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crushmeeren · 10 months ago

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MEN WHO ARE SECRETLY PUSSY HOUNDS. (✿˶˘ ³˘)

⋆ ft. izuku, tamaki, megumi, tobio 𓌹-𓌺

master list link

࣪ . ˖˙ 𖥦 I kind of hate this…… and I made it way too long on accident. But once I started I wanted so badly to finish it, so….. please enjoy while I crawl into a hole. (՞߹ - ߹՞)

Izuku never fails to stand tall in the face of whatever comes his way. The man is an unyielding force in his resolve if he believes in what he’s doing.

Such a statement is simply a fact of life. It’s like declaring that the sky is blue, grass is green, and Midoriya Izuku happens to be the single most determined man you’d ever met.

He’s clever, wicked smart and, as he’s gotten older, he’s managed to get a handle on his nervous stuttering and rambling.

Hell, if you watched him in an interview now, you wouldn’t think to associate him with the humiliating first interview he’d had right out of school that managed to make him go viral overnight. The comments were not kind.

So, as calm and well spoken as Izuku is today, you never expected him to be such a….. such a pussy hound for you. It’s the best way you can describe it.

Izuku fucking loves that tight little pussy of yours in such a gut wrenching manner that he day dreams about it often enough it’s resulted in Bakugou smacking him upside the head to “pay fucking attention,” more than once during department meetings.

The scenarios that run rampant through his mind are more than enough to send all his blood rushing below his bellybutton while he’s at his desk. With the way his stomach clenches and the ache that burns and nags at him to just get. inside. your. fucking. pussy. — well, he’s sure his briefs are sticking to the tip of his cock in the most lewd way.

So, Izuku takes a long lunch.

Just like that, as soon as he gets home, Izuku becomes the stuttering, blushing, babbling mess he was not so long ago. He strides into your kitchen, snaking his arms around your waist and groans when he smells the sweet vanilla scent of your lotion on your neck.

You easily let him grip your hips and lift you up onto the edge of the counter, fingers slipping into your soft sleep shorts and tugging them down and off your ankles. Izuku kisses you frantically, shoving his pants to mid thigh and allowing his cock to bob free and smack his stomach.

He shivers, giving you the prettiest high pitched whine that shoots straight to your pussy when his heavy dick starts stretching you a bit too eagerly. His lips part and his cheeks blossom with a blush so intense you’re sure steam will come from his ears as he bottoms out.

It’s too much too quickly and when you hiss, sinking your nails into his shoulders, all he can do is bury his face in your throat and whimper in apology. You can tell he’s desperate when his voice starts to shake and his hips thrust in shallow motions controlled by a mind of their own.

He babbles, “M’sorry princess, m’so sorry! Your pussy’s so good squeezing my cock, I can’t stay still. God — oh my god, please please let me fuck you!”

It’s fruitless to resist his begging. So suffice to say, you let your blubbering, stupidly hot, pussy hound of a husband use you until you’re both curling your toes and seeing stars.

Tamaki is shy on a good day.

He blushes bubblegum pink, he stammers, he avoids eye contact to the absolute best of his ability during interviews. Of course, he does manage to put on a more approachable front to face the public. If only to show impressionable children that if he can be brave, then they can, but still he struggles with his own anxiety.

It’s only common sense that everyone assumes you’re the more dominate one in the bedroom, and well, they aren’t wrong, per se.

But, there are two sides to every coin, and Tamaki is nothing if not a pussy hound for you.

Granted, his inner dog only comes out every so often, and even then he’s still a desperate puppy who seems to wiggle his way into having control.

And tonight, that’s where you find yourself.

Tamaki swears he can’t help it.

“T-Tamaki, stop!” You push at his shoulders, the warmth of his slick chest presses firmly against your tits and it does not help your resolve in any way. “Let me finish washing my hair at least,” you protest weakly, steam curling up into the air around you both, blanketing the shower in a fog.

Tamaki whines childishly into your throat, sucking at the hollow of it until you shudder in his hold. His fingers tighten on your hips, thumbs tracing the bone softly.

“Please pretty girl, I need you so bad. I wanna feel your pussy sucking on my cock. I’ve wanted it all day,” he pleads against your collarbone, voice pitching higher, dragging out the words at the end as he complains continuously.

He’s been at this for almost the entirety of your mutual shower and, really, it’s not as if you don’t want to have sex with him, you just wanted to finish cleaning off first! Decidedly, you lace your fingers in his drenched purple hair and yank until he pulls back and meets your gaze.

His face is a pretty rosy pink and his eyes are so hooded they’re almost shut, no trace of your shy husband to be found as he stares you down with a searing heat.

Within a heart beat of your agreement he spins you, pushing a hand into the middle of your back and tugging on your hip until your ass is sticking out. You yelp, catching yourself with palms meeting cool tile.

His cock is full and jumps steadily when he rolls his hips to drag it over the lips of your pussy, gasping softly and hanging onto your waist with an iron grip until his weeping tip catches. Then he’s sliding inside and stretching you out completely with one sharp thrust.

One low moan of his name and Tamaki’s wrenching you back to meet each desperate push of his hips. The smack of your skin is so loud it makes your face burn, and the force of it pulls you up onto your toes to keep your balance. This man’s got you biting your fingers just to keep yourself grounded.

Your poor husband’s been so worked up all day that when his panting turns into stuttered breaths and cut off whimpers after about three minutes, you’re not surprised.

“Oh, oh god, I’m gonna cum baby, wanna cum inside. Please can I?” He pleads, eyes glued to where his cock disappears inside your pussy and returns even shinier than before.

He’s crying out, shoving his dick to the root inside you and stuffing you full before you finish nodding yes.

But, it doesn’t bother you much that he finished so fast. Soon after, a soft, warm tongue starts playing with your clit, lazily eating your pussy until you’re licked clean of his release and squirting on his face.

Megumi pretends to be aloof. He pretends that he’s cool, collected, and apathetic. As if nothing ruffles his feathers, and to give him credit, he can be those things.

Yet, he’s also much more. Once you sneak past his prickly exterior, Megumi is the kind of guy who cares so much that he has to pretend he doesn’t or it’ll tear him to shreds. Actions speak louder than words with him.

Most people aren’t privy to the softer side of your sweet husband and he maintains his uncaring attitude to the majority nonetheless. Like it’s some kind of secret.

So you’re sure people would be shocked to find that Megumi can and has, on several occasions, dissolved into a messy, needy, unraveled pussy hound when it comes to you.

When Megumi falls into this sort of mood, he really lets go. He’s been sending you increasingly toe curling texts and pictures all day while you were at work and you just knew what was coming once you returned home.

You find the dark haired man sitting on your couch, shorts and briefs shoved to his thighs and t-shirt rumpled at his collar bone. Slender fingers curl around his cock, jerking himself off slowly, a delicious peachy blush trailing from his cheeks to his nipples.

His head raises up when he spots you, eyes heavy and smoldering when he reaches a hand out to you and makes a grabbing motion.

“C’mere baby, want you so bad,” he murmurs pitifully, hips rolling up to meet his hand when he drags it back down his shaft. You raise an eyebrow in amusement and he pushes out his lower lip.

“You need it that bad Megumi?” You tease, sauntering over to the couch to get a better look at him. He scowls in return but his hand never leaves his cock, thumb swiping over the head which makes him bite his lower lip.

He sinks down a little lower into the couch, brows pinched together to emphasize his pretty little pout. “Don’t be mean. Just ride me.” He pauses, eyeing you. “Please.”

“Awfully demanding for someone who needs my pussy so badly, aren’t you?” The smug smile on your face makes Megumi huff.

You don’t waste much more time teasing after that, too riled up from all the nasty texts he’d sent you throughout the day.

You strip off your clothes, Megumi kicking off his shorts and briefs, yanking his shirt off in similar fashion, tossing them aside. You crawl onto the couch and straddle his lap, raising on your knees and steadying him at the base until you smoothly sit all the way down on his cock.

Megumi’s hands fly to your waist, head tossing backwards and eyes rolling back with a throaty moan when he finally gets the unrelenting tight squeeze on his dick that he’s been longing for since he woke up this morning.

You thread a hand through the hair at the base of his skull and pull until he looks you straight in the eye. He looks pussy drunk already with his glassy eyes and pink cheeks, jaw hanging open as his chest heaves. To think, you haven’t even moved yet.

You ride him slowly at first, listening to his bitten off gasps each time you sit back down. When you start to pick up the pace, Megumi’s eyes widen and his nails pinch your hips.

Megumi pleads with you to no avail. “Oh fuck, your pussy feels amazing princess, I can’t.” His voice takes on the whiny quality that you adore. “Please, s-slow down baby or I’m gonna cum.”

You don’t slow down. You kiss him sweetly, brace a hand on one shoulder, tangle the other in his hair again and fuck him until his breaths are shuddering remnants of a sob and he’s limp on the couch beneath you.

Tobio, without sugar coating it, is arrogant. Don’t get it wrong, he can back that confidence up with the seemingly natural intelligence he has when it comes to volleyball, but he’s clueless with relationships. Not to mention he has zero filter.

But he’s kind. He’s sweet, and you love Tobio so much for trying his very best to understand the ins and outs of what it means to be a good boyfriend to you. He becomes such an easygoing version of himself when he’s alone with you and you get more enamored with him by the day.

That’s why you’re sure people, Hinata, would pay good money for the information that “the king” is a desperate fiend for you. Your very own personal pussy hound.

Tobio commands the court, but he melts into the mattress and becomes putty when you have sex.

Your indifferent boyfriend has been begging you all night to sit on his face, and now that you are, you wonder why you didn’t do it sooner.

“Jesus Tobio, you’re so good at eating pussy — fuck,” you praise, voice slipping into a whine, hips rolling to drag your swollen clit over his velvet tongue. Your fingers tangle in silky black hair and pull until Tobio’s eyes flutter shut with a husky moan.

One of his hands slide from your hip to your ass and he spanks you, grabbing a handful before he moves it down to squeeze the base of his cock.

You keep your heavy lidded gaze on his pretty face, chest rising and falling with choked off gasps the closer you get to cumming. Tobio licks lazily at your pussy, pushing his tongue inside you and then sucking on your clit.

He cracks open his eyes and warm honey rushes through your veins instead of blood. His cotton candy pink cheeks paint him as the perfect picture of pussy drunk between your thighs, whimpering when you yank on his hair.

It doesn’t take much more for you to cum with a shiver, then Tobio’s wildly shoving you down his body until his heavy cock is nestled against your pussy.

“Baby please,” Tobio whines, large hands kneading your ass, cool air touching your pussy as he spreads you wide open. “I was good yeah? So let me put my cock inside you.”

