𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑: 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑

Vhagar has dementia

Knock, Knock, Bang.

“Open the damn door, Y/N.” Seungcheol’s voice was sharp, almost a growl, cutting through the muffled noise of the music playing in your penthouse.

You leaned casually against the other side of the door, sipping your glass of wine with a sly smirk. “What do you want, Seungcheol?” you drawled, knowing your tone would only aggravate him further.

“I said open the door,” he snapped, fists hitting the hardwood again, harder this time. The sound echoed through the hallway. You could practically feel his frustration seeping through the air, thick and unrelenting.

“I’m busy,” you said nonchalantly, swirling your wine like you didn’t have a care in the world. Inside, your heart raced, but you’d never let him know that.

“Busy doing what? Posting stories with Mingyu?!” His voice cracked with raw anger. “I saw it, Y/N. You think I wouldn’t see it?” Another bang, louder this time. “You’re such a goddamn child sometimes.”

Your laugh was dry, mocking. “Oh, now I’m a child? Was I a child when you were flirting with that blonde at the event? What was her name again? Oh right—”

“Stop it.” His voice was a low growl now, dangerous. “You know damn well nothing happened.”

“Do I?” you shot back, finally stepping closer to the door. You pressed your palm flat against it, almost as if you could feel his energy radiating through the barrier. “Because it sure looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” he spat. The banging resumed, more frantic this time. “Y/N, open the door, or I swear to God—”

“Or you’ll what, Seungcheol? Break it down? That’s not very idol-like of you,” you teased, the smirk evident in your tone.

“Don’t test me,” he warned, his voice dropping an octave. “You don’t want to see what I’ll do if you keep this up.”

“You’re already here making a scene. Might as well go all in, right?”

“Y/N!” His fist slammed into the door again, a guttural growl escaping him. “You blocked me everywhere. You ignored my calls, my texts, everything. And now I see you out with Mingyu, laughing, drinking, looking like you don’t have a single thought about me—”

“Maybe I don’t,” you interrupted coolly, though your heart twisted at the hurt laced in his voice.

“Liar,” he hissed.

The silence hung heavy between you for a moment, only the sound of his ragged breathing and the faint hum of the city beyond the windows filling the space.

“You’re right,” you finally said, voice tinged with venom. “I did block you. Because I don’t have time to deal with your… antics. If you want to flirt with women at business events, that’s fine. But don’t expect me to stick around and play the fool.”

“You are playing the fool, Y/N,” he retorted, voice sharp. “You think Mingyu gives a damn about you? He’s only in it for the chaos. Meanwhile, I’m the one standing here, pounding on your damn door, because I actually give a shit.”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing against the doorknob. His words cut deep, but you weren’t ready to give in. Not yet.

“And what exactly do you want me to do about that, Seungcheol?” you asked, your voice icy.

“I want you to stop running,” he said, his voice softer now, though the frustration still lingered. “Stop running from me. From us. Open the door, Y/N.”

You leaned your forehead against the door, closing your eyes as his words washed over you. The tension crackled like a live wire between you, both of you too stubborn to let go of the fire you’d ignited.

“Say it,” you whispered.

“Say what?” His voice was impatient again, tinged with desperation.

“Say you’re sorry,” you said, your tone laced with a cruel challenge. “Say you won’t look at another woman like that again.”

He laughed bitterly. “You think this is about me? You’re out here playing games with Mingyu, posting stories just to get a reaction out of me, and I’m supposed to apologize?”

“Exactly,” you said, your smirk returning.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. Another bang on the door. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” you countered.

Another silence. Then, softly, “Open the door, Y/N. Please.”

Your heart wavered at the crack in his voice, but you held firm. “Not until you prove you’re serious.”

“Serious?!” he exploded. “I left a room full of people to come here the second I saw that story. I’m standing in the hallway of your penthouse building, looking like a complete idiot, begging you to talk to me. And you think I’m not serious?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around the glass in your hand.

“Y/N, I’m not leaving until you open this door,” he said, his tone final.

You sighed, taking one last sip of your wine before setting it down. Slowly, you unlocked the door, but you didn’t open it fully. You left just enough space for his dark, burning eyes to meet yours.

“I’m not done being mad at you,” you warned.

His gaze dropped to your lips before snapping back to your eyes. “Good,” he said, stepping forward and pushing the door open wider. “Neither am I.”

And then he was inside, and the air between you combusted.

Part 2

i think this is the longest fic ive written lol anyways she's coming soon!!

