps back with a friendly smile.

“Anytime, princesse. I’ll see you bright and early next week for our first time running the SF-23 on the simulator.”

With a wink, he turns and saunters off down the street, hands shoved in his pockets in that effortlessly cool way of his. You let out a long breath, flustered and exhilarated all at once.

Your performance coach has indeed been waiting with the car, looking mildly concerned. “Everything alright?”

You flash her a bright smile, practically skipping to the car. “It is now, Mara. It absolutely is.”

Your first day as a Ferrari driver was certainly more than you bargained for. But as you settle into the plush leather seats, you can’t wipe the silly grin off your face. Something tells you this new chapter with the Scuderia is going to be an adventure — in more ways than one.

As Mara pulls away from the curb, you catch a final glimpse of Charles striding confidently down the street. Even from a distance, you can make out the dimpled smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Leaning back against the headrest, you think back to the memory of his arm slung casually around your shoulders and sigh contentedly. Yes, you have a feeling this is just the beginning of what’s shaping up to be a very interesting partnership with Charles Leclerc.

***

Sebastian looks over the wine list, pretending to be engrossed in selecting the perfect vintage as he peers over the top of the menu. His eyes are fixated on the entrance to the upscale Italian restaurant, waiting for Charles and you to arrive.

This had better work, he thinks to himself. The two of you have been making googly eyes at each other for months now, but are both too stubborn to make a move.

Finally, the hostess leads Charles and you into the dining room. Sebastian ducks down, pulling the brim of his fedora lower over his face and adjusting the fake mustache he’s wearing as a disguise. He watches as the hostess shows Charles and you to an intimate table for two by the window, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating your faces.

“There must be some mistake,” Charles says, looking around in confusion. “I was under the impression we were meeting Sebastian here for dinner?”

You look equally perplexed. “That’s what he told me too. He said to meet at 8 o’clock sharp.”

“Well this is just awkward,” Charles runs a hand through his tousled hair. “Should we wait for him or ...”

Before you can respond, the waiter arrives with a basket of bread and butter. “Good evening, my name is Gerardo and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“Actually, we’re still waiting on-” Charles begins, but the waiter cuts him off.

“Ah yes, Mr. Vettel asked me to inform you that he will be unable to join this evening after all. A last minute obligation came up. He insisted I take excellent care of you both and that the evening is on his treat.” Gerardo smiles broadly. “So what will you have to drink?”

Sebastian smirks to himself at his cleverly orchestrated ruse from his secluded table in the back corner. He watches with bated breath as a flustered Charles and you exchange an awkward look.

“I’ll have a glass of Chianti,” you say finally, breaking the tension.

“Make that two,” Charles adds with a resigned sigh.

As Gerardo heads off to grab your drinks, an uncomfortable silence falls over the table. “You know, we don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Charles says, ever the gentleman. “I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding.”

“Don’t be silly,” you reply, offering him a warm smile that makes Sebastian’s heart melt a little. “It would be rude to ruin the evening Sebastian so carefully planned, even if he’s not actually here to enjoy it.”

Charles visibly relaxes at your acceptance of the situation. “You’re right, of course. If it’s a free dinner, we would be fools to turn that down!”

You both share a laugh, finally breaking the ice. Sebastian feels a swell of pride watching the two of you start to let your guards down around each other.

Over the next hour or so, Sebastian is delighted to see Charles and you become more at ease, trading jokes and stories over several delectable courses of pasta, veal, and freshly baked focaccia. He’s never seen either of you look so lighthearted and carefree, nor has he witnessed two people connect on such an organic, genuine level before. It’s positively magical to behold.

Gerardo arrives once more, this time bearing a decadent slice of torta della nonna for you to share for dessert. “Compliments of the house,” he announces with a wink before departing.

You immediately dig into the lemony confection with gusto. “Oh my god, this is dangerously good,” you moan through a mouthful of pastry cream and flaky crust.

Charles tries and fails to stifle a laugh at your unabashed enthusiasm. “You’ve got a little ...” he gestures vaguely at the corners of your mouth.

“What? Where?” You ask, attempting to wipe the stray crumbs and smears of powdered sugar from your cheeks.

“Here, let me,” Charles says softly, reaching across the table with his cloth napkin.

Sebastian watches with bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest, as Charles tenderly swipes the napkin along your lips, his thumb grazing your cheek in the process. The moment seems to last an eternity, the two of you locked in each other’s smoldering gaze.

Then, ever so slowly, Charles leans across the table towards you. Sebastian can scarcely breathe as he witnesses the magnetic pull drawing the two of you together. This is it, this is finally happening, he marvels silently.

Sebastian lets out an inadvertent yelp of glee and instantly slaps his hands over his mouth. A table of nearby diners turns to gawk at the strange mustached man.

“Ahem, sorry! Hairball,” Sebastian rasps out in a terrible Italian accent. He slinks down in the booth, burning with embarrassment as the other patrons slowly turn away with disgusted looks.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charles and you also turn towards the commotion, the heated moment effectively ruined. Damn it, he was so close!

You and Charles eventually turn back towards each other, the awkwardness having returned. “We should, uh, probably ask for the check soon,” Charles mumbles, unable to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve got an early training session in the morning anyway,” you reply, the disappointment evident in your voice as you stare down at the table.

Inwardly cursing his rotten luck, Sebastian motions for the bill and slips his black credit card into the folder when Gerardo brings it. He knows the only way to redeem this night is to insist you and Charles stay for one more drink. Maybe add a little more wine confidence to help reignite that spark you both nearly combusted over just moments ago.

As Gerardo whisks away to process Sebastian’s payment, the older German steels his nerves. He removes his ridiculous disguise, straightens his tie, and makes his way over to your table with purpose.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Sebastian asks with an exaggerated wink as he reaches you. “It appears Mr. Leclerc and Miss Schumacher were stood up this evening. For shame!”

“Ah, Seb!” Charles laughs in surprise at seeing his friend and former teammate. “We should have known you were behind this madness.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “You’re a menace! I can’t believe you tricked us like that.”

Sebastian claps his hands together and flashes you both a devilish grin. “What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic who cannot abide two clearly smitten people tiptoeing around each other any longer. Now, Gerardo is going to bring you the finest Barolo they have, on my dime, and you are going to remedy this sexual tension situation once and for all over another bottle or three!”

Charles opens his mouth to protest, but you laugh delightedly and nod towards Sebastian. “You know what, I could go for another drink. What do you say, Charles?”

The older Ferrari driver seems to wilt under the weight of your brilliant smile, Sebastian can’t fault the man for that. “Ah, what the hell,” Charles shrugs, throwing his arm around the back of your chair. “Let’s see where this night takes us!”

Sebastian settles in, pouring you all generous glasses of the deep ruby wine when Gerardo delivers it. He may be getting on in years, but his matchmaking job has only just begun. One way or another, he’s determined to ensure his two protégés quit stumbling over each other and finally discover the romance that’s been blossoming under their noses all along.

Sipping his wine, Sebastian gazes at you and Charles, sees the tenderness flickering in both your eyes as you lean in closer together over the candlelight. He smiles contentedly to himself.

Mission accomplished.

***

The paddock is mostly deserted at this late hour, the muffled sounds of the teams packing up drifting in from the garages. You linger near the Ferrari motorhome, watching Charles sitting alone on a stack of tires, shoulders slumped. He’s been increasingly withdrawn these past few days leading up to the Japanese Grand Prix.

You approach slowly, not wanting to startle him. “Charles? You okay?”

He looks up, managing a small smile when he sees you. “Hey, mon amour.”

There’s a weariness to his voice that tugs at your heart. You take a seat beside him, letting your arm brush against his in a subtle show of support. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Charles is silent for a long moment, pulling his helmet off and turning it over in his hands. “It’s Suzuka,” he finally says, so softly you have to lean in to hear him. “Being back here … it’s difficult.”

Your brow furrows. Right, this is where Jules Bianchi crashed, his accident eventually proving fatal. Charles had been incredibly close with his mentor and godfather. “I can’t even imagine how painful this must be.” You cover his hand with yours. “Having to race on the same track ...”

“I relive that day over and over.” Charles’s accented voice is thick with emotion. “I can still see the footage of his car slamming into the crane, like it’s burned into my mind. He was my friend, my godfather, like a brother to me. And now every year, I have to come back to this place that took him from us far too soon.” He squeezes his eyes shut, a stray tear escaping.

“Oh, Charles ...” You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. His body is rigid at first before melting against you, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him tightly as his breath hitches with suppressed sobs, your own eyes stinging. How many times has he bottled up this grief, putting on a brave face for the world?

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur, stroking his back. “I can’t imagine the pain you’ve carried all these years. But Jules wouldn’t want you torturing yourself like this.” You pull away enough to frame his face with your hands, meeting his reddened eyes. “He’d want you to keep living, to keep pursuing your dream that he helped nurture. He’d be so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”

Charles manages a watery smile, covering one of your hands with his. “You’re right. Thank you, chérie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours with a shuddering sigh. “I just miss him so much some days. Like an ache I can’t shake.”

“I know.” You brush away the dampness on his cheeks with your thumbs. “Believe me, I understand that ache all too well.”

A crease forms between Charles’s brows as he regards you intently. “Your papa.”

You give a solemn nod. “Everyone talks about him like he’s gone. But he’s not, he’s still here, still breathing. It’s just … he’s not the same man I grew up with anymore.” You blink back tears of your own. “Sometimes I’ll see flashes that remind me so much of how Papa used to be. And then that illusion is shattered and I’m grieving all over again for the person he was.”

Charles’ arms wrap around you fully, tucking your head under his chin. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be. Seeing those glimpses of the man he was, only to have that hope ripped away.” He presses his lips to the crown of your head. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

You let out a choked laugh. “Yeah, definitely doesn’t feel like it most days.” Pulling away, you try for a smile. “But we Schumachers are fighters. We don’t stay down for long.”

“That’s my girl.” Charles grins, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m lucky to have you by my side through all of this craziness. I don’t know what I’d do without your support, especially this weekend.”

“Are you kidding?” You turn to fully face him, clasping his hands in yours. “Charles, you’ve been my rock too, you know that? Signing with Ferrari this year, following in my father’s footsteps … the pressure has been immense. But you’ve never let me crumble under it. You’re always there with a laugh or a hug or some silly joke to make me smile even on the hardest days.”

Charles’s grin turns lopsided, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes your heart flutter. “Well, someone has to keep that ego of yours from inflating too much, future champion.” He leans in until his lips are a mere breath from yours. “But in all seriousness, we’re in this together, okay? No matter what the future holds, I’ll always have your back.”

“I know,” you murmur, feeling his words like a soothing balm over the parts of your heart still aching for your father as you once knew him. “And I’ll always have yours. We’re a team, on and off the track.” You close the distance between you, kissing him deeply.

Charles returns the kiss with fervor, his fingers threading through your hair to hold you close. The worries plaguing you both seem to temporarily fade into the background amid the warmth and solidity of his embrace. When you finally break apart, breathless, his emerald gaze holds an intensity that steals the air from your lungs in the best way.

“Je t’aime,” he murmurs, the endearment like a vow falling from his lips. “No matter what happens out there tomorrow, or any other race day, that will never change. You and me against the world, princesse.”

You flash him a coy smile, feeling desire begin to simmer low in your belly. “Is that a promise, Mr. Leclerc?”

“Mmm, I can make it one if you’d like.” Charles waggles his eyebrows, making you giggle as his hands roam freely over your back and sides, pulling you flush against him. His voice drops to a husky whisper. “Maybe I can find more convincing ways to pledge my devotion once we’re back at the hotel.”

“I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to that,” you say breathily, leaning in to nip at his lower lip in a way that makes him groan. “Though if memory serves, I seem to recall you saying something about honoring the team’s curfew tonight?” You trail openmouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw. “Wouldn’t want to be … sleep deprived before the race.”

Charles’s fingers flex against your hips as he lets out a shuddering breath. “You’re really testing my willpower here.”

“Payback for all those times you’ve tortured me.” You punctuate the statement with a sharp nip to the sensitive skin below his ear, making him jerk against you with a strangled sound. Pulling back, you smirk at the glazed look in his eyes. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

He blinks slowly, then his gaze narrows in a way that makes heat flare across your skin. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that later.” His voice is low, almost a growl that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“I look forward to it.” You lean in until your lips are nearly brushing his again.

“Tease,” Charles accuses, though his kiss quickly swallows any further retort.

You lose yourself in the press of his mouth, the exploring glide of his hands over your body, the undeniable chemistry that still sometimes takes your breath away. When you finally break apart, gasping for air, you stay wrapped in each other’s arms, foreheads resting together.

“Thank you,” Charles murmurs after a long beat of comfortable silence. “For always knowing how to pull me out of my own head. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“That’s what partners are for,” you say simply, brushing back the silken strands of chestnut hair falling over his forehead. His eyes are so warm, so full of love and adoration, you feel it envelop you like a cozy blanket. “I’ll always be here to lean on, just like you are for me.”

Charles catches your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. “And I’m grateful for that every single day. Facing the good times and bad, together.” His thumb strokes over your knuckles. “I know Suzuka will never be easy, not with the weight of the memories here. But you make the burden feel lighter. Like no matter what, I’ll be okay as long as I have you by my side.”

You lean in, brushing a featherlight kiss across his lips. “Always. No matter what the future holds, you’re stuck with me, Leclerc.”

A slow, utterly content smile spreads across his face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He steals another lingering kiss before glancing toward the pit area, where the last few stragglers are packing up for the night. “As much as I’d love to keep you all to myself, I suppose we should try to get some rest before tomorrow.”

Sliding off the tire stack, he offers you his hand, that warm gleam still dancing in his forest-colored eyes. “Though maybe we could indulge in a long, hot shower first? You know, to … unwind after such an emotionally draining evening.”

You raise an eyebrow at his transparent attempt at nonchalance, but can’t help a smirk from tugging at your lips. “Why, Mr. Leclerc, are you propositioning me?”

“Would that be so terrible?” He tugs you into his arms, leaving a trail of teasing kisses along your jaw. “After all, we did have quite the … charged conversation just now. I’d hate for all that pent-up tension to distract us on track tomorrow.”

You let out a breathless giggle as his wandering hands and lips leave tingles across your skin. “Well, when you put it that way … I suppose a nice, relaxing shower could be just what we need to clear our heads.” Looping your arms around his neck, you meet his heated gaze through lowered lashes. “Lead the way, liebling.”

Charles’ responding grin is nothing short of wolfish. “With pleasure.” Scooping you up in his arms, he heads for the parking lot at a swift pace, leaving the weight of Suzuka and its ghosts behind for the night.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you bring your Ferrari across the finish line, tires smoking from the incredible pace. Your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio, congratulating you, but the words are drowned out by the thunderous cheers echoing around the Autodromo Nazionale Monza.

You can hardly believe it. Your first season with the Scuderia and you’ve just won the Italian Grand Prix — on the hallowed ground that your father once ruled. The sea of fans decked out in red is a sight to behold, celebrating wildly as you complete the cool-down lap.

Pulling into parc fermé, you kill the engine, the high-pitched whine slowly dying away. Undoing the straps, you clamber out, still trying to process what just happened. This is really real.

“You!”

The familiar voice makes you turn. It’s Charles, beaming from ear-to-ear despite settling for second place today. He pulls you into a massive hug, squeezing you tightly.

“I can’t believe you just did that! Amazing drive!”

You laugh, giddy with joy and adrenaline. “I still can’t believe it either! Everything just … clicked.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Charles chuckles, ruffling your sweat-damp hair. “You were incredible out there. Absolutely brilliant.”

Hearing the praise from your boyfriend means everything. You know how hard he’s worked, how much he’s sacrificed to get this far. And he’s still your biggest supporter.

The two of you finally pull apart as the rest of the team makes their presence known, congratulating you with bearhugs and massive pats on the back. You did it — you brought the victory home for Ferrari at the Temple of Speed.

After the chaos of the post-race celebrations dies down a little, it’s time for the podium ceremony. You can’t wait to stand up there, basking in the adulation of the wildly passionate Tifosi. As you make your way out with Charles and the third place finisher, the crowd’s cheers swell to a new eardrum-bursting level.

Climbing the steps, you take your spot on the top level, heart racing as you look out over the endless sea of fans. The air is filled with brilliant red smoke, passionate flag-wavers creating mesmerizing patterns. You’ve seen Grands Prix in Italy before, but being up here, having actually won — it’s on another level entirely.

Speeches are made, anthems are played, and then it’s time to crack open the podium champagne. As the bottles are picked up, a rolling chant starts building in the grandstands:

“La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”

The sound shakes you to your core. Tears instantly spring to your eyes.

Charles, beside you on the second step, grins and nudges you. “Listen to them! You’ve done it — you’ve made them fall in love with you just like they did with your father.”

Looking down at him with misty eyes, you mouth, “Thank you,” so overwhelmed that you can’t speak. He slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. The two of you share a soft kiss as the chanting grows louder and louder.

As you pull back, gazing out over the surging tide of humanity, faces beaming up at you in adoration, it finally sinks in. This moment — winning at Monza for Ferrari, with Charles by your side, the Tifosi embracing you wholeheartedly — is beyond anything you ever could have dreamed.

The emotions pour out in waves of joy and pride and disbelief. You raise your bottle high, echoing the chants and cheering your heart out to the crowd. They roar back even louder, feeding off your energy in the way that only this group of diehard fans can.

Once the champagne showers subside, giddy fans whistling at you and Charles canoodling on the podium, it’s time to head back down. But the celebrations are just getting started. The team wants to keep the party going.

On the drive over to Maranello, you find yourself sandwiched in the backseat between Charles and your race engineer, Ricky. Everyone is grinning like maniacs, high on the thrill of victory, singing drinking songs at the top of their lungs.

“Solo per lei! Principessa di Monza!” Ricky bellows, gently elbowing you. The rest join in, filling the car with the chant of “Only for her! Princess of Monza!” You can’t stop giggling, leaning into Charles, deliriously happy.

Once you finally roll up to the factory, the party spills out of the car and into the streets. The entire workforce has turned out, waving huge Ferrari flags, beating drums and sounding air horns in celebration. You’re immediately swarmed, being passed from hug to hug as champagne is sprayed in joyful arcs.

They finally manage to sweep you, Charles, and most of your garages inside the factory, where long banquet tables have been set up in the main hall. An enormous cheer goes up as you enter, sparkling wine sloshing from hastily poured glasses all around you.

The meal that follows is a total blur — amazing food, flowing alcohol, raucous toasts, and the happiest pandemonium you’ve ever witnessed. You keep getting tugged from conversation to conversation, everyone wanting to hear how the race played out from your lips. Charles sticks by your side the whole time, looking on with sheer pride.

At one point, you end up going shot for shot with Fred Vasseur, the team principal pouring vodka like his job depends on it. “La mia principessa!” He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy. “You’ve made us all so proud today!”

He hoists his glass. “To our Princess! The Princess of Monza!”

The chant starts up again all around you. “La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”

You beam at them all, squeezing Fred’s hand. No words can describe this feeling, being embraced so completely by your team — your family. This is what you’ve dreamed about since you were a little girl. Following in your father’s footsteps, bringing glory to Ferrari, carrying on the legend.

The party rages on long into the night. At some point, you lose track of time completely, delirious with exhaustion from the whirlwind of emotion.

You come around for a moment, blinking in the dim glow of the factory lights. There’s quiet rumbles of laughter around you, echoing off the walls. Looking around blearily, you realize you’ve been tucked into a makeshift bed fashioned from a pile of Ferrari t-shirts, nestled in one of the car assembly spaces.

Charles is there too, cradled against your side, one arm wrapped protectively around you. The rest of the team — your PR officers, engineers, mechanics, everyone — is strewn about in similar nests, all of them totally conked out.

With a contented sigh, you snuggle deeper into Charles’ embrace, feeling his lips brush the top of your head. This bizarre, wonderful scene seems to encapsulate everything about being part of the Ferrari family. It’s chaotic and overwhelming and unlike anything else in the world.

But most of all, it’s home.

As you start to drift back to sleep, savoring the lingering scent of champagne and motor oil, one final chant echoes in your head:

La principessa di Monza.

La principessa di Ferrari.

***

11 Months Later

The last few laps feel like they’re happening in slow motion. Every turn, every gear shift, every tiny input to the steering wheel is magnified tenfold as the circuits count down. The pressure is immense, but you’ve been here before. You can do this.

“Stay calm, stay focused,” your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “The calculations look good. Just bring it home steady.”

Nodding to yourself, you downshift entering the stadium section, the roar of the massive crowd surrounding the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez swelling in your ears. This is it — your chance to join the likes of motorsport’s greatest heroes by winning the Formula 1 World Championship.

Your first victory at Monza, being crowned the “Principessa di Ferrari” by the adoring Tifosi, was a dream come true. But this … this is what you’ve worked towards since you were old enough to understand what your father achieved. To etch your name into the history books forever.

The laps tick by agonizingly. Every time the pitboard comes into view, your heart rate spikes. But you’ve got a comfortable gap to second place, managing the race perfectly. Just a few more corners now.

“Final lap, final lap,” your engineer calls out. “Looking brilliant. Stay comfortable and you’ve got this!”

You suck in a deep breath to steady your nerves. Out of the sweeping Curve 3 and onto the pit straight, the crowd’s thunderous cheers are reaching fever pitch. You can see the seas of red-clad fans absolutely losing their minds, knowing the woman they idolize is about to achieve immortality.

Crossing the finish line, you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding for what feels like ages. The emotion is overwhelming — a combination of pure elation, disbelief, and total exhaustion.

You did it.

World Champion at last!

You cruise around, yelling unintelligibly into the radio as the celebrations kick off around the circuit. There’s confetti in the air, smoke flares going off in brilliant shades of red, and a full-throated roar that could probably be heard all the way back in Europe.

Pulling into parc fermé, you switch off the car, letting the weight of the moment sink in. Tears of joy prick at your eyes as the magnitude of your achievement hits home. Ever since you were a little girl, running around watching your papa, this has been the ultimate dream for you.

And now, it’s finally happened. You’re a World Champion. Just like him.

The first person to reach you is Charles. He comes sprinting over from his own car, bounding past the marshals without a second look. One glimpse of the huge smile plastered across his face is all it takes for you to dissolve into giggles and delirious tears.

“You did it! You brilliant, brilliant woman, you did it!” He shouts, grabbing you up in his arms and spinning you around in a whirlwind hug.

“I can’t believe it, Charles! It felt like a dream … like it wasn’t really happening!”

You’re both laughing and crying at the same time, drunk on the euphoria of the moment. Clutching each other tightly, you press your foreheads together, trying in vain to compose yourselves.

“I’m so proud of you,” Charles murmurs, gazing at you with adoring eyes. “You worked so incredibly hard for this. You deserve everything.”

Surging forward, you capture his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. For a few brief moments, the two of you are alone, lost in the depth of your emotions and your all-encompassing love for each other. Nothing else in the world matters but this perfect second frozen in time.

You finally break apart, breathless, when the rest of the team sweeps in to congratulate you. They swarm around in a laughing, whooping mass, jumping up and down, hugging, chanting your name over and over.

“To our champion! The Queen!”

The cry comes from Antonio, one of the veteran mechanics who’s been with the team since your papa’s days. He clasps your hands tightly, gazing at you with pride.

“Sei la regina! The Queen of Ferrari!” He hollers over the raucous din, tears shining in his eyes. “Just like your father, you’ll reign forever!”

Your eyes start brimming over again, overwhelmed. The tears roll down your cheeks, smearing streaks of sweat and grime from the race. But you can’t stop beaming.

All at once, the rest of the crew picks up on Antonio’s declaration. Their cheers and chants coalesce into one booming refrain:

“La Re-gi-na! La Re-gi-na!”

The sheer adulation washes over you in waves, every face beaming up at you in utter reverence. You find yourself struggling to take it all in. In a few incredible seasons, you’ve elevated yourself into the realm of legend in their eyes.

Charles wraps his arms around you from behind, steadying you as your knees start to go weak. You can feel his smile radiant against your neck as he cheers and whoops right along with the rest of them.

“You hear them?” He chuckles, kissing your temple. “It’s all for you, mia regina! My Queen.”

Hearing your love, your partner, your other half call you that sets off a fresh round of giggles and sobs. Turning in his embrace, you loop your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply.

When you finally part, you look out over the still-roaring crowd, many of them carrying elaborate signs with intricate drawings depicting you as a regal sovereign. Some have fashioned ornate crowns out of random merch and foam, holding them high. Others set off flares and smoke bombs in Ferrari red.

For a moment, their euphoric cheers fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears. Closing your eyes, you let the enormity of the moment wash over you, embracing the pride and humility and disbelieving joy.

This is your coronation. The new ruler of the Scuderia — la regina di Ferrari.

“La Regina di Ferrari! La Regina del Mondo!”

You can only chuckle in disbelief, Antonio and Ricky carefully taking your hands to hoist you up onto their shoulders in throne-like celebration. Charles is right by your side, standing vigil as your King Consort.

As the party spreads out around you, confetti and smoke filling the air, you look out across the ecstatic crowd. All you see are fervent faces, worshiping you as their new Queen of the World.

It’s a delirious scene that you never, ever could’ve imagined. And yet it feels so natural, so right. Like you were born to be in the center of this storm of jubilation. This is your true home.

And now, you’ve taken your rightful place as its ruler.

Mexico City burns long into the night in tribute to the newly-coronated Queen. Tomorrow, the party will likely continue all the way back to Maranello. But in this moment, you’re lost in the swirl of ecstasy, allowing yourself to be swept up in the currents of adoration.

La Regina di Ferrari.

La Regina del Mondo.

***

Eight Years Later

Jules can barely contain his excitement as you and Charles help him into the little red race suit. He’s practically vibrating with energy, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Easy there, petit coureur,” Charles chuckles, ruffling Jules’ hair affectionately. “We’ll get you suited up and on the track soon enough.”

“I’m gonna beat everyone!” Jules declares confidently. You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“That’s my boy,” you say with a wink. “Just like your Papa and me.”

Charles grins and pulls Jules into a hug. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? Today’s just for fun though, remember? No official points or anything.”

“I know, I know,” Jules says impatiently. “But I’m still gonna win!”

You laugh and swing him up into your arms, peppering his face with kisses until he squeals with delight. “Whatever you say, liebling. Now let’s get you out on that track!”