“Why should I? You’re already about to cum, aren’t you Tobio? Just from a little pussy eating.” You can’t resist the urge to tease him, tone dripping in condescension and a smirk tugging at your lips.

He glances at the wall with a frown, blush roaring back to life with a vengeance, but the cock twitching between your thighs contradicts his petty actions.

“You’re gonna cum as soon as you get inside of me.”

Your boyfriend shoots you a halfhearted glare. “No, I’m not.”

Tobio, in fact, does cum the instant you sit all the way down on his cock. His voice cracks when he does, a sweet cry of your name falling from his lips.

Lucky for you, he stays rock hard afterwards, and he only looks a little dazed. Tobio flips you both and fucks your pussy raw until he has nothing left to give.

#midoriya izuku #tamaki amajiki #fushiguro megumi #kageyama tobio #midoriya izuku x reader #amajiki tamaki x reader #fushiguro x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #midoriya smut #tamaki smut #fushiguro smut #kageyama smut #mha x reader #haikyuu x reader #jjk x reader #dividers by strangergraphics

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yourlocalsmutwriter · 13 days ago

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Please I am obsessed with your loaded roommate max post, hear me about what about loaded boss!Mac and his assistant reader who has to come up with all sorts of convincing ways to get him to do PR??

Anon, I'm obsessed with THIS. Did a little combo of the two, hope you like it

Bring your ?????? to work - Max Verstappen x reader

Whoever said that you shouldn't mix business and pleasure hadn't met or worked with Max Verstappen. You didn't mean to, really. You already lived with him, the two of you having some weird psychosexual back and forth due to the forced proximity. But now the Monaco Grand Prix was nearing, and the Redbull social media team was missing some members, something about Imola airport and strikes. Max was overjoyed on Monday when they told him, visualizing a week without filming stupid TikToks. But you pounced on the opportunity to help out. Taking over would do wonders for your online presence, your freelance portfolio, and your wallet. Everyone would give an arm and a leg to "cook in Redbull's kitchen." Step one was to make a nice presentation of the things you needed to film, scripts, storyboards, and shot lists. You pulled an all-nighter, fueled by manic determination and energy drinks. When you're satisfied, you move on to the next one - getting it somewhere. Max is sloppy with closing his door, still sleeping. You neatly move the covers and grin at the morning wood. You pinch his thigh, hard, and he jolts a Dutch word beginning with K on the tip of his tongue.

"Can I?" You ask, motioning to his hard cock. Max is honestly happy to be alive right now. He needs a peaceful start to the morning. Usually, he'd settle for a coffee, but your mouth would do, he supposed. You want something. He can tell, by your slow kisses to his shaft, the way you're teasing his tip. Max can feel your eyes burning into his shut eyelids. When he looks at you, you moan for him, letting the sound please him. You fucking cup his balls and he's gone. Not coming yet, but on full autopilot. He doesn't seem to be careful anymore, he wants to cum into your mouth. Wants to watch you take him to the base, no matter how. It fucking ruins him to see you gag just a little. He slows down, but you're gripping his thighs, desperate for more. Truth be told, you're enjoying this more than you thought you would. His strong hands holding your hair in a ponytail. His gorgeous blue eyes looking at you in awe. His fucking taste, somehow so fucking good. Whatever his nutritionist is doing, they deserve a gold medal. Of course your thoughts are quickly pulled back to Max when he notices you're spacing out.

"Don't get distracted, darling. Be good and finish what you started." He says, voice still scratchy. You intend to, so you hollow your cheeks and let him move his hips again. Max cums and watches you swallow it. He's barely out to door to clean himself when you ask him about the presentation. Post-nut clarity works in your favor.

Max marks his email as urgent, wetransfer link intact, and not even an hour later, you get the notification that it's opened.You're nervous and you've got half a mind to keep sucking off Max until there is any notification back. Franco might have been onto something with that one out of pocket interview about the sex right before the race. If you simply blew your roommate until he was shooting blanks, that would help him, surely? But before you can test that out, you get a reply back. You're in. They like your ideas, and you're gonna start filming on Thursday with Yuki and the VCARB boys, too. Max would be saved for as little socials as possible. But that simply wouldn't do. You needed him. You knew that people would stop scrolling for Max. The silly audios you've prepped wouldn't pack as much as a punch without him. So you had to resort to some more unconventional methods of convincing him. So be it.

Max didn't plan on being on his yacht 2 days before the Free Practice session. He didn't need the attention, especially now when the fans were crawling around Monaco like cockroaches. But you insisted on it for "training purposes." He didn't want Yuki to complain about "the new admin losing her lunch" in the crystalline waters of the harbor.

"Can't believe you've lived here for months, and this is about to be your first time on a boat." Max says. You hum, busy taking it all in.

You weren't a materialist, but Unleash the Lion was impressive. You want to make a biting comment about the cost of the yacht, and how he still insists that you split grocery bills. But you need to be on your best behavior for your plan to work. "You know, you're partially my landlord, on Thursday and the weekend you'll be my boss and here you're the captain. I sure do have a knack for a good power imbalance, don't I?" You say, teasing him.

"If you're about to reveal a weird kink you have, don't bother. I think I'm already very familiar with what you like." He quips back, already aware of your more submissive nature. "Not all of it. There's the exhibitionism." You reply, with the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. Maybe innuendos weren't your strong suit. But getting Max's attention certainly was. "And it's time to steer this fast enough to a place where we can dock this." He says, making the boat go as fast as the 2023 Redbull car. You try to enjoy the ride, and all but you're also thinking of the ride that you wanna give Max. You strip down to the tiny, barely there bikini that you picked just for this "cruise". Slip the box of condoms around the strings, ask the driver to spread sunscreen on your back. The whole shebang.

As soon as the yacht docks, Max is on you, fingertips hovering above your bikini strings. A "Please, I need you" is all it takes for him to melt for you. He makes you suck his fingers in your mouth, before he slides them down your bikini bottoms against your clit. You rut against him, desperate for him to be inside you already, to give you everything you need. Max enjoys the scenery instead. The sun, the sea, the soft moans you're letting out. If he could, he'd stay here forever savoring life. But time's arrow marches only forward, and with your ass rubbing against him, he has no choice but to get on with it. So he gets out of your jeans, takes off your bottoms and takes out the condom, tearing open the package with surgical precision. He lines up behind you, pausing to grip and knead your ass. Sex standing up was clearly new for you. You're a bit awkward, not knowing where exactly to put your hands. That's why Max leads you to the railing, making you grip it. He wraps his hand against your waist and pulls you towards him. He's deep inside of you, the angle doing wonders for you both. Max mutters something about the motion of the ocean as he fucks you. He wants to remember this, how you're christening the yacht, no need for champagne bottles smashed. He'd much rather have the visuals of you squirming against him, ass bouncing. He's a fucking nerd, scolding you about "scaring the fishes" with your sounds, to which you roll your eyes. He thrusts faster, making your legs shake as you come. He fucks you through it, chasing his own orgasm. Under the Monaco sun, he gets it. When you've cleaned yourselves up, as good as you could with the wet wipes you brought, you sit half-dressed. You break down what you'll need to him filming wise, and he groans.

"I want you to remember what we just did the entire time we're shooting. When I'm playing at creative director, only you and I will know that I was moaning your name like I'll call it." You ask and hope that it will be enough. Of course, you know you'll sweeten the deal . You'll brush up against him when no one is watching. You'll make innuendos in Dutch, and of course, promises of what's to come when the cameras are off. After all, you hadn't told him about the other 2 Tiktoks in the planning.

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 smut #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen smut #mara and her inbox

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no-144444 · 7 months ago

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pale blue- o.piastri

your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Baku. If you won this weekend, you’d be ahead of Max in the standings.

Quali came around much too quick, and it was only your first time on the circuit. Everyone seemed to forget the fact that you were a rookie, just because you were winning. You were on your final push lap, it was going well, but all it had to do was get you out of the bottom 5 (which you were in right now).

“Yellow flags!” Oscar called over the radio, causing you to instinctively slow down.

“What happened?” you panicked, radioing in.

“I’m not sure, but… we’re P15 and time is over. Sorry Y/n.”

“Fuck,” you whispered, hitting your steering wheel. “Where’s Norris?”

“He’s through.”

“The team can get a win this weekend, sorry about this guys,” you sighed, driving your car back into the pits and getting out of the car to get weighed and do your interviews. The time passed, and the debrief was clear, Lando was up in P2, ready to take the win tomorrow as you were once again, put on the back foot.

As you walked out of the room, pretty ready for a night of watching movies on your lonesome (you could finally look at screens again), Oscar came up to you.

“My family is here,” he told you. “If you’d like to meet them, we’re getting dinner. You’re more than welcome to join-”

“I wouldn’t want to impose-” you started.

“Please,” he begged. “My sisters really want to meet you.”

You smiled. “I’ll head back to the hotel and get changed.”

He smiled. “I’ll pick you up.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

He was shitting bricks when he knocked on your hotel room door. He was wearing a pale blue shirt and linen pants, something his mum had gifted him, and all he wanted was to see you have a night of being relaxed. He knew his family could be quite crazy, but he thought his mum’s sarcastic humor, Hattie’s easy conversation, Eddie’s laid back nature, Mae’s endless stories, his dad’s kind nature, and Tim’s easy charisma, it would all go well. They could do most of the talking, and you could just watch and enjoy it, even if you didn’t feel like talking.

You opened the door, a beautiful pale blue dress on your body, finalising your outfit with a pair of earrings. He stood there, stunned.

You were gorgeous. That was a fact he had been made acutely aware of months ago, but you were really beautiful tonight. He didn’t speak, and your cheeks heated as you let out an awkward laugh.

“I’m ready, sorry it took so long,” you smiled, stepping out from your room. “Let me just grab my jacket,” you said before turning and walking back into your room. His jaw actually dropped seeing the backless dress that went down to the end of your back. Thankfully, he picked his jaw back up before you turned around.

“These are for you,” he said, handing over the bouquet that had been clutched in his hand for a few moments, also pale blue lilies.

“They’re beautiful,” you smiled, surprised by the gesture. “I’ve never gotten flowers before.”

He frowned again, but smiled before you caught him. “I’m glad I could be the first one.”

You smiled, placed the flowers in your room, and joined him in the hallway. “So where are we going?”

“My mum found this really nice restaurant just a few minutes walk from here, if that’s alright?”