Master List:

Series:

A Drop in the Ocean

Part one :

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A Drop in the Ocean pt. 1

Avatar : the Way of Water Neteyam x reader , Lo’ak x reader Note : so this is just an idea I had in my head. I hope you enjoy, first time

Part two :

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A Drop in the Ocean pt. 2

Avatar: the way of water Neteyam x reader, Lo’ak x reader Note : I don’t know how to link part 1 but it shouldn’t be hard to find as this

Part three:

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A Drop in the Ocean pt. 3

Avatar: the way of water Neteyam x reader, Lo’ak x reader Note: This is part 3! Thank you for all the support; I wouldn't be this inspired

Part four:

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A Drop in the Ocean pt. 4

Avatar : the way of water Neteyam x reader, Lo’ak x reader Note:Part 4! I can not thank you guys enough, I read the comments, and I just s

Part five:

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A Drop in the Ocean pt. 5

Avatar: way of water Neteyam x reader, Lo’ak x reader Note:Part 5!as promised here is an extra chapter for today. Thank you for all the su

Part six:

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A Drop in the Ocean pt. 6

Avatar : the way of water Neteyam x reader, Lo’ak x reader . Note: Part 6! As always, thank you for all the love! Each comment and each l

Part seven:

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A Drop in the Ocean pt. 7

Avatar: the way of water Neteyam x reader, Lo’ak x reader Note: Part 7?! Can’t believe that. After so much support on the last chapter I h

Part eight:

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A Drop in the Ocean pt. 8

Avatar: the way of water Neteyam x reader, Lo’ak x reader Note: I'm predicting about 2 more parts left in the story. With all your suppo

Part nine:

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A Drop in the Ocean pt. 9

Avatar : the way of water Neteyam x reader, Lo’ak x reader Note: we are nearing the end! Thank you for the support. Love you all. I update

Part ten:

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A Drop in the Ocean Pt. 10

Avatar : the way of water Neteyam x reader, Lo’ak x reader Note: final chapter! I hope you all enjoyed this story. I plan on doing the req

The Mazer Runner :

Newt :

Coming soon

One Last Time

Summary: There has been a bioterrorism attack; people are becoming undead monsters. Simon will stop at nothing to find you and see you again, even if it's for one last time.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader

Warnings: major death, angst, gore, violence, implied suicide

masterlist

Before Simon met you, he had struggled to get a good night's rest, memories of his past always coming back to haunt him, missions gone wrong, and thoughts of ‘what if’ coursing through his mind, keeping him awake. After he met you, he felt like he could finally breathe again. Finally, after what felt like centuries, he was able to sleep at least somewhat soundly throughout the night, with thoughts and memories of you. Those were his favorite dreams, dreams where he got to hear your voice, your laugh, anything that involved you. He especially loved seeing the way you would look at him, as if he was the most important person in the world, even though you had to remind him several times that he did, in fact, deserve the love, you gave him and more. Simon Riley will do whatever it takes to see that look on your face again, even if it is just one last time. 

It has been two months since the world came crashing down; a new bioweapon was released that turns people into terrifying and disgusting creatures who are no longer human once infected. They become monsters that will stop at nothing to fulfill the unstoppable hunger coursing through their veins for blood and gore. No one ever thought they would see the day when zombies would actually walk the Earth. Simon remembers when he first heard the terrible news; he was just getting back from a relatively easy mission when he got the news from Price. 

—-

“There’s nothing we can do anymore, Simon. This might just be the end of the world as we know it.” Price said, sounding hopeless, something that Simon had never thought he would hear from his strong-willed Captain before. 

The thought of you at home or at work alone, on the other side of the country, so far away from him. If something were to happen to you, he didn’t even want to think about it for fear of speaking it into existence. He pulled out his phone, his hands shaking as he called you. Simon’s heart was pounding in his ears, making the ringing of the line barely audible. He began to hold his breath; the longer it took for you to answer, the seconds felt like centuries. On the fourth ring, you answered the phone, not even able to greet him before he was already giving you orders, something he never does, hating to let you see that side of him, but when your life was on the line, it was something that had to be done. 

—---

That phone call was the last time Simon had heard your voice as he walked through the broken streets of your once lively neighborhood trying to find you, hoping with everything he had left that you listened to him and stayed safe. All you had to do was barricade yourself in your shared home; Simon was always a worrier when it came to your safety, teaching you how to correctly defend yourself with guns and knives should the need ever arise, making sure the house was constantly stocked full of emergency supplies such as first aid kits, nonperishable foods, and bottle water, something you always poked fun of him for asking if he was ready for the zombie apocalypse, little did you both know that a simple joke would soon quickly become a reality. In the back of his mind, he was very thankful that you, at the very least had enough supplies to last you a long time and keep yourself safe until he could get to you. 