The three of you make your way out to the karting circuit, hand-in-hand. You can already see a small crowd starting to form along the fences, phones and cameras at the ready. A familiar scenario, even at such a low-key local event.

“Mama, Papa, look!” Jules points excitedly. “Those people want to take pictures!”

“That’s right, schatzi,” you say gently. “Your Papa and I are pretty well known in motorsports.”

“Like movie stars?” His eyes go wide.

Charles laughs. “Something like that, I suppose. More like … really famous racecar drivers.”

“Whoa ...” Jules seems to be processing this new realization. “You’re the best ever, right? The bestest?”

You share an amused look with Charles. “Well, we’ve had our fair share of success,” you hedge.

“Your mother is a multi-time World Champion,” Charles says proudly. “As am I. We did pretty okay, I think.”

“Woooaahh!” Jules looks absolutely awestruck, like his little mind has been blown. It’s both adorable and bittersweet — your own child, only just now grasping the level of your accomplishments and fame.

The crowd has grown considerably by the time you reach the pit area, people pressing against the barriers in hopes of getting a glimpse of the royal family of Maranello. A small team of event staff try valiantly to keep order, but it’s a losing battle.

“Excuse me! Y/N! Can we get a photo?”

“Charles! Over here, please!”

“Oh my god, is that little Jules? He’s so cute!”

Jules clings a bit closer to you and Charles, startled by the commotion. You pull him protectively against your side.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “Just some fans who are excited to see us.”

Charles gives the crowd a regretful smile and a small wave before ushering you both past the security team and into the pit area. The calmer, more controlled setting seems to ease Jules’ nerves.

“Why were all those people yelling and taking pictures?” He asks with a small frown.

“Like I said, we’re pretty famous racers,” Charles explains patiently. “A lot of people know who we are and want our autographs or photos with us.”

“Like celebrities!” Jules says, the admiring light returning to his eyes.

You laugh and ruffle his hair again. “Something like that, yeah. Your Papa and I have had a very successful racing career over the years.”

“The best careers,” Charles amends with a wink at you. “Multiple world titles each.”

“World titles?” Jules looks utterly baffled by the concept. “Like … the best in the whole world?”

“Exactly,” you confirm, feeling that familiar swell of pride. “We were the fastest drivers in the world, for a few years at least.”

“Whooaa ...” Jules seems torn between awe and disbelief. “You’re like … superheroes!”

You and Charles both crack up at the adorable comparison.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Charles laughs, “but I suppose to some we come pretty close, eh?”

He scoops Jules up and swings him around, making him shriek with laughter. You watch them with a content smile, suddenly aware of how blessed you are to have this life — your incredible husband, your precious son, the career successes you both achieved. It’s more than you ever could have dreamed.

“Alright,” Papa says, setting Jules back down. “Why don’t you go grab your kart and we’ll get you out on the track? Think you can take on the world champions?”

Jules gives a determined nod, that familiar fire blazing in his eyes — the same look you’ve seen in your husband’s familiar green ones a thousand times over the years. “You bet! I’ll show you how it’s done!”

With one last hair ruffle, you send him scampering off excitedly. Charles slides an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“He’s something else, isn’t he?” He murmurs against your temple. “So much like us at that age. I can already tell he’s going to be a hell of a driver someday.”

You lean into his embrace with a contented sigh. “He is … and just look at how the crowd reacted to him. He’s barely grasped that we’re famous, and now he’s already getting mobbed himself. Our little star in the making.”

Charles makes a rueful sound. “We’re going to have to get used to that, I suppose.”

“Oh, I think we can handle it,” you say lightly. “We’ve had plenty of practice being in the spotlight, after all.”

He laughs and drops a kiss to your hair. “That’s true enough. As long as we stick together, we can get through anything.”

“Exactly.” You turn in his arms to face him properly, cupping his jaw tenderly. “You, me, Jules … nothing else matters as long as we have each other.”

Charles’ eyes are warm with devotion as he gazes down at you. “My soulmate. My family. How did I ever get so lucky?”

He leans in to kiss you, slow and sweet, the rest of the world temporarily fading away. You lose yourself in the familiar comfort of his embrace, the love you share-

“Ewww, gross! Stop kissing!”

You break apart with a laugh to find Jules making over-exaggerated gagging noises nearby.

“And the moment’s ruined,” Charles teases, keeping an arm looped around your waist.

You bend down to Jules’ eye level with a mock stern look. “You just wait until you’re all grown up with a sweetheart of your own. Then you’ll understand.”

He scrunches up his nose theatrically. “Never! Girls are gross!”

You and Charles share an amused look.

“If you say so,” Charles chuckles. “Now let’s get that kart fired up.”

Jules’ entire demeanor shifts in an instant, that fierce competitiveness surfacing once again. He scrambles into the cockpit of his little kart and takes firm hold of the wheel, looking suddenly years beyond his age.

“You’re going down!” He declares brazenly. “I’ll leave you both in the dust!”

And just like that, the proud parents are replaced by your familiar racing mentalities — the thrill of competition, the desire to win. You share a conspiratorial grin with Charles.

“Is that so?” He taunts playfully. “In that case, no more taking it easy on you two.”

You bend down to kiss Jules’ forehead, unable to resist a parting quip. “Promise you won’t be sad … because Mama always wins.”

With that, Charles heads off to grab his own kart, leaving you and Jules alone for a brief moment. He looks up at you with shining eyes.

“You’re my hero, Mama,” he says simply. “And Papa too. I wanna be just like you when I grow up!”

You feel your heart swell fit to burst, filled with more love than you could possibly put into words. Bending down, you pull your beautiful little boy into a fierce hug, eyes shining with unshed happy tears.

“Oh liebling … you already are. You’re everything we could have dreamed of and more.”

You press a lingering kiss to the top of his head, overwhelmed with affection. When you finally pull back, there are indeed tears shining in your eyes.

“Now go show your parents what you’ve got, baby,” you say with a watery smile. “I can’t wait to see you out there.”

Jules gives you a determined nod, eyes blazing with that trademark fire. “You got it, Mama! Get ready to lose!”

With that, he slams down the visor on his helmet and revs the little engine. You step back with a laugh, watching him peel out onto the track with all the confidence and flair of a seasoned pro. Like parents, like son indeed.

By the time Charles rejoins you, his own kart idling beside yours, Jules has already completed a couple of warm up laps. You can’t resist shooting Charles a smug grin.

“Well, well … looks like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He drives just like you.”

Charles snorts, clearly trying to downplay his obvious pride. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s all your genes coming through.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a sudden commotion from the fences draws your attention. The crowd has grown even larger, people pressing against the barriers with raised phones and voices calling out excitedly.

“Oh my god, it’s them!”

“They’re so cute together!!”

“Over here, please! This way!”

You share a resigned look with Charles as event staff rush to try and control the growing swarm.

“This is what it’s going to be like from now on, isn’t it?” You murmur. “Our little family, constantly in the spotlight.”

Charles shrugs, slinging an arm around your shoulders as he watches Jules blaze by. “What else is new? We’ve been there our whole careers. At least this time, we get to share the fame together … as a family.”

You lean into his side with a contented smile. Out on the track, Jules whips past in a blur of determination, completely unbothered by the fawning crowd. Just a little boy living out his dream, regardless of who his parents might be.

“You know what?” You say softly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Charles drops a kiss to your hair as the roar of the crowd and engines swells around you. “Me neither, mon amour. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

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[planetaryupscaled]

Tutoring 2: Hall Pass

Male Reader x Park Sooyoung (Joy)

Tags: 9k, age-gap, cheat, creampie, cuckold

The story is not ours; we simply alter the original story to our preferred settings.

“So you’re not mad?” Sooyoung asked her husband as they sat down at the kitchen table... the same place where I’ve had my way with her so many times.

“I don’t think I am,” Hyoseob answered, truthfully.

He tried to imagine what it would have been like for me and Sooyoung in the school shower, and then in the car. He tried to picture her glistening pussy lips around my throbbing dick, and how I licked and caressed her dear wife. How much better was it that his dutiful wife chose infidelity not once, but twice. She cheated, willingly, despites of the rules, and this thought made his loins burn. Sooyoung was behaving like a wanton slut, which was in stark contrast to her prideful personality.

Among all the rules broken, the rule about it being recorded was the only one he truly hoped she would follow. But deep down, he wanted her to break the rules over and over again, and he only wanted to watch. He had that burning desire, but he couldn’t admit it, especially to Sooyoung.

“I don’t like admitting it, but he makes it kinda hard to resist,” Sooyoung stated, averting her gaze. “He’s so much different from what you think he’d be. His thrusts are so deliberate and so skillfully measured and confident. It makes me so-” she said, unable to finish her sentence.

“Like just that one shower,” she rambled on, “I have no idea why I was so... receptive of his touch! I didn’t have it in mind to cheat at all and... suddenly it was already happening. I’m sorry, but his lips and his hands were so-”

Sooyoung stopped again. Her hands started fidgeting. The guilt was palpable, dripping from her words. Hyoseob had to make sure she was okay. He knew it was selfish, but he wanted to witness it himself, to see his wife being plowed like a wanton slut.

“Minho kissed you?” He probed. “Tell me.”

“Yes, well,” Sooyoung blushed and shrugged, “it was more intense and... amazing.”

“You kiss him back?” He asked again.

“A lot, actually. And... our tongues too,” she whispered in reply.

She was telling him everything, how it was just intense, amazing sex, that my abilities and stamina far outweighed his, but it was also just physical pleasure with no emotional attachment or love. Sooyoung swore to her husband that I meant nothing to her. He had to talk her into another meeting with me, this time with the recorder.

“Sounds like Minho has a fan,” He teased Sooyoung, but his tone gave him away. His heart pounded with both anxiety and excitement. Sooyoung cherished sex, and now she had shared it with someone other than him.

“Oh shut up,” Sooyoung said, but with a smile just lingering under the surface.

“So, what was the thing he said again?” Hyoseob asked.

“Yeah,” Sooyoung admitted as Hyoseob laid on top of her, “he said something like... ‘I’ll fuck you whenever I want.’” Her imitation of it was less than flattering.

“You want that?” Hyoseob dared to ask, excited at the idea of his lovely wife being taken against her will, during dubious consent, thrust into a willing participant by the magnificent skill of someone else.

“Maybe...” she purred, urging him to move his hips. Her admission sent shockwaves through him, as guilt and jealousy drove him deeper into his wife.

“And, ah, you wanted him to knock you up?” He asked, going a bit faster.

“Hyoseob, it was j-just talk,” Sooyoung purred. “I was just stroking his ego. But it worked. He cum so much inside me.”

“Yeah?” He panted.

“Yeah, babe.” she breathed. “So much. So thick, it clung to me.”

His breathing quickened as his mind conjured the image of Sooyoung sprawled beneath someone else in her car, in a damn near public parking lot. It didn’t take him long to cum deep inside her, unable to resist her words and description. She was more turned on by her cheating than he could have ever hoped for, so he told her that they needed it again and more. With the promise of more, they both fell into a deep slumber.

—

“I think we should stick with handjobs... reinforce the rules.,” Sooyoung suggested to her husband as she had scheduled another ‘Tutoring’ with me after school on Tuesday, but she was having second thoughts, wanting to reestablish the control they had lost. “I don’t think I want to have sex... with Minho again.”

“What?” Hyoseob asked, not believing his wife. “You’re joking,” He added. “If I sent you over there right now, you really think you’d only jerk him off?”

“Yeah?” Sooyoung answered unconvincingly.

He gave her a wry smile. “Then do it,” he said. “I’m giving you a hall pass to prove me wrong.” You haven’t done any ‘tutoring’ this week anyway.”

“Babe!” Sooyoung exclaimed, taken aback. “I can’t do that. It’s against the rules. And we were having this week off, remember?”

“That’s the point of a hall pass,” He chuckled, excited to see his wife relent. “Besides, you’d only be jerking him off, right? That’s well within the rules, even if it’s a hall pass.”

Sooyoung didn’t respond right away. She closed her eyes, trying not to be tempted by the challenge. It was as though she was afraid, afraid that she would succumb and more, prove him right in doing so.

“Don’t... don’t tempt me,” she said, finally. “Minho knows how to bend a girl to his will, honey.” She then cringed at her choice of words.

“Which is?” Hyoseob asked with a wide, hopeful smile.

She looked at him and then out into space. A smile spread across her lips, and her hand moved to his thigh.

“Just remember to record,” he said.

“Hey, I didn’t say I’m going over,” Sooyoung shot back, gently punching him with her other hand. “Remember, he got inside me last week, despite the rules. Twice, even. It’s... hard to resist him.”

“You said as much earlier,” He reminded.

“Yeah, he just feels amazing and does things that-” Sooyoung began before correcting herself. “…never mind.”

“That I can’t do?” Hyoseob said, finishing her sentence. Sooyoung’s silence spoke volumes, she took a breath, steadying her nerves. Then her eyes flashed in his direction, a devious expression growing.

“Okay,” Sooyoung said, “I’ll go, to prove you wrong.”

—

‘Im coming over,’ Sooyoung wrote, and soon after I met her once again at this house, and let her in through the back door. As it wasn’t conspicuous enough that Hyoseob’s wife snuck hurriedly across the street, looking up and down the street to make sure no one noticed.

“What about your parents?” Sooyoung whispered.

“Away, they usually are during the weekends,” I reassured, ushering her to their bedroom.

When we got through the door, I began feeling her up, eagerly ravaging her curvaceous yet trim body. Sooyoung initially did not react because she was unsure what to do. As my hands found their way to her soft, round ass, she began responding by kissing back with even more hunger. My fingers dug hungrily into the flesh hidden by her tight spandex pants. The ass she kept in shape for her husband. She hadn’t worn underwear, but she sure could feel my fingers running up and down her cheeks and inner thighs. Sooyoung spread them out, inviting me to go deeper.

Instead of shoving my fingers into her clothed fabric, I pushed her down onto the bed. My hands slid into the waistband and rolled her pants up her long legs. She lifted her hips as I tugged, letting the spandex to roll along with her panties.

“I can’t believe it’s been a week already,” I said, quickly removing her pink, silky, patterned top, revealing her round, fat tits, and tossing it over her other clothes.

“Damn, your tits look fucking nice,”

Sooyoung smiled as I stared at her body, groping and rubbing her left breast. My thick, erect member was tenting in my sweats. I pressed her tits together, climbed on top of her, and began licking all over them.

‘This is getting out of control,’ she thought. “C’mon, Minho,” Sooyoung whispered, pushing me to get my attention. Instead of slowing down, I licked and sucked her soft, creamy neck. “Minho… oh shit,” she whimpered, goosebumps rushing through her.

At some point, I must have angled my sweats down, because Sooyoung felt my swollen cock press against her opening, threatening entry. Her slit, wet with arousal, opened for me as I began sliding into this lovely wife.

“Unnnng,” Sooyoung groaned, helplessly succumbing to my touch, her pussy aching with anticipation.

It forces Sooyoung to admit her pleasure. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. Sooyoung moaned in satisfaction, wrapping her arms tightly around my shoulders and neck. She knew her husband couldn’t compete in length, width, or technique, but feeling my size stretch and touch places that were severely under-stimulated brought her to new heights.

“I thought we were waiting till Tuesday,” I hummed as I lowered myself and dove into her neck once more. My cock slid almost completely into her tight warm hole, and my movements became quick, fluid motions that allowed me to pull almost completely out before driving deep inside.

“We were... ohhh,” Sooyoung groaned.

I was prepared to stretch, ruin, and ravish her, and all she planned was a handjob? The absurdity made her smile as she ran her fingernails up and down my back, enjoying the sensation of her tight pussy being stretched wide by someone that’s not her husband.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?” I teased.

“Hyoseob dared me to come over here and just jerk you off,” Sooyoung admitted, smiling up at me with a light sheen of sweat.

“How did that go?” I asked cheekily.

“Shut up,” Sooyoung smiled, squeezing me between her walls.

“Fuu-uck,” I groaned, shuffling my hips between her legs. “Nngg, you’re really gonna let me knock you up someday, aren’t you?”

“Hnnng, you keep that up and, oh god, maybe I will,” she gasped.

“Really? You like this cock knocking up your womb?” I pressed.

“Oh fuck,” Sooyoung hissed.

Sooyoung was getting increasingly vocal, moans of delight sounding out throughout the empty house as I kept slamming into her. My eyes were fixed on the beautiful teacher’s exposed breasts, rolling and flopping back and forth every time my body touched hers. Her nails clawed my back, and I grunted, feeling her walls tighten with each thrust. Her slickened insides massaging my dick, preparing for the next load...

I felt the cum start to boil over and surge to the end of my shaft. My cock was throbbing madly within her until it began releasing its hot fluids. I kept pumping, squirting over and over as I closed my eyes in satisfaction. Sooyoung felt her cunt ripple and pulse with each eruption. Her own juices flowed around the spewing shaft, coating my cock and dripping in a pool on the sheets under her.

I looked down at her. Her beautiful cheeks were flushed red and glistened with sweat. I pulled her head closer, pressing my forehead against hers, hanging low and grazing her face as I buried my softening dick in her womb, hoping to delay leaving her silky depths. She still moaned, feeling a gentle pumping within her. Sooyoung sighed, and we kissed.

—

Hyoseob smirked knowingly when his disheveled wife finally came through the door later that evening. Sooyoung didn’t even try to hide the slight waddle she’d acquired from the fucking, which made him snort a little laugh. She responded with a defiant glare, challenging him.

“We shouldn’t fool around with hall passes,” Sooyoung muttered, chuckling lightly.

“Did you record?”

“Not the first time...” Sooyoung said, a crooked smile creasing her face as she looked at him.

“How many times...” Hyoseob asked, trailing off. Sooyoung had been over there for two hours.

“How many...” she stalled. “Erm, three. Plus some foreplay here and there...”

“You slut!” He chided with a big grin.

“It’s your fault!” Sooyoung shot back. “Besides, how could you dare send him over there in the first place?!”

Hyoseob was as hard as a stone when he heard the news. Sooyoung pretended to be mad, but it was clear she enjoyed the whole experience.

“So… can we watch together?” He asked, hoping to experience some of his wife’s deviousness together.

“Oh yes, just make sure to hit ‘fast forward’ to skip all the dumb and unnecessary things. Minho was trying so hard to get me to clean his cock or whatever, but hell if I’m ever taking his dirty thing into my mouth... especially after sex... It smelled of us for gods’ sake.”

Hyoseob patted the seat beside him on the couch, inviting her to join him, but Sooyoung hesitated.

“Here?” she asked, rendering him a bit confused.

“Yeah? You’ve done stuff with Minho here, so what’s the big deal?”

“Nothing. You’re right,” Sooyoung decided and plopped down beside him.

She took the phone from her bag, a seductive smile on her face. It was clear the experience had opened a door Sooyoung hadn’t really anticipated. Now his wife seemed to be warming up to the idea of being intimate with another person, even if it was pure sex.

“So, before we watch this, we need to talk about the rules,” Sooyoung declared.

“Oh, come on!” He pouted.

“No, listen. I want the rules. The rules were: you need to be able to watch, you need to be able to say no, no intercourse, and once a week. We’ve broken all of them more or less. I told Minho before He left that we needed to abide by the rules from now on, that this evening was an exception. He can’t just fuck me whenever he wants... and vice versa I guess,” Sooyoung said.

“Abide by the rules from now on? Including ‘no intercourse’?” He asked. Sooyoung blushed at that.

“Well... I kinda thought you didn’t mind if we left that rule out from now on,” she said, somewhat shyly.

Sooyoung made a very strong point. Not one he had expected from her, either. Not just the sex rule, but generally. It was necessary to have some control over these things. Minho’s effect on her had become quite apparent. It was sex without consequences, and great sex at that. As a guy, he could relate. But her suggesting to snip that rule seemed so... it was just much more impactful.

“I think you have a point,” He agreed. “It was something that was out of our control, but now that the heat of the moment is over, it makes sense.”

Sooyoung smiled her response, but Hyoseob had a question.

“Just now, you didn’t want to watch the video on the couch. And before, you let Minho do you from behind, something you never let me. Is this a theme I’m sensing? Does Minho get to do stuff that I don’t? Like...” He trailed off, and his eyes shifted, staring intensely into hers.

“Well, yeah...” Sooyoung replied. “Isn’t that what you wanted though?”

Hyoseob gulped, realizing she was right. It was part of it, for him to give her experiences, he never could. He hadn’t thought that would mean ‘experiences he never would’, though perhaps not with such emphasis on ‘never’.

Sooyoung having experiences with others that should have been reserved for her husband, and then denying him the same liberties, was the ultimate tease. Sooyoung’s exploration of her sexuality with men other than him was an incredible thrill.

“I mean, yeah.” He relented and admitted.

“Good,” she purred. “Wanna watch me get fucked from behind?”

Sooyoung wasn’t shy of cursing, but hearing her put it so bluntly, combined with his knowledge that she was going to willingly cheat and break their wedding vows for some kid, sent a sharp heat straight to his balls. He’d never seen his wife like this, and she was irresistible.

“I want everything.” Hyoseob declared.

She giggled at that. She looked amazing. She was absolutely radiant; sexy, confident, and free. Sooyoung looked at him tenderly and lovingly, a sweet, promising look that only served to stir the building excitement and burning arousal.

There were three videos in total. One shorter, and two longer.

“We’ll probably have to save the last one for a rainy day,” she teased sensually in his ear, her hand trailing down onto his slack-covered bulge.

The first one showed Minho’s point of view of Sooyoung on her back, topless and with his massive cock between her breasts. She rubbed them up and down, looking up with desire and lust as his veiny appendage emerged and disappeared between her magnificent bosom. Hyoseob loins flared up as He was able to appreciate the sexual play at such close range and with Sooyoung’s large, firm orbs being groped and abused so well. Minho really knew how to push a woman’s buttons, he thought. It didn’t take long before his semen erupted from its tip, splattering over his wife’s chin, cheeks, and nose...

“He’s so virile... he gets hard again so fast... perks of being a young stud, I guess,” Sooyoung muttered. Hyoseob quickly shoved his pants down so she could get better access to his raging erection.

She was right when she said they’d probably save the last one, because He doubted he’d last all the way through the second video. The one Sooyoung hinted that she got fucked from behind. A view he never had.

Sooyoung clicked the video and resumed stroking him.

The angle on the video showed Sooyoung naked silhouette cascaded by the dimly lit room. Sooyoung, hands against the wall, presenting her fat ass.

“Ohh that looks like an ass that’s had some workouts,” Minho said from behind the phone’s lens.

“Less chatting and more pounding,” Sooyoung’s voice called from the dark.

Minho placed the phone on what Hyoseob guess was a dresser, facing the camera towards the back of his bent-over wife, her perfect figure illuminated perfectly by the nearby light, a tantalizing silhouette that invited and begged to be pounded. Minho’s hulking frame stepped close and shoved himself roughly into her waiting slit.

“Oh... oh-oh!” Sooyoung moaned, her hands suddenly clenching and gripping tighter against the wall, her hips twitching. “Harder. Fuck!” she begged.

Hyoseob turned his eyes from the video screen towards the same body parts, seeing the same hips on the couch next to him that Minho was grasping on the video as he fucked his lovely wife. Sooyoung noticed, her smile deepening. The sound of bodies slapping echoed from the device. Minho growled, grasping her tighter and pulling her to him as his hips rocked and pummeled his wife’s magnificent ass. Sooyoung’s large ass was quivering with the impacts and bounced, the flesh wobbling back and forth hypnotically. Minho fucked her mercilessly, relentlessly, hammering her from behind, but with deliberate purpose. Sooyoung started making a high-pitched sound. He had never seen her so receptive.

“Jesus, you really like that, huh?” Hyoseob breathed. Minho was fucking his wife so roughly.

Sooyoung merely nodded, as if embarrassed, turning her face to hide in the seat cushions. Minho grabbed and pulled her arms, pushing her back against him with a forceful thrust, burying his entire length deep inside her. Sooyoung’s walls trembled around him, squeezing his giant girth, wanting more. Minho eased most of his shaft out before plowing slowly, churning her insides with his cock, giving her a moment of relief. But it was temporary and she shuddered once again, clamping down and throbbing around the huge length.

“Unnnggh- Unnnng- Unnng,” she let out with each long, hard thrust.

Hyoseob’s eyes bulged as he watched his wife cum on another man’s cock, knowing she was experiencing something He could never give her to that extent.

“God! Harder! HARDER!” Sooyoung cried, and just like that Hyoseob came to the sounds of Minho fucking his wife better than He ever could.

“Christ!” the present Sooyoung said, sounding somewhat disgusted as his cum trickled over her hand. “You could’ve said something! I’d gotten a towel!”

Sooyoung rose up and headed off to the nearest bedroom to clean her hand.

—

Sooyoung couldn’t really concentrate the following day. A few times, she caught herself staring off into space, thinking of how nice Minho’s long, thick cock felt when he was on top of her, pummeling her body. But she had to go the entire weekend, and then some, before she could have it again. In her mind, that was simply too long a time to wait to get off like she did last night.

But it wasn’t just sex that had her brain distracted. The conversation with Hyoseob had gotten Sooyoung thinking of all sorts of dirty, taboo ideas. Hyoseob had admitted he liked it when she did things with Minho, such as exploring new things. Giving up some of her firsts for Minho, even. Like doggy, or a fucking her tits. She wasn’t sure what that entailed, or what she could do with that information, but she stored it away in her mind.

Sooyoung spent the rest of the weekend running track, lifting weights, and other physical activities to force her life back into normalcy, in addition to her school work. She decided she didn’t want sex to dictate her life, so while she looked forward to tutoring Minho on Tuesday, she dedicated her time to her life’s chores and commitments.

—

‘What are we doing for the tutoring?’ I texted her when she arrived at school on Monday. ‘Can we meet between classes? I need some help to get my balls drained before class so I can focus ;)’

‘Stop it, Minho,’ was all she replied, feeling a tingle of warmth and arousal ran down her spine nonetheless.

‘I was just kidding’ I replied.

I had responded with some teasing ‘Are you going to be wet on Tuesday’ and ‘Can’t stop thinking about it’ but eventually didn’t push it any further. She would assume I was probably too afraid to scare her off for the upcoming sessions, regardless of how horny I was. But throughout the day, Sooyoung felt increasingly needy herself, unable to resist fantasizing about our upcoming session.

It was hard for her to understand how her student having such a big dick had her so riled up... though some of my otherworldly skill probably had something to do with it. In addition to my prowess, I had been respectful. She supposed not every boy would have behaved so well and been so understanding, even if I relentlessly teased her for doing far more than the rules allowed.