“Sounds perfect,” you agreed. As you two walked to the restaurant, you chatted about the weekend ahead, ideas for strategies, and at some point, he’d linked his arm with yours. You didn’t really mind.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

The Piastri family were hilarious. Mae had told you so many stories by the time the appetisers rolled around, that you actually had to brace yourself against Oscar to stop yourself from falling off your chair. You were sat across from Mae, with Oscar to your left and Tim to your right. Their easy banter was amusing to say the least, and the conversations you had with Hattie about music, and with Eddie about her college courses were truly enjoyable. You loved hearing about their lives, such stark contrast to yours. Nicole and you ended up speaking about pilates and Oscar’s affinity for not doing his own laundry (you’d lived with him for two weeks, she apologised). By the end of the night, they’d all become your friends, and you’d barely seen Oscar, but he’d been watching you all night. He’d seen the way your eyes lit up every time Hattie mentioned a band or song you liked, how you listened so intently to Mae’s stories, how you cared about the topics his mum spoke about, how you threw jokes back and forth with his dad and stepdad, how you asked such good questions about Eddie’s studies.

He loved it. He loved seeing you be free. He loved seeing you smile. He loved seeing you happy.

“I love gardening actually,” you answered when Nicole asked if you had any hobbies.

“She has a beautiful garden in Monaco,” Oscar explained, getting his phone out to show pictures. You felt yourself beam with pride. Pride wasn’t an emotion you allowed yourself to feel very often, but Oscar’s unashamed pride on your behalf must’ve been rubbing off on you, because you went through your entire garden in detail and gave Tim some advice on his garden.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You walked out of the restaurant feeling lighter than you had in a long time. You weren’t thinking about racing, you weren’t thinking about McLaren, you weren’t thinking about the tall order that tomorrow would bring, you were thinking about Oscar. He was busy saying good night to his family, wishing them well and telling them he’d see them tomorrow, and you stood and watched. He was so… Oscar. So calm, so loving, so caring. It made you feel… good. He made you feel good. Being near him made you feel good.

He turned to you and linked your arms, both of you starting the walk back to the hotel. “What did you think? Too much?”

You smiled. “They’re perfect. Very kind, very intelligent, very nice people, just like you. I see where you get it from.”

He beamed with pride. The night was a success. You had enjoyed yourself, and his family had met one of the most important people in his life. “I’m glad.”

“I’m really happy I came, thank you for inviting me, Osc,” you smiled.

“No problem,” he whispered.

The rest of the walk back to the hotel was quiet, but he noticed how you held him closer than before, up until you finally got outside your room. You leant against the door, a bashful smile on your face.

“Thank you for tonight,” you said. “I really had fun, for the first time in a while. Thank you, Osc.”

His heart was beating out of his chest. The prettiest girl in the whole world had a nickname for him. “I’m really glad you came, I had a lot of fun too,” he admitted. He took a step closer.

Was he going to kiss you? Did you want him to?

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he smirked, close enough to kiss you, but all he did was hug you, tucking your head into his neck. “You’ll do great tomorrow.”

“If I win it can I meet your family again?” you asked in a small, nervous voice. He chuckled.

“You can. But you also could probably see them whenever you want, you have all of their phone numbers,” he reminded you.

You shook your head. “I want you there too.”

“I’ll be there,” he whispered. “I’m always here for you, you know that, right?”

You nodded gently. So small, he almost didn’t feel it.

But he did. It was there.

“Thank you,” you whispered, then retreated into your bedroom.

You fell against your bed, so many questions swirling around your head as you pondered your growing feelings for your race engineer. He did the same thing. He sat at the end of his bed, wondering what he would do. He thought back to what his mother told him.

She held him close, hugging him as the night ended.

“She’s happier,” she smiled, talking about you.

“Yeah?” he asked. “What did you think of her?”

“I think she’s wonderful,” Nicole smiled. “The girls love her too. And I suspect you do too.”

He sighed, nodding. His mum always found out. She smirked.

“How do I-?” he questioned but she stopped him.

“It’ll happen, with time,m” she assured him. “She likes you too, she’s just not there yet. Don’t worry about it too much. Just be there for her. She needs someone.”

“I am here for her,” he assured her. “She wanted to meet you guys so badly,” he chuckled.

“She’s alone, isn’t she?” she asked. He knew better than to lie to his mum and nodded.

“I’m glad she has you Osc,” she smiled. “She’s good for you. You’re good for her.”

“I hope so,” he chuckled.

“It will be, with time,” she reminded him with a kiss to the cheek. “We’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

“Love you too mum,” he smiled.

He just needed to wait. He was good at that. He was a patient man, and if waiting meant seeing the real you with your real smile in that damned pale blue dress again, he’d wait a million lifetimes just to make you happy.

God, that was a little bit pathetic, wasn’t it?

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ Baku was one of your favourite circuits, you decided when you sat on the grid, waiting for the lights to go out. You had a good start, gaining places. Up in the points in one corner. After overtaking a while, a few laps of shouting at Oscar over the radio about pitting, you came into the pits, went back out, and somehow, got to the lead.

And you crossed the line first. Again.

“I guess we’re getting dinner again tonight,” you chuckled, a smile on your face.

“I guess we are,” Oscar nodded. “Stellar drive,” he commented. “Well done.”

7 time Grand Prix winner. You stepped up on the top of the podium, and you enjoyed it. You were the Champion, as of that day. Oscar took his celebratory selfie with some more of the team, and dinner was set for 8pm.

You liked Baku quite a lot.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

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deliciousangelfestival · 6 months ago

Text

Let's Play Pretend - 1 | Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x singer! Female reader

Summary: You just wanted to hide here and find peace from the mess that wasn’t caused by you. But then, your hot neighbor bothered you. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemies you hated found you too.

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , END.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband on Kindle. 👉 Now available on e-Kindle Amazon! << here's the link.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Shocking Split! Y/N L/N Dumps Fiancé After Drug Party Scandal

Betrayal Drama! Y/N L/N’s Manager Caught Stealing Millions for Gambling

Where’s Y/N? The Singer Vanishes Amid Scandals!

“I’ve always wanted to be a singer, but I never had the confidence to stand on a stage—until my music teacher, Mrs. Walls. She believed in me.”

Mrs. Walls sighed as she watched your Grammy interview on TV. You looked radiant, glowing with excitement after winning such a prestigious award. As a music teacher with years of experience, she had worked with many talented students, but you stood out uniquely.

At first, you were the shyest student in her class, hardly speaking above a whisper. But what surprised her the most was your natural gift: a perfect pitch. You could write down the notes to a song after hearing it just once, and you picked up musical instruments with ease. She vividly remembered showing you basic piano chords; within minutes, you were playing along effortlessly. The same thing happened when she introduced the guitar.

Her fondest memories were of you standing shyly at the front of the class, yet lighting up when it came to music. She smiled as she recalled your speeches at award shows: “I wouldn’t be here without my music teacher, Mrs. Walls. She was the first person who put faith in me.”

“That’s the last interview she gave us,” the gossip channel host said dramatically, feigning concern. “It’s been three months since anyone’s seen her. Where is Y/N L/N?”

Mrs. Walls frowned and turned off the TV with an annoyed grunt. “Urgh. Gossip vultures,” she muttered under her breath. She grabbed a glass of lemonade from the fridge and walked out to her garden. She noticed her guest seemed lost in thought, staring off into the distance. It had become a habit whenever she was in the garden.

“You’re not thirsty, huh?” she teased lightly, holding the glass toward someone sitting under the garden umbrella.

The person she handed the drink to was none other than the missing singer, Y/N L/N. For three months, the paparazzi had been on your trail, but they had no idea you were hiding here—in the sanctuary of your former music teacher’s home.

Mrs. Walls still remembered the night you appeared on her doorstep, mascara streaked down your face, eyes red and swollen from crying. You looked nothing like the glamorous star she’d seen on television, but instead like a lost child searching for safety.

“I don’t know where else to go,” you had whispered, your voice trembling.

In that moment, she didn’t see the world-renowned singer. She saw the shy, seven-year-old girl who used to sit in her classroom, clutching her music notebook like a lifeline. She hugged you tightly, her heart breaking for you. “Stay as long as you need, my dear,” she had said softly, ushering you inside.

Since that night, you’d been living quietly in her guest room. The once-vibrant star barely spoke, and the silence worried Mrs. Walls more than she let on. She watched as you avoided stepping outside, terrified of being recognized. The only place you seemed at peace was her garden.

She wondered, How long will you keep hiding like this?

You took the lemonade from her hand with a quiet “Thank you” but set it on the small table beside you without taking a sip. Sitting on the bench, you leaned back, tilting your face up toward the sky. The sun was warm, filtering through the leaves of the garden trees. Through your Ray-Ban sunglasses, you watched the golden rays dance, letting them calm your stormy thoughts.

Here, in this little haven, you could pretend the outside world didn’t exist. The judging eyes, the betrayals, the relentless cameras—everything melted away in the sunlight.

You thought back to three months ago, just after wrapping up your world tour. It had been the most significant milestone in your career, a dream come true. Exhausted but proud, you returned home, excited to move on to the next chapter of your life—starting a family with your fiancé.

But the moment you landed, things began to unravel. You’d called your fiancé multiple times, but he didn’t answer. At first, you thought he was busy, but a nagging feeling in your chest wouldn’t go away.

When the truth finally came out, it shattered you. Your assistant broke the news: your fiancé had been busted at a drug-fueled party. Worse, it was also a sex party.

You felt your chest tighten at the memory. That betrayal had cut deep. But it wasn’t the only one.

Later that week, you discovered that your longtime manager, someone you trusted implicitly, had embezzled your money to feed a gambling addiction. Two people you thought you could rely on had betrayed you in the worst ways possible.

One night, overwhelmed and broken, you drove aimlessly, tears blurring your vision. Without any plan or destination, you just kept going until you found yourself parked outside Mrs. Walls’ familiar home.

Even after all these years, she had always been honest with you. When you needed guidance, she gave it without hesitation. If she thought something was right, she’d say, “Go for it, my dear.” If it wasn’t, she’d warn, “No. You deserve better.”

Now, sitting in her garden, you sighed and closed your eyes, letting the sunlight warm your face. For a moment, you could almost believe you were that shy student again before fame and heartbreak had found you.

Mrs. Walls watched you silently, her heart heavy. She wanted to help, but she knew you needed to find your way back on your own.

“How long are you planning to hide here?” she finally asked, her voice gentle but firm.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you opened your eyes and looked at her. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Just like this, Mrs. Walls worried about you. You knew you were taking advantage of her kindness, aware she wanted you to step out of your shell, but you weren’t ready. The thought of facing the questions, the prying eyes, and the silent judgment was too much.

Just a little more time, you thought. That’s all I need. And some peace.

But peace wasn’t always easy to come by.

"VROOM!"

A sudden loud roar shattered the tranquility of the garden. The grating sound of a lawn mower filled the air, making you wince. You covered your ears, irritation flashing across your face.

Your gaze turns toward the source of the noise. “It’s already noon. The sun’s scorching hot—what kind of madman decides this is the best time to mow their lawn?”

“Well…” Mrs. Walls trailed off, watching the man seated atop the lawn mower. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

It's her neighbor, a man who had recently moved in. He wasn’t just any neighbor—he was one of her former students. Not from her music classes, though. He’d been one of the troublemakers, a kid who lived on detention slips and second chances.

“Bucky!” she called out, her voice carrying across the garden.

The man paused, cutting the engine. The deafening noise stopped, leaving an almost eerie silence in its wake. He climbed off the lawn mower, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

You squinted, ready to roll your eyes, but then your gaze lingered for a moment longer than you wanted. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his broad chest glistened with sweat. The sun highlighted the sculpted lines of his six-pack, and every step he took radiated an infuriating confidence.

Great, you thought bitterly. Annoying and ridiculously good-looking. Just my luck.

Mrs. Walls met him halfway, handing him a glass of lemonade. “Thank you,” Bucky said, his voice low and smooth.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled your eyes. “You’re welcome for the noise pollution,” you muttered loud enough for him to hear.

He turned, raising an eyebrow at you. “You’re welcome for cutting the grass, princess.”

“Princess?” you repeated, your tone sharp. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re out here ruining everyone’s peace, and I’m the problem?”

He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest, the gesture only drawing more attention to his muscles. “Stop acting like a diva.”

Your jaw dropped. “I am a diva!”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, taking a long sip of lemonade.

“What rock have you been living under?” you snapped, glaring at him.

He rolled his eyes dramatically, his expression shifting to one of mild exasperation. What you didn’t know was that Bucky wasn’t as clueless as he seemed. For the past three years, he’d been living under the radar, cutting ties with his old life. His job had demanded secrecy, isolation, and sacrifice. He didn’t have the luxury of keeping up with the world, let alone pop culture or celebrity news.

The truth was, he hadn’t recognized you—not as the world-famous singer everyone else seemed to adore. To him, you were just the frustrating woman who had suddenly appeared in Mrs. Walls’ house and made everything more complicated.

But even as irritation bubbled under his skin, he couldn’t help but feel intrigued. There was a fire in you that clashed with his rough edges, and it both annoyed and fascinated him.

For Bucky, Mrs. Walls had always been a comforting presence—a grandmother figure who offered him advice and a safe space to talk. Her home had become a haven. And then you showed up.

Now, that peace was gone, replaced with constant banter and an energy that made it hard for him to stay indifferent.

Mrs. Walls watched the two of you, her lips twitching as if suppressing a smile. Despite your usual quiet demeanor, you seemed to come alive whenever Bucky was around.

“You two are like a pair of bickering children,” she muttered under her breath.

“Excuse me?” you said, shooting her a look.

“Nothing, dear,” she replied with a knowing smile, sipping her lemonade.

Bucky glanced at you, shaking his head. “You know, for someone who wants peace and quiet, you sure have a lot to say.”

“And for someone who wants to mow the lawn, you sure talk a lot for no reason,” you shot back, folding your arms.

Bucky laughed, low and mocking. “This is going to be fun.”

“Fun for you, maybe,” you muttered, turning your attention back to the garden, though your face was still flushed from the exchange.

As he walked away, you couldn’t help but glance at his retreating figure, hating how effortlessly confident he looked. Bucky, meanwhile, shook his head, pretending not to notice you watching him.

Both of you were equally exasperated—and similarly intrigued.

Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, holding it up between two fingers with a smug grin. “Alright, princess, let’s make a deal. If it lands heads, I’ll keep mowing. If it’s tails, I’ll stop, and you can go back to your precious nap.”

You crossed your arms tightly, narrowing your eyes at him. “I hate this game,” you muttered, watching as the coin gleamed in the sunlight. He always did this—turning everything into some sort of challenge just to get under your skin.

Bucky smirked, clearly enjoying your irritation. “I know. That’s why it’s so much fun.”

Rolling your eyes, you huffed, “Tails.”

He nodded mock-seriously, flicking the coin into the air with practiced ease. It spun rapidly, catching the light with every turn before landing in his palm. He slapped it onto the back of his hand, then slowly revealed the result with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Heads,” he declared, his voice full of triumph.

“Ugh!” You threw your hands in the air, frustrated, pushing off the bench. As you stomped toward the house, the wooden slats creaked behind you, muttering, “I’m getting noise-canceling headphones.”

Mrs. Walls watched you retreat inside, shaking her head with a fond smile. She turned to Bucky, who was spinning the coin between his fingers like a magician showing off his trick.

“You really should stop teasing her,” Mrs. Walls said gently, her tone a mix of reproach and amusement.

Bucky shrugged, slipping the coin back into his pocket. His lips curled into a devilish grin. “Nah… it’s fun.”

🌷🌷🌷🌷

You peeked through the blinds, trying not to let the soft rustle of the fabric give you away. Outside, Bucky was still chatting casually with Mrs. Walls. He leaned against the handle of the lawn mower, his broad shoulders relaxed, and his expression unusually serene.

How could he be so normal and polite with her, yet every time he spoke to you, it felt like he lived to make you grit your teeth?

You narrowed your eyes, watching him laugh at something Mrs. Walls said. That face… you thought bitterly. What a waste of a perfectly good jawline and those stupid dimples.

Letting the blinds fall back into place with a soft snap, you turned away and headed to your room.

Inside, the space was dim, the curtains drawn tightly against the glaring afternoon sun. The cool, muted light was a welcome contrast to the irritation buzzing in your head. You kicked off your slippers with a little more force than necessary and flopped onto the bed, burying your face in the pillows.

The mattress was soft, and the faint scent of lavender from the room’s diffuser helped ease the tension in your shoulders. But even as you lay there, trying to block out the world, your mind kept drifting back to the smug grin on Bucky’s face and the way he seemed to revel in riling you up.

“Urgh,” you groaned, rolling onto your side and hugging the pillow close. You closed your eyes, willing yourself to forget about him.

Eventually, the steady hum of the ceiling fan and the distant chirping of birds outside began to lull you into a state of calm. Your breathing slowed, and your grip on the pillow loosened. For now, rest was the only thing you wanted—a reprieve from the relentless antics of your maddeningly handsome neighbor.

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

The dream came fast and vivid, like a storm. You were running—barefoot, your breath ragged and your heart pounding in your chest. Behind you, shadowy figures loomed, their voices sharp and cruel. The flash of cameras blinded you, their light like fire against your skin. You kept running, your legs aching, but the ground felt like quicksand, pulling you down.

You jolted awake, gasping for air. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as your heart raced, the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to your mind. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, you saw the dim, glowing numbers: 2:00 a.m.

Sleep felt impossible now. The stillness of the house, once comforting, now felt suffocating. You swung your legs off the bed and walked to the window, pushing it open. Cool air rushed in, brushing against your flushed skin and carrying the faint scent of dew and earth.

“Should I go out?” you murmured to yourself. It was late—no, it was early—and the world outside was likely asleep. It might be safe.

Pulling on a hoodie and sweatpants, you crept quietly through the house. Every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet made your pulse spike, but you pressed on, determined. When you reached the door, you hesitated, your hand resting on the doorknob.

Flashes of the past flooded your mind—the crowd of paparazzi outside your apartment, shouting your name, their cameras clicking incessantly, their relentless pursuit. You clenched your eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“It’s different here,” you whispered, willing yourself to believe it. Slowly, you pushed the door open and stepped outside.

The cool grass greeted your bare feet as you stepped off the porch, the gentle night breeze brushing against your face. There was no one. No voices. No flashing lights. Just silence and the soft rustling of leaves in the dark.

You exhaled deeply, relief washing over you like a wave. One tentative step after another, you left the house, the distance growing between you and your sanctuary.

You wandered toward the park, the faint glow of streetlights guiding your way. The world felt peaceful, and for the first time in months, so did you—until the faint hum of an engine broke the stillness.

You glanced over your shoulder, your pulse quickening. A car was following you, its headlights low but its presence unmistakable. Then you saw it—a glint of metal, the unmistakable outline of a camera lens.

Shit. They’d found you.

Your heart pounded as the car crept closer. Picking up your pace, you started walking faster, then broke into a run.

“Y/N! Where have you been?” a voice called out from the car, loud and intrusive.

You didn’t answer, your breath quickening as you pushed yourself to move faster.

“Have you heard your ex-fiancé has rekindled things with his ex?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. What? Your mind reeled. You hadn’t even ended things officially, and he’d already moved on? That bastard. While you were here, broken and dealing with trauma, he was playing house?

“Is it true you gave money to your manager, knowing about his gambling addiction?”

You stopped dead in your tracks, glaring at the man hanging out of the car window. “No! I didn’t know! Leave me alone, you jerk!”

You started running again, your breath burning in your lungs, your legs aching. Desperation clawed at you as the car followed relentlessly. Then you saw him—a familiar figure jogging under the streetlights.

“It can’t be,” you whispered.

Without thinking, you sprinted toward him, your voice frantic. “Bucky! Help me!”

Bucky stopped mid-stride, his brows furrowed as he saw you running toward him. His routine early-morning jog had just turned unusual. His sharp eyes quickly took in the distress written all over your face. Before he could react, you leaped behind him, clutching the back of his hoodie and crouching slightly to shield yourself.

He stiffened, caught off guard. Then he saw it—a car slowing down, its passenger wielding a camera that kept flashing incessantly. The bright lights blinded him momentarily, and irritation sparked in his chest.

“Hey!” Bucky growled, marching toward the car. The camera flashes continued, and without hesitation, he snatched the camera from the paparazzo’s hands and smashed it against the pavement.

The paparazzo’s jaw dropped in shock. “My camera!” he yelled, scrambling to pick up the broken pieces.

But he wasn’t done. Pulling out his phone, the man began recording. “You’re a dead man! Who the fuck are you? Her boyfriend? Bodyguard?”

Bucky, his irritation mounting, opened his mouth to correct him, but before he could, you blurted out, “He’s my boyfriend.”

Bucky froze, glancing over his shoulder at you. Your grip on his hoodie tightened as you peeked around him, glaring at the paparazzo.

The man in the car stared at the two of you, his phone still recording. “This is going to be front-page news.”

Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What the hell did you just drag me into?” he muttered under his breath.

Exciting News!

I’m thrilled to announce the release of my new book, Dad, I Can’t Let You Go—a heartfelt collection of short poems about loss, love, and the journey of missing someone deeply. This book is dedicated to my father and to anyone who has experienced the pain of losing a loved one.

Available now on E-Kindle Amazon!

Dad, I Can't Let You Go! <<< Here's the link.

Thank you for your support, and I hope these poems resonate with you.

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beah388love · 11 months ago

Text

My Distraction

Full Masterlist Lando Masterlist

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!f1Driver

Summary: Lando is getting interviewed but gets distracted…

Warnings: Swearing,Bad language!!! (Please tell me if I missed any!!!)

“So how are you feeling after that?” The interviewer asked Lando, lando answered but as he looked behind the interviewer he saw you talking to one of your friends and he could feel his heart skip a beat.

“I- uh sorry what was the question?” Lando asked making the interviewer laugh as he repeated himself.

Lando answered his question but quickly stealing glances at you, god your so pretty.

Even after racing, he watched you take your helmet off and your beautiful hair fall down past your shoulders and not to mention your eyes and god- your smile

Lando has always said that he’d have to pick death between the choice of your eyes or smile. He loves them both so much…his favourite thing is making you smile and laugh but he loves staring into your eyes, they’re so…pretty and you can make him stumble over his words in seconds.

“Sorry just one last question and we’ll let you go-“ the interviewer said but Lando hadn’t even heard him as all his attention and focus was on you, you was in your black and blue race suit and you had even matched your earrings, he couldn’t totally see but he could see the same colour matched blue sparkling in the light.

God. You’re so fucking beautiful.

“Lando?” The interviewer cut him out of his thoughts

“Huh? Oh- sorry! Yeah no I totally agree-“ Lando carried on his conversation with the man and thankfully since it was the last question he quickly left and hurried over to you.

He wrapped his arms around your waist tightly making you jump “lan! You scared me” you giggled making him grin into your shoulder.

“You’re so beautiful y’know that?” He said into your ear making you blush and roll your eyes playfully

“I don’t know half the questions that man just asked me…your beauty kept distracting me” Lando laughed making you giggle and hit his chest jokingly.

“My distraction” Lando whispered into your ear, tucking a finger behind your necklace that obviously has his initials on and pulling it so you were close enough for him to kiss you on the lips, making you blush and hide your face into his chest.

“Babyyyy” you giggled making him smirk and poke his tongue into the inside of his cheek.

“Yesssssss” he teased in the same tone as you.

“Do we have to do anything else or can we leave?” You asked and he thought for a moment as his free hand played with your hair and the other you was playing with, connecting your fingers and linking each one to distract you.

“Nope we can leave” he said as he interlocked your hands and swung them gently as you walked back to your drivers rooms to grab your stuff,

“Baby!” Lando called out and you poked your head into his room confused

“C’mere” he said as he grabbed something off the sofa.

You walked over to him confused, until he placed one of his caps on your head, pulling your ponytail through the gap making you roll your eyes with a smile, “there. Perfect.” He smirked as he looked down at you, you stood there with a ‘really?’ Look.

“We’re ready to leave now.” He laughed making you poke him in the stomach, he flinched back laughing.

You was about to say something but he cut you off as he playfully hit the rim of your his cap down covering your eyesight.

“Lando Norris!” You half-yelled when your vision went black making him chuckle as he ran away already expecting you to get him back.

You catched up with him and jokingly hit him on the back of the head, you both laughed before he wrapped an arm around you as you both left.

“My beautiful Distraction.” He grinned

“My childish distraction” you sighed teasingly

805 notes · View notes

taasgirl · 1 year ago

Text

espresso - lando norris

summary: y/n is a famous singer who also happens to be a massive f1 fan. when she mentions a liking for a certain driver, it's only fate that he tries everything in his power to get her attention.

a/n: no face claim! the outcomes/order of races are altered to fit the story, it's just a fun time!!

liked by oliviarodrigo, oneruel, pedri, and 1, 376, 227 others ynusername my new interview with wired is out now!

user64973 Stop you're gorgeous

user89322 do i wanna be her or be with her??

user09384 so who r u crushing on huh

ynusername it's a seeeecret 🤫

user44172 This entire vid is so chaotic omfg

user03638 Please let y/n enter her wag era

liked by user55736, user89842, user73903, and 10, 652 others user33973 HELLO???? LANDO LITERALLY LIKED THIS TWEET I'M CRYING

user98301 brother personally knows who y/n's next bf should be

user40440 HAHA NO LITERALLY

user34593 God please let this be lando shooting his shot after watching y/n's recent interview

user43982 NO WAIT UR SO FR BECAUSE SHE LITERALLY MENTIONED LIKING AN F1 DRIVER WHAT IF IT'S HIM??

user12871 lando and y/n 🙏🙏

view ynusername's story...

liked by oscarpiastri, lorde, gavi, and 782, 774 others ynusername what a race! lovely to see you again @ oscarpiastri, maybe aim for a podium next time though?

oscarpiastri I'd like to see you try in a f1 car

user49949 Wait is oscar the guy y/n was talking abt in that vid? user53004 i hope not, i love him and lily

user20833 Okay so did y/n and lando interract or not? 😭

user61221 hot girls support mclaren (confirmed!) liked by ynusername

user89483 y/n slowly integrating herself in the f1 scene, we see u girl

liked by danielricciardo, logansargeant, ynusername, and 2, 459, 383 others landonorris A lot to learn from this weekend, but we keep pushing. Also great to meet a lot of new faces and the incredible fans🧡

user58273 SORRY WHAT THAT SECOND PHOTO...

user89894 is the new face y/n perhaps??

mclaren Great weekend Lando! liked by landonorris

user92702 I genuinely tweak whenever u post bc u look so fine

user53982 not y/n liking this post 😭

user66359 AND SHE DOESN'T EVEN FOLLOW HIM user98123 miss girl is stalking her crush i bet

user17263 please let this year be your year

user52209 Did anyone see his response to that post race interview?

user28732 YES AND HOW HE HAS HIS EYE ON SUM1

user87229 oh he trynna thirst trap (y/n) liked by landonorris

liked by lilyzneimer, oliviarodrigo, pedri, and 334, 938 others ynusername remember that one bitch ass ex I had? yeah well I wrote another song about him! 'feather' is yours now, but best enjoyed when you have an ugly, cheating, lying dick of an ex to think about. have fun with this one!! 😘

lilyzneimer STOP I'M ACTUALLY DYING I WAS NOT EXPECTING OSCAR OMG I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING liked by ynusername

user82983 i was like wow normal post! and then boom. oscar.

oscarpiastri Okay that seems a little mean

lilyzneimer already on repeat

oscarpiastri Um excuse me???? Did you read the caption...

user68297 NEW Y/N MUSIC YESYESYES

user26321 omfg i've been waiting for an angry y/n song

user72639 this sounds really familiar?? song of the summer maybe?

ynusername ahhhh thank you bb

view landonorris's story...

liked by user58273, user98004, user63874, and 10, 376 others user44938 Y/N papped in Monte Carlo today! Rumours are circulating that she was visiting F1's starboy Lando Norris, however there is no official confirmation.

user99812 ohhh y/n we see you

user89283 Okay everyone shut up abt lando, let's take a moment to appreciate y/n's beauty omf she's gorg

user23294 I SECOND THIS !!

user12834 hmm i wonder why she's in monaco...

user48463 Y/N u ain't slick 😭

user35273 she saw lando's story and ran straight to him

user16282 "how far u go for a sneaky link? I'd fly"

user52883 I know damn well she ain't in monaco for a holiday

liked by landonorris, gracieabrams, laufey, and 483, 995 others ynusername it's exactly like selena gomez's 2011 film

user73948 I KNOW LANDO'S HOODIE WHEN I SEE IT

user63762 ur the genuine it girl

lilyzneimer Monte Carlo reference, I love it liked by ynusername

user11928 landoooo

landonorris oooooo

user40948 oh hey lando user29830 Fancy seeing you here user73984 He wants her so bad

oscarpiastri I think I've seen that hoodie before

ynusername hmm i wonder where 🤷‍♀️

user49283 girl saw his story and flew out IMMEDIATELY

user53984 y/n l/n wag era loading 😏😏

user92874 So pretty

liked by oscarpiastri, ynusername, mclaren, and 3, 469, 848 others landonorris Calm before the storm #raceweek

charlesleclerc Good to see you with some company

user76483 CHARLES HASFGUEH

ynusername omg invite me next time

user42761 Girl bfr we know where u were at

user52739 THIS IS SO FUCKING CUTE

user19820 y/n and lando are a match made in heaven

user82637 I wonder who you were hanging out with 🤔

oscarpiastri Wow I feel like I've seen that girl before

ynusername me too

user61542 not lando soft launching y/n as if we don't know it's her

user82736 I mean technically we don't

user19823 @ user82736 No I think it is confirmed, she was heard on his twitch stream the other day

liked by landonorris, lilyzneimer, danielricciardo, and 1, 254, 982 others mclaren Our drivers and their partners after qualifying! Lando and Oscar will begin P4 and P5 respectively in Monte Carlo 🧡🤍

user82638 AND THEIR PARTNERS??? Y/N AND LANDO?

user52761 admin really said if they won't confirm it, I will liked by mclaren

user52839 Please lando and y/n are adorable

user82636 lily & oscar >>>

user48273 Sooooo they official...?

user27163 guys stop with this y/n x lando madness, i need a double mclaren podium

user82638 y/n really manifested her wag era huh

liked by ynusername, logansargeant, lilymunhe, and 3, 716, 372 others landonorris Monaco '24. Thank you to everyone who came out, and showed me support this weekend. I promise to be better next race. tagged: oscarpiastri & ynusername

ynusername my racer 🧡🏎️

user62538 HELLO? user82776 i'm gonna be sick

mclaren Papaya boys! liked by landonorris

user72538 Y/N is so beautiful I can't even

user16529 HIS EYES

user52863 him hard launching y/n >>>>

user98276 This is MY victoria and david

ynusername omg we're definitely not as cool as them

user41752 i won't get over this ever

liked by landonorris, phoebebridgers, mclaren, and 967, 837 others ynusername i think i need to buy more orange clothes

landonorris I've already offered up half my closet to her...

landonorris nice shirt though 😏

user62538 oh i'm living for their hard launch

lilyzneimer Welcome to the team!!

user22817 STOP THIS IS ADORABLE PLS WE NEED Y/N AND LILY CONTENT IMMEDIATELY

mclaren Our favourite pop star liked by ynusername 🌟

user52763 Y/N THE WAG YESSSSSS

oscarpiastri It's actually papaya

ynusername okay sassy man apocalypse lilyzneimer @ ynusername feed him to the zombies

liked by oliviarodrigo, landonorris, lilyzneimer, and 583, 872 others ynusername oh and btw, my new song espresso is out and it's a @ landonorris certified 'banger'. his words not mine. listen on all platforms now!!

landonorris She's working late cause she's a singerrr

ynusername haiii

user72637 y/n really walked in and said that she's the best lando ever had and ever will have

landonorris I mean it's true sooo

user62537 Okay lando I didn't know u had game like dat

lilyzneimer oh I love you

ynusername LILYYYYYYY i love u so much oscarpiastri I think our gfs are gfs... @ landonorris

view landonorris's story...

please let me know if you guys liked this! i love doing lando fics so much. as always, my reqs are open so feel free to drop suggestions!!

here’s a cute oscar smau i just wrote

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solxamber · 5 months ago

Note

A valentines request 💕 (the influx of requests after book 7’s update must be overwhelming haha, please take your time!!)

Vil, romantic, “If it’s make believe, why does it feel like a vow we’ll both uphold somehow? What if he’s written ‘mine’ on my upper thigh only in my mind?” (Guilty As Sin - Taylor Swift)

Link : https://youtu.be/OOYlWF6V8t8?si=su5K_CNvS_W2G5jN

Showmance || Vil Schoenheit

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Guilty as Sin? by Taylor Swift

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 820

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Costars to lovers, showmance, Mutual pining

The first time you met Vil, it was under the glare of stage lights and the scrutiny of a dozen casting directors. The chemistry was instant, electric in a way that made the producers exchange delighted glances.

You didn’t know it then, but that moment would mark the beginning of something far more complicated than just playing pretend lovers.

The romance drama you both starred in had captivated audiences, a story dripping in tension, longing gazes, and kisses stolen in the rain. Every scene, every carefully rehearsed embrace, every whispered confession felt real—maybe too real.

Late-night rehearsals blurred into early mornings. You knew how Vil liked his eggs—soft, just barely runny, seasoned with a pinch of pink salt. He memorized your coffee order, down to the precise ratio of milk to espresso. It wasn’t just acting anymore; it was instinct.

But you weren’t the only one suffering under the weight of blurred lines. Vil, composed and refined, carried himself with a grace untouchable by most. Yet, even he wasn’t immune.

He was always the perfect co-star, always professional—until the cameras stopped rolling, and his touch lingered just a second too long. Until his eyes, sharp and piercing, softened in ways they shouldn’t when he looked at you.

Still, you played your roles.

Hand in hand, you navigated through paparazzi, his presence a shield against the blinding flashes. On red carpets, he stood close, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as he murmured, “Tilt your chin slightly. The lighting will flatter you more.”

In interviews, he praised your talent, spoke of you with a reverence that made your chest ache. The way he gazed at you—steady, unwavering—left audiences convinced.

"They’re so in love," the headlines declared.

If only they knew.

Vil dreamed of you. He dreamed of untying the ribbons of your outfit, tracing the dips and curves of your silhouette like an artist memorizing their masterpiece. He dreamed of calling you his, not for the cameras, not for the show, but in a way that would make the entire world understand that you belonged to him.

You dreamed of him too. Of his hands, his voice, the way he could undo you with nothing but a single glance. You dreamed of his name against your lips, of him writing "mine" on your skin, branding you with devotion.

But they were only dreams.

The script for the final episode was spread between you, its pages crinkled from hours of flipping back and forth. The last scene was a confession, the culmination of everything your characters had fought against, every moment of tension reaching its inevitable breaking point.

You were curled into Vil’s couch, script in hand, reading the lines under your breath.

"I never wanted to fall for you. I tried to stop it, I really did."

You turned to Vil, expecting his usual measured advice on how to deliver the words. Instead, you found him already watching you. The golden glow of the lamp cast shadows across his features, his lips parted as if caught mid-thought.

“Vil?”

He inhaled sharply. “Say it again.”

You blinked. “Say what?”

“The line.”

You cleared your throat. "I never wanted to fall for you. I tried to stop it, I really did."

His jaw clenched. “And yet?”

You hesitated. “And yet, I couldn’t help myself.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy, suffocating. You felt it like a storm rolling in, inevitable, inescapable.

Vil moved before you could process it, his fingers threading into your hair, his other hand tilting your chin. His breath fanned against your lips, and for the first time since you met him, he wasn’t composed. He wasn’t refined.

He was desperate.

The script slipped from your fingers, landing in a forgotten heap on the floor. Then his lips were on yours, warm and insistent, tasting of wine and unspoken promises.

Your fingers found purchase against his chest, gripping the silk of his shirt as you pulled him closer. He made a noise—a low, aching sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

His hands traced the shape of your jaw, your throat, as if memorizing you in ways he hadn’t been allowed to before. He kissed you like you were the most exquisite sin he’d ever commit, like he was willing to bear the guilt if it meant he could have you.

When you finally parted, breathless and dazed, his forehead rested against yours. “Tell me this isn’t just a dream,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You cupped his face, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone with your thumb. “If it is, I don’t ever want to wake up.”

Vil smiled then—soft, real, breathtaking.

The next time you sat in an interview, fingers intertwined beneath the table, the answer was no longer a lie.

Because this time, when Vil looked at you like you were his entire world, it wasn’t for the cameras.

It was simply the truth.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

#ˋ°•*⁀➷ valentine's event #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit #vil

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mossy-aro · 7 months ago

Text

Aspec Video Essay Masterpost

This is a resource masterpost intending to compile together the video essays pertaining to asexuality and aromanticism and affiliated topics online! I'm only going to be including videos that are 15+ minutes long (to qualify as a 'video essay') - of course if anyone has suggestions please feel free to contribute! This is a community project!

Compulsory Sexuality, Comphet & Asexual Alienation by Evie Lupine - slightly less of a video essay and more chatty but she does talk about academic articles on compulsory sexuality. She also did a podcast episode with @theacecouple (here: Asexuality and Kink ft. Evie Lupine) which was very interesting!

Amatonormativity by Tara Mooknee - one I've recced on here before! Definitely a bit 101 and aimed at an allo audience but still worth a watch!

The hell of "sad singles" set ups & the need for found family by Bryony Claire - sent to me! I'm afraid I haven't seen it yet.

is love a social construct? by oliSUNvia - recommended to me by a friend! Again, I haven’t watched it yet but I know pertains to the wider discourse around romantic love + amatonormativity.

Are Aromantic and Asexual Representation Queer Enough? (Buddy Daddies) by VIKA - I haven't seen this series but it's an aspec reading / analysis on the main relationship in the show!

How Romance Paths in Games Fail Asexual Players (and How to Fix it) by DarkTeaTime - sent to me! I haven’t seen it yet but it’s about asexual players + gaming :) for some reason it won’t let me embed the url but someone has left a link in the notes down below!!

Rowan Ellis has a few here:

the chronically online state of asexual discourse - I've recced this one before on this blog and I still highly recommend it!

The Rise of Asexual Representation

They've also done an interview with Alice Oseman about aspec representation but it's more of a discussion than a video essay, so I haven't included it.

Spacey Aces (their entire channel is dedicated to discussing aspec topics so check that out if that interests you!) - most of their content is more chat/101 focused and not so much video essay-y but I've picked two which I think qualify:

A-specs vs Amatonormative Media (and the world)

Lavender Marriage | a history of purple and relationship anarchy in the queer community

David J Bradley has quite a few essays, here:

Alone. Not Alive. | A Queer Reading Of Company

Sherlock Holmes: Asexual Icon

That One Time House Cured Asexuality

Maybe You Haven't Met The Right Person Yet | An Asexual Video Essay

Asexuals and Sex - more of an explanatory 101 video but still felt like I should include it!

Meghan Sandor has some here:

Polyamory, Relationship Anarchy & Queerplatonic Partnerships: Are They Really the Same Thing?

Asexuality and Kink: Why Do So Many Aces Love It?

#aromantic #aro #asexual #aroace #ace #aspec #aspec resources #resources #mossy posts

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artdcnaldson · 1 year ago

Text

cat - daddy cat - mrs. roger pinball - head tilt smiling monkey.gif

25. she/her. i follow from @patrickbtman

masterlist + important info below the cut

♡ requests and asks are always open, and i reserve the right to choose if/when i answer. if i don't answer your ask quickly, please understand that my inbox is extremely full and i'm trying my best to respond to everyone. if topics have shifted or the ask is no longer relevant to conversations, i will delete to free up inbox space.

♡ i will write for challengers and most other roles that mike and josh have played. basically, if i've watched it and posted about it, it's fair game for requests.

♡ as stated multiple times, do not interact with my blog or contact me directly if you are under 18. this is a firm boundary for my own comfort and your safety.

♡ please be mindful of what you send in my inbox. i aim to keep this blog a safe place to open up about all manner of things (i.e., slumber party talk), but I'm also not a therapist or a healthcare professional. if your ask is icky or puts me in an uncomfortable position, i will not answer.

♡ i do not stand for racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, or any form of bigotry. if you hold ideals opposed to these values, you are not welcome on this blog.

♡ be kind to others!

changeover au

all asks/blurbs tagged here

🤍 changeover || art x reader, patrick x reader

🤍 tie break || art x reader, patrick x reader

+ BONUS (Patrick’s POV, Fall 2006)

+ BONUS (Valentines Day, 2007)

+ BONUS (March, 2007)

+ BONUS (Patrick’s POV, Summer, 2007)

+ BONUS (Art’s POV, Spring, 2008)

+ BONUS (Spring, 2010)

sex lessons au

all asks/blurbs tagged here

🤍 One

🤍 Two

🤍 Three

🤍 Four

blurbs (all smut, all 18+, read all warnings)

🤍 Patrick x Art x Reader

🤍 Patrick x Reader

🤍 Tashi x Reader x Art

🤍 Art x Reader

🤍 Patrick x Reader

🤍 Art x Reader (Olympics AU pt. 1)

🤍 Art x Reader (Olympics AU pt. 2)

🤍 Patrick x Reader (good luck babe au)

🤍 Virgin!Art x Reader

🤍 Art x Reader (waxing fic)

🤍 Art x Reader (munch)

🤍 Puppy!Art x Reader (dry orgasm)

🤍 Religious!Virgin!Art x Reader

🤍 Art x Reader x Patrick (guessing game)

🤍 DILF!Art x Reader (affair)

🤍 Puppy!Art x Reader x Patrick (drugging)

🤍 DILF!Art x Babysitter!Reader (kiddo)

🤍 Stanford!Art x Reader (after practice)

🤍 Patrick x Reader (intox)

🤍 Patrick x Reader (small town hookup)

🤍 Patrick x Reporter!Reader (interview)

🤍 Stepdad!Patrick x Reader (drugging)

🤍 Patrick x Art's Ex!Reader (f2f)

🤍 Patrick x Art's GF!Reader (just the tip)

🤍 Patrick x Reader (throat fucking)

AU LIST

Patrick’s Sister AU - Prodigy AU - Role Reversal AU - Polycule AU - Puppy!Art AU - Art’s Sister AU - Corrupting Art AU - Sex Lessons AU - Stepbro!Patrick AU

EMOJI ANONS LIST (outdated... updates in the works)

🐞 🫀 🐚 🎀 💫 🤠 🐾 🍣 🌸 🐝 🍓 🐀 🎱 🪩 💐 🐛 💗 🌞 🩰 🧌 🐧 🌷 🎞️ 🎬 🐼 🫐 🦧 🌱 🪐 🔮🕊️✨🐙 🍀

AO3 Rec List

Link to List is Here

© artdcnaldson, 2025. i do not give permission for my works to be reuploaded, translated, or copied across any platforms, or for my content to be used for the training purposes of any LLMs. engage with this blog at your own discretion.

#changeover au #sex lessons au #pat's sister au #art's sister au #polycule au #stepbro!patrick au #corrupting art au #role reversal au #prodigy au #puppy!art au

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ilyasorokinn · 4 months ago

Note

Can you please write more for Seth Jarvis please

PAUL THE STAR

this is inspired by those videos of a few of the wags being interviewed at ice level during the 4 nations. i'll link the videos here if you're interested (lauren kyle, erin alvey, jordan leigh). also, requests are open!

"so, how long have you guys been together?" kat ellis asked. you looked between her and the ice as you tried to listen in to her questions.

"um, almost 3 years?" you nodded, wincing and jumping back when a few guys crashed into the glass in front of you.

"how did you guys meet?" kat asked.

"i was, and still am, close friends with sebastian aho's wife. we met when i first moved to raleigh. i guess sebastian and rosa thought we would be a good match, i guess, and they sort of played matchmaker for us." you smiled at the memory.

"and the rest is history." she filled in for you, a smile on her own face.

you turned your attention back to the ice where the faceoff was happening. seth, who was waiting for everyone to get into place, did a double take when he saw you sitting right in front of the glass.

you laughed and waved at him, "we've been spotted." kat laughed, waving at him too when he waved back.

"so, your dog..." you chuckled at the mention of your little doodle, "king paul."

seth wasn't the only famous person in your house. your dog, paul, was sort of famous. a few of his videos had blown up on titktok, and from there, your following only grew.

"where did the name paul come from?" kat laughed.

"um, we had always thought it would be funny to give our future dog a human name, so what's what we did. and paul was from fast and furious. we had watched it a few days before adopting him." you laughed.

"does he like being on the ice?" kat asked.

"he loves it. he's definitely a hockey dog. he loves being on the ice and just chasing after the puck. he's getting pretty good at walking on the ice, too."

"watch out seth, paul's coming for your job," kat joked, laughing, "do you ever think about getting another dog?"

"we do, but the season is already so hectic, and paul is like high on caffeine at all times, so for now, one dog is enough." you laughed.

"where is paul right now?"

"he's back in raleigh with one of our neighbors. i would've loved to bring him, but i think he would try hopping the glass and getting on the ice with his dad."

"but he's watching, right?"

"oh, of course. our neighbor is making sure he's watching and cheering on seth. and lauren actually made paul a little jacket of his own."

"no way!"

"yeah! and our neighbor sends us pictures, so i get to see paul sitting in front of the tv in his little jacket, and it's the cutest thing ever." you laughed.

"that's the cutest thing ever." kat cooed.

"i miss him, but i know when we get back, he'll be at the door to greet us." you smiled.

requests are open!

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gdinthehouseee · 4 months ago

Text

I Belong To You: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: after years of being separated, and a night of stolen glances and unspoken feelings, your ex-boyfriend, ji-yong, invites you to his penthouse.

word count: 4024

tags: angst to fluff; exes to lovers, jealousy, slightly spicy towards the end

ao3 link

Ji-yong swirls the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way it catches the light, pretending he doesn’t notice the way cameras keep panning to you. But he does. How could he not notice the way you’re dressed in something stunning, the way you continue to command attention without lifting a finger, the way you’re pretending not to notice him too. He knows you a little too well for your liking—he always has.

Briefly pulling him out of his own head, the audience erupts into polite applause as the host rattles on about the next category, but the words barely register in his mind. He knows the drill—clap, nod, look engaged. He’s done this a million times. But tonight, it’s different. Not because you’re here. No. The two of you have been pretending not to see each other sitting so close yet so far from each other for a few years now.

Tonight is different because this time you’re not alone.

The artist you recently collaborated with is sitting beside you, leaning in too close, whispering something in your ear that makes you laugh. Ji-yong doesn’t have to check his phone to know what’s already happening. The cameras have caught it, the fans have seen it, and the internet is losing its mind. There will be clips, slowed-down edits, overanalyzed expressions. People will pick apart every second, searching for something—anything—to confirm their theories. Some will say you’ve finally moved on. Others will refuse to believe it, insisting you’re just trying to make him jealous. And maybe, in some twisted way, they’re right. Because the longer Ji-yong watches, the more certain he becomes that you know exactly what you’re doing. And it’s working.

The whispers had been there for months. Quiet speculations, half-serious comments under posts.

"Why haven’t they been seen together lately?""Ji-yong didn’t like her last three posts… something feels off.""She used to wear his jewelry all the time. When’s the last time we saw it?"

But nothing set the internet on fire like the day you released that song. It wasn’t an outright breakup anthem—no names, no obvious details. But it was melancholic. Raw. The kind of song that settled under the skin, playing in the back of people's minds long after it ended. And the lyrics…

You weren’t angry. You weren’t bitter. You were heartbroken. It didn’t take long before the theories started rolling in.

"Wait. Wait. WAIT. Is this a breakup song??"“Please tell me she just felt like making a break-up song…” "If they’re still together, why would she write this??""IS THIS ABOUT GD???”

Some refused to believe it, digging for loopholes, convincing themselves it was just a song. But the more they analyzed the lyrics, the deeper they spiraled. Someone found an old interview where you had casually mentioned, "I write best from experience." And that’s when the internet really lost its mind.

Breakup edits flooded timelines. Your old moments together—laughing, whispering, looking at each other like no one else in the world existed—now repurposed under the saddest soundtracks imaginable. Fan accounts were in shambles. Some mourned. Others coped through denial. But one tweet said it best:

"If this song is really about Ji-yong, I don’t think I’ll ever recover."

Ji-yong saw that tweet. And he hasn’t recovered either.

He should have known tonight wouldn’t have been any easier than the last few award shows. From the moment you walked into the venue, the cameras couldn’t get enough of you. The fans couldn’t stop screaming your name. And now, as you stand on stage beside him, accepting the award for Best Collaboration, Ji-yong feels a familiar, sinking weight in his chest.

You thank your team, your fans, everyone who made this happen. Your collaborator smiles beside you, the two of you standing close—too close—and Ji-yong knows the internet is already eating this up.

The lights shift. The first notes of your song together play.

Ji-yong leans back in his seat, jaw tight, as you and your collaborator exchange a glance before stepping into position. The performance is effortless—smooth, intimate, rehearsed. Every look, every touch, every perfectly timed harmony makes it clear why the song was a hit. The chemistry is there, and Ji-yong isn’t the only one who notices. Fans are already screaming. Social media is probably on fire.

And then—just when Ji-yong thinks he can finally breathe—the lights don’t turn up again, in fact, they dim even lower. There’s a pause. Murmurs ripple through the venue.

Then, a single spotlight. It lands on you, and the opening chords of that song begin to play.

Ji-yong stiffens. He hears the collective gasp from the audience, feels the energy shift. Because this—this wasn’t publicly announced. This wasn’t planned. And yet, here you are, standing alone in the center of the stage, staring straight into the camera as you sing the first words.

"I don’t blame you, I just miss you."

The same line that had sent the internet spiraling. The song is stripped down—just a piano, raw vocals, and heartbreak woven into every note. Ji-yong doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe. The entire venue is silent, hanging onto every word. Because this is the moment. The confirmation. The truth. No one can deny it anymore. This is the breakup song. This is the proof. This is what the fans had been speculating about for years.

The camera pans through the audience, catching dropped jaws, wide eyes, people clinging to their seats. Some fans are already in tears. Others are recording with shaking hands.

And Ji-yong? He’s gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turn white. Because the way you sing it—soft, emotional, your voice cracking just enough on the high notes—he knows it’s real. He knows it’s about him.

When you reach the bridge—the part that had wrecked him the first time he heard it—your voice softens, turning almost fragile. The lyrics cut through the silence like a confession, every word laced with something raw, something unspoken. He feels it in his chest, the weight of your voice pressing down on him like gravity. The way you linger on certain lines, how your lips part just slightly before the next note—it’s all too familiar. Because he knows this song. He was the one who used to hear those words before anyone else. He was the one who knew what they truly meant.

Then, for the briefest second, your eyes flicker across the room.

And when they finally land on him—just for a moment, just long enough to steal the air from his lungs—Ji-yong forgets everything else.

It’s barely noticeable, but he catches it. The slightest hesitation, the way your breath hitches before the next lyric, the flicker of something deep in your gaze before you force yourself to look away. But he saw it. And it’s enough. Because no matter how much time has passed, no matter how many headlines or rumors or new collaborations have tried to fill the space between you—this moment tells him everything.

You still feel it, too.

Ji-yong exhales, shaking his head, running his tongue over his teeth before looking down at his phone. Without a second thought, he opens the contact that never blocked him. The contact that maybe should have blocked him all those years ago. The contact that shut the door, yet never locked it.

Your heart is still racing as you make your way back to your seat. The applause is deafening, a mix of cheers and shocked murmurs rippling through the venue. You don’t need to check social media to know it’s already in flames—fan theories igniting, clips of your performance circulating within seconds. But none of it matters. Not right now.

Because the only thing on your mind is him.

Sliding into your seat, you smooth your dress over your legs, trying to steady your breathing. Your collaborator leans over, whispering something about how insane that moment was, how the internet is probably imploding, but his voice barely registers.

Your phone vibrates in your palm.

“Come over once this is done.”

You stare at the words, fingers tightening around your phone. The weight of his message settles over you, heavy and intoxicating all at once. He’s not even pretending. No casual “Congratulations.” No vague “We should catch up.” Just this. Direct. Certain. Exactly like him, painfully so.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard for a moment before you start typing. “Yours or mine?”

The reply comes almost instantly.

“Don’t make me wait.”

A slow exhale leaves your lips. The meaning is clear.

You lock your phone, not even bothering to reply, pulse thrumming against your skin. The award show continues around you—more speeches, more performances, more things you should probably be paying attention to. But the only thing you can think about is the fact that in just a little while, you’ll be face to face with Ji-yong again. Something tells you neither of you will be walking away unscathed. You can’t help but think of the last time you were in his penthouse.

Maybe it was the rain that made everything feel heavier that night, or maybe it was the way Ji-yong wouldn’t look at you when he said it. “Maybe we should stop this.” You had known, deep down, that he was already halfway out the door, that the fights weren’t really fights anymore but drawn-out endings neither of you wanted to name. “Would you have ever let me go?” He had asked, voice quiet, almost pleading. And you hadn’t answered—because the truth was, you never would have. So he did it for you. And now, after standing under those stage lights, singing the words that had lived in your chest ever since—I don’t blame you. I just miss you.—you knew he was out there, listening. You knew he understood. He has always known you a little too well, and he always will.

The city pulsed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, neon signs flickering in and out of focus, their glow reflecting off the sleek marble floors. Inside, it was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that felt deliberate, heavy with the things neither of you had said in too long.

You stepped further in, the soft click of your heels the only sound between you. The air smelled like him—something warm, familiar, laced with the faintest trace of smoke. Ji-yong stood by the window, back turned, a cigarette burning between his fingers, untouched. He wasn’t smoking it. Just holding it, watching the city below like it might have answers.

"You came," he murmured, not turning around. His voice was lower than you remembered, a little rough around the edges.

"You told me to."

He finally turned then, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering. His lips curled into something unreadable—half a smirk, half something else, something more cautious. Like he hadn’t actually expected you to show. Like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted you to.

"Hell of a performance tonight," he said, voice deceptively light.

You swallowed, tilting your head. "Which part?"

"You know which part."

Of course you did. It had been impossible to miss—how the audience lost their minds when the first chords of your solo rang out, how the camera panned to him the second your voice wrapped around the lyrics. The ones you had written with him still lingering in the back of your mind. The ones he recognized the moment you sang them.

You shifted, arms crossing over your chest, suddenly too aware of the weight in the air. "Did you mean it?" you asked, voice quieter than you intended.

His jaw tightened. "Did you?"

It wasn’t an answer. But maybe neither of you had one. Not yet. The silence between you stretched, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Outside, the city still pulsed, but here—here, it was just you and him, standing in the aftermath of something neither of you had figured out how to name.

Ji-yong finally moved, stepping away from the window, snuffing out his cigarette in a crystal ashtray on the table. "Sit," he said, nodding toward the couch.

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to—but because you knew what this was. You knew the pattern, the pull, the way the air always seemed to shift when you were in the same room. It didn’t matter how much time had passed, how many miles had stretched between you. The moment you let yourself be near him, the distance never seemed to matter at all. Still, you sat.

Ji-yong watched you for a moment before settling into the armchair across from you, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. His gaze flickered over your face, like he was searching for something—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to find it.

"How long are we gonna do this?" His voice was quieter now, less teasing, more careful.

"Do what?" You knew what he meant, but you weren’t ready to give him that. Not yet.

He huffed out something like a laugh, shaking his head. "You know what. The stolen glances. The bullshit small talk when we run into each other. The way half the internet still thinks we’re secretly together."

You tilted your head, letting the words hang between you for a moment before saying, "Depends on what your definition of ‘stopping’ was."

His lips parted slightly, and you saw the moment the words hit—like an echo of that night, when he’d stood in this very room and told you that whatever this was… wasn’t working. That the two of you should stop seeing each other. When you hadn’t answered, because you hadn’t wanted to stop at all.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "You know why I texted you."

You leaned back against the couch, exhaling slowly. "Do I?"

"I saw you up there." His voice was lower now, quieter, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say it out loud. "Singing that song. Looking at me."

"It’s a song, Ji-yong." Your fingers curled slightly against your lap.

"Don’t do that." He ran a hand through his hair, eyes flashing. "Don’t act like that was just a song. Like you weren’t—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You meant it. I know you did."

Your stomach twisted. Because he was right. The song wasn’t a lie. It was the closest thing to the truth you could bring yourself to say, wrapped in melody and lyrics and the weight of everything left behind. You had known the moment you performed it that he’d hear every unspoken word between the lines. And yet, a part of you had still been surprised by how much it seemed to hit him.

Ji-yong leaned forward again, his elbows braced on his knees. "Did you write it because you were angry?"

You blinked. "What?"

"The song." His gaze burned into you. "Was it because you were angry at me?"

You let out a breath of something close to a laugh, shaking your head. "No, Ji-yong."

"Then why?"

"Because I missed you."

The words hung between you, heavier than anything else in the room. Ji-yong’s lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, his fingers tugging at the strands in frustration. "So what, you missed me, but you moved on?" His voice was lower now, rough around the edges, like he was forcing himself to stay calm. But you knew him too well—knew the tension in his shoulders, the way his leg bounced slightly, the heat in his gaze.

You frowned. "What?"

"Him." He tilted his chin toward the muted TV, where clips of your performance still played, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You and him." His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his jaw flexed. "That’s real, isn’t it?"

"Ji-yong—"

"Just say it." His voice was firmer now, raw with something that almost sounded like desperation. "Tell me you’re with him."

Your breath caught in your throat. "I’m not."

Something flickered in his expression—relief, maybe—but it was gone in a second, buried under something heavier. "But you could be, right?" He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You look good together. The internet thinks so, anyway. Maybe that’s what you needed—someone who wasn’t afraid to have you by his side, out in the open."

You flinched at the accusation in his tone. "That’s not fair."

"Isn’t it?" He leaned in, his eyes burning into yours. "You think I don’t see the way people talk? How they say you’re happier now? How they beg you to move on from me?" His voice dropped even lower, like he was choking on the words. "Maybe you already have."

Your chest tightened. "Ji-yong, it was just a song. Just a performance."

"Doesn’t look like that’s all it was."

"And whose fault is that?" The words snapped from your lips before you could stop them, and Ji-yong stilled, his breath hitching.

Silence stretched between you yet again. Your heart pounded, but you didn’t look away. "You were the one who said we should stop, remember?" Your voice wavered, but it didn’t break. "You walked away first. And now you’re angry because someone else was willing to stand next to me?"

Ji-yong’s throat bobbed, his fists clenching against his knees. "I—"

"You don’t get to be mad about this."

"Like hell I don’t." His voice was rough now, sharp with emotion as he sat forward, his hands gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles turned white. "You think I wanted to walk away? You think I don’t regret it every fucking day?" His jaw clenched, his eyes blazing. "Do you know what it does to me, seeing you with him? Seeing the way you smiled up at him tonight, the way he had his hands on you like he had the right?"

Your breath caught, your stomach twisting. "Ji-yong—"

"It makes me sick," he rasped, his voice nearly breaking. "Because it should be me."

The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with everything unspoken, everything left behind. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your fingers trembling against your lap.

And then, softer this time, almost like he hated himself for admitting it—

"It should’ve always been me."

The weight of his words settled between you, heavy and suffocating. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension in the space closing in, crackling like a live wire. His eyes searched yours, dark and desperate, and something in you snapped.

Before you could second-guess it—before reason could talk you out of it—you surged forward, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him in.

Ji-yong barely had time to inhale before your lips crashed into his. A sharp inhale, a shuddered exhale—then he was kissing you back with just as much fire, his hands flying to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The moment his fingers dug into your skin, a quiet, broken sound slipped from your throat, and that was all it took for him to completely unravel. His hands slid up, one tangling into your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. His lips were frantic, almost desperate, molding against yours in a way that felt both familiar and like something entirely new. You gasped against his mouth as his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and he took the opportunity to press even closer, his grip tightening like he was terrified you’d slip away again.

The taste of him—faint traces of champagne and something unmistakably him—sent a shiver down your spine. Your fingers fisted in his shirt, as if holding onto him could stop the past from swallowing you both whole. It was intoxicating. Overwhelming. And so, so dangerous.

When the two of you finally needed to breathe, your breaths tangled in the space between you, uneven and desperate, his forehead pressed against yours like he couldn’t bear to let go. His grip on your waist was firm, his fingers still curled into the fabric of your outfit, as if releasing you meant losing you all over again. His name was on the tip of your tongue, but the weight of everything—the past, the pain, the longing—held it back. Instead, you exhaled softly, your fingers loosening their hold on his shirt just enough to smooth over the wrinkles you had left behind.

"It always has been you."

Ji-yong tensed. His breath caught, and for a second, he didn’t move. Like the words had struck him too deeply, like he wasn’t sure he had heard them right.

And then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching, desperate for something—reassurance, confirmation, maybe even permission. "Say it again," he murmured, his voice rough.

Your hand slid up, resting against his cheek, your thumb brushing just below the dark smudge of eyeliner that had started to smudge from the heat between you. "It always has been you, Ji-yong."

Something in him broke.

With a sharp inhale, he crashed his lips against yours again, this time with even more urgency, like he had something to prove. Like he needed to remind you, remind himself, of everything you had once been. His hands roamed, gripping, pulling, desperate to keep you as close as possible. You gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound with a groan, deepening the kiss until the rest of the world blurred into nothing.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your back, fingers threading through your hair as he tilted your head just the way he liked. The kiss deepened, his lips pressing into yours with a hunger that bordered on desperation, like he was trying to erase the time you had spent apart. Like he needed to remind you exactly who he was, who he had always been to you.

"You don’t know what you do to me," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, his breath warm as his mouth trailed lower. His lips ghosted over your jaw, down the column of your throat, lingering at the spot just below your ear. "I tried, baby." He exhaled shakily, his grip tightening at your waist. "I really fucking tried to move on."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, needing something to ground yourself as his teeth grazed your skin, his lips pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck that had your breath hitching. "Ji-yong..."

With a growl, he grabbed your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the nearest surface—a sleek, marble counter, cool against your overheated skin. His hands spread your legs, stepping between them as he pulled you in, molding himself to you like he belonged there. And he did. The two of you belong to each other.

Your lips met again in a mess of teeth and tongues and unspoken words, the air between you thick with everything you had left unsaid. His fingers trailed up your thighs, his grip firm, possessive, like he was reminding himself that you were really here. That he could touch you again.

"Tell me you still feel this," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with want. "Tell me I’m not the only one losing my mind."

You didn’t answer—not with words. Instead, you tugged him closer, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, "I never stopped."

Ji-yong cursed under his breath before crashing his lips to yours again, this time deeper, hungrier, as if those words had undone something inside him. His hands slid to your waist, gripping tight as he lifted you off the counter effortlessly, carrying you through the familiar space like he’d done a hundred times before.

Your back hit the couch, his body covering yours in an instant. His mouth never left your skin, trailing fire wherever he touched. "You’re mine," he murmured against your collarbone, his hands sliding down, gripping your thighs to pull you even closer. "And I’m yours."

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