As he walked closer and closer to your shared home, broken glass crunching under his heavy boots, Simon thought about the long journey here. After the last phone call he shared with you, it was too long after that electricity, the internet, and everything quickly stopped working all over the world. The only source of communication was radio transmission, but only if you were lucky enough to find a working generator hooked to a  radio station or one that was run on solar panels. Luckily, he did not need any of that to locate you, knowing exactly how to get back to you no matter what it takes, even if he has to walk the whole way by himself. 

Simon promised Price that whenever he was able, Simon would try to contact him and that once he found you safe and sound, he would meet Price and the rest of the task force at the safe house Gaz was at to regroup and create a haven for themselves and other survivors they should find along the way. Though, if Simon was being completely honest, he didn’t really care about finding or helping anyone else, at least not until he found you, the only thing still keeping him going, his light in the darkness. Even though he was fairly used to walking long distances, combat, and guerilla warfare, the more that got in his way to reaching you felt like another nail in the coffin. Sometimes, though Simon was lucky, he would find a car in working condition that still had a bit of gas left in it, so he was able to speed down the damaged roads covered in corpses, cars, and monsters. 

Simon sees it now, the place you both called home; over the last two months, the agriculture has run wild, the weeds and grass growing tall in the yard, your once carefully looked after garden of flowers and small fruits and vegetables destroyed by what he can only hope was wild animals. The familiar wooden steps groan under his added weight as Simon slowly ascends the stairs. He grabs the worn door handle to find it locked, taking that as a good sign, hoping you are safe inside, he reaches into his hidden pocket underneath his tactical vest and pulls out the small house key that you painted black with a tiny little ghost in the center telling him ‘it matched his aesthetic more’ his heart clenches at the memory afraid of what he will find behind the closed doors. 

Simon slides the key into the lock and turns it, causing it to click into place, again, he grabs the handle, turning it to push the door open only to be met with resistance. Looking through the small crack of the door, he sees the heavy wooden bookshelf, ‘you just had to have for all your trinkets and books’ shoved against the door, blocking entry. A rush of pride fills his chest that you listened to him and blocked the entry points of the house with furniture. Using all his might, Simon slams his shoulder into the door, trying to push it open along with the bookshelf. 

“Love! Are you here? Answer me?!” Simon's deep voice cut through the silence of the house as he squeezed through the small gap in the door he was able to make. Once inside, he reached back and slowly shut and locked the door, not wanting to have any surprise visits from anyone or anything else. Still not hearing any response from you, Simon begins to make his way through the house. Looking at the small, cozy couch where he first worked up the courage to tell you that he loved you, though a whisper at first, scared of your reply, fearing it would ruin your relationship, until you threw yourself in his arms saying it back much louder than he had, it was now propped up against the wall as a makeshift barrier covering the window that looked out over your garden. 

Simon walks into the kitchen with his gun raised just in case, already fearing the worst. The kitchen that was once filled with your joyous laughter as you covered him in flour from an impromptu baking idea you got after watching one of those silly baking shows you liked to watch when he was away on a mission. Now, nothing but his heavy breathing and footsteps can be heard. A muffled cry reached Simon’s ears, causing him to whip around in search of the source of the sound. Heading towards your shared bedroom, the door slightly ajar, letting him see somewhat into the room, memories flashed behind his eyes: the bed where he held you close at night, where you moaned out his name in pleasure, the bed where you comforted him after harsh nightmares that seemed too real. 

Using the tip of his gun, he pushed the door open quickly checking the corners of the room for danger, finding nothing until another muffled noise could be heard coming from the closet. Slowly, he walks toward the closet, he reaches out his hand, shaking from what he might find, and rips open the closet door, aiming the gun. Only to find you huddled in the corner of the closet shakily holding one of his hunting knives while tears stream down your face while you cover your mouth trying to hold in your sobs. 

Upon seeing you, Simon drops to his knees, whispering your name, ripping off the mask from his face. Through the tears in your eyes, you see Simon kneeling in front of you, and you leap forward, throwing yourself into his awaiting embrace, the knife now forgotten on the floor beside you. You loudly sob as you tuck your face into his chest, Simon's arms tighten around you to the point where it almost hurts, but it is a good kind of pain. His face is tucked in the corner of your neck; his breathing is shaky and labored. You both sit in the opening of the closet, holding each other as close as you can, until Simon pulls back from you and grabs your face, holding it carefully in his hands, his eyes searching your face, before leaning forward and placing his forehead against yours closing your eyes. 

He lets out another shaky breath, “I am glad that I was able to make it in time to see you one last time.” 

Your face fulls together in confusion, putting your hand overtop of his, “One last time? Simon, what are you talking about?”