Though my skill in the bedroom, the only reason Sooyoung would ever return to me was the thrill and pleasure it gave her husband. Hyoseob loved the humiliation of someone like me enjoying his wife, and her doing things with me that she would rarely, if ever, do with her husband.

Like allowing my cock between her tits. Or how I made her orgasm like a slutty nympho just by fucking her in a position she wouldn’t normally allow. All of this, combined with the non-committal, almost primal pleasure, made the whole experience tantalizing. It certainly was a lifestyle Sooyoung could learn to enjoy, if she didn’t already.

“Wait up, Ma’am,” I called to her after school as she was heading to her car. She crossed her arms, unintentionally revealing her generous cleavage.

“What is it?” Sooyoung asked, ignoring her sudden nervous excitement. She hoped I wouldn’t put her in such an awkward position out in the open.

I went to the same school where she worked, so we were bound to run into each other. However, it did not make it any less awkward. Even though no one was particularly close, there were still a lot of people around. I leaned against her car, and she leaned back against the same vehicle to play it casual. Just some teacher talking to some pupil. Nothing suspicious about two young adults standing next to her vehicle talking to one another, right?

“What did you want to talk about, Minho?” she repeated.

“So about tomorrow... just what should I expect? You know, for the tutoring,” I said, attempting to stall the conversation. I looked over her with a mischievous glint. Sooyoung’s heart raced, unsure whether she should regret this situation or revel in it.

“If you’re here early, maybe we can just fu-”

“Not today,” Sooyoung said with an all too friendly smirk as she casually pushed herself off the car, trying to end the conversation. “And no more about doing stuff between classes.”

I scoffed and began rubbing my bulge. She frowned, and as my smirk lingered, her gaze was drawn downward.

“H-hey!” she stammered, taking a step away. “That’s hardly appropriate. Especially with students walking by,” she hissed. Sooyoung wanted nothing more than to reach over and grab my cock, squeeze that long, veiny piece of flesh she loved so much.

“Well, when else should I talk to you about it?” I chuckled, taking the same step she had, closing the gap between us.

“You could’ve just texted like you usually do... but fine, hop in and I’ll drive you home. We can talk about it on the way,” She relented, trying to shut me up before anyone noticed and hoping to keep the conversation focused on the actual tutoring. “Now knock it off,” she finished.

I smiled proudly as I entered the passenger side. Sooyoung rolled her eyes and suppressed a groan before getting into the car with me, pushing thoughts away and putting the vehicle in gear.

We talked about the tutoring and homework and stayed relatively cordial the rest of the ride, with only a few irrelevant comments from my part because I couldn’t help but admire her tits and ass.

“So, do you ever teach in class? Like theory or whatever?” I asked.

“Pff, just how much do you skip, Minho?” Sooyoung laughed. “Yeah, sometimes. Usually, around football season so any day now. I even have my own classroom.”

“You gonna tutor me on that stuff eventually?” I asked.

“If you think you have use for it,” She replied. “I have booked the classroom a few times this semester for your actual tutorage, in fact.”

“Oh I’d love to have you in a classroom,” I teased. She looked over, amused, and wondered what I would do with such an opportunity.

“Would you want a private lesson, Mister? Detention maybe?” Sooyoung teased back.

“Oh please, Mrs. Sooyoung, I didn’t mean to pass my paper, could you give me an oral exam? To see if I deserve extra credit?” I grinned.

Sooyoung laughed pulling up at her house. “Then I think you’re in luck,” she said, turning the car into her driveway and switching the engine off. “Jokes aside, we can’t fool around at the school... not more than we already did anyway,” she said, not able to conceal a smirk at the memory.

“You mean to tell me you and Hyoseob never done anything naughty at school?” I replied.

“None of your business, and don’t you try any funny ideas there either.” Sooyoung glared at me. I raised my hands defensively, “Alright, alright.”

As I walked her to her door, my eyes lingered down to her breasts and ass. Sooyoung opened the door and turned to me. “See you tomorrow, then?” she asked.

I smirked as my gaze traced her body. From her big cleavage strutting out in front of her, to her waist and down to her wide childbearing hips, my eyes feasted on her, while she tried her best to ignore the reaction her body had.

“Damn, Sooyoung,” I sighed. She blushed and smiled up at me. “Your ass was so hot, stretching and jiggling as you got out of the car. Wish I had recorded that instead.”

“Glad you were entertained,” Sooyoung retorted.

We stood there in the doorway for a few moments, staring at one another. Sooyoung was waiting for me to leave, and I was ogling her body and thinking God knows what. Sooyoung looked stunning, especially given that her work attire frequently consisted of tight-fitting workout clothes. Tight shirts, shorts, or yoga pants, with a sweater tied around her waist. A bit lewd, maybe, but she wore it flawlessly. Sporty and sexy all in one package.

“You leaving?” Sooyoung inquired, ignoring my leering.

“When is Hyoseob coming home?” I asked.

“In about two hours, why? We’re not-” Sooyoung tried to say something, but I interrupted her by pushing her inside and closing the door behind her. Sooyoung stumbled backward, her mind reeling from the forwardness.

“We are not doing this,” Sooyoung said, though with much less vigour as my hands gripped her fat ass, making her gulp hard. My tongue trailed from her earlobe up to her ear. “Minho, please,” Sooyoung pleaded.

My hands ran down from her wide hips, fingers pressing against the hem of her tights. Sooyoung shuddered in an oh-so-delicious anticipation as she realized how badly she’d longed for my touch these past days. Sooyoung realized she had subconsciously chosen to wear an outfit just for me. To tempt and agitate me. She wanted my warm embrace and confident assertiveness. She wanted my greedy lust to break her body and willpower, only to be soothed by my caring patience, stamina, and thickness.

“Bedroom?” I asked, eager to sink my cock in this lovely, formerly faithful wife.

“Yeah...” Sooyoung answered breathlessly, her pussy wet and her cheeks flushed red as she was powerless to resist me, so powerfully she wished I’d bend her over, rip off her tight-fitting garments and-

“Sooyoung? Are you back?” Hyoseob’s voice cut in through the silence, right at that moment.

“Hyoseob! Why’re you home so early? I thought you were staying at the office all day for your important deadline!” Sooyoung answered nervously, fidgeting with the front door for me to get out, looking as Hyoseob came out from the kitchen.

“Eh, they cancelled the deadline; was a miscommunication with the client, and a chance for me to… Sooyoung, what is going on?” He didn’t sound angry, but he had every right to be. Sooyoung was in the process of breaking the rules again, and probably several of them. She had no mind to record it, as it was full steam ahead.

“Well, what do we have here,” Hyoseob scolded playfully. He approached, inspecting her up-and-down as he circled Sooyoung and I, now somewhat frozen from the sudden shock.

“You’re a sight to see, baby,” he murmured and stood before us. “But not what I expected to come crashing through the door,” Hyoseob continued, “but I understand the appeal.”

He smiled as his wife’s mouth bobbed up and down with no words emerging. Her words were caught in her throat before she eventually found her voice.

“Don’t be upset babe, we were talking... then... I mean,” Sooyoung stuttered.

“Relax, I’m not angry,” Hyoseob assured. “Why should I be? Look, it is pretty hot to see you almost fall over, all stunned and panting at Minho.”

A nervous, giddy chuckle erupted from Sooyoung. She licked her lips and blinked slowly.

“Sorry to barge in like this,” I stated, my grip on Sooyoung’s waist still. “Just thought...”

“You’d fuck my wife?” Hyoseob replied.

“Listen, I’ll just leave,” I said.

“Leave?” Hyoseob asked in mock surprise, smiling coyly. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve started it. You can’t stop now.”

“Okay?” I breathed.

“Hey, this is my chance to watch it live. Consider it another hall pass,” Hyoseob said.

Sooyoung didn’t think they’d do any more hall passes, especially so soon after her last one, but she wasn’t going to argue, instead turning around and pressing her round butt against my bulge. I smirked, pressing back, reaching up to the rim of her short shirt, tracing the fabric, and skimming my fingers against the hem of her spandex tights, which I began rolling down her hips.

“Wait,” Sooyoung said. “Didn’t you say something about a bedroom?” she added, meeting Hyoseob’s stare. His eyes widened. ‘That’s right, I’m taking him to our marital bed,’ Sooyoung thought as she looked at her husband. If he was so accepting, let’s see how far he’d let her take it.

She grabbed my hand and pulled me upstairs. She was powerless to stop herself now that she had free reign and was absolutely in heat; she needed to be fuck senseless like the horny slut she’d become, right in her and her husband’s marital bed, with her husband watching no less. Sooyoung entered the bedroom and stood by the footboard, pulling me in behind.

“Lay on your back,” I told her. “I wanna see those huge tits jiggle as I stretch out your pussy,” I added.

Sooyoung didn’t respond, but obeyed nonetheless, feeling even hotter from hearing the lewd order. She laid down, ready and wanting. She heard the sound of their breathing, mixed with Hyoseob’s, who silently sat watching on a chair off to the side.

I began stripping off, her gaze fixed on my body. It seemed like an eternity since we’d had each other. She had to admit her disappointment at having her fun cut short. But hopefully, we’d have a lot more time and wouldn’t have to rush or wait for Hyoseob’s arrival.

I moved closer to her, climbing onto the bed until my cock was above her face. A shiver went through her. Sooyoung laid down, extending a hand to wrap around my hovering girth. I chuckled as her soft grip met mine, her fingertips barely touching on both sides. My foreskin was tight and firm over the bulging cockhead, with a wispy cum beading on the slit. She raised her head, extending her neck, and touched my tip with her tongue, her eyes closed and breathing heavily. The wet tongue licked the bead, and she salivated at the unpleasant taste. She was in disbelief about her own actions, doing something so dirty with someone other than her husband. The shame fueled her even more, but she couldn’t push herself any further than this. She lowered her head back on the pillow, allowing the thick piece to hang in front of her, dragging along her chin and grazing over her tits, drooling even more heavily as it made its way, coating the firm boobs and pebbled nipples.

Sooyoung looked up to see me looking down at her, a smirk flashing across my coarse features. Sooyoung understood what I was looking for, what I desired. Despite her embarrassment, Sooyoung was hungry for my dick after tasting the copious amounts of delicious delight I could provide her with. However, as I climbed down her body, I did not align my cock with her. No, I wanted to show Hyoseob how much better I was without even using my cock, so I sunk down the married couple’s marital bed and buried my head between her flawless thighs.

“Oh god,” Sooyoung mumbled in pent-up anticipation for the oncoming onslaught.

*

Hyoseob sat in a chair in the corner of his own bedroom, watching me sink my head between his wife’s spread legs, obscuring his view of her dripping entrance. It was a hard feat to understand how well Sooyoung responded to my touches. It wrecked him as much as it aroused him, and witnessing the events before him was the worst kind of train carnage he couldn’t pull his eyes from.

“Oh- Ohhh,” Hyoseob heard his wife moan, a deep, almost painful groan escaping from her chest. His dick stirred when he saw her lost in pleasure. Her knees were drawn in the air, and her heels were sliding down my wide back, pushing her pelvis forward and mashing her opening against my tongue. His sexy prideful wife was being ravaged by one of her students. Right in front of him.

Sooyoung began panting as her hands took hold of my head, entangling her fingers in my hair and ensuring my face remained rooted in place as I tongue fucked her sopping, hungry pussy. my hands gripped this wife’s athletic thighs as she ground against mine, the bed creaking and rocking in the process. Sooyoung reached back with one arm, holding onto the headboard, while her other kept my head pressed in tightly, her jaw jutted out and her eyes focused.

I worked her like a pro. With each twitch and whimper, labored groan, and gasping squeak, I reacted accordingly, guiding her into a boiling heat that was gradually building in her core, until my skilled tongue finally broke her open, sending her shuddering into an explosive orgasm that drenched my tongue in her juices.

I knew right away that Sooyoung and her husband had never done or come close to accomplishing anything like this before. Nothing in our long sexual history compared.

“Fuck! How...” Sooyoung groaned as her convulsions subsided. She drew her arm back and lay there exhausted, my lips smirking against her sticky thighs.

My cock hadn’t gotten the pleasure it craved, and the impatience was evident in the rigid shaft. I was tall and proud on my knees above her. Sooyoung turned her head, realizing that my cock had not only missed her, but also been neglected. My thick piece had bobbed and bounced, waving and whipping in the air, and landing all over their sheets. I chuckled as the disheveled teacher regained her composure.

“Fuck, Minho, how’d you get so good at that?” She sighed as her fingers and gaze moved down my body. “It’s crazy how fast you can get me off, it’s unfair.”

“Had plenty of practice,” I told her.

“Yeah? With who?”

“Minju, Hana, Sujin, Eunha, so on,” Minho bragged.

“Eunha? Our neighbor?” Sooyoung asked.

It wasn’t typical of her to be so nosy, but Hyoseob could tell, my already extensive experience interested her. Meanwhile, He sat, enraged and jealous. Not only did I get to fuck his wife, but I also had free access to every teen girl in the neighborhood.

“This dirty cock has been in a lot of dirty places, then,” Sooyoung purred while stroking my cock between her legs, enticed by my obscenities. Hyoseob was taken aback by how hot she was, not just because I was in front of her, but also because she was so responsive to it. This was a very different Sooyoung, one who clearly enjoyed the experience and knowledge one had to offer, he thought.

“Turn over,” I instructed, “Get on your hands and knees for me.”

“God, yes,” Sooyoung hissed.

And just like that she was on all fours, knees far apart, her tight entrance exposed, wet, and more than ready. That big sexy ass I could fondle and worship for hours strutted out for mine to feast. I noticed her shaking from anticipation, the pleasurable experience in her pussy still burning and spreading like wildfire, warming her entire body from the inside out.

“Yesss...” she groaned as my cock head settled down against her outer lips, coating the bottom in her leaking juices. It was a hell of a tease.

“Unnh! Minho, come on. Just... FUCK ME!” Sooyoung begged.

“What’s that? What is it that you want?” I teased.

“Please.” Sooyoung inhaled sharply. “I want you!”

“If I fuck you, and I’m not your husband, what does that make him?” I teased, nodding in Hyoseob’s direction.

“A cuck-UGH!” Sooyoung groaned out as I started to push my cock inside her unfaithful hole, taking control.

I fully leaned over her and crawled my hands around and under her, getting ahold of her full tits, cock lodged deep within her as I mounted her. “That’s what I thought,” I muttered, before starting my slow pace.

Hyoseob’s dick throbbed wildly. What could He say about such a display? It was unlike anything he could have imagined or experienced. His own wife was having the time of her life right in front of him, and with someone else, not to mention, her student. He’d never seen her so hot.

“Minho! You’re so BIG. Fuck me!” she moaned, in complete surrender and acceptance of a situation.

“Damn, you are tight... i can’t believe how fucking tight you are!” I pounded her harder. The bed creaked rhythmically in tune with my hips snapping against her big ass.

The bedroom echoed with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, and the wife’s moan rang in his ears. Hyoseob could hear our breathing become heavier as I brought her to climax again. Sooyoung’s breath caught in her throat for a moment before she cried out in delight as I fucked her straight through her orgasm without mercy.

“Like that, Hyoseob?” I taunted him over the moans and whimpers that his lovely wife couldn’t restrain. “Like watching me make your wife cum?!” I asked.

It wasn’t the first time Hyoseob saw Sooyoung do sex acts he’d always fantasized about, but seeing live in front of him was both magnificent and terrifying, given that he couldn’t ever be the one to do those things with her. Or perhaps the only difference between my cock and him was that I knew how to please her far better than her husband could.

“Like to see me breaking your wife? Defiling your wife in your-fucking-bed?” I groaned, thrusting firm and hard. “I’ll never grow tired of a pussy like this! Never! What a fucking MILF!”

Sooyoung was so into it, fully submerging in the wild ride I was giving her. I wasn’t holding back, giving her the kind of rough treatment that no one else could give. That only I could. That her husband certainly couldn’t. Her insides wrapped around mine like a fist as I pummeled her from behind.

I gave Sooyoung long, deliberate, penetrating, slow, torturous thrusts before pounding her hard and deep, letting my cock bury its enormous mass inside. Her huge breasts, undulating back and forth on the surface, would slide a little, causing her hard nipples to briefly rub the fabric.

“He’s fucking me so hard, Hyoseob,” Sooyoung whimpered. “This is all your fault!”

“Holy shit,” He muttered.

“I’d never fuck this shithead if you hadn’t pushed for this!” Sooyoung cried.

“Oh god,” Hyoseob groaned, feeling his impending orgasm rise and then subside as he forced himself to stop jerking.

“Unnh-NNH! MINHO!”

“Tell him how deep my cock is going inside this sweet married pussy. How it stretches you,” I teased.

“Minho, uggh- your cuh-cuh-cocks SO DEEP! Fuck me harder... faster. My pussy is a-and, I need you t-to fuuuck-AAAA.” Sooyoung was incoherent as she exploded. Her body collapsed underneath me as her arms and elbows gave out from my force.

I’m panting profusely and abruptly pulling out of Sooyoung. “Get in there,” I instructed, getting out of bed.

Sooyoung rolled onto her back, allowing Hyoseob to climb between her thighs and eagerly plunge himself between us. The contrast was noticeable. He struggled to fill her with his own member, just as I did. She wrapped her arms around him, keeping him close as we rutted together.

“Feels really nice,” Sooyoung assured him earnestly, panting into his ear, but his depraved brain refused to believe her, unable to shake the fact that she had just been fucked hard, pounded deep, and railed thoroughly by someone much bigger.

“Shit... you’re so much looser,” Hyoseob said bluntly. Sooyoung closed her eyes, enjoying his body and ignoring what he had just said. She let out a series of pants and groans, but was lacking. I had really stretched her. He just hoped it didn’t mean that his relationship with his wife had changed.

“Oh god, keep doing it!” Sooyoung gasped and groaned beneath her husband, writhing her body as the waves of pleasure crashed into her. She writhed and contorted in front of him, receiving his shallow thrusts with relative ease.

But her orgasm never came. She panted and bucked against him, but the friction just wasn’t there enough to bring her over the edge. Hyoseob didn’t think Sooyoung realized it, but He wasn’t enough anymore. Not anymore. Not after being taken so far, stretched out, and then slammed, with so much weight and girth. It made a huge difference. She clenched hard around him but didn’t get it where she wanted. She needed something more than him.

The realization burned through him and almost made him cum right away, but instead, Hyoseob felt a tap on his shoulder.

“I’m going back in,” I smirked. “I’ll take care of it.”

I pushed him away and crawled back between Sooyoung’s thighs, forcing him to sit back and jerk off while he watched his wife being fucked by another guy. I don’t think Sooyoung noticed his withdrawal, especially since I reinserted my cock inside her. Sooyoung threw her head back and let out a howl. I picked up right away, maintaining the exact same pace of deep, hard strokes inside of her.

Hyoseob felt hurt being forced to climb back to the chair in the corner, hearing how much Sooyoung enjoys someone else more than him, but at the same time, he felt an intense arousal of humiliation to witness this sight. The way I’m dominantly forcing myself inside her lovely wife, pinning her in place and rekindling her pleasure. She cried for more.

“Take my cock! Take it like a slut!” I kept going.

“Uhnnnh... feels soooo gooood,” Sooyoung panted, clawing and pulling.

I paused just long enough to grab Sooyoung’s wrists and pin them above her head, taking on a male dominant position of ownership. As a bull over his cow, or in this case, a stud mounting his breeding mare. Hyoseob thought back to their lives together, him and Sooyoung. Everything they had experienced together, it all leading to her get fucked by another man.

She arched her back and pressed her breasts against my chest, squirming under me as the heat built up again, more and more, until, with the clench and tingle of pleasure in the stomach and thighs, Sooyoung lost herself in an orgasm, feeling an enormous pressure rising, climbing up from the depths of her pussy, pushing upwards, stretching. Sooyoung squirmed beneath my dominance, gasping, unable to grasp reality as every cell in her body became electrified in response to my hard pummeling.

I then slowed down, letting Sooyoung come down, sinking my lips against hers, and we began to kiss intimately.

“Minho...” She whispered in a raspy voice, gazing into mine.

Sooyoung could hardly speak. She tried, but the words fell short and were barely audible, a quiet and excited stuttering, but as the fog lifted and reality returned, and she started to remember the moment, her tone shifted. Her voice grew stronger, more aware of her situation. “Fuck...” she continued in a less reverent whisper. “Jesus Christ, what is going on...”

“Well... we’re cucking your husband,” I said bluntly.

“Are you mad? Am I in trouble?”

Sooyoung let out a giggle and let me drop my head to her neck, causing her giggle to turn into a moan as I began licking her soft skin while humping her womb.

“Are you going to talk?” I breathed, my full cock sinking slowly into her. “Come on. “Let him hear.”

“Oh my g-uuuh.” Sooyoung trailed off, the words cut off, distracted by massive tool filling her up, touching her walls.

“Now tell me again. Tell him, the reason you have allowed me to defile you,” I teased, not relenting my pace, while whispering in her ear.

“Ohhh,” Sooyoung moaned, shivering, clutching my muscles. Sooyoung whimpered, gritting her teeth to her effort. But not responding was beyond impossible. She had never felt so full.

“Your husbands’ too tiny, isn’t he?” I egged her on.

“My husband is great, I swear, but you’re so big and he’s not,” Sooyoung got out, my fat cock-head poking into her, brushing into a particularly sensitive spot in the inner wall.

“That’s right,” I said with satisfied smirk.

“Ohh!” Sooyoung groaned.

“That’s why you needed to cuck your husband.”

“God Minho...” Sooyoung moaned.

“Just answer.”

“Yes,” Sooyoung blurted out. “My husband is great, I promise- oh my! But he couldn’t fulfill all my needs, my cravings.” Sooyoung paused and closed her eyes. I slowed down because I didn’t want her orgasm to take her away just yet. “That’s why, fuck, I needed you here. So you could give me what I really needed.”

Sooyoung returned my gaze, a loving, heated expression on her face. I kissed her, pressing our lips and tongues together. And we resumed our fucking, moaning together and filling the bedroom with the sounds of flesh slapping, groans, and grunts.

Hyoseob raised his hand to stroke himself, rubbing his dick furiously. His body and mind were filled with emotions and stress. Sooyoung hadn’t been lying about his size, and watching how I held nothing back as my thick meat began stretching his wife again, plunging into her over and over... He had no idea how we were doing it; with our perfect fit, it must have felt like heaven. His eyes burned with a desire to break down. He is unsure whether he is feeling shame, happiness, anger, or passion. He closed his eyes for a second to concentrate on his wife’s agonizing moans and the obscene slick sounds of her being pounded so deliciously and thoroughly.

“Hyoseob, watch me make your wife cum again,” I said.

He could only nod and bite down his own moans, proving my statement correct. The display in front of him became more and more lewd and heated as she moved her mouth to my ears and allowed me to feel her warm breath, while our hips went insane, slamming into her like a high-powered machine.

“You want it,” I told her.

“Ah! Ah! Uuungh,” Sooyoung got out, a half groan, half whisper.

“Oh yes you do. Cum on my cock!” I commanded.

“Minho...” Sooyoung moaned in her raspy voice.

“Don’t bother to fight it, Ma’am.”

“Minho I’m so close, I’m going crazy here, just take my womb.”

I pummeled down deep, thrusting firmly and keeping my base flush. Sooyoung’s hips rose from the sheets and began bucking upward, meeting my heavy thrusts. Our speed increased together. “Minho!” she kept saying my name like a mantra. Sooyoung grunted as I pushed deeper inside of her. She had to scream as I kept my promise.

“Okay,” Sooyoung hissed after an eternity.

I smiled and slid off of her. Sooyoung leaned back into the mattress and spread her legs, arching her hips, watching as my cock come out covered in our collective fluids, thick, sticky, and white. It was hard to comprehend that all that had been inside her, and even more was still spilling out. It was so thick and creamy.

“I haven’t cum this hard since forever,” Sooyoung moaned.

“You did amazing. I can’t wait for a lot more,” I told Sooyoung.

“Yee-ees, me too, baby.” Sooyoung wrapped her arms and legs around me and kissed me eagerly as her eyes flashed towards her husband, a little unsure, maybe even scared, her glance uncertain, her pupils wide, and then she just looked straight at him.

“You okay, Hyoseob?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah... just hard to get over how much of that got in you,” Hyoseob said, laughing. While his expression was undoubtedly one of shock, he was actually doing more than fine. Watching his wife pleasured by another man is an image that will stay with him forever, and the experience left him oddly satisfied. It almost made him happy that she had gotten to experience something like this.

“Well, anyway,” I said, standing up. “I am drained. And we’re not in a real session, so I’m heading out.”

“Sure thing,” Sooyoung said. “And the session tomorrow? Let’s... Let’s put that one on hold for now, okay? We need a bit... a bit of control, I think.”

I nodded and began to dress up. It was reassuring when Sooyoung, the smart person she was, took the steering wheel. When the dust settled, she still considered her husband’s turmoil. Hyoseob was probably complacent enough for us to do more, but Sooyoung was probably right in pulling on the emergency brakes.

“So,” Sooyoung turned to Hyoseob after I left. “Wow, huh.”

He simply nodded, trying to process the event that had transpired. Sooyoung got up and moved in beside him.

“What just happened?” He asked, dumfounded.

“Well, we cucked you,” Sooyoung said, studying his expression as she waited for his reaction to her words. “Was it too much?”

“I... think so. I’m glad you got to experience it... but watching it in front of me was a bit much, perhaps.” He explained to her. “Like, yeah, you’re hot as hell. This entire event is extremely hot, and seeing another man fuck you so well is quite thrilling. But hearing you moan and say all of that... it was almost too much for me. I’m not sure if I can handle seeing it live... especially since he asked me to join in...”

Sooyoung nodded understanding. “So you think we should move on from this whole thing?”

“No! No, I love it. It makes it harder for me to return to the same things later,” he laughed. Sooyoung also giggled. “No, I’m all on for it still, but I think we need a cooling period,” he replied. “At the very least, I participated in real life... However, the videos are quite good.

“Sure thing,” Sooyoung said, with a warm, understanding smile. “And I won’t do anything until you’re ready for it to continue. If ever. I only enjoy this if you enjoy it.”

“You’d do that?” He asked. “Despite everything?”

