#╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ Chaos ! Chaos ! I’m happy the world is going to end ! ❈ DASH COMM.

[lestappenforever]

After properly waking up (and finally not having any more wake up for the race till Vegas, WE DID IT), here’s a bit if my analysis of the race, which is my favourite so far, a bit even more than Japan, because of its chaos and emotions

First, hometown hero. Zhou was not driving the car based on anything, other than pure emotion. He was living his dream in a way that I wish everyone could one day, honestly I’ve been emotional since that sprint shootout when he reached SQ3 and so proud that he is making history and realising his dream. On a more technical aspect, Sauber meed to get their shit together, the car is not good, and the fact that we celebrate them having a pit stop less than 5 seconds is so disappointing. They need to get it together to get points and be in that fight.

Nico Hulkenberg is a Goat, there I said it. The way he is taking that Haas places is just phenomenal, and honestly I think he deserves a proper team, and he so deserves to be on a podium, more than just one time. Kevin had an okay race, except of course, for ruining Yuki’s. But if K-Mag did not get his shit together, Ollie very easily could replace him next year, especially since Komatsu is no Guenther, and he will not have the mentality of fucking the youngster over.

RB’s weekend was going very well, in terms of race not sprint, that sprint was not great, but the circuit is not for them, and it’s Yuki’s first time there, so an off weekend (a normal one) was not going to be the worst thing in the world. But the way the race played out, with Kevin knocking Yuki out if the race with a stupid crash, destroying his race, and then Fernando locking up and hence lance knocks Daniel out with a crash that was so easy to prevent if he was focused on the car in front of him instead of the apex during the time of a safety car returning to the pit, the pack all close together and still getting up to speed. Yeah, that sucked for them, Daniel especially who was in contention of points. But other than that, the strategy was kind if fucked up, but it could have been saved at the end if it were not for both Astons.

As I said last race week, the Alpines are slowly but surely getting better. They started having pace today, and even if it were anyone else other than Nico, Esteban could have gotten points, but Nico Masterclass. This season is showing who is the leader of the French team, and it’s Estie. He’s extracting every single once if pace in that car, even if there isn’t any, and is showing that he’s the one. Pierre, tbh is getting better as well, but not to the Esteban level of almost Q3 and potentially points. Actually I feel like Pierre has not given much (expect for the Dutch GP last year) where he’s showing that the move to Alpine was a right choice for him.

George is impressive, and I hate to say it, more that Lewis is. He’s getting out everything out of the car, and I feel is working harder to keep Mercedes alive this season, with both the sprint and the race, with snagging that last point in the sprint from a shit quali, to an impressive performance in a track that doesn’t suit the new Mercedes cars, and trying his damn best all weekends, I’m genuinely impressed and proud of him, especially with the way he’s working to show the team that he could be a leader. Meanwhile I feel like Lewis is just trying to finish the year to go to Maranello, granted he’s trying, but I feel George is working harder.

McLaren, I have mixed emotions, Oscar was okay, again his first time on that track, but when compared to Lando, he did okay, not great. Lando was actually phenomenal, pulling that one stop, and doing so well in that, holding Checo back almost half of the race, he should be extremely proud of himself. And on that note, I love seeing Adam Norris down when Lando and Max are on the podium, I feel he’s proud of his son, but also Max, and I am just so happy and giddy

Ferrari, Idk what to feel. On one hand, Charles was phenomenal, but on the other, all these plans just give me anxiety, again, pulling that one stopper, but Checo got him, in a track that doesn’t feel of seem suited for the car, actually impressed. Carlos however, seemed to have gotten in his head, from saying yesterday that if he got Max he would have won the sprint, to the unnecessary fight with Charles on the sprint, he’s getting cocky, and that won’t help his situation of getting into a good team next year.

Red Bull, I AM SO FUCKING IMPRESSED AND I CANNOT BEGIN TO SAY HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS TEAM AND AM SO PROUD OF THEM. Max was just phenomenal, despite the sprint quali that was apparently not so great because the car was not set up for rain. Simply because the forecast didn’t show much rain. As for the race, damn I can’t believe the team did that, 2 perfect double stacks with a total pit stop time of 8 for changing 16 tyres. The pit crew are the actual heroes today. Checo you could see that he’s disappointed, and that shows how much he’s comfortable in the car, and how at one he is with the team, in addition to knowing the stakes at hand. But nonetheless, he was phenomenal in a weekend that according to him, wasn’t great. But yeah, this race was just amazing and chaotic and tbh, I love this chaos. And up next Miami, what will each one do, especially since Max never got pole there (just like Jeddah). We shall see

(Also, hoping the girls next race have a good weekend, especially the Red Bull girls, not because they’re Re Bull, I’ve been impressed by Hamda since COTA last year, and I called she’ll be the RBR girl)

I have nothing to add to any of this, so I'll just leave it in all its glory as it is. ❤️

#Asks #agentofchaos001 ❤️ #Chinese GP 2024

[theircurse]

˗ˏˋ *ㅤ★ㅤ‿︵ㅤ˗ˏˋㅤ❛ㅤWow, who knew the best way to cause CHAOS wasn't cursing peopleㅤ—ㅤbut it was throwing CHEESE at people !ㅤ❜

#// this all started because I saw some video with guys throwing cheese at each other and then Yumeno threw cheese at Atsushi #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ Chaos ! Chaos ! I’m happy the world is going to end ! ◜★◞ DASH COMM. #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ I was raised in a deep and dark hole; a prisoner with no parole. ◜★◞ IC.

[theircurse-archive4]

╰ ★ █║ ⁞ —ㅤ˗ˏˋㅤ❛ I could drink a GRIMACE SHAKE and not even blink once, COWARDS ! ❜

#╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ I was raised in a deep and dark hole; a prisoner with no parole. ◜☆◞ IC. #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ Chaos ! Chaos ! I’m happy the world is going to end ! ◜☆◞ DASH COMM.

[helluvapoison]

Make Me Weak

˚✧₊⁎ The Vees ⁎⁺˳✧༚

warnings: violence

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Everything you are she should abhor– and would if it was anyone else— so she doesn’t pretend to understand how you weave into her life so easily. That time is instead spent wondering how the fuck she’s survived both her hellish lives without you

• Velvette always felt she was owed the praise and compliments she got. Receiving them from you was an entirely different type of high to ride. Your candied tone and sickeningly sweet words clung to her like smoke and had her itching for more

• You massage her hands so she has no choice but to surrender her phone, only then does she realize how cramped they’ve become. You sit in her workshop during Hell Week, sending a mellowing wave that relaxes her chaos in the form of a simple thumbs up. You make up for not being on the receiving end of her camera by setting up aesthetic dates for her to capture instead

• Velvette captures your chin, “You put up with a lotta my shit, Dollface. I’m not great at sharing credit, but I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“But I didn’t do anything?”

“You’re my muse, baby. Gimme the word and I can have you on a billboard tonight. Fuck Joanne, the raggetty bitch, I’ll bump her and have you up there for all of Hell to see!”

Your smile falters to a grimace, your eyes telling her what she already knows. Vel doesn’t get why you hate the limelight. This conversation always ends one way and if she hears you say one bad thing about yourself, she’ll tear out her hair. With a sigh, she tucks you back under her arm and kisses the crown of your head

“Fine. I didn’t wanna share you anyways.”

Your light laugh makes her smile again

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Val does everything in his power not to allow you to witness one of his volatile moments. He has a very specific image of you in his mind and to a looser extent, you do too. You’re not prim or naive that you don’t know what he does, but his violent tendencies are something else to behold. You’re too sweet, too pure to completely join his world

• It’s never bothered him before, seeing that look on someone’s face. The one where their eyes go wide in horror because they know exactly what comes next but there’s no telling what would happen if the pedestal Val put you on crumbled because you saw him grabbing a whore by the neck and using them as an ashtray

• Truly, no indulgence he’s ever sampled has come close to taking the edge off him like one of your hugs. Softer than angel wings and more intoxicating than any elixir, you’re euphoria trapped in a sinner’s body

• “I almost feel bad for keeping you to myself,” Val purrs in your ear. He’s been laying underneath you for six minutes and already the shittiness of the day evaporated, “I could bottle and sell you. Make everyone in Hell as happy as I am.”

A nervous, bitter laugh escapes you

“You wouldn’t make much money, Val.”

“I would make millions, corazón” He argues seriously, though he has no intention of sharing you

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• The irony is lost on him; someone as soft as you could bring him, an Overlord, to succumb. Below the surface, he’s more insecure than he lets on. He’s perfected the mask of a charming show host, developed it so well that it bleeds into his personality. So much so, that you make him glitch when he gets an inkling of self doubt. Your gentleness makes him weak and it terrifies him, fills him with the urge to push you away but your arms are so inviting that he lets himself be cradled by them. How could he do anything but?

• Rare are the days where he actually feels tired but those are the days he seeks out your affections. To him, you’re safe. You won’t judge him, you don’t pry for details, you’d never tell him to suck it up

• Vox lets himself sink into the couch beside you, tapping your thigh with a claw to invite you to come closer. You never fail to accept and deliver exactly what he needs. It’s bizarre how you know what he needs when he doesn’t himself. Turning to straddle him, you rest your head on his chest and hug him impossibly closer

• “You’re tense today,” You comment quietly, giving him a comforting squeeze.

“Come with me to set for once, you’ll find out why.”

Nuzzling into his chest as if trying to find his nonexistent heartbeat, you replied, “Nah. Sounds like too much of a hassle.”

“Exactly why I need you there.”

“Promise not to bring me on air like you’re always threatening to?”

A dry cackle escapes as he keeps his gaze towards the ceiling. Vox has this fanatical plan that you two could be the power couple of Hell, outranking Lucifer and Lilith (and lasting twice as long) if you would just sit at the same desk as him, deliver news and playful banter that would knock 666 News down a couple thousand pegs. You were worried someone wouldn’t want to see your face, you’d make his ratings plummet, you’d ruin everything he worked so hard to build. He hates when you spiral like that.

“No.” Vox mumbles honestly.

He’d prove you wrong like he’s done everyone else, one way or another

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #vox headcanons #vox x reader #vox imagine #velvette imagine #velvette headanons #velvette x reader #valentino x reader #valentino imagine #valentino headcanon #help i’m actually falling for val

[forzarma]

Memories

Pairing: dad!lewis x wife!reader

author’s note: im a sucker for dad lewis

As the morning sunlight poured into the kitchen, painting everything in a soft golden hue, you took a moment to relish the peace of the morning. The gentle sounds of breakfast being prepared filled the air, mingling with the comforting aroma of coffee and pancakes.

“Morning, love,” Lewis greeted you with a smile, his eyes bright with affection as he tended to the stove. “Breakfast is almost ready. The kids are already up and about in the living room.”

Taking the cup of coffee he offered, you breathed in its warmth, feeling a sense of gratitude for these simple moments. “Thanks, Lewis,” you murmured, taking a sip. “I’ll go check on them.”

Entering the living room, you were met with a scene straight out of a family movie. Chanel, your daughter, twirled around in your heels, her laughter filling the room, while Cole, your son, built a cushion fort with meticulous care.

“Morning, Mommy!” Chanel greeted you with a wide grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Look at me, I’m a fashion queen!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her antics, but you knew you had to set some boundaries. “Chanel, sweetie, those are Mommy’s shoes,” you gently reminded her, trying to balance firmness with love.

With an exaggerated sigh, Chanel kicked off the heels, muttering something about unfair rules under her breath. Joining her brother in the cushion fort, she continued her play with renewed enthusiasm.

Watching your children, you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. Despite the chaos, these moments were what made parenthood so special.

Back in the kitchen, you helped Lewis finish breakfast, enjoying the quiet camaraderie between you. As you set the table, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of your family gathered together.

Sitting down to eat, conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and the occasional spill. It was these simple moments of togetherness that made everything worthwhile.

After breakfast, as Lewis headed out for his training, you were left alone with the kids. But even in his absence, his presence lingered in the warmth of the house.

When Lewis returned later that evening, tired but happy, you welcomed him with open arms. Together, you shared stories of your day, finding solace in each other’s company.

As night fell, Lewis suggested a movie night, and the kids eagerly agreed. Snuggled together on the couch, you watched as your children laughed and cheered, their joy contagious.

In that moment, surrounded by the people you loved most in the world, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. These were the moments that made life worth living, the moments that filled your heart with love and happiness.

As the movie ended and the kids drifted off to bed, you and Lewis lingered on the couch, basking in the quiet of the evening. It was during these stolen moments that you cherished the most, when the world seemed to slow down and it was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

“I love you,” Lewis whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you too,” you replied, feeling the weight of those words settle deep within your soul.

Together, you sat in comfortable silence, content in each other’s presence. And as you drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the beautiful chaos and joy that filled your life, knowing that as long as you had each other, everything would be okay.

#Lewis Hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagines #lewis Hamilton imagine #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #dad!lewis Hamilton #x wife reader #lewis hamilton one shot #Lewis Hamilton smut

[sailoryooons]

Angel | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Mafia!Yoongi x Sex worker! F. reader

☾ Summary: Yoongi never meant to keep coming back. You never meant to become Yoongi’s favorite. Being Min Yoongi’s favorite has dire consequences. 

☾ Word Count: 15,551

☾ Genre: Semi-established relationship, mafia, smut, surprising amount of fluff

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Sex work and mentions of sex work, Yoongi and the reader are very confident in their relationship but also don’t want to ask for more, uses of the word whore negatively in some parts, vague references to dismemberment in an offhand conversation, intense action sequences, depictions of violence, reader is smacked around and kidnapped, depictions of injuries and pain, two sequences of detailed anxiety attacks, graphic depictions of blood, violent scene in which reader fights for her life and gores someone, depictions of murder/panicking while committing murder? Idk how to describe that one, mentions of nightmares/light reference to PTSD post-murder, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (m. and f. receiving) light throat fucking, nipple play, ass play (f. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, Yoongi… almost doing a strip tease but it’s not as goofy as that it’s more sensual?? Yoongi is a little bit possessive at the end. 

☾ Published: September 3, 2023

☾ A/N: You voted for it, you got it! Introducing the fic that came out on top for the Hali’s Happy Agust Bracket Challenge! Thank you to everyone who voted during the entire month of August, I had such an amazing time seeing everyone yelling and voting and sharing and having fun with it. It means the world to me that you guys have fun and enjoy doing these kinds of things! Here is mafia Yoongi in all of his glory - I did try to keep it tame with the murder/violence/criminal side of it because there are things in this genre I’d like to table in later (most likely on Hali’s After Dark) but I hope that you enjoy this! Somehow it really turned into two people who are just !!! eternally confident in one another, despite their strange trades. Shout out to the hurricane and covid for FAILING TO STOP ME FROM WRITING THIS I’M A GOD (not really I am very tired but I did it osifjdoigj). This is mostly edited.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Angel Playlist

Yoongi would rather be anywhere else but the low lit, smoky club. The production team on the dancefloor below uses way too much cryogenic smoke for Yoongi’s taste, fogging the dancing bodies with thick clouds, the lasers reflecting off the smoke in dizzying patterns. From the VIP section, he isn’t choked by the haze, but he is choking on the cloying perfume of the woman in his lap.

She’s pretty enough, one of Kwan’s finest. No doubt trained from a very young age to please her employer’s most prestigious guests. Yoongi doesn’t touch her though, save for letting her sit on his lap, her hand cradling the back of his neck. She leans into his chest, her breath close to his ear as he watches Kwan consider Yoongi’s deal.

Yoongi doesn’t have to make the deal at all. Offering to become a minority owner of the club is a mercy, really. Yoongi could go after the investors who fronted the money when Kwan opened his business in the middle of the entertainment district, and he could wipe out the petty criminals pushing drugs in shadowy alcoves near the bathroom, damaging the cut that Kwan takes from them at the end of each night. 

Yoongi could even go as far as to sow chaos every night, sending in his followers to pick fights with the elite clientele, make it a nightmare for the celebrity clients and cities government officials who use the back rooms for more nefarious matters, exposing the underbelly of La Vie if he felt like it. 

Investments, Hoseok always insists. Investments, not enemies. They already hate that you’re taking a chunk of what they built - especially the seaside property.  Let’s try to play nice and show face. 

Forcing hands is exactly how Yoongi got to this position, sitting in a club and offering Kwan a rather generous deal: Kwan retains eighty percent of ownership, Yoongi becomes a twenty percent owner, the only person allowed to supply the club’s drugs, is paid for security services, and has access to the information funneled through those that work the private client rooms. He could just take it like he always has, and he still has half a mind to do. 

Men like Kwan who think they’re savvy in business and the nuances of the criminal enterprises that run the city make Yoongi’s lip curl. 

“These terms are bullshit, and I don’t have control of the back rooms.” Kwan looks up from the contract, glasses sliding down his nose. He’s a little bit older than Yoongi, and good looking. He has a traditionally handsome face that idols and actors like to get moderated to look like. He looks like new money though, with designer pieces that don’t quite match and a Patek watch that is flashy, but not coveted. “While it is under my jurisdiction, it is a handshake deal with Anya that she runs them the way she wants. They are her clients, not mine.” 

“Then Anya will have a handshake deal with me.” Kwan’s face darkens. Yoongi is tired of this. Is tired of the feeling of the girl’s hand stroking the hair at the base of his neck, is tired of the way she presses up against him, and is tired of Kwan’s dawdling.

“Take the weekend to think about it,” Yoongi insists and stands. The girl falls off him, letting out a surprised sound as she hits the booth. Yoongi adjusts his suit and frowns when he sees there is body glitter on it. He casts a harsh look at the girl who stares up at him with big eyes before turning back to Kwan. “There are no terms for negotiating. Thank you for the drinks and the entertainment. You’ll hear from me.”

Kwan’s face is red like the neon of Yoongi’s favorite motel when he walks out of the booth. Synth and base rattle the metal catwalk that makes up the VIP section, overlooking the dancefloor. Seokjin slides into step with Yoongi as he goes, an imposing shadow as they circumnavigate the walkway. 

It’s loud and raucous when they get to the dance floor. Members of the security team watch Yoongi as he goes, their eyes alert. He pays them little attention, just like the gazes of the people dancing in the ground when they catch sight of him.

Sometimes, Yoongi feels a little bit like a myth in moments like this. Out in public, Yoongi is an astutely dressed man who speaks quietly and says very few words. He wears nice but not gaudy jewelry, and he always styles his long hair slicked back, showing off the faded, red scar over his eye. What Yoongi lacks in height, he makes up for in omnipresent stares and quick reactions.

Everyone in the city knows exactly who Min Yoongi is, and they know that he doesn’t make threats. He simply acts. 

Outside, rain falls from the inky sky. Hoseok leans against the brick wall under the awning, clove-tinged smoke drifting from the cigarette jammed between his lips. When he sees Yoongi, Hoseok pushes off the wall and adjusts his suit jacket. Where Seokjin looks tall, dark and imposing, Hoseok is wiry and sharp, dressed in all white, looking pristine as he raises his eyebrows at Yoongi in question. Yoongi nods towards the idling SUV as an answer. 

They don’t bother with an umbrella. Yoongi ducks his head down as he quickly walks across the pavement and into the car. The interior is moderately cool in the SUV. He takes a seat in the middle, Seokjin sitting alone in the row behind him and Hoseok to his right. 

Outside of the rainy window, the world turns into a smear of wet neon. Checking his watch, Yoongi notes that it’s just past midnight. If he hurries, he can stop by the Red before he goes home for the evening. If he goes home for the evening, at that point. The thought of sinking into sheets that smell like almond and cinnamon ease him. 

“So?” Hoseok flicks through his phone, face lit up blue by the screen. He looks hauntingly beautiful, all edges and sharp lines. “Deal or no deal?”

“Giving him the weekend to think about it.” Hoseok sighs. “He thinks it’s a bad deal for him because it it is, and he’s stuck on the operation Anya runs in the back rooms. He doesn’t want to lose that connection to her. She feeds him information for his extortion of city officials.”

“How else would he have cleared that permit near the docks to build,” Seokjin mutters. Yoongi casts a glance into the back seat where Seokjin sullenly stares out of the window. “Fucker is sticking his nose in a district he has no rights to. At least we had the means to get that operation cancelled.” 

“Yeah, and it’s part of why he doesn’t want to deal with us,” Hoseok says. “Even so, offering the deal is the right move. If he doesn’t take it, crush him like a fucking bug. He’s an intelligent businessman, it’s no surprise that he’s going to try and find a way around you. He might sniff around or try and fuck up some assets.”

“Hobi, you better fucking hope he doesn’t go to that fucker Seo.”

“He doesn’t have the balls. Seo Changbin is unhinged and volatile. He’s more likely to send Kwan to his family in chainsawed pieces.” 

Yoongi grunts, amused. “Bang has kept him under control as of late. Seokjin, have Jungkook look into getting some people in there. I’m not interested in them linking up as permanent partners.” 

A headache presses against Yoongi’s temples. He doesn’t care to debate politics and machinations with Hoseok and Seokjin. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the headrest, letting their discussion fall to a dull sound. 

Yoongi feels like he’s bleeding at the edges, the color of him spilling out of neat lines and all over the pages. His empire is growing faster than he can keep up with, he’s playing politics more than he’s playing the savvy gangster, and the more capital he gains, the more of himself he loses.

When Yoongi had started to climb the ladder of crime and chaos, he didn’t know where it would lead him. An early grave, perhaps. But Yoongi has always been smart and knows how to pick his battles, knows how to innovate. He is not the most inspiring man to lead people in the underbelly of the city, but he does know what he’s talking about and he’s good at guessing what people want most.

People, he’s discovered, all want the same thing, whether they’re at the bottom rung or the top. 

The boy he once was wouldn’t recognize him. The new Yoongi wears designer suits, the carefully curated art collections in the opulent halls of his home, the shaking hands with political figures to help install certain assurances within the city. There are more officials that line Yoongi’s pocket than there are gangs in the city, but it’s a weapon he wields well. 

Old Yoongi might not be so impressed. 

Yoongi feels the phantom ache of the scar on his eye. It doesn’t matter what old Yoongi wants, though. This new version of him is doing whatever he needs to live another day and to install another brick in his kingdom. 

The driver drops Yoongi off at home. Tall gates with security cameras and guard house at the entrance keeps almost everyone away from the Min estate. There’s been a few idiots here or there who have climbed the walls and met the three lovely dobermans that roam the property freely. 

Erebus catches Yoongi’s eyes as he walks to the large garage. The eldest of Yoongi’s canines sits and watches Yoongi approach with keen, dark eyes. He grins at the dog, whistling lowly. Erebus stands and joins Yoongi on his way to the side door, jamming in a code to the garage.

Inside, the automatic lights flip on. Yoongi squints from the harsh lighting, closing the door behind him. Rows of vehicles gleam under the fluorescents. Sports cars, old collectibles, sturdy SUVs. Yoongi has an armada at his disposal, though he so rarely drives himself anywhere these days. Not after Seo put a hit on him a few months ago, the insane fuck. 

Yoongi pulls the tie loose from his neck and begins to change. He presses his finger on a thumb-print lock to a wardrobe and pops it open. Inside are casual clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, a riding jacket, boots and a gleaming black helmet. Nondescript clothes that can belong to anyone. 

Every movement feels heavy. He should go upstairs and swallow down something to help him knockout, but he doesn’t. Instead, he finishes going through the motions and tosses the worn clothes in the wardrobe and walks over to the parked H2R in, all sleek, black metal. 

Erebus sniffs Yoongi’s knee once, a sort of send off. Yoongi bends down and kisses the doberman on the head before shooing him, sending the dog through the garage and up the stairs that lead to the main house. 

Instead of starting the bike in the garage and peeling out the front of the home, Yoongi pops the kickstand up and walks it out of the side door, careful not to bang the tailpipe on the door or scrape the shiny black paint. Once outside, he walks it through the entire yard, arms aching a little as he keeps the bike balanced. 

Gravel crunches beneath his boots and the tires of the motorcycle. Crickets chirp in the yard until he makes it to the back gate in his home that opens up to a government only street. Being back-to-back with the minister has its perks, like an extra security measure that he doesn’t have to monitor constantly. 

Swinging his leg over the bike, Yoongi slides the helmet on, turns the key, and presses the on switch. It roars to life, vibrating underneath him. He revs it a few times before he pulls back on the throttle and shoots down the street like a bullet from a gun.

Iron gates, walls and security houses blur past him. He lives among the gods of the city, high up over the glittering lights and those who pay pilgrimage to the political, criminal and tech giants who loom over them. Yoongi was one of them not that long ago, rising faster than he could have thought possible.

Still, he descends often. Nightly, even. Like even the most powerful gods, Yoongi’s weakness is a vice he can’t - doesn’t want to - rid himself from. While he doesn’t think of himself as impervious, Yoongi doesn’t have many weaknesses. 

His biggest one, though, spends most days at the Red with a private suite in the luxury pleasure house disguised as a motel. 

Yoongi parks his bike in a secured garage that he has a paid spot in. The payment for it is discrete and in all cash, one of Yoongi’s several attempts at covering his tracks when he visits.

The garage is still a few blocks away from the Red. He tucks his hands into his pocket, enjoying the balmy evening, rain still clinging to the air though not falling now. This late at night, there aren’t many people out. Cars drive by, tires hissing on the wet road. Neon lights burn above fluorescent-lit windows of small food shops. 

At the end of a dead end street, a red motel sign buzzes against the night sky. The non-descript brick building doesn’t look like much, but Yoongi knows better than most. Instead of approaching the front door, he leans against the wall a few shops down, tucked underneath the shadow of an awning. 

Pulling his phone out, he dials and brings it up to his ear. As the phone rings, he looks up at the four-story building. There are windows with dark curtains pulled shut and never opened. Yoongi knows that the glass looks ordinary, but is bullet proof grade to protect the most private of clients. 

It doesn’t look like much. The brick is old, it’s bracketed by a laundromat and a hardware store, and across the street is a noodle shop and boarded up general store. 

“It’s late,” you answer, voice scratchy. Yoongi nearly shivers at the sound of your voice, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in the rain-tinged night. “What’s a girl to do when a boy calls her this late, hmm?”

“Let said boy upstairs and out of the rain.”

“Hmm.” You don’t say yes, but Yoongi can hear the rustle of sheets and the soft creak of the bed when you get up. He waits in silence, though he imagines you’re walking across the bedroom to head to the main part of the state room. “It’s not even raining anymore, I bet.”

“It is. I’m soaked to the bone. Freezing. I might catch a cold.”

“Whatever shall we do?”

He grins, ducking his head. He can feel the warmth climb up his neck to his face, shaking his head. Only you can get him like this, heart skipping like he’s in grade school making out with someone behind the bleachers for the first time. 

“Come on,” you tease on the other line. “Your door will be open.”

“Thanks, Angel.”

“Mhmm.”

His door isn’t really his. But it is a private access door in the back of the alley that requires a keycard and has an armed guard sitting in a security room next to the entry way on the inside. Yoongi hangs up the phone and heads to the special door, avoiding the puddles dripping from fire escapes. 

Just as Yoongi reaches the heavy door, he hears the beep of the auto-lock and it swings open with you leaning on the frame. He wants to eat you whole. You’re not in work clothes, meaning you either wrapped up a while ago or didn’t work tonight. He doesn’t want to know so he doesn’t ask, instead walking up to you as you step to the side and let him in. 

Glowing light flickers underneath the security door to the left. You close the door behind you and pass him, letting your fingers grab his hand and link fingers. There are security cameras here, but it’ll look normal, with you pulling him through the halls and to the elevator. Touching is very much permitted here. Encouraged. Required. 

In the elevator, you stand by Yoongi. He leans into you, silent. You squeeze his hand, very small in his, but warm enough to soothe him. You smell faintly almond and cinnamon, making him go wild as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You giggle, leaning into him fully, arm pressed to arm. 

Perhaps it’s stupid to be so open like this. When Yoongi first started coming here, he was still and awkward, never coming too close, never letting himself be too familiar. Now, the need for you is too strong. He doesn’t care if there’s a camera on him watching him melt into you. He doesn’t care if maybe it shows that this is a little more than money, a little more than just a quick fix.

Yoongi has been coming to you for almost three years. He doesn’t remember when it stopped being about sex, but it hasn’t been that way for a while. At first, he thought it was so silly. Mafia man in love with a woman he pays to have sex with him. Except it wasn’t so silly. You’d long stopped considering him a client and insisting he doesn’t pay you. 

He doesn’t dare. He doesn’t know what money you make from clients. He knows that it has to be good to be at the Red, which specializes in top clientele. He knows it has to be great, even, because you always meet on your terms. In this space. 

He also doesn’t dare to ask you to stop. He doesn’t know how many clients you take, or who. He doesn’t know when, he doesn’t know how often. He knows nothing about your work except that he doesn’t ask you to stop and you don’t ask him if he wants you too. 

It’s an unspoken rule between you. Yoongi is too afraid to ask you to come live with him, and perhaps you’re too afraid to ask him to take you. Whatever the reasons, neither one of you is brave enough to cross the line first. So instead, you dance along it, making whatever this is work. 

Inside the stateroom is clean and smells like expensive candles. The room is luxurious and is exclusively yours. A cut of your earnings go to holding the room, just like the rest of the workers in the other rooms. 

With the door firmly locked behind the two of you, Yoongi heads to the open kitchen and leans against the counter, facing you. You kick off your slippers and turn to face him, half shadowed by the darkness of the hall, half lit by the warm salt lamp in the living room. 

Yoongi drags his eyes up and down your frame. Soft curves, gentle lips, kind eyes. He was gone the first time he saw you, and he’s gone now. Even after all this time. 

“What?” you ask, fingers fidgeting with your t-shirt. He thinks it might be one of his, but he might be imagining it.

“Come here,” he instructs, patting his thigh. 

You grin and approach him. He opens his arms for you and he sighs as you press against him. Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing him tight. Slotting your head between his shoulder and neck, you hide your face against him, breath warm against his throat. He envelops you in his arms, wrapped around your shoulders and draped down your back. 

Almond fills his senses. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing you in. You don’t say anything, content to sag against him in the low light of the room. This is what he comes here for more than anything. Everything else you offer is secondary. His foremost desire is this - you. 

“Everything okay?” you finally ask, because of course you do.

“Mhmm. Just a long night.”

“You smell like perfume.”

“Hmm?”

“Like peaches.”

He opens his eyes and looks down at you. You crane your head so that you’re peering up at him with one eye, brow arched. His mouth twitches. “Jealous?”

“Maybe.” 

“Interesting.”

“Not particularly.” 

He lowers his arms, letting them drape around your waist. He smacks the round of  your ass a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to make you pout. “We really going to get into the mechanics of this right now?”

Your smile is all he needs to know you’re not serious. At least, not enough to do something about it. “No, but it’s fun to tease you.” 

“Perhaps I should tease you back, then.” 

Hand in hand, you lead him to your room. Yoongi sees the white sheets and grins. White sheets are for him. Grey sheets are for clients, something you’d established in the infancy of whatever this relationship is. He appreciates the little layers of how you make things different for him. You make him feel special - and not the kind that he pays for. 

Falling backward into the bed, you look up at him with those fucking eyes that make him week in the knees. It’s dark in the room but he knows it well, standing at the foot of your bed and reaching down to snatch an ankle and pull you a bit closer. You squeal as he does, making a jolt of joy go through him, grinning. 

“How was your day?” he asks, lifting your foot to rest on his shoulder. He presses an innocent kiss to your ankle and he watches your brows furrow. “What?”

“Are you a foot person?”

“What if I was?”

You shrug a shoulder, watch him trail kisses down your calf. He nips the meat of your leg, an innocent bite but one that makes your leg twitch. “I’d say I’m surprised to learn something new about you after three years.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi lowers himself so that he’s on his knees, the carpet pressing into his slacks. The back of your knee fits perfectly over his shoulder, your leg resting along his back. You lean up on your elbows and look down at him, watching him settle between your legs. “Think you know everything about me, huh?”

Yoongi’s hands feel your warm skin. He marvels at the softness of your thighs, stroking his hands back and forth. Looking at you, he raises his brow in question. You’re too distracted by the feeling of his hands. It stirs something in him, and he cruves his fingers, dragging his blunt nails softly against your skin.

“Feels good,” you mumble, half-lidded. “I do know everything about you, Min Yoongi.”

“That so?”

“Yes. I could eat your heart if I wanted to.”

Yoongi’s stomach flips at how right you are, at how much you know it. Your confidence in his feelings never fails to make him feel like he is cut open and laid bare at your feet, waiting for you to step on him. To make him regret that vulnerability. 

You never do. At every turn, you’ve shown him that you won’t take advantage. That you have no desire to use the fact that one of the most powerful men in the city is in the palm of your hand. Power for the taking. You could wield him like a weapon, he thinks, and yet you don’t. All you want from him is for him to speak freely, to kiss you often, and to hold you tightly. 

So he does. 

Yoongi presses kisses up the softness of your thighs. You drop from your elbows to lay flat on your back again, your breath catching. He watches raptly at the rise and fall of your chest as you gasp a little. He knows exactly what you like, reaching for your sleep shorts to pull them off slowly. 

Tonight, he has nowhere else to go. Neither do you, letting him lean further up between your legs to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against your hips. You squirm a little, sensitive in the hip area. He loves it - would die for it - letting his tongue slip between his teeth to lave over your hot skin to soothe stinging flesh where he’s nipped you. 

His hands are familiar with every dimple in your skin and every curve. He traces them as he pulls your shorts down, grabbing the elastic band of your underwear as he does. He throws them on the floor, hands settling on the inside of your knees as he presses you open, dropping his eyes to your wet folds. 

Yoongi groans. You’re always so eager for him. That’s never been an illusion, the way your cunt drips slowly down to the curve of your ass at the most innocent of touches from him. It fuels Yoongi’s ego, knowing he has this effect on you. Knowing he’s the only one who can get you trembling in anticipation just by kissing the inside of your knees. 

He made the mistake only once asking if you ever get off with your other clients. The flash of anger and irritation had never made him ask again, but you at least gave him an answer: no. 

Thinking back on it now, Yoongi doesn’t know why he asked. He doesn’t care who you have before or between. All he cares about is being in the darkness of this room, your scent heady, his head shadowed between your legs. 

Leaning forward, Yoongi drags the flat of his tongue up your cunt slowly. You let out a moan and he hums, closing his eyes. He’s been craving your sweet tang all day, the tip of his tongue lingering just under your clit before he drags around it, missing your bundle of nerves on purpose. You let out a sound but he grins, removing his tongue to return to tracing sloppy kisses on your legs instead. 

Already lightheaded, he grounds himself by sliding his hands along the outside of your thighs, gripping you here and there as he lavishes you with attention. He knows he’s tired, but he at least wants this. Wants to taste you before bed, to have you melt in his mouth, fingers in his hair. He needs it. 

Yoongi doesn’t dip into the drugs that his operation injects into the streets. He doesn’t need to. There’s nothing that makes him forget who and where he is the way you do. Nothing that amounts to feeling your soft skin beneath his palms, smelling the barest hint of sweat beneath your vanilla perfume.

When Yoongi gets a taste of you, it’s an instant high. He feels lost, hands skimming up your thighs to hold your hips to the bed. Your hands seek his, linking your fingers and pressing your joined hands to your hips as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh.

This is why he keeps coming back. The intimacy. The reassurance that this is something more than an accident that Yoongi stumbled on a few years ago. That this is more than the roll of bills he will leave on the nightstand tonight, even when you say not to. 

There is nothing else he needs in these stolen moments with you. 

“Yoongi,” you murmur, voice soft. He hums in response. “Please, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Good,” he shoots back, biting your knee. You twitch and curse at him, making him laugh. Your glossy cunt is a sure sign that you’re not lying, though. Clit swollen, hole clenching. “Fuck, you have such a wet pussy.” 

“Then put your fucking mouth on it, Yoongi.” 

He laughs. “As you wish, Angel.” 

A breathy whine in the shape of Yoongi’s name leaves your mouth when he starts to eat you out properly. He takes his time, eyes closed as he indulges, tongue rolling up and down your slick pussy. You turn liquid in his mouth, your hips canting as he flicks his tongue across your clit. You shiver in his hands and he grins, gently sucking your clit into his mouth. 

“Yeah,” you pant. “Fuck, like that.” 

Alternating between fastening his mouth on your pussy to suck gently and sliding his tongue into your hole, Yoongi goes with what he knows makes you a mess. Holds out his tongue and lets you fuck yourself against his face, your hand coming to grip his long hair. 

The wet slide of you against his face makes him ache in his pants. He ignores it, determined to hold you still as he buries his face in deeper, picking up the firmness and pace of his mouth and tongue. He feels your essence drip down his chin and his neck. Hears the squelch when he thrusts his tongues into your pussy. Can’t get enough of the way your thighs close around his head, muffling the sound of you whining and saying his name.

Yoongi’s scalp stings when you pull his hair. He doesn’t care. He whips his head back and forth between your legs, tongue pressed against your throbbing clit. You’re shaking underneath him and he pushes you further, dipping low to slurp at your pussy bottom to top, not letting an ounce of you spill out. 

“Holy fuck,” you squeak, voice high-pitched as you arch off the bed. He looks up at you, mouth attached. “Your fucking mouth.” 

He grins, and leans into you further, pushes your thighs higher. Your legs bend easily under his weight. His hips are pressed against the foot of the bed now, hips rolling slightly, seeking for friction. His eyes close as he gets the barest bit of friction against his cock, more focused on making you come into his mouth than getting himself off.

When you come, your whole body goes taut. Yoongi holds you tight in his hands, mouth moving against you messily as he licks you through your orgasm. You dissolve in his mouth, making him hum against your heat. You twist in the sheets, body twitching, muscles flexing. He avoids your clit, thrusting his tongue into your entrance until you’re gasping for air, hands pressing against his head to get him to stop.

Yoongi removes his mouth with one, lascivious lick. He sits backwards on his feet, panting as he looks at you melt into the bed. Your limbs are lifeless and tangled in the blankets, your hand over your eyes as you catch your breath. You look fucking beautiful. 

“Come here,” you rasp, voice rough. 

The bed creaks under Yoongi’s weight. He walks over on his knees, drinking you in. Your cum slicks your thighs, shining in the barest shaft of light escaping the bathroom from a nightlight. You turn to face him, face balmy with sweat. You reach up and work the zipper on his pants, making his stomach flip.

“You don’t-”

“Shut up,” you growl, tugging the metal down hard. He smirks as you press your fingers into his hard shaft through the cotton of his briefs. “Wanna feel your cock in my throat. Can you fuck my mouth?” 

“Fuck yeah, Angel.” 

Yoongi nearly falls getting out of his pants. You laugh, the sound so sweet that he feels himself blush. He’s hot all over, coming alive in the darkness of your room as he strokes his cock. You look innocent, splayed on the bed and blinking up at him. 

Precum drips from his dark tip and you open your mouth, tongue catching it. He curses under his breath, entranced by the way your tongue disappears between your lips. You hum, a glint in your eye as you smirk at him. 

“Vixen,” he says, shaking his head.

“Give it to me.”

One day he thinks he’s going to die of loving you. He knows that this is what it is. It’s more than you opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue for him. It’s more than him letting you suckle on the tip of his cock playfully, his eyes fluttering shut and his thigh muscles twitching. 

Yoongi loves you. It is an incredibly simple fact in his over-complicated world. Among all of the shit and the moves and countermoves he deals with every day, coming here to simply be in love with you is a relief. A home. 

A shiver crawls up his back as he slowly inches his cock into your mouth. Your mouth is wet and warm, your tongue rough on the sensitive underside of his shaft. He keeps one hand on the base of his cock and the other on your jaw, keeping your mouth open to make the slide easier. 

Everything fades away again. Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath as you open up for him. When he touches the back of your throat, he’s careful at first. He knows you can take it. You’ve taken so much more from him, gone so much harder. He doesn’t want to go hard tonight though. He feels soft at the edges, your taste lingering in his mouth.

The wet sound of your throat convulsing around him making him stroke faster. He knows you’re okay, breathing heavily through your nose as you gurgle around him, spit and precum slicking his shaft as he pulls in and out, marveling at the way you look at him, eyes watering.

Your eyes fix on him. Yoongi clenches his teeth, trying not to burst in your mouth. It’s hard when you look at him like that, gaze so dark and hungry and fathomless. You’ve never said you love him. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows in the same way he is aware you know he loves you. He knows enough to trust you with him. With everything. 

There’s not a single doubt with you. It is a rare gift to share this open trust with someone, especially in his position. It is an added bonus that you know he loves it when you swallow around his cock as he presses into the back of your throat. The tight heat of your throat constricting around him does him in, and Yoongi comes with a growl.

You take it in stride, gulping. Taking it down. His eyes roll back in his head and he thinks that if he didn’t love you already, this alone would make him fall in love. 

Pulling out his softening cock, he falls backward on the bed. He’s still in the top half of his clothes, but he is exhausted, lashes fluttering. Your hands are delicate as you begin to pull the jacket from his body. He rolls to the side and lets you, lost in the daze of a much needed orgasm. He feels at ease now, more than he has all day. 

“Come on,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the spot under his ear. “Take a quick shower while I change the sheets, they’re sweaty. And I came on them.”

“I’d sleep in them anyway.”

“Hmm, too bad. Shower.”

“Meh.”

“Yoongi, you smell like a whore.” That makes him crack an eye and look at you. Your gaze is pointed. “And not like me. I don’t like it.”

“Huh. So you are jealous.”

“Get in the shower.” Your mouth twitches as you try to fight a smile. “Or else.” 

-

Getting up before the sun is your favorite thing. Even now, when you’re tired from being woken up in the middle of the night, you make an effort to crawl out of bed to make coffee. Your steps are heavy and you shiver in the freezing air of the kitchen as you open a drawer and pull out a coffee pod. You hold it up close to make sure you’ve got Yoongi’s favorite brand before sticking it in the machine and popping the lid down, punching the button to brew.

Yoongi is a sleeping mound in your bed. Leaning against the counter, you admire him from afar. He’ll be up soon, your body clock tuned to the hours of his operation. It’s been that way for over a year now, your circadian rhythm trained to be the most functional during the hours in which Yoongi is awake. 

When you were younger, you would have hated to admit that. Would have detested the thought of ever adjusting a single part of yourself for a man. Your entire job was to be moldable. To put on whatever face your client needed, to shape yourself into whatever person that you needed to be. 

You have been so many things. A wife. A mistress. A temptress. A lost loved one. And darker things still, sliding on the skin of client’s fantasies over-and-over again until you lost the substance that made up whoever you were for hours at a time. 

Back then, it would take hours and days to regain who you were. It wasn’t until you were more advanced that you were able to separate who you are from who you pretended to be. Now, it’s not necessarily. There is no other, no mask. Just you and Yoongi, the single client you decided was worth being moldable for.

The smell of coffee wakes him up before his alarm. You watch him sit up in bed, eyes not yet open. His hand spreads to where he expects to find you, only to discover open space. He swivels back and forth then, looking for you. Maybe a little panicked.

A pang aches your heart. It is so easy to forget that even after years of getting up before him first, Yoongi will never be trained out of the instinct that something of his has been taken. The day he doesn’t worry is the day he’ll lose everything and you know it.

“I’m over here,” you call gently. He relaxes and pulls himself together before getting out of bed and trudging out of the room.

Yoongi is pretty in the morning. His face is swollen with sleep, making him look so much younger. Like a dumpling, even. His mouth is fixed in a pout as he rubs at his eyes, steps uneven and dark hair sticking up all over the place. He looks at you, eyes glassy. The faded pink scar over his eye is less intimidating in the morning. You grin and open your arms. His reaction is automatic, sliding between them and sinking into your embrace, head thudding to your shoulder. 

“Hi,” you purr, your hands squeezing around his middle. His shirt is soft in your fingers as you play with the hem. He grunts back, not much of a morning person. You don’t mind. Instead, you let him lay his weight on you, unwilling to move even as the coffee finishes brewing. He smells like sage shampoo and something more unique to him. “You okay, sleepyhead?”

“Mhmm.”

“Can’t talk yet?” he shakes his head against you and you laugh. “Come on, coffee.” 

With Yoongi latched on to you, you walk over to the coffee maker. You giggle, elated as he clings to your front, letting you move him backwards. With his butt pressed against the counter and arms wrapped around you, you lean around him to grab the steaming mug and bring it in front of him.

Pouting, he drops his hands from you and takes it. 

Years of mornings and carefully pulling back layers of Yoongi has earned this rare silliness between you. You’re acutely aware of the fact that the sleepy man in front of you, no matter how soft and blushing he is in the mornings, is a murderer. He’s extorted people, has threatened them, sits at the top of drug trade, and has pushed people into political office with dirty money and blood. Your eyes linger on his scar, a memento of his violent youth. 

You don’t care. It doesn’t matter what Yoongi is and is not. All that matters to you is that he is Yoongi and that he is yours. At least, yours in the way it matters. You don’t dare ask him for more than what you have. It is the one thing you’re afraid of, because even though you know that he loves you, that you know he trusts you, asking for more is something you don’t want to do. Too many people want more of him. You just want whatever you can have. 

As he sips his coffee, careful not to let it spill over and burn you while you bury yourself in snuggling him, you close your eyes. A couple of years ago, you didn’t think a life like this was possible. Getting in at the Red was the first step in the right direction. Though still for sex workers, it was an upper level platform in the industry you clawed your way to. 

Both of you are similar in that regard. Yoongi started from nothing. A poor boy who dropped out of school to work a job and help pay rent at his apartment, too uneducated with not enough resources to make a dent in the world. It was the same story for you, though perhaps a little bloody around the edges, a hand that started selling you before you could make the choice yourself. 

At the thought of your mother, you feel your jaw clench. The bite of the memory is only soothed by the knowledge of Yoongi putting her down himself. Perhaps it makes you a monster, but you’ve accepted that long ago you were what the world crafted you to be, and you wouldn’t apologize.

If you were Yoongi’s shield, he was your sword. You protected him from the weight of his atrocities, and he slayed your monsters. 

It’s what drew Yoongi to you in the first place, the unapologetic approach to life. You appreciate it in him too. He doesn’t try to pretend that he is more or less than what he is, and you never try to hide the ugly parts of yourself. 

And here he is anyway, coffee-warm lips pressed against your forehead. It almost makes you ask for more, but you don’t. This is enough for now. 

The room at the Red isn’t where you live, but it’s yours in everything except lease. You long stopped using it for its intended purposes, now pleased to use it as a neutral ground to meet Yoongi and to stay where you know he is safe. His sprawling estate under guard and gun is surely safe enough, but you like having Yoongi where you can see him. 

After a mostly innocent shower together, Yoongi gets dressed and kisses you goodbye after you walk him down. It’s still dark outside when you swipe your security key. He puts on his biker helmet and gives you a little salute before jogging down the alleyway, splashing into the morning and vanishing around a corner. 

You linger for a moment, watching the empty space where he vanished. It would be nicer to be somewhere you didn’t have to escort him out. Somewhere you could be together all the time. You don’t think Yoongi would say no if you invited him over to your apartment, but you don’t have the security and the heavy protection that the Red offers. 

Collecting your things, you scribble a note for the cleaner before heading out. You’ll only return to the room if Yoongi intends on swinging by again. Though it is more than a suitable place to spend all your time, you like your small apartment tucked downtown above a coffee shop. It has a hominess that feels more like you. That is a little less sterile. 

Sun cracks over the city, spilling light like yolk over the buildings. You shield your eyes as you make your way down the sidewalk, shafts of light falling between buildings. The subway is full of people heading to work. Everyone shuffles without speaking, some buttoning collars of uniforms while others close their eyes in seats, headphones snug over their head. 

The lull of the train as it starts makes you drowsy, but you fight to stay awake. Now that you don’t spend hours sleeping in and recovering from servicing clients late into the night, you value your mornings. Want to be the kind of person whose business hours are during the day, to feel the sun on your skin. 

At your stop, you disappear in the flow of people going up the steps. The concrete above is still wet from the rain the night before, your steps tapping wetly as you go. It’s still summer, but the wind in the shade is cool as you enter the parking garage of your building, heading toward the elevator. 

It’s mostly empty, people having left for work already. There’s a single black SUV by the elevator that you don’t recognize, the windows too dark to see inside. As you approach the car, you realize that it’s on, idling quietly. 

Years of living in the wrong part of town have you slowing your steps. Your eyes flicker to the plate to see a metal shield over it, hiding the numbers on the vehicle. The back of your neck tingles. You come to a full stop, staring at the running vehicle. No one makes a move to get out and there’s no indication that someone is inside.

While you don’t live in the luxurious part of town, your neighborhood is relatively safe. It’s not without instances, but you live deep into Yoongi’s territory, his foothold on this block strong. You’ve never had to worry about walking down the road by yourself at night or making it to your apartment when drunk.

Now, you’re worried. Instinct needles you sharply. There is no reason to think the SUV means you any harm, but something is screaming at you to walk away. 

Then the elevator opens and a normal looking man and woman exit. They don’t pay you any mind as they get into the vehicle, shutting the back door. Your nerves ease and you laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. There’s no reason for anyone to be doing something nefarious this early in the morning. 

Shaking yourself out of it, you walk the rest of the way to the elevator. As you reach your hand to press the button to call the elevator car, you hear the sound of the car doors opening. You whip your head to look over your shoulder as men get out of the passenger seat and the back seat.

Instinct kicks in. You turn and run, screaming shrilly for anyone that can hear you. They take off after you, steps thundering against the pavement as the SUV squeals its tires to back out of the spot and peel after you. There’s nowhere to go but out into the street. You head for the sidewalk only to be snatched from behind and lifted off your feet.

You react immediately. You throw your elbow back, connecting to one of the men’s faces. He screams and you hear bones crunch. He drops you but your knees buckle, a mix of fear and lack of coordination making you fall to the ground. The other man is on top of you, pressing you into the ground as you scream savagely, kicking your limbs to wiggle out of his grip. 

He grabs your hair and pulls. You yell out, eyes smarting from the sting in your scalp as he then shoves your face into the ground. It hurts. Pain blooms in the side of your face. You’re aware of tiny pieces of gravel digging into soft skin, cutting up your face. The sting is small in comparison to the throb that pulses through your cheekbone as he grinds your face into the pavement. 

Screams echo in the garage as you’re yanked backwards. There are several hands on you, grip like iron. You snarl and yank your limbs to no avail. Just as you’re pulled into the interior of the car, a piece of cloth is slapped hard against your face. You gasp in surprise, a pungent smell filling your nose before you feel a swift fog take over, your mind fading until there is nothing left. 

-

Pain. It’s the first thing you feel when you come to. It’s a slow sort of drift toward awareness, like sluggishly swimming to the surface of a deep lake. You manage to drag yourself there, but immediately want to sink back into the nothingness again once you feel how much you hurt. 

Your face perhaps hurts the most. Not only does your skin burn, but it feels like you’ve been rocked with a cinderblock on the left side of your face. You dully recall having your head pressed into the concrete with near bone-breaking force. It explains why when you open your eyes, the left feels a little swollen. 

The room you’re in is empty. Your shoulder muscles are on fire, hands tied behind your back in the chair you’re sitting in. It’s hard to pinpoint what hurts worse, body littered with bruises and injuries. Still, you’re alive and that has to count for something. 

A man leans against the wall across from you. He watches you curiously. When you become aware of him, you straighten a little in the seat. Your ass tingles with the numbness of sitting there for who knows how long, and your biceps strain with the movement, making you hiss. 

“I’d like to untie you,” the man offers. “But I need a guarantee that you’ll behave.”

You want out of the ropes, so you nod your head. He nods once and pushes off the wall, walking over to you. You use the nearness of his proximity to gather as many details as you can: Patek watch, a basic model. He smells like mandarin and something spicy like pepper - maybe an Arabian fragrance. The suit he’s in is well-tailored and when he pulls a knife out of his pocket to cut the ropes around your wrist, you see a mother-of-pearl handle. 

Money. This man has money. 

Relief makes you sigh, melting into the chair when the pressure in your shoulder blades releases. You immediately lift your hands and place them into your lap, rubbing your trembling fingers across your palms, pressing firmly to encourage blood flow. Your handles tingle as the circulation begins to return to normal, though you can’t make a fist or move all of your appendages immediately. 

The man backs away and leans against the wall once more. He’s incredibly handsome, the kind of guy who might be an actor or in the movie industry, perhaps. You continue to assess him, placing him a few years older than yourself. His hands are linked in front of him. No marriage ring, no tan to indicate there was once a band there either. 

The expensive cologne matched with the watch leads you to believe someone else picked them out, which leaves you with two options: a lover or a sales associate. Judging the make of the watch, you know it doesn’t look like a limited edition series, so not a very personal gift, if a gift at all. And while the cologne smells expensive, it’s too spicy for a day scent, indicating that he doesn’t have someone to tell him the difference between night and daytime colognes.

If you have to guess, they’re things he’s purchased himself on the advice of a sales associate or because of the amount of numbers on the price tag. It’s a habit that comes with new money.

“I apologize for the roughness,” he offers. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you.”

“Intent matters little. Results matter a lot.”

“Well said.”

Feeling starts to come back to your hands as you flex them. You’re in some sort of construction building. It looks like maybe an apartment building in the making, with plastic tarps covering the windows and metal scaffolding exposing unfinished concrete. Outside, you think you faintly hear the sound of docks and workers.

“Do you know where we are?”

You look him up and down. “We’re in a building. You’re against a wall, and I’m in a chair.”

He scoffs. “Smart mouth.”

“You asked a question.”

“So I did. We’re in a building that was supposed to be my next venture. Someone, however, got in the way and created a bunch of red tape with the city. Now my funding has been slashed and this building has been sitting unfinished for a year, draining me of my property taxes.”

“Well,” you deadpan. “I’m a whore, not a lender. I can’t get you a loan.”

He grins, but you can’t tell if he’s amused. “You’re not just any whore though, are you? I have on good authority you service high profile clients. One of your clients is the reason this building is stuck in paperwork, and now he wants to take even more from me. I can’t let that happen.” 

Yoongi. He’s talking about Yoongi and you know it. You try not to squirm in your seat, meeting his dark eyes head on. Your mind is trying to make decisions and keep up as much as possible, funneling through the list of names Yoongi has mentioned, anything at all that can give you a leg up.

“High profile clients are where the money is,” you admit. You think perhaps this man is Kwan Daehyun, whom Yoongi has been playing chess with for the better part of a year. “I don’t like to sell information on my clients, but I suppose you know that since you kidnapped me.”

“Consider the sales price on this particular client’s information to be your life. I just need a little bit of information, and you’re free.”

You shrug. “You’ve got me there. What do you want to know?”

“Min Yoongi.” You continue to stare at him, giving away nothing. Your heart is racing in your chest and you try to keep your hands from shaking. When you continue not to answer, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. “What can you tell me about his weaknesses?”

You can’t help it, you laugh. Kwan frowns as you giggle. It hurts to laugh, face bursting with pain as you catch your breath and shake your head. “What a cheesy fucking questions. What, you think I just have a list of things that can hurt Min Yoongi?”

“I know how pillow talk goes. He must talk about his stress. Brag about his assets. What else do men go to whores for?”

“To get their cock sucked, usually.”

Kwan pushes off the wall and storms toward you. You sneer up at him, a little less afraid of him now. He appears small and gutless to you, kidnapping a sex worker to ask for pillow talk secrets to gain a fucking advantage. It means he has nothing on Yoongi and has resorted to pisspoor tactics to get anything usable against Yoongi.

Though how he managed to get to you is unsettling. You’re unsure how he made the connection, or how long he has been watching Yoongi. You find that to be the most irritating, to know that Yoongi has been under surveillance for any period of time. Not that you’ve been smacked around and put in an abandoned building on threat of murder. 

“I will fucking kill you.” 

There is truth in his words. Questioning you is a desperate attempt, but perhaps not his only. It occurs to you that he doesn’t thin you hold any value beyond questioning you, and though he’s said he’ll spare you life, you don’t think that’s true. He only sees you as a vacuum for information, and if you don’t have it or you give it to him, he’ll kill you.

You need to be valuable. And fast. 

“Kill me and you ruin any chance of that deal with him.” Kwan hesitates, eyes darkening as the words spill out of your mouth, “In fact, that was probably already off the table as soon as you had me physically harmed and dragged into a car here. So now, you should stop asking me about what Yoongi’s weaknesses are and start asking, what will Min Yoongi do if you call him and tell him who you kidnapped and tied to a fucking chair.” 

Kwan narrows his eyes. You see him assessing the weight of your words. You fight the urge to leap at him and reach for the folding knife in his pocket. Just because you can’t see a gun doesn’t mean there’s not one, and just because you can’t see or hear anyone else in the building doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Outside you can hear the cry of a seagull. When you breathe in, you smell ocean water and salt. Definitely keeping you in a building by the docks. You think you know the one. Kwan takes a few steps back from you and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“You think he gives a shit if I have you?”

“You asked for Yoongi’s weakness. You’re looking at it.” 

“I think you’re bullshiting me. I think you’re a whore he won’t deal for.”

“One way to find out, right?”

Instead of answering, Kwan turns on his heel and walks towards the opaque tarp. He walks through it and two men replace him at the entrance. Both of them are armed, staring down at you. Ignoring them, you roll your neck in slow circles, trying to ease the soreness.

Tentatively, you reach a hand up to your face, pressing your fingers into your cheek. You hiss, the pain still raw and present underneath your fingers. You can feel small scabs from where the gravel broke skin, but thankfully it doesn’t feel like your eyes are too swollen. 

Time passes. You remain in the chair, fidgeting now that you’re awake. Your tongue is heavy in your dry mouth and your lips begin to burn from wetting them constantly, only to be dried out by the salty air. You feel itchy and irritable, trying not to squirm too much in the chair lest you disturb the guards.

Most of all, without having to put on a brave performance, you feel afraid. Afraid of being here by yourself in this warehouse, afraid that you’ve made a mistake trying to make yourself valuable, afraid that Kwan isn’t going to give you a chance to talk to Yoongi as proof of life. 

You’re not versed in this part of Yoongi’s life. So much of his business has been held separate from you. The violence and the extortion and the sketchy deals have always been something he did outside of that room at the Red. You’re not afraid of this life, though. Just unprepared and trying to guess what to do next, fueled by poorly written crime movies and stories that Yoongi has told you in the warmth of your bed.

It feels like hours have gone by when Kwan comes back into the room. You sit up straight when you see the phone in his hand and see the fire in his eyes. He looks like a man who has had something go right - which means you have him right where you want him, if he’s doing what you think he is. 

Kwan holds out the phone to you. “You have five minutes to talk to him as an act of good faith on my proposal.”

You see Yoongi’s name on the caller idea and try not to start crying. Swallowing thickly, you lick your lips again and bring the phone up to your ear. The tremble in your hand and your voice isn’t a performance when you say, “Hello?”

“Where are you? He hasn’t told me.”

“Yeah, I’m alive.” You sniff a little. “Agh, don’t make me cry. My face will get saltier than it already is.”

“I need more than that, Angel. He’s trying to make deals with me, but I need to know where you are to come get you. He won’t tell me where you’re at unless I wire over money and legally sign over assets.”

“No, he hasn’t hurt me. He’s been polite, though I’ve been kind of a beach- bitch. I’ve been a bitch. Sorry, I’m very tired.”

“Is it the building in the warehouse district at the docks? That apartment shell?”

“Yes, I can do that. Just… please agree to whatever he says, I feel tired and loaded. Bloated. Sorry, I’m confusing words again.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got fucking guns too. We’re going to come get you okay?”

This time when you sniff, you feel actual tears. Of relief that he understands your weird turns of phrase, of the terror at knowing he’s going to have to come get you. To risk his life for you. You knew he would, and yet you almost hate to ask him. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’ll be okay, Angel, but I need you to listen.” 

“Okay.” 

His voice is firm as he says, “I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. Don’t think twice about it. It is you or them, do you understand me? There is almost a certainty you are going to have to kill someone when we come get you. Start thinking about it now. Try to get used to it so that when the time comes, you’re not afraid anymore.” 

“Okay. I love you.” 

“See you soon.”

-

Yoongi likes to think that he is an expert in control. His compartmentalization is unmatched, and though he is incredibly proud, his pride is not easily wounded. Foolish slights and insults don’t rile him the way they might have in his youth, and physical threats of harm are amusing, especially when no very few people carry through on their threat. 

When Yoongi hangs up the phone, he loses every ounce of control he’s ever felt. Never has his urge to destroy been so sharp. He sees red, slamming his hands across his desk and swiping everything off. He tastes metal in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, screaming as he hammers his fists on top of the desk hard enough that he thinks he might split the wood. 

Hoseok and Seokjin hear the commotion, crashing into the office with Namjoon and Jungkook behind them, weapons drawn. Yoongi is shaking when he looks up at them, the phone screen cracked in his hand. He cannot stop shaking, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a dose of heroin. 

All of their voices sound like a mess of sounds. The ringing in his ears overpowers everything they’re saying as he stands there, hands at his side, mind racing and chest heaving as he pants. Why is he panting? Yoongi feels like he’s suddenly not getting enough air, dropping his phone to loosen the tie around his neck, trying to give himself more room to breathe. Why do his clothes feel so fucking tight?

Suddenly it’s like there isn’t enough air in the room. Yoongi feels the tunnel vision come up on him fast. Chills spread through his body as he wavers, hands held out as he tries to catch his breath. He feels hands on him trying to steady him, but he yanks away from them. They feel too close, too much in his space and he needs more room. Room to get this blazer off and breathe. Breathe, why can’t he breathe? 

Yoongi stumbles into a wall. His vision pulses on the edges and he can vaguely make out Hoseok’s voice. He looks up at him and sees his friend, his advisor. Hoseok isn’t touching him, but his head is cocked as he tries to keep and maintain eye contact with Yoongi. 

“Inhale for seven seconds,” Hoseok says. “Then exhale for seven. I’ll count.”

“What?” Yoongi demands.

“You’re having an anxiety attack.” Hoseok states it as if it’s the most common thing in the world. “You have to regulate your breathing or you’re going to pass out. If you pass out, we can’t help.” 

It’s the only thing that gets him to listen. He counts with Hoseok, drawing in long breaths.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Yoongi has to shake this. Has to get ready and call his people, needs to make plans to come get you. He knows exactly where you are - wants to fucking kiss you for how clever you mange to be even while terrified. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

He knows you’re afraid. Yoongi has never heard your voice tremble like that since he’s known you. He knows every tone of your voice, every color to the spectrum of your sounds, able to pick them apart to know how you feel. And while you spoke in a clear tone, it was all wrong. Colored with terror. Voice soft and rough and wavering. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

The ringing in his ears fade. Yoongi continues to take slow, deep breaths. His hands are still shaking and he feels a little light headed, but when he blinks a few times and looks around, he sees his closest men and confidants standing around him, waiting. 

“Talk to us,” Hoseok urges. “What’s going on?”

“Kwan has my girl. They’re in that apartment project we froze in the docks.”

“He told you where they were?”

“No, she did.”

Hoseok looks weary. “That sounds like a trap - did he already offer you a deal?”

“He said several things. He didn’t tell me where they were, she did.”

“In front of-”

“Hoseok, stop asking stupid questions or I swear to fucking god I’ll hit you first. She’s not used to any of this, but she isn’t fucking stupid. She used the words salt, beach and loaded. They’re in that building and they’re armed.”

“Poetic,” Seokjin grunts. Yoongi cuts his gaze to his head of security and the man pales. “Sorry, bad timing.”

“Get every fucking person we know on the fucking ground and here. We’re going to get her.”

“They’ll see us coming from a mile away.”

Yoongi stares at Seokjin. “I don’t give a fuck. Kwan wanted to find a weakness, well he found one. And now I’m going to paint that shitty little development with his blood.”

An hour later is when it hits Yoongi. He stops in the middle of tying a shoe and he stands. He’s replaying the conversation with you over and over in his head, looking for any other details he could have missed. He was so fucking proud of you for getting your point across even while scared, but now it’s something else he thinks of.

I love you. He had almost not realized you said it at all at the end of the call. He can’t remember if he said it back, but he’s suddenly sick over the what if of it all. What if he doesn’t get to say it back? What if he gets there and swarms in, only to find you dead? 

In a moment of panic, he texts Hoseok to request proof of life on the hour every hour from Kwan under the guise of considering his horrendous deal. Kwan, of course, thinks he’s got Yoongi. He doesn’t, naturally. They haven’t agreed on a time or place to meet, and Kwan does not seem to understand just how poorly he’s miscalculated. 

None of it matters. All that matters is that Yoongi is going to come get you like he promised, and he is never letting you out of his sight again. 

-

Surprisingly, your living conditions change a little upon Kwan learning that you’re more valuable kept alive and in decent condition than beat up or dead. He has a cot and a fan brought in, along with an ice back for your cheek and a thermos of water.

You crush the thermos almost immediately. Though you’re kept under armed guards now, you’re relieved to be able to lay down and stretch your sore limbs. When the ice pack finally grows hot and melts on your aching cheekbone, one of the guards gets you a new one without question.

It almost makes you feel bad for what is to come. Almost. 

You know Yoongi. It’s why you gambled with a hostage play in the first place. He won’t let them have you and it doesn’t matter what Kwan offers him, Yoongi is far too powerful to accept deals from the likes of Kwan. It isn’t so much a matter of pride as it is a matter of power. You know Yoongi has the power to pull you out of this without further harm. 

At least, you have put every ounce of trust and confidence in him that you have. 

Time moves slowly. It’s hard to know how fast Yoongi will mobilize or what his plan is. It would make sense for him to perhaps cause a distraction elsewhere to get Kwan’s eyes off of you, but it’s also a dangerous game to play with a hostage. 

It doesn’t matter. Yoongi has his job and you have yours, which is to work the screw out of one of the cots joints. You’ve picked one that isn’t imperative to the overall structure of the cot. It can bear your weight without the screw as long as you don’t lean on the joint too much. It takes you a while to unscrew it with your bare fingers, all while lying on your back trying to look uninterested in anything.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

Finally, you pull the cool metal free. You slide it into the pocket of your sweatpants. The weight of it feels better than nothing. It won’t do much damage, but a well placed punch to the face with the screw between your knuckles will do what you need, even if you damage your hand to do it. 

You’ve never killed someone. Thought about it a few times, maybe. Had some people try to sway you to slip something into a client’s drink, but you never accepted. Killing isn’t your business. It’s Yoongi’s, but you know that if he’s telling you to take the chance, it’s because he wants you to live. 

The thought is chilling. You rest your hand on the pocket, feeling the shape of the screw. You don’t know how to kill. You’re not even entirely sure that you have it in you. You’ve seen people die and you’ve seen people murder. It seems easy.

You’re not sure if it’s that simple. 

It’s late into the night when a commotion draws you from your half-slumber. You lift your head as someone comes in and mutters something to the guards. They nod and one of them leaves, the other turning to face you with a glare, hand resting just inside his jacket where you assume there’s a gun.

Outside, you hear the sound of peeling tires as a car takes off. 

Nerves take over. You feel your heartbeat pickup as you continue to lay on the cot, one hand under your pillow. It’s hard to think of what might be happening over the sound of your own pulse, but you try to regulate your breathing. There’s nothing happening right that second that you can control, so there’s no reason to panic.

A few minutes go by. It’s agony, waiting with bated breath. It’s quiet outside except for the sounds of the ocean and the mostly empty warehouses and docks. Plastic snaps in the breeze, loud in the silence of your waiting. You think that this is the worst part, the anticipation for what’s to come. You can’t sleep now even if you tried. 

When the first round of gunfire comes, you almost lose control of your bowels. It’s a shameful sort of fear that takes you by surprise, making you freeze up. You have been waiting for it, and yet now that you can hear the sound of automatic weapons somewhere below, it feels worse than you imagined. 

Looking up at the guard at the door, you reel in surprise to see him rushing toward you. Time seems to slow down. The sound of guns and yelling fade to the background everything suddenly becomes hyper focused. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

As the guard leans to pick you up, you strike like a snake, pulling the screw from your pocket and jabbing upward with a savage scream.

His guttural cry splits the night. You feel hot blood spray your hand and dot your face as you plunge the blunt screw into his eye socket. Blood makes your fingers slippery and as he falls onto his back, hands clutching his face, you lose your grip. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

No hesitation. You dive for him, stained hands searching for the weapon. The metal of the gun slides in your slick fingers. Through the blinding pain, the guard realizes what you’re doing and grabs your forearms. You pull back against him but can’t shake his grip, your hand stuck in his jacket on the gun. You finger the trigger and squeeze, but it doesn’t budge. The fucking safety. 

Sliding a knee down, you crush the cap of your knee between his legs, pressing his balls with your full weight. He screams and his grip goes slack. You yank on the gun, almost dropping it as it slides free from the holster. Your grip is clumsy and shaking, your heart pounding so hard you think you might die of fright before you manage to find the safety on the hammer and pull it back. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

Click. Squeeze. Bang. 

You don’t aim. Don’t have the sense to at that moment. This close, you don’t have to aim at all. You hit your target and his yelling turns to shrieks. You can’t tell where you’ve shot him, all you know is that you have. You scramble away, hands slipping on the floor, gun clutched clumsily in your hand. 

A hand goes around your ankle and you scream as he drags you backward. You roll onto your back, bringing the gun up again, trying to aim in the general direction of his chest.

Squeeze. Bang. 

It’s so loud. Your ears are ringing and you’re unable to hear anything as the grip on your ankle immediately goes slack. The guard goes limp, the fight leaving him immediately. You don’t look - can’t look. Can’t focus on anything but the way your vision tunnels. 

Dizziness sweeps over you as you crawl away from him again. Your knees and palms might hurt if you could feel anything at all, but numbness starts to take over as you manage to press yourself against a wall near the doorway. You don’t dare move toward it, too untrained to handle a gun while terrified. 

“Angel!” you hear Yoongi’s voice screaming somewhere in the building. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Your lips tremble. You try to find your voice, willing the words to come. Mouth open, his name on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find a response. “Angel, come on, baby! Where are you?”

“Yoongi,” you whisper. It’s not nearly loud enough and your voice cracks on the name. You close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath as you muster strength behind your voice. “Yoongi!” 

“That’s it, keep talking to me.” 

It sounds like he is yelling somewhere down a stairwell, voice echoing up concrete walls. “Up!” You start to curl into yourself. “Yoongi, up!” 

Steps thunder in the stairwell. You drop the gun next to you and look at your hands. They’re slick and wet. In a panic, you start wiping them on your sweatpants, smearing red as you do. You viciously wipe your hands. You want the blood off, you don’t want it all over you, it’s hot and stick and it’s not yours and it belongs to the dead man who was trying to take you-

Warm hands grab your face and tilt you upward. You blink through blurry tears. Yoongi looks back at you, his forehead sweaty and his slicked back hair a little messy. He turns your face from side to side as more of his men flood into the room, guns raised.

Yoongi’s mouth moves but you can’t hear him. You shake your head, looking up at him. His grip softens and the gentle brush of his thumb back and forth across your face eases the rising panic inside of you. You sniff, taking a few slow, trembling breaths. 

“Are you seriously injured?” Yoongi asks again, voice rough. Cracking. “Do you need medical attention?”

“No.”

“The blood-” You shake your head violently, closing your eyes. “Okay. It’s okay. You did what you needed to do, Angel. I’m going to get you on your feet and take you home, okay?” 

“I don’t-”

“My home. Not yours. You’re coming home.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to explain what he means. As he slowly pulls you to your feet, you know what he’s telling you. You’re going to his estate, because it’s yours too now. The agreement is unspoken but mutual. You don’t want to go back to your apartment. You don’t want to go back to the Red. Right now, all you want is to wash the blood from your hands and get away from this place. 

Seokjin is at the door with a blanket. He wraps it around you as Yoongi keeps his hands around your waist, steadying you as you walk. You get down two levels of stairs before he tucks you into him and presses his lips against your temple.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, mouth moving against your skin. “I won’t let you trip.”

You do as you’re told. His steps are confident and careful as he leads you through the bottom floor. You hear the murmur of voices, the flapping of plastic tarp, and the humming engines of vehicles. Yoongi lifts you lightly and helps you get into the cool interior of a car that smells like leather. 

When the door shuts, you flinch and open your eyes, staring straight forward. Yoongi is next to you, arm going around your shoulders as he pulls you into his side again. You realize for the first time as you glance at him that there’s blood on his face and in his hair. His knee bounces up and down, his hand resting against it, still gripping a gun with the safety off. 

“Are we safe?” you whisper, staring at his gun. 

“Yes.”

“Then why-”

“It makes me feel better,” he admits. “I just need to come down.”

“Okay.” 

“Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are dark and though his mouth is pinched at the corners and the vein throbs in his forehead, his eyes are soft for you. “I love you,” he murmurs. “We’re safe.”

-

A week makes the pain in your cheekbone fade away. A week does not make the memory of squeezing the trigger fade. At night, the memory is worse. What your mind had been unable to remember at first comes back in full-clarity at night, gripping you in your sleep and dragging you down into an endless terror until Yoongi pries you from the clutches of your nightmares and wakes you. 

It’s easier with him by your side, though. You’re at least able to fall asleep, if not stay asleep through the night. When he wakes you from screaming and thrashing in the sheets, you’re able to settle against him, his hold on you firm. Comforting.

Yoongi takes this in stride. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t lose his patience. He simply murmurs that he gets it and holds you, his skin warm and smelling like home. 

Home. 

The estate is a sprawling mass of elegance that stuns you each day. Beyond the opulence of the home and the luxury that it offers, what matters most is the security. The personnel at every entrance, the high gate with cameras and alarms, the three lurking dobermans that still terrify you when you see them standing in a dark hall at night or watching you in the kitchen when you get a glass of water after a nightmare. 

Nox has come around to liking you, at least. She’s become your shadow in the house, which had made you a little unsure at first. Now, she trails you up the stairs and to the master bedroom. You’ve grown used to her - prefer it, even, when Yoongi is not home like right now. 

Erebus and Khonsu are on the floor of the master bedroom. Both watch you as you enter, unbothered but aware. Where their younger sister has adopted you as an owner and a thing to protect, they still seem set on Yoongi only. 

The three dogs remain in the bedroom as you end the bathroom. It makes you feel safe to know that even if someone managed to get through the gates, up the driveway, through the secured doors and the dozen people that Yoongi has stationed at the estate since your kidnapping, the dogs are another line of defense. 

So is the gun under the bathroom cabinet and in the nightstand, but you don’t want to touch a gun ever again. Not if the nightmares it gives are like this. 

Steam fills the room accompanied by the scent of eucalyptus. Carefully, you peel the clothes from your body and toss them into a corner. The stone shower is warm with heated floors and a digital panel both inside and outside for control of the fifteen different water settings. There’s even steam options, but you simply turn on the rain feature, slipping under the dripping ceiling. 

The hot, wet taps of the water lull you into a trance. You stand with your head tilted down, letting the rivulets of water run the full length of your body.

“Angel, I’m home,” Yoongi calls from the bedroom. You smile, appreciating that he announces his presence instead of sneaking up on you. He’s always careful to make noise when he enters rooms now and announces his arrival. “You just get in?”

“Yeah,” you call back. “Join me?”

“Give me five.” 

When he finally enters the bathroom, you turn around to look at him. He’s already pulling the tie around his neck loose, dropping it to the ground. You catch sight of the red across his knuckles. Though he is free of blood - an effort on his part now to bring it home to you - you notice the days where he comes home and his knuckles are split or bruised, hands aching. 

Watching Yoongi undress captures your full attention. His movements are slow and methodical. His back is to you, shirt dripping off his broad shoulders to join the tie on the floor. He looks up in the mirror and pauses, dark eyes catching yours. You raise a brow and gesture for him to continue. When he does, it’s with his tongue poking his cheek and a smirk. 

Knowing that you’re watching, Yoongi turns it into an art. His fingers trace the top of his slacks before he slowly undoes the belt, pulling it with a satisfying hiss through the loops before holding it out to the side and letting it clatter to the floor. Your eyes are zeroed in on his reflection in the mirror as he works the button open, peeling the top of his pants apart to reveal the logo of his briefs. 

Yoongi pauses. Your eyes dart up to his in the mirror to find him watching you, eyes dark. The scar looks menacing today. You squeeze your thighs together, chewing on your bottom lip. He notices, smirk growing as he rolls the slacks down his thighs and kicks them aside. You see the imprint of his half-hard cock in his briefs, your attention on him alone enough to get his blood pumping.

You’ll never get over having that effect on him. Knowing that even after the nightmares and becoming an inconvenience - in your eyes, at least - the chemistry between you isn’t gone. It’s still there, a burning candle. 

Slowly, Yoongi peels off his briefs. His heavy cock bobs as he steps out of them and you feel your pussy clench around nothing, just thinking about him stretching you open. He says nothing about the small bead of precum at the tip as he turns and walks over to the shower.

He’s built beautifully. Broad shoulders with a slim, tapered waist. Strong arms and large hands, firm chest and soft but muscular stomach. Yoongi is the perfect blend of pretty and rugged, a combination that you didn’t know existed until him. 

When he steps into the shower, you step further into the water, making room for him. He shuts the door and frowns at the distance between you, holding out his hand. You take it immediately and he pulls you forward, careful not to let you slip on the tile.

He doesn’t waste a moment. Yoongi’s mouth captures yours, wet from the shower water as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly. You hum, bringing your arms to loop around his neck, fingers combing through his wet hair. His cock presses against your lower stomach, and you shiver. 

Yoongi’s kisses are addicting. Slow, like he has all the time in the world, but hungry, like he can’t get enough. His tongue brushes the roof of your mouth, his teeth pulling at your lip again when he pulls his mouth away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. 

Tilting your head back, you let him pepper kisses along your throat. You close your eyes, letting him hold you to him. The room tilts as you sway in his arms, the feeling of him licking the hollow of your throat entrancing. It’s so simple yet it feels so good. 

One arm loops around your waist to keep you pressed to Yoongi, his other slides up your wet skin to cup your breast. You let out a breathy moan when you feel his thumb circle your stiff nipple, the stimulation so bare but so good. 

Yoongi keeps you cradled against him, mouth working your neck and shoulder and back up to your mouth while his thumb lazily plays with your nipple. You're pliant in his arms, letting him do whatever he wants with you.

His mouth starts to descend and when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth, you can’t stop the whine that escapes you. He hums as he sucks gently, tongue flicking back and forth over the peak. You can’t help but twitch in his arms, a ripple of pleasure sliding through you. 

Heat pulses between your legs and you feel the slick gathering in your folds. Your legs squeeze together again as Yoongi drags his teeth over your sensitive nipple before letting go and switching to the other. This time, he looks up at you through dark, wet lashes, sticking out his devilish tongue as he uses the tip to trace your skin.

“Show off,” you mutter, voice shaking. 

He laughs and runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple before giving a sharp suck that has you arching into him. “You love having your tits in my mouth,” he shoots back. He bites the top of your breast softly, teeth scraping your soft skin. “Don’t deny it.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Hmmm.” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he teases. The hand around your back slides down to your ass. He grabs a handful, squeezing generously. “Can you turn around for me? Legs spread so I can see that pretty pussy.” 

“Fuck.” 

He drops his arms so you can turn around. You press your palms against the wall, shivering as the cold tile leeches the warmth from you. The temperature difference makes the room tilt. You slide your legs apart and stick your ass out toward him, lifting a little. 

“Fuck yeah.” 

You can’t see him, but you feel him as he slides down to his knees. His palms grip your ass, spreading your cheeks open. You close your eyes and let your head hang between your arms when it feels too heavy to hold up yourself. 

“Just want a quick taste,” Yoongi mutters.

“Shiiiit,” you hiss, feeling his tongue dance up and down your cunt. He licks you in broad, slow stripes before he puts his entire mouth on you and sucks sharply. “Just like that.” 

“Fuck.” The smack of his lips against your wet heat are bracketed by the slick sound of him stroking his cock, the filthy sounds echoing in the shower. “I could eat you out every day.”

“You do.”

“Fine.” His tongue zigzags back and forth, reaching to swirl around your click. He kisses your cunt and stands up. “I’ll make it twice a day, then.” 

The blunt head of his cock slides between your folds. You press back toward him, eager to have him push in and split you open. He tuts at you, giving you a gentle smack on your ass. “Eager.”

“I’ve been waiting all fucking day for it, Yoongi. Give it to me.” 

“Mmm.” 

The feeling of Yoongi sinking his cock into you slowly drives you mad. You feel like you can’t breathe, every inch of his thick length stretching your walls to the max. It feels like he’s in your guts when he bottoms out, the pressure immense and good and dizzying. 

He starts slow, giving a few shallow thrusts as you adjust to be pried open. You relax around him, falling into the pleasure as he begins to fuck you in earnest. Hands on your waist, he pulls your ass backwards, meeting every one of his strokes in a loud, wet smack of hips on ass.

A shiver ripples down your spine and you moan when he adjusts the angle, prodding your g-spot. “Yeah?” he asks through gritted teeth. “That the spot?”

“Yes, please fuck me just like that.”

Nothing else exists beyond this. The steam makes your skin even hotter, cloying the air and making it hard to breathe. It makes everything fuzzy, like you’re drifting in and out of reality, pleasure unfolding in you as you squeeze around his cock. 

Each snap of his hips is punctuated with stilted breath. You’re gasping, thighs burning as you take every inch of him, fingers curling against the wall, eyes rolling back as you fall into a mute space. You make sound but no words come out, the pressure against that spot inside of you driving you mad. 

Yoongi slides a hand from your waist over the curve of your ass and between your cheeks, thumb pressing gently on the rim of your ass. You let out a loud moan, fingers trying to grab the wall to no avail. The new stimulation feels delicious, Yoongi’s thumb pressing against your asshole in time with his strokes. He doesn’t push past the ring of muscles, but it doesn’t matter - it’s enough to send you careening closer to your orgasm, toeing the line of insanity. 

“Fuck, Angel,” he pants, fucking into you harder. “Just like that, make it fucking creamy. You gonna come?” 

“Fuuuuck yeah.”

His thumb presses harder against your rim. “Come on, give it to me.” 

“Shit shit shit shit.” 

You lose the ability to say anything. Your body folds forward, only held up by Yoongi and the press of the freezing cold wall as he fucks you with precision. It sends you over the edge, your knees knocking as you come, fists pressing into the wall as you yell through it. 

The sound of the shower is drowned out by your babbling. Yoongi thrusts hard a few more times, hand slipping away from your ass to grip your waist hard, chasing his high. He comes with a loud curse, fingers digging into your skin. 

For a moment, he leans into you, pressing his cock as far in as he can go. Your pussy throbs around him, every pulse ebbing around him. He presses kisses up your spine, hands sliding up your ribs to pull you upright until your back is against his chest. 

“Fuck,” he pants, voice rough. “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

“I’ve always been yours.”

“I mean entirely. Without sharing.”

You pause, looking up at him with a frown. “You know I haven’t been… taking clients for two years, right?”

He pauses. “What?”

“You stupid boy,” you laugh, laying your head against his shoulder. “Of course I wasn’t. I just wanted you.” 

“Then why stay there?”

You shrug a shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. The warmth of the orgasm blooms through you, Yoongi’s skin hot against your back and  the shower hotter still. “It was a place I knew you’d be safe when you visited. And I didn’t want to ask you for more. Everyone always wants more from you. I just wanted you.”

“All that time, I could have just… asked you to come home?”

“Yes. But it’s okay. I’m home now.”

He kisses your neck. “You are home, Angel.” 

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #suga fic #suga fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #mafia yoongi #mafia bts #minors dni #minors do not interact #halis happy agust

[earthtooz]

x : CHANGE YOUR MIND ! :*+ﾟ

in which: it's 2 am and itoshi sae is outside your door, hoping for a second chance.

warnings: 1.2k words, angst to fluff with hurt/comfort, happy ending, exes to lovers, not at all realistic but it's itoshi sae ok and we're delusional, ooc!sae

a/n: second second chance romance fic for sae LOL he's just too easy to write for when it comes to exes to lovers. idk why the banner is so low quality but enjoy!

you wonder where itoshi sae finds the nerve. after breaking up with you six months ago ‘for the sake of his career’, you never thought sae would have the gall to show up at your apartment, let alone at 2am, rudely disrupting your sleep.

yet, here he is. a soccer prodigy and superstar in the flesh, standing under the harsh lighting of your apartment hallway that always casts an ugly glow on everyone except sae.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, gripping the door handle a little tighter.

“i just got off the plane,” he answers, evading your question. 

“i know. i can see your suitcases.”

he doesn’t say anything more after that. before the breakup, you were able to read the untouchable itoshi sae, translating his stiff silences into words he could never say but wholeheartedly mean, breaking through his ego to then understand the messages of his heart. he only hopes that you can interpret the one he’s brought to you right now.

“can i come in?” asks the athlete, his question shy and lacking the usual demand that sits in his tone.

still, you furrow your eyebrows and stand your ground. “why on earth would i let you in?”

softness is a weapon that itoshi sae owns. he knows that with his typical hardened exterior the best way he can get through people sometimes is with pliability. even you have fallen for it.

he frowns, “because i’m tired and i want to sleep.”

“don’t you have your own five star hotel that your manager booked for you?” 

“can i just come in?”

the nerve. “itoshi, please leave.”

“i will, i will, but will you hear me out first?”

“what could you possibly have to say that you didn’t befo-”

“-i love you.”

the world stills.

the air around you becomes delicate and you’re too scared to breathe in fear of disrupting the silence, but it feels like the floor beneath you just crumbled and you’re falling through the debris. you’re falling and the only thing you can do is search for sae in the chaos. 

but you don’t hold on to him. no, not this time.

“that’s not fair, that’s not fair at all, sae, you can’t-” a sob tears your words apart, “-you can’t break my heart then come back six months later to tell me that you apparently love me, do you know how hard it was for me to just- ugh!”

in a fit of exasperation, you leave your post at the door and retreat back into your apartment. sae quietly slips through the crack you left open, closing the door with a soft click and you don’t even have the energy to chase him out. he even left his suitcases outside- not that anyone would take them at 4 in the morning. 

“you left me so abruptly and carelessly. we were together for almost a year, sae, yet you threw me aside, called me a burden and moved on with a snap of your fingers! was it easy? moving on like that?” 

instead of flinching at your yelling, sae simply stands at the entrance and accepts it, letting your words prick his skin and sink into him as if would make up for the pain you’ve been bathing in. 

“do you know what that did to me?” your voice is quiet now, turned down a few notches. 

he knows. he knows that you’ve been trying to get over it and not let the breakup impact your life too much, despite what he did. you’ve been going out with friends, treating yourself to everything you deserve, and finding a peace that he’s proud of you for. but sae also knows about the many nights you’ve spent crying and being sensitive to loving again, he hears about all of it from rin who lectured him when he first broke up with you and most likely, will lecture him again when he hears about sae’s unplanned visit.

sae was stupid and naive, but you were the first person he ever loved, and the world is colourless without your splash of influence. 

sae knows he shouldn’t be here existing in your space after everything, however, the instant he stepped off the plane, the first thing his heart wanted was to see one of the few things he loves about japan, you. 

“-so, please, just leave me alone and don’t come back,” you request.

the last thing sae is good at is following instructions, especially ones he doesn’t like.

“but, i love you,” he tries again. you fall to the couch with a defeated sigh, his persistence impaling your heart. 

“stop it.”

somehow, he’s now standing beside you. “do you still love me too?”

“sae-”

“-if you don’t love me anymore i’ll leave.”

with your head in your hands, you lie to him, “i don’t want you to stay either way.”

“another chance, i’ll make it right, i’ll fix it with my life, y/n, just please say you love me too.” 

“you’ll hurt me again.”

“i won’t,” he falls down onto the couch beside you, enveloping you with his frame. “i’ll be good and you can kill me if i’m not.”

you laugh. it’s dry and reserved, but you’re laughing and he begins rocking you side to side. “i don’t want to kill you.”

“rin will, then.”

you take your face out of your hands, looking at him properly for the first time since he arrived. “i-i don’t know, sae. you’ll leave again when you decide that you don’t want me.”

he doesn’t know how to tell you that whilst abroad, all he could think about was you. that during the mundane chores, the tedious trips to and from training, and all the times that he had won a match, he was thinking about you. 

he thought about you in the music he played whilst cleaning, he thought about taking you to a restaurant he saw whilst on the way, and his thoughts about you are loudest when he has a medal around his neck yet all he wants to know is whether or not you’re watching.

but you’re not beside him singing along whilst he was mopping his floors, you weren’t there in his car pointing out every fun detail you saw, and he didn’t even know if you wanted anything to do with soccer after what him. 

everytime, the yearning for you would grow, to the point that it lead him here when he should have gone to the hotel to wash up and sleep off the tiring trip instead.

but sitting here now and looking at your tear-stained face, he knows he’ll always prefer you- he’ll always find and choose you, so long as you let him. 

“give me another chance,” and i’ll show you that i’ll never leave again.

“fine,” you surrender after a moment of silence and sae feels like he could jump to the moon. “but we take things slow-”

“-i love you,” he repeats, grabbing your face and pushing you down on the couch, peppering an endless stream of kisses on your skin. sae’s outburst of affection and happiness is uncharacteristic but contagious. “i love you, i love you, i love you.”

between each declaration is sae kissing a new part of your face, showering your cheeks, forehead, nose- everywhere with unbridled adoration that he has been keeping locked up for too long. you’re real between his hands, you’re real in his hold, you’re real beneath him, and he doesn’t want this dream to end. his kisses feel like healing promises and you melt right into them. 

“i get it!” you giggle out, hands on his shoulders as to wrestle him off. “you don’t need to keep telling me, and promise me that we’re going to take it slow-”

a cold tear slides down your cheek, silencing your giggles. it’s not you who’s crying though, so you hug sae a little tighter.

something tells you that this second chance won’t backfire.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

#sae x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff #sae fluff #itoshi sae fluff #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock

[theircurse-archive3]

           OOC tags !

#╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ Literally in stray dogs hell for like four years. ✘ OOC. #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ I’ll put a curse on that beautiful mind of yours. ✘ ASK. #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ So that you’ll suffer forever in the afterlife and the next. ✘ ANON. #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ Oni — san; come here where I clap my hands. ✘ BOOST. #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ No matter how you escape; I will catch you. ✘ S.BOOST. #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ Countless hands squirm and reach out from the mirror. ✘ PROMPTS. #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ Someday I won’t look back on all this pain and sorrow. ✘ SAVED. #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ My own fingers stained with red; tangle up with yours instead. ✘ GAMES. #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ Screaming breaks the silence; No reliance on my fading sanity. ✘ QUEUE. #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ Chaos ! Chaos ! I’m happy the world is going to end ! ✘ DASH COMM.

[neonghostlights]

I promised some people I would give this a happy ending

part one here

You found yourself in a motel somewhere between the wedding venue and Hawkins.

You had driven for what felt like hours, until the night time world maybe your eyes feel heavy and driving got too dangerous even with the cold air blowing in your face.

You laid in the scratchy bed, trying not to imagine what else may have taken place in the unclean sheets the currently surrounded your body.

You closed your eyes, trying not to imagine the peaceful and joy filled day that awaited Eddie back at the wedding venue.

-

It was chaos, absolute chaos.

In the early morning hours, Robin awoke to banging on her hotel room door.

It was Eddie, still in his pajamas, a worried look etched on his face.

Deep down, Robin knew what was happening before he even opened his mouth.

“Is she in here?” Eddie blurted out, not even giving Robin the chance to rub the sleepiness out of her eyes.

Robin glanced back at the bed like she was thinking about although she knew good and well she had been sleeping alone.

“No ones in here but me,” Robin told him, watching the news sink in.

“She’s gone,” Eddie’s voice cracked. “She left and I can’t find her. I was going to go talk to her but she wasn’t in her room and the maid let me in and her room is empty. She just left without saying goodbye.”

Robin glanced down at her watch.

“You were going to go talk to her at three in the morning on your wedding day to another woman?” Robin asked with a raised brow, infuriatingly not panicked enough for Eddie’s liking.

“This isn’t funny,” Eddie snapped at her.

“I’m not saying it’s funny. Just interesting…” Robin trailed off in a way that meant she really didn’t think it was interesting.

“She’s not in the lobby or with the bridesmaids and her car is gone,” Steve said as he spotted Robin and Eddie in the hallway when he came off the elevator. “I checked with Wayne, last time he saw her was at the rehearsal last night.”

Robin shot a glance at Steve.

“What?” Eddie asked, looking between them.

Robin just rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot, Munson and I’m going back to sleep. Let me know if there’s actually going to be a wedding that I want to go to later.”

She shut the door behind her, leaving Steve and Eddie out in the hall.

“Fuck,” Eddie huffed out, running a hand through his hair. “Where the fuck could she be and why the hell would she just leave?”

“She probably didn’t want to stay here and watch the love of her life marry some one else,” Steve deadpanned, looking at Eddie like he was clueless.

“What?”

“Eddie!” Wayne’s gruff voice snapped as he came off the elevator, too loud for the empty hallway. “We need to talk.”

“Yes we do,” Eddie said turning to face his uncle. “She’s gone.”

“I know and we need to talk,” he said in a stern voice that told Eddie he had had enough of this shit. “You need to make a choice, son.”

“But-”

“You can’t have them both,” Wayne interrupted him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eddie said with a shake of his head.

“Eddie?” A confused woman called from down the hall.

Eddie’s future wife strolled down the hall to them, confusion marking her face.

“What’s going on?” She asked, looking between every one.

There was a muffled thump from where everyone knew Robin was listening on the other side of the door and Steve shook his head in annoyance.

But Eddie’s bride already knew what was going on. The bridesmaids had come to her door when Steve had woken them up looking for you.

She couldn’t say she was all that surprised. She thought that maybe, just maybe, Eddie would be able to make it to their wedding day without realizing his feelings for you. She had selfishly hoped and prayed that he would choose her and not you.

Eddie looked at his fiancée, a whirl of emotions whirling through him but he didn’t know what to call them. It was complicated, more complicated than it should be the morning of their wedding.

He knew the one feeling he didn’t feel though when he looked at her.

Relief.

Eddie gnawed on his lip and internally apologized to you because he knew that he was about to make a choice that was going to destroy everything.

-

The banging on the motel room door drew you out of your half asleep state.

You had cried so much that it hurt to open your eyes, and made your head pound furiously as you launched yourself out of the bed.

Streams of bright sunlight shone through the cracks in the blinds as you stumbled to the door.

Maybe Robin and Steve had realized you were gone and come to talk some sense into you, tell you how ridiculous you were being. You

You fumbled with the door knob, still half asleep and out of it.

You wrenched the door open to find a pink cheeked Eddie standing at the door, hands tucked in his pockets. He was still in his pajamas.

You looked past him to see his truck parked beside your car in the parking lot.

He let out a deep breath, like he had been holding it for hours. His shoulder relaxed and he nearly crumpled as he pulled you into his arms.

“I found you,” he sighed as he wrapped around you.

He found you.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst

[miloformula123fan]

Full fic??

I’ve read that Logan S. felt really lonely being the only American in F1. Like, he wasn’t completely accepted in the grid. Maybe he has an overprotective older sister who is a professional soccer player (like World Cup level good) who finally has time to attend his races. She dislikes most of the grid, except Alex and Oscar, for how they treated her brother. quick to defend Logan and even as far as annihilate them during the annual driver soccer match to prove a point. Im thinking G. Russel pairing due to Logan living in England. he wins her over by treating logan right, acknowledging he could have been welcoming, etc. Just a thought!

OKAY I HONESTLY LOVED THIS! IT WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE (let me know if you want a part 2, because it is a bit of an interesting ending haha)

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

edit: i wrote part 2 - it is here

part 3 is here

George Russell x reader, logan sargeant x sister!reader

---

Y/N loves her brother, she really does. Yeah, she’s tried to get to a few of his F2 rounds, but with her soccer taking her around the world, she has had very little time. She has the entire month off though, so what better to do than visit her brother at his home grand prix. Miami is always a party, so maybe she could let loose for a bit, try and relax, and find a guy.

This is quickly vetoed when she finds Logan cooped up in his drivers room. While most people would think that he was excited for the race, most people weren’t Logan’s sister. She could tell he was thinking too hard about something, and it wasn’t good.

“Hey Logie Bear! Whatcha thinking about?” She tried to appear happy, but she could see that Logan’s smile did not reach his eyes

“Nothing, just excited for the race, the car is quick, just aiming for some points, hoping for a safety car. The garage is over there, sorry I have to warm up.” Y/N looked up as Benny entered the room and Logan stood up. She could tell how closed up he was, how he didn’t want to talk at all

“Okay, we’ll talk after the race Logan! Good luck, you'll smash it!” Y/N walked out of the drivers room towards the garage seeing the chaos of it.

Y/N watched as Logan apologised over again and again to his engineer for not making up any more places. She stood there listening to his engineer reassure her younger brother. She eventually decided that she couldn’t listen to it anymore and decided to wait in his garage room.

When he walked in, Y/N could tell he wasn’t sure whether to throw stuff or cry. 

“Hey, hey, come here! It’s okay, it’s okay!” She opened her arms and sat down as Logan fell down into them and hugged her baby brother, as he started talking the words just rushed out

“I just wanted to prove that I deserve to be here, feel like I’m a part of the paddock.” Logan hugged his sister back tightly, hesitating slightly.

“What do you mean? Of course you’re a part of the paddock, you’ve got your seat, y’know?” Y/N was confused as to what her brother meant, from what she had seen, he was welcomed warmly by everyone.

“Yeah but, I’m never invited to the grid parties, no one really ever talks to me, except Alex and Oscar, and Oscar is getting into the rest of the grid through Lando, and Alex is only really talking to me because I mean, he’s my teammate we have to be friends, and I just want everyone to like me… so I thought maybe if I got some points and good overtakes, then people would like me..”

“Oh, Logie… It’ll be okay. If they don’t like you then I think they’re just idiots, but they won’t. They’ll warm up to you, I promise.”

---

George watched as Y/N sprinted up and down. Okay the F1 team was never going to win, particularly when multiple women who were playing in the world cup were playing on the opposition team, but ‘Sargeant’  (who also had the same name as the rookie driver this year, who was sitting in the stands) was dominating, she had more goals then all of the f1 team, so of course the celebrity team won 4-1. She’d almost immediately jumped into the stands once the referee blew the whistle and started talking to Logan, maybe the kid got married young and just didn’t want anyone to realise. 

Although she looked quite similar to Logan, so maybe his sister instead. Either way, she did not seem to like them, she called them all dickheads and shoved them over a few times. George’s knees were sore. But she was still pretty. So he approached Logan and the girl.

“Hello! I’m George and…’

“I’m pretty sure my brother knows your name, Georgie! Why don’t you say hello to him?”

“Y/N-”

“No. Say hi to Logan, George.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, almost forced.

“Hey Logan! Looking forward to the grand prix this weekend?”

“Uhhhh… yeah. ” He turned back to Y/N “I’ve got some stuff to do, so you can make your way back. See ya!”

As soon as Logan was out of listening range, Y/N pulled George in and started whispering, “Listen, I don’t know what problem you have my brother, but you need to get over it ASAP, understood?”

“I.. don’t have a problem with your brother.”

“Well, then why is he telling me that there have been 2 people, Oscar and Alex, who have actually welcomed him to F1. Everyone else has snubbed him and he doesn’t understand why you don’t like him. He’s lonely. So fucking sort your shit out.”

George stood there, mouth gaping as she stormed off to grab her bag and then sprinted after Logan. He could almost hear the f1 team laughing at his failed attempt at flirting, but all he could think about ‘was what she said true?’’

---

Y/N was going to cry.

She could see Logan in the family and friends box, hands over his mouth, eyes glassy.

That corner kick should’ve gone in, she thought, we had so many chances and we still fucked it all. Couldn’t even give Megs a proper farewell.

She walks slowly over to her younger brother and let his arms wrap around her

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Dragged you halfway ‘round the world when you should’ve been training only to lose the first game.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. Go pack up, we can head home and spend some time in London relaxing. I’ve got next week off before I need to be back in the factory.”

—

Y/N was awoken by a knock on the front door. Hearing Logan snoring from his bedroom, she got up off the couch, rubbing her eyes and opened the door.

Of all the people she was expecting to see, George Russell would’ve been just about the last on her list “Uhh, hey?”

“Oh, morning! Is your brother up?”

Y/n paused for a moment to let George hear the snores coming from Logan’s bedroom. “Yeah, no, sorry. I can pass on a message?”

“Oh, No I was just going to offer if he was still up to go on a morning jog with him, but as he isn’t…”

“You been doing this often?”

“Almost every week we’ve been in town. I don’t think he understands what or why I’m doing this. But, he’s a good kid, opens up a bit when you talk to him. He likes you, respects you a lot for 2 siblings pursuing their sport across the globe.”

“I’ll make some breakfast and you can stay til Logan wakes up, okay? As a thanks for looking out for him. Hard for me to do from across the globe.” Y/N looked tense, with an almost forced smile. She looked awkward, before stepping back, holding the door open so George could come in.

---

“LOGAN SARGEANT!”

“Hello, dear sister, what do you want?”

“YOU GOT POINTS!”

“I think you must have watched a different grand prix, I got P12.”

“Hamilton and Leclerc got disqualified, something about wood, but you got points!”

“OH MY! AHHH! I had no idea, oh god!”

“YEAH! MY LITTLE BRO FINALLY GETTING F1 POINTS! WOOHOO! We must celebrate when we’re both in town!”

“AHH! Shit, wait I think people are coming in, give me a sec.

You’re on speaker dear sis, Alex, Oscar and George are here.”

“HELLO OSCAR! HI ALEX! HI GEORGE! DID SOMEONE BRING CHAMPAGNE???”

---

Y/N looks at the buzzing phone on her bedside table. Well clearly she had grabbed Logan’s phone before bed last night. She looked at the contact name

‘George - probably calling about something from the GDPA.’

She picked up.

“Before you start talking, I’m not Logan and I have not signed any NDAs related to his contract so, don’t talk to me.”

“Hi Y/N, do you know where Logan is?” George’s voice was way too cheery for however fucking early it is right now.

“Yeah he’s in his bedroom, he grabbed my phone and I grabbed his, why?” Y/N swung her legs out of the bed and stood up, still rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, can you come answer the door?”

“The door, why?” Y/N got up, and walked to her front door and opened the door to …nothing.

“George, are you pulling a prank on me? There’s nothing at the door.”

“You haven’t opened the door!”

“George… Logan and I are in Florida for Christmas. I’m guessing you’re in London.”

“Oh…yes. Bugger. I came to congratulate him on his contract renewal and so now I’ve got food and flowers and stuff and he’s not here!”

“If you go round the block to 20 XXX Close, there’s a single mom there, who will appreciate some Christmas cheer Georgie.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll send it over.”

“Why were you congratulating Logan, George? I didn’t think you cared. Only Alex and Oscar have reached out so far.”

“I..I remember what you said at the soccer match, about Logan feeling ostracised by all of us. So I’ve been trying to make him feel welcomed… not just because you said that, and I like you, but also because I kinda realised we’d all be failing him as a grid, so i thought if I started it, maybe others would catch on. It didn’t work, but I think he feels more included.”

“That’s very nice of you Georgie. I’ll pass on your congrats. Now it’s like 7am here, and I didn’t need to be awake today, so i will be heading back to bed. Night Georgie boy.”

#f1 fic #miloformula123fan #f1 x reader #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant #f1 fanfic #logan sargeant x you #george russell x reader #george russell #george russell x you

[gyuhanniescarat]

King of My Heart

happy birthday to my one and only, the loml, my mingoo, my GyuGyu <3 <3

• pairing: kim mingyu x afab!reader

• genres/tropes: smut (MDNI — If you’re not 18+, then see yourself to the door n let it kick ya on the way out, ‘mkay), fluff, established relationship, slice of life, idol mingyu, non-idol reader

• warnings: cross-mix of cute domestic smut with pure, utter filth, slight sub!gyu moment (reader calls gyu ‘baby boy’ like once), love-drunk reader, love-drunk n pussy-whipped gyu, insanely — slightly unnecessary — excessive use of petnames (reader calls gyu ‘babe’, ‘gyu’, ‘gyugyu’; gyu calls reader ‘angel’, ‘princess’, ‘baby girl’, ‘darlin’, ‘baby’), daddy kink, dirty talk, slight mean!dom mingyu (Mingyu is a fucking MENACE here), oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), hair pulling (m receiving), praise kink (we all know Mingyu is a sucker for some praise) bulge kink, size kink (Sry not Sry, I am one of if not THE main proprietor of the MINGYU MONSTER COCK agenda), breeding kink (be safe, stay protected from babies and STI’s when intimate with a partner y’all), talks of pregnancy — no actual impregnation tho — let me know if i missed something luvvies! 

• word count: 4.2k and some change

• request: no

• a/n: It’s the loml’s bday!!! Happy Mingyu day! I’ve had this blog for a year, and I just realized this is the FIRST full fic I’ve written for my favorite boy. This piece took on a mind of its own for real and became so so much more than I'd initially intended, but I guess that's to be expected when it comes to writing about Kim Mingyu. Tagging my fellow resident Gyuldaengie of the svthub server @onlymingyus out of love <3

You’re hard at work in the kitchen finishing dinner prep, when suddenly, you get pulled from your focus by the loud sound of the door to your and Mingyu’s shared apartment slamming open and shut. Gyu sluggishly glides into the living room, haphazardly tossing his bags on top of the coffee table. He unleashes a deep, exasperated sigh as his long and slender fingers run through his hair, his statuesque, athletically strong-built physique finally giving in to the utter exhaustion as he ungracefully plops into the couch.

From your position at the kitchen island, you watch Mingyu with worry as the sight of his tousled jet-black locks, bloodshot dark brown eyes, and rumpled clothes comes into view. As he stares off into the distance, one hand reaches up to rub away at his cheeks and jawline. Gently wiping your sauce and frosting-covered fingers off on the kitchen towel hanging over the oven door handle, you set aside the prepped meal and softly waltz over towards the couch.

“Gyu? You okay, babe? How did the recording session and dance practice filming go?” You question, resting a hand on your boyfriend’s knee as you sweetly gaze into his weary eyes. Mingyu’s hand reaches down to intertwine with the hand you placed on his knee and pulls you into his embrace. Basking in the warmth his muscular upper torso gives off, you wait for Mingyu to find the words to express what caused him to return home completely worn out. Breathing in the lingering, sweet scent of your rose-scented shampoo, Mingyu tries to calm himself down before he speaks, as he vowed to himself he’d never ever take out any negative emotions on you. 

“Ughh, honestly… I’m beat, angel. It feels like I’m gonna drop dead any minute now. Recording wasn’t too bad, actually. But the dance practice was an absolute hellfire. We had to do so many fucking takes in order to make the choreography look its 10000% best. Sorry, I got home later than usual, princess.” Gyu starts off ranting, but ends, speaking to you like you hold the answers to all the stresses in his world. The way you grin so widely and gaze at him in pure love and adoration doing everything to heal Mingyu’s heart and mind from the chaos of his daily routine. 

“Silly, silly boy. You don’t got nothin’ to apologize for, Gyu. I’m just glad you’re finally home, baby boy. Been waiting to snuggle with my GyuGyu and spend the rest of your special day together. It sucks when you have schedules on your birthday, but I hope some dinner and cake as we watch your favorite movie can make up for all the not-so-fun things you had to do today.” You giggle lightheartedly into his chest, glancing up into his chocolate eyes as your hands mischievously trace random shapes into his chest over his tight white t-shirt. Your mischievousness rubs off onto Mingyu as you note a shift in his now darkening eyes. 

“Mhmm… as nice as an evening of dinner and a movie with my girl sounds… as hungry and thirsty I am for one of your home-cooked meals, there’s something else I’m feeling more hungry and thirsty for right now, baby girl.” Mingyu huskily growls, hands slipping under your frilly bustier and coming up near the hook of your blush lace push-up bra. “Mingyu” you whine out. “Ah, ah, ah. You should be saving those sweet, addictive noises for later, princess.” Mingyu lowly whispers into your ear, sending shivers down your spine from both his words and the warmth of his breath near your ear. 

“I thought you were tired from work, Gyu? We… we don’t have to… if you’re feeling worn out from practice, babe.” You stammer out, nervously and innocently, eyes shifting away from making contact with Mingyu’s. Mingyu lightly chuckles and brings a hand under your chin, compelling you to look into his eyes, “I may be dead-tired, but I’m never too tired to take good care of my number one girl. Let me worship you and your stunning body, angel, ‘mkay?” “O-O-Okay, GyuGyu.” 

“Mmph. You know ‘GyuGyu’ or ‘Mingyu’ isn’t my name right now, yea. What’s my special name during sexytime, princess? C’mon, say it for me. I know you can say it.” Mingyu prompts. “S-sorry d-d-daddy. I’ll be your good baby now.” You shyly mumble, still not confident in saying the pet name, despite all the years you’ve been having sex with your boyfriend. “Of course, you’ll be a good baby for daddy. You’re my cute, precious little baby girl, right? You want to make daddy feel good and have daddy make you feel good, yea?” Mingyu replies, easily picking you up from the couch with little effort. 

You’re completely lost in the feelings of kissing Mingyu as he guides you from the living room and down the hall toward your bedroom. You don’t hesitate to help Mingyu out of his clothes along the way, one hand wrapped around his neck as the other hand reaches out to loosen the strings of his black sweats, causing the pair of bottoms to fall to the faux wood floors. Mingyu skillfully steps out of them whilst still enraptured by the spell of your lips. As the kiss deepens to a full-blown makeout session, the hand resting on his neck starts playing with the hair along the nape of his neck. 

Mingyu stumbles through the threshold and clumsily tosses you on top of your california king mattress. He stalks towards the vanity area and brings your chair over right in front of the foot of the bed. “Since it’s my birthday, I can make a few wishes, yea, princess? So, my first birthday wish, Take off your clothes. Slowly. Give daddy a lil show, yea?”

“Gy-... Daddyyyy! Please!” You moan, already done with your boyfriend’s teasing foreplay. “Please, what, baby girl.” Mingyu scoffs slightly. “Daddy! I want you. I need you so so so bad right now. Please daddy, help me.” You cry, giving Mingyu your best pouty face. Mingyu looks at you with what you’d hoped was a real bit of giving in, but it’s just his mock sympathy. After all, you of all people should know by now. 

Kim Mingyu is a tease. A fucking insufferable, cocky little shit of a tease. And what Kim Mingyu wants… he will get, one way or another. 

“Tsk tsk tsk. You know better than that, little girl. Unless… do you want a punishment from daddy, princess? Cuz I can and will punish you, if that’s what you ask for.” Mingyu warns, trying to read your face to see if you’ll actually challenge him when he’s in fully dom mode. Feathery, dark-tinted eyebrows lifting just slightly before drawing together, you curl your soft pink-tinted lips together as you slowly slide deeper into subspace. 

You sit up against the headboard, hands lowering down to grab the hem of your bustier and slowly slip it over your head, before randomly throwing the item of clothing somewhere in the room. One of your eyebrows slowly rises as yet another mischievous look pulls across your cute tiny face. “Bra on or off, daddy?” You cheekily question, noting the way Mingyu’s briefs seem to have started getting tight around his massive length. “Off. Take that cute little bra off right now, baby girl. You know how much daddy loves your pretty tits, darlin’.” Mingyu lowly mumbles, gaze intensely locked in on the view of the valley of your breasts. 

Reaching back, you slowly and skillfully undo the clasp of your bra. You cutely chuckle to yourself as an idea pops inside your head, leading Mingyu to question what other ‘great’ idea you have up your sleeve. “Princess… what are you up to, huh?” Silently and with a beaming smile, you pull the cups of the bra away from your breasts and throw it right into Mingyu’s empty lap. “What’s this, baby girl?” He chuckles, fangs showing as his head tips back. “A present for daddy.” You answer. Mingyu turns his head in surprise, tongue poking out in response. “Well, thank you, baby. This is one of my favorite little bras of yours, it’s so pretty… but ya know where I think it’d look even prettier?” He rhetorically questions, chocolate eyes darkening to the point they're almost black. Your head tilts to the right in response, like a confused little lab puppy. 

“On the floor. With the rest of your clothes, angel. Panties next. I’ll decide later what I wanna do with that cute little frilly skirt. Maybe, I won’t take it off. Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll decide to fuck you in it.” He teases, yet again chuckling at the way your eyes widen in innocence. As if you have any innocence left in you when Mingyu’s been corrupting and intimate with you since the beginning of your relationship. 

You gulp and swallow nervously, before gaining the courage to continue. Your hands slide underneath your skirt and up toward the waistband of your undergarment. Slowly, you pull the piece of fabric down your legs and slip it over your feet. Then, taking the lace panties in your hand you fling it into Mingyu’s lap. “Fucking hell. These… You… Oh my god… you fucking soaked through these panties, baby. Tell me, who made you so fucking wet, you ruined your little thong? Huh? Who is it that got you wet, baby girl?” Mingyu teasingly smirks, baiting you once again. 

“You… You know, Gyu.” You groan, annoyed. Now it’s Mingyu who playfully tilts his head to the side, acting like the ever-so-cheeky golden retriever he’s always compared to. “I do? Oh, I don’t think so, princess. How can daddy simply read your mind? You gotta use your big girl words if you want daddy to know what you mean.” Mingyu playfully quips, referring to himself in the third person. Thrashing your head side to side and kicking your legs against the mattress, you whine, “You! You, you, you, You! It’s you, daddy! Only you can make me so fucking wet I ruin all my panties. I’m all wet for you, and only you, daddy! Please daddy, please touch me. Please use your fingers, or your mouth, or your c-c-cock… just use whatever you wanna give me!” 

Standing up from the chair and coming closer to you, Mingyu grabs at the hem of his white t-shirt and pulls it over his head, exposing his defined pecs and well-chiseled abs to your wandering eyes. Biting down on your lip till you draw crimson and squeezing your thighs together in an attempt to stop the gushing from your core, Mingyu throws his head back and deeply laughs at the sight, “Somethin’ caught your eye, baby girl,” “I know you’ve got a lil tiddie, abs, and arm fetish… but damn princess, you’re looking at me like it’s your last meal.”

“Ha, Is it a crime to stare at my man? What can I say? You’re like a fucking model-level attractive, Gyu. You’re hot, sexy, handsome, a talented idol, and you’re so kind, caring, look out for people, and smart. Sometimes, I just can’t believe I’m lucky enough to call you my boyfriend. But, even if you didn’t have the physique of a fucking greek god, I’d still love you.” You giggle, more than happily doting on your man, even during a spicy moment like this. 

Mingyu is momentarily thrown off by the sudden sweetness in the air, but his heart swells with pride at the fact that he’s yours and you're his, and only his. Mingyu is truly the lucky one because he gets to call you his baby. “And you’re a fucking gorgeous queen, baby girl. So if anyone’s lucky here, it’s me who’s lucky to be the only man that gets to be with you like this. Now, come here, princess. I wanna taste you so damn bad, I actually just might lose my mind if I have to wait for a second longer.” He commands, nearly pulling you down the bed. 

Mingyu lays flat on his stomach at the bottom of the bed, swiftly leaning down to kiss his way up your legs, stopping just near your core as he places a gentle peck on both your left and right inner thigh. “Mhmm… been thinkin’ ‘bout your tight little pussy all day long. Almost had to break away from the members and staff during a snack time, just to slip off to the bathrooms to get myself off on the thought of you, angel. I’ve had a fucking raging hard-on all day. Cheol and Wonu almost interrogated me ‘bout it after practice, baby girl.” He moans lowly, sending vibrations straight to your core. 

“M-Min… I- Oh fuck, I need… I-” You shakily moan out, already feeling so incredibly fucked out without any stimulation from Mingyu. Mingyu looks up at the sound of you calling him, and he can’t say the view of you from this angle isn’t having an effect on him at this very moment. “Yeah, princess? Tell me what you need. I got you, baby girl. Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you.” He groans, in response to the blissfully fucked out expression on your face. “Please, I need you to… Ahhh shit! I need you to use your tongue and fingers, please Gyu. Prep me to take your big juicy cock, daddy!” Your head falls back against the pillows, hands slowly coming up towards Mingyu’s head and gripping his soft, long, and curly raven locks.

Mingyu places his hands on either side of your hips and pulls your core into his mouth. Pulling his mouth back for a second, he collects a ball of saliva and spits it onto your clit. Strings of residual saliva connect from the corner of his bottom lip to your barren nub. Taking his thumb and placing it onto your clit, he rubs the wet liquid across the expanse of your clit, whilst his long and slender index and middle fingers slip deep into your walls, eventually curling once in deep, “Shit. Tight, so tight, so warm and wet, princess. No matter how many times I use my fingers on you, your tight little pussy somehow gets even tighter around my fingers. Fuck, I’m going to ruin this tiny pussy.”

“Gyu! Oh my god… ahhh ngggh… shit! M-More, I need more daddy! Pleaseeee.” You whine, the pitch of your voice growing higher. “More? You’ve already got two of my fingers deep in your pussy, and my tongue flicking your clit. What more do you need, princess?” Mingyu questions, momentarily pulling his tongue away from your sensitive nub. “I need more. Feels like ‘m gonna cum soon. Please give me another finger, I can take it, daddy. You know I can take it.” You beg, lightly pulling on a few strands of his hair. “Okay. Daddy’ll give you what you want. Say ‘thank you’, baby girl.” Mingyu replies, smirking at how you become increasingly more fucked out. 

“Thank you, daddy! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…. T-th-thank you. You’re so good to me daddy. It feels so fucking good. You make me feel so fucking good, daddy!” You moan out, like a mantra. Ever the people pleaser he is, your praises go in one direction… and that’s… straight to Mingyu’s big fat dick. The praise you give him damn near snaps the last bits of his resolve and willpower. Reminding you to continue taking slow, deep breaths, Mingyu gently slips a third finger into the walls of your pussy and rubs circles along your clit with his thumb. “Let it go, angel. Cum for me, baby girl. Cum all over my fingers and the sheets. You know you want to, darlin’.” Like magic, Mingyu’s words do just the trick to compel your body to jump over the edge of ecstasy. Your orgasm hits hard, splotches of white dots lining your vision for a minute. Your climax is so intense your thighs uncontrollably shake. “That’s it, princess. Just like that, yea. Cum for me, keep cumming for me, baby girl. I promise your next orgasm is gonna feel all the more better.” Mingyu coos, coaxing you through the aftershocks of your climax. 

Vision finally clearing up, coming back down to the space of your shared bedroom, you take deliberate breaths, steering yourself away from any haze and overstimulation. “Fucking hell, Gyu. That was fucking otherworldly how you did that.” You laugh, pulling your tall, muscular, long-limbed man back up the length of the bed, and directing his lips toward yours. “You taste sweeter than the sweetest fruit, baby girl. Can you taste yourself on my lips still?” Mingyu praises, laying the endless nothings on thick, as his hands rub circles into your hip bones. “Shit, I do taste good, don’t I, daddy…” You giggle, licking your lips and blissfully beaming at the man hovering above you. “You taste so fucking good, darlin’. I’d honestly eat you out all damn day if I could.” He chuckles, wholeheartedly laughing with his whole chest. 

“Your turn now, daddy. I wanna return the affection and make you feel good too. Second wish, daddy? Anything you want?” You ponder. Mingyu suspiciously hmms, pretending to be thinking about what he wants, when he clearly already knows and more likely than not has known exactly what he’s wanted since the moment he stepped through the door of your apartment tonight. 

What Kim Mingyu wants, he will get, one way or another. 

“Hmm… while the idea of your pretty lips wrapped around my cock does sound quite nice, I have other plans. I need to be buried balls deep inside of your tight little pussy, my cock making your cute tummy bulge from how deep inside I am, feeling your tight, tiny walls clenching down on my cock, as I breed you nice and full… filling your little cunt with my cum till my seed takes and knocks you up. I wanna make you a cute little mommy. Your petite little frame would look so cute with a round stomach full of my babies, your pretty tits growing as your milk comes in. You’d be the prettiest, sexiest little mama alive. Don’t you want my babies, princess? Imagine it, baby girl.” Mingyu suggests, knowing you’ve always had an infinity for babies and motherhood. 

Throwing your head back deeper into the pillows, you bite down on your lips, hard, in an attempt to stifle the feral moans threatening to spill their way out your lips. “Oh-ho-ho, you’re getting turned on by the idea of carrying my babies, and being my hot little baby momma, aren’t you, baby? Should I make you a momma then, angel?” He chuckles, in response to the way you moan and seemingly tighten around his length at the thought.

“Gyu! Gyu, Oh god, yes, yes, yes! Mhmm… Ohh fuck, Ohh fuck, Ohhhhh fuckkk! So fucking good. You’re always so fucking good to me, daddy! God yes, don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop! You’re so fucking big, Gyu! Oh god, it’s like your cock is gonna rearrange my guts and tear me open. Just like that, daddy! Just like that. Oh, fucking shit! I love you, Kim Mingyu. I love feeling your cock so deep inside of my little pussy.” You repeatedly moan, deep in subspace and even deeper in a hormone-filled daze. Nails alternating between gripping tightly onto Mingyu’s beefy biceps and roaming his back muscles. 

“Your tiny little pussy is so greedy for my cum, darlin’. Your wet, tight cunt is sucking me in so deep, Don’t you feel it? Look, baby, look at how desperately your pussy wants me inside.” Mingyu grunts, grabbing one of your hands and trailing it down in the direction of your stomach and core. “Ya feel that, baby girl. Can you feel your cute little stomach bulging every time I push my cock deeper inside you? I’m in so deep, it feels like my cock is gonna hit your cervix for sure. Your tiny cunny is working overtime just to take my whole cock inside you, but even though I’m stretching your tight little walls out to the max right now, we all know your perfect little pussy is just gonna tighten up even more again.” 

“Fu-ff-fuck… Oh my fucking god! I- M-Mm… Mingyu! ‘M gonna, ‘m gonna… Oh my god! Aaaahhhh…. Ngggghhh. D-dd-don’t… mhmm fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, Oh god! Mingyu, don’t you dare fucking stop. Don’t fucking stop, just like that, fuck… Just like that, daddy! Oh my god, Gyu, it’s so fucking good. I feel so fucking good… so so so fucking good. Your cock feels so fucking good inside me. I’m… mhmm shit, shit, shit! I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours! I’m yours and only yours, forever okay…” You loudly cry, tears spilling down your eyes from the mix of the intense pleasure coursing through your veins and the strong, overflowing love you feel for Kim Mingyu. 

“Damn right you are, angel. Mine! You’re mine forever and I’m only yours. I love you so much, y/n. Thank you for being with me all this time, thank you for giving me the great privilege of getting to be with you, of getting to call you my one and only baby. Thank you, baby girl.” Mingyu softly whispers, gently caressing your face and lovingly gazing into your eyes like you’re the only girl in his world. 

“You said you wanna make me your hot little baby mama, yeah?” You ask so casually, throwing the usually confident, cocky little shit off his game. Taken aback by the out-of-the-blue line of questioning, Mingyu is frozen in place for a moment. His chocolate eyes widened in sheer surprise and disbelief at the string of words he just heard. Yes, he has thought hundreds, thousands, perhaps even millions of times about the idea of further making you his girl by impregnating you with his ropes of cum. He’d have to be a damn fool to not have an unspoken desire to see you pregnant with his child. 

“I… It-It w-ww-was.. ‘nt… I... are you sure princess?” He stammers, nervously, feeling his blood run cold as he simultaneously feels beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. You lightheartedly giggle, as a wide, bright smile etches across your face, your legs working to wrap around your boyfriend’s waist and trap the man in your embrace. “Gyu, I told you. I love you. I’m yours, only yours. Would it be such a bad idea if we started trying to have a family of our own? I wanna have your babies, Gyu. I wanna make you a daddy for real.” You sweetly admit. 

“Of course, I’ve thought many times about you being pregnant with my children. I’d be a fool not to think about how you’d be and look with a child, with my child, our child, but this relationship is a two-person team. So, I don’t wanna put you in any position where it feels like you don’t have a say. I’m just trying to make sure you really want this, baby. As hot as the idea of me possibly knocking you up is, it’s way more than that. Pregnancy is no joke, baby girl. What do you think, angel? I’m open to the idea of trying if that’s something you’re also open to.” Mingyu confesses, nerves running rogue and heart beating a million miles a minute. “Hmm…” You trail off, both mimicking Mingyu’s earlier action and actually giving deep thought to the idea of a family with Mingyu.

“I’m open to it, Gyu. We’re two hot ass people, so our babies would be some pretty and handsome as hell little humans. I wanna have your babies, Gyu. Now, cum for me, babe. Cum inside me, breed me nice and full, daddy! Make me a hot little baby mama, and I’ll make you a hot, sexy ass dilf that all the guys wish they were, and all the girls wish they could get with. Make me yours even more, daddy. Breed me, fill my tiny cunt with every last drop of your hot, thick cum. Breed me, daddy.” You sultrily moan, pulling Mingyu in closer despite already being pressed up right against each other. 

“Ohh fuck! You’re gonna be the death of me one day, princess.” Mingyu groans, throwing his head back. “What an iconic way to kick the bucket, babe.” You giggle brightly, kissing and licking a trail of love bites down the side of his neck and along his clavicles. “Oh my god, you’re a menace, a little vixen.” Mingyu feigns shock. “Uhh…. excuse me! I’m the menace?! You, sir… Oh, let’s see… who’s the one that pulled us both away from the notion of having the dinner I worked hard to make because they were ‘hungry and thirsty for something else?’ Oh, wait… I do believe that was you who said those very words, Kim Mingyu.” You scoff, in disbelief at your boyfriend. 

“I mean… can you really blame me, if I’m about to make you have the fucking orgasm of your life, darlin’? You’re the one who asked to be bred by daddy Gyu.” Mingyu counters, throwing you off your game now.

Kim Mingyu is a tease. A damn menace. A fucking ethereal, otherwordly cross-breed of model-level, actor-level, idol-level visuals and greek god physique. A man who seems too good to be true. But you truly wouldn’t have it any other way. Kim Mingyu is yours and you’re the luckiest person in the world to be his. 

© gyuhanniescarat | 2023 - all rights reserved. Reposting/Modifying of any fic, scenario, drabble, reaction or piece of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed.

#svthub #mingyu smut #kim mingyu smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #mingyu x reader #mingyu scenario #mingyu fic #mingyu thots #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen scenarios #mingyu fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #happy mingyu day #happy birthday gyugyu #gyuhannie writes #jess.txt #gyuhannie.txt

[nhlclover]

how you get the girl | gabe perreault

word count: 1.17k

summary: after six months broken up, gabe realizes he can't move on from you decides he has to win you back.

warnings: like one instance of cursing, not proof read

notes: based on 'how you get the girl’ by taylor swift. literally in love with my sherbrooke boy so i had to write for him

The rain slapped against the window, a loud patter sound echoing through the home you shared with 3 of your friends. It was the beginning of spring in Boston and the end of the school year was right around the corner.

It was slightly weird for you to be at home on a Friday night. At the beginning of last semester, you would’ve found yourself at Conte Forum, cheering on Gabe from the stands. However, that hasn’t been your reality for nearly 6 months. 

At the beginning of last semester, you and Gabe had split up. Gabe, having had an all-time year with being drafted, starting at Boston College, as well as the upcoming World Juniors had left an unbearable weight on his shoulders that he couldn’t quite seem to shake. Feeling overwhelmed and lost, it began to take a toll on their relationship. Ultimately, the decision to break up had been painful but mutual. Gabe, unsure of what he wanted in the midst of all the chaos, needed space to navigate everything. Although heartbroken, you recognized that, allowing Gabe to have said space. So you went your separate ways, trying to move on from each other.

However, there was now a void in your heart, brought on by the absence of Gabe. The ache of missing him never faded, and the realization that you two truly belonged together deepened. What you didn’t know was that Gabe, too, had been feeling the ache. He missed the girl that was his first love. 

In the meantime, the regular season had come and gone, the mens hockey team now on the verge of heading to the Frozen Four. Gabe, despite the recent success in hockey, was finding that nothing was making him completely happy. The memories of you still hung in the back of his mind and the guilt from having hurt you was still weighing on him.

Hollers and shouts filled his ears as he came off the ice and into the locker room. Gabe and the rest of the team were fresh off of a win that was set to send them to the Frozen Four. Like the rest of his teammates, Gabe should’ve been celebrating, relishing in the victory. However, Gabe couldn’t help but feel like something was missing.

 It was you. You were what was missing. Gabe felt he couldn’t relish in his success unless he had someone to share it with. Unless he could share it with you.

Gabe peeled his equipment off, tossing it in his stall. Will approached his friend, watching as he frantically changed. 

“Hey Gabo, whatcha doing?” He asked

“I’m going to y/n’s.” He said, tossing the jersey into the bin at the center of the room.

“You’re what?” Will asked.

“I’m going to see y/n.” Gabe said. “I need to get her back man, I’m miserable without her.”

Will could attest to that, having dealt with a heartbroken Gabe for 6 months now. He was no longer his usual self. However, Will didn’t know if you still had room in your heart for Gabe. 

“Is she gonna take you back?” Will asked.

“I don’t know man.” Gabe shrugged, pulling on his gameday suit. “But I gotta give it a shot.”

Gabe shoved his belongings in his bag, shoving the bag in Will’s hands. “Take this back to our dorm for me?” Gabe asked will.

Will furrowed his brows. “You’re going right now? It’s fucking pouring out man.” Will told him. It had been pouring all day and hadn’t let up. Gabe nodded, pulling on his BC hockey jacket.

“Dude let me give you a ride at least!” Will tried to shout to Gabe, but he was already out the door, heading to your place.

A knock at your front door pulled you from your show. It had you confused as to who could possibly be at your door in the middle of a thunderstorm. Curious none the less, you got up and walked to the door, your slippers shuffling against the hardwood. 

You opened the door to a drenched Gabe wearing a Boston College hockey jacket. His usual curls were flattened to his head, the rain taking away the volume. His eyes shone of determination, cutting through his rain-soaked image. 

“Gabe?” You asked, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What are you doing here? Did you walk here? Are you insane?”

Your questions flowed out without giving Gabe a chance to answer them. Gabe, however, didn’t respond to them when you stopped. “It’s been a long 6 months without you.” He says. “I miss you so much, and I was so stupid earlier. I was just too afraid to tell you what I wanted.”

You go to speak but Gabe continues. “I want you for worse or for better,” Gabe began, his voice carrying the weight of sincerity. “I know I broke your heart, but I promise you I will put it back together. I know I messed up but please give me the chance to fix it. If you’re not ready, I get that. I’ll wait for you. I would wait forever and ever.”

You couldn’t find the words but your brain was going a million miles a minute. 6 months you and Gabe had been separated. 6 months it had taken him to come to this realization. But the look in his eyes. The vulnerability in his eyes and in his words moved you. Finally having Gabe in front of you, physically seeing his face and not through a screen as you would go through your photos of him, you’re reminded of the love you’d once known. Your shared joy and smiles rushing back to your memory.

You think to the framed photo of you and Gabe that still sits on your desk, the only testament to a love that once was. The ornate frame that was a gift from Gabe contained a photo of the two of you from the summer. In it, you’re stood in front of Gabe, his arms snaked around your torso and his lips pressed to your cheek. The pair of you significantly more tan than you are now, Gabes faint freckles appearing from sun exposure. Your favourite moment was frozen in time in that photo.

Gabe's words, coupled with the visual reminder of your love melted away any skepticism that you were harbouring. You still had yet to find the proper words, but you opened the door and stepped aside allowing Gabe to step inside. He was dripping all over your floors but you didn’t quite mind. He shrugged off the drenched jacket, it landing on the floor with a slap. Your arms snaked around his neck, his wrapping around your body. His wet hair dripped onto your face, his body shivering slightly. Having him back in your arms felt right. As you embraced one another, it felt as if the flame was rekindled, although it had never truly extinguished.

You pull back slightly, placing a delicate hand to Gabe’s cheek. “I missed you.” Gabe says softly.

“I missed us.” You reply.

#gabe perreault #boston college #gabe perreault imagine #will smith #will smith hockey #ryan leonard #hockey imagine #hockey #new york rangers

[theircurse]

˗ˏˋ *ㅤ★ㅤ‿︵ㅤ˗ˏˋㅤ❛ㅤGee, I sure STARTED SOMETHING by throwing cheese at Atsushi - san !ㅤ❜

#// CHEESE WAR........... #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ I was raised in a deep and dark hole; a prisoner with no parole. ◜★◞ IC. #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ Chaos ! Chaos ! I’m happy the world is going to end ! ◜★◞ DASH COMM. #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ Mention ◜★◞ LUNARGIFTED.

[theircurse-archive4]

╰ ★ █║ ⁞ — ˗ˏˋ ❛ None of you are babies or girls. ❜

#// HELP ??? #// I STEP AWAY TO PLAY P/KEMON FOR A BIT BECAUSE IM TRYING TO BEAT IT BEFORE THE I.RON LEAVES EVENT ENDS #// AND I JUST SEE BABYGIRLS ALL OVER MY DASH #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ Chaos ! Chaos ! I’m happy the world is going to end ! ◜☆◞ DASH COMM. #╰ (✪∀<) ~ *:･ﾟ✧ I was raised in a deep and dark hole; a prisoner with no parole. ◜☆◞ IC.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

How does Minotaur!Konig handle an argument with his wife/his wife being upset with him? He clearly avoids making her upset as much as possible because he loves her and only wants to see her happy, and she loves and accepts him as he is, quirks and all so I don't really see them getting into fights but maybe he gets way too reactive and violent with someone in town over a perceived slight and she gives him the silent treatment on the way home or something. I feel like he'd be so sad even if she only didn't talk to him for like an hour 😞 I can also see his insecurities/abandonment issues coming into play, he starts overthinking and makes it a whole big thing in his head and meanwhile she's already forgetting that she was even upset with him. These are just my thoughts but maybe you have something else in mind/see it playing out differently!

Yes absolutely!!

Minotaur!König cannot cope with this shit at all. The last time he did something “bad” ended in him being thrown into a cold, dark Labyrinth. Even as a grown man he goes straight into survival mode if he sees that he has somehow disappointed his beloved 💔

His wife knows how König is so it would take a lot for her to visibly show she’s upset with him. Our bull tries to avoid chaos as best he can which means arguments between these two are extremely rare — but they do happen! Because one thing you must know about all versions of König is that they think they’re always right. Minotaur!König is just as thick headed as the rest of them so if he thinks that “his cause is just” then he will stand his ground no matter what. He will claim that water is wine if he thinks it’s so!

Some petty perceived insult directed at his wife could get him riled very easily, could get them both into trouble because König won't cool down before he’s drawn blood. He wants to give this poor soul's head to his wife, on a plate if possible, and if he can’t do that the tension just won’t go away. How can life go on if he hasn’t done what’s right??

She has to guide König in social situations and explain later what it was all about, what different phrases mean and how he can’t just kill people if they don’t behave the way he wants them to. In some ways, she knows she is dealing with a child and has to be patient, how could this poor man know how to behave when he lived underground all those years? All he was taught was that he’s evil, unwanted and ugly, so the last thing she wants to do is hurl blame at him and scream. Silent treatment would totally be one of her ways to show him he didn’t get points home this time, but for König even the tiniest distancing looks like she’s abandoning him. Throwing him mentally into a tiny tiny Labyrinth, telling him he’s not wanted, that he’ll never be loved :(

And poor König doesn’t know what to do and how to be, for a while the anxiety threatens to take over. He reaches for her hand, then pulls away fearing she doesn’t want to be touched. He tries to talk, but nothing comes out because he doesn’t entirely understand what he should apologise for. He stands in the middle of the room and watches her blow air on the coals and just go on about her day, thinking that the time has finally come when she tells him to get out of the house.

It takes years before König takes the initiative in reconciling because he simply doesn’t know how to do it. Blunt, pained statements such as “Are you upset with me,” and “You’re disappointed in me” are common before he learns that the world is not going to end even if they’re not happy with each other all the time. His wife is usually the one who comes to him and says that everything is okay and that she was only upset with what he did, not with who he is.

Just imagine this adorable goof being both stubborn in his "I don’t have to say I’m sorry" policy and crippled by his "Are you going to abandon me" fear 💔 How can you even be angry at this man? There’s no chance, especially when he’s a jerk only once or twice a year 🩷🦬

#minotaur!könig #he's so 💔💔💔❤️‍🩹❤️

[fxrmuladaydreams]

bad vibes (mv33)

max x doglover!reader , lando x reader (platonic)

summary: max meets your furry friend who is reluctant to accept him

note: max looks so good in that gif, also this is my first time writing for f1, pls be nice

Lando Norris was a godsend. You’d never tell him that, knowing full well that it would just go straight to his head, but he was a godsend. You’d been friends with him and a few of the other Quadrant members for a while, hanging out whenever you had free time from work. He had invited you to go to the Silverstone Grand Prix with him, eager to take you to an actual race. After organizing your schedule with work, you agreed to join him.

The Grand Prix was honestly the most fun you’d had in a while. You met Lando’s teammate Oscar, and watched the race from the McLaren garage, a headset over your ears. You were one of the first on your feet to celebrate Lando’s second place results.

The podium was pure chaos. You watched as the drivers sprayed each other with champagne. Lando’s eyes searched for yours in the crowd, grinning when he finds you standing near the front of the fence. He gives the bottle a shake, then points it at you, splashing you with the sweet bubbly liquid.

Lando then, despite your protests, dragged you to an after party to celebrate the race results. You stayed close to him at first, afraid of getting separated and being the odd one out in the tight-knit group that was attending the party. You were practically glued to his side as he introduced you to his friends, until he brought you over to meet the driver who took first place.

Max seemed happy to meet you, his eyes bright and voice loud as he tried to talk to you over the music blaring from the speakers. You congratulated him on his results, to which he thanked you and offered to get you a drink.

Lando smirked to himself, his eyes traveling between the two of you. “I’m gonna go say hi to Carlos, you don’t mind if I step away for a minute, do you?”

You both shake your heads no and watch Lando disappear into the crowd.

You spend the rest of the party sitting in a quieter corner with the Dutch driver, listening to him talk about his racing career, his karting days, anything he wants really.

Lando keeps an eye on you throughout the night, looking over in your direction to see Max using his hands to explain things to you, while you listen, occasionally nodding along, wide eager eyes looking at him.

Neither you nor Max seemed very keen on leaving one another at the end of the night. You exchanged phone numbers and blushing goodbyes as you left, joining Lando outside of the venue.

“So… fun night?”

“Shut up.”

For the next week or two, anytime someone would look at you, they’d see you starting at the phone in your hands.

It took everything in Lando to not step in and push his friends to ask each other out. He was starting to get tired of having to listen to you tell him about whatever Max had been up to, or hear Max go on and on about your latest conversation or instagram post.

Max had finally asked you out on a date after about a month of texting each other. Lando was thrilled, hoping that the two of you would stop whining to him about how much you liked each other.

It was easy to fall even harder for him after a few dates. Max was the perfect guy in your eyes. He was sweet, honest, funny, and he so obviously cared about those close to him. He took you to a bunch of different places in Monaco, secluded beaches, small cafes, anywhere the two of you could be alone and just get to know each other better.

Max was eager to get to know you better, wanting to spend as much time as his job allowed him to with you. He occasionally made comments claiming that you’d look much better sitting in the Red Bull garage than the McLaren garage, followed by asking you to join him at various races. He wanted nothing more than to be able to kiss you after winning a race.

You wanted to take the relationship slow, not quite ready to seen as “World Champion Max Verstappen’s girlfriend” to the throngs of fans he had that attended the races.

Dates with the Dutch driver had started to extend in length as well as quantity, often times ending with you spending the night with Max in his apartment.

With his apartment of course came his cats. From what you’d heard, Jimmy and Sassy were constantly terrorizing Max, sometimes escaping from a window, once even locking themselves in a separate room, but nonetheless Max adored them. They were quick to warm up to you as well, taking curious steps towards you when you first met, but quickly cuddling up with you on the couch, taking claim over their new friend.

Max had yet to visit your apartment, but not for lack of trying. He’d suggest going back to your place after dates, to which you’d make an excuse to go to his instead. Truth be told, you were hiding something from him. Well, someone.

It was clear to anyone that knew him that Max was a cat person, 110%, but you on the other hand? You loved dogs. How could you not? Dogs are literally man’s best friend.

You had adopted Luna a few years ago, she was a border collie, with long white and brown fur that fluffed up around her face. She was the sweetest dog you had ever met, and was easy to settle into your apartment. You learned how to keep up with her exercise, and to give her the love that she deserved.

A part of you is nervous about Max coming over and meeting Luna, what if he hates her? What if this ruins the relationship you two have created?

Max somehow manages to convince you that the two of you should go back to your apartment instead of his. He raises a questioning brow at you when you stop at your door and take a deep breath.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

You turn away from the door to face him. “I’m just nervous… there’s something I haven’t told you…”

“What? Are you secretly married or something?” He laughs in an attempt to cover up his own nerves.

“No, no. It’s just, you know how you have Jimmy and Sassy? Well, I have Luna…”

“Luna?”

“Luna. She’s my dog. And I know you’re a cat person, but she’s really sweet, and I think if you just give her a chance-”

Your words are cut off when Max presses his lips to yours. You can feel his lips tilt upward a little, smiling into the kiss. You’re breathless when you finally pull away from one another.

“I’m sure I’ll love her.” Almost as much as I love you.

You smile and nod.

Just like every other time you come home, Luna sprints to the door to greet you. She hops up on her hind legs, her tail wagging behind her as she nuzzles her face into wherever she can reach on you.

She stops when she catches sight of the man standing behind you. You kneel down to pet her head.

“Luna, this is Max.”

Max takes a step forward, holding his hand out for her.

“Hey Luna.”

Her tail stops moving, as she steps between the two of you, her eyes locked onto Max. She growls lowly at him, slowly moving towards him.

Max pulls his hand back, and slowly steps away.

“Luna! Stop that! Be nice!” You scold her, petting the fur on her back.

She huffs, then trots away to the kitchen.

“I don’t think she likes me very much.” Max sighs.

“No, it’s okay, she just needs to get used to you. She hated Lando at first too.” You take his hand pulling him further into your apartment.

She glares at Max while the two of you cuddle up on your couch together, never quite leaving you alone with him.

While you get ready to go to bed she watches Max make himself comfortable in your room. She doesn’t growl at him, instead settling for an intense stare down.

You fall asleep with Max’s arms wrapped around you, your head buried in the crook of his neck, but wake up to a large ball of heat next to you.

Luna somehow managed to hop up on the bed after you’d fallen asleep, and squeeze herself between you and Max, her front paws pushing on his chest, as if she’s keeping him away from you.

You scratch softly behind her ears. Her tail starts to thump slowly against your leg.

“Luna, baby,” you whisper. “I love you so much. You’re the best dog ever, but why on earth do you hate Max so much?” She tilts her head to look up at you with her big brown eyes. “I get it, he’s a cat person, he’s probably giving you bad vibes, but I really like him. Like, a lot. So it would be great if you could give him a chance…”

Luna sighs, then moves her paws away from Max. She stands up to move to the foot of the bed, then lays back down.

“You think she understands you?” Max grumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

You can feel the heat spread across your face. “Obviously.”

Max slowly moves so that he’s holding you again, glancing down at the dog at your feet.

“I really like you too by the way. A lot.” You can practically hear the smirk on his face.

“Yeah, I would hope so. Otherwise I’d have to sick my dog on you. She can be pretty intimidating.” You smile, and let sleep take hold of you again.

#max verstappen x reader #formula one x reader #max verstappen #mv33