Simon feels you pull your face out of his hands, but still holding his hands, he opens his eyes to see more tears now streaming down your face as your eyes focus on the bite mark on his left arm, the ripped shirt covered in blood as he tried to fight off the spreading infection as best he could with a tourniquet. Simon tried so hard to make it back to you unscathed, but he was ambushed and attacked by a horde of zombies just yesterday. Everything happened so fast that he didn’t even realize he had been bitten until later. When he realized, he thought about killing himself right then and there to protect you, but he couldn’t, not yet anyway, he wanted to see you again. He had to, he had to know that you were ok. Plus, he couldn’t stand the thought of you never knowing what had happened to him, making you spend the rest of your life worrying about him. So, he decided he would find you and see you again for the last time. 

“no, no, no, no. Please no! Simon, I just got you back you can’t leave me. Please don’t do this to me..I… can’t do this anymore.” you are sobbing uncontrollably now. 

Simon pulls you into his chest again and rubs a soothing hand down your back. “I am so sorry, love. I hate to do this to you, but I needed to see you. I had to know that you were safe.” His voice rumbled against your face. “You won’t be alone; I wouldn’t do that to you. I was able to contact Price earlier today and told him and he is on the way to you. He will be here within the coming week. The safe haven they create isn’t too far from here. They all promised me they would keep you safe.” Simon feels his control wavering, but he needs to stay strong for you; crying right now would not help you. 

—

You both stay like that, slumped on the floor, holding onto each other with everything you have because you know when you let go, it will be for the last time. “How much longer do you have left?” you whispered out, your voice raw and strained from all the crying. 

Simon let out a deep, painful breath, “A day at most, the infection moves at a fast rate. But I am not taking any chances; I’m doing it tonight. Price will be here soon, and you’ll be ok.” 

He feels you shiver in his hold at his words. Simon knows that you understand his meaning without having to say it. Simon knows he is already risking so much by coming back to the house to see you one last time, but just for once he wants to be selfish and make all of his suffering worth it, holding you in his arms makes him feel complete once again even though you both know that time is running out. He grabs your face and brings your lips to his uncovered ones, kissing you, trying to show you that everything will be ok, that you are going to be ok, trying to say everything that he is too scared to say through your last shared kiss. Salty tears can be tasted on your lips as you wrap your hands around his neck, running your fingers through his hair like you always do. Simon pulls back from you just a bit, though your lips still brush against each other with every word he whispers, “I love you. No matter where I end up, I will always search for you to keep you safe.” 

He gives you one last peck against the lips as he slips out of your hold, walking to the door and closing it behind him because he knows if he stops now and looks at you, he won’t be able to follow through with his plans, and he has to do this. He has to keep you safe, even if it means breaking your heart in the process. Your sobs echo loudly throughout the home that was once filled with so much happiness. Tears fill his eyes, but he keeps on walking, squeezing through the gap in the front door, pulling it shut, locking the door back, hoping that you will move the bookshelf back in front of the door. The key feels heavy in his grasp as he rubs his thumb over the small ghost painted on it. He bends down carefully, placing the key under the doormat for Price to find. 

Simon walks around to the edge of the house where the tool shed still stands with overgrown weeds covering it. He prys the door open till he finds what he is looking for, pulling out the heavy wrench from inside the toolbox. The metal feels cool in his grip. Simon rolls his shoulders back, raising the hand that holds the wrench above his head before bringing the wrench down onto his jaw with as much force as he can muster. Pain explodes across his face, but he won’t stop not until he knows for sure his jaw is broken. He refuses to take any chances of coming back as one of the disgusting zombies and potentially end up biting or hurting you.

 It took three blows before Simon could feel his jaw hanging limply from his face. The pain was one of the worst pains he had ever felt in his entire life, but to keep you safe, he had to do it. Plus, the physical pain he was experiencing was nothing compared to the pain inside his chest. Simon slides down the side of the shed, sits down in the grass, pulls his gun, places it on the side of his head, closing his eyes, picturing your smiling face in his mind, the life you both should of had together flashing throughout his mind as he pulls the trigger, the last thing he sees is you standing before him the day you meet smiling brightly at him. 

—-----------

Four days later, when Price arrives at you and Simon’s home, he walks up the steps leading to your door when something catches the corner of his eye off to the side of the house. Price sees the tool shed with a slumped figure sitting in the shadow, walking over to it with his weapon raised; bile raises in the back of his throat that he has to force back down at the sight of you covered in blood wrapped in Simon’s arms your face tucked under his broken jaw. In your hands, Price sees a note. He reaches down and pulls the note from your hands, opening it.

 ‘I am sorry, John. I couldn’t leave him all alone here.” He places the note back where he found it, looking down at his friends as tears fill his eyes. He refuses to let them fall because he knows wherever they are, they are together. 

--------------------------

This was my first attempt at writing angst. I hope you all like it. Please let me know if there are any warnings that I missed!