“Of course... I know I failed before, but I would try with all my might. I don’t want to risk everything for something like that, and honestly, I don’t think Minho would either.”

They linger like that for a bit.

“Sooyoung, can I ask you something?” Hyoseob started. Sooyoung nodded. “Why is it so different? I mean, aside from the obvious physical things. You’re so much wilder with Minho.”

“Aside from how his bigger size just hits differently?” Sooyoung asked, shooting him a smirk, which He returned. “Well... I don’t know. Honestly, maybe it was always there, I just never brought it out. The raw physical aspect. And with Minho it is just that, so much more raw and physical action. I don’t love him, nowhere close, and I don’t think for a second he loves me. And for women sex and emotions are entwined and psychological. With Minho, there is no relationship like that, so it’s purely physical. It’s like I can let go more, if that makes sense. Have good sex with no repercussions, if that also makes sense.”

Hyoseob paused for a few seconds. “I guess that makes sense, yeah. When did you get so smart?” He joked.

“Shut up,” Sooyoung said, slapping his chest. “So everything okay? Anything more you wanna ask, because I want to answer everything you want to know as far as I can.”

“No, I think I’m good. Let’s put a breather on this whole thing then take it from there.”

“Okay, got it,” Sooyoung said with a smile, wrapping a hand around his husband, and cuddling into him as she laid her head on his chest. He placed an arm on her shoulder and held her close, her soft boobs pressing against him. The cuddle made them fall asleep, together, exhausted from the day’s adventure.

#joy smut #park sooyoung smut #red velvet smut #kpop smut #girl group smut #female idol smut #male reader

[sceletaflores]

Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up.

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, malpractice? unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

authors note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you. 

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone. 

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you. 

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you. 

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.” 

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller. 

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey. 

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands. 

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure,  "Just try to relax.” 

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter. 

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything. 

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings." 

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done. 

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up. 

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you. 

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back. 

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house. 

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things. 

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her. 

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.” 

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience. 

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to. 

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing. 

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold. 

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment. The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want some random massage therapist.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk about that door right now and never step foot in their house again. 

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything. 

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now. 

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him. 

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over. 

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly. 

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue. 

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.” 

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest. 

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still  squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist. 

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from. 

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,”  he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

 "I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room. 

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying. 

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it. 

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you. 

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you. 

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself. 

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you.  Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets. 

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours. 

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him. 

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit. 

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter. 

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining. 

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” you whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips. 

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan. 

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks. 

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @artemis-b-writes

#✧: 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 #natalia cant write anything under 1.000 words #this took me so long #it's seven in the morning lmao #someone help me write faster #cause it's such a problem #like seriously #okay bye #love you hope you like this #challengers #challengers movie #challengers x reader #challengers fanfic #challengers smut #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson smut #mike faist #mike faist x reader #mike faist x you #tashi duncan #tashi duncan x you #sort of

[squoxle]

Hi ! Could you write something where like y/n is sucking or playing with heeseungs dick & she just got her fresh nails done and they’re pretty and EVERHTING & she poses with heeseungs dick and adds a bow …

(Sorry for taking so long to respond to your request)

French Tip ~ L. HS

pairing: sugar-daddy!bf!heeseung x babygirl!gf!reader| wc: 1.3k | plot: after getting your nails done, you're excited to show Heeseung your fresh, new set. | cw: 🔞MDNI!! blow job, boob job, hand job, basically touching his dick in every way possible and snapping a few pictures lol bc why tf not (there're also a few cute moments hehe)

Having your boyfriend pay for your nails was nothing out of the ordinary to you. He did this almost every week, or whenever else he thought they should be done.

Sometimes you would ask for his input, but today was not one of those days. You wanted to surprise him with a fresh, natural-looking set.

French Tips...

"When you finish getting your nails done, send me a pic. I wanna see what they look like," he said before kissing you on the cheek. You could still smell the scent of coffee from this morning in the air.

That alone was addicting enough, but when the scent of his Channel cologne was mixed in only one thing was on your mind. And that was getting back in bed with him. Or at least pleasing him while he tells you how pretty you look.

"Okay," you smiled softly as you looked into his sweet doe eyes. You pulled the gold chain of your black clutch bag over your shoulder as you headed out the door.

You would've loved for him to take you to your nail appointment today, but he had some business to take care of at home. To be specific, he had a very important meeting over Zoom with a few of his colleagues concerning a very important business deal, which he made crystal clear to you the day before.

Before heading to your appointment, you stopped to place an order for some desserts. Heeseung planned to have a business party next week and he left you in charge of the food.

"Why do you want me to do it? Can't you just hire someone else to take care of this," you asked, not because you had a problem with it, more so for the reason that you were honestly curious.

"Well, you have good taste," he smiled.

"Mhm, sure I do."

"Well, that and you taste good," he smirked, pulling you close to flick his tongue across your lips.

You took a sip from your water bottle as you walked into the beauty salon. "Good morning, Dear. Are you here for your 9 o'clock appointment?" Mrs. Yanez asked from behind the desk.

"Yes, ma'am," you smiled.

"Alright, I'm just gonna log you in," she said as she clacked away at her keyboard. "Do you know what you want to do today?"

"Yes, I'll need a full, fresh set along with a mani-pedi."

"Did you want a massage as well?"

"No, that's alright."

"You sure, it's 30 percent off today. Plus you've accumulated a total of 1500 pretty points with us."

"Hmm, well I'll definitely use those points another day," you smiled. "And as much as I would love a discounted massage, I kinda wanna get back home a little early today."

"Ooh, Mr. Lee must be home today," she teased.

"Yes, he is," you chuckled.

"Well, then I won't keep you waiting any longer," she smiled before pushing a small black button. She often reminded you of the tía-sobrina relationship you never had. You could talk to her about anything, and trust me...she wanted to hear it.

"Right this way, Miss," a masked employee nodded as you followed her to the back. You giggled as Mrs. Yanez playfully waved to you with a smirk on her face.

You sat down in a soft leather chair as you explained what look you were going for today. "I would like a natural-looking set. Almost like French tips, but with natural shades."

"So no white tip?"

"Well white like the color of my natural nails," you explained pointing to the whites of your nails.

"Okay, perfect. I can do that for you. Gloss or not gloss?"

"Gloss," you smiled, as the lady turned around to pick from the colors on her shelf. A nude color, an off-white color, and a pale yellow--which she mixed with the white to match the natural color of your nails.

Having a custom color mixed made your nails feel pretty unique. Plus, this was a style you never tried before, so you were excited to see how they'd come out.

After about 45 minutes you were ready to go. Two people ended up working on you which sped up the process.

"Tell Heeseung I said hello," Mrs. Yanez smiled as you walked out.

"I will," you chuckled as she waved to you.

You climbed into your car before heading over to a nearby boba shop to pick up some drinks. Matcha for you and brown sugar for him. You liked extra boba and he liked extra syrup. These were little details you could never forget.

*Click* you snapped a shot of you holding the brown sugar boba because it looked better with your nails, even though it was for Heeseung.

Within seconds he opened the message and hearted the pic you sent. "They look nice, babe," he texted. You were surprised he even said that much.

"Maybe his meeting hasn't started yet. Or maybe they canceled it," you thought to yourself. Either way, you couldn't wait to get back home.

"Heeseung?" you called out as you stepped out of your shoes. Your car keys, clutch bag, and phone balanced between your fingers as you carried both of the drinks over to the counter. You had drunk about a fourth of your by the time you made it home.

You placed yours on the counter as you walked into his home office.

You knocked softly as you opened the door. Heeseung didn’t say a single word, but the look on his face told you everything. “I’m a little busy right now, babe. You can come back later, okay.”

You paused in both shock and embarrassment for a moment before a cheeky smirk appeared on your face. You closed the door behind you before walking over to his desk.

He was trying his best not to look at you, but you could tell he wanted to.

You placed his drink on the desk next to him before crawling under the desk. As professional as Heeseung tried to be at times, he loved wearing his sweat pants and you liked them too.

They were comfortable and made pulling his dick out so much easier.

You fiddled around with his drawstring causing him to wiggle a bit from your touch before you managed to get his dick out. You felt him harden between your palms as you stroked him up and down. That's when an idea popped into your head.

You pulled your phone out and snapped a shot of his tip against your tongue. You placed your phone down beside you as you began to suck him off. You felt him lean forward slightly, trying his best to contain his excitement.

You kissed the head of his dick to give him a chance to readjust himself. You could hear the voices of his colleagues coming from his computer as you continued to suck him off. You pulled back to unbutton your blouse using your tits to take the place of your hands as you jerked him off.

*Click* you took another pic of his dick nestled in between your tits.

You traced your tongue up the length of his shaft before taking it back in your mouth. It wasn't long before you heard him getting ready to end the call.

You looked up at him from under the desk. "Couldn't wait until after my meeting," he asked with a smirk.

You shook your head no as you continued to bob your head on his cock.

"Did you at least enjoy yourself?"

"Hmm...almost. I still feel like I'm missing a little something."

"And what would that be?" he asked cheekily, though he was fully aware of what you wanted...especially after you opened your mouth to tap his tip on your tongue.

He grabbed your head, shoving it down as he pumped himself into your mouth. Just as he was getting ready to cum he pulled your head back to coat your tongue.

*Click* He took a photo of your sitting between his legs with his cum all over your tongue and a dazed look on your face.

He paused to tap away at his phone before sending a pic of you with a bow edited on your head looking completely cum drunk.

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @chlorinecake @mimikittysblog @nikisvanillaccola @wonbinisbabygurl @mrswolfhard3 @laylasbunbunny @sussyjake @furious-eagle @cherrriesss @abbyizzy @weyukinluv @addictedtohobi @thatonenoona @wavykook @givemeyourtmihyun @jaeljn @hoonmywk @valennshit @19-yunalyn @hoonbby @frostedblankets @hoonsyo @no-mannerism @perfectxserendipity @chubbibish @ihrtlix @bunniesforsoobin @thereadersparadise @thatbooknerdfr @aiden2001 @belongstoheeseung @jakeybabe @donut-crazs @rizzhee @nikimeows @woonieees @uarmyxtae @rebecca-johnson-28 @they2luv1naia @isa-2007 @silcry @riverscafe @pearlwhitesoul @nikohiroshi @thatbooknerdfr @wonniewonwon @sughoonieeee @babyy-bambii @adrika04 @sehunsharpasseyebrows @wtfyangjungwon @fr-3-akn-4-stymf @rikiloversworld @shawyle @sunoosrightbuttcheek @uarmyxtae @lovesickxmina @urfavberry @urauntiefaye @breadlover01 @taehyunsfavmo

#enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fanfic #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung hard hours #enhypen imagines #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung #heeseung #enhypen #lee heeseung #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen x reader #heeseung angst #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung fluff #heeseung fluff #heeseung fanfic #heeseung scenarios #enhypen lee heeseung smut #enhypen lee heeseung #request

[ktgoodmorning]

Tough conversations

Pina x Putellas!Reader

Pt.2 to Keeping Secrets

R and Alexia both have lots of feelings to figure out, Pina just has to try her best to keep things calm

Masterlist

After your fight with Alexia over your tongue piercing, you had been somewhat on edge every time you were around her. If she was that upset over something so small, something that didn’t even impact her, you didn’t want to imagine her reaction when she learned you’d been lying to her about your love life for months. It didn’t help that she saw your girlfriend as a younger sister as well, and even though Claudia continuously told you not to worry about it, you were absolutely terrified that your secret would ruin their relationship too. You knew the longer it went on, it would only get worse, but the mere thought of telling Alexia made you want to throw up. 

 “You’ve been tossing and turning for the last forty minutes, what’s up?” Claudia’s voice broke you from your thoughts. You let out a heavy sigh before rolling to face her. Your girlfriend had her head propped up on her hand to look at you. 

“Lo siento, mi amor,” you leaned over to leave a soft kiss on her cheek, “I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m just thinking. Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong, I was already up.” She pushed some hair off your forehead while you just looked up at her, admiring her soft smile and the way it made her dimples appear. “Talk to me, mi Vida. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, it’s not a big deal.” Your voice trailed off, not wanting to burden her with your worries. Both of you had made the decision together to keep your relationship quiet but even so, you didn’t want her to feel like it was her fault you were stressed about it. “Let’s just go to sleep, come on.” You rolled onto your side and grabbed her hand in an attempt to pull her with you but you were met with resistance. 

“No, hey, come on. Talk to me.” Your girlfriend pulled her hand away and brought you back to look at her. 

“Clau, I’m just nervous about Alexia. The longer we keep this from her, the more it’s gonna upset her.” You buried your face in your hands in frustration. It killed you just thinking about it. “She’s gonna hate me.” 

Her hand ran over your arm softly, drawing shapes across your skin to get your attention. “She won’t hate you, amor. Will she be upset? Yeah, probably. But she’s also your sister, and there’s no way she could ever hate you. Alexia loves you so much more than you even realize.” 

“I don’t know…”

“And that’s okay. You don’t have to know. But I do. She loves you, and so do I. Neither of those will change when she finds out. Whenever and however we decide to tell her, she will get over it and she will still love you.” Maybe it was just your lack of sleep, but your girlfriend spoke with so much conviction that it was hard not to believe her. She could read from your silence that her words had started to sink in. “Come on, you need some sleep, we have to be up early. I’ll hold you.” 

Claudia, rolled onto her back and opened her arms to you, which you happily fell into, immediately settling into her side. She pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “I love you, mi Vida and it will all work out, I promise.” 

“Hmmm,” you hummed against her skin tiredly, “I love you, Claudia.” The mix between her words and your exhaustion helped you finally drift off to sleep. 

Claudia was right, you would figure it out, it just would be at a later time. That was a future-you problem. For now you’d just stay here, snuggled up with the love of your life for as long as you could. 

…..

You didn’t realize it, but your attempt to put off talking to your sister had resulted in you inadvertently avoiding her. It wasn’t intentional, not at all. It just made it easier to avoid the entire situation. The less you saw Alexia, the easier it was to keep your secret from her. However it was less easy when you constantly saw her at training, and in your family group chat, and in literally every other aspect of your life. 

“I assume you’re coming over for dinner, Hermana?” She had all but cornered you in the locker room after training, but the question couldn’t have been more casual. It wasn’t unusual for you to join Alexia and Olga for dinner, especially after long days of training. Your sister knew you had no interest in cooking so it was her way of keeping you from filling up on fast food and frozen pizza. But fortunately for you, she wasn’t the only one trying to take care of you lately. And even though you were notorious for your horrible cooking, you were happy to have your girlfriend come help you with it. 

“Actually, Ale… I have plans already.” you knew it was likely to raise some questions but you couldn’t think of an excuse quickly enough. 

You watched as her smile turned to a slight smirk, and gave you an understanding nod. “Doing something with that secret friend of yours, hmm?” You rolled your eyes. 

“I don’t get why you can’t just mind your own business, Alexia.” 

“Well I don’t get why you just avoided my question.” She was obviously right, you were hiding things from her, but you weren’t about to crack now, especially with half the team still in the room.

You did your best to hide the blush you knew was growing on your face. “If you want to know the truth, I’m cooking dinner myself tonight. I’ve been planning it all week, and I just really want to try it out.” It was half true. You just would have company while you did it, but your sister didn’t need to know that. 

The statement earned you a scoff from everyone who had heard it, everyone except your girlfriend who was now trying to hide a blush of her own. “Okay we all know that’s a lie. You would’ve been better off just telling us about this secret girlfriend of yours.” Patri gave you a playful look from across the room while you and Claudia shared a quick look of panic that you hoped nobody would notice. 

“There’s no secret girlfriend! Do you see what you started, Ale?! Why can’t you all just drop it?” 

If you weren’t pissed off before, you certainly were now, angrily grabbing your bag and leaving the room to head home. At this point you were just glad Alexia had waited until you were done for the day and ready to leave before starting this. 

“Hey,” You were stopped by Alexia’s hand on your shoulder, turning you around, “calm down, we were just joking, it’s not a big deal.” Her voice had returned to the soft, calming one you were used to, that had comforted you since you were kids. 

Despite her effort to make amends with you, all you could do was cross your arms over your chest defensively. “Clearly it’s a big deal to you considering you constantly bring it up in front of everyone.” 

“Hermana, I’m sorry, okay? I think it’s great that you found somebody! It’s just weird that you’re being so secretive with me.” 

“Alexia, how do you still not get this? You aren’t my mother, and even if you were, I’m still an adult and I have no obligation to tell you every detail of my life.” 

You sister hoped you hadn’t noticed the look of hurt that flashed across her face. “I know you aren’t obligated to but there’s a pep in your step these days, don’t you think? I think it’s great! You look so much happier lately and I just want to be able to meet the person who’s responsible for that.” 

You dragged your hands over your face in frustration. How could she still not let it go? “Alexia! I already told you, I have nothing to tell you, yet you keep insisting! Why can’t you get it through your thick fucking skull, that I don’t want to talk about it?” The harshness of your words left her speechless in a way you rarely saw. You knew you shouldn’t have said it, but you just didn’t understand why she continued to push you on the topic. 

Her voice was suddenly much louder, deciding to match your outburst, “because I fucking care about you!” 

“Well I didn’t ask you to!”

“Hermana, seriously!? I don’t even know what to say to you right now. If you’re asking me to stop caring about you, it’s not going to happen.” She started to take a few steps back to head towards her car, still holding eye contact with you. “If you want dinner tonight, you’re always welcome, you know where to find us and if you ever want to bring someone with you, we’d love to have them too.” 

You closed your eyes and let out a long sigh, feet frozen to the ground, as you tried not to picture how hurt your sister looked.

Your thoughts were interrupted by voices bursting through the locker room doors, unaware of what had just happened between you and Alexia. Somehow the words you heard from them might have been worse than your own conversation you had just had. 

“We know you’re together, Pina! It was pretty clear based on the way you went whiter than a sheet the second I made a joke about her dating someone. I just don't get why she wants to hide you so bad.” 

You could’ve thrown up when you heard it. How was this all unraveling right before your eyes? All three of them froze when they looked up and realized you were standing there, paralyzed in fear. 

“(Y/n), I didn’t realize you were still here, I didn’t mean it like that,” you were met with Patri and Cata trying desperately to do some damage control with your girlfriend standing next to them looking about the same as you did in that moment. 

“You can’t tell Alexia.” Your voice was somewhat distant, still zoned out thinking about the ramifications of what all was going on right now. “I don’t care that you know, you can feel however you want about it, but you’ve gotta keep it quiet, Alexia will seriously kill both of us and I can’t deal with that right now, so you cannot say a word, do you understand that?” 

Patri held her hands up as if to surrender, “I won’t say anything, don’t worry. I just think you’ve gotta be careful. I’ve known your sister a long time and the longer you put it off, the worse she's gonna react.” 

You deflated slightly at her words, you already knew this and you were tired of everyone telling you what to do. “Patri, I think I’ve known my sister longer than you have. I already know that. We’re fucked no matter when I tell her, I know. I don’t need the reminder.” 

You were surprised when Patri engulfed you in a big hug and whispered some words of comfort in your ear. “Hey, it’s gonna be alright. I really like the idea of the two of you together. It’s obvious you’re really happy and I support you one hundred percent. I just want you to be careful.” She stepped back to address both you and Claudia who seemed to have snapped out of the daze she had been stuck in. “And if either of you hurt each other, I will literally kill you. You are both far too good of people and I will personally lose it if you do something to hurt each other.” 

There seemed to be a weight lifted off both you and your girlfriend’s shoulders upon hearing her approval. As much as you didn’t love more people knowing about the two of you, it felt good to have someone say they approved of your relationship. It was also nice to have more friends that you didn’t have to be quite so careful around. 

“Gracias, Patri, we appreciate it. More than you know.” The rarely serious moment between the two friends was quickly interrupted by Cata, speaking up. 

“You two dating is gonna be crazyyy. Pina, you are already a handful. Together, you guys are insufferable. You know everyone’s gonna lose their minds if you ever tell them, right?”

The entire group broke out into laughter while you gave her a playful shove and started making your way out of the building. The tension had seemed to disappear as you were all back to your usual laughing and joking around with each other as you got to your cars. You had of course earned yourself some extra teasing from Cata when Claudia opened the door to your passenger seat to join you on your way home for dinner together. “Don’t forget to use protection!” She shot you a wink as you all got into your cars, responding only with a middle finger in her direction. 

…..

The drive home was slightly quieter than normal, but you didn’t notice, you were too busy thinking about everything that had happened in the last twenty minutes. You just didn’t know what you were supposed to do. Up until Alexia started her prodding at you, you and Claudia had been perfectly happy doing things on your own, with nobody’s opinions involved. You remained in a bit of a daze even as you arrived home and started taking out the ingredients you needed for dinner, only stopping when Claudia placed a hand on your shoulder and gently turned you to face her. 

“Mi Vida, what’s wrong? You’re being too quiet.” her hands were slung around the back of your neck, playing with the baby hairs that didn’t make it in your ponytail while looking deeply into your eyes. 

“I don’t know, Clau,” your eyes dropped to the floor. “I just- is it bad that we’re doing this?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Keeping this from everyone. My family’s all going to be pissed when they find out we’ve been hiding this, Alexia especially. But even you! I know that it’s gotta be killing you to keep this from your sister. And I keep thinking about what Patri said. I’m not trying to hide you and I don’t want you to think that I am. I just wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t hid all this.” 

If the defeat you were feeling wasn’t clear in your voice, the direct eye contact with your shoes definitely was, but your girlfriend couldn’t watch you continue to beat yourself up over it. 

“Hey,” she brought her finger under your chin to make you meet her gaze. “I told you this yesterday and it’s still true, it’s gonna be okay. If you feel like you want to tell her, or anybody else for that matter, you absolutely can, I won’t stop you. But remember, this is something we decided together. I know you’re not trying to hide me. Are there times I wish I could show everyone how happy you make me? Sure. But I also kind of like that no one knows about us. But we don't have to do this if you don’t want to, whenever you’re ready, I will back you up one hundred percent.” She punctuated her words with a short peck before trying to figure out if her words had sunk in at all. 

“Did you know you’re the best, Clau?” 

“Hmm yeah, I think I’ve heard that before.” She gave you a playful shrug while she pulled you in for a tight hug. “But I’m serious, amor, it’ll be okay. You don’t have to know anything right now, but maybe just think on it.” 

You gave her a smile as she pulled away to look at you again. “Now let’s get your mind off everything, and make some dinner, yes?” 

Your agreement was clear as you turned to start on the food, allowing her to put on some music. “I made us a new playlist, it’s all songs that reminded me of you or of our relationship.” 

You leaned over to kiss the side of her head while you waited for the stove to heat up. “Once again, you’re perfect, Clau.” 

“I don’t know about that, but I do love you and I don’t trust your cooking skills so please move over.” She flashed you one of her cocky smiles as you stepped aside to pour each of you a drink.

As time went on, you quickly forgot about your inner turmoil, too engulfed in the quality time you finally got to share with your girlfriend. The evening quickly turned into you dancing and singing along with her, keeping her entertained and hydrated while she made your dinner. Even though everyone knew you couldn’t cook, you could still bake, so you got busy making a batch of cookies to have as dessert. The season was coming to an end, so you figured a sweet treat couldn’t hurt too much. 

While you both waited for the food to finish, you made your way back together to dance along to the music. Your hands found her waist as you gently swayed, her head lying on your shoulder for you to hold her close. The other problems in your lives ceased to exist when you had each other like this. "I could do this forever, Clau." 

"What, cook?" 

"No, you idiot,” you lightly smacked her shoulder, “I meant dancing with you." you both broke into a fit of giggles that ended with her peppering short kisses all over your face and anywhere else she could reach. You took her jaw in your hand to hold her still for a moment, much more serious than you had been a second before. “You know, I think it’s been long enough for my tongue piercing to heal, if you know what I mean?” 

The classic smirk that you knew so well grew on her face, “Hmm I know exactly what you mean.” Claudia wasted no time finding your hips and pulling you in for the exact kiss you’d been missing so much over the last couple weeks. 

The kiss instantly became heated. You’d both been so starved for each other while you waited for your piercing to heal that you couldn’t hold back anymore. You pushed your tongue into her mouth, her immediate groan reminding you of the new jewelry in it. Claudia’s hold on your waist tightened and pulled you as close as physically possible. Just when she moved her mouth to trace along your jawline, you were interrupted by the timer that signaled the completion of your dinner. 

Your girlfriend threw her head back in agony at the sound. “HOW!? How does this always happen?” She moved to get the food from the stove while you both tried to calm yourselves down, laughing slightly at her reaction.

“Will you come taste this and see what you think?” You placed your hand on the small of her back as she held the spoon up to you. 

As soon as you tried it, you were amazed that you were lucky enough to have a girlfriend that could make food that good. “Clau, it’s literally perfect.” Her face quite literally lit up at your words and she practically jumped up and down at your approval.

.....

As perfect as your dinner together was, you had a hard time ignoring the thoughts that were nagging in the back of your mind. You just couldn’t get the picture of your sister’s face out of your head. When she left training, she looked so disappointed in you, so hurt. The more you tried to ignore it, the less you could enjoy your time with your girlfriend. You were becoming more and more distracted the longer you avoided it. 

“Hey,” you were broken from your thoughts by Claudia reaching for your hand across the table. “You’re still thinking about your sister. If you need to go talk to her, do it. Whatever you want to tell her, I support you completely.” 

Her words made you melt, just as they always did. “Thank you, Clau. I still don’t want to tell her, I think I just need to make sure we’re okay. Maybe bring her some of those cookies or something. I just need to make sure she’s not still mad at me.”

“You go, I’ll clean up here.” 

“Are you sure? I know it probably ruins the mood and everything- me leaving to go fight with my sister- but I won’t be long, I promise.”

“Amor, you need to go talk to her. It’s not like I’m suddenly not gonna be into you just cause you leave for a bit.” Her smirk grew once again which only served to make you smile. 

“How could I forget, you’re literally always horny aren’t you?”   

“It's not that I'm horny all the time, it’s that you’re sexy all the time.” 

You left a kiss on the top of her head before arranging some of your cookies on a plate to bring with you. “I won’t be long, I promise, wish me luck!”

“Hey! Before you go, want the last bite?” She held her spoon up to you, something she often did, letting you finish the food. “You’ll be fine, amor, she loves you and so do I!” 

And with that, you were off to face your Alexia. 

…..