Can you do one where there was a large breed dog in the track that’s a stray and everyone is trying to catch it, but then driver reader started talking to it in a baby voice and she begs to keep the dog once she caught it.

Of course I can. That is such a sweet request. 🥰

Enjoy reading and send some requests

- xoxo, Babygirl💋

Just Ken

It was a bright and sunny afternoon at the Brazilian Grand Prix, and the atmosphere in the paddock was electric. The teams were getting ready for the final practice session before qualifying, and the tension was rising. Everything was running smoothly until, out of nowhere, a large dog—a stray by the looks of it—ran onto the track during the break between practice runs.

"Is that... a dog?" Lando squinted from the McLaren garage, pulling his visor up and pointing toward the track.

Charles laughed nervously, leaning on the pit wall next to him. "How did a dog get in here?"

The dog, a huge, scruffy breed that looked like a German Shepherd, darted across the track with a sense of urgency, weaving between the garages and cars. The engineers and staff tried to shoo it away, but it was too fast, dodging everyone and barking wildly whenever anyone got close.

The Red Bull garage, on the other hand, was a bit calmer—until Y/N, the youngest driver on the grid and currently Red Bull’s rising star, noticed the commotion.

"What's going on?" she asked, standing up in the car she had just parked in the garage.

Max shrugged while watching the chaos. "Apparently, there’s a stray dog running around the track. Everyone’s trying to catch it, but... it's not going well."

Y/N’s eyes widened, a glimmer of excitement flickering across her face. "A dog?!" She hopped out of her car faster than anyone expected.

"Wait, you’re not seriously going to go after it, are you?" Max raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-concerned.

But Y/N was already gone, heading toward the pit lane with a bounce in her step, her Red Bull racing suit fluttering behind her.

♡♡♡♡♡

On the track, engineers were stumbling over each other, trying to catch the stray with nets, ropes, and even pieces of food. The dog growled low and deep, showing its teeth whenever anyone got too close, sending them scrambling back.

Lewis was the next to try his luck, cautiously walking toward the dog with a water bottle in hand. "Hey, buddy, come on... let's not make this difficult, okay?"

The dog barked sharply, making Lewis back off. "Yeah, no. That's not happening." He quickly retreated, shaking his head.

Meanwhile, Y/N, standing a few meters away, observed the situation with a thoughtful look. She pursed her lips and bent down, resting her hands on her knees.

"Who's a good boy?" she called out, her voice soft and high-pitched, almost like she was speaking to a baby.

The dog’s ears perked up immediately, and it stopped barking. Slowly, its head turned toward Y/N, who was still crouched down, wiggling her fingers in the dog’s direction.

"Come here, buddy! It's okay!" Y/N cooed, her voice dripping with sweetness. She gave an exaggerated pout and made soft kissing noises, as if she was calling a puppy.

The dog—who moments ago had been terrorizing a group of terrified pit crew members—calmly turned and padded toward her, tail wagging slightly. It stopped a foot away from her, tilting its head.

Everyone was frozen in disbelief.

"Is she... talking to it in a baby voice?" George whispered to Carlos, who stood beside him, equally shocked.

"Mate, I think she is," Carlos replied, eyes wide. "And it's working!"

Y/N extended her hand slowly toward the dog. "Hi, sweetheart! You're such a handsome boy, aren’t you?"

The dog, much to everyone’s amazement, gently sniffed her hand, then leaned in to nuzzle her palm, tail wagging now in full force.

Y/N grinned brightly. "Oh, you’re just a big teddy bear!" She wrapped her arms around the dog’s massive neck and started scratching behind its ears. The dog licked her face in return.

The entire pit lane was silent, the drivers and crews staring in stunned silence. No one could believe what they were seeing.

"Is this real?" Oscar muttered, blinking as if he expected the scene to dissolve like a dream.

Even Christian, who had been watching from a distance, couldn’t help but chuckle in disbelief. "I’ve seen a lot in Formula 1, but this... this takes the cake."

♡♡♡♡

After a few minutes of cuddles and praise, Y/N stood up, still holding the dog's collar. "What’s your name, buddy?" she asked, looking into its eyes as if it might answer her.

The dog barked softly, wagging its tail even harder.

"I think I’ll call you... Ken!" she announced, looking around at the crowd with a proud smile on her face. "He looks like a Ken, don’t you think?"

The dog barked again, as if in agreement, making Y/N laugh.

At that point, a track official hesitantly approached, clearly unsure of how to handle the situation. "Uh, Y/N, we’ll need to call animal control or find the owner. It’s probably a stray."

Y/N immediately pouted, pulling Ken closer to her side. "Noooo, but he’s so sweet! Look at him!" She scratched behind his ears again, and Ken looked up at her with adoring eyes.

"Ken doesn’t like anyone else, see? He chose me!" she continued, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Max, who had wandered over with a bemused smile on his face, crossed his arms. "I mean, she’s got a point. Ken’s not exactly warming up to anyone else."

As if on cue, Ken snarled at the track official when he took a step forward, causing the man to back off immediately.

"Whoa!" the official exclaimed. "Okay, maybe he’s... protective of you."

Y/N beamed and looked down at Ken. "See, he’s just being a good boy!"

Christian walked over, clearly weighing his options. "Y/N, you can’t just adopt a dog from the track," he said, though his tone was far more amused than strict.

"But why not?" Y/N asked, giving him her best puppy eyes. "I’ll take good care of him! Look at him, he’s perfect for the team. We can put a little Red Bull jacket on him!"

"Ken, the official Red Bull dog?" Max smirked, clearly enjoying the chaos.

At this point, even the other drivers were gathering around, fascinated by Y/N’s new friend.

"Can’t believe it," Charles muttered, shaking his head. "She’s like the dog whisperer or something."

"Yeah, and he’s only nice to her," Pierre added, eyeing Ken warily as he stood close to Y/N but growled whenever someone else got too close.

Y/N grinned as she stroked Ken’s fur. "See? He loves me! He’s just a big softie."

Christian sighed, rubbing his temples, but there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Fine, you can keep him... for now. But he’s your responsibility."

"YES!" Y/N cheered, pumping her fist in the air. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Ken barked happily, as if sensing her excitement, and gave her another slobbery lick on the cheek.

The drivers watched in disbelief as Y/N led Ken back toward the Red Bull garage, already making plans for his new life in the F1 paddock.

Max clapped Christian on the back as they both watched her go. "Well, looks like Red Bull’s got a new mascot."

Christian just chuckled. "I suppose we do. Let’s hope Ken likes the noise of the cars, or we’re in for some trouble."

Pull up in an all black roadster.

🃏👑🃏

You were married off to the king as a young noble woman. The arrangement was rather rushed in your opinion, not that anyone asked for it. The king only needed a show queen, a quiet but present symbol for the kingdom and you suited well enough for that.

He didn’t need a wife for pleasure, he had plenty mistresses for that and he seemed to be in no rush for a successor. You suspected it was because he had no intent to hand over power to anyone else anytime soon. Although, that's just what you assumed, others never blamed him for it. You were always the target of the hushed whispers and silent accusations of infertility, unruliness or even infidelity when it came to the subject of an heir.

The people's gossip aside, it was an easy marriage. You didn’t have to share a bed with a man you didn’t love and you didn’t have to raise his children. Many more deserving women would kill for such a life, which only made you feel worse about the utter discontent you felt. It was the loneliness, mostly. Such a privileged life and yet not a single companion in the world to share it with.

The king and his advisers only speak to you when they need you to make an appearance as queen. Their orders always dripping with condescension and near mockery. They’ve made you smile and wave for hours, waltz until your feet blister and recite a holy text’s worth of pompous poetry, but this most recent ploy was particularly concerning.

You sit on your throne next to your husband, hands in your lap, staring at the colourful figure in front of you. The bells on his ridiculous hat jingle as he bows his head so low they almost touch the marble floor. Quiet chuckles emit from the nobility crowding the massive ballroom and the unease in your stomach only builds.

When the jester picks his head back up, you can’t help fiddling even more with your dress, just like your husband's advisers have scolded you not to. The jester silently stares with his sheet white face, big red grin painted across his mouth. You want to shrink under the jesters stare, the blue diamonds painted over his eyes make his gaze feel piercing.

The king grins when he catches your nervous gaze.

“Do you like your surprise, my love? I thought you could use some cheering up lately. As did my advisers.”

He chuckles, looking over at the old men in the corner of the room. They smile back, amusing in a joke you're not a part of.

You just nod your head as politely as possible. You don’t know what's happening, but whatever they have planned can’t be good.

The jester skips up to where you and the king sit. He gives an exaggerated curtsy to the king, earning a laugh from him and the various nobility.

The bells jingle as he springs back up and steps closer to you. He stretches his hand out, you stare at it and then back to your husband.

“The fool wants a dance, my dear. Give him a dance.”

You try to hide the apprehension on your face and reach for the jesters white glove-covered hand. He doesn’t squeeze or pull you up like you expected, instead he holds it gently, waiting for your next move. You rise from your throne and cast one more glance at your husband, who only offers a self-satisfied grin in return. This whole time all they've wanted from you is a perfect queen and now they want you to dance with a fool?