You were lucky the drive to Alexia’s was short as you were hardly paying attention at all. Even though you weren’t planning on telling her about your relationship, you were still worried about your conversation from earlier. If the look on her face earlier told you anything, this wasn’t gonna be easy. You were just hoping that the cookies and last couple hours of space would help her settle down. 

When you reached up to ring the doorbell on Alexia’s apartment, your hand was slightly shaking, fingernails destroyed from your incessant biting at them throughout the day. Olga opened the door almost immediately and greeted you with a sympathetic smile. “Hola, hermana. Alexia’s out on the balcony.” The older woman knew exactly why you were there, your sister had surely filled her in on the events from the day, or at least her version of the events. She quickly stepped aside to allow you to make your way to the balcony, hesitantly sliding open the glass door. 

“Hola.” The blonde’s head snapped up from her book as soon as you spoke, surprised by how shaky your voice was. 

“Hola.” There was an uncomfortable silence between you which you chose to fill by holding the plate towards her. She softened as soon as she saw what was in your hands. Sweets had always been the way to your heart and even though it never worked quite as well on her, it meant a lot that you made the attempt. “Come sit,” she tapped the seat next to her for you to join her. 

You sat down next to her with a sigh, “Ale, I just wanted to make sure we’re okay. I still don’t want to talk about my love life at the moment, but I didn’t like how we left things after training.” 

“Of course we’re okay, you’re still my sister.”

“Does it help that I made some cookies as a peace offering?” you pushed the plate towards her again but not before taking one for yourself first. You were surprised to see her take one without any extra convincing as she was normally much stricter on her diet than you ever were. 

“Oh my god, did you actually make these?” your sister looked shocked. 

“Yeah, why? I thought they turned out okay, do you not like them?”

No, no!” she shook her head rapidly. “They’re amazing! I just can’t believe you made these. Usually we all have to make treats for you, since when do you make your own?” 

You shook your head at her with a light chuckle, “I grew up, remember Ale?” 

There was a quiet pause for a moment while she took in your words, suddenly much more serious than it was moments before when she grabbed a cookie. The blonde let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I guess you did. I think maybe I need to be better at remembering that sometimes.” she refused to meet your eyes and was clearly pretty torn up about it. 

“Ale, I’m still your little sister, I just need you to remember that I’m also an adult now and I have my own life.” You reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Alexia scooted over to be closer to you, laying her head on your shoulder. It was her way of surrendering, telling you she’d try. You both knew she didn’t have the words to figure out what to say, but that small action was all you needed. 

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she finally spoke up again. “I know you’re with someone, Hermana, and I know you don’t want to talk about it. You don’t have to, just let me talk for a minute.” You gave her hand another squeeze as a sign that she could continue. “You don’t have to tell me about it, I just want to know that you can always tell me anything. If you need anything, anything at all, I’ll always be here. I won’t laugh at you, or judge you, or be mad at you, or anything else. I will always listen, and that’s a promise.”

The two of you talked for a little while longer, mostly just football and family gossip, nothing of much importance. It seemed you had returned back to your usual relationship. Obviously there was still quite a secret you were keeping from her, but neither of you were actively angry with each other like you had been before. It was a step in the right direction. 

Although once you got back to your car to drive home, you returned to your previous state of worries. You couldn’t decide if her words made you feel better, or just more guilty, but at the very least, you were glad to know she wasn’t mad at you. Even though she said otherwise, you weren’t convinced that she wouldn’t be pissed when you told her the truth. You returned to your previous thoughts of how and when you would break the news to her but every possible scenario seemed worse than the next. As far as you could think, there was no good thing that could come from your situation, and you just prayed that somehow you would make it out with both your family and relationship intact, because the idea of losing either, was simply unimaginable at this point.

Masterlist

I feel like I kinda hate this? idk? I kinda hate everything I write lately, so any feedback is sooooo appreciated. Let me know what you think! Planning on 1-2 more parts of this one, any ideas are very much welcome.

Sorry I've taken FOREVER to get any content out lately, something about this universe also just feels like it takes more brain power. I always love any feedback and requests :)

#barcelona femeni #woso imagines #barca femeni #woso x reader #fcb femini #woso imagine #espwnt #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #claudia pina #claudia pina x reader #claudia pina imagine #wosoreading24/7 #wosoreadingclaudia #sefutbol fem

[kinopio-writes]

HH Characters x Physically Affectionate!Reader (Pt.2)

A/N: The last part. Enjoy, lol.

Bonus character: Zestial!

Warnings: Mention of sex on Adam’s and Vox’s part, but nothing explicit

———

Sir Pentious

• he’s not used to it and is uncomfortable with it (he makes a weird face every time you touch him)

• he’ll be fine after you two become close, though

• but don’t try to overdo it

• if he likes you romantically, however, he blushes crazy every time you touch him

• he doesn’t really have a favorite one

• he turns red no matter what

• and his love language (receiving end) is more about words of affirmation, anyway

———

Lucifer

• if you’re together with Lucifer, he’s likely smitten with you, so he becomes really giddy whenever you give him affection

• he probably starts stimming (doing little kicks or squealing)

• this guy loves to be held a lot

• oh, but he loves it when you nuzzle into him

• his favorite is forehead touching

• it’s really tender and he melts at that type of affection

———

Adam

• usually, every time you touch him, he’ll think that you want to fuck

• so he’s fucking confused whenever you don’t escalate any further than a kiss

• he does that thing where even when you pull away, he’s still leaning toward you, eyes fluttering

• he’ll probably get used to it

• his favorite is when you just cling to him

• if you’re not short enough to do that, he loves it when you just put your head on top of his while you two are curling up on the couch (he finds it cute)

• he also loves getting massages from you

———

Lute

• she’s not affectionate in general nor is she a fan of it

• so if she’s not that close to you, you better back the fuck up ’cause she’s going to take that as a genuine attack

• it’s worse if you do it out of nowhere (seriously, you will end up with a broken arm)

• but, if you two are sort of close and she’s used to your affections, she’s aloof to it all

• she will even start to initiate them herself unknowingly

• it’s because she mirrors the people she likes, which is not a lot, lol (everyone does this—I think—but Lute’s just more noticeable)

• back rubs are her favorite (not full-on massages, though, just a little rub after she got done training or something)

• she might like head pats, too (she feels praised whenever you do it. This works exceptionally well if you’re taller than her)

———

Vox

• he’s not that physically affectionate

• unless it’s sexual

• he’d be pretty weirded out if you just wanted to hold hands or something

• but after he gets used to it, he becomes nonchalant about it

• he’ll start grabbing your hand on his own accord (it becomes instinctive)

• he’s fine with PDA, but don’t try to be all lovey-dovey when he’s in conversation or dealing with someone else

• his favorite is when you two are just snuggled up on the couch doing your own separate thing

———

Zestial

• I added him in because I wanted it to be even

• anyway, he’s more hand-kissing and linking arms type of gentleman

• and the most he’ll do in public is link arms

• he thinks displays of affection should be private

• even then, he’s not that physically affectionate

• he doesn’t have a favorite, but considering that he’s cold-blooded, he quite likes it when you snuggle onto him and make him warm (this only works well if you’re just as tall as him, lol)

———

This was relaxing to do. I’ll likely write more stuff like this in the future whenever I feel unmotivated to write.

The next three requests I’m going to post at a much later date will probably suck ass. Sorry to the ones who send those in. And for making you wait a long time as well. If they even remember…

My favorite ones to write from the two posts were…mostly everyone! These were so fun to write. I sort of had a writer panic midway, but it was still fun. It’s probably because I used too many parentheses and it bothered me or something.

#hazbin hotel x reader #sir pentious x reader #lucifer x reader #adam x reader #lute x reader #vox x reader #zestial x reader #hazbin hotel sir pentious #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel ​zestial #kinopiowrites

[sunshine-on-marz]

Cradles

In which you get to see Dean in his TRUE element

Dad! Dean x Mom! Reader

Warnings: none really unless you don’t like kids

I am not a mother but I tried to be accurate lmao

Also I couldn’t remember for the life of me if the bunker had a couch but it does now stfu

You were on the couch folding clothes, baby clothes to be exact, while Dean was holding the baby. It was a miracle to keep her awake for more then 20 minutes at a time so Dean was more than happy to play with her when she was up, not that baby Charlie was all too happy about it most of the time. You and Dean both knew it was expected for newborns to cling to their mother, but you saw the hurt on Dean’s face whenever his daughter cried as soon as her picked her up, so right now, seeing his smile as she squeaks and coos makes your heart smile.

You feel the couch dip next to you and you turn to see Sam who extends his hand “I can take over laundry if you want to go take a nap” he offers, and as much as you could probably use a little break, you shake your head. “Don’t wanna miss this” you smile and nod over to Dean, Sam smiles. “It’s pretty cool to see him being a dad” Sam’s comment makes you laugh softly. “I’ve been watching him be a dad ever since I met you two” you say, leaning you head on Sam’s shoulder. “You were his kid long before Charlie was” you tell him. Sam doesn’t respond, just pulls you into a hug. When you two go back to watching Dean and the baby, you speak again. “I really hope she’s a daddy’s girl”, you say it so quietly you’re positive Dean couldn’t have heard, but Sam did. “I don’t think any mother ever has said that before” he laughs, and so do you. “Yea well, I think he deserves it” you hum, fully content to just watch Dean be a father. In this moment that’s all that matters. Not monsters, not Chuck, nothing but the little family you’ve built.

You hear the bunker door click open, and look up to see Cas holding groceries. He walks over and hands you an energy drink. “Cas you might have just became my favorite person ever” you chuckle as he smiles “Hello to you too”. Sam follows him to the kitchen, which leaves you and Dean alone again. He walks over and sits beside you on the couch.

“She looks just like her mom” he says, kissing you on the cheek, “speaking of her mom, how are you? You can go shower or sleep, or both. I’ve got her” and you realize for a millionth time that you’ve found your person. “I’m shockingly gonna decline that offer” you say, leaning to rest on Dean’s shoulder. “I wanna stay like this for a second” you whisper, and he kisses your temple. “That sounds nice”. So that’s what you do. Sit there and look at the life you brought into the world and realize that everything truly had been worth it. Saving the world was nothing compared to this.

OMGGGGABSJAKAJSKXKDKS DEAN WINCHESTER DESERVED TO BE A FATHER.

Sorry for my disappearance school made me want to die then drivers ed made want to die then life made me want to die and I still want to die but now I want to die AND write about Dean so like

Tagging @canonically-a-genloser bc they’ve been witnessing my crazy and also think dad Dean is amazing

Btw this is one of the good supernaturals I made in my head so this is post season 15 minus all the bad shit okie love you bye

Remember to reblog and tell me what you think!!! Feedback and reblogs make the world go round!! Love you babes!!

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural dean #dean x reader #supernatural x you #spn dean #dean spn #dad!dean #dad dean

[edgeray]

Hi ray

Could write dragon! Arlecchino x hunter! Reader who hunts dragon because she was tasked to even tho she didn't wish to do so but little did the reader know that arlecchino is very strong

So when the reader was tasked she was warned by the villagers but what could the reader do but to only obey the orders when the reader met arlecchino trying to hunt her down she failed to do so

Dragon Hunter Mother

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)

A/N - Like always, if you want to request something from me again anon, give yourself a name/emoji ☺️ Also, I love this idea. I don't plan out my requests, plot just kinda comes as I write, so let's see what I do with this. I'm assuming you also want reader to be afab as well. Since you didn't say about arlecchino having a human form, I'm just not going to write it. Don't ask me how this turned to be over the limit I said these requests were gonna be. I got carried away with world building and plot. Sorry 😬 . Hopefully this was okay? Honestly, didn't know how I would make it romantic, but I guess I'll put it under romantic? I tried by best anon, feel free to request again if you want me to write it in a different way 🫶. Sorry for taking so long, but here it is!  Content warnings / info - author doesn't know how to write dragons, semi-graphic violence, if it wasn't obvious, Freminet, Lyney, and Lynette make an appearance, 2.6k words 

Stemming from a long line of dragon hunters, it was no surprise that like the rest of your siblings, you would take up the mantle of also being a dragon hunter. Dragon hunting is a service to the kingdom exclusive to only a few noble families like yours, hence why its hunters are practically revered by the kingdom's citizens. Protecting the kingdom, receiving glory after every slaughter, earning a large chunk of the kingdom's money, it's no doubt that many aggrandize and covet to be in the same position. 

You've never wanted to be a dragon hunter. It's an arduous job in a kingdom known for its dragon outbreaks. The Majesty is prompt in requesting dragon hunters, sending them from one corner of the kingdom to the other unhesitatingly, and frequently underestimate the duration that these kill orders take. When the process of dragon hunting involves tracking the dragon, finding the dragon's sanctum, preparing to combat against a dragon, and finally, killing it, it takes at least a week if it's one of the older dragons. The Majesty has high expectations, and it's a struggle to keep up with them. Kill orders were often piled on top of one another, which means immediately after you complete one, it is off to finishing the next one.

It is a job of ruin. When was the last time you've gotten more than a few hours of sleep? The last time you've had a full meal? The last time you were able to have a relaxing bath? 

Killing dragons is not how you would like to waste away your life, slaving away under a duty that everyone idolizes. As you carry on your role, you begin to learn more and more about these flying reptiles; dragons are fascinating, intelligent creatures. It is a shame that many villagers are so terrified of them, dragons actively avoid humans; though for one reason or another, dragons occasionally seek the nearest human civilization, eating farm animals and destroying any shelter or barricade that stands in their way. Perhaps you're just foolish, but you believe that there is a real reason for this behavior, and that there could be a solution to this. 

Until then, you could do little more but heed each order, slaughtering dragon by dragon. Their dying cries plague your dreams every night, leaving you empty and restless. 

You arrive at a village, the emblem on your chest plate that indicates your occupation glints as you step out of the carriage. The village head greets you quickly, settling you down in front of a cup of tea and some snacks, before cutting straight to the details.

“This dragon… I'd be careful. I've heard of you, a genius among geniuses in terms of dragon hunting, but I warn you right now. This dragon is different. Smarter, more powerful than your typical one, I bet. Its fire… even among other dragons, isn't comparable. It can torch the whole village, and it got damn near close to. Cunning bastard as well, it can pinpoint where our sheeps are and it can evade our traps. It disappeared from our village a few decades… we assumed it died naturally, but then it returned again earlier this season.”

“When was the last time it attacked? Do you know what kind of dragon it is?”

“No. We’ve never seen a dragon like it before. I'm not sure if it follows under the kingdom's classifications. It's black and white with three pairs of wings! And its tail… sharp like, like…like a scythe, can slice houses in half! Its claws are just as dangerous too. Can breathe fire, of course.”

Three pairs of wings… that means this dragon is considerably old. Dragons gain pairs of wings after their first set through molting, which only occurs every five or four sex following reaching maturity, meaning this dragon was at least a century old. You grimace. Older dragons are always harder to get rid of. Most of the dragons that you encounter only have one pair, on the rare occasion, two. This is the first time you've been assigned a three-paired dragon.

Its colorings are also strange; you've never heard of a black and white dragon specifically. The tail description, however, isn't very uncommon; it could be a signifier that this is an incredibly rare hybrid among dragon species. If it's as powerful as it's said, and if you consider its age, then perhaps they come from one of the Dynasty species… but a descendent of that species hasn't been seen in many years. If this is true, then of course it wouldn't follow under the kingdom's ordinary classifications of dragons. Still, a hybrid? Mating between different species almost never happens. This really was a special case. And its disappearance? You couldn't even fathom why.

“Do you know at least where it lives?”

The village head turns to his right, pointing in that direction. “If you continue that direction, you'll come across a forest. That's where it goes. We don't know where it lives, we've been too scared to try and find out ourselves.”

You sigh. Well, this wasn't much to work with. “Is there anywhere I can stay?” 

“Yes, yes. There's a room above the bar that's just for you. Free of charge, of course. The food as well. Just please… eradicate this beast.” 

“I'll do my best.” 

—

No matter how many forests you go to, you never become fonder of them. Traversing them was always annoying. Too much greenery to walk through, too many streams and rivers to cross, and just too many damn trees. This terrain is especially difficult to find traces of dragons in. It'd be better to make your own traces then scour through the forest to search for them, hence why you're at a stream, catching as much fish as you can with a net. Fish makes for good dragon bait, though you don't intend to use it to trap the dragon. You doubt any trap you could make in the little time you have could kill or harm the dragon, but it will lure the dragon to you.

You pause to take a break, glancing at the pile of fish you've collected. The smell is starting to assault your nostrils. Ugh. 

You hear a crunch behind you, and you turn. Your eyes widen and you pick up your sword, raising them towards the three dragons that surround you. Adrenaline pumps through you as you stand up, observing the creatures. 

All of them only have one-pair of wings, with similar features and size; they’re as large as a full grown bear, if you subtract their tail length, and you realize that they're baby dragons, yet to reach maturity. They have, notably, distinct colorings, but they all share the same black and gray coloring. Perhaps they come from the same hatch? The one to your right has red, almost maroon, splotches over their scales. This one is wide eyed, but its features are relaxed as if playful and curious. The one in the middle seems to be the smallest, fearful as if it’s cowering with its dipped head and the tail wrapping around itself protectively; this one has almost a marigold accent to it. The one to the right is teal, and passive, like it doesn't see you in the slightest. 

Baby dragons are hardly as aggressive or destructive as their adult counterparts, but that doesn't mean they can't pose a danger. Still, you don't want to harm them, not when they haven't done anything that would warrant you to.

The red one approaches, deliberately, sniffing towards your direction. You brace your sword, and it trudges up to you, nostrils grazing against your armor before it nudges against your hand. It then walks past you, its focus deadset on the pile of fish behind you. The two other dragons follow in the red one's lead, and you sigh in relief, placing your sword back in its sheathes.

Baby dragons, three of them especially, are a rare sight, as they're often sheltered in their father's den, and they don't venture out until they've fully matured. This being because they're quite vulnerable despite the threat they hold once they've matured. Eliminating them is a part of your duty, however, you never feel right killing creatures that have just hatched. They couldn't be more than ten years old; they still had a few more decades before they could pose a danger. If they're out like this, it's likely they've been abandoned. Mother dragons often leave their young after childbirth, and the fathers are left to take care of them; it could be that the father died recently. 

Whatever the case, you think that they deserve to live a little longer. Plus, they're kind of cute… 

Although, the more you observe them, the more you feel you should prevent the fish supply you spent all day getting from declining. They seem less cute now. You groan as they eat until there's no more fish, and they turn back to you, croaking as if requesting more. 

What are you, their mother? Your eye twitches in vexation. 

You spend your evening fishing for baby dragons at the river. Un-fucking-believable. Weren't you wonderful at your job? 

You decide to leave the dragons at the river bank as you search for wood to make a campfire. To your slight annoyance and amusement, the young dragons trail behind you. You get random twigs and branches that scatter the forest floor. One of the dragons, the yellow one, picks up a branch in their mouth, before offering it to you. 

Damn it, why did you have to be a dragon hunter? You take the stick in your hand, hesitantly petting the top of its head. This is something you’ve never done before, but you wouldn't mind doing it again. It leans into your hand. You don't deserve this treatment, you hunt their kind. Oh, how you wish you could tell them what you'd have to do once they grow up. Why did you have to be a dragon hunter? You're holding back tears as you continue the petting action. 

Its other siblings, unbeknownst to your existential crisis, follow its behavior, and you've turned the baby dragons into your personal campfire wood carriers. You think dragon trainor fits you better than a dragon hunter at this point, but that profession doesn't grant an affordable life. 

Seating yourself on a tree stump, you build your campfire and light it. You use it to cook a fish over, while you try to fend off said trout from being eaten by the dragons. By the time it's done cooking, the little creatures are exhausated, curling against you as the three fall asleep against your legs and back. You don't want to admit it, but it's a comfortable weight against you. You didn't even know that dragons snore until now.

Peace at last, you think, finally able to eat your fish alone. 

Too soon, too soon. You hear it before you see it, the whipping of winds that you can only associate with the beating of dragon wings as it flies. The sound grows louder, meaning it's heading straight towards you. You stand up, unsheathing your sword and bracing yourself for an assault. Shit, shit, shit, you're not prepared to fight in this territory whatsoever. What was it attracted to? The campfire? The smell of your fish? Or perhaps… you glance at the still sleeping creatures. 

You don't have much time to ponder as the ground shakes when the beast lands in front of you, right on top of the river, its gargantuan form making you tremble. An earth shattering roar escapes its throat, nearly making you tumble back from the sheer force, and your ears ring painfully. 

You've never seen a larger dragon before. You count the pair of wings through squinted eyes. One, two, three. This is the dragon you've been hired to hunt? 

The hand holding your sword doesn't stop shaking, no matter how much you try to control your muscles. The adult dragon nears, and your heart rate pounds louder and louder with each footstep. Black and white colorings? Check. Sharp tail? Check. You know you have to fight it, but how could you possibly? It dwarfs you in every single way possible. 

It swipes its tail at you, and you duck as fast as possible, just barely missing being sliced in half like the trees behind you. Its tail retracts to lunge at you again, and you block the sharp end with your sword, though it just swats you away easily, throwing you across the bank of the river. You land on the gravel with a pained groan, and you scramble to get up, facing the dragon. 

Piercing red-crossed eyes gaze back at you, and you no longer feel like the hunter. Instead, you feel like the prey, and every fiber of your being is telling you to run. You wield your sword again resolutely. If you die, then you die, but you'll die knowing you tried. The dragon tilts its head back, preparing its fiery breath, and you ready your wrist shield. 

Suddenly, a familiar croak comes from behind the adult dragon, and you see the baby dragons rush into the adult dragon, headbutting its feet. The dragon snaps its head back into its normal position, gazing down at the small dragons at its feet. You're afraid that the larger dragon will crush them, but instead it growls. The young ones chirp back, communicating with it. 

You stand there, bewildered, the pieces coming together in your mind quickly. Is the black and white dragon their father? Are they trying to save you? The tension in your shoulders relaxes the slightest bit. The father dragon whips its head back to you, and you freeze, paralyzed under its predatory gaze. Too swiftly does its tail shoot towards you, but instead of impaling you as you prepared, it merely wraps around your midsection, lifting you effortlessly. You drop your sword out of pure shock from being in mid air, and it brings you face to face with the dragon. 

The dragon snarls, baring its teeth, and you think it's the end once you see its pearly whites. Instead, however, it sniffs you, before pausing, observing you more. You're holding your breath, wondering when you will meet your fate. It opens its mouth wide, displaying a row of teeth in its oral cavern. You squeeze your eyes shut but all you feel is something warm, wet, and slimey. A tongue drags across your face, and you cringe, immediately bringing your hands to wipe away the thick saliva. The tail around you loosens, and you fall on your back, grunting from the impact of hitting the floor. 

Okay. Well, you're alive at least, you think, once you get the liquid out of your eyes but it is unfortunately in your hair. If it hasn't killed you yet, then it must mean that it likes you? 

You open your eyes, and see that the dragon lays in front of you, its snout just a feet away from you. Each huff from the dragon blows your hair back with hot air, but you don't mind it. The smaller dragons prance by your side, chirping and croaking with a high-pitched tone. Bemused but just grateful that you've yet met your end, you pet their heads. By the growl from the father, they approve of your action, and your heart melts. You reach out to pet the snout of the larger dragon, and it closes its eyes, further nudging against you before a grumbly purr escapes its throat.

Seems like you've just been forcibly adopted by a family of dragons. You don't think you'll complain that much. 

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fics #genshin impact fic #genshin fanfic #arlecchino #edgeray.requests #edgeray.writes

[mssainz]

PART 2 | INTRUDER

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Reader

Summary: YN found out that Carlos invited his ex to their wedding.

Warning: Angst, typos

“We can make it work. Long distance relationships will work. Trust me, trust us please. Break up is not the answer,” Carlos pleaded to her. She pulled her hand from Carlos.

“Carlos, it will be difficult for us. Yeah, it might work but it would be a torture. It would be something that we do not want,” She explained to him. 

His tears were running nonstop down to his face. “No, please. Lia please, don't do this to me. Lia, we can work it out. Lia please.” Carlos begged for her to stay. He insists that long distance relationships would work for them but her thoughts say the opposite.

“I'm sorry Carlos. Maybe in the future, we can meet again. If that happens maybe we are really meant for each other. But for now, we have to let each other go. I'm sorry,” She said, ending the conversation and leaving Carlos devastated.

After the breakup, Carlos has to keep his composure to continue with his life, with his career. He tries to ignore the pain and voidness that he is feeling. He occupied his mind and time with working out, playing, watching, and anything that would keep him busy.

While watching his favorite cartoons, someone whispered in ears. 

“Aren't you too old for this?”

“YN?” Carlos' eyes widened as he saw her best friend whom he hadn't seen for years. She immediately opened his arms and they shared a warm embrace.

“I miss you, when did you get here?” Carlos said, beginning the conversation.

“I have been here for an hour or two already. But you're so occupied watching some kid's show or something,” 

“Hey, cartoons are not just for kids,” Carlos revoke.

“Yeah, yeah don't get feisty I'm just kidding,” YN replied, teasing her best friend.

Ever since YN came back, they were inseparable. For months, they are always together allowing Carlos to forget what he's been through. He was just happy whenever she's around. Not until he started to realize that he is actually falling for her best friend. 

Carlos knew that his parents always wanted him to marry you ever since. They were actually against his previous relationship because they only trust YN to really take good care of him and love him for who he is.

YN and Carlos started dating and got engaged. They were preparing for their wedding, when an unexpected guest came back to Carlos’ life.

“Carlos,” A woman from a far called for him.

“Lia,” Carlos responded as soon as she saw the woman in black. YN was so confused with the sudden change of expression of his fiancé. 

Lia walks towards him, not minding YN beside him. YN was shocked by the sudden gesture of the woman who she just saw.

“I'm here now. I miss you,” Lia whispered in his ears, which YN clearly heard. Carlos just stands there frozen, also hugging Lia.

YN cleared her throat to catch her fiancé’s attention. “Uhm, Lia this is my fiancé, YN. And YN, this is Lia…” 

“His ex-girlfriend” Lia continued his sentence. YN felt uncomfortable how casual it is for Carlos to introduce her to his ex-girlfriend. It was so awkward for her how sweet her gestures are and how Carlos just let her be.

YN quickly glance at her message popping at the lock screen of his fiancé. Carlos immediately swipes the notification and grabs his phone.

YN and Carlos decided to have a simple private wedding. She was looking at the guest list. There she saw the name of his ex.

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula one x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you #f1 imagines #intruder

[heeseungiesboo]

>>Teeth- Lee HEESEUNG FF

pairing: fem!reader x heeseung

word count: 3k+

synopsis: You tease Heeseung in the resturant in front of his mother. So, he doesn't let you cum for hours.

genre: smut

warnings: >> smut,cussing, biting/marking, fingering, begging, choking, slight hair pulling, size kink, dom!heeseung x sub!reader, unprotected sex (a big NO-NO), orgasm denial, edging, slight overstimulation, creampie, manhandling. petnames

Song playing: Teeth By ENHYPEN

Notes: This is an adapted story that I was heavily influenced with.

You really loved Heeseung's mom, you really did. She was sweet, and probably one of the kindest people you've ever met. But at this moment, you weren't thinking about how kind his Mother was.

You weren't thinking about how delicious the food at this restaurant was. You were thinking about how goddamn good those necklaces looked on Heeseung. His face looked hotter and more handsome than usual.

You were thinking about him pushing those long fingers into you until you're coming all over. You were thinking about his throbbing cock he was currently hiding inside his jeans to his mother.

-:nsfw under cut:-

You felt the an aching between your thighs as you did your best to focus on whatever his mother was talking about. As Heeseung smiled fondly at his Mother as she gushed about a Broadway musical she went to see, you tried to smile as well.

Watching his lips curl up into a warm and sweet smile you imagined his head between your thighs, his tongue licking your clit. You feel a gush of wetness dampen your panties. "Shit,this is not the place for this." You mentally curse yourself.

"Baby?" Heeseung asks as both him and his mother's eyes are on you. Shit. They must have said something to you but because you're too busy drooling over heeseung's cock and thinking about the wetness in your panties, you have no clue what it was. You flushed under the attention of the two pairs of eyes, "sorry must have just zoned out."

You cover with a smile and while your lie was convincing enough for Heeseung's mother, he eyed you suspicously. He noticed your flushed cheeks, and the way you squeezed your thighs together underneath the table.

"How have things been at home without Heeseung when he is at work?" His mother repeats her question with a smile on her face. You plaster a fake smile on your face as you subtly reach under the table to place a hand on Heeseung's thigh. His jaw clenches slightly as his hand covers yours, he knows what you're going to do next and he doesn't feel like blowing his load while his mother sat across from him. It would be embrassing.

"Yeah, I practically ache for him when he's gone." You tell her and she covers your hand on the table with hers. His mother probably thinks you mean your heart aches when he's gone, and while that's true you also experience a much different aching in a different spot. You reach your hand further into his thigh. Heeseung sucks a small breath in through his teeth at your words, feeling tingles shooting down towards his southern region of his body.

His mother laughs at your answer launches into a speech about how wonderful you are for sticking by Heeseung, while you inch your hand up his thigh- and closer to his beautiful cock. You nod along, smiling sweetly and innocently as his mother continues to talk, and your fingers curl around his hardening cock through his jeans.

Heeseung's knee bumps the table as you squeeze him. It makes the crocery on the table jump a bit.

"You alright Lee Heeseung?" His Mother asks and he smirks in a casual manner before clearing his throat. "Mm yeah I'm good. The food inthe resturant is nice" He says and she eyes him for a moment before turning back to you.

You can almost see the pleading look in his eyes, but you're not sure if he's pleading you to keep going or to stop. You choose to believe he's begging you to continue as you begin to rub his cock through his jeans. Heeseung's hands fold together tightly on the table as he focuses his eyes straight ahead- doing his best to bite back a moan.

"You know I'm sure you get lonely when Hee's not around, must be hard to wander that house all by yourself." His mother comments and you grip him tighter, feeling his cock grow harder and harder against your hand. You nod, "Yeah it's really hard being there without him. I have to find various ways of occupying myself when he's too far away." You tell Heeseung's mother who nods along with your words, but Heeseung momentarily squeezes his eyes shut.

You slowly unbutton his jeans and his entire body tenses, if he feels your hand on his cock he's going to explode. "Seung honey you're sweating. Are you feeling alright?" His mother asks her son again. Heeseung nods as casually as he can, his heels digging into his chair. "Yeah yeah, just a little warm in here." He breathes and waves his hand about fanning his face, and you have to bite back a giggle at how flushed his cheeks are.

"You look feverish." She fusses, and Heeseung waves his hand as you slowly pull the zipper down and he knows you're moments away from dipping your hand into his boxers and pulling out his cock. "I'm okay Mom really." He insists and sure enough your hand wraps around his throbbing member, slowly pulling him out of his pants. Luckily the tablecloth conceals this to the other patrons. You begin to slowly and teasingly stroke him, rubbing your thumb over the tip.

Heeseung begins to groan but covers it with a cough, his hand gripping the edge of the table tightly. His mother dives into a conversation about some new cutlery Heeseung purchased her, praising how nice they are.

You squeeze him lightly at the base and you see Heeseung let out a strained breath. The way your fingers are stroking him so gently is driving him crazy, all he can think about right now is removing that tight little dress of yours and taking you right over this damn dinner table.

When his mother excuses herself to use the restroom, Heeseung is yanking your hand off of him. "You trying make me come right at this table babygirl? Hm? And infront of my damn mother?" He growls.

"You wanna see how long it takes before I make a mess?" Heeseung whispers hotly in your ear and you feel shivers run down your spine. You subtly rub your thighs together as Heeseung trails his hand up your dress on the outer thigh. " You want me to punish you? I would love too" Heeseung groans into your ear, casually leaning back in his chair when his mother returns to the table.

The throbbing between your legs is unbearable but you doubt Hee will let you come anytime soon tonight, his punishments usually involve a lot of teasing. Checking her watch, his mother bids you a goodnight and exits the restaurant, Heeseung already offered to pay the bill. He's so sweet to his Mother, and for some cute reason it only makes you hotter for him.

Heeseung grips your hand tightly as he pulls you out of the restaurant and towards the car. "You were a very bad girl." He hums lowly as you near the car. You shiver in excitement, you love it when he gets like this, all controlling and dominating. Once you're sat in the car, he puts one hand on the steering wheel, changes the gear and the other hand dives into your dress, slipping off your panty.

He draws a line from your clit. He dips one of his finger in his mouth, wetting it with saliva as he puts it into your clit.

Heeseung drives incredibly casually, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel while the other slowly draws circles on your clit before he enters the finger into you.

He gives no indication of being turned on and if you didn't see his cock throbbing through his jeans, you'd think he wasn't affected by this at all. When the car rolls to a stop at a red light, Hee speds up his finger hitting all your good spots and then slows down all the way and you cry out. Your back is arching into nothing as his other fingers rub at your swollen clit.

You moan as your fingers grip the leather of the seat, "God Seungie, please let me come!" You beg but he hums with a smile on his face before he stops his fingers movement. You release a frustrated cry as you continue to writhe in the seat. You know you asked for this, you know you deserve all his teasing but damn you just want to come. "Mm not home yet baby, can't come yet." Heeseung hums, a satisfied smile creeping onto his face.

You gasp softly as he moves his finger with speed. When your hand nears his arm he pulls away. "Only good girls get what they want baby." Heeseung scolds and you groan, tears of sexual frustration prickling at your eyes. He turns into your neighborhood, and doesn't go a single mile over the 25 mph speed limit.

"You nearly made me come all over myself with your hands baby, there were people around. That's something a good girl does but infront of everyone is okay but not my mother." Hee says, his voice low and commanding as he takes out his finger from your cit as he licks it clean then changes gear.

Your eyes are squeezed shut as tears roll down your cheeks, you attempt to grind your hips down against the seat but you still don't receive the friction you crave. You're stuck teetering on the edge, getting just enough so that the feeling never dies down.

When Heeseung shuts the car off in your garage, he turns the car engine You nearly burst into tears as he exits the car, and follow suit. Your arousal drips down your legs as you follow him inside. Once the door to the garage is shut and you're both standing in the kitchen. Heeseung slowly places his keys on the hook, and slides his shoes off.

He moves leisurely about the kitchen, knowing that you're throbbing. "Baby please," You moan desperately, finally drawing his attention. Heeseung turns to you with an amused smile on his face, "doesn't feel good does it babygirl? Being so close to coming, and then never being able to." He takes slow steps towards you, his eyes dark and dominating as he burns holes through you with his heated gaze. "That's what you did to me in the restaurant." Heeseung says softly, his lips mere millimetres from your own.

Tears are still building in your eyes, you need to come so bad. "Baby, I teased you. I promise I'll make you come however many times you want I promise, just please touch me." You cry, tears dripping down your cheeks as the throbbing beings to ache more and more.

Heeseung hums with a smile on his face, "you're damn right you're gonna make me come. Now get on your knees for me babygirl." He whispers in your ear and you immediately drop to your knees in front of him, willing to do anything to get him to touch you. Your fingers shakily pop open the button of his jeans as he leans back against the counter, his hands gripping the edge.

You take him in your mouth and he groans, his head falling back. You take him as far as you can, covering the rest of his hard cock with your hand. "God you fucking suck me off so good baby," Heeseung groans, his hand winding in your hair. He pulls his bottom lip with his teeth as he uses his hand to push you down on him harder.

You moan as you continue to slide your lips down his cock. The vibrations of you moaning against him releases a string of curses under his breath. Hee pushes your head so far down him that you gag, and saliva dribbles down your chin. You feel his hips jerking just as your own thighs begin to shake and just as he comes in your mouth. You swallow every drop of his come as you look up at him with tear stained cheeks.

"You look so good like this baby, on your knees in front of me and crying for my cock." Heeseung hums as he leans back against the counter, trying to catch his breath. Hee strokes a hand through your hair before yanking his jeans back up and walking past you. Your core is burning with need as you stand to helplessly follow him up the stairs like a lost puppy.

You follow him to your shared bedroom, the vibrator slipping out of your pussy due to how slick you are. You pull it out and toss it on the bed as Heeseung strolls into the closet. "Heeseungie," You cry in need, unable to stop the tears of frustration as they flow down your cheeks. "Hm?" He hums in response from inside the walk in closet. You rub your thighs together strongly resisting the urge to reach down and touch yourself.

You know if you do that without his permission he definitely won't let you come tonight. "I've learned my lesson I promise, now please please make me come." You sob, watching with teary eyes as he emerges from the closet in only his tight black boxer briefs. "You think you've learned your lesson baby?" He coos in a gently voice, reaching up to cup your cheek.

You nod instantly, your hands reaching up to grab at his shoulders. "So when we're out, and you get needy for my cock what are you gonna do hm?" He asks, his eyebrow cocked as he strokes your cheek with his thumb.

"I'm gonna either not touch you or if I touch you I'II make you come before stopping touching you." You cry out desperately, and when you see the smile slide onto his face you nearly faint from relief. "That's my good girl," He growls before pushing you back on the bed.

He reaches for the hem of your shirt, before ripping it up and over your head. Heeseung releases the clasp of your bras and your sore nipples immediately spring free, and he smiles in delight. "You're so ready for me baby." He whispers before taking a nipple into his mouth. You cry out, happy to be getting some relief. Heeseung takes your nipple in between his teeth before biting softly, and you reach up to grab at his hair. "M-more baby more," You gasp and he obliges, kissing down your abdomen.

Your entire body feels like it's been set on fire as Heeseung yanks your jeans down your legs and off your ankles. When he spreads your legs he sees the wet mess between your thighs and bites his lip, "you're so wet baby. Did I tease you too much?" He asks playfully as you wriggle your hips towards his face.

Wrapping his arms around your thighs he presses a light kiss to your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure shooting through your body. Just the simple action has you crying into the pillow and Heeseung knows he's got you right where he wants you. Suddenly he flattens his tongue over you, licking a long line from your entrance to your clit. You cry out again, feeling lightheaded as your fists squeeze the sheets tightly. Moans are spilling from your mouth and when he slides 2 fingers into your slick opening, you know it won't be long before you're coming.

"Please don't stop baby please please." You plead, the word 'please' rolling off your lips like a mantra as he thrusts his fingers into you, his tongue toying at your clit. When Heeseung nips at your clit and roughly thrusts his fingers into you, you explode around his fingers. Your body convulses, and you cry out loudly, this time tears of relief cascading down your cheeks. Heeseung hovers over you, with a sweet smile on his face. "F-Fuck me." You plead again, that burning desire still slightly throbbing between your thighs. Heeseung doesn't need to be asked twice as he kicks his boxers off and presses his head into your lips. He drags his cock over your clit and you dig your nails into his back, "Daddy!" You cry out, having had enough of his teasing tonight.

Heeseung chuckles darkly as he slams into you, a broken groan leaving his lips. He begins to fuck into you at an ungodly pace and you cling to him, moans and desperate cries leaving your lips. Heeseung's lips find your neck and bite at the skin there as he continues to snap his hips into yours and every time his pelvis connects with yours, you're seeing stars. "Daddy please don't stop!" You cry out.

Heeseung feels you beginning to clench his fingers, and he moans deeply before reaching down to thumb your clit. "Fuck, come around me baby. Come around my cock." He gasps, breathless and as soon as the words leave his mouth you're coming again. White spots explode behind your eyes as you gush around him so hard you don't even realize he's emptying his load into you. You roll your eyes in pleasure.

Your body shakes and trembles as Heeseung gently fucks you through your orgasm, both of your bodies covered in a sheen layer of sweat. Your hands stay wrapped securely around his back as your heart races in your chest. You wince as he pulls out, already wishing to be filled by his cock again.

"Don't tease me." Heeseung hums as he pulls you over to lay on his chest. You giggle as you press a kiss to his shoulder, "I'm going to tease you all the damn time if it means you'll fuck me like that." You retort and you can practically feel his eye roll.

"Baby you drive me crazy." He groans before rolling over you again, and you know he means it- and you love it..

THE END~~

Comment down to be added to my taglist. My first story tbh..

#heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enha smut #enhypen fic #enhypen x reader #lee heeseung #heeseung #lee heesung x reader #heesung enhypen #lee heesung smut #heeseung scenarios #fanfic #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen #kpop #enhypen hyung line #enhypen hard headcanons #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #enha x reader #lee heeseung smut #heeseung hard hours #smut #engene #heeseung angst #fatal trouble #enhypen memorabilia

[sleepyjuice]

jj x his big mouth girlfriend 🤭 like when kie confronted ward outside the court

I loved this so much this was such a cute little ask… also sorry for taking so long to respond to this, I’ve been crazy busy with work <3

“No, what’d you say? Don’t get all shy now, what the fuck did you say?!” You shot up from your spot on the sand, nearly knocking over the little picnic you and jj had set up.

A peaceful evening on the beach with your boyfriend was apparently too much to ask for, because not even ten minutes into your impromptu picnic, a couple had walked by where the two of you were sat and felt the need to snicker at the two of you, the girl mumbling something about you and jj ‘living above your means, huh?’ to her boyfriend, both of them laughing as they passed you two.

jj had gotten a pretty hefty check from work this week. Your one year anniversary was also coming up so he wanted to do something nice for the two of you, which is why he had surprised you with a nice beach picnic, takeout from a steakhouse he once worked at and splurged on a nice bottle of wine that you had only tried once when you babysat for a kook family, but you had loved it and assumed you would never have it again due to how pricey it was. You were very grateful for his efforts and admired how thoughtful and sweet he was for this.

jj stood up immediately after you did, standing protectively behind you as you yelled at the girl. Her boyfriend urged her to keep walking away, but she pulled away from him and approached you, the two of you now face to face.

“It’s just funny seeing you guys spending your rent on a date night.” The girl snickered, and you wasted no time lunging at her, but you were stopped by two strong hands pulling at your waist.

“Nope, nope, we’re not doing this. Let it go, baby, it’s okay.” jj spoke into your ear, your breathing heavy as you allowed him to hold you in place. You had a short fuse when it came to things like this. Not only did the overall classism piss you off, but the fact that someone was mocking the special night jj had set up… that had you seeing red. But you didn’t want to completely ruin the night by getting into a fight.

“That’s right Maybank, keep your bitch under control!” The girl’s boyfriend scoffed from behind her, and that was all it took for jj to lunge at him, wasting absolutely no time before tackling him to the ground.

“What the fuck?! You’re both fucking crazy! You gonna stop your boyfriend?” The girl screamed, causing you to laugh humorously as you shoved her harshly.

“Yeah, don’t fucking go there.” You spat, ready to defend you and yours.

Perhaps you and jj were a little tiny bit crazy… but that’s part of what made you the perfect match. When it was all said and done, you would both defend each other with all you had.

You would finish up at the beach, knuckles both a little bloody and bruised, hair disheveled and a little bit wine drunk as you made your way back home, jj’s hands grabbing all over your waist and your ass as you both giggled loudly.

“That was so fucking hot.” He’d tell you once you arrived home, picking you up with his arms holding just below your ass as he rushed you into the bedroom.

#jj maybank #outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine

[vent-stink]

Lost Sight of My Treasure (1)

Summary: Hongjoong agreed to get married if she promised that he'd never have to choose between her and his career, but he didn't realize that his priorities would have to change when they had a child.

c/w: angst pairings: idol!dad!Hongjoong x mom!reader a/n: I thought of this idea on a whim one day, and finally decided to write it out. w/c: 3.3k

When the children finished singing, you clapped as Haein smiled brightly. You hoped it would stay that way. You hoped she wouldn’t realize that her father hadn’t come tonight to see the performance she had been boasting for so long, eager for her father to see it. He said he would and she trusted him wholeheartedly, so when she looked through the crowd and didn’t see him, she thought that she probably just couldn’t see him from where she was. She had been practicing for a whole month! There was no way he would miss it when he said he wouldn’t, right? He had to be here. He had to have seen her sing her solo, right?

When the performance ended and certificates were being given out she received an outstanding achievement award for being so bold and taking the solo while also executing it well. She was her father’s daughter after all. Being a singer was in her blood, yet the very blood that ran through her veins refused to show up.

Haein smiled brightly at you as you recorded her for Hongjoong to at least see later, and your daughter bounded over to you to proudly show off her award. “Amma, where’s appa?” she whispered into your ear as to not disturb the other awards being announced.

“Something came up for appa, baby, he couldn’t make it, I’m sorry…” Haein’s mouth dropped in disbelief. Her little body turned hot with embarrassment and angry disappointment, lip wobbling and I frowned as I pulled her into my chest. “I know, baby, you were so excited to show him your first solo,” You whispered, kissing the top of her head, “He’ll see it on the video.”

“It’s not the same,” she said, muffled into your shirt, “I want to go home.” “You don’t want to say bye to all your friends before we leave? It’s only a little longer.” You felt her sniffle and release a small sob into you before you picked her up, listening to her wish immediately. She wrapped her arms around your neck and hid her face as her body wracked with sobs. She was only four years old. She didn’t want to be upset, but she couldn’t help it. Her father had never disappointed her so badly before.

You waved goodbye to her teacher who looked at you sympathetically before taking Haein to the car, strapping her in. “Do you want to get ice cream or teokbokki before we go home? You did so well, today, you know. We have to celebrate a little bit.” “It doesn’t matter,” she mumbled, “Because appa didn’t see.”

“But I saw it, my love.” “You always see,” she sniffed before her face scrunched up in a cry again, “But appa never sees!” You had to bite your own lip to keep yourself from crying as you watched your precious child sob over your husband’s lie. “Okay, then we’re going to go home and eat chicken nuggets and watch your favorite princess movie, okay? Then when daddy comes home, you can sing your solo again for him, and then I’ll show him the video, and he’ll be so sad that he missed it, so he’ll never miss another one again. Okay? Can we do that?”

She pouted, still sniffling, but nodded. You smiled, kissing her head before closing the car door and getting into the driver’s seat. You drove home with determination to make your daughter’s night better after that colossal disappointment, but found that by the time you got home, she was fast asleep in her car seat. You sighed, looking at her now peaceful form. This was better than seeing her cry, at least. You took her inside, changed her clothes, and put her to bed promptly so that she could get a comfortable night’s rest before going downstairs to wait for Hongjoong.

It was 3am when Hongjoong came home. He saw the lights on downstairs and swallowed nervously. He hated this. He hated feeling scared to come home. He wanted to come home to a loving and comforting family, not this. He didn’t want to come home just to be treated like he wasn’t welcomed. He opened the door, peeking in to assess the severity of the situation, before breathing a sigh of relief when he found you sleeping on the recliner.

Guilt gnawed at his heart as he considered leaving you there and sneaking upstairs to sleep alone so that he wouldn’t have to confront you, but decided against it. Not only would you be doubly mad at him from trying to evade you, but he didn’t want your neck to hurt. He moved closer to you, intending to wake you up, but found that you were already awake, eyes fluttering open to look at him.

The disappointment swirling in your eyes choked him. You two looked at each other silently before you spoke, “Why did you lie to her?”

“I- You wouldn’t stop asking… I just… wanted you to stop, so I said what you wanted to hear.” “You never said you couldn’t make it. You said you didn’t know. I just wanted to tell her the right thing. I wasn’t pressuring you to come.” “Well, it felt like you were.”

The silence was thick. “She was so happy,” you said, “When she was singing, she was singing thinking that you were hearing it. She was so happy that you’d see her very first solo… and then you missed it. It would have been better if you hadn’t gotten her hopes up so high, because when she found out that you weren’t there, she cried so hard that we had to leave immediately.”

Hongjoong looked down at the floor in shame. “Appa never sees,” you repeated her words from earlier, “That’s what she said to me.”

“She’s- she’s just a baby,” Hongjoong sighed, “She’ll get over these things. It’s like how she cried her eyes out when you got her ears pierced. It hurts to see her crying, but she got over it and forgot about it entirely after an hour.”

“That was when she was not even a year old, Hongjoong. She’s four, now,” you said, trying not to snap, “I will not let my daughter settle for anything less than you in a man one day, but if you’re already setting her up for disappointment, then it’s almost like she’s doomed to that!”

“She’s four, y/n!” He said, getting angry, “Don’t you think you’re thinking too far ahead.”

“Every moment that she has the ability to think until she’s at least 16 years old is a moment that will affect her for the rest of her life whether she remembers it or not, especially coming from us,” you finally sneered, not being able to keep the hostility out of your voice, “She had an amazing, amazing night, Hongjoong. She sang so beautifully, so fucking beautifully, and she got an award for volunteering to solo. She got an award and everyone clapped for her. This would have been the best night of her little life so far if you had been there… but because you weren’t there when you said you would be, it became the worst. It went from a happy moment that she’d probably forget to a horrible moment that she’ll probably remember.”

Hongjoong sighed in frustration, “Why are you so mad at me?” You looked up at him sharply because of his unfamiliar tone. “There are worse fathers out there. Some fathers abandon their children entirely and don’t support them at all. Some children don’t even know their fathers! Some fathers barely spend time with their children and their children understand and still become good people! Why- why are we worrying about Haein so much!? You’re still there, so she’s learning from you!”

You looked at him in disbelief, “Do you really want Haein to remember your as just a little better than a deadbeat? Why are you even making that comparison? Do you not want to be in her life?” “Of course I do! Y/n, I still live here, I still see her and tell her I love her when I’m here! I’m here! Why can’t that be enough?!”

“Being a parent is more than just being in the room, Hongjoong,” you scoffed, “You have to raise her. You have to set up her expectations for life. The way your treat her will determine the way she treats others and expects them to treat her!”

“You promised me when we got married that you would never make me choose!” Hongjoong suddenly raised his voice. You looked at him startled, glancing between him and Haein’s bedroom, but not saying anything, “You promised me I wouldn’t have to sacrifice my career, that I was allowed to prioritize it, so why are you punishing me when you promised you wouldn’t?”

“Hongjoong-” “I have work every day, y/n! There’s not a moment when I don’t think of working, and when I’m not working I have to eat and sleep because I have to live, too! This is suffocating me, you’re suffocating me! I was scared to come home because I was worried that you’d get angry at me! Aren’t you ashamed of that?!”

You couldn’t believe that he was turning this around on you. He was scared to come home?? “I have never given you a reason to be scared. If you were scared, Hongjoong, it means you know you fucked up and that I’d rightfully be upset that our daughter cried because of you.”

“Kids cry all the time, y/n,” Hongjoong scoffed, “You’re making a big deal out of this just to hurt me, to take me away from my career!” “Hongjoong, why the fuck would you think that-” “You’ve been looking for an excuse, I already know. This was just the perfect reason for you to finally blow up on me, to guilt-trip me into sacrificing more than I already have. I risked everything to be with you, y/n. This is my dream, and it has always been my dream, why are you making me choose!? Why can’t you just be happy?!”

“It has nothing to do with me, Hongjoong, it’s about Hae-” “I swear, if I hadn’t gotten married, I wouldn’t have had to lose my career!” He almost screamed, and y/n felt her heart break in her chest and fall to her stomach. Suddenly her blood was cold and perhaps she was trembling? She felt like she was, but she didn’t know. You attempted to remain calm, sucking in a breath that almost sounded wet. Your emotions rose to your chest, but you refused to release it. You refused to be the bad guy.

As soon as Hongjoong said it, he realized the magnitude of his words, and immediately went to correct it, but she cut him off. “Y/n-”

“You better lower your voice, right now. My daughter is sleeping.”

Hongjoong fixated on the word choice, sucking in a sharp breath. “My daughter.” Your daughter. Not “our daughter”.

“Y/n, I didn’t mean-” “I promised you when we got married that I’d never make you choose between me and your career, and I never once have. You have always made the decision to come home and treat me for valentines day or my birthday, and I don’t even make you come home on your birthday. I have been happily patient since the day we started dating until now.”

Your voice was cold, and Hongjoong knew he’d fucked up big time. “But you said you wanted this child, Hongjoong. Four years ago when I told you I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to juggle your career and raising a child, you said that you wanted nothing more than to have a family with me. That nothing would make you happier than to raise a child with me, not just have one,” you said, and then scoffed, “Maybe you weren’t thinking when you said that. I don’t think you realize that Haein is not just an extension of me. We are both a part of Haein. Haein is your daughter just as much as she is mine, and she never promised you to be patient. You promised her that the moment you decided that you wanted to be a father. She owes us, she owes you, absolutely nothing.”

Hongjoong was quiet. You were right, of course. He hadn’t thought about that. Of course he loved Haein. She was his daughter, his precious treasure, but you were spot on. Ever since he’d gotten married, he separated his life with you from his work life which he prioritized, and when Haein was born, he just lumped her in with you. But Haein was an entirely knew priority, separate from you, and he was stupid for blaming you for anything.

“I’m sorry that you regret marrying me, but the fact of the matter is that the moment Haein was born, your priority couldn’t be your job anymore. I understand that this is your dream, and I have never once wanted to make you choose, and I’m sad that you feel like you can’t have your dream and your daughter at the same time,” You said, shaking your head.

“No, of course I don’t regret marrying you, don’t say that!” Hongjoong panicked. “I never want you to think that-” “It doesn’t matter if I believe it or not, the fact is that you did,” you said through gritted teeth, “So I am going to make it easier for you, okay?”

“What-?” “I will continue to be patient with you, Hongjoong, but from now on, you cannot lie to her, that’s the first thing.” “Of course, never again, I’m sorry-” “Secondly, I know you have very little time to spend with your family, so when you come back, however unoften it may be, you will spend all your time with her.”

Hongjoong’s eyes softened pathetically as he reached out for his wife, “Y/n… I- I’m sorry. Seriously, I wasn’t trying to punish you, so don’t punish yourself because I’m a jackass-” “It’s more of a punishment for Haein if you spend most of your limited time with just me instead of her. I grew up with a wonderful father, and even if it’s not even half of the relationship I had with him, her relationship with you should be as fulfilling as it possibly can be.”

Hongjoong let out a tear, “Y/n…” “You want to talk about sacrifices? I’ll never make you sacrifice your career,” she said, coming closer to him to hold her hands in his face, “But every time you have the opportunity to come home, you spend every waking and sleeping minute with her. Every function you can feasibly attend, you will attend, and every holiday you come home to spend with me should solely be spent on her. I’m not as important as she is. She’s growing up. These are the years that she will remember, and we owe it to her to make sure that they’re good ones, okay?”

“Y/n… please, I’m sorry. I’ll cut hours from work, I’ll be home more, so please don’t make me do that…”

“I’ll still be taking care of you Hongjoong. You never have to worry about that,” she said, though she wasn’t smiling. The things he had said had already cut her deeply, and it wasn’t going to go away easily. With the conditions she was giving him, he wouldn’t be able to make it up to her easily either.

“But I-, y/n-” “Right now, I want you to go sleep in Haein’s room, okay?” she spoke softly, “If she wakes up, tell her how sorry you are and make sure you tell her you’ll never lie again.”

Hongjoong hugged y/n tightly, tears falling from his eyes. He regretted everything negative he’d said tonight and thought in the last few years. Y/n was working so hard, and he refused to realize it.

Did Hongjoong even know what her dreams had been? Had he ever asked? Remorse welled up inside him, and his heart shattered when she pulled away to give him her own broken smile, “You should wash up and see Haein. Stay with her as long as you can.”

Hongjoong nodded solemnly, going to their bathroom to wash up. He couldn’t say anything else. He was the one who screwed up by thinking he was sacrificing more than he was, and in the end it was his own wife that he would have to sacrifice.

When he was clean, he made his way to his daughter’s bedroom. She slept soundly, but he could see the tear tracks that remained on her cheeks, further breaking his heart. He really was shitty for thinking that this little human sleeping in front of him wasn’t as important as his career. His heart ached, and he longed to hear the solo she had apparently worked so hard to prepare for him to hear. That would have been better than listening to Mingi screech in disappointment every time his voice cracked in the studio.

He lifted the covers, getting into bed with his daughter. He pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he could without hurting her, making her stirr. “Appa?” she said softly.

“Hi, baby,” he sniffed, trying not to cry, “Did I wake you up?” “Mmm-mmm,” she hummed, snuggling closer into his chest, “I missed you.” Hongjoong had to but his tongue in order not to sob. “I missed you, too, treasure,” he breathed, “I’m sorry I didn’t come today. I wish I could have heard you sing. I bet you sang so beautiful and everyone clapped really loud.”

“They did!” she giggled tiredly, “It’s okay, I can sing for you tomorrow.”

“Promise?” he asked, his lips pressed into her hair, and she nodded, “I’ll sing you the song and then whatever songs you want. I’ve been… practicing… you… know…?” She fell asleep mid sentence and Hongjoong chuckled. He pressed light kisses to her cheek before letting out a breath of relief. It was as if all his worries vanished with her. How could he have ever thought that indulging in this was a sacrifice? His whole world was in his arms at this moment, and he realized that he would throw away everything else just to feel like this forever.

He regretted speaking to his wife the way he had. He hadn’t allowed himself to indulge in his family properly before, so he didn’t realize how sweet it tasted to just hold his daughter close. The only thing that would have made this moment better was if his wife was with him.

Him spending time with Haein didn’t mean that you couldn’t spend that time with them, too, both of you were aware, but understandably, you couldn’t face him right now.

“I swear, if I hadn’t gotten married, I wouldn’t have had to lose my career!”

The words replayed in her head over and over. She sobbed in the shower, and when she went to bed, she covered her mouth as her tears soaked her pillow. So that was how Hongjoong had been feeling. She had never felt worse in her life than in that moment. Perhaps it would have been better to reject his proposal, but you could only scoff to yourself.

He wanted to marry you, he wanted to have a child, and in the end he blamed you for all of it. Maybe he realized that his life with you wasn’t worth his life as an idol, but now that you had Haein, you wouldn’t let him get away easily. You didn’t care if he hurt you, but if he hurt Haein, she’d ruin him.

But for now, he’d ruined her.

#ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez #atz #ateez fluff #ateez angst #hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong x reader #hongjoong angst #ateez x reader angst #hongjoong x reader angst #kim hongjoong x reader angst #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez fic

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

xi. eleven: every word you say

the sunlight did not reach her face. there was no sunlight in sight at all, aside from the most external door that shows a little hint of the visible spectrum. she stirred awake on the hard floor she slept, if she had any at all. she slowly sat up, finding the colonel on the adjacent cell, staring into nothingness.

they have yet to acknowledge each other's presence, trapped in their own battles inside. it was a surreal thing—to feel that it was both the end and the beginning. they have long let go of any hopes in receiving a lighter sentence, and that act is what made it possible for them to breathe despite the stifling feeling.

they have found freedom. losing all hope was freedom.

hence, the young silva raised her gaze to the ragged man across. his rank is not apparent on his current state, stripped off of dignity and proper legacy. she pulled him to the deepest ocean floor a man has never explored to.

"i am so sorry, raphael." raine broke the silence, feeling utterly apologetic for bringing the man with her in this fate.

"there is no need." he replied, closing his eyes as he leaned on the wall.

there really was no need. although his tone may have sounded frustrated, it was not directed to the girl. coming to think of it, he believes he would have done the same. he actually did, when he admitted to the suspicions just so she could be saved. the young silva, however, was hardheaded. a small chuckle left his lips as he looked at her in thought.

"you know, your father would be proud."

"oh, silence." raine rolled her eyes in jest, "i have not slept well with how much my eyes poured last night. do not make me cry again."

"but it is true."

"i know," she turned to him with weak eyes, "he asked me one time, if he was being too forceful in making me the viscountess or also the fact that he taught me things that a proper lady would not have preferred."

she laughed at the memory of her father teaching her how to hold a dagger at four, and her mother in utter worry as she caught them both.

"he was afraid he turned me into something he wanted instead of being someone I want to be."

the lady chuckled before continuing, "i told him I do not see myself embroidering at all. he laughed like crazy."

raphael weakly laughed at the story. by the mention of the girl's teaching experiences, a memory resurfaced in his mind as well.

"did you know that your father used to say you shoot like—i apologise for the term we use in the military amongst men—a virgin?"

despite being above average compared to the general public, her shooting really did not pass her father's standards. she could shoot, yes, but it would not have been enough for war. armand concluded that it was enough at the very least for self-defense.

raphael lifted one end of his lips, "i bet he would say otherwise now."

"that is because now i am not." she said with indifference, missing the way the man sat up from his leaning, turning to her fully.

"...wait, what—you mean...?" he asked curiously, his will returning to his voice in spite of their current situation.

raine looked at him and she found it interesting how curious he was at the topic. she let out a short giggle before slowly nodding. his mouth noticeably went ajar at that as he pried more.

"the bridgerton son?" she nodded once again, raphael leaning back down in surprise, shaking his head in disbelief, "your father is going to kill you."

"no need. the crown is doing it for him."

both laughed in chorus—how they could still jest in a situation like this is lost. perhaps, it was there saving grace. little joys do really count.

"i cannot fathom what you could possibly find so amusing in a place like this."

the queen's voice announced her arrival, her face grimacing in disgust at the place. the two greeted her with respect, standing from their position. she looked around, as if assessing their surroundings before settling her eyes to the girl.

her majesty sighed resignedly, "why ever did you have to shoot him?"

"he talked too much."

"that he did." she had no problem agreeing with that statement at all. the lord had been bothering her as well before about royal familial matters.

she clasped her hands, forming the words to say, "i have spoken to have a private execution for you both. it was granted. this is the least i could do, considering everyone has voted for a beheading instead of hanging."

raine nodded thankfully at that. she did not care much. either way, they would be dead. she inquired further, "the soldiers?"

"all free from the charges."

the two released a breath of relief. that was one of their main goals—for the rest of the troop to be able to go home and spend the following years with their families.

"thank you, aunt lottie. that is all i ask." she smiled warmly to the older woman.

"it will be in an hour." the queen noted, pertaining to the execution.

it must already be five in the afternoon already. the young silva did not know how time flew by so fast. she neared the girl, pushing a hand through the bars of her cell. raine held her hand as she continued.

"make death proud to take us."

raphael and raine's ears perked at that, their brows crossing as the queen took back her hand slowly, "how do you know of it?"

charlotte offered them a smile before she turned away, "your father had been a good company."

after the queen, major gilbert and the viscount bridgerton also stopped to visit them. the former relayed the gratefulness of the soldiers by the news of their freedom, while the latter updated her on how the queen is working on for a proper investigation against the said involved people in the treason with the help of the papers that was left to him. they did not take long, of course. the prison had that effect. it was very suffocating.

yet, her breath came back at the sight of the man in front of her.

"what are you doing here?" she said in concern, her lips quivering as she scrambled on her feet.

benedict reached to her, cupping her face with a tearful smile, "i told you. i will always be here."

she shut her eyes in shame of her current state, "you should not see me like this."

he chuckled with tears in his eyes, "like painfully beautiful?"

"like dying." she corrected in all honesty as he went silent, his heavy breathing speaking for himself.

his lips formed a thin line, features traced with painstaking gaze, "you are so unfair."

"i know," she admitted, knowing exactly what he meant, "i am so sorry."

he hushed her, his palms still on her cheeks as he soothed—both tracing the tear marks that intensified their emotions.

"forget about me. let go of this grief completely." she bleakly uttered, torment clear on her voice.

benedict immediately responded a multiple series of 'no' with an intense shaking of his head in disagreement. he would do anything to not forget her, both the joy and painful memories. he would cherish everything that she was present in. he would cling onto every word she utters.

"and in case you do forget about me," she continued, cupping his face with the utmost care, "i hope you remember by my touch alone.

he nodded fervently, "i love you."

he leaned his head to hers, their breaths exchanging as if he was used to the taste of pain on a dead friday night.

"i love you too."

they wanted to be together for as long as they could, and if that's not very long, well, then that's just how it is. and so, they held each other for the last time, coming to terms that if this life will be this cruel, he would spend the rest of his life praying that the next will not be.

he wanted to badly stay with her, to stop the time and prolong this moment. but, it seemed like he had angered the gods as a guard knocked his truncheon on the door, calling for him to exit for the fifteen-minute preparation before the execution.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

no later, guards entered the cells, taking both prisoners with no austerity in their touch. it was so strange for them to the point that it was hard to swallow. they have seized and lead criminals of darkest crimes to their end, yet they find themselves wanting to break the two out.

a viscountess and a colonel, both still children in their own way.

they have never thought there comes a day they would dread their work, and the executioner would say the same. because just as they all arrived in the execution stage, the forty-five soldiers, four members of the bridgerton family, and the queen are in attendance. as she caught sight of them, raine offered a brief, forlorn smile. these people are the ones who she is most thankful of.

executions happen at a faster pace than the young silva thought. one moment they were walking, the next they were kneeling. the executioner bowed to the both of them when they arrived, now asking for forgiveness on the duty he must do in a while. loraine granted him that.

he stood back up, announcing clearly, "you have been granted to speak your final words."

she turned to take a look at raphael, the latter nodding as a sign for her to speak for them both. raine casted her head down in thinking of the words she must say for the last time. she looked back at them all, to no one in particular, and dared to raise her eyes to her terrible fate as she began.

"when a crime goes unpunished, the world is unbalanced. when the wrong is unavenged, the heavens look down on us in shame. we too must die for this circle of vengeance to be closed. we will leave this record of our courage so the world will know who we were and what we did."

as she ended, they both tied the cloth firmly to cover their eyes. at the absence of sight, fear started to creep in. she could hear the executioner stepping away from her and to the colonel first. he declared with resolve, a means of comforting the two souls.

"death is proud to take you."

raine exhaled peacefully at that. it was a reply to their previous convictions—a way of reassuring they have done well.

and so, she did not panic, even when the sound of a drop on the floor filled the place.

raphael had been a great friend, soldier, and a person. the silva would not mind having to fight beside him once again.

the room stayed silent, with no other noise but the small whimpers of the audience. however, it was immediately overshadowed by the sound of footsteps, nearing her one step at a time. she guessed this must be it.

loraine's mind became blank. she hurried herself to think of memories—those that she would love to relive. she had a strange belief that it would not be as painful if she was feeling happy. but, it was also strangely hard to be one in the moment. all she could think of was that maybe, dying is the best option for her in this life. there was no home for her anymore.

and when she greets death, she hoped it is gentle. she hoped it is like going home. she believed a great happiness awaited her somewhere.

and for this reason, she remained calm as the axe hit her neck.

the audience found themselves letting go of the prolonged silence, breaking out to their cries. however, one person did not have any tear or voice left in himself anymore as he stared at the trail of blood that was starting to accumulate and flow away from the body.

indeed, a lot can happen in a day.

he was annoyed by her in one, taken by her in one, and loved her in one. he is grieving for her in one, and he will long for her in one.

and so, he was left with nothing but to face reality—realising that a very frightening thought is now shadowing him intimately.

when tomorrow depends to a person, what should one do? when that person is lost, does that mean tomorrow is too?

love was there. it may have not changed anything. it may have not saved anyone. but, it still matters that the love was there.

because, raine did not need to be saved. she needed to be found and appreciated for who exactly she was. her father has taught her that this world was only a preparation for the next, that all they can ask is to leave it having loved and being loved.

and benedict, until the very last moment, made that known to her and everyone else. she was found. she was appreciated. she was loved.

all by him.

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr @peetahpahkah @myo11 @idek-what-to-put @aysamuka

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x oc #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton

[t0yac1d]

Attention (C.Grimes x Fem!Reader)

Request: hi! I had a request in mind with Carl grimes where like the f! reader is being a brat because they haven’t had sex in a while and she’s starting to become really pent up so she starts acting up and stuff and Carl yk deals with her. And it involves stuff like degradation, oral(f receiving), overstimulation. And then include some aftercare afterwards where he’s all like lovey dovey and shit.

Btw no worries if you can’t write this anytime soon! 🫶🏻

Word Count: 2,017

Warnings: Smut, bratty/mean!Reader, jealous/mean!Carl, some degrading but lots of mean!Carl, biting, teasing, oral (fem receiving), overstimulation, aftercare

Notes: Idk loves, I think I like having mean!Carl around. Also, I am so fucking sorry for getting this out extremely late, it won't happen again!

You've never been one to act out. Never been one to be impatient over something so small. Never been one to cause a problem that could've very easily been solved if talked about. But as they say, there's always, always, always, a first for everything.

It's been a little while since you and Carl have done anything intimate. Whether it had been holding hands, cuddling, kissing, or even just sex. You're aware of the huge ongoing and dangerous situation that's going on. The world has gone to shit, and it has been like that for years. So, you know that you can't always live that perfect and peaceful life you dreamed. But you just missed your boy's touch, his smell and presence so much that it started to get to you.

You lacked attention from him, he'd give you a glance and a smile when he could but other than that, you've been sleeping in an empty and cold bed.

It started a couple of weeks ago, your tone and mood shifted whenever you spoke to him. You acted colder to him than to anyone else. He had wondered if he did something to upset his girl, but before he had the chance to ask his dad called him over for help, and since then he had forgotten about it.

You then started getting a little too touchy with some of the guys, especially Ron. That made Carl feel something within, something he hasn't felt before. You've always talked to Ron, you guys were pretty close, but for some reason he felt as if right at that moment there was something else happening that wasn't friend-like.

You've tried almost every way to get Carl to react to you, including flirting with Ron to see if he'd grab you and take you to his room so you could finally feel his touch after so long. But it all failed. You were so close to giving up when you got an idea that wasn't exactly the best.

But if it gave you the possibility to be touched in anyway by your boyfriend, you'd take it.

Carl was in his room, getting dressed to go out on a run. This was your chance to:

A. Have a peaceful conversation and talk to him

Or

B. Make him feel what he unintentionally made you feel

You made sure to wear the hottest and sluttiest outfit you owned. A very short and tight shirt that showed a beautiful amount of cleavage and the miniest skirt you had in your wardrobe. But it was perfect for the weather, as it was a heat wave. So, in your defense, it was the only outfit that kept you cool in this heat!

Before you walked in the room you gave a knock on the door and announced it was you. When you got the green light to come in, you opened the door and closed it behind you.

You made your way to his full body mirror, not saying a word to him as you fixed your hair, face, and just checked yourself out while checking him out in the mirror at the same time.

"What? No 'Hi'?" he joked, walking to you, and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him.

If you weren't so upset with how he treated you these past couple of weeks, you would've leaned into his touch and sighed with content, inhaled his scent and enjoy his presence while you had him.

But you kept your composure. You stood your ground and resisted the feeling.

"Hi, Carl." you muttered, focusing on your figure more than his, you knew if you continued to glance his way you'd pounce on him.

"Hi baby," he smiled, leaning in to give your cheek a kiss. When he did you wiped it off with the back of your hand and sighed, "Don't do that, you'll ruin the blush."

Carl's face twisted in confusion, you've never cared when he kissed your face before, whether there was makeup or not. "Sorry," he apologized.

"Sure, how do I look?" you questioned, crossing your arms, making your tits push together and almost spill out of your tiny top. "Beautiful as always. Are you coming with me?" he asked. "No, I'm heading to Ron's."

Carl felt a pang in his heart and gut.

"Why?" he asked, curiosity taking over him.

"To be fucked and stuffed my love." you smiled.

You didn't even get the chance to walk to the door when Carl hooked two of fingers around the belt loop of your shorts and pulled you towards him, your back hitting his chest.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"What?" you asked, tilting your head.

"I must've heard your pretty mouth wrong. Why are you going to Ron's?"

"To be fucked and stuffed." You repeated, looking up at him, "Don't you have somewhere important to be? Like leaving me again for the fourth week in the row?"

The cogs in Carl's head turned and a lightbulb went off, "You're acting like this because I've been busy?"

"No, I'm acting like this because I'm practically in a relationship by myself."

"So, you dress like a whore and tell me you're going to get fucked by your friend? You're funny." he chuckled, turning you so your body would face him.

"I'm not joking. If you won't fuck me, I'll just go to someone who will. Someone who I know would fuck me better than-"

Carl grabbed your jaw and forced you to shut your mouth, "What was that? I couldn't hear you; can you say that again for me?"

You whimpered, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"Get on the bed and lay on your back." he said as he let go of your face.

"And if I don't?" you teased, your lips getting closer to his, ghosting over them. "Get the fuck on the bed, bitch."

You giggled and lied down on the bed, he wished he could be mad at you for saying those things. But he can't. He just can't.

You look too beautiful and dreamy with the way you were splayed out on his bed.

"This is funny to you sweetheart?" he asked, hovering over you, kissing your neck and leaving bite marks over the skin. "Just a little," you sighed.

Carl hummed and made his way down to your shorts. He unbuttoned them and pulled them down. He kissed the inside of your thigh and softly bit them.

You were soaked, you just knew there was a wet patch on the middle of your panties from how desperate you were for Carl. He looked up at the wet spot and smirked, "I haven't even started yet, and you're already soaked."

"Not for you, that's for sure." you said, crossing your arms. "Not for me?" he asked.

"No. Not for you."

He hummed at your response and his fingers grazed against your clothed cunt. Your body shivered at his touch, and you sucked in a breath.

He toyed with your clit through your panties and lightly touched it.

He slid your panties to the side and teased your aching, begging, wet hole with a finger.

He moved his hand back and got off of the bed. "What are you doing?" you asked, "Well, you're not wet for me, right? You're wet for him."

"You can go to him to cum." he smiled.

Well, this didn't go as planned. He was supposed to deal with you, but he's just, leaving?

"So, you're leaving your girlfriend here?" you asked, "No, I'm leaving a brat here. Tell my girlfriend I'll be back."

"Your girlfriend is gonna be fucking another guy on your bed." you mumbled, Carl scoffed and turned back to you. He spread your legs and pulled your panties off of your body.

He pushed your legs up to your chest and dipped head low.

You felt his tongue lick and lap at your folds and juices. Drinking you and tasting your essence. You were so horny and pent up from the lack of sex that you didn't need much to cum. His tongue alone was doing the job.

Your whines and moans grew louder and louder, you were so close to cumming on his tongue. Your mind was foggy and empty, the only thing in that head of yours was that you got what you've been missing.

Your moans began to break as you felt yourself about to cum, that's when you felt Carl's tongue leave from between your legs.

"Apologize." he said, "W-What," you stuttered, "Apologize for the things you said."

"Um, I'm s-sorry,"

"Say it like you mean it."

He pushed his knee close to your pussy, the friction making your toes curl.

"I do mean it!" you cried out,

Carl didn't really believe you; he didn't believe you meant it but that's fine. He'll just get it out of you.

He spread your legs once more and dipped his head between your thighs and kept your legs on his shoulders. He shoved two fingers and his tongue in your hole and curled them.

You came all over his tongue and fingers, panting and wiping sweat off of your forehead.

You thought that was all until Carl cleaned his fingers and dove back in. Your hand flew to his head, you were so sensitive right now. You were always sensitive after you came, and Carl knew that he also wanted to take advantage of that.

Again, it didn't take much for you to cum, but each time you did he would just go back in. He wouldn't give you a break and you started to feel tears fall down your face from the stimulation.

"Apologize and this will be the last one. If I don't believe you, we'll just keep going."

He's been repeating that over and over and over again. You've apologized more than you can count on both hands.

"I didn't mean it! I didn't mean when I said I was going to fuck Ron! I-I didn't mean it when I said he was better!" your whines broke your sentence up so much, you sounded so pretty, and looked so slutty.

So messy.

Your hair clung to your skin, your mascara ran down your face and you were shining with a coat of sweat. Your skin was hot, and your cheeks were flushed. You were a mess. And it was all because of him.

You felt Carl smile and he made you cum one last time before kissing up your sweaty legs, stomach, chest, neck and face. "You want anything? Water or a snack?" he asked, "Water.." you said, your voice not even above a whisper.

Carl left his room to grab a cup of water and some snacks. He gave you the water as he went to run a cool bath for you. He came back to his room and picked you up bridal style. "Can't wait to carry you up like this through the threshold." he chuckled sweetly.

He sat you down on the tub and helped you take your shirt off and wiped your makeup off for you.

"Get in, let me clean you." he softly spoke. His tone was different from before, guess he just matched the energy you were giving him before.

You sat in the tub as Carl lathered your body in soap and cleaned you off. He was so sweet to you. He wouldn't hurt you, not on accident, never on purpose. "I'm sorry for the way I acted." you spoke up, breaking the silence.

"It's okay love. You were just upset that I haven't been treating you like my girlfriend and I understand that. But say shit like fucking Ron again and I'm beating him and fucking you like a whore."

You smiled and giggled at his words, "You'd like that," he said, shaking his head, "I would."

"Freak." he joked.

It was times like these that made you remember that he in fact did love you. Even when you acted out and got moody, he still loved you and cared for you deeply.

#fluff #smut #smut smut smut #smutty #smut smut fic #fem reader #female reader #anon ask #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #twd x reader #twd smut #twd carl #the walking dead #carl grimes

[catmiemy]

Another Chance to Live Final Part (Ana Maria Crnogorčević x Reader)

Summary: Ana and you are facing some big changes.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

A/N: I'm actually very proud of myself for finishing this story relatively fast. And it was a lot of fun to write :)

Thank you to everyone that stuck around till the end. I hope you enjoy this last part!

Of course you didn’t just trust your parents to respect the boundaries you had set in place; that had never been their strong suit after all. Once you had successfully weathered the first onslaught of emotions, you thought about it more carefully and together with Ana put a few precautions in place.

For one you informed the staff at Real that none of your family members should be granted access if they came by to see you. A wise decision, as it turned out. Only a few days later your mother showed up, arguing for so long that she had to be escorted off the premises by security personnel.

You also basically moved in with Ana. No one from your family knew where she lived, so they couldn’t just drop by like they could at your apartment. Another good call as you learnt when your neighbors told you that they had almost called the police because a man fitting your father’s description had been standing in front of the house for so long.

All of this made your guilt kick into overdrive and you were grateful for your girlfriend’s support. She never told you what to do, she was even hesitant to tell you what she would do in your place, but Ana was always there to listen and help you keep apart what you truly wanted from what you felt you should do.

While things with your family were at an all time low, you were incredibly happy with Ana, and practically living together was a welcome change in pace. Both of you were committed to making each other smile with small gestures, so your everyday life was filled with much more happiness than ever before. 

Ana loved to start your day off with a big smile by turning your coffee into a small piece of art, constantly trying out new foam designs. And it didn’t matter if they turned out right or not, you appreciated the effort, and attempting to guess what your girlfriend had been going for was half the fun.

You knew Ana felt the same about something you were doing to brighten her day: learning some Swiss German words. Which wasn’t easy because you couldn’t just use any old translator, you had to invest some time to find the correct words. And often times you failed horribly at pronouncing them, making your girlfriend giggle while she was trying to decipher what you were saying. That in turn always got you laughing as well, which made it even harder to pronounce anything properly.  

The biggest laughing fit set off by your Swiss German attempts occurred when you very proudly asked Ana if she could give you a Schmützeli. You didn’t get quite the reaction you hoped for, a kiss; instead your girlfriend was staring at you, and you couldn’t tell if she was amused or annoyed.

“Wait, does it not mean kiss? Did I mess this up? I’m so sorry if I said something offensive,” you apologized frantically, already pulling out your phone to look at your sources again. You had been so sure, you had even double-checked this.

At that point Ana began laughing, so hard that she couldn’t even say anything. Now it was your turn to stare at her, wondering what was so funny. It was a huge relief though; it couldn’t have been anything too bad if your girlfriend found it so amusing.

After a moment you couldn’t help but join the laughter. You didn’t know what you were laughing about, but Ana’s laughter was simply infectious.

Once your girlfriend had calmed down, she explained it to you still a little out of breath, “Okay, so it’s not even really that funny, but Schmützeli isn’t a word you would use with a partner. At least not where I’m from. It’s more for like small kisses between family members or friends. And it just really caught me off guard.”

You silently agreed, this wasn’t really that funny, and you were still a bit confused why it had made your girlfriend laugh so hard. Then again you were always happy to make Ana laugh, so you weren’t going to complain. And you definitely kept using the word again every once in a while because it amused her every time.  

There were other things you did for each other, like Ana playing the guitar for you, sometimes even singing a song you requested, which made you all chocked up whenever she did. Or you taking pictures of small beautiful things you saw in your day to day life to show to your girlfriend in the evening, eager to share the beauty you had encountered with her.

You also did your best to make your everyday life as special as possible, savoring the time you got together. A part of this was ensuring that you weren’t just spending time together by being around each other, but also by doing things and actively spending time together whenever your crazy schedules allowed it. And sometimes even if they didn’t, carving out time when you didn’t necessarily have it.

It was a good thing your personal life brought you so much happiness because the same thing couldn’t be said about your work. To be honest thinking of football as merely that, work, was painful enough by itself. Sure, it was, but it also always had been so much more than just a job.

Sometimes you still debated if you should just retire and try to find something else that would spark some sort of passion again. However, at the end of the day you weren’t ready to give up on what had been your life’s biggest passion so far.

So you resigned yourself to this reality, where the joy you once found in football only showed itself on very rare occasions. And whenever it did, you clung to it with ferocity to tie you over until the next minuscule moment.

Then, completely out of the blue, you got an offer from another team. It hadn’t even crossed your mind to look around for another club; leaving Madrid had never been something you considered. It hadn’t been something you thought you would ever want to do.

But when you were approached by the managers of Tigres Femenil, you realized all of the sudden that it might be exactly what you wanted. It helped that it was the team Jenni was playing for, so you knew if you actually decided to go through with this, you wouldn’t be totally alone on another continent.

That wasn’t the appeal though, that was merely a helpful factor. What really made you want to do it was the fact that it would be your choice, only yours and no one else’s, not your family’s and not your club’s. It would be you deciding what to do with your life, instead of rolling with the punches others kept throwing at you.

Was that a good enough reason to move halfway across the world, though? Especially since there was one obvious reason keeping you in Madrid, Ana. The thought of not seeing her daily was hard to bare. Then again it probably wasn’t healthy that she was the only good thing in your life at the moment, that was too much pressure to place on one person. So perhaps it would be better for your relationship in the long run if you decided to do this?

On the other hand, Mexico was a long way from Madrid. Would Ana be okay with doing long distance or would this be the end of your relationship? Because in that case you wouldn’t do it.

As was in your nature you drove yourself crazy thinking about every possible outcome either of your choices could have. You did your best to not let on that something was bothering you, but Ana must have noticed anyway because she began acting a bit odd herself, switching between being weirdly distant and overly clingy.

You had almost reached the point of finally broaching the subject, when your girlfriend took the first step. In the morning before leaving for your respective training sessions, Ana nervously asked if you could talk later that night. Of course you agreed, thinking that she wanted to ask you what had been on your mind lately.

Consequently you spent the entire day agonizing about how you could put your thoughts and feelings into words. You made countless drafts in your mind, even though you knew that you wouldn’t be able to remember them in the moment. At least they made you feel a bit better prepared.

Ana was back at your apartment before you and she set everything up nicely with candles and flowers she had gotten for you. You appreciated how she went out of her way to make sure you knew everything was okay. Every once in a while you still got in your head, worried that your girlfriend would leave you if you made on small mistake.

Once you had both settled down, Ana took a deep breath, blurting out, “There is something I have to tell you.”

This took you by surprise. You had been under the assumption she had set this all up to get you to talk. And you instantly began wondering what your girlfriend had to tell you. Naturally your first thought was that she might break up with. However, even you had to admit that preparing a romantic candle light dinner would be a very strange move if you wanted to break up with someone.

“Oh, what is it? I actually have something I need to tell you as well,” you replied, trying to keep your worries out of your voice.

“Really?” Ana exclaimed in surprise. This in turn surprised you, you didn’t think you had been doing a good job at keeping your over thinking a secret.

“You can go first,” your girlfriend quickly offered.

Normally you wouldn’t have accepted such an offer, especially not when Ana had been the one to set all this up to talk to you about something. However, something in her tone sounded almost pleading, as if she desperately wanted you to go first. And begging from your girlfriend was something you could never resist.

“Well, I’m guess I’m just going to come out and say it,” you started, taking a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever might be Ana’s reaction, “I’ve gotten an offer from another club. And I didn’t think it was something I would be interested in, but now that I have it, I realize that I really am. You know how I feel at Real, so this might be my chance to enjoy football again. But then I also don’t want to leave you alone here because I love you and…”

Ana had been listening to you rattling on for a moment, her face unreadable, until she interrupted you sounding oddly excited, “Wait, you’re thinking about leaving Madrid?”

You frowned at her happiness. It was one thing to be excited about something good happening to your partner, but being so happy about them moving away seemed weird to you, and a little painful.

“Wow, no reason to be so happy about getting rid of me,” you mumbled, avoiding your girlfriend’s eyes.

“What? No!” Ana cried out, reaching over to grab your hand. “That’s not what this is about at all. The thing is that I too have gotten offers from other clubs and I didn’t really consider them, but then a few days ago Atleti told me that they wouldn’t renew my contract, so I have no choice but to leave.”

“And I have been feeling so bad about it because just like you said, I didn’t want to leave you behind here either. But if we’re both leaving, it’s a totally different scenario. Sure, long distance is going to suck, but it won’t be forever and at least this way we hopefully both end up in places where we feel happier than at our current clubs.”

Suddenly Ana’s behavior over the last few days made a lot more sense. You had thought she was acting weird because she had picked up on your distress, but really she had been dealing with something herself. Being dropped by yet another team and faced with having to upend her entire life again.

“Ugh, I didn’t think I could hate Atleti more than I already do! How stupid of them to let you go,” you grumbled.

Your girlfriend blinked a couple of times, a smile appearing on her face, “That’s what you’re focusing on right now?”

“Yeah! I’m really annoyed with them! But also…Why didn’t you tell me?”

It wasn’t something you could really complain about since it was very much exactly what you would have done in Ana’s position. Your girlfriend was much better though, when it came to opening up and discussing her struggles. So the fact that she hadn’t told you before didn’t sit right with you.

Ana sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I made up my mind so many times to just come right out and say it, but every time I lost my courage in the last second. Because at it turns out it’s not so easy to tell your girlfriend who you love very much and who has a hard time at work and with her family that you’re moving to another country.”

“Oh.”

You understood that, it was the thing you had been worried about, that Ana felt too much pressure to bring joy to your life because so little else did. Under different circumstances this might have been harder to swallow, but in the current situation it actually helped. It left not a single doubt in your mind, that leaving Madrid was the right choice.

“So, what are your options?” You asked to move on the conversation.

“There are different clubs in Switzerland I could go to, but I don’t really see myself doing that. It would be nice to be close to my family and maybe I should do it to help further women’s football in Switzerland, but it feels more like something I should do, not something I want, you know?”

You knew precisely what she meant. In fact for so long you had made all decisions based on exactly that feeling of ‘I should’, so you were happy Ana didn’t plan on making the same mistake. And you tried to show her that by nodding encouragingly.

“However, the other option is pretty far away, so I just want you to know that no decision has been made yet, and I really want to know what you think. Because if long distance on that scale is a deal breaker for you, I won’t do it,” your girlfriend continued.

Again you nodded, hung up on the fact that you had been having exactly the same thoughts. So as far as distance went this would either work out well for the two of you or Ana would really end up on the other side of the world. What even was on the other side of Mexico? You cursed yourself for your geography knowledge that was clearly lacking.

“Okay, so, the other option is Tigres Femenil. Jenni’s team in Mexico,” your girlfriend rushed out, her eyes flicking between you and the table, as if Ana was torn between wanting to study every miniscule reaction you might show, while also trying to avoid jus tthat.

“What?”

This had to be a joke! Ana probably learnt about your offer from then and decided to play a prank on you. Maybe Jenni had heard about it and told your girlfriend to do this, that would be a Jenni thing to do.

Except not really, though. Your older friend was known for playing pranks and amusing herself at the expense of others, but there was a clear line that she never crossed. And playing with someone’s heart and feelings was on the “don’t”-side of that line.

“I’m sorry! Like I said I haven’t decided yet and if it’s too far then I’ll go to Switzerland. I’m sure that will be great,” Ana apologized frantically. 

“No, wait, that’s not why I reacted like this. The thing is my offer is also from Tigres Femenil, so it just seems a bit unbelievable? People don’t get this lucky in real life,” you explained, disbelief still coloring your tone and set firmly on your face.

“You’re joking right?” Your girlfriend inquired, apparently also having some issues fully accepting this miraculous coincidence as true.

“No, I’m not. They offered me a one year contract with the option for additional years if I like it there and fit well into the team.” Hopefully the added details would make it easier for Ana to believe this was actually happening.

After that the two of you stayed silent for a while, your hearts and minds needed some time to let themselves open up and accept that you were getting much more than you ever hoped for.

You reached that conclusion almost at the same time, huge grins spreading across both of your faces and then there was nothing holding you back anymore. Ana jumped up from her chair first and you swiftly followed suit.

Mere seconds later you basically jumped into your girlfriend’s arms, thinking in the back of your mind that this was exactly how you would celebrate a goal if you would play for the same time. Your heart jumped happily when you realized that you might get a chance to do precisely that next season.

“I’m so happy!” Ana squealed into your ear and you echoed that sentiment.

Moving abroad and playing for another team had sounded excited, but doing so with your girlfriend? That seemed more like a dream than anything else.

Ana and you stayed wrapped up in each other’s arms for a good while, just basking in the happiness. It was a welcome change from the usual reasons you spent so long in each other’s embrace. Normally you did so because one of you, more often than not you, was sad and needed comfort. Now there was not an ounce of sadness present, the air was electrified by excitement and the possibility of everything that was to come.

---

Of course you didn’t decide that night to accept the transfer, not legally at least, but emotionally you definitely did. Still, like the reasonable adults you were, you thought it through, gathered some more information before officially making the choice you had already made the moment you learnt both of you could go to Mexico together.

You called Jenni together to tell her the good news and she was overjoyed. Although if the amount of teasing you had to endure during one measly phone call was anything to go by, you were going to have to put up with a lot next year. You didn’t mind, though. Also you were aware that Ana would put a stop to it if she thought it was getting out of hand. You could as well, Jenni would listen if you seriously told her to stop, but you knew yourself well enough to know that you wouldn’t.

After that Ana and you focused on wrapping up everything in Madrid, sorting out your apartments and such. There was one particular subject you avoided like the plague, your family. You couldn’t leave for Mexico without at least telling them and try one more time, but you also weren’t ready to face them again in the slightest.

Finally you reached a point in time where you could no longer postpone it. Your girlfriend offered multiple times to go with you, but you declined every time, much to Ana’s chagrin. In the end she decided that she would at least drive you and wait for you in a nearby parking lot. You gladly accepted that suggestion.

“And please leave if it gets too much, yeah? Or call me and I will come get you,” Ana reminded you resolutely, still reluctant to let go of your hand.

“Don’t worry, tesoro, I’ll be fine. I don’t think much will come off today, but I just have to try one more time before we leave,” you explained. And it was true; you didn’t have high hopes for your conversation with your family. But even so you ended up being disappointed.

It started with a very frosty greeting, your father leading you into the living room where the rest of your family was sitting. You had chosen that day specifically because you had thought no one else would be over, but apparently you were out of luck. All of your aunts and uncles were assembled, staring at you disapprovingly.

You swallowed roughly, wetting your lips nervously when it became apparent that you would have to lead this conversation. This had been expected, you had even practiced a bit at home with Ana, but now in the moment your mind felt terrifyingly blank. With everyone glaring at you the only thing you could think of was to apologize. And that was the one thing you remembered you didn’t want to do.

“Did you just come here to stare at us?” Your mother questioned unfriendly.  

“No, I…This isn’t so easy. You’re making this really hard for me,” you muttered

“We’re making it hard for you? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to us? Just completely cutting us out of your life because of some random girl you met a few months ago,” your mother accused you.

The guilt and self-doubt threatened to consume you, but you tried to focus on your anger instead. At least the anger would allow you to say what needed to be said, even if you couldn’t lay it out as calmly and clearly as you wanted.

“See, this is what I mean. Everything is always my fault and you never listen to what I have to say,” you defended yourself. “And Ana isn’t just some random girl. I can’t stand that you talk like this about someone I love, someone who I’m pretty sure is the love of my life.”

Your family exchanged meaningful glances, the sentiment on their faces clear as day; they thought you were being ridiculous or childish or dramatic. Three adjectives they loved using to describe you.

“You’re getting too emotional again, niña, that has always been your problem. How do you expect us to take you serious like this? And think about this, you say we’re always acting as if you’re the problem, but in reality it’s you doing that. You always blame everything on us, your horrible family. Poor you with parents, aunts and uncles that support you!”

Condescension was something you were used to, and it had always made you feel very tiny and incredibly mad at the same time. You were an adult for crying out loud, not a little kid. And still in that moment you felt exactly like that.

“Fine, you know what, I can see that this is totally pointless! I don’t even know why I thought I should try again. So I’m just going to tell you the one thing you need to know; once this season is over I’ll go to Mexico to play there. So I guess, see you never?” You yelled, turning around and stomping out of your childhood home, without giving your family any chance to reply. What was the point?

Tears were already streaming down your face as you ran down the street to where Ana was waiting. Your girlfriend saw you coming; she had been keeping an eye out for you practically from the moment you had kissed her goodbye.

When she saw you rushing towards her, Ana’s heart broke. She had hoped this would go better, but your demeanor and the fact that you were back so soon told her everything she needed to know.

Ana quickly clambered out of the car to meet you with open arms. You fell into them, allowing yourself a moment to completely lean into your girlfriend and absorb some strength from her. Not too long though, you didn’t want to risk anyone catching up with you.

“Come on, let’s go,” you requested, already moving to the passenger’s side.

The drive home was mostly silent, your girlfriend held your hand whenever she didn’t need both of them to drive, and only asked you in the very beginning if you were ready to talk. You just shook your head in response. First you would have some more crying to do, before you could even hope to use words.

And you did exactly that, once again safely tucked away in your girlfriend’s arms. You couldn’t wait to get to a point in your life where you didn’t need so much comfort anymore.

“How are you feeling?” Ana prompted once she noticed you were ready to talk. She had seen you biting your cheek, contemplating how to start the conversation and decided to help you out with questions.

“I didn’t have much hope to begin with, but apparently I still had some that could be crushed. And also…,” you stopped, uncertain if you should continue. It felt like you kept bringing up the same things; shouldn’t you get over them at some point?

“Also?”

There was nothing but love and concern on your girlfriend’s face. You didn’t have to worry about her judging you, this was a safe space.

“I’m so annoyed with myself. I couldn’t even say much before I ran away. I can just hear them calling me a dramatic little girl who runs away as soon as things get though”, you gritted out.

Ana tensed at your harsh words towards yourself and she forced herself to count to three before answering, not wanting to sound too intense. There was however nothing she could do about the emotions lingering in her voice.

“Please stop listening to their voices in your head. I don’t think removing yourself from a bad situation is running away, that’s a smart move really. You need to take care of yourself.”

You nodded thoughtfully, “You know I’ve been thinking about that and realized I often put their needs and wants over mine. But I guess putting others first only works if they do the same. Otherwise if I always put them first, but they never put me first, I’m just always going to end up last, right? I think that’s what’s been happening all my life and I’m done with it!”

“Absolutely! If anything your parents should be putting you, their child, first. That’s what my mom said when I talked about it with her. She also said some other things, but I’m not sure if you want to hear them or if it’ll just make you sad.”

Ana studied you carefully, every sign of pain embedded in your body hurting her as well. She hated how that you had to deal with this, so the last thing she wanted to do was to add any pain to it.

“No, please, tell me. I think it will be helpful, hearing what an actual good parent thinks about all of this,” you requested.

You had only met Ana’s parents twice before, but they had been everything you wanted your own family to be. They were excited to see their daughter, but expressed that without making her feel guilty for not being around more. And they had welcomed you with open arms, clearly very pleased that Ana had found a special someone to share her life with.

“She also said that nothing makes her happier than seeing us, her kids, living our best life. Not some life my parents pictured for us, but the life we choose. She can’t really understand why so many people try to force their kids to be something they’re not. According to her slowly getting to meet your children’s truest self is one of the biggest joys of them growing up.”

Your eyes filled with tears again causing your girlfriend distress. You had been sitting opposite each other, hands intertwined in between you, but now Ana pulled you into her embrace again.

“See, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” your girlfriend cried out.

You shook your head, “I wanted to hear that, I needed to hear that. It makes me feel less unreasonable and ungrateful.”

Ana gently kissed the top of your head, rubbing comforting circles on your back. “You’re anything but, you’re absolutely amazing.”

The longer you were with your girlfriend and the more she told you things like these, the easier it became to believe them. It wasn’t easy or natural yet, but you found yourself questioning your old beliefs much more often.

You didn’t speak more about it that evening, indulging in some self care instead. However, a few days later you recognized that it was still bothering you. There was no way you would try again, but it also didn’t feel right to shut the door to your family completely.

Surprisingly when you brought it up to Ana, one day after training when you were cuddling on the couch, you practically on top of your girlfriend, she informed you that she had been thinking about that as well.

“How about you set up an email account just for them? This way you can check it every once in a while when you feel up to it, or I can even check it if you prefer. That would allow them to contact you if they have a change of heart, but you aren’t constantly bombarded with unwanted messages.”

A huge weight was lifted from your heart when you heard this suggestion. That was precisely what you wanted, some small gap left open, but nothing that would affect you in your everyday life. The last thing you wanted was to constantly get attacked by hurtful messages.

You placed a few kisses everywhere on your girlfriend’s face, uttering one word between each kiss,”You. Are. The. Best. Girlfriend. In. The. World. And. I. Love. You. So. Much.”

Ana happily accepted your kisses. “So, no second thoughts about moving to Mexico?” She inquired cautiously.

“Not a single one, I’m so excited for it, and I won’t let my family ruin it. Plus it would be the same if I stayed here. If anything being not only in another country, but on another continent might actually be good for me.”

“Good, because I’m very excited about it,” your girlfriend announced with a big smile.

“Me too,” you agreed.

In fact you couldn’t wait to start that adventure with Ana. You had never allowed yourself to be an adventurous person, telling yourself, or really being told by your family, that you were anything but.

However, now you realized that you did have an adventurous streak and it was high time you used it. For too long you had lived the life everyone else wanted you to live, but now you were getting another chance at life, at the life you truly wanted.

You didn't even wait until you moved to Mexico. A few days before leaving, you dragged Ana to a hairdresser, stating that both of you should change up your look to start over fresh.

What you didn't expect though, was for your girlfriend to decide she wanted to color her hair pink. You had thought about something more along the lines of cutting your hair a little shorter.

But then Ana announced with a big grin that she was going pink, and you made a split second decision, telling the hairdresser to whip up some purple hair dye for you.

And that's how the two of your started off your new life, one of you pink haired and the other one purple. You loved the way it looked and couldn't care less when pretty much the first thing out of Jenni's mouth when she picked you up from the airport was, "Where are you two going? A five year old's birthday party?"

"Shut up, Jenni, you're just jealous of us," Ana retorted.

Jenni rolled her eyes, "Maybe, but I get a feeling you're going to help me get over that by annoying me with your lovey-doveyness."

"Absolutely," you agreed, pulling your girlfriend against yourself and kissing her passionately.

"Fine! I'll stop if you stop!" Jenni exclaimed, grabbing one hand from the both of you and marching you towards the exit. "Bienvenida a México, chicas!"

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #ana maria crnogorcevic imagine #ana maria crnogorcevic x reader

[shiro-s2e2-erukinzu]

Anime only watchers and people who aren't caught up with the Manga, BEWARE... Cuz I'm about to discuss Spy X Family Mission 99... You have been warned...! 👌

[SPOILERS AHEAD FROM THIS POINT ON]

*Ahem...*

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! THIS CHAPTER!!!! 😱 AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

S-Sorry about that folks, but uh... There is A WHOLE LOT to talk about with this chapter, so uh, let's into it shall we...?! 😵 [Aggressive Thumb SHAKING] ((👍))

So, to start things off... What happened at the end of chapter 98 was apparently just a false alarm, but it still managed to end the the graduation party after everyone ran to the bunkers... So, Henry asked Martha about what she was going to tell him, and well...:

...She decided not to tell him the truth... 🥲

After this, Martha is seen crying her eyes out at her home...!! 😭 But after receiving a letter in the mail, she has a wonderful idea to write letters to Henry while she's away...!! 🥹

The first thing she writes to him is to see her off before she departs, but because the letter contained her exact location, these assholes "lovely gentleman" had to black out almost EVERYTHING MARTHA WROTE!! 😫 Which meant...:

...Henry didn't show up... 🥲🥲

(Why Endo...? Just, WHY....?! 💔)

But even after that mishap, Martha would continue to write to Henry, and he even wrote back to her...! 🥹 But eventually...:

Aw man... This image is just... It breaks my heart, man... 😔

Soon after that, Henry started to yearn to hear from Martha once again... But then, Martha and the rest of her group got some unexpected news...:

AND THE WORST PART IS THAT THEY CAN'T ACTUALLY DECLINE TO JOIN THE FRONT LINES BECAUSE THEY WOULD BE LABELED AS DESERTERS AND KILLED!!! 😡 (SUCH FUCKING BULLSHIT!!! FUCK WAR!!! 😠😠😠)

While the girls are panicking, Martha steps up and says that she'll fight...:

...And now Herny knows about it... 😞

Y'know... This chapter already had some crazy stuff in it... But nothing, AND I MEAN NOTHING, could've prepared me for THE VERY NEXT PAGE...!!!:

MOTHERFUCKING YOUNG DONOVAN DESMOND!!! 😵😵😵

AND BOY, LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHIN'...! When I read what he said at bottom, that "Human beings are simply liars"... The first thing that came to my mind was...:

...HE HAS TO BE A FREAKING TELEPATH JUST LIKE ANYA!!! 😱

I MEAN, it's the only thing that makes sense, why else WOULD HE SAY THAT...!?!? 😵 He also could've been raised that way by his parents, BUT I DON'T KNOW ABOUT THAT ONE CHIEF!!!!

My goodness... THIS PAGE HAS GOT ME LOOKIN' AND ACTIN' LIKE THIS:

Anyway, Young Donovan continues to speak about how as long as everyone hides their true intentions from each other, war can never truly end... And I just... I can't accept that...!!

Call me a dreamer, but I believe that we as people can make a difference if we speak up & fight back against ideals like Donovan's...!! I know that there is awfulness all around us and not everyone is in it for the betterment of others... BUT THAT'S WHY WE HAVE TO FIGHT BACK; THAT'S WHY TWILIGHT, YOR, ANYA, AND OTHERS IN THIS SERIES ARE FIGHTING FOR PEACE!!! So that we all can have a better tomorrow...!!! ✊

Anyway, back to chapter... And boy, it does not get better for Henry and Martha... 😔

After Martha writes a letter a telling Henry that she wishes that she could see him, it brings him tears and the only thing that he could muster to think of saying to her is "I wish I could see you too"... 💔 Then when going to mail another letter to Martha, Henry over hears on the radio...:

THIS PAGE IS JUST SO HEARTBREAKING!!! 💔

Later at an assembly, Martha's group was brought up as valiant for giving their lives for the cause, but Henry was having none of it:

...and then, they beat him up an locked him away...!! 😠 Then Henry's dad shows up and tells him that if he keeps this up, he'll never teach in another classroom again... And of course, Henry folds... 💔 AND I THINK THAT HENRY'S DAD NEEDS TO GET PUNCHED IN THE FACE!!! 😡

Time passes, Henry has a his famous monoclonal now (most likely due to be badly injured in his eye when those bastards beat him up) and is forced to marry someone for his family... Then, it cuts to place near the East-West border and...:

Martha's still alive, obviously, but WHO TOOK HER IN AND SAVED HER!?!? 🤔

Could it be someone from the Blackbell's, someone related to Twilight, Shopkeeper or McMahon...? I DON'T KNOW...!! But, we'll have wait and find out in CHAPTER 100 BABY!!! 😆

And that was Mission 99, and it was FANTASTIC AND HEARTBREAKING ALL AT THE SAME TIME!!! 💔🥲💔 This why we LET 👏 ENDO 👏 COOK!!! 👏👏👏

But anyway, before I go....

SEASON 3 OF SPY × FAMILY WAS ANNOUNCED BABY!!! 😆

I am SOOOOOO EXCITED for this!! 😄 But when it releases, I'm not sure if I'll continue to do reviews of the episodes as they come out... Near the end of season 2, I got quite a bit burnt out from writing my anime reviews, so I never talked about the last 3 episodes of season 2... 😩 But, we'll see how I feel by the time when the anime returns...!! 😁

Okay, that's it now...!! 😄 So until the next Mission; take care, be safe out there and be kind to one another...!! BYE!!! 👋😁

#spy x family #sxf #spyxfamily #spy x family spoilers #sxf spoilers #spyxfamily spoilers #spy x family manga #sxf manga #spyxfamily manga #Mission 99 #henry henderson #martha marriott #donovan desmond #A YOUNG DONOVAN DESMOND!!! 😵 #WE ARE ALMOST AT CHAPTER 100 BABY!! 😆 #manga spoilers #Also... #SPY X FAMILY SEASON 3!!! 👏😆👏😆👏😆