The jester walks you to the middle of the room, encircled by leering nobility. He places your hand on his waist before dramatically correcting the mistake and placing it on his shoulder instead, looking bashfully to the audience who snicker at the joke. He takes your other hand in his and gives you a little nod before the musicians starts playing and he guides you into step.

Now obviously you know very well how to dance, you enjoyed it quite a bit when you were little although, now it’s just become another part of your queenly duties. Did any of that even matter now? Now that it’s clear the king and his peers see you as just as much of a joke as the man you’re waltzing with.

Your deep thoughts are broken when said man unexpectedly twirls you in a dizzying circle. You flail slightly in your surprise but you’re brought back into his arms just as quickly to continue your steps. You fully focus on him now and you wonder what his features look like under that gaudy clown makeup. Even in the bright chandelier lights of the ball room, you can’t make out the colour of his irises. Earlier, you thought they were hazel but now it seems they're an impossibly dark brown.

The dark pools look as if they could swallow all the colour from his face and your own. Actually, has he blinked even once during this dance, or at all for that matter?

You’re not sure if it was your mistake or the jester’s but you step on his foot and he suddenly pulls away from you. He clutches his foot and jumps up and down in theatrical pain. The room bursts into laughter, bellows and cackles. These elite men and women delight in the humiliating performance you’re both putting on for them. It takes everything in you not to cave right there in the middle of it.

While the jeering continues, you try your best to steel yourself, replacing the need to cry with spiteful compliance. If they want a dance, they can have a dance.

You curtsy at the jester, offering an apology and hold your hand out to him. He looks around and then points to himself. You can’t help but smile and nod your head.

He takes your hand and when the music starts back up again, you step in time to the beautiful melody. You try and put your full attention on the jester, not anyone else in the large room, which proves to be quite easy as he is by far the most interesting person present. You can just make out the small smile under the red painted grin, his relaxed eyebrows under the bright blue diamonds, the crook of his pointy nose.

While moving in sync, you become almost lost in trying to map out his face under the make-up. You look for imperfections in the face paint but can’t seem to find a single smudge or brush streak, in fact the paint looks impressively even, like it’s a second skin.

It truly does feel like its only you two and the music, for the first time in a long time you feel wanted by someone else.

But when the king grows bored he demands new entertainment.

He motions for the musicians to stop their music and you’re brought back to reality. The jester bows for the crowd, he gestures to you and you offer a little curtsy before being escorted back to your throne. Form there, you watch the rest of the strange performers routine. He juggles an impressive amount of miscellaneous items, he folds himself into ridiculous positions, walks on his hands and generally makes a fool of himself for the crowd.

You watch in delight, though your husband doesn't seem as interested as he was before your little dance.

You think about the jester all the way back to your courters that night. You think about him as you slip on your night dress and slide into bed, and you think of him as you stare up at the ceiling for possibly hours. There is too much on your mind, the fun of watching the jesters performance has subsided and thoughts of what this means for your reputation and position in the court remain constant. A sigh leaves you as you lift yourself up and open the doors to your balcony.

You lean on the balcony ledge and stare out at the starry night sky, not even the strange jester can distract from the humiliation ritual you were just a part of. He could have been in on it for all you know and you're just naive enough to think he was being kind to you during the whole thing.

A shuffling sound from behind you makes you turn your head and it takes you just a split second to register the very colourful jester standing in the corner of your balcony.

The screech you let out is smothered by your own hand. You clutch the edge of the balcony, staring at the slender man who puts his hands up, waving apologies while moving his chest as if laughing, nothing comes out of his mouth. You clutch your heart, breathing quite heavily as you stare at him bewildered. You look around trying to discern where he could have come from, and how you only now hear his bells jingle as he waves his hands, still apologising.

He steps closer and stands tall in front of you, he’s much more imposing than you remember him being. He holds up one finger and then mimics a waltz. His head bows low and he holds his hand out for you to take. He’s asking for another dance but is there really much of a choice at all? Has this also been planned? If you say no, will he just leave? Do you want him to leave? The dance you shared was the most delightful time you've had in so, so long

You stare at him for a good while, he stays with his hand outstretched, bent over at a near 90 degree angle, not straining even a little. The longer you wait, the more uncomfortable you feel in his unwavering presence.

Against your better judgement, you reach out and touch his gloved hand. He curls his fingers around yours and stands upright. You let him bring your hand to his shoulder, place his hand on your waist and step closer. This time is different from the last time. Now it really does feel like his attention is only on you, not with the other guests, not with the performance. It should be frightening, but you find no malice in his eyes, no ridicule in his demeanor.

As he steps into motion, you begin a slow waltz in the small space of your balcony. It's slower than in the ballroom, it's more intimate. While you dance with this complete stranger, your thoughts run rampant, you second guess your judgement again and again. Maybe the kindness you sense from him is a ruse. Maybe he is here on behalf of the king, setting up another degrading show. He could even be an assassin, come to rid you quietly in the middle of the night.

You would deserve such a fate for giving in so easily. You slowly spin in his arms and this time you don't hear the snide laughs of the nobility, just the sounds of the night. Both of you step in time and you let him guide you to the edge of your balcony. You hold your breath as he dips you over the ledge. Your eyes squeeze shut and you let out what could be your last breath ready for him to let go and let you fall.

But he doesn't let go, your grip on his shoulders never slips. You open your eyes, a bit blurry from wetness but you can make out his face, because it's right in front of you even though you're bent over the balcony far enough that your feet have left the ground. You stare back at his unrelenting gaze. In the dim light of the moon his eyes look even darker than before and something new swims in the deep black of his pupils, something sad.

They are lidded as they examine your face, your entire being. His hand on your back presses your chest further into his until you're sure he can feel your rapid heartbeat through your very flesh.

He lifts you upright again, turning you away from the ledge and out of harms way. You’re still chest to chest, he’s so close but you can’t feel him breathe. Your wide eyes stare up at him, trying to discern his expression. Your breaths are short and your grip on him hasn’t let up a bit.

He brings his hands up to your cheeks, the warm fabric of his gloves on your cold cheeks has you easing into them far too easily. His eyes examine every inch of your face while his thumbs stroke your cheeks, you can just barely see the frown on his lips behind the painted smile. He brings your face closer to his, slow and methodical, making it very clear what his next move is. You’re not sure if this was due to his own hesitation or to give you time to pull away, regardless you let him inch closer and closer until his lips grazed yours and you finally feel him breathe out one long breath.

The kiss is deep. Despite being slow and gentle, it still forces a struggled breath from you. You would’ve thought he tasted like paint but he doesn’t, he’s warm and inviting. It’s nice.

Your eyes close, surrendering all hesitation to the stranger in your arms. Fingers dig into the fabric of his puffy striped sleeves as your body melts further into his. You quickly learn to breathe through your nose, out of necessity and unwillingness to part from his affections.

You let him work your mouth open, slipping his tongue inside. The feeling is so foreign, you can’t help but whine. The backs of his fingers flutter over your throat and you shiver.

His tongue fills your mouth, sliding along yours and savouring your taste. The wet muscle reaches far into your mouth, farther than you thought normal but your experience is slim and you don’t have the awareness to fully question it. It’s overwhelming. Your knees tremble and he lowers you both to the cold stone floor. His tongue reaches into your throat, a feat you know is impossible.

You’re too lost to even think of the implications of this, as you gag and convulse around the thick muscle in your throat that no longer feels like a normal tongue. He reaches so far, your eyes roll back, your lower region warms uncomfortably and you forget how to breathe. You tap his shoulders quickly, a plea for air, and he retreats from your throat. He holds you as you cough and heave, wiping the spit from your chin.

You look at him with the an expression full of shock and fear and bewilderment and every other emotion shooting through your fuzzy mind. His expression is hard to discern but he seems both amused and sad.

He stands and brings you up on shaky legs. When he starts to back away, you panic and clutch his hands tighter. You don’t know what you were hoping for. That he would stay? That he would spend the night with you?

His face is full of what you hope is longing and not pity, you know what pity looks like. He holds you close in what you know is a goodbye embrace. He presses his forehead to yours and he places one last short kiss on your lips. Its playfull and very much not what you’d consider a proper good bye kiss. You search his gaze and you’re met with rather boyish mirth, lifting your spirits slightly. Maybe this isn't goodbye then?

He winks at you and takes your hand, spinning you around once, twice and three times before he lets go. When you rebalance yourself and look around the balcony, there is no sight of the jester. It's just the pitying sounds of the night and your only other witness, the moon. Like he was never there at all.

Me thinking about Namor all day

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

Guns N’ Roses

Main Masterlist

𝕊𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕙

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤: 𝟙

𝕃𝕒𝕥𝕖 ℕ𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 - 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖

𝔼𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕪 𝕄𝕠𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 - 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖

𝕄𝕚𝕕𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕤 - 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖

ℍ𝕠𝕥 𝕄𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕤 - 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖

𝕁𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕪 - 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕗𝕚𝕔

𝔸𝕤𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 - 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤

𝔸𝕩𝕝 ℝ𝕠𝕤𝕖

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤: 𝟙

𝔸𝕤𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 - 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤

𝔻𝕦𝕗𝕗 𝕄𝕔𝕂𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕟

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤:

𝕀𝕫𝕫𝕪 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕚𝕟

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤:

ℂ𝕚𝕘𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥 - 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖

𝕊𝕥𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝔸𝕕𝕝𝕖𝕣

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤: