#because i was pretty surprised when i searched it up

[mustyrosewater]

𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄

��𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 '𝐛𝐨𝐛' 𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐱 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: robert 'bob' reynolds (thunderbolts*) x afab!reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3,859 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: when bob goes searching for something in his camera roll, he finds a video that sentry left behind for him, feeling frustrated and insecure about his ability to please you, you offer a solution to bring back his confidence. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: SMUT, filming, sex tapes, oral (m! recieving), sentry is an asshole but he is so so delicious. 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: in between doing some prompts i thought i'd release this one that's been sitting in my docs for awhile, its a concept i've had in my head for awhile now and i've been wanting to write more bob for you guys! - 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Balancing a relationship between the three versions of himself hadn’t necessarily been something that Bob had ever thought he would need to do, but when he’d met you, he realised there were definitely some things that needed to be established.

He’d maintained a balance thus far, initially expecting the void and sentry to be making it as difficult as possible for him, trying to sabotage him at every step. 

While it had been surprising to find that the void kept himself relatively quiet about you, it was sentry that truly surprised him. 

There was some getting used to when it came to the spotty memory, he realised pretty quickly each time that sentry had made himself known, mainly because most of the time it was because he didn’t remember the last twenty four hours. 

When it happened for the first time, he’d been immediately concerned, expecting you to have been hurt or scared by him, but what you’d reported back had been the complete opposite.

It made sense for the sentry to be the way he was with you, upon further realisation, the sentry was after all, still him, just an extension of himself, he supposed.

So it was only logical that sentry’s feelings towards you were just Bob’s feelings towards you, just a little bit more intense. 

Just a little bit. 

“Bobby, please, I promise i’m okay, just.. a little sore..” 

Your phrasing left him perplexed, sitting across from you in bed where he’d woken up with no knowledge the night before or all of yesterday for that matter. 

“..Sore..?” Bob questioned, which resulted in you unable to hide the slight blush that came across your cheeks, sighing softly before you pulled part of your collar down, treating him to the painting of marks all across your neck and chest. 

“You were um.. a bit enthusiastic, last night.” 

While he knew it was him, technically, it still felt odd, having no clue what he’d done to you last night, yet having enough of an idea as to why you were now ‘sore.’

“God, i’m sorry..” he started, reaching forward to run his finger along one of the dark purple marks on your collar.

“Why are you apologising, Bobby? i didn’t say it was bad.” you shrugged, “quite the opposite actually.” you laughed softly, running your fingers through your hair. 

Of course there was insecurity, he was only a man after all, but there wasn’t a whole lot that could be done, he would just have to live with the fact that for better or for worse, he’d given you a package deal. 

There were more instances, times where he woke up with a sore and punished dick and the sight of you completely exhausted and sleeping away. 

Times where he’d go into the bathroom and spit the scratches going down his back that he knew weren’t because of him, per say. 

You had embraced him without question when you became aware of his, affliction, and you were continuing to be okay with all of the weird stuff that came along with him.

There had been instances where he definitely felt sentry pulling at him, almost whispering in his ear as he looked at you. 

He could literally hear his own voice saying words about you that he’d never say or even dare to think. 

It had all come to a head when he’d been scrolling absentmindedly through his phone while out to dinner with the other members of the thunderbolts while trying to find a picture to show Ava, that he spotted it.

A video, only about a minute and a half long.

Even if the thumbnail was small, he recognised the colour of your skin, his mouth falling open for a moment as he looked at the small square hiding amongst all the others.

“Uh, just.. gimme a sec..” he excused himself, shuffling through the chinese restaurant to the bathroom, locking the door behind him as he tapped on the video and pressed play.

He kept the volume at a minimum and watched the scene unroll before him across his phone screen, the sound of your moans and cries filling his ears in an instance.

Accompanied by the sound of flesh smacking against flesh, he watched a pov shot of his own cock ramming in and out of you, your ass bouncing against his hips as he took you from behind. 

He watched his own hand come out and lay a firm slap against your ass which only seemed to have you moaning even louder. 

The sound of his hips slamming against your ass as he fucked you were deafening, hearing his own moans accompanying your own. 

“Bobby doesn’t fuck you like this, huh?” his own voice rang out, though it was breathless, gruffier and deeper, he knew exactly who it was fucking you in the video, and it certainly wasn’t him, a given considering he had no recollection of this whatsoever. 

He listened to you moan out in response, the back of your head showing that your face was pressed into the sheets, another slap coming down on your ass which had you crying out.

“Say it, fucking tell me how much better i fuck you.” he growled, ramming into you even harder and using his free hand to grip your hip. 

“B-Bobby doesn’t..aagghh.. fuck me like t-this..” you whimpered out, your words feeling like a small sting for him as he watched himself moan louder and fuck you harder. 

“Fuuuuck… good girl..” 

It felt wrong, as much as he knew it was him in the video, it was so different from the sex he himself had had with you previously, as much as he wasn’t a big softie by any means, he still hadn’t fucked you the way sentry was fucking you, he’d never had you on the brink of tears before. 

Just as he thought it couldn’t get any worse, he heard the sound of shuffling and watched as the camera turned round to see his own face, brown hair falling over his face as he leaned forward and your face came into frame, continuing to fuck into you mercilessly as his hand wrapped around your chin and forced you to look at the camera which he grinned at. 

“Smile for the camera, baby, thaaats it..” 

The sight of you with your mouth hanging open, your eyes rolled back matched with his own smiling face next yours had him shutting off the video and putting his phone face down on the bathroom counter, needing a moment to catch his breath. 

He’d bitten back all the jealously, he’d made a point not to say anything, because he knew deep down that there really wasn’t anything to get jealous about, it was still him, right?

Dinner had ended promptly enough, with him trying to hold himself together at the table for the rest of the evening, even if he’d been sitting there much less quiet than before and occasionally balling his fists under the table.

Getting into the uber that Yelena had called to get back to your apartment for the night, he looked at the time on his phone screen, reading at nearly 9:34 by the time the car was finally arriving in your neighbourhood.

Making sure to thank the driver as he exited, he shut the door behind him and looked up at where he knew your window was in the apartment building, seeing the dim light of a lamp.

By the time he made his way inside and into the elevator, he could already feel his cock twitching at the thought of the video again, trying to will away what he believed to be sentry coming out all over again, especially after what he’d seen. 

His hands sat in his pockets as he exited the elevator and began to trudge down the hallway to get to your apartment door, reaching out to tap his knuckle against the wood as softly he could manage, some part of him scared to wake you up in case you were sleeping.

The sound of shuffling behind the door was what told him that you were in fact awake, listening as your footsteps approached the door with a nervous anticipation that he hadn’t actually felt for quite awhile with you. 

When your smiling face greeted him, part of him had trouble mustering one to give back to you, which you had seemed to notice instantly as he walked inside and flopped onto your couch. 

Just as was always the routine, you shut your door and stepped over to the couch, coming behind Bob to run your hands over his shoulder and lean forward to press a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Dinner was good?” you asked softly as you ran your thumbs along either side of his face, letting him nod and tilt his head back so you could give him a soft kiss against his lips. 

“That’s good.” you mused, tilting your head to lay another kiss on his cheek. 

With a small grunt, Bob suddenly leaned forward away from you, resting his elbows on his thighs as he stared ahead. 

Furrowing your brows, you walked around the couch and sat at Bobs side, reaching to put your hand on his back. 

“What’s going on, Bobby?” you pried gently, tilting your head so that you could try and see the parts of his face that were covered by his hair when he leant forward. 

He didn’t answer you at first, just sat there in silence while you rubbed his back and waited patiently for him to speak.

You knew he got like this sometimes, upset but not able to voice it; and you knew that continuing to try and guess usually overwhelmed him more than he was already likely was, so you simply stayed silent and pulled him into your arms, letting him rest his head against your chest. 

Whenever you would hold him like this, it would usually be anywhere between minutes or hours before he was able to speak again, usually unpredictable considering that you weren’t a mind reader and had no idea what he was thinking. 

Most of the time he just laid his head on your chest and let you run your fingers through his hair, yet you felt his hands starting to glide over your sides, his head tucking into your neck quicker than you were able to react, his lips beginning to run across your skin. 

Only able to let out a small squeak of alertness before Bob was moving on top of you and his hands were reaching for the end of your shirt, you let your legs open so he could lay his body between them, feeling a semi hard tent pushing against your thigh. 

This was far bolder than you’d have given Bob credit for, even when he did initiate, he was so shy most of the time, almost too nervous to even touch you without express permission. 

Letting out small sounds as he ran his lips across your throat and laid kisses over your skin, his hand disappeared under your shirt to grab a handful of your tit, leaving you arching your back when he rolled your nipple under his thumb.

Stopping for only a split second, you half expected that sentry had taken over again, gearing yourself up to tell him to leave, you wanted Bob tonight, as much as Sentry did things to you that make you feel like you were on cloud nine, you just wanted your Bob.

Placing your hands in his face, you pushed him back slightly and looked into his eyes, peering to try and decipher who exactly was presenting at the moment. 

Bob panted as he looked down on you, and the quick flash of nervousness told you everything you needed to know, leaving you the slightest bit surprised, it was Bob after all. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, only causing you to furrow your brows, “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No, baby, not at all.” you began, shaking your head and leaning forward to kiss the corner of his mouth softly, “I’m just worried about you..” 

Even if he was trying to touch you, trying to initiate something in a way he never had before, there was an obvious anxiety to his eyes, a lining of fear that he seemed to be trying to hide. 

“You’re not acting like yourself.”

Your words seemed to strike a nerve, with Bob leaning back and sitting in front of you, running a hand through his hair with a huff while you sat up.

“I was trying..” he paused, looking away for a moment before looking back at you, “I was trying to act like him.” 

Initially you were confused, furrowing your brows and tilting your head, when you opened your mouth to ask for clarification as to who ‘he’ was, Bob seemed to know exactly what you were asking. 

“I found a video on my phone that he took.” 

All too quickly you understood exactly who he was talking about, a sigh leaving your lips as you shut your eyes and hung your head. 

You were certain this was going to come up sooner or later, you’d already battled with yourself internally over whether or not you were meant to feel guilty over this.

As much as it was still technically your boyfriend, you knew that Bob didn’t remember what happened whenever either Sentry or the void were presenting, leading to you juggling your moral compass for guidance.

Technically, it was still Bob, just a very different version of him, but with the starkly different personalities paired with the memory loss, he might as well have been a completely different man in Bob’s body.

“Bobby.. I..” you weren’t sure if this was meant to be an apology or an admission of guilt or what, whether or not you were meant to ask for forgiveness or not. 

“I know.. I shouldn’t be upset..” he started, “It’s still me.. but..” as he let out another shaky sigh, you could see the frustration coming to light, the anger and the jealousy.

“He left it for me to find, he knew.” 

Now you truly did feel guilty, you could recall when that video had been taken now, almost completely forgetting about its existence.

You tossed up deleting it, but then that would have absolutely been an admission of guilt, total admittance that there was something to hide and that you’d done something wrong. 

It killed you to see Bob look so upset and frustrated, the way he was clenching his fists, Sentry had made a conscious effort to embarrass him, to belittle him, this was something you definitely wouldn’t stand for. 

Reaching across the coffee table to grab Bob’s phone, you placed it into his hand and slid off the couch, coming to kneel in front of Bob between his knees. 

“What’re you doing?” he sighed, clearly frustrated and putting across that he wasn’t in the mood for any antics. 

Reaching your hand forward, you ran your palm against the semi that was still pressing against his pants, leading to a small jolt from your boyfriend and a strained sound leaving his throat. 

You didn’t give him much time to react as you reached for his belt, pulling it open and reaching for the zipper of his pants. 

“Hey, hey, wait-“ 

“Let’s give him something to find next time he tries to go snooping on your phone.” you encouraged, pulling down Bob’s pants along with his boxers to hang under his hips, leaving enough room for his progressively hardening cock to fall out and land against his stomach. 

Already there was pre cum beginning to leak from the tip, the exposure to the cold air making him let out a small hiss, only for his hand to hesitate before hitting record on the phone screen, positioning to hold it at his chest and capture you in the frame. 

You looked at the lens and smiled softly, your eyes already layered with a haze that was paired with the slightly dim lighting on your lamp.

Gathering the shaft in your hand, you could hear Bob beginning to breathe in sharply through his teeth at the sensation, running your thumb over the tip only for his hips to thrust up slightly out of reflex. 

Teasing Bob felt cruel half the time, especially when he always seemed to want you so badly, so you wasted no time before you were peppering open mouthed kisses over the shaft, able to see his eyes shut tightly and his head tilt back behind the phone. 

It was beautiful in a way, the way that Bob would just fall apart under your touch, the way that he moaned, all of the little things that made you love him as much as you did.

There was definitely something to unpack with the idea of another version of himself bullying him, and you could discuss the notations of internalised feelings that it seemed to imply another day, but for now, you were only focused on comforting him and making him feel good. 

As you took his tip into your mouth, closing your eyes as you ran your tongue over the small thin slit at the end, Bob was already a mess, his hand shaky as it tried to hold up the phone, which you didn’t doubt was going to end up being very shaky footage. 

It didn’t matter though, you could see that despite the shaking, he was making an effort to keep the camera focused on you, even moving it closer when you started to take him deeper down your throat, getting a close up of the way your lips engulfed his cock.

You maintained a slow and steady pace, taking more of him down your throat bit by bit and ignoring the soft gags you could feel coming up; Bob was thick, causing you to need to outstretch your entire mouth just to take him in, letting out a small whine as you felt the tip tickle the back of your throat.

Beginning slow movements of your head up and down, you felt Bobs free hand touch the back of your head, not pushing by any means, but guiding you carefully, his thumb running across your soft hair as he did.

Pulling away for a moment, you gasped softly and stroked his cock to make up for the lack of attention as you caught your breath, smiling past the camera lens and up at Bob, who was meeting your gaze with half shut eyes as he panted.

“That feel okay baby..?” you asked, always making an effort to check in with Bob every so often.

He had an awful habit of not voicing when it got too much, leading to lots of unexpected facials, so you made a point to see how he was travelling.

Even if he couldn’t speak at first, Bob nodded his head at you, taking in a breath through his teeth.

“It’s.. it’s good..” he whispered, the hand on the back of your head going from soft guiding to a hint of a push, signalling to you that he definitely wanted you to keep going.

You could already feel the way his hips were beginning to thrust up into your mouth as soon as he touched the back of your throat again, gaining more confidence, especially when you looked up at him while your mouth was stuffed with his cock.

Whining softly, you shut your eyes and tried to take him down further, gagging softly as he moved his hips with the movement of your head, starting to meet you halfway every time you brought your head back down.

“Oh fuck, please, please, please..” He whispered, his thrusts starting to speed up until he was entirely in control, fisting some of your hair softly and holding you in place as he fucked your mouth. 

Letting him drive, you let him take out his frustration on you, tuning into the way his soft whimpers were starting to turn to grunts, as his treatment of you became the slightest bit more aggressive and desperate.

You didn’t mind in the slightest, just as his mood changed, so too did the way he wanted to have you, some days he wanted you to take full control while he just laid there, other times he needed to get his energy out, you were happy to let him. 

Looking up at him, you moaned helplessly against his cock and felt it twitching inside your throat, squeezing his thighs to fight back against the gagging and keep going for as long as you could. 

“Thank you, baby, thank you, oh my god..” 

The thanking and the praise, it just helped you persevere, opening your mouth as widely as it would go, blinking the tears away.

“Shit- I’m gonna cum, can i cum in your mouth, please baby.. please..” 

With the best assurance you could muster while your throat was being fucked mercilessly by Bob, you gave his thigh as squeeze as confirmation, just as you felt his hips stilling, pushing his cock as far down as you could bare as he started to shoot hot ropes of cum into your throat. 

His moans were beautiful, the way they would start out deep and just get more high pitched and whiny as he came, the way he squeezed his eyes shut and gripped your hair so tightly.

When he finally set you free, your head pulled back quickly as you gasped for air, as much as you’d swallowed every drop he gave you, there was still a milky line of spit mixed with his cum connected his tip with your tongue.

Bob brought his hands forward to rest on your bottom lip, bringing the camera closer to your face as he pushed your lips apart to show where you’d swallowed everything.

“Oh my goooddd…” he groaned at the sight, letting out a small throaty laugh as you shut your eyes and nuzzled your cheek against his palm.

Pressing the button to stop the recording, he threw his phone to the side on the couch and pulled you off the floor and onto his lap, stealing a deep kiss from you, tasting himself on your tongue.

Grabbing fistfuls of your ass, he gave it a hard squeeze which had you squeaking softly, pulling your lips off of his and jolting softly.

“So you definitely feel better then?” you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he smiled up at you.

“How did I get so lucky with you?” he breathed, sliding his hands up from your ass to hold you by your waist gently.

“I guess I just like dating super powered cuties.” you sighed, shrugging your shoulders.

With a roll of his eyes, Bob quickly flipped you onto your back, laughing as you let out a squeal, before climbing on top of you.

“What’re you doing Bobby..” you sighed, unable to stop the small whimper that left you as you felt his hand sliding into the waistband of your pants.

“Returning the favour.”

[strwbryshortcakeprincess]

Clark having a crush on the journalist next to him:))

You’re known for writing the fashion and social culture on the daily planet newspaper. But Clark knows you as someone else, someone he’s been yearning for since he started his job. He loves sound of your heels that he can hear from miles away- tapping against the sidewalk of downtown Metropolis. You’re strawberry perfume that always has his mind going oozy every time he gets a whiff when you walk by, and your sweet voice that is constantly giggling and always sharing positivity throughout the workplace. You’re the work sweetie pie, everyone adores you- Clark wouldn’t be surprised if every man or woman had a light crush on you, he can’t get you out of his mind.

You’ve got him completely swooned. And when you talk to him? He’s a stuttering mess, “Hey Clark, do you want a donut?” You ask him, your words coated in sugar. He spins around to face you and can’t help but admire you. You’re balancing the box of a dozen on one arm, your matcha in the other. He just stares at you for a moment, taking you in as it was the first time he’s seen you all day. Your hair so smooth and silky with a red headband, your gingham dress hanging loose below your knees, a small white cardigan, hanging off the shoulder that belonged to the arm holding the donuts. Your lacy socks peeking out of your red heels, but most of all… he admired the bright smile that you gave to everyone. The smile that lights up any dark room, brightens someone’s day even when it’s been a rough one, and the smile that greeted Clark on his first day… so welcoming and wholesome. After a few moments of gazing up at you from his chair, he broke out of his trance due to you saying his name repeatedly, “Clark? Clark!” He snapped back and began muttering, “what- Oh! Yes, please…” His words are followed by a chuckle as he began to reach over and grab a glazed donut.

Now, despite your amazing skills on being able to dissect the ways of love and relationships, you sure are too oblivious to his antics along with the fact that you practically have Superman head over heels for you. Even when he’s always checking up on you, brings you matcha from your favorite matcha place, always offering to walk you home and when you deny, he asks to at least walk you halfway- asking you to call him when you get arrive to know your safe, he even proofreads your work to make sure it meets Perry’s expectations. Clark will never forget the time you asked him to proofread your article on, ‘Victoria Secret’s Top 5 Lingerie Collections’ like it was no big deal, he swears he almost choked on his coffee. He still edited for you, wanting to make sure you didn’t have to do it yourself. Not that there was much to edit, you were great at what you did, it was top tier material and he secretly made a note to himself of which collection you thought was the best, just because he cares;)

The funniest part about the whole thing is everyone, and I mean everyone knows about Clark’s little crush on you- except for you. They see him staring at you as you talk to another male coworker, shooting daggers into him with his glare. He notes the small things you talk about with Lois. Like your favorite place to eat, where you get your nails done, that thrift store you get a lot of your fun clothes from. He loves the way you are always trying to be sweet and kind to everyone, always talking and making sure everyone is included. You’re a very radiant spirit and stand on the things you believe in, it’s very magnetizing. Jimmy will always grin when you squeal and drape your arms around Clark’s neck, pressing your bodies together, spilling out ‘thank you’s’ to him over and over again. Like, when he got you the Vogue Magazine that you’ve been searching for, for weeks. He had overheard you talking about it with Lois and how it would take a ‘miracle to find’. Luckily, Clark’s alter-ego is a pretty popular face and has a lot of connections. So when he made a deal with the Vogue CEO to make two ‘special edition’ copies if he made an appearance at his nieces birthday party- he knew he won the lottery. Clark’s face was very red after that. Jimmy chuckling, “way to play it smooth…” sending a joyful reaction out of Perry who was currently talking to Lois. They laugh because they all know something that Clark doesn’t. That you also have a big crush on him to which everyone, and I mean everyone sees. Everyone except, him.

~~~

a/n: hey berries! First fic, I hope you guys enjoyed it. Reblogs, likes, and comments are always greatly appreciated! I’m also accepting requests, if you have any other reader’s you’d like to see or if you would like more of journalist!reader:)

Much love, 🍓

[cherryberrycheol]

Gym Crush pt.2 | Choi Seungcheol | romance, (+18)

Pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader

Summary: After that first set of flirty texts from Cheol, you actually start going to the gym religiously. It’s no surprise that it brings the two of you closer (in all senses). One evening, when he invites you over to his place to cook pasta and drink wine, things get heated very quickly. And who are you to decline a steamy cardio session with your personal trainer, after all?

Word count: 5.2k

Genre/warnings: romance, slow burn, fluff, smut; slice of life, humour if you squint, workplace crush, gym!au, personal trainer!cheol x client!reader; professional/client boundary crossing, mild possessiveness/jealousy (his reactions to relentless teasing from his lovely friends), mild injury (pushing too hard at the gym, tiny knife cut), Seungcheol is a simp to put it simply, he’s flustered and adorable and a little awkward (until he’s not), caring and attentive man; not the most accurate representation of gym training (i researched but not in-depth); Kkuma makes an appearance because we love our pretty princess

Smut warnings: fingering, piv sex (do it like them, use condoms!), a bit of nipple play, some marking with teeth, Cheol is a little commanding, minor injury kink if you squint (reader gets turned on when the accidental knife cut happens—you’ll see), reader gets to be called mine by Cheol, a little bit of overstimulation (multiple orgasms for reader). I might’ve totally forgotten something…

A/N: i sincerely despise writing summaries and breaking down genres and warnings, it gives me legit anxiety. I procrastinated it for several days straight even though the story was all done and ready to be scheduled for posting. But as always I hope you enjoy! I love reading your comments and reposts, and you’re always welcome to message me through ask box! (๑˙᎑˙๑)♡

If you see any mistakes I’m sorry, English isn’t my first language, proceed at your own discretion.

Masterlist. | PART 1

The next morning, you find him leaning against the mirrored wall beside the squat rack, a protein shaker in hand. Dawn bleeds through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the empty gym in shades of liquid gold. His eyes snap to you the moment the glass doors sigh shut behind you, tracking your movement like a compass finding true north. There’s no mistaking the way his shoulders relax, the subtle curve of his mouth, a silent hey, you actually came that warms you more than the weak sunlight.

"Late," he announces, but it’s softened by the way he pushes off the wall, already reaching for your gym bag. His fingers brush yours as he takes it, a deliberate, lingering graze that sends a jolt up your arm. "Two extra sets. Penalty."

"You texted at 5:45 AM saying you’d be late yourself," you protest, shrugging off your hoodie. The air conditioning bites at your exposed arms, raising goosebumps and you shiver briefly before shaking it off.

"Did I?" He feigns wide-eyed innocence, setting your bag down with exaggerated care. The scent of his shampoo or shower gel—something clean and woodsy, like cedar after rain—drifts between you. "Must’ve… misremembered." His gaze drops to your lips for a heartbeat too long. You pretend not to notice and scoff at his attempted obliviousness.

He’s relentless during the session. "Feet wider." "Chest up, not out." "Breathe, don’t hold it." His voice is a low, grounding counterpoint to the clatter of distant weights and the rhythmic whir of treadmills of other early birds (suicide squad you call them and yourself). But every correction from Seungcheol is delivered with his body angled close, his presence a solid wall against your back. His palm settles lightly on your spine to guide your posture during lunges, calloused fingertips skimming your elbow to adjust your grip on the kettlebell. The whole process is a screenplay of plausible deniability: 30% actual training, 70% him weaving a net of near-touches and searching for every and any reason to be as close as possible. You don’t mind, after all there’s something uniquely satisfying in the knowledge that at the very least he likes you enough to try and spend as much of his time on you as he’s allowed without being fired for it.

And yet, his colleagues notice.

"Since when does Choi Seungcheol work pro bono?" Mingyu’s voice cuts through the focused quiet, dripping with amusement. He leans against a nearby elliptical machine, arms crossed, grinning like a cat presented with a bowl of cream.

Seungcheol doesn’t flinch outwardly, but you see the muscle jump in his jaw. A faint, telltale flush creeps up the back of his neck, staining his skin beneath the short hairs. "Since she actually puts in the work. Unlike some people." He keeps his eyes fixed on your form, his hand lingering protectively on your shoulder blade.

"Putting in the work, huh?" Wonwoo appears beside Mingyu, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel. His smirk is knowing, sharp. "Looks like you’re the one working overtime, Cheol. Charging her in smiles instead of session fees?"

You focus fiercely on the smooth arc of the kettlebell, your cheeks heating as you desperately attempt not to listen. Seungcheol’s thumb presses a tiny, reassuring circle against your shoulder blade. "Ignore the peanut gallery," he murmurs, his voice suddenly thick. "They’re just jealous I found someone who doesn’t whine through every set." The pink now blooms fully across his ears.

Three weeks dissolve into a rhythm as comforting as the worn grip of your favorite dumbbell in the gym. He meets you at the crack of dawn, when the world outside is still painted in grays and the only sounds are the hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic thud of your own heartbeat. He starts bringing you smoothies—vibrant green concoctions he blends himself before dawn, claiming they’re “recovery essentials” when you throw him a look that is half suspicion, half mild displeasure at the taste. ("Spinach, banana, almond milk. Not poison. I think.") He warms your cold hands between his own large, rough palms after you complain about the AC, rubbing life back into your fingertips with a tenderness that belies his gym-rat exterior.

And then there’s the day you push too hard on the leg press. Your quadriceps scream in protest, trembling violently as you try to lock out the final rep. A wave of dizziness washes over you, the room tilting precariously even though you’re basically sitting-lying down. Before you can even gasp, he’s there. Not spotting the weight – it’s safely racked – but his hands are suddenly firm on your shoulders, grounding you so you don’t lean to either side and fall, easing you back against the padded support. His face is inches from yours, eyes wide with alarm stripped bare of any trainer-client detachment.

"Hey. Hey, look at me." His voice is rough, urgent. His thumbs stroke the tense cords of your neck. "Breathe. In… out. That’s it. Just breathe."

The scent of him—clean sweat, cedar shower gel, and something uniquely Seungcheol—fills your senses. His heartbeat thuds against your palm when you reach up in slight disorientation, trying to stabilise yourself, vision darkened around the edges. His heart beats frantically, mirroring the wild rhythm of your own. He doesn’t pull back. Not immediately. His gaze searches yours, filled with a concern that feels too deep, too personal.

"You good?" he asks, his voice softer now, scraped raw.

You nod, swallowing hard, suddenly breathless for reasons that have nothing to do with oxygen debt. You remove your palm when you realise it’s still pressed against his compression shirt. "Yeah. Just… pushed too hard."

He exhales slowly, a shaky breath you feel against your temple. His hands remain on your shoulders, warm and heavy. "Stubborn," he murmurs, but there’s no real annoyance, only a strange, breathless fondness. "Let’s call it a day. Cool down. Properly." He finally eases back, but his eyes stay locked on yours, attentive and unreadable, like there are too many thoughts running through his head all at once.

The teasing from his colleagues evolves into an art form of sorts. Jeonghan, the gym’s resident fox-faced yoga trainer with a knack for psychological probing (simply called ‘getting on everyone’s nerves’), corners Seungcheol near the water cooler during your post-workout stretching. You’re lying on your back on a mat, one leg extended towards the ceiling, focusing very hard on your hamstring and not on their hushed conversation drifting over.

"So," Jeonghan drawls, slinging a conspiratorial arm around Seungcheol’s stiff shoulders. "Heard you spent twenty minutes explaining the biomechanics of the bicep curl yesterday. Very thorough. Very… dedicated."

Seungcheol tries to shrug him off, but Jeonghan clings like a limpet. "She asked." His voice is tight.

"Did she? Or did you just really need to stand that close while she flexed?" Seungcheol’s expression sours and, before he can retort with anything, Jeonghan’s grin is luminous as he turns to you, talking intentionally louder to make sure you hear even if you try not to listen. "He bought new deodorant last week, you know. Said the old one was ‘too sporty’. Needed something ‘cleaner’. More… approachable."

Seungcheol chokes on his sip of water. A droplet escapes, tracing a slow path down the strong column of his throat, over the pulse point hammering visibly beneath his skin. He swipes at it with the back of his hand, glaring daggers at Jeonghan, but the furious blush staining his cheeks and neck gives him away entirely. He avoids looking in your direction.

"Focus on your hip flexors," he barks suddenly at you, his voice cracking slightly. "Hold for thirty seconds. Deep breaths."

You obediently switch legs, sinking into the stretch. When you chance a glance, he’s turned away, meticulously re-racking weights that were already perfectly aligned. His shoulders are stiff, radiating a potent mix of embarrassment and irritation. You bite back a smile, warmth blooming in your chest. It’s absurdly endearing, this confident, sculpted man reduced to a flustered boy by his friends’ teasing and his own poorly disguised crush.

The pretense shatters on a rain-lashed Thursday. The gym is a cavernous echo chamber, empty save for the two of you and the rhythmic drumming of water against the high windows. Grey light washes everything in monochrome. You’re on the mat, lying on your back for glute bridges, pushing your hips towards the ceiling. He’s kneeling beside you, one hand hovering near your lower back for form, the other resting lightly on your hip bone. His touch is electric, even through the fabric of your leggings.

"Higher," he murmurs, his voice unusually husky in the quiet. His thumb presses gently against your hip. "Engage the core. Squeeze at the top."

You push up, holding the position, feeling the burn in your glutes. The silence stretches, interfered only by the rain and your own measured breaths. His hand on your hip feels heavier, hotter. His gaze isn’t on your form anymore; it’s tracing the line of your shoulder, the curve of your neck exposed by your high ponytail. You can feel the weight of it, intense and unwavering.

You carefully lower your hips back to the mat and turn your head to look at him. His eyes snap to yours, wide and startled, caught. A flush instantly floods his face, vivid crimson against his fair skin. He jerks his hand back from your hip as if scalded.

"Sorry," he rasps, scrambling back slightly on his knees. He runs a hand through his damp hair, making it stand on end. "Got… distracted."

The raw admission hangs in the air, fragile and undeniable. The carefully constructed trainer-client facade lies in ruins around him. You push yourself up to sit, facing him. The mat is cool beneath your palms. Rain streaks the windows in tiny running rivulets.

"I know," you say softly.

His head whips up. "Know what?" He looks genuinely terrified, bracing for rejection.

"That this," you gesture vaguely between you, encompassing the pre-dawn meetings, the smoothies, the lingering touches, the blushes, "isn’t just about deadlifts and protein intake."

He stares at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The panic in his eyes slowly morphs into something else—vulnerability, hope, a desperate kind of relief. He swallows hard, the sound audible in the quiet. "No," he admits, the word rough, scraped from his throat. "It’s not." He looks down at his hands, clenched in his lap. Strong hands, capable hands, now looking uncertain. "It hasn’t been for a while. I just…" He trails off, shaking his head, a frustrated, self-deprecating chuckle escaping him. "I didn’t know how to stop being your trainer and start being… someone who just wanted to see you. Every morning."

He risks a glance up, his dark eyes searching yours, laid painfully bare. "My friends are never going to let me live this down."

"Good," you whisper, shifting closer on the mat. The scent of rain through the open crack of the window and his clean sweat fills the small space between you. "Maybe next time you want to see someone every morning, you could just… ask them out? Like a normal person?" You can’t help but tease him.

A laugh bursts from him—genuine, surprised, tinged with leftover nerves. It transforms his face, softening the sharp lines, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He scrubs a hand over his face, smearing sweat and the remnants of his embarrassment. "Yeah. Okay. Point taken." He drops his hand, meeting your gaze with a newfound, albeit shaky, resolve. "So. Would you? Let me take you out? Somewhere that doesn’t smell like rubber mats and sweaty people?"

The tension melts, replaced by a warm, giddy lightness. "Only if you promise not to critique my menu choices."

He grins, that bright, unguarded smile that makes your stomach flip. "Deal. But I reserve the right to steal your fries," he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows and laughing when you swat him lightly.

He takes you to a tiny, steamy noodle bar tucked away in a side alley, far removed from the gleaming, work-hard world of the gym. The air is thick and fragrant, laden with the pungent aroma of simmering bone broth, fried garlic, chili oil, and the earthy scent of fresh herbs. Neon signs from the shops across the narrow street smear vibrant streaks of reds and blues and pinks across rain-slicked pavement visible through the fogged-up windows. He’s swapped his gym gear for soft, worn jeans and a charcoal grey hoodie that makes his shoulders look impossibly broad. His hair is still slightly damp, curling softly at his nape.

Seungcheol fumbles with the laminated menu, his usual confidence replaced by an endearing awkwardness. "I, uh… wasn’t sure what you’d like," he admits, pushing the menu towards you across the small, slightly sticky table. "Besides glaring suspiciously at smoothies I bring you."

You nudge his foot gently under the table with yours. "I like spicy things. And trainers who turn into adorable, blushing messes when they’re caught being obvious."

He groans, dropping his forehead onto his folded arms on the table with a soft thud. "You are never letting me forget that, are you?" His voice is muffled.

"Not a chance," you laugh, sipping your hot jasmine tea. The warmth spreads through you, chasing away the last of the rainy weather chill. "It’s officially my favorite thing."

He lifts his head just enough to peek at you through his fingers. The neon lights from outside reflect in his dark eyes and the vulnerability that is still lingering in there becomes more obvious, the hopeful curve of his mouth more prominent. "Your favorite thing, huh?" he echoes, testing the words. Slowly, deliberately, he lowers his hands, then reaches across the small table. His palm is upturned, an open question on the scarred knuckles and calloused skin. "So… was the whole free personal trainer charade worth it? The relentless teasing? The existential dread every time Jeonghan opened his mouth?"

You place your hand in his without hesitation. His fingers close around yours, warm and strong and sure. His thumb sweeps slowly across your knuckles, a gentle, grounding stroke that unravels the last threads of tension coiling in your shoulders. It’s a touch that speaks volumes – apology, promise, relief.

"Best bargain I never paid for," you murmur, giving his hand a playful squeeze.

His answering smile is pure sunshine, banishing the last of his shyness, revealing the soft, earnest heart beneath the sculpted muscles and confident facade. "Good," he says, his voice warm, squeezing your hand. "Because I might have or have not accidentally booked your usual slot for tomorrow. Six AM. Sharp."

You gasp and kick his shin lightly under the table. He just laughs, a warm sound that blends perfectly with the buzz of conversations of other patrons and the murmur of the rain outside, his hand holding yours tighter, anchoring you firmly in this new, delicious reality.

The noodle bar becomes a catalyst. Dawn gym sessions still happen—Seungcheol wouldn’t let you skip leg day if the world was ending—but now they bleed into something softer, slower. He starts texting you things that have nothing to do with reps or protein: Saw this stray cat that looks like your smug face after finishing all reps without dying. Thought of you. Or: It’s raining. Perfect day to stay in bed. (Alone. Obviously. Unless…?)

His invitations evolve.

"Come over Saturday," he says one Thursday, spotting you on the bench press. His palm rests lightly on the bar, not guiding, just there. A steadying presence. "I’ll cook pasta. Homemade sauce. None of that jarred crap Mingyu eats."

You arch a brow, lowering the weight. "You cook?"

He grins, wiping the nonexistent sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The movement makes his biceps flex. "I survive. But for you? I’ll try not to poison us."

His apartment is exactly what you imagined: clean but lived-in, dominated by a massive navy blue sofa and shelves cluttered with protein tubs among which you spot a gaming console, and a surprising number of well-loved cookbooks. Kkuma, his cotton de tulear, greets you with a wiggling frenzy, nearly knocking over an umbrella stand by the door.

"Down, menace," Seungcheol laughs, gently nudging her aside. He’s barefoot, wearing faded jeans and a soft white henley pushed up to his elbows. The sight of his forearms—corded muscle, faint scars, the dusting of dark hair—makes your mouth go dry. "Make yourself at home. Wine’s open."

He cooks with intense focus, brows furrowed, lips pursed together in a slight pout, sleeves rolled higher as he chops garlic. The air fills with the rich scent of tomatoes, basil, and sizzling pancetta. You perch on a stool at the kitchen island, sipping pinot noir, watching the fluid shift of his shoulders beneath the thin cotton. It’s domestic. Intimate. A world away from clanging weights and his colleagues’ teasing.

"You’re staring," he murmurs without turning, a smile playing on his lips. He scrapes onions into the pan. They hiss, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam.

"Admiring your form," you counter, swirling your wine. "Elbow in. Wrist straight. Very professional."

He snorts, finally glancing over his shoulder. His eyes are warm, crinkled at the corners. "Flattery gets you extra parmesan."

You chuckle in response.

Dinner is surprisingly good—al dente pasta coated in a velvety sauce, garlic bread crisp and golden. You eat at the small dining table, Kkuma walking in circles around your feet, trying to get food from you by giving boba eyes and quietly whining (Seungcheol forbids spoiling her). The conversation flows easy: terrible gym music, his childhood fear of pigeons, your (not so) irrational hatred of folding fitted sheets. The wine bottle empties. The city lights blink on outside the window, painting streaks of gold across his cheekbones.

He clears the plates, his hand brushing yours as he takes your fork. A spark jumps between you, lingering in the sudden quiet of the kitchen.

"Dessert?" he asks, voice lower than before.

You stand, following him to the sink. "Depends. Is it more protein powder disguised as pudding?"

He turns, leaning back against the counter. The space between you shrinks. You catch the scent of him beneath the garlic and wine—cedar soap, warm skin, something uniquely male. His gaze drops to your mouth, then back up, dark and intent.

"No powder," he murmurs. His hand rises, calloused fingertips tracing the curve of your jaw. The touch is feather-light, questioning. "Just this."

He kisses you.

It’s not like the quick, rain-dampened press after your first date. This is slow. Deliberate. His lips are soft but insistent, tasting of red wine and basil. One hand slides into your hair, cradling the back of your head; the other settles low on your spine, pulling you flush against him. You feel the solid wall of his chest, the rapid thud of his heartbeat against yours. A low sound vibrates in his throat—part satisfaction, part hunger.

The world narrows to the slide of his mouth, the warming air between your bodies, the firm pressure of his hands anchoring you. You sink into him, fingers fisting in the soft fabric of his henley. The kitchen fades—the hum of the fridge, the drip of the faucet, Kkuma’s soft snore from the living room rug. There’s only his warmth, his scent, the dizzying rightness of his body aligned with yours.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing is ragged. His eyes search yours, pupils blown wide, lips slightly swollen. A faint flush stains the tops of his cheekbones. He looks wrecked. Beautiful.

"Okay?" he rasps, his thumb stroking your cheekbone.

You nod, words lost somewhere between your ribs and your throat. You lean in, chasing his mouth again.

He meets you halfway.

It becomes a rhythm. Saturdays are for pasta, wine, and Kkuma stealing meatballs—you’re becoming her favored human for sneakily feeding her when Seungcheol doesn’t see. Tuesdays are for early morning jogs that start at his apartment (“Easier than coordinating a meet up spot through texts, and my place is closer to the track,” he insists, handing you a travel mug of coffee, his fingers lingering on yours). His couch becomes your couch. His hoodies migrate to your closet.

One rainy Thursday, you show up drenched after work, hair plastered to your neck, shivering in your thin blouse. He answers the door, takes one look at you, and mutters, “Fuck,” before pulling you inside.

"Shower," he orders, already steering you down the hallway. "Now. Before you catch pneumonia and I have to nurse you back to health again." (It happened just recently).

His bathroom is steamy and clean, smelling of his cedar body wash. He hands you a thick towel and one of his hoodies—soft, grey, swallowing you whole. When you emerge, hair still slightly damp, skin flushed from the heat, he’s in the kitchen making tea.

He freezes when he sees you, the kettle forgotten in his hand. His gaze travels slowly from your hair, down the oversized hoodie swallowing your frame, to your bare legs. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

"You," he says, his voice rough, "are trying to kill me."

You pad over, taking the kettle from his stiff fingers. "Just borrowing clothes. Is that a crime?"

He crowds you back against the counter, palms flat on the cool granite on either side of your hips. His body radiates heat, blocking out the rest of the kitchen. "When you look like that? Yeah. Capital offense." His eyes are dark, intense, fixed on your mouth. The air crackles.

He kisses you like he’s starved for it—deep, claiming, one hand sliding into the damp hair at your nape, the other splaying possessively low on your back. You arch into him, the soft cotton of the hoodie being pretty much the only barrier between your skin and his. A whimper escapes you, swallowed by his mouth.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing hard. "Stay," he murmurs, the word a plea against your lips. "Just… stay tonight."

Weeks blur into a comfortable intimacy. But the tension simmers, a low heat beneath every shared glance, every accidental touch on the sofa, every time he catches you wearing his clothes. It’s a promise hanging unspoken between you.

It bursts on a quiet Friday. You’re helping him chop vegetables for another pasta attempt, elbows brushing, the radio playing soft jazz. He’s recounting Jeonghan’s latest attempt to embarrass him at work (“He put googly eyes on my protein shaker. Said it looked less intimidating.”) when your knife slips.

A sharp sting blooms on your thumb. "Ow!"

Seungcheol is at your side instantly, catching your wrist. "Shit. Let me see." A bead of crimson wells on the pad of your thumb. Without hesitation, he brings your finger to his mouth, sucking gently.

The shock of it—the warmth, the wet suction, the intense focus in his eyes—rocks you. Your breath stops at the top of an inhale. He holds your gaze, his lips sealed around your finger, tongue pressing softly against the tiny wound. The world tilts. Heat pools low in your belly, sharp and insistent.

He releases your finger slowly, his lips glistening. His eyes haven’t left yours. "Better?"

His voice is gravel. It scrapes over your skin.

You don’t answer. You fist your hands in the front of his soft, worn t-shirt and pull him down, crushing your mouth to his.

It’s a match thrown on gasoline.

He groans, deep and hungry, his hands flying to your hips, lifting you onto the kitchen counter in one smooth motion. Bowls clatter. Abandoned vegetables tumble to the floor as he frees up space with a vague swipe of his palm. He doesn’t care. His mouth is hot and demanding on yours, his tongue sliding against yours with a desperation that steals your breath. His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, rough palms skimming your waist, your ribs, the sensitive skin just below your breasts. His touch brands you.

"Seungcheol—" You gasp his name against his lips as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast.

He pulls back just far enough to look at you, his chest heaving, eyes blazing. His hand slides up, cupping your breast through your bra, his thumb circling your nipple until it pebbles into a hard point. A shudder runs through you.

“Cheol,” he corrects, voice low and thick with need. He leans down, nipping once at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, just below the hem of your shorts. The sting makes you jolt. His breath is hot against your skin as he murmurs, “When I’m inside you, I want my name short on your tongue.”

The raw command, the possessiveness in his voice, the feel of his teeth and the promise in his words—it unravels you. A whine tears from your throat, your head falling back.

"Yes," you breathe. "Cheol. Please."

He makes a sound like a growl, surging up to reclaim your mouth. His hands are everywhere—pushing your shirt over your head, fumbling with the clasp of your bra, his palms hot and greedy on your bare skin. He lifts you off the counter, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and carries you down the hallway to his bedroom without breaking the kiss.

The room is dim, lit only by the streetlights filtering through the blinds. He lays you down on his bed, the sheets cool against your back. He strips off his t-shirt, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest, the defined ridges of his abdomen, the trail of dark hair leading below the waistband of his jeans. Your mouth waters.

He follows you down, his body covering yours, skin to skin. The weight of him, the heat, the sheer presence is overwhelming. He kisses you deeply, his hands mapping your body—the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, the swell of your breast. His mouth follows, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, lower. He takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, swirling his tongue. You cry out, arching off the bed, fingers tangling in his hair.

"Cheol—"

He releases your breast with a wet pop, his eyes dark and predatory in the low light. "Tell me," he demands, his hand sliding down your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your now unbuttoned shorts and underwear. "Tell me how much you want it."

"I want you," you gasp as his fingers find your slick heat, circling your sensitive nub with maddening pressure. "God, Cheol, I’m begging—"

He kisses you again, swallowing your pleas as his fingers slide inside you, curling deep. You moan into his mouth, your hips rocking against his hand, seeking more friction, more depth. He adds a second finger, stretching you, his thumb still working tight circles on your clit. The pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter, a white-hot wire about to snap.

"Look at me," he rasps.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his intense gaze. He watches you as he works you, watches every flicker of pleasure on your face, every gasp, every tremble. It’s so unbearably intimate you find that it undoes you on a different level, somewhere deep inside.

"Come for me," he commands, his voice rough velvet. "Now."

His thumb presses harder, his fingers crooking just right inside you. The coil snaps. Pleasure detonates, radiating out from your core in blinding waves. You cry out, back arching, your inner muscles clenching rhythmically around his fingers. He holds you through it, murmuring your name against your skin—"That’s it, good, so good for me"—until the tremors subside, leaving you boneless and gasping.

He pulls his fingers free, sucking them clean with a low groan that vibrates against your neck. The sight, the sound, sends a fresh jolt of heat through your spent body.

He makes quick work of your shorts and underwear, the air of the room brushes your slick folds and you shiver. It takes Seungcheol a minute of staring, his gaze filled with appreciation at the sight before him. “So pretty and all for me,” he purrs—the low timbre of his voice makes your insides clench—and then proceeds to take off his jeans and boxers, freeing his erection—thick, flushed, straining. He rolls on a condom that he grabs from his nightstand drawer, his hands trembling slightly, the only sign of his own fraying control. He settles between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging your slick entrance.

His eyes lock with yours, burning with need, tenderness, and that fierce possessiveness. "Mine," he breathes, and pushes inside.

It’s a stretch, a delicious burn. You gasp, wrapping your legs tighter around his hips, pulling him deeper on sheer reflex. He sinks into you slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he’s fully sheathed, his hips pressed flush against yours. He stills, forehead resting against yours, breathing ragged.

"Fuck," he chokes out. "You feel… perfect."

You manage a mere whimper in response, too deliciously overwhelmed to use words for anything.

He begins to move—slow, deep thrusts that drag against every sensitive nerve inside you. He kisses you, deep and messy, swallowing your moans. His arms cage you while he braces himself above you, biceps bulging with effort as he continues guiding the rhythm, pushing harder into you with each powerful stroke. The friction builds again, a deep, throbbing ache coiling low in your belly.

"Cheol," you gasp, your nails scraping down his sweat-slicked back. "Harder. Please."

He grunts, obliging, his thrusts turning faster, deeper, more urgent. The bedframe knocks rhythmically against the wall. His name becomes a chant on your lips—"Cheol, Cheol, Cheol"—short, gasping, desperate, just like he wanted. He watches you, mesmerized, his own control visibly fraying with every cry that spills from your mouth.

"Gonna come," he grits out, his rhythm faltering. "Look at me. Come with me."

His hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit again, rubbing firm, rapid circles. The dual stimulation tips you over the edge. Your vision whites out as another orgasm crashes through you, fierce and consuming, your inner walls clenching tight around him. He breathes your name, burying himself deep as his own release pulses into you, his body shuddering violently against yours.

He collapses onto you, his weight a warm, comforting anchor. His breath comes in ragged gasps against your neck. You stroke his damp hair, your own body humming with aftershocks of pleasure.

After a long moment, he lifts his head, his eyes soft and hazy. He brushes a sweaty strand of hair from your forehead, his touch infinitely tender.

"You okay?" he murmurs, his voice wrecked.

You nod, too blissed-out for words. A slow smile spreads across his face. He kisses you, soft and lingering and you respond.

"Good," he whispers, finally pulling out and leaving you empty. The used condom gets tied and thrown somewhere—you’re too spent to think about the logistics of it. Seungcheol rolls to the side, pulling you with him, tucking you against his chest. His arms wrap around you, solid and secure. "Because," he adds, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his voice already thick with drowsy satisfaction, "you still owe me a morning jog. Six AM as usual, no excuses."

You groan, burrowing deeper into his warmth, the scent of him—sex, sweat, cedar—wrapping around you like a bear hug. The rain drums softly against the window. Somewhere in the apartment, Kkuma sighs in her sleep. You drift, anchored by the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, knowing dawn will bring weights, Mingyu’s teasing, and Cheol’s relentless, perfect attention.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this!

Masterlist.

[howi99]

From the Nest chapter 33

Blake: *slamming the palm of her hand to the wall next to Vernal's head, to stop her from leaving* We need to talk.

Vernal: *surprised by Blake's forwardness* Uh... *Slight blush* You do know i'm interested in Jaune, right?

Blake: ... *confused, inching her face slightly closer* What?

Vernal: *Blushing a bit more* I-i mean, i know he and i aren't dating yet, b-but i wasn't expecting- I mean i'm not against the idea but-

Blake: ... *Blush like a tomato, recoiling in embarrassment* T-THAT'S NOT WHAT I'M HERE FOR!

Vernal: *tilt her head* You're not? I mean, you made the perfect kabedon and all-

Blake: *shake her head rapidly* I-i just wanted to ask you about the attack at the docks!

Vernal: Oh... *Shrug* I don't mind but... Why didn't you just say so?

Blake: You didn't let me!

_ _ _

Blake: ... *Sigh* I can't believe it. I thought the White Fang wanted to capture Weiss, so why would they need dust of all things?

Jaune: *shrug* They are terrorists now, aren't they? Maybe they need bombs? To make a diversion?

Blake: *Bite her thumb, nervous* If that's the case then...

Jaune: *not liking the look in her eyes* Blake, trust me when i say you shouldn't go after them.

Blake: *frown* Then what am I supposed to do? I can't let them hurt innocent people.

Jaune: *nod* On that, we agree. *Picking a cigarette from his pocket* But the simple fact you used "I" instead of "We" when i told you that you shouldn't go after them told me enough to know that whatever you had planned will result in your death.

Blake: *looking away* I'd sneak into one of their rally-

Jaune: *deadpan* Blake, you might be the worst person i know when it comes to being discreet. *Point her "bow"* The fact you thought this was good enough of a disguise is also quite telling i must say.

Blake: *face red* I didn't have a lot of budget...

Jaune: *sigh* Look, as weird as it sounds coming from me, terrorists should be left to the competent authority. *Pensive* Although... IF you're really hellbent on trying to find them, i could always find Adam-

Blake: *slamming her hands on the plastic table they set up on the roof* YOU KNOW WHERE HE IS!?

Jaune: No. *Point at the bird landing next to them* But she does.

Raven: *turning into her human form, stretching out with a groan* You know, i'm not a taxi.

Jaune: *shrug* True... *Smirk* But i doubt you want me to go on a search and rescue mission to go find my dumbass friend over here, do you?

Raven: *grits her teeth* I'm beginning to regret my decision to stay at your side....

Jaune: *hug her, giving her puppy eyes* Pretty please? 🥺

Raven: ... *Sigh* I hate you so much.

Jaune: *grin* I know you're lying~★.

Raven: *Red* STOP READING MY EMOTIONS WITH YOUR SEMBLANCE!

Blake: *looking at both Jaune and Raven with a weird look* ... Are you two... *Wipe a bit of blood dripping from her nose* dating?

Jaune: *horrified* NO! Holy- WHY WOULD YOU EVEN THINK THAT!?

Raven: *dry heaving*

Blake: *blink* What? You acted exactly like a sugar baby and-

Raven: *turn into her bird form just to be biologically unable to vomit* KAAAAAW!

Jaune: *disgust in his voice* Blake, she raised me! What's wrong with you!?

Blake: *pensive* I did think it was a bit odd, but you both are from a tribe from the middle of nowhere. *Shrug* What do i know about the laws over there?

Jaune: Just because we are a tribe of criminals doesn't mean we don't have morals!!!

[leonardcohenofficial]

I'm so curious about your record collection, sorry if you've talked about this before/too many questions

Do you focus on collecting a specific genre?

Do you mind repressings or do you try and focus on orignal pressings?

Any records with a "can't believe i randomly came across this" story?

Favourite record that was gifted to you?

Any albums you've bought as a souvenir for a trip?

Whats your routine when you get a new record? Ie. Do you listen to it right away, do you do chores/scroll through phone ?

Do you ever buy an album with no prior knowledge (you liked the musicians on the album, liked the album art etc)

Do you have a specific list of albums you want or do you pick up whatever you happen to come across? Any grails you're still searching for?

no apologies necessary! i love talking about records and collecting so this is sincerely appreciated <3

i collect a pretty wide range of genres! i would say that the genres i've collected the most of over the years are jazz soul and folk (which is pretty fitting given those are the ones i tend to spin the most while DJing) i don't mind repressings at all given 1) they're often cheaper 2) they can be easier to find than original pressings and 3) many times the mix on repressings can be better than originals—a shining example from my collection would be the 1997 iggy pop mix of the stooges raw power (which actually just got remastered in 2023), which is FAR superior to both the original mix and whatever the hell bowie thought he was doing with his mix lol i am very dedicated to the art of cratedigging so i do often find records that i am pleasantly surprised to stumble across; to share one example from the other day while at my new local shop, i found a copy of ike white's single "changin' times" which is notoriously hard to find so i immediately had to scoop it up (especially because it's super relevant to a research project i have going but that's a sidebar) folks on here have heard me talk about this many times over but my grandmother gave me my first records in my collection which were all the beatles albums she had as a teenager and those are probably the most special records i've ever been given it can be kind of hard to travel with a ton of records if you haven't prepped in advance to pack them safely so i don't tend to buy them if i'm flying somewhere and don't have a sturdy bag to bring them back but i did buy a bunch of records when i was last in london and got creative about bringing them back to the states (i can't remember everything i bought but i definitely got black flag's in my head and fela kuti's afrodisiac) i don't really have a routine when i buy new records tbh; i do my best to listen to them soon after i buy them because i do think it's silly to have them sitting around in plastic unlistened (because what's the point of having them if you're not going to listen to them) but sometimes titles do end up sitting around for a while lmao i love blind buying records especially from the dollar bin; it's a fun way to discover new artists on the cheap and you never know what you're gonna get! that being said i am a big proponent of using store listening stations especially if you're buying used just so you have a clear understanding of what you're getting and what condition the record is in my discogs wantlist is over a thousand titles deep LMFAO; i'm always on the lookout for albums on that list + i am a completist when it comes to certain artists' work so there are definitely titles still out there for me to find!

[borderlinereminders]

hey im pretty sure that anon about “shoving dbt down our throats” is trying to bait you into drama. i dont follow you but the blog lifeafterpsychiatry got a really inflammatory ask about “finally unfollowing” you for having differing opinions on dbt.

anon basically got told to mind their own business over there but seeing how you got an inflammatory ask too makes me think someone is specifically trying to cause drama for you.

Ah, well that’s not surprising then honestly. I don’t know why people are like this lol. I’ve also had asks telling me to unfollow her in the past and overall trying to cause issues. I ignore them. Her blog is one of my favourite on this website and I think she’s pretty cool honestly! It’s always kind of funny to me when people try to cause issues. Like why? What’s the fun in this? What is with the focus on our two blogs specifically?

And let’s be honest, if I learned DBT in a clinical setting, I’d probably hate it. If I’d searched it up on my own, I’d hate it. I self taught myself a lot of coping things then later discovered they fit under some DBT skills. There are a lot of issues that can be found with it and I think the information Kat is sharing is important. I call the skills DBT because they technically are but I honestly don’t like a lot of DBT stuff as a whole. I left a lot of the information I found online out of my own posts because they are very focused on making the person trying DBT the entire problem without considering what to do if they’re reacting to someone else. And also, often very focused on invalidating emotions in general. I’m a big fan of ‘hey your actions might not be valid but your feelings are! Let’s try and work on that while honouring your feelings.’

I’m also a big fan of different people need different things and that’s okay. I’ve never seen her be critical of things helping a specific individual but usually the system and way things can be pushed on people and I think that’s really important to acknowledge honestly. I’ve never seen her say ‘you’re wrong because dbt helped you’. I’ve seen her say ‘hey these issues exist and we should talk about them’ and those are really different things.

I think we both agree on the main thing and that is that people are different and they’re allowed to find different things helpful. There’s no one ‘fix all’.

My long point being that I don’t think our ‘differing’ opinions are a real problem and I think we both have different experiences and things to share and it’s up to people reading it to take what’s helpful for them and ignore the rest.

That said, hey the stuff she shares is important to consider so I do recommend checking out her blog!

[lamefish]

when fratboy!satoru takes your virginity you kind of expect him to be an ass about it. he's cocky as it is, and has a habit of gassing himself up too much when it comes to his... skills in the bedroom. if you're not listening to him talk about how he's the strongest, you're listening to him talk about how he's the biggest.

being the only virgin of your friend group was starting to grate on you and... a small part of you might've wanted to find out if there's any bite to satoru's bark. it's not like the two of you were dating or anything, but you felt comfortable enough to walk up to him one day during lunch and ask, in front of his best friend:

"will you take my virginity?"

maybe you expected him to blush. or freeze up. or at least trip over his words. but instead, the stupid white-haired prick looked up at you with the most relaxed expression possible and shrugged.

"okay."

and that's how you ended up here, sitting criss-cross applesauce on his messy dorm-room bed with his tongue halfway down your throat. a few empty cans of beer and abandoned cheat sheets lay strewn over his floor, and you hate yourself for letting this be the backdrop of your entry into the sex-having life.

but you can’t hate yourself for long because as he runs a hand up your thigh and under your skirt, you start to feel more excited than you thought you’d feel. he pushes you back, slots his knee between your thighs and bites at your bottom lip before trailing down to your throat.

still, it’s satoru, so when he pushes your panties to the side and feels just how wet you are for him, he laughs. “you get this wet when you touch yourself or is all of this just for me?”

“shut up,” you groan as he nips at the skin of your throat and gently runs his finger through your folds and up to your clit. you’re surprised he knows where your clit is, even.

and he’s not wrong—you’ve never been wet like this before. you can feel just how damp the fabric of your panties are you as satoru pulls them down your thighs and hikes your skirt up to get a clearer look at your soaked cunt.

“pretty,” he licks his lips. “wannna taste her, that okay baby?”

his eyes search yours for consent and you’re stunned for a moment as he waits for ‘enthusiastic consent’. you didn’t expect this sort of check-in from a frat boy. your nod seems enthusiastic enough to him, but just for clarity—“use your words.”

“yes. please, gojo.”

“satoru,” he corrects you. “want to hear that name when you cum on my tongue. cant believe no ones tasted her before.”

the use of referring to your pussy as ‘her’ is odd but quickly overlooked when he delves into your pussy like he’s dehydrated. tongue flat against your heat just to flex and circle around your clit. he sucks and bites a little and pulls you to your first orgasm in nasty speeds.

you cum on his tongue whilst his eyes bore into yours from between your thighs. white hair pulled out of his face by your hand as you tug the strands in hopes that he’ll stop licking at your overstimulated clit. it takes until you’re shaking for him to finally pull back and free his angry cock from his pants.

you think you gasp when you see it. he said he was big but you didn’t think he was a truthful man in the slightest. his cock is so heavy it doesn’t even stand at full mast—it fights gravity. satoru sees the look on your face and instead of sporting a shit-eating grin like you expect, he climbs over you and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“let’s stop here?” he asks. “we could watch a movie. oooh what about die hard?”

you giggle, your nerves melting a little at his words. “i’m okay, i want this. i am not graduating as a virgin.”

satoru snorts and, after rolling a condom on, gently pries your legs apart enough for him to slot his wait in between them. he guides your ankles to link behind his back and slowly runs the tip of his cock through your slick folds. “tell me if you need me to stop,” he says. “just relax. i’ve got you, baby.”

you actually manage to relax a little, focus on the feeling of being stretched as satoru slowly pushes into you until his tip is completely hidden in your cunt. it’s uncomfortable, but not unbearable. “keep going.”

one of his long fingers dips down to rub soft circles over your clit to relax you a little more as he pushes deeper. you’ve never felt so full, so sore yet desperate for more… you wonder if it’s always going to feel like this, or if it’s just because satoru is the one breaking you open to find pleasure in your insides.

he lets out a pretty moan as he bottoms out inside of you, the weight of his heavy balls resting against your ass as he stills and catches your lips in a wet kiss. his tongue slips into your mouth, runs over your teeth and pushes against your tongue as he slowly draws out of you and then, with a grunt that you taste, snaps his hips forwards into you.

that hurts, but there’s an odd stitch of pleasure in the way he’s broken you open. “sorry,” he speaks against your lips. “it’s better that i just got it out of the way, it can start feeling real good soon. gonna make you cum on my cock, baby. you want that?”

you nod, eyes staring into his as your foreheads meet. satoru nods back, licking his lips and smiling. “yeah? you wanna be stuffed full, huh? always knew you were filthy. but i’m the only one that gets to see it.”

his arrogance pulls at your lips. “until i fuck the next guy.”

snap. his cock splits you open at that, and though you wince and screw your face us, you’re letting out moans made for porn too. his finger on your clit starts working a little faster as he draws back again just to drive into you even harder.

“no,” he dips his head down to bite at your neck. “not until you fuck the next guy. i mean you can try, baby, but it’s not happening.”

“ngh, what do you mean?”

another thrust into you sends you further up the bed. you’re sure you look a mess but satoru looks down at you with such wide blown eyes that you could be convinced you’re from the heavens. “not giving you up that easy,” he groans. “you know, i fucked someone last week just because they had your name. got to moan it without being slapped. again.”

your hand flies up to his chest, almost in an attempt to slow his now mean pace. “wait you—ngh god—you like me?”

“i’m far fucking past like,” he moans, hips starting to stutter. any discomfort has faded into glorious pleasure. your stomach starts to tighten again and you know you’re close enough that he’s going to try and time your orgasms. “you’re so perfect. so much better than i imagined.”

your eyes roll back a little at the thought of satoru fucking his fist late at night to the thought of you. how nonchalant he was when you asked him to take your virginity, you wonder if he went home last night and stroked himself to the sheer anticipation of being inside of you.

“satoru i’m gonna—”

he cuts you off with a deep kiss. it’s sex and want and lust, but it’s also soft in a way you can’t describe—maybe even a little anxious after his confession. it might just be his pending orgasm, but you swear his lips tremble between yours.

his cock throbs as he drills it into you, hits your most sensitive spot with every single thrust. it’s like he already has you mapped out, because you’re both cumming in tandem with each other before long.

a part of you aches to feel his cum spill into you instead of the condom he wears, to be claimed and filled by his seed over and over. would he fuck it back into you? clean you off with his talented tongue? would he plug you with his cock until he’s ready to overfill you with a second load?

he moans into your mouth and pulls back a little to revel in your fucked out expression. your legs still wrap around his waist, boxing him in and keeping him close. you worry that in typical frat boy fashion he’ll make an excuse and run off to recount the fuck with his friends. but satoru pecks at your lips, then your chin, then down your neck again.

“what are you doing?” you ask, vision slightly blurred from the intensity of your orgasm.

“gonna make you cum again,” he smiles against your skin. “didn’t you hear?”

“hear what?”

he pulls back to look at you, a soft smile pulling at his pretty lips. “that if you cum at least five times when you lose your virginity, you’ll fall in loooove.”

[rafey-baby]

older!rafe and sensitive!reader spending the holidays together

c/w: fluff, her ovulating and being horny, smut: p-in-v, slight breeding kink, use of dad, 18+ mdni! 

wc: 1.5k

ugh i’ve missed this man

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

“Why is he doin’ that shit?”  

“Rafe, it’s a rom-com,” she reasons, practically glued to him on their couch with the way she keeps shifting closer and closer, almost unconsciously at this point.   

“Yeah, a shitty one. Why was it necessary to do a whole fuckin’ speech at the mall? He couldn’t jus’ I dunno, tell her how he felt?” he scoffs, clearly fed up with the entire film already. 

She can’t stop the bubbly laughter from escaping her when she looks over to his scowling face. “I mean, this is actually getting kinda weird…why’s everyone watching them?” 

“Yeah, ‘n why are they still on that fuckin’ stage?” he grumbles while the couple is now fully making out on the TV screen. 

“Please don’t ever do anything like that to me.”

“Yeah, was actually gonna ask, you, uh, you wanna go shoppin’ tomorrow?” 

“No!” she giggles before taking a sip of the hot chocolate she’d made for herself (because Rafe deliberately told her he didn’t want any) but the minute she’d sat down with the mug in hand, he’d wanted to try it, which ended up with him drinking nearly half of it.  

“Oh shit, forgot to give you this earlier, look what I got you today,” he suddenly murmurs. 

“Hm?” her eyes flit over to his face; momentarily distracted by his pretty features as he searches for something from the back pocket of his pants. Then, he’s pulling a golden necklace from a velvety box.    

“That looks really expensive,” she nervously mumbles, pausing the TV in order to concentrate on the heart-shaped locket he’s holding out to her.   

“You deserve the fuckin’ world, it was nothin’ alright? Can think of it as an early Christmas present if it makes you feel better,” he rolls his eyes, almost exasperated that she still can’t seem to comprehend the fact that he enjoys spending his money on her.    

“It’s so beautiful,” she croons as she inspects the piece of jewelry with careful fingertips, heart swelling in her chest at the sentiment— recalling how she’d mentioned something about thinking pendants like these were adorable maybe once.    

“Yeah? You like it?”    

“I love it. Wait, you had your initials carved into it too? That’s so cute, Ray, what the hell?” she feels her eyes grow watery because her boyfriend really is her favorite person in the whole wide world for a reason.    

“Yeah, know you’re into sappy shit like that, ‘n you can put m’picture inside too ‘n you’ll always have me with you or whatever the fuck.”    

“Shut up, you’re so sweet! I love you,” she exclaims before she’s wrapping her arms around his neck— climbing into his lap in the process while he murmurs into her hair how he apparently ‘loves her more’, which she thinks is not possible.    

“Let me put it on you?” he says before he’s swiping away some strands in order to clasp the locket around her neck. “Look so pretty with m’name on you.”

“Wait, you should have my name on you too,” she jokingly utters out next.  

“Been thinkin’ about gettin’ it tattooed actually,” he admits, completely serious, which makes her face scrunch up.  

“You’re not getting my name tattooed on you— you’re crazy,” she softly hits his chest. However, he can barely even feel it because she really doesn’t have a single violent bone in her body.   

“Yeah, crazy ‘bout you,” he grins, eliciting an airy giggle from her.    

Knowing she’s about to complain about him being weird again, he shuts her up with a press of his mouth against hers— a surprised noise leaving her when she’s momentarily taken aback by the sudden cushion of his lips. 

And it’s sloppy, the way they slot together like puzzle pieces when she opens up for him, but both of them prefer it that way. 

His kiss was meant to be something sweet but soon enough she’s rutting against him— whimpering into his mouth as if it’s been years since the last time they did this. And all too soon for her liking, he’s pulling away.

“Somethin’ you want?”  

“…no,” she lies through her teeth.    

“No? Jus’ uh, humpin’ me like a bitch in heat for no reason then, hm?” he raises his brows; eyes fixed on her frustrated features.    

“Ray...” she huffs out; a frown already forming on her spit-slicked lips.    

“Yeah?” he asks, giving her a soft peck as encouragement.    

“Want you…” she pants against his mouth.    

“But m’right here?” the furrow of his brows displays faux confusion.  

“You know what I mean,” she whines; shifting around in his lap some more.    

“M’afraid I don’t. If there’s somethin’ you want, you gonna have to tell me,” the edge of his mouth curls annoyingly when he decides to toy with her, always finding so much entertainment from her struggle.     

However, she merely grants him another whine.   

“Wha’s up with you today, hm? So fuckin’ needy, actin’ like you haven’t been fucked in a month when you were literally cryin’ on m’cock last night?” he murmurs while thumbing at her pouty bottom lip.   

“I don’t know…jus’ need you so bad,” her eyes begin to gloss over when he’s still not giving her what she so desperately craves.    

“Baby, there’s no need to cry, yeah?” he sticks his thumb past her lips; an attempt to placate her, even if he thinks she never looks prettier than with her eyes all wet and forlorn.   

“You’re ovulatin’ right now, aren’t ya?” his brain finally fits together the very telltale signs as he plucks his phone from the coffee table— opening the app that tracks her period cycle.  

“Think so, yeah,” she mumbles, mindlessly sucking on the digit resting on her tongue as she sniffles.  

It’s no surprise to either of them when his assumption proves to be right.    

“Think you need me to fuck a baby in you, s’that it? Wanna make me a real daddy?” he croons.    

“Mhm…want you,” her words are muffled around his thumb.    

“I know, sweetheart. Don’t want anyone but you carryin’ m’kids— think about knockin’ you up so fuckin’ often, you know?”    

“You do?”    

“Yeah, know you’d be such a good mom.”    

“You think? I think you’d be the best dad, sometimes wish you were my dad,” she rambles mindlessly, the conversation suddenly teetering on the edge of something else entirely.    

“Shit, such an angel face ‘n then there’s this rotten mind inside, huh?” he tuts in disapproval, appearing disgusted as if he doesn’t get even harder in response to her words— something raw, primitive stirring in the pit of his stomach whenever she says things like that.    

“M’sorry dad,” she offers him an impish smile.  

“Someone’s in a mood today?” he chuckles, narrowing his eyes in a playful manner.    

“Can you take off your pants?” she complains while attempting to loosen his belt but with her mind buzzing like a honeybee it’s proving to be a rather demanding.   

“Can’t do anythin’ without dad’s help, can you? Go on, let’s see if you can take me out by yourself, yeah?” he rasps out, tone challenging.    

“No, need your help, daddy, I can’t—”  

“Shit, you’re fuckin’ pathetic,” he murmurs, somehow managing to turn something so patronizing into something affectionate as he swats away her helpless hands and yanks the belt open himself.    

“See? Not that fuckin’ hard, was it?” he mutters out as his thumb slips out of her mouth before he’s pulling himself out. And even if he’s not even fully hard yet, and she’s seen it more times than she can count, she’s still mesmerized by the sight— eyes rounding out while she simply stares as if she’s under some spell.    

“You’re so pretty,” she blinks at him, eyes moony.    

“Still not tired of seein’ it, huh?”   

She shakes her head.   

And since she’s not wearing any pants (as usual), he only has to tug the fabric of her underwear to the side in order to reveal her messy cunt.    

“Ray…” she whines when he merely smears the drippy head over her folds; thudding it against her clit to get her to whimper some more.  

“Hm? Want it inside? Wha’s the magic word?” he looks at her with something amused twinkling in his eyes.   

“Please. Dad, it hurts,” she sniffles, desperately trying to rub against him in an attempt to alleviate the ache.    

“Hurts? Think you bein’ a little dramatic, no?” he lets out a breathy chuckle, making her huff out in frustration.   

“M’not, Ray, please, need you so bad,” wet droplets stain her cheeks while she tries to uselessly blink them away.    

“Shh, s’okay. Dad’s bein’ mean again, isn’t he? M’sorry, baby, I’ll give you what you want, yeah?” his voice is a deep rumble before he’s finally tucking the tip into her weepy cunt, causing both of them to moan in tandem when she practically sucks him in— his fingerprints denting the skin of her thighs when he aids her movements to his liking.   

“Yeah? That what you wanted? Always such a tight fuckin’ fit, huh?” he grunts against her mouth; hips meeting hers halfway as he stuffs himself deeper.  

“Mm, I love you,” she whimpers— practically feeling him in her guts as his cock pokes at the spongy spot inside her while his big hands help situate her on top of him, and she thinks this might just be heaven on earth.

[et6rnalsun]

SHOWIN’ WHAT’S MINE

rafe hates when you dare cover up one of the vulgar hickeys he leaves on your neck while he's deep inside you. he hates it with a burning passion, and would happily let them be permanent just to show everyone that you’re already his.

that’s why every time you do it, he goes crazy.

you climbed into his truck with a small sigh from the rush you had to make to be ready on time, and unconsciously ran a hand through your hair—an action that revealed your strangely smooth neck, without any marks. his blue eyes lingered on that detail as he leaned down to kiss your lips with narrowed eyes, his hand resting on your jaw. “hi, baby”he greeted you, returning your sweet smile with a small one. he couldn't look away from your neck, his gaze darting from side to side because he was pretty sure that somewhere there had to be a hickey he'd left the day before.

“you playin’ at cover up?” he teased, adjusting in his seat. he had no intention of leaving until he understood. you frowned at his words, tilting your head as you took in his uneasy and searching eyes, scrutinizing you like there was something wrong. “what do you mean?” it was a sincere and genuine question, totally lost.

his thumb moved up to trace along your skin, his tongue dragging along his dry lips. “there was somethin’ here yesterday, doll,” he reminded you, pressing a little harder on the spot. “how come it disappeared, huh?”

oh. you let a small giggle escape your lips, and moved your head to give him more room to continue whatever his accusatory touch was. “i need to cover it, rafe. my mom would be so fuckin’ furious,” you huffed, a small pout on your lips as it was the tenth time you’d reminded him of this in a month. “y’know i want to keep it, but it’s too visible” and it was true, the neck was such an easy space to look at, to notice every little detail. and you, your parents' sweet little girl, with a hickey? absolutely not. unforgivable. a painful scandal.

rafe clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head as he stopped touching your neck. “but i don’t care” his head fell slightly to your shoulder, snuggling into you with his arm around your waist. “i really, really don’t care. your mom would understand” his voice was muffled against you, and you could feel his lips dragging down.

“no, rafe, she would never understand. are you crazy? she’d give me a monologue about how i need to have more decency, and how girls my age—“ your monologue of words that he wasn’t even listening to was interrupted by the feeling of his teeth slowly sinking into your soft skin, making your eyes widen briefly in surprise. the sting was stronger as he moved his head to get closer, his mouth closing further around the chosen piece as he switched from biting and licking to straight sucking. “rafe” you tried to stop him, but your hand on the back of his head only pulled him more closer, betraying your words.

his lips, warm and slow, felt too good — with a deliberation that made you lose your train of thought. you felt the heat growing on your skin, a sensation that mixed neediness and the rational side and thoughts. but rafe’s grip tightened on you anyway, not wanting to stop, everything a contrast to the delicacy of the way he left those marks with his mouth, each bolder than the last.

only when he pulled away you took a shaky breath and you looked up at him with big eyes and red cheeks from embarrassment. “tell me it’s not what i think” you murmured in desperation, but his smirk spoke volumes as he finally looked at the sight he truly liked; your marked up neck, barely any normal skin in sight.

@secretlocket @waitforyrlove @sirenedeslily @freshloveee @sosasturns @zweigsangel @sturn777 @carvedtits @sweetestpoetic @sturniolossss @ilovedanielcaesar @jetaimevous @fallbhind @marrykisskilled @lacysturniolorevamp @mattsturniolover @slxtarchive @bluestriips @alesturniolos @rafespreciosa

[kingkaisen]

“What? You’re married? And you’re a dad?”

Yuji finds out that 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 has a family. — same au as this ♡

Yuji Itadori wanted to know more about the world’s strongest sorcerer, who he was lucky enough to have as his teacher.

The two of them walked along the sidewalk peacefully after completing a bit of training.

As Yuji devoured his blue popsicle, his wide eyes stared at the side of his teacher’s face.

Despite the black blindfold covering his ocean blue eyes, Gojo could feel his student’s eyes on him for two minutes straight.

“I’m surprised you haven’t bumped into something yet,” Gojo spoke up, breaking the silence as he smiled slightly. “Why are you staring at me? Something on my face?”

“No, I just had a question I wanted to ask you — can I?” Yuji tilted his head a bit.

“Don’t be silly, of course you can. What is it?”

“There’s a ring on your finger.”

Gojo was silent for a moment, but his amused grin widened. Eventually, he said, “that’s not a question, Yuji.”

“I know, I know, I just . . .” Yuji hesitated. After all, discussing such a personal topic with someone as superior as Satoru Gojo could have been disrespectful. Even so, he took his chances anyway. “Are you married?”

“I am.”

“Really?” Yuji smiled excitedly. He tossed his discolored popsicle stick in a nearby trashcan, and continued his late afternoon stroll with Gojo.

“Yeah, I’ve been married for eight years. Our anniversary is coming up pretty soon, actually. Think I’ll plan some sort of trip.”

“Wow, that’s really cool! Who are you married to? Do I know ‘em? What are they like?”

Due to his unwavering grin, Gojo felt a burning sensation in his light pink, blushed cheeks. Thinking about you had always resulted in him smiling so much, his face would hurt.

“You don’t know her, but Megumi does. Her name is Y/N, and she isn’t a sorcerer anymore, just an ordinary person who enjoys ordinary things, and I love that more than anything. Our daughter is-”

“What?” Yuji suddenly halted his footsteps.

“Hm? Something wrong?” Gojo questioned as he stopped walking, turning around to face the shocked boy.

“You have a daughter? Like an actual kid?” Yuji paused. “How come you never mentioned any of this before? How old is she? I wanna meet your family! Why have I never met them?”

“She‘s four,” Gojo laughed softly, and started to resume his walk along with Yuji. “Guess I had no idea you assumed I had no family, but it’s fine, you can meet them anytime you want. Wanna see a couple of pictures?”

“Yeah!” Flashing a bright smile, Yuji eagerly waited for Gojo to unlock his phone and scroll through his photos.

After only a couple of seconds — as it didn’t take the older man any time at all to find a photo of the two most beloved people in his life — Gojo handed his phone to Yuji, showing him a recent picture of the three of you hanging out at the park.

“Oh man, is that your wife? She’s really, really pretty, and your kid looks like the perfect combination of you both! Well, I guess that makes sense because you’re her parents, but it’s like fifty-fifty! She has your eyes, but Mrs. Gojo’s hair . . .” Yuji zoomed in and out of the photo as he rambled on, even taking it upon himself to search Gojo’s photos for even more pictures. “No way, is that Mrs. Gojo and Fushiguro? Fushiguro looks so young!”

“Yeah, he was around seven years old at the time. Me and Y/N were just dating then, but I knew I wanted to marry her. Best decision of my life.”

“When can I meet them?” Yuji asked, his brown eyes sparkling with hope.

“Why do you wanna meet them so badly?” Gojo reached out and grabbed his phone from Yuji, who had started to scroll a bit too far.

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” Smiling, Yuji paused. “You’re kinda like family to me now, I guess. So, I wanna meet the people you cherish the most, ‘cause I wanna cherish them too.”

Gojo didn’t say another word. Not to Yuji, at least. Instead, he hummed with satisfaction at his student’s kind words, and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found yours.

“Hi, baby,” Gojo greeted you over the phone, “Would you mind if I bring a student of mine over for dinner? He really wants to meet you . . . he’s not allergic to anything . . . Okay . . . That works for us . . . Tell my muffin that I’ll be home soon . . . I love you more, bye sweetheart.”

“Okay, we-”

“Great! Which way is your house? Which way? Is it this way?” Yuji excitedly started to run off in no particular direction, and Gojo couldn’t help but laugh.

While Yuji said he simply wanted to cherish Gojo’s family, Gojo knew that it was a bit deeper than that. After all, as far as Yuji was concerned, he had no one. He craved the domestic nature of a loving family. He was all alone.

Once they made it to Gojo’s home, Yuji excitedly greeted you with a hug as if he had known you his entire life.

He adored your food, laughing and chatting at the dinner table.

He adored your home, carefully admiring your decorations and asking plenty of questions.

He was also kind enough to help out with the dishes, and play with dolls with your daughter afterwards, using silly voices as he truly got into the role.

And, later on, when he saw Gojo grab your grinning face and shower it with kisses, and his little girl happily run up to him as he picked her up, tickling her as she giggled, Yuji silently hoped that one day, he too would have a family just as loving.

But, he didn’t have to observe the happy family from a distance much longer, as, suddenly, you and Gojo waved the boy over, and wrapped your arms around him in a silly, loving, group hug.

And he felt loved.

— PART III —

[harrysfolklore]

grumpy - op81

summary: oscar is always grumpy, never smiles and claims not to want any friends. yn is determined to crack his armor no matter how much he tries to push her away word count: 8.4k + social media posts

folkie radio: NEW LONG FIC !! i wrote the first bit of this fic a while ago and i picked it up and this was the result, i really hope you like it. let me know your thoughts

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Oscar didn't want to be at this party. The pulsing music, the crowd of unfamiliar faces, and the overwhelming sensory assault of flashing lights and laughter grated on his nerves. He stood in a corner, nursing a drink he hadn't really wanted, wondering how long he needed to stay before he could politely excuse himself.

Lando had been excited about this joint birthday celebration for weeks. He'd explained to Oscar that he'd reconnected with an old childhood friend who, by some cosmic coincidence, shared his exact birthdate. Oscar had been surprised when Lando told him about it; he'd never heard of this friend before. But then again, there was a lot about Lando's life outside of racing that Oscar didn't know.

Oscar's eyes scanned the room, searching for a familiar face. He spotted Lando in the center of a laughing group, his arm slung casually around a girl Oscar assumed must be the co-host of this ridiculously extravagant party.

He couldn't recall if Lando had ever shown him a picture of this mysterious childhood friend. The invitations Lando had sent out mentioned her name - YN - but Oscar had paid little attention to the details. Racing consumed most of his thoughts, and social events like this were far from his priority list.

The girl standing next to Lando was pretty, Oscar noted absently, with an easy smile that seemed to light up those around her. She laughed at something Lando said, throwing her head back in genuine laughter. Oscar found himself wondering if this was the famed YN, but he couldn't be sure. There were so many people here, and Lando seemed to know them all.

Lost in his observations and internal musings, Oscar didn't notice someone approaching until a voice piped up beside him. "Not much for parties, huh?"

Lost in his observations and internal thoughts, Oscar didn't notice someone approaching until a voice piped up beside him. "Not much for parties, huh?"

He turned to find another girl standing next to him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She was attractive too, he couldn't help but notice, with flowing hair and a smile that seemed genuine rather than the forced pleasantries he was used to at such events.

Oscar shrugged, not particularly in the mood for small talk. "Not really my scene," he replied, his tone cooler than the drink in his hand.

He glanced back at Lando and the girl he was with, then back to the newcomer. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if this might be YN, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Surely, the birthday girl would be at the center of attention, not chatting up grumpy partygoers in the corner.

The girl, not minding his frosty response, leaned against the wall next to him. "I get that. These big bashes can be overwhelming. But hey, the night's still young, right? Maybe it'll grow on you."

Oscar raised an eyebrow, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "Doubtful. I'm only here because Lando insisted."

"Oh?" the girl prompted, seeming genuinely interested despite Oscar's clear lack of enthusiasm. "You're friends with Lando then?"

"Teammates," Oscar corrected, taking a sip of his drink. "In Formula 1."

"That must be exciting!" the girl's eyes lit up, "I've always been fascinated by racing. The speed, the strategy, the teamwork… it's like a high-stakes chess game on wheels."

Despite himself, Oscar felt a flicker of interest. It wasn't often he met someone outside the racing world who seemed to genuinely appreciate the sport. But he squashed the feeling, determined to maintain his grumpy demeanor.

"It's just a job," he said flatly. "Not all it's cracked up to be."

"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?" the girl laughed, the sound warm and melodious. "Do you know the birthday girl, by the way?"

Oscar's frown deepened at the mention of the birthday girl.

"No, and honestly, I couldn't care less," he said bluntly. "I'm just here for Lando. In fact, I'm seriously considering leaving already. This whole thing is just… too much."

The girl's eyebrows raised slightly, but her smile didn't falter. "Oh? What makes you say that?"

Oscar, emboldened by the anonymity he assumed he had with this stranger, decided to let loose. "Where do I even start? First off, this music is atrocious. It's just noise. Who even picked this playlist?"

"Not a fan of pop, I take it?" the girl chuckled, shaking her head.

"Not when it's blasting at eardrum-shattering levels," Oscar grumbled. He gestured around the room. "And look at all these people. Half of them probably don't even know Lando or this girl. It's just a crowd of random people here for the free drinks and the chance to rub elbows with a Formula 1 driver."

The girl nodded, her eyes twinkling with what Oscar failed to recognize as suppressed laughter. "I see. Anything else bothering you?"

Oscar was on a roll now.

"It's probably all because of this other girl who thought it would be a brilliant idea to have a joint birthday party with a Formula 1 driver. I mean, who does that? It's like she's using Lando for the publicity or something, because I've been Lando's teammate for a year and I've never heard of her util now. This whole thing is over the top. The decorations look like a McLaren gift shop exploded in here. And don't get me started on that ridiculous cake I saw earlier."

Throughout Oscar's rant, the girl beside him simply listened, nodding occasionally and biting her lip as if trying not to laugh. When he finally paused for breath, she said, "Wow, you've really given this a lot of thought. It must be tough, being surrounded by all this… excess."

Oscar sighed, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish about his outburst. "I just… I don't get it, you know? Why make such a big deal out of a birthday?"

The girl's smile softened. "Maybe because birthdays are worth celebrating? Especially when you can share them with friends – old and new."

Before Oscar could respond, a familiar voice cut through the noise of the party. "YN! There you are! It's time for the cake!"

Oscar's head snapped up to see Lando weaving through the crowd, heading straight for them. His eyes widened as realization dawned, a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief washing over him.

The girl – YN – turned back to Oscar, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Duty calls," she said with a wink. "It was nice chatting with you, Oscar. Thanks for your honest feedback on my terrible music taste, my excessive decorations, and my 'brilliant' idea to share a birthday party with my childhood friend. Maybe next time you're at a party, try to enjoy it a little? You might be surprised."

As YN walked away to join Lando, leaving Oscar rooted to the spot, he couldn't help but feel a wave of mortification wash over him. He had just spent the better part of an hour criticizing various aspects of the party to one of the hosts herself. And not just any host – Lando's childhood friend, the girl whose birthday they were also celebrating.

Oscar watched as YN and Lando made their way to the center of the room, where the enormous cake he had mocked earlier was being wheeled out.

As YN and Lando took their places in front of the extravagant cake, the crowd began to gather around them to sing Happy Birthday. Oscar, still reeling from his embarrassing revelation, found himself shuffling closer to the center of the room, trying to blend in with the crowd.

As the song concluded, Lando stepped forward, raising a hand to quiet the crowd. He cleared his throat and began to speak, his voice filled with warmth and excitement.

"Thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate with us," Lando started, grinning widely. "YN and I have known each other since we were kids, and it's always been a bit of a joke between us that we share a birthday. Who would've thought we'd end up throwing a joint party like this years later?" He paused as the crowd chuckled. "YN, you've been an amazing friend all these years, and I'm so glad we reconnected. Here's to many more birthdays together!"

The crowd applauded as Lando raised his glass in a toast. Then, to Oscar's mounting dread, Lando handed the microphone to YN.

YN took the mic with a smile, her eyes scanning the room before landing on Oscar. He swallowed hard, wondering if she was about to call him out in front of everyone.

"Thanks, Lando," YN began, her voice warm and filled with amusement. "And thank you all for being here tonight. It means so much to see so many familiar faces… and some new ones too." Her eyes twinkled as she glanced at Oscar again. "You know, planning this party was quite an adventure. We wanted to make sure everyone would enjoy themselves… well, almost everyone."

Oscar felt his face grow hot as a few people near him chuckled, clearly not realizing the jab was directed at him.

"And now, let's cut into this 'ridiculous' cake I picked out. After that, feel free to enjoy more of our apparently ear-shattering music. Who knows? It might just grow on you!"

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liked by landonorris, lilymhe and 109,847 others

yourinstagram when you share your birthday with your childhood bestie who happens to be an f1 driver… you go BIG or go home! thank you @/landonorris for the most incredible joint celebration ever! from the "atrocious" music to the "ridiculous" cake, every moment was perfect 😉 and thanks to everyone who came - even those who stayed in the corner judging my party planning skills. here's to another year of chaos!

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username1 SLAAAAY

username2 omg lando celebrated BIG this year

landonorris Best joint birthday ever! Thank you for being one of my best friends ever

charles_leclerc The music was actually great! Don't listen to the haters

username3 I NEED TO PARTY WITH LANDOOOO

username4 imagine being lando's childhood friend and sharing your birthday with him THE DREAM

iamrebeccad That cake was anything but ridiculous! Still dreaming about it 🎂

username6 why do I feel like there's a story behind those quotation marks…

username7 Still can't believe you pulled this off! Best birthday party ever!

username8 there's an inside joke we're missing

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Oscar was making his way through the paddock when he spotted her. YN was chatting with Lando near the McLaren garage, wearing team merchandise and looking completely at ease in an environment that was supposed to be his territory. His stomach did an uncomfortable flip - a reaction he immediately attributed to embarrassment from their last encounter, nothing more.

He quickly turned around, hoping to avoid another interaction. The last thing he needed before qualifying was to be reminded of how he'd made a complete fool of himself at that party. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

"Oscar!" Lando's voice called out. "Come here, mate!"

Oscar suppressed a groan, plastering what he hoped was a neutral expression on his face as he approached them. YN turned to face him, that same amused smile from the party playing on her lips. He hated how his heart skipped a beat - clearly just residual embarrassment, he assured himself.

"Hey, grumpy," she greeted cheerfully. "Ready for qualifying?"

Oscar's jaw tightened. Something about her easy demeanor, the way she seemed so unfazed by their previous interaction, irritated him. Or maybe what really irritated him was how much he'd thought about that interaction over the past two weeks.

"Just focused on the session," he replied curtly, trying to ignore the way her eyes seemed to see right through his cold exterior.

"YN's going to be hanging around this weekend," Lando explained, either oblivious to or ignoring the tension. "I thought it'd be cool to show her around."

Great, Oscar thought. Just what he needed - another distraction. He'd caught himself checking her Instagram more times than he cared to admit since the party, telling himself he was just curious about what she'd posted about that night. The fact that he'd spent an embarrassing amount of time looking at her other photos was something he refused to analyze.

"How exciting," Oscar deadpanned. "The glamorous world of Formula 1. I'm sure you'll love all the noise and chaos."

YN's smile didn't falter. "Oh, I don't mind noise when it has a purpose. Race car engines are quite different from 'atrocious' party music, wouldn't you agree?"

Oscar felt his cheeks warm at the reference to his party complaints. The memory of that night had been replaying in his head for two weeks - how she'd stood there letting him rant, those knowing eyes twinkling with amusement. How different would things have been if he'd known who she was from the start? Would he have actually tried to enjoy himself? Would he not think about his ex for half of the night?

Because that was his reality, he thought about his ex more than he cared to admit that he did.

"I should go prepare for qualifying," he muttered, turning to leave, trying to escape both her presence and his confusing thoughts.

"Wait," YN called after him. "I actually wanted to apologize."

This made Oscar pause, turning back with a confused frown. "Apologize?" His heart was doing that annoying skipping thing again.

"Yes," she nodded. "I should have introduced myself properly at the party instead of letting you vent. It was a bit mean to let you go on like that without telling you who I was."

Her sincerity caught him off guard. He'd spent two weeks convinced she must think he was a complete jerk, and here she was apologizing to him? It didn't make sense. None of this made sense - including the way his pulse quickened when she smiled at him.

"Right. Well, no harm done. If you'll excuse me…" He needed to get away. Now. Before these unwanted feelings got any more confused.

"I made you a playlist," YN continued, her eyes twinkling. "All non-atrocious songs, I promise. Thought it might help with your pre-race preparation."

She held out her phone, showing a Spotify playlist titled "For Grumpy F1 Drivers Who Hate Fun." The fact that she'd taken the time to make him a playlist, even as a joke, did something strange to his chest.

Lando burst out laughing. "Oh mate, she's got you there!"

Oscar stared at the playlist, his expression hardening. The championship battle was too tight, the pressure too intense for these kinds of distractions. They were so close to securing the constructor's championship. He couldn't afford to let anything break his focus, especially not some girl who seemed determined to get under his skin.

"I don't need a playlist," he said, his voice sharper than before. "What I need is to focus on qualifying. We're fighting for a championship here. This isn't some game."

YN's smile faltered slightly, but she maintained her composure. "Right, of course. The championship."

"Yeah, the championship," Oscar continued, his tone cold and professional. "Something that requires actual focus and dedication, not parties and playlists. So if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

"Oscar, mate," Lando started, looking uncomfortable, but Oscar cut him off.

"No, Lando. You might be comfortable mixing your personal life with racing, but I'm not. I'm here to win, not to socialize." He turned to YN, his expression neutral but his eyes hard. "Enjoy your weekend at the track."

He turned and walked away, his steps quick and purposeful. Behind him, he could hear Lando apologizing to YN, but he forced himself not to care.

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Oscar sat on the edge of his hotel bed, his phone illuminated with photos he should have deleted months ago. Lily's smile beamed back at him through the screen - holidays in Melbourne, race weekends, quiet moments at home. Four years of memories he couldn't seem to let go of.

"This is pathetic," he muttered, tossing his phone aside. The Vegas skyline glittered beyond his window, a stark contrast to his dark mood. The text from Lando about the drivers' party at some upscale club sat unanswered on his phone.

He ran his hands through his hair, feeling the familiar weight of loneliness settle in his chest. Lily had ended things right before the season started, claiming she couldn't handle the distance anymore. The truth was, she'd found someone else - someone who wasn't away racing cars most of the year.

The thought of sitting alone in his hotel room on a Saturday night in Las Vegas, scrolling through old photos of his ex, made him cringe. Even Alex, who usually preferred quiet nights after races, was going to the party.

"Fuck it," he declared to his empty room, standing up abruptly. He'd rather feel uncomfortable at a party than feel sorry for himself.

The club was exactly as he expected - loud, crowded, and dripping with excess. He spotted several drivers immediately: Lewis holding court in a VIP section, Max and Kelly laughing with Charles, Alex and George arguing about something while Franco watched in amusement.

Then he saw her. YN was wearing a silver dress that caught the light, making her look like she belonged among the glittering Vegas lights. She was chatting with Lando and Carlos, her head thrown back in laughter at something Carlos had said.

Oscar ordered a drink and found a quiet corner, trying to ignore the way his eyes kept drifting back to her. Their last interaction in the paddock hadn't been great - he'd been cold, dismissive. Yet here she was, seemingly unbothered, lighting up the room with that easy smile of hers.

"Didn't expect to see you here," her voice suddenly came from beside him. He hadn't noticed her approach.

"I live to surprise," he replied flatly, taking a sip of his drink.

YN leaned against the wall next to him, mirroring their positions from her birthday party. "You look about as thrilled to be here as you did at my party."

"If you've come to mock me again-"

"I haven't," she cut him off, her voice gentle. "I actually came to see if you're okay. You seem… different tonight."

Oscar tensed. Was he that transparent? "I'm fine."

"You know, it's okay not to be okay sometimes," she said softly. "Even Formula 1 drivers are allowed to have bad days."

He looked at her then, really looked at her. There was no trace of mockery in her expression, just genuine concern. It made something in his chest ache.

"I don't need your pity," he said, but his voice lacked its usual bite.

"Good, because I'm not offering any," YN replied. "I'm offering friendship. Or at least a dance partner who won't judge your moves too harshly."

Despite himself, Oscar felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "My moves are fine."

"Prove it then," she challenged, pushing off the wall and holding out her hand.

Oscar stared at her outstretched hand, feeling the weight of his phone in his pocket - the one still full of photos of Lily. He thought about his empty hotel room, about scrolling through memories of a relationship that was long over.

"I don't dance," he said finally, his tone cooling again. "And I'm not interested in whatever this is."

YN's hand dropped slowly, but her eyes remained kind. "Okay," she said simply. "But if you change your mind about either - the dancing or the friendship - I'll be around."

She turned to leave, pausing only to add, "You deserve to be happy, Oscar. Even if you don't believe it right now."

Oscar watched her disappear into the crowd, his drink suddenly tasting bitter in his mouth. He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over his photo gallery. After a moment's hesitation, he opened his settings instead.

"Delete all photos?" the prompt asked.

He pressed yes before he could change his mind.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

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liked by username1, username2 and 12,958 others

f1gossip SWIPE to see Lily Zneimer (Oscar Piastri's ex) hard-launching her new relationship! 👀 After 4 years with the McLaren driver, she's officially moved on. Lily shared multiple pics on her Instagram with the caption "Finally found my perfect match ❤️"

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username1 the way she waited until oscar had a good race weekend to post this… calculated af 💀

username2 "perfect match" girl you dated an f1 driver… downgrade much?

username3 anyone else notice she limited her comments? 👀 guilty conscience maybe??

username4 oscar deserves better anyway, he's so focused this season!

username5 well this explains why oscar's been in his villain era all season

username6 her loss tbh oscar's having his best season yet

username7 the way she's trying to make it seem like they just met… girl we all saw you commenting on his posts since last year 🙄

username8 imagine breaking up with oscar piastri… couldn't be me

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The Monaco streets were quieter than usual at 6 AM, which was exactly why Oscar had chosen this time for his run. His feet pounded against the pavement in rhythm with the aggressive beats flooding his headphones, trying to drown out the thoughts of Lily's Instagram post that had been haunting him since last night.

Perfect match. The words echoed in his head, mocking him. Four years, and she'd replaced him so easily.

He pushed himself harder, taking the hill towards Casino Square at a punishing pace. The physical exertion wasn't enough to quiet his mind, but at least-

"Oscar!"

He ignored the voice, assuming it was meant for someone else.

"Oscar! Hey!"

The voice was closer now. Persistent. Familiar. He yanked out one earbud, turning around with an irritated scowl that only deepened when he saw who it was. YN was jogging towards him, wearing running gear and looking annoyingly fresh despite the steep incline.

"What the fuck?" he snapped when she caught up. "Are you following me now?"

YN raised an eyebrow, barely winded. "Don't flatter yourself, Piastri. I was already running when I spotted you."

"You don't even live here." His heart was racing, and he told himself it was just from the run.

"Staying with Lando," she shrugged, falling into step beside him despite his obvious displeasure. "He's got a spare room."

Oscar stopped abruptly, turning to face her. The morning sun caught her face in a way that made her eyes look impossibly bright. He pushed that observation away immediately. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what? Running?"

"This," he gestured between them, frustration evident in his voice. "Being… nice. Showing up everywhere. Trying to talk to me. I don't like you, okay? I don't want to be friends. I don't want whatever this is."

YN studied him for a moment, completely unfazed by his hostility. "You know, for someone who doesn't like me, you spend an awful lot of energy trying to convince me of that fact."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," she said, stretching her arms above her head casually, "that if you really didn't like me, you wouldn't care enough to tell me repeatedly. You'd just ignore me."

The logic in her statement irritated him more than her presence. She had a point, but he'd rather run up this hill ten more times than admit it.

"I prefer running alone," he said flatly, trying to ignore how his stomach did a weird flip when she smiled at him.

"Cool. Me too, usually." She grinned. "But sometimes life throws you unexpected running partners. Kind of like unexpected friendships."

"We're not friends."

"Not yet," she agreed cheerfully. "Race you to the casino?"

Before he could protest, she took off up the hill, her ponytail swinging with each stride. Oscar stood there for a moment, torn between irritation and something else he refused to name. The morning light cast long shadows across the street, and he watched her figure getting smaller as she climbed the hill.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself, but his feet were already moving, chasing after her up the winding street.

He told himself it was just his competitive nature, that he couldn't let her win. It had nothing to do with how her presence somehow made his chest feel lighter, or how the morning felt less lonely with her there.

They reached Casino Square nearly neck and neck, both breathing hard. The square was empty except for a few early morning workers, the famous casino building looming above them in the soft morning light.

"Not bad, Piastri," YN panted, hands on her knees. "But I totally had you on that last corner."

"You cut me off," he accused, trying to catch his breath.

"Did not! I took the racing line," she grinned, mimicking his Australian accent on the last two words.

Despite himself, a laugh escaped Oscar's lips before he could stop it.

YN's eyes lit up triumphantly. "There! You laughed!" She pointed at him accusingly. "You actually laughed! Quick, someone alert the press - Oscar Piastri has emotions other than grumpy and grumpier!"

Oscar immediately tried to school his features back into their usual scowl, but he could feel the corners of his mouth fighting to turn upward. "Shut up," he muttered, but there was no real heat in it.

"Make me," she challenged, starting to jog backwards. "Come on, one more lap around Monaco? Unless you're scared I'll beat you again…"

Oscar felt something shift in his chest, a crack in the walls he'd built so carefully. He blamed it on the endorphins from running, on the early morning air, on anything but the way her smile made him want to smile back.

"In your dreams," he called out, already moving to chase after her.

And if he was smiling as they ran through the empty streets of Monaco, well, there was no one else around to see it anyway.

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YN burst through Lando's front door, still riding the runner's high from her morning excursion. She found him in the kitchen, bleary-eyed and hunched over a cup of coffee, his hair sticking up in every direction.

"Morning, sunshine," she chirped, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

"Why are you so… awake?" Lando groaned, squinting at her. "It's inhuman."

"Guess who I ran into?" She hopped onto the kitchen counter, grinning. "Your grumpy teammate. And - wait for it - I actually made him laugh!"

Lando's spoon clattered against his mug. "Oscar? Laughed?"

"I know, right? I mean, it was more like a surprised laugh that he tried to take back immediately, but still. Progress!" She took a long drink of water. "I don't get why he's so… intense all the time. Like, I know F1 drivers are serious, but he takes it to another level."

Lando's expression shifted, something like concern crossing his face. "Ah, right. You don't know."

"Don't know what?"

"About the breakup."

YN stopped mid-sip. "Breakup?"

Lando set his coffee down, suddenly looking more awake. "His girlfriend - well, ex-girlfriend now - Lily. They were together for four years. She ended things right before the season started."

"Oh," YN said quietly, her earlier enthusiasm deflating. "I had no idea."

"Yeah, it was…" Lando ran a hand through his already messy hair. "It was pretty rough. They had this whole life planned out, you know? She moved to Monaco for him when he got the McLaren seat. They were talking about getting married eventually."

"What happened?"

"She met someone else," Lando said grimly. "Some business guy in Sydney or something. Oscar found out when he got back from winter training. She'd already moved her stuff out."

YN felt her stomach sink. "That's horrible."

"Yeah. And the worst part? She posted about her new relationship yesterday. All these loved-up photos, calling the guy her 'perfect match' and everything." Lando shook his head. "Oscar saw it last night. That's probably why he was out running so early."

"Shit," YN whispered, remembering how she'd teased him about being grumpy. "I feel awful now. I've been giving him such a hard time about being antisocial."

"You didn't know," Lando assured her. "And honestly? You getting him to laugh is kind of huge. He's been… different since it happened. Throws himself into racing, barely socializes. The only time I see him smile is on podiums."

YN thought about Oscar's surprised laugh in Casino Square, how quickly he'd tried to hide it. "Four years is a long time."

"Yeah," Lando agreed. "And they were good together, you know? Or we all thought they were. She was at every race, knew everyone in the paddock. When she left…" He trailed off, taking a sip of coffee. "Let's just say there's a reason he keeps people at arm's length now."

YN slid off the counter, her earlier victory feeling hollow now. "I should probably back off then. Give him space."

Lando looked at her thoughtfully. "Actually… maybe don't?"

"What?"

"It's just…" Lando set his mug down, choosing his words carefully. "That was the first time you've mentioned him laughing since January. Maybe what he needs isn't more space. Maybe he needs someone who won't let him push them away."

YN thought about Oscar's determined scowl that morning, how it had softened just slightly when she'd challenged him to another lap. "I don't know, Lando…"

"Just… be yourself," Lando suggested. "You've already cracked the grumpy exterior once. And Oscar… he's a good guy. He just needs to remember there's more to life than proving his ex wrong."

YN nodded slowly, her mind going back to their morning run. She thought about the way Oscar had tried not to smile, how his eyes had lit up during their race to the casino despite his best efforts to remain stoic.

"Okay," she said finally. "But if he murders me for being annoying, I'm haunting you first."

Lando grinned. "Deal. Now please tell me you're making those pancakes you promised yesterday."

"Only if you tell me more about this grumpy teammate of yours."

"Oh, I've got stories," Lando laughed. "Let me tell you about the time he got lost in Singapore…"

As YN moved around Lando's kitchen gathering pancake ingredients, she couldn't help but think about Oscar, wondering if he was still running through the streets of Monaco, trying to outrun memories of a relationship that had shaped the last four years of his life.

She understood his coldness better now, but somehow, that only made her more determined to break through it.

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liked by username1, username2 and 10,983 others

f1gossip SPOTTED: Oscar Piastri jogging around Monaco with mysterious girl ! Sources say they were laughing and racing each other around 👀

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username1 OHHHH

username2 WHO IS THIS

username3 oscar healing era we love to see it

username4 isn't this lando's friend? the one he shares the same bday with

userame5 THIS IS YNNNN lando's bday twin

username6 OSC BOYFRIEND ERA AGAIN??

username7 cry lily zneimer

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Oscar stared at his phone screen, the message he'd sent to Lily still showing just one gray checkmark. Not delivered. He'd blocked her months ago, but last night, in a moment of weakness (and perhaps too much room service wine), he'd unblocked her number.

"I hope you're happy," he'd texted. Four simple words that made him feel pathetic now in the harsh light of day.

Of course she'd changed her number. Of course she hadn't responded. What had he expected? That she'd suddenly remember all their plans, their shared dreams, their life in Monaco? That she'd realize her Sydney finance dude wasn't her "perfect match" after all?

He tossed his phone onto the hotel bed, disgusted with himself. Four years of his life, and here he was, still orbiting around her like a satellite that didn't know its planet had disappeared. The worst part was, he wasn't even sure if he still loved her or if he was just haunted by the future they'd planned.

The Qatar paddock was already buzzing with activity when he arrived, the air conditioning doing little to combat the oppressive heat. He had an engineering briefing in ten minutes, and he needed to focus on the race weekend, not on unanswered texts to ex-girlfriends.

Then he spotted her. YN was chatting animatedly with Carlos near the Ferrari garage, wearing a McLaren team shirt that he suspected was Lando's. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and she was gesturing enthusiastically about something, making Carlos laugh. She looked so at ease, so comfortable in this world that had taken him years to navigate.

Oscar immediately turned around, hoping to duck into the McLaren hospitality without being noticed.

"Oscar!"

No such luck.

He kept walking, pretending he hadn't heard her. The sound of quick footsteps behind him told him his escape attempt had failed.

"Hey, grumpy!" YN fell into step beside him, seemingly unbothered by his obvious attempt to avoid her. "Still maintaining your daily scowl quota, I see."

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" he asked coldly, not slowing his pace.

"Probably. But bothering you is much more fun." She grinned, matching his stride effortlessly. "You know, most people say good morning when they see someone."

"I'm not most people. We're not anything."

"Still stuck on that 'we're not friends' thing? Even after our romantic morning run in Monaco?"

He tensed, acutely aware of the heads turning in their direction. Since their morning run in Monaco, social media had been buzzing with speculation. F1 fan accounts had somehow gotten hold of a blurry photo of them running through Casino Square, and the paddock rumor mill had been working overtime. The last thing he needed was more fuel for those fires, especially not when his embarrassing text to Lily was still fresh in his mind.

"Stop," he cut her off, pulling them both to a halt in a quieter section of the paddock. "This needs to stop."

"What needs to stop?"

"This. You. Being everywhere." His voice was low, controlled, but inside he was a mess of conflicting emotions. The ghost of his unanswered text message haunted him, making him feel vulnerable and defensive. "People are talking. They saw us in Monaco."

YN's smile faltered slightly, but her eyes remained kind. "And? We went for a run. Last I checked, that wasn't a crime."

"You don't get it," he said, frustration seeping into his tone. "I don't need this right now. I don't need people speculating or making assumptions." I don't need to feel things I'm not ready to feel, he added silently.

Understanding dawned in her eyes. "Are you afraid your ex might see?"

The question hit too close to home, especially after his pathetic attempt at reaching out to Lily. His jaw clenched. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you're letting someone who left you control your life," YN said quietly, her words cutting through his defenses with surgical precision. "I know you're so afraid of getting hurt again that you'd rather push everyone away."

"Don't," he warned, his voice sharp. "You don't get to analyze me. You don't get to act like you understand anything about my life just because Lando told you some story." The fact that she could read him so easily only made him more defensive.

"I'm not-"

"We're not friends," he continued, his words precise and cutting. "That morning in Monaco was a mistake. I was…" Vulnerable, lonely, weak. "…it doesn't matter. Just stay away from me."

He turned to leave, his phone feeling like a lead weight in his pocket, the unanswered text message a reminder of everything he was trying to forget.

"You know what I think?" YN called after him, her voice carrying across the paddock. "I think you're not actually afraid of what she might see. I think you're afraid of what might happen if you stop letting her ghost rule your life. And you know what the saddest part is? You're so focused on pushing people away, you don't even notice who's trying to stay."

Oscar didn't turn around, but his shoulders tensed. Her words hit home with devastating accuracy, making his chest tight. Without another word, he walked away, leaving YN standing alone in the sweltering Qatar heat.

But as he headed into the briefing, YN's words kept playing in his mind: "You're so focused on pushing people away, you don't even notice who's trying to stay."

The worst part was, he was starting to wonder if she was right.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The private jet hummed quietly as they crossed over Saudi airspace. Oscar kept fidgeting with his phone, refreshing Instagram for the tenth time in as many minutes. Another photo of Lily, another glimpse of her perfect new life without him.

"If you stare at that screen any harder, it might actually burst into flames," YN's voice cut through his thoughts.

Oscar locked his phone quickly, jaw tightening. "Mind your own business."

From across the aisle, Lando pretended to be absorbed in his game, but Oscar could see him watching their interaction from the corner of his eye.

"Want to talk about it?" YN asked softly, closing her book.

"No."

"Want to keep brooding dramatically while pretending you're not stalking your ex's Instagram?"

Oscar's head snapped up. "I'm not-"

"You've refreshed that page twelve times in the last hour. I've been counting."

"Why are you even watching me?"

"Hard not to when you're sighing like a sad protagonist in a period drama."

Despite himself, Oscar felt the corner of his mouth twitch. YN caught it immediately.

"Was that almost a smile? Quick, Lando, document this rare occurrence!"

"Leave me out of this," Lando mumbled, though he was clearly fighting back a grin.

Oscar tried to maintain his scowl, but YN's theatrical gasping was making it difficult. "You're ridiculous."

"And you," she pointed at him, "are coming out with me tomorrow night."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you need to get out of your hotel room, and I know for a fact you don't have any plans besides rewatching her stories and making yourself miserable."

"I don't-"

"You know what?" YN continued, leaning forward in her seat. "We're going to that new rooftop bar at the W. You're going to wear something that isn't team gear, you're going to have at least two drinks, and you're going to remember what it's like to actually enjoy yourself."

"And if I say no?"

"You won't," she said confidently. "Because deep down, you know I'm right. Also, I've already told Lando he's coming too."

"Traitor," Oscar muttered at his teammate.

Lando shrugged. "She's very persuasive. Also, slightly terrifying."

"So?" YN raised an eyebrow at Oscar. "What's it going to be? Another night of Instagram stalking, or actually living your life?"

Oscar looked between her determined face and his phone, still dark in his hand. The thought of another night alone with his thoughts was suddenly exhausting.

"Fine," he said finally. "But I'm not dancing."

"We'll see about that," YN grinned triumphantly. "Now, hand over your phone."

"What? No."

"Yes. Consider it confiscated until we land. Doctor's orders."

"You're not a doctor."

"No, but I am your friend, whether you like it or not. Phone. Now."

Maybe it was the altitude, or the way she said 'friend' so matter-of-factly, or just the sheer exhaustion of maintaining his walls, but Oscar found himself holding out his phone.

"Just until we land," he warned.

"Of course," YN agreed, tucking it into her bag. "Now, want to hear about the time I accidentally locked Lando in his own garage?"

"That was YOU?" Lando's head shot up from his game.

"In my defense, I thought you were already at the track…"

As YN launched into the story, Oscar felt something in his chest loosen slightly. He wasn't ready to admit it yet, but maybe - just maybe - she had a point about living his life again.

"…and that's why Lando now triple-checks every door before closing it," YN finished, making Lando groan.

"I knew it wasn't a 'random malfunction,'" he accused.

Oscar found himself actually laughing, the sound surprising even himself.

"There it is," YN said softly, her eyes meeting his. "That's the guy I'm taking out tomorrow night."

And for once, Oscar didn't argue.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

texts between lando and yn

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Oscar stood in front of his hotel mirror, already regretting the black button-down shirt he'd chosen. His phone buzzed with a message from Lando: "Sorry mate, stomach's not great. Going to skip tonight. You two have fun ;)"

The winky face made Oscar's jaw clench. He immediately typed back: "Not going if you're not."

Lando's reply was instant: "Yes you are. YN will murder me if you bail."

As if on cue, there was a knock at his door. Oscar considered pretending he wasn't in, but-

"I can hear you overthinking from out here, Piastri!" YN's voice carried through the door. "Open up!"

Sighing, he opened the door to find her leaning against the frame, wearing a simple black dress that made him suddenly very aware of his heartbeat.

"Lando's not coming," he said immediately.

"I know, he texted me." She stepped into his room uninvited. "We're still going."

"I don't think-"

"Nope," she cut him off. "You're not bailing. You're dressed, you look nice, and I'm not letting you spend another night hiding in your room."

"I don't hide-"

"Your Instagram search history would disagree." She grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the door. "Come on, one drink. If you're still miserable after that, you can come back and brood in peace."

Something about the way she said it - teasing but kind - made it hard to argue. "One drink," he conceded.

The rooftop bar at the W was busy but not crowded, the Abu Dhabi skyline glittering around them. They found a quiet corner with a view of the water.

"See? Not so terrible," YN said, sliding into her seat.

Oscar had to admit the view was spectacular. "It's alright."

"Such high praise! Should I alert the media?"

He tried to maintain his scowl but failed. "You're impossible."

"Yet here you are," she grinned. "Now, what are you drinking?"

Two hours later, they were walking along the waterfront, their earlier drinks having taken the edge off Oscar's usual guardedness. The night air was warm but pleasant, and the city lights reflected off the water like stars.

"No way," Oscar laughed - actually laughed - at YN's story. "You did not steal Lando's car."

"I didn't steal it! I borrowed it. There's a difference."

Oscar shook his head, still chuckling. "You're chaos."

"Better than being predictable," she shrugged, bumping his shoulder playfully. "Speaking of which, you know what I noticed?"

"What?"

"You haven't checked your phone once tonight."

Oscar realized she was right. He hadn't even thought about Lily since they'd left the hotel. "I guess I was… distracted."

"By my sparkling personality and amazing stories?"

"By your criminal tendencies, apparently."

YN stopped walking, turning to face him. "You know what else I noticed?"

"What?"

"You're smiling. Like, actually smiling. Not that fake media smile you do, but a real one."

Oscar felt his defenses start to rise, but YN continued before he could retreat.

"And the world didn't end," she said softly. "You had fun, you laughed, and somehow life went on."

He looked out at the water, processing her words. "It's not… it's not that simple."

"No, it's not," she agreed. "But it's a start." She turned to face the water too, standing close enough that their arms brushed. "You know what your problem is?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"You're so afraid of getting hurt again that you're missing out on all the good stuff. The random nights like this, the unexpected friendships, the moments that make life worth living."

Oscar was quiet for a moment. "I thought I had all that figured out," he finally said. "The whole future planned."

"And now?"

"Now…" he looked at her, really looked at her, illuminated by the city lights. "Now I don't know anything anymore."

"Good," she smiled. "That's where all the best stories start." She pulled out her phone, checking the time. "Come on, one more stop before I return you to your cave of solitude."

"Where?"

"There's a gelato place around the corner that's still open. And before you say no, just remember - I've already seen you smile tonight. Your reputation is already ruined."

Oscar found himself following her without argument, watching as she practically bounced down the sidewalk, chattering about the best gelato flavors. He thought about what she'd said about missing out on the good stuff.

Maybe, just maybe, she had a point.

"Hey YN?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks. For… you know."

She turned back to him, her smile soft. "I know." Then, because she was YN, she added, "But if you try to go back to being grumpy tomorrow, I'm telling everyone about how you sang along to Taylor Swift in the bar."

"I did not-"

"The security cameras would disagree!"

Their laughter echoed off the buildings, mixing with the sounds of the city, and for the first time in months, Oscar felt like maybe, just maybe, there was life after Lily after all.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by landonorris, lilyhme and 102,648 others

yourinstagram turns out mr grumpy does know how to smile 😌 (he's gonna kill me for posting this last pic but it was worth it)

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username1 AWE THIS???

username2 weird plot twist but i love it

username3 YN AND OSCAR???

landonorris my stomach miraculously feels better seeing this 😇

↳ oscarpiastri I trusted you norris

↳ landonorris you'll thank me later mate

↳ username1 is there an inside joke we’re missing?

alex_albon WHO IS THIS MAN AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH OSCAR

↳ oscarpiastri Delete this immediately

↳ yourinstagram no ❤️

↳ username2 WHATS GOING ON

yourinstagram for someone who "hates" this post you sure are commenting a lot @/oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri ...i know where you live

↳ yourinstagram no you don't

↳ oscarpiastri Lando does

↳ landonorris leave me out of this 😂

username4 hear me out… oscar and yn

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The McLaren garage had erupted into absolute chaos the moment Lando and Oscar crossed the finish line, securing the Constructors' Championship for the team. Zak was crying, Andrea was hugging everyone in sight, and Lando had already lost his voice from screaming.

Oscar's head was buzzing pleasantly from the multiple champagne showers and whatever drinks had been pressed into his hands during the celebrations. His race suit was stained and sticky, his hair a mess, but he couldn't stop grinning.

"WORLD CHAMPIONS!" Lando screamed for the hundredth time, jumping on Oscar's back.

Through the crowd of celebrating team members, Oscar spotted YN chatting with some of the engineers. She was wearing a McLaren shirt (definitely stolen from Lando's collection) and had champagne dripping from her hair.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the high of winning, or just the way she'd been beaming at him from the pit wall when he crossed the finish line, but Oscar found himself moving through the crowd toward her.

"YN!"

She turned, her smile growing wider. "Well, if it isn't the man of the hour-"

Before she could finish, Oscar had wrapped her in a tight hug, lifting her slightly off the ground. YN froze for a moment, clearly shocked by this uncharacteristic display of affection from him.

"Oh my god," she laughed, hugging him back. "Are you drunk or just really happy?"

"Both," he admitted into her hair, still not letting go. "We did it."

"You did it," she corrected, pulling back slightly to look at him. "Though I have to say, I'm a little concerned. First you're smiling in public, now you're initiating hugs? Who are you and what have you done with Oscar Piastri?"

"Shut up," he grinned, finally releasing her. "I'm allowed to be happy today."

"Quick, someone record this! The evidence that Oscar Piastri has emotions!"

"I take it back, I hate you again."

"No you don't," she sing-songed, poking his cheek. "You just hugged me in front of the entire paddock. Your reputation is ruined forever."

Oscar's eyes widened slightly as he looked around, suddenly aware of the knowing looks and smirks from nearby team members. Lando was practically vibrating with glee.

"I can still blame the champagne," he muttered.

"Sure you can," YN patted his cheek condescendingly. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, champ."

"I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

"Not a chance. I'm having this moment framed. 'The Day Oscar Piastri Showed Human Emotion: A Historical Event.'"

Despite himself, Oscar laughed. "You're impossible."

"Yet you hugged me anyway," she grinned triumphantly. "Face it, Piastri, you actually like having me around."

Maybe it was the champagne, or the victory high, or just the way her eyes were sparkling with mischief, but Oscar found himself saying, "Yeah, maybe I do."

YN's teasing smile softened into something more genuine. "Careful there, that almost sounded like admitting we're friends."

"Don't push it."

"Too late!" She called out to the garage. "Hey everyone! Oscar just said-"

Oscar quickly covered her mouth with his hand, both of them laughing now. "You're the worst."

She licked his palm, making him snatch his hand back. "And you love it."

Before he could respond, Lando crashed into both of them, wrapping his arms around their shoulders. "GROUP HUG! WORLD CHAMPIONS!"

As more team members joined the huddle, Oscar found himself pressed close to YN again. She caught his eye and mouthed "softie" at him with a smirk.

He rolled his eyes but couldn't stop smiling. Maybe she was right. Maybe he did like having her around.

But he was definitely blaming the champagne for that hug.

(He wasn't.)

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liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 104,759 others

yourinstagram to the boy who "doesn't smile" and the guy who "never shuts up" - you just made history. beyond proud to watch you two achieve this. thank you for letting me be a small part of the journey (even when one of you claimed to hate me 😌)

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username1 MCLAREN CHAMPIONSSS

username2 AHHH HAPPY OSC

landonorris MY FAVOURITE HUMAN ❤️

↳ oscarpiastri Excuse me?

↳ landonorris …my favourite humans*

↳ username1 THIS TRIO

username3 the grumpy one and the chaotic one

username4 I SHIP OSCAR AND YN

username5 she's lando's coolest friend

oscarpiastri Never hated you btw

↳ yourinstagram i know, you were just a grumpy boyy

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texts between lily and oscar

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The McLaren Technology Centre had been transformed for the end-of-year celebration. Music thrummed through the usually pristine halls, and fairy lights twinkled everywhere. YN was nursing her second glass of champagne, watching Lando attempt to convince Zak to try some viral TikTok dance.

She found herself on one of the balconies overlooking the lake, enjoying the crisp December air. The door clicked behind her, and she didn't need to turn to know who it was – she'd recognize those footsteps anywhere.

"Escaping your own party, world champion?"

Oscar leaned against the railing beside her. "Needed some air."

"Too many people trying to hug you?" she teased. "I know how you hate showing emotion in public. Though after that champagne shower in Abu Dhabi…"

"Are you ever going to let that go?"

"Never," she grinned. "It's my favorite memory. The day Oscar Piastri admitted he had feelings."

He was quiet for a moment, fidgeting with his glass. "Speaking of feelings…"

"Ooh, are we having a heart-to-heart? Should I record this rare moment?"

"Lily texted me." He blurted it out almost defensively.

YN's smile faltered for a split second before returning. "Oh! That's… that's great! You must be over the moon. I mean, you've been waiting for her to-"

"I blocked her number."

"You… what?"

Oscar ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture she'd come to recognize. "She wanted to meet for coffee, talk about getting back together, but I just… I couldn't."

"Why not?" YN asked softly, even as her heart picked up speed.

"Because I think I'm falling for someone else," he said in a rush. "Have been for months, actually. Someone who never gave up on me even when I was being an absolute dick. Someone who somehow got past all my walls and made me laugh again. Someone who steals Lando's hoodies and makes terrible puns and calls me out on my bullshit and-"

She kissed him.

It wasn't a grand, dramatic kiss like in the movies. It was soft, quick, almost shy – but it shut him up immediately.

She pulled back, watching his stunned expression with amusement. "I always liked you, you idiot. You were just too busy being grumpy to notice."

"I… what?"

"The guy I've been telling Lando about for months? The one he keeps teasing me about? That's you, dummy."

"But you're always making fun of me!"

"Because you're cute when you're flustered! And it was the only way to get you to actually interact with me at first."

Oscar stared at her, processing. "So all those times you were 'accidentally' showing up wherever I was…"

"Lando might have helped with that," she admitted. "Though in my defense, you were being very stubborn about the whole 'I don't need friends' thing."

"I was an idiot, wasn't I?"

"The biggest," she agreed cheerfully. "But you're my idiot now. If you want to be, that is."

Instead of answering, Oscar pulled her closer and kissed her properly this time. She could feel him smiling against her lips.

"Finally!" Lando's voice made them jump apart. He was standing in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear. "Do you know how exhausting it's been watching you two dance around each other?"

"How long have you been standing there?" YN asked.

"Long enough to know I was right all along," he beamed. "My best friends are in love!"

Oscar groaned. "I'm never going to hear the end of this."

"Never ever," Lando confirmed cheerfully. "Now come on, there's a party inside and I want to see everyone's faces when they find out!"

YN turned back to Oscar, who looked like he was contemplating murder. "Well, at least we don't have to worry about how to tell everyone?"

"I'm going to kill him."

"No, you're not," she said, pulling him closer. "You're going to kiss me again, and then we're going to go inside and face the music together."

"Or," he suggested, "we could stay here and kiss some more."

"Look who's being soft now," she teased.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

So he did.

(Inside, Lando was already planning how to work this into his best man speech – not that he'd tell them that just yet.)

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 219,048 others

yourinstagram 2 months of making mr grumpy smile (and yes, there's photographic evidence of the smiles now). who would've thought all it took was stealing his hoodies and annoying him until he fell in love with me 😌 ps: thanks @/landonorris for being the world's most obvious wingman

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username1 THIS IS SO CUUUUTE

username2 i’m crying. they’re the most adorable couple ver

username3 this is what osc deserves!!!

landonorris MY WORK HERE IS DONE

↳ oscarpiastri You're the worst best friend ever

↳ landonorris you're welcome mate 😘

↳ yourinstagram thank you for your service

charles_leclerc The grumpy one's gone soft

↳ yourinstagram he really has 🥰

↳ oscarpiastri I hate both of you

↳ yourinstagram no you don't x

↳ oscarpiastri ...no i don't ❤️

alex_albon aremember when he used to pretend he couldn't stand you

↳ yourinstagram look how that turned out

↳ oscarpiastri In my defense she was very annoying

↳ yourinstagram still am, you just think it's cute now

↳ oscarpiastri ...no comment

username4 BEST COUPLE IN THE PADDOCK

username5 the day oscar piastri used a heart emoji. historic.

oscarpiastri Fine. You win. 2 months of pretending to be annoyed by the most incredible girl who somehow sees past my "resting grumpy face" (your words, not mine). Thanks for not giving up on me even when i was being difficult. ps: that's my favorite hoodie you're wearing in the last photo, i want it back.

↳ yourinstagram no you don't, it looks better on me 😌

↳ oscarpiastri ...yeah it does

↳ landonorris Get a room you two 🙄

↳ yourinstagram says the guy who took half these photos without us knowing

↳ landonorris SOMEONE had to document the enemies to lovers arc

↳ yourinstagram i love you, grumpy ❤️

[grotesquevi]

★ cupid carries a gun.

open up your skull, i'll be there climbing up the walls.

cw # 18+ mdni, modern au, mentions of marijuana, dealer+loser!ellie, blink and you miss a slight pervert behavior, sub!reader, switch!slightdom ellie, pussyslapsyum, pet names, fingering, public sex.

an # if you recognize this it may be because it's from my previous account aka @vicorices who got deleted out of nowhere, this is me trying to get all my work back up again cause i'm not losing three months of work thanks to a shitty team who wiped me out of the internet.

the first time she saw you, she called you bro by accident.

it happens unexpected. ellie's been selling weed for a while now and she's used to get random text messages from unknown numbers: a friend of a friend, a recommendation from some old client — of course when she got your text you're not going to receive special treatment, not when she greets you like she would greet a guy, asking you where to meet since the club's big.

you're friends with cat, that's how you got her number. your usual provider is being insane with ridiculous prices you cannot afford not even by chance, so you're searching for someone else, a reliable source you can buy your weed from without getting into much trouble.

she’s perfect for the job.

it's a surprise either way when you tell her to meet you close to the main stairs in the first floor, and you think you saw her by the time you get there, but before you can approach your phone lights up with a new notification from an unknown number you now recognize.

you like it, making them think you’re a man, confuse the people you buy weed from. it's funny cause it's not the first time it happens, matter of fact, it's really common as you approach the auburn haired girl, noticing she's far less intimidating than your last seller, less tattoos on the face to instead, be covered in freckles and green eyes.

and to ellie — it's clear you aren't a bro too.

you don't pay much attention since it's a quick interaction, but to ellie its enough to make her spiral. too much weed, too much booze that night made her look at you like you're most beautiful girl out there, barely illuminated by the sporadic lights that changes time to time as you approach to her in a nice top of a band she also hears.

"hey. sorry to make you wait" you're too kind to her rough heart, yet from up close she's able to look at your face properly: where the fuck did you know cat from? why she hadn't seen you before too? was she hiding you from her?

"ellie," she presents herself like you do and she's almost a little shy to ask you to walk with her to a less crowded space, cause it sounds different from when she usually asks, slapping herself mentally for being so lame when she meets a pretty girl in a situation like this: don't be a fucking pussy. "do you mind if we move to a quieter place?"

"no, no problem" you reply "i was going to ask you the same, actually. don't want to get kicked out from here."

and you must be really trustful person, cause ellie could be a bad person and you're following her willingly, entering a dirty, small bathroom only to lock the door beneath her not really knowing her true intentions. you know she's not going to do anything when she's nervously speaking to you as the space got way reduced.

"so, you're friends with cat" what's she even doing? trying to pull off some small talk she sucks for? either way your nodding as ellie gives you a small bag with an smiley face on it, letting you see the weed she's going to sell you out first — "you study here in this university?"

"yeah, it’s my last year" you say inspecting the weed with a pleased look, sure you're buying when you take a deep breath and it seems like actual weed and not a fucking rock so tight it seems it came in somebody's ass, good smell, some purple there between different shades of green "film school."

"sick," she looks at you for a moment since you're too busy looking at the product. under the white lights ellie can see the details on your face now, the small moles, the scars, things she wasn't aware of as she wasn't so close as she is now — "it's okay? you like it?"

“smells real good, my last supplier was pretty shit and always had the same strain" you find her concern cute, sure she must take pride in selling good stuff, maybe that's why cat shared her number so reluctant to it, you'd gatekeep a good dealer too.

“that’s lemon haze” ellie explains as a subtle layer of red spreads right over her nose, must be the weather inside the bathroom or something like that, but it's hot as she stares at your eyes and she's betting you must be thinking she's the weirdest girl in the planet. her flannel's too fucking tight, too thick. "it's a nice sativa, wont leave you stupid nor like a hungry animal."

girls like you may be out of her league, but even when ellie's brain saying the same, it does not matter when your fingers brush against hers and you're laughing at her bad joke, giggling like she's oh so funny and it's enough. it may be a tactic she's falling all the way in when saying a lower price than regular and your eyes widen cause you don't believe it: why would such a good quality be cheaper than the usual shit?

"you study in this university too?" you curiously ask as if you're trying to catch the trick, clever girl. she’s selling you cheaper to secure you.

"forensic science" you seemed a bit surprised by it since you didn't talk much to stem girls in general, being in two different fields: hot— "it’s my last year too."

"that sounds cool, never met someone who study that," you say as you're pulling out 20$ for at least 3 grams of top-graded-weed: she's fucking stupid for selling that quality for less than $30 "well nice to meet you ellie, if i don't get poisoned with your weed, you'll be definitely hearing more from me."

and she wants to say something flirty, something with her usual witty charm and her sarcastic replies she loves by heart, but instead of saying something clever, ellie ends up stuttering, tripping in her own words as she nods.

"i- uh- yes sure. save my contact and text me anytime."

fuck it, cause it does get her to know you'll be talking to her again someday, maybe this week, maybe the next, tomorrow. her weed is hella good and her own brain is feeding her delusions cause as far as she knows you might as well be the biggest heterosexual girl in university, but you're there waving her goodbye with a warm smile and your perfume lingers in the air for a while even when you're not there.

so ellie stays in the cubicle for a minute. the longest minute of her life when she takes a deep breath at the scent, discovering the fruity notes, the damn strawberries sweet as ever now impregnated under her nose.

fucking cat cause she must have kept you all to herself, pure selfish reasons — ellie thought they were in good terms.

it's crazy to say she would've done the same if you were her friend too.

the second time ellie sells you weed you're talking with your friends seated in a secluded spot of the main quad and the sun hits your skin just in the correct way to make her mouth go dry.

you're using this straight sinful sundress in blue and white, covering from the fresh air in a denim jacket and it looks so good she needs to check you actually messaged her in the first place and didn't imagined the whole thing.

she politely greets everyone but her attention drifts back to you when ellie's sitting close like you're friends with her before the people you’re hanging out with.

"was it good?" she asks, blatantly checking you out you're resting over your elbows, letting the exposed parts of your body fill out with vitamin d after being trapped in class for what it seems an eternity, and ellie feels trapped too, slightly different cause she's experiencing the victorian era on the flesh when only a glimpse of your ankles is enough to kill her — "guess it was if you're texting to meet up again."

"yeah, seems like you got the best weed in the whole place" you laugh, each time warming up to her as you reply under a pair of black shades that make you look so fucking attractive: her weed, the best. "good job, ellie."

awfully good price. outstanding for you, only loses for her.

the third time, you're meeting her outside class and her friends joke calling you her girlfriend as ellie quickly walks away hoping you didn't hear them: do you talk to her about dinosaurs too, williams? you're too polite to say you find it cute.

by the fifth time you're on her car and the silence is so damn loud as the music sound softly in the speakers, some song you say you like as ellie turns up the volume so you can hear it better. you're humming to the tune, a two-minute song as she pretends to be searching for the weed on her bag, taking more time on purpose.

"are you going to take the same three grams or you feel generous this time?"

"no, just three" you reply to her question. you've become quite aware of her consistent gaze on you now after weeks of selling you grass, personally giving you the best, making the moment linger without you noticing until you actually do catch on her subtle tactics— "that way i can text sooner and see you again this week."

ellie’s clueless most of the days but with that? anyone would notice you're flirting, blatantly as you look up to her and your dealer struggles to resist the need on her hands to pin you against the passenger seat and lean all over the console to go on and kiss you until you clearly state what you want. no playing around the bushes this time. demand, as her stomach turns, what do you mean by that.

do you want to see her more? that's why you buy three grams and talk to her every three or four days? are you, by any chance, not straight?

“if you want to see me during the week, you might just ask” ellie says mirroring your tone “like you ask to buy weed from me, s’not that hard.”

you’re the one who's nervous now, and she considers on giving you the weed as a gift before you’re paying. loses, you only mean loses in her economy at this point — and it's driving her hella mad when you get out the car and ellie’s left there with the need to have you as closer as you possibly agree to.

silk fabric slipping through her fingers.

the sixth time, ellie decides she's going to do something about it. about her needs. there’s no actual way you’re not flirting with her, the image of you in the passenger seat still sealed freshly on her mind even if it was a week ago, repeating it over and over again — you got her staring at your profile pic, debating if she can or cannot masturbate with the pictures you’ve shared on instagram from spring break in fucking california, liking your post cause it’s the only way she dares to interact, a way of saying she’s there.

in the middle of a saturday night, thinking about you. two in the morning and it’s all fucking you.

she should make up her mind. you’re a good buyer, and she wishes to keep it that way. you don’t ask for later payments, you constantly buy and don't share her number with weirdo friends like everyone else does, you're a reliable source surely: so why does her heart stops in her chest cavity when her phone's buzzing and ellie's reading the name she saved your contact with?

right. her pathetic crush on you.

her fingers move on their own before she considers to delay her response five minutes to seem busy.

she wont charge you double.

shit. it's two in the morning and she's selling you weed driven by the desire to see you again, using this gray hoodie to protects herself from the cold autumn breeze as she's pulling up to this party totally uninvited, passing the open door like it's her own house as zeta phi seems to be fully loaded now as the music sound loud and strident as all her hopes of catching you alone goes to the trash can.

no she’s not going to charge you double, she’s just guilty she’s so into you without you having any idea of it.

where you waiting for her arrival? fuck. her brain is acting up like a backstabbing bitch and ellie cannot help it as you appear radiant under a sea of people. you're not saying a word either when you're lacing your fingers with her's and you're pulling on your dealer upstairs, feet moving on their own as she don't make a single effort to resist your magnet-like influence in her very self.

ellie’s hand are sweaty cause she's so fucking nervous but you don't seem to care about it, looking back at her from over your shoulder only to offer a smile she cannot wrap her head around for a moment.

"can i ask where you're taking me?" she questions you, hoping her voice doesn't sound like that really, so strained and rough from just see you around — "or am i your hostage now?"

"we need a more private space to buy" you state like it's obvious "duh, the rooftop's empty. i stole the key."

ellie should've know you were a walking hazard.

cause it really seems like an achievement when you're opening the rooftop door, mischief grin as you look twice behind your back paranoid as ever someone can see what you're doing; and ellie chuckles at the sudden adventure, how you're closing the door when you invite her to step in with a subtle head movement, quickly shoving the key back to the pocket in your skirt.

cute. she thinks you’re cute.

it's empty like you said, and the knowledge makes every hair on her arms stand on their own even when she's wearing this thick hoodie that protects her from the cold.

"cannot risk my dealer of getting in trouble down there" you explain now that you can talk to her at a decent volume, and she fully eats it even when it's a clear lie and you're making up excuses to get her away from the noise.

"very kind, gonna name you my knight in shinning armor if you keep this up."

you're panting the spot right next to you as you take a seat in the over-used lounge chair with a tiny wooden table in front of it, and like a trained animal, ellie follows cause it's the perfect spot to leave her backpack as her brain keeps buzzing at the name you used to call her seconds before— my dealer.

she is, by all means, your dealer. it makes her chest fill out with a different kind of emotion, sound so fucking intimate, so nice.

"gonna buy the usual three grams, princess?" your knee brushes against her, and ellie's breathing hitches cause you're wearing this black-sheer stockings all the way to your upper thigh and she becomes aware of it when the material slips down as you're seated, skirt raising slightly upwards against the muscles of your legs: one movement and she swears she'd be able to see your underwear and ellie has to once again, remind herself how you quickly reduce her to this behavior; this state, shoved in a sea of pure filth — "or did you just call me because you wanted to see me tonight?"

she's feeling lucky tonight even when she never feels that way, a strike of confidence ellie feels as a rush on the blood: you give her a sight of your legs and now she's all over the damn place? loser behavior.

"is it that obvious?" you want her to kiss you. it's a need that installs deep down in your chest, and if you're not making it obvious by then you're definitely doing it now: you're not straight, you're not bulletproof to the holes her eyes make on your skin every time you have the pleasure to be left alone in her company, you're not giving up on this constant game of seduction you like to play "i'm buying weed too, so coming up here actually matters for you."

"haven't we state that already?" ellie asks, looking up to you as she drinks in the sight of you under the almost invisible light of the stars up in the sky "if you want to see me during the week-"

"might as well just ask" you completed for her as ellie grabs her bag so she can pull your weed from it. the best three grams she has in her power "i know that- thank you."

"it's a gift" she finally dares to say it now — "don't pay me this time."

has she ever felt this way before? never. the overwhelming pull, the reminder you're not her's? stings on ellie's skin like tiny needles. it's not a big deal, once again she's losing money all reckless, but fuck- it's worth it, worth it when ellie see you malfunction for a long moment, brain short-circuiting cause you don't expect it.

"that's not the deal."

"i don't care what our deal is, you're my best client, and i take care of my clients” it’s simple as she says it “sides. the weed does not matter, seeing you was payment already.”

"don't go yet," you add before she's making a movement to get up, hands cold wrapping around her arm as you pull her down to the lounge chair you're so comfortably seated — "smoke with me. let's talk for a while."

and she knows it's dangerous, but you're batting your eyelashes, looking at her with this sly smirk on your face she wants to kiss away and ellie has no option but to stay there buried in your side, your fingers still tight against her arm muscles as you make her stay.

"okay, but i need you to let go of me baby- i can't roll a joint with you all over."

liar.

she just want to see you get all flustered because of her as her fingers swiftly roll a joint without much effort, allowing the smoke to fill the air seconds after before you’re sneezing and she notices how you shiver on her side, turning her face to look back at your pretty face she’s been avoiding to stare so much.

"you cold?" she asks, and you do not want to admit it, but ellie's taking her hoodie off and it's a fucking sight when she's wearing this white tank top she does not care about until she can physically feel the shift of the air between you and her, caught up with your eyes checking her out as she lights up the joint.

"thank you," and for being a stoner, it's smells surprisingly nice as you relish on the warmth of it, comfortable now as you watch her smoke "i'll gave it to you downstairs."

"go home with it. you're going to catch a cold like this."

the silence it's imminent for a moment before she's passing you the joint an you're holding it between your fingers.

"i like your tattoo" is it also an excuse? not really, but ellie's bringing her arm closer to you as she's showing it under the flashlight of her phone cause she likes it too, showoff — "can i touch it?"

any other time she'd be denying it mumbling something stupid about hating random people to go on and touch her scarred arm but you're not a random girl. so she's whispering a barely audibly yes, and your fingertips are tracing the pattern etched on her skin, taking your time in doing so.

"it suits you," you praise as you touch, and she's fucking melting there under simple caresses, under something so simple as your fingers tracing her inked flesh, invisible shapes as you just want to keep your hand on her "did it hurt too much when you got it done?"

"yeah, sort of" it's not really like she's trying to sound cool, in all honest, she's just trying to be coherent now as you keep touching her skin as you smoke. invested in questions she's answering in full auto-pilot.

you're high after a while, and it's her weed that makes you look like that. half lidded, a lazy smile on your lips as you keep talking to her, red eyes, slower than ever: shit. she'd devour you all.

“have you ever shotgunned smoke into someone’s mouth?” you ask curiously, and the question comes out of nowhere as you stare at her blowing the smoke, a warmth creeping upon her neck as she notices the way you’re staring at her, ellie’s blushing.

selling you weed and not be able to get high with you every single time must be named one of the most horrible crimes in humanity.

“when i was like, 17?" ellie replies thinking for a moment "i dunno, thought it was the hottest thing ever- have you?”

“no, not really."

and to be fair, ellie's high too. she's testing a new strain with you and the words roll out of her tongue so easily she has no time to regret it, not when you're looking at her like you want her to get handsy there in a damn lounge chair, to hell if it’s in the middle of nowhere or not.

“want me to do it for you?” she asks, a gentleman as usual “i’ll gladly be the first.”

it takes a moment for you to consider it before your voice is all low and husky — "mhm."

“come here then miss,” ellie says using a finger to call you out, the joint already on her lips before she takes a long drag — “sit on my lap and open your mouth f’me.”

it's devastating.

your weight on top of her, your ass in her leg as she can see again, those transparent sheer stockings that must be damn useless against the cold, and her hand rest on your upper thigh there where she looked before.

you're so obedient. your skirt is a sinful invitation to touch further, and you're parting her mouth for her so she can get closer, and as she smokes, ellie does get closeto you. closer than she’s ever been — more than the car, the bathroom in the party she met you, mere inches before she's shotgunning the smoke in your parted lips and you're smoking from the same weed that was in her lungs.

"17-years-old ellie was right" you reply, not really moving to give her space as ellie's fingers squeeze your leg like a reminder you're there still, sated on your dealer's lap, her hands on you — "it is the hottest thing ever."

it's almost a chronicle of a death foretold, cause ellie's kiss does not surprise you at the slightest. it's demanding and sloppy cause she's high, you're high, and she's a victim of this force she cannot escape near you.

so she keeps on kissing you until your lips are swollen and you're simply there, slowly wanting more, squeezing your legs together cause you don't want to be a slut now — no. you don't want her to know you're soaking over a few kisses, at ellie's fingers pulling on your high stockings down till they are no longer there anymore.

"you're a fucking menace" she says between kisses, breathing heavier now by the seconds: ellie already noticed— "a menace to me, to my weed and my economy, you know that? how you make me sell out my stuff at half the price cause i want you as my secured client?"

despite her words, she's pushing you closer to her so you can feel her rib cage pressed against you, the goosebumps you produce just from being close to her, red lips and messy hair.

"it’s your loss ellie, cause i'd pay for the full price."

"mmhm well shit, you're really lucky cause you do give damn good kisses" she murmurs, fingers toying with the hem of your skirt now and she has the damn audacity to keep on smoking cause she's now confident on her effect, how you’re all affected by her touch — "and if you give damn good kisses, i'm betting all my money that you have an even better pussy for me."

the sounds you're making? fuck. she’s creaming her panties already when you're letting her touch you so freely and it’s not near enough.

"what is it going to be then, huh?" she asks curiously, her mouth already following the path down to your collarbone, your cleavage before she’s taking her time in leaving red-purplish hickeys there hidden beneath her own gray hoodie "should we make it to our seventh selling or you're going to let me play with your needy cunt as a much deserved reward?"

shit. shit. shit. you're so fucking wet when you're parting your legs further apart to give her a nice view of your underwear, a damp spot already there between your legs who’s enough to make her mouth water with the thought of burying her face between your thighs, intoxicate with the smell you're emanating and she feels already under her nose.

good fucking girl. she wants to praise you, let you know you're doing a great job there letting your skirt roll up to your stomach, so easy to get rid of it ellie's sure you did it on purpose now so she can let her hand slip between your legs to feel how soaked you are.

your cunt makes this sound when her finger’s taunting you she just happens to love, and your underwear clings to your pussy lips, hips buckling up to meet her fingers already wanting more.

greedy.

"shh-" she tries to reassure you — "you're comfortable there baby? want you to feel good when i touch you yeah? you'll let me know anything cause you're my well-behaved girl, aren't you? my best client here.”

ellie’s making you shake her head, coaxing you to say out loud you are comfortable there, ass in her lap, spread legs as her fingers push against the fabric right against your entrance, noticing how the cotton soaks at the motion.

"look at you all desperate" she chuckles — "have you been thinking about this a lot like i do?"

her fingers pull on your underwear to the side and there it is: glistening cunt, swollen lips and neglected clit that's just begging to be touched, filled, discovered by her hands, her mouth, tongue. nothing she fucking wants more.

who she is to ever deny anything to you? to stop selling you weed? the joint falls to the ground now as she's using her entire hand to touch you, fingers rubbing against your minor and mayor labia, circling against your engorged clit as you arch your back and she has to use force to keep you still, taking what she has to give like a champ.

"you're fucking soaked-" there's a slap sound that fills the air, and even when there's people in the garden they don't seem to hear your whimpers as her hand comes in contact with your pussy and she's slapping it once again, just enough to apply some pressure in your clit, just enough to make your legs shake "so responsive to me, gonna let me stuff this cunt full tonight? fucking finally huh? you've been haunting me like no one else."

and you giggle, giggle cause you cannot fucking believe it: fucking your dealer? are you so for real right now? you're deep under a cloud of haze you're unable to control, disheveled state when your skirt is all the way to up and your underwear being pulled to the side at her mercy and you can only answer:

"yes- ngh yes please ellie."

"shit- your clit is all puffy baby, all needy for me."

you're squeezing her already so hard when she’s working on you. a wet schlick that fills the air and combined with your incoherent words of praise and moans will send her to the grave.

ellie’s knuckles-deep and fuuuck. you're so tight she needs to ask if you're doing right, cunt engulfing her' fingers until there’s no more and she's curling them right to the spot so you don't care about the drunk fucks in the garden anymore, about anyone who can hear whats going on in an empty rooftop.

ellie’s using a hand to keep your legs spread when your free will collapses like paper cards, pulling them apart only to add a third finger in your used hole and reduce you to pieces now, clenching tight as she rubs on that special spot inside and you're mumbling something about feeling so full, so good with her inside.

"this pussy must be made for me baby, fits me like a fucking glove," ellie’s doubling her efforts, her palm colliding against your clit, fingers thrusting against the right spot over and over — "gonna let me see your pretty face when you cum? i know you're close."

you are. fuck you so are. your movements are erratic, your legs shake, and ellie's kissing on your shoulder, leaving a path of wet kisses on the exposed skin on your neck, biting on your earlobe, anywhere she can get.

"i can't-" you cry out, moving yourself in quick, sharp movements, it’s overwhelming — "fuck i can't hold no more-"

"let go" she replies, holding you tightly against her body — "let go. i got you."

it's hot. messes up ellie's jeans with a damp mark on them, turning the fabric darker when you finally cum and you're gushing on her fingers, leaking through trembling legs.

"fuck yes. drench me like that," your dealer moans, stealing a kiss from your parted lips, keeping the last glimpses of air in your lungs for her benefit "use me, baby, don't stop."

ah. ellie's in trouble after all, cause it don't seem she’ll be selling weed to you now. not when she's mixing business with pleasure and she's making you bend against the top rail of the old lounge chair cause she's not able to wait any longer to lick you clean until you have no other choice but to cum again.

truth be told she once heard cupid's cruel, but she didn't believe it fully, not until now since ellie knows, first hand — the little fucker shoots to kill.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Good evening to you. I thought about writing you many times but never had the courage to do so 😅 I saw a TikTok Trend some time ago and thought about the Reaction from our beloved task Force 141. How would they react when you "accidentally" sent them the message "He just left our house, you can come now. He'll be gone for some time". Basically pranking them by implying something shady. You can ignore this if it's weird of course. Thank you for your time and amazing writing 🙏😊

I'm so glad you finally got the courage to send in a request because I had so much fun with this one! Many many thanks because I pretty much cackled and giggled the whole time I wrote this. I'm not exaggerating. I adored this prompt. It not only gave me room for a little humor, but it also gave me the opportunity to be a little naughty!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): established relationship, pranks & shenanigans, suggestive themes, mild sexual content, dirty talk, dirty thoughts, swearing, possessive behavior

Word Count: 1.5k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

Five minutes.

Five. Minutes.

Five minutes and you're already causing problems.

John isn't surprised. Not in the least. Sometimes, you enjoy being on your worst behavior just because it stirs him into a frenzy.

John is sitting at a stoplight, staring down at his phone screen. A car honks but he ignores it.

He's gone. Come over.

There isn't anyone else. John knows this explicitly. Not because he completely trusts you—which he does—but because he knows your exact location at all times. He knows what you search on your phone and what things you look at on the internet. And because he knows that, he knows you're just trying to take the piss.

Locking his phone screen, John turns on his blinker. A few turns later and he's back home, marching through the door. He's not mad. Far from it. You just need a good lesson—a good spanking. Over his knee with a bare ass. That way he can watch it bounce, watch as you wiggle and squirm, hear you whimper, and watch as your arousal grows with each strike.

Then, and only then, will he keep you under him. Which is what you want anyway.

John walks silently and with purpose, approaching you as you casually lounge on the couch.

"You're home early."

John ignores the jab. "You're on one today, cabbage."

"Whatever do you mean?"

John holds up his phone. "Think I'm going to believe this?"

Your eyes widen but John can see the bluff. "I meant to send that to—"

"To me," interrupts John. “You meant to send it to me.”

"To a friend,” you correct, but John notices the smile you attempt to hide. “I meant to send it to a friend.”

No. You wanted John to come home—to be a bit neurotic, even a little possessive.

"Fine," growls John. "I'll bite."

He places one hand on the top of the back cushion while the other rests above your head. He leans in, lowering his voice.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You."

"Show me you mean it."

You tuck your knees in, drawing back your top and removing your lounge pants. When they're gone, you spread wide, revealing your glistening pussy. Your arousal is clear, and John cannot wait to sink inside.

"That's my good girl."

John "Soap" MacTavish

You sent the texts not long after Johnny left for work.

He’s gone. Won’t be home for hours. Come over.

At first, you believed that Johnny would get those texts and immediately turn around, to head home and bust down the door. He did no such thing. He didn’t even respond. Not a peep from him. You spent the rest of the day in limbo, unsure if Johnny received the texts at all.

So, when he does come home, you expect him to say something.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, going in for a kiss.

“How was work?” you ask.

“Good,” he replies, heading down the hall to the bedroom. “Had a briefing. We’ll be heading out for a mission next week.”

“Do you know when exactly?” you ask.

“Tuesday!” he calls back.

Nothing. This man is completely glossing over the fact that you sent those texts to him. When he reappears in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, you nearly swoon at his bare chest and stomach.

“What did you get up to today?” he asks, sauntering over to grasp your hips and pull you close.

“Nothing much,” you reply, and Johnny hums in reply, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You know,” he says after a beat, fishing out his phone from his pocket. “You did send me a few odd texts earlier.” He taps away at the screen at turns it around to show you.

The texts you sent are right there, glowing brightly.

“Oh, those—”

“I checked the cameras.”

“Cameras?” you choke. “What cameras?”

Johnny grins and then he’s tapping away at his phone again. When he shifts the screen around, you see yourself and him in real time. You turn to the corner of the room from where the feed is coming from.

“I never saw anyone come over. But I did see this.”

Tapping again, he changes to an earlier time during the day. It’s a feed of the bedroom, and you’re masturbating. Johnny ups the volume and you hear yourself moan.

“There’s this, too,” he says, switching to the night before when he had you on all fours, ass in the air.

“Johnny!”

He tightens his hand on your hip, keeping you close. Lowering his voice, Johnny grins. “Try again, love.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You watch from the window as Simon’s car pulls out of the drive. You wait until he turns the corner before unlocking your phone and selecting his name.

He’s just left. Come over.

With a wicked grin, you hit send, knowing that the texts will reach Simon any second. Leaning against the window, you wait, and then smile wider as Simon’s car sharply turns the corner and speeds down the street back to the house.

He’s hardly parked the car before he’s exiting the vehicle, storming toward the house, malicious intent clear with every step. With a triumphant giggle, you rush to the bedroom and flop onto the bed, pretending that you’re up to nothing at all.

You hear the front door slam, then Simon’s thunderous footsteps followed by doors opening and closing. Sprawling out across the bed, you tap away at your phone, acting like you're not bothered at all.

When he appears in the doorway, you deliberately ignore him for five long seconds before you casually turn your head and smile.

"You're home early," you observe.

Simon looms in the doorway. "What the bloody hell was that text about?"

"What text?" you shrug, all innocence.

Simon, deadpan, replies "He's just left. Come over."

"Oh. That was for a friend."

"Which friend?"

"A friend."

Simon slowly walks up to the side of the bed. "You're fucking with me."

"Don't know what you're on about, Simon."

The murderous demeanor you saw earlier melts away, leaving behind a mischievous glint that you know all too well. With a viper-like quickness, Simon grasps your ankle and yanks you to the end of the bed.

"Simon!" you shriek, but he's already flipping you over onto your stomach.

He plants both knees on either side of you, keeping you trapped beneath him, his large hands coming down on your wrists to pin them above your head.

"Was last night not enough?" he asks, voice a gruff whisper. "Or do you need another lesson?"

You lift your head as Simon transfers both wrists beneath one hand. He has his phone, tapping away at the screen.

'What are you doing?"

"Telling Price I'm not coming in."

"But you're scheduled."

Simon locks the phone and then tosses it to the side. "He'll understand." Pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, his voice drops to a breathy whisper. "I have a woman to breed."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It's cruel, perhaps. Even mean. But getting Kyle worked up is so goddamn sweet.

He’s protective, sometimes even a bit possessive, and nothing is hotter to you than watching him stake his claim.

Which is why you sent those texts in the first place—a way to make his heartrate spike.

He just left. He'll be gone for hours.

Kyle bursts through the bedroom door, his chest heaving as if he just ran several miles.

“Where are they?” he asks, voice a growl.

Kyle heads for the bathroom. Throwing open the door, he storms inside, but finding nothing, retreats back into the bedroom.

"Where's who?" you ask in mock innocence as Kyle opens the closet, pushing aside clothes as if he’ll find someone hiding there.

Kyle exits the closet, hands on his hips. “I saw the texts.”

“What texts?” You casually retrieve your phone, already knowing what you’ll find there. Opening up the messaging app, you click on Kyle’s name, and laugh.

“Sorry,” you giggle. “I meant to send that to a friend.”

Kyle’s eyes shut, and the sigh he makes is so loud you laugh harder. Clutching his own phone in his hand, Kyle shakes it in his fist.

“You’re having a laugh,” he says.

"No," you giggle. "Just a mistake."

That thin line becomes a smirk. Kyle tosses his phone onto the bed and you immediately know you’re done for.

“I know you, love. Think you’re clever, yeah?”

He saunters forward, and you push up onto your hands, sliding back along the bed.

“Kyle,” you warn.

“Tricking me just to get me home. For what? Think I’m going to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you?”

Yes. That’s exactly what I think.

You scoot away, sinking into the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. Kyle matches your movements until he’s nearly horizontal over you.

“You’re right,” he continues. “I will.” His gaze roams over your body and then returns to your face. “But first, I’m going to train you into never making a silly mistake like that ever again.”

[sugoroo]

warnings. fem!reader, oral (f receiving), face-sitting, ruined orgasm, satoru gojo is his own warning, 18+ minors dni.

thinking about absolutely insufferable boyfriend satoru gojo who always ruins your incoming orgasms by saying the corniest, most unserious things during sex.

picture him splayed across the bed, messy white locks stuck to his forehead with sweat and uncovered cerulean eyes clouded over with lust as you slowly lower yourself onto his awaiting mouth.

"mhm, that's it, baby," he's cooing, pale hands snaking around your thighs to help you stay upright as he impatiently pulls your pliant body down quicker onto his face. "sit riiight here."

and you're letting off a surprised squeak when he barely gives you a single moment to adjust to the new position before his full, grinning lips are planting a wet, obnoxious kiss right against your sappy folds.

"toru!" you giggle involuntarily, hips wriggling against his face as he continues placing such shameless, sloppy pecks against your sensitive skin — he's acting like a horny teenager making out with a girl for the first time, except in this case the girl is your pussy.

satoru's stupidly dopey smile never fades as he takes in your reactions to his ministrations, each whine and cute laugh just encouraging him to act even more ridiculous.

so he's flicking out his freakishly long tongue, gifting you with little kitten licks that are just barely enough to make your insides tingle but not enough to give you any real sense of pleasure.

and you rock against his face in search of the friction he knows you so desperately need, brows pinched in frustration and lower lip pushed out into an unconscious pout.

"aww, is this not enough for my pretty girl?" satoru chuckles, feigning obliviousness as he watches you restlessly grind into him — he just can't help that he loves seeing you like this, all needy and annoyed with his teasing.

"y-you know it's not," you grumble out, aiming what you hope is perceived as a scolding glare down at him as your fruitless wriggling slowly comes to a halt. "come on... please, toru?"

"now there's the magic word i was waiting for!" he cheers overdramatically, like a proud parent complimenting their child for finally using their manners like they were taught.

you roll your eyes in exasperation, but the action quickly morphs into one of them rolling backwards in pleasure when satoru finally drags his tongue properly through your sticky folds.

and you're rambling out various breathless 'thank you's, pent-up body relaxing onto his mouth as he begins to eat you out like he would've been doing from the beginning if he didn't enjoy making you work for it so much.

he's so unbelievably good at it too, wet lips peppering loving kisses against your cunt before he delves that lengthy tongue inside of your fluttering hole, effortlessly reaching your sweet spot without even having to try.

and you both know it's not long before you're going to fall apart, the thrust of the wet muscle in and out of you and the frequent pauses he takes to suck your puffy clit into his hot mouth just too delicious.

but just when you begin to feel that familiar feeling rising in the depths of your stomach, the metaphorical string of pleasure coiled tight and ready to snap at any moment, satoru just has to spoil it.

"yeahh, can tell you're close, baby." he groans into your pussy, the rumbling vibrations only adding to the colourful sensations coursing through your veins. "gonna cum for me?"

and you're nodding furiously, not even bothering to attempt to speak because there's no doubt in your mind that the words would end up sounding completely incomprehensible.

"mhm? gonna cum all over the strongest's face?" satoru adds in an exaggeratedly loud and sarcastic moan, the ridiculously corny words somehow managing to break through the fragile glass of your incoming orgasm, shattering it into a million pitiful pieces right before your eyes.

"g-god. why are you like this, gojo?" you groan in frustration, the haze of pleasure slowly but surely evaporating from your mind and leaving only a pathetic feeling of emptiness lingering in its place.

satoru just smirks smugly, shrugging as if he doesn't have a single care in the world and flicking his tongue back out to clear your glistening juices away from his lips. "like what?"

scowling in annoyance, you waste no time in swatting his hands away from your thighs and lifting your shaky hips away from his soaked face, rolling off of him and searching around the bedcovers for your panties.

"w-wait, baby, where are you going?" he mutters hurriedly, his entire face draining of all its colour as he watches you preparing to leave — it would almost be laughable how quickly he can go from teasing to pathetic in mere moments if you weren't so pissed off with him right now.

"to find someone who doesn't say shit like that when i'm about to cum." you state simply, tugging your underwear back up your legs before making a show of heading towards the bedroom door.

satoru is scrambling off of the mattress in seconds, almost tripping over himself in his determination to stop you in your tracks. "no, don't go, pretty girl! i was just joking around— h-hey... i'll make you cum as many times as you want if you stay, promise!"

...and that's the story of how you finally made your insufferable boyfriend satoru gojo learn his lesson.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

[luludeluluramblings]

The Tape... Part Two

Reader and Conner are in the cave dealing with the fallout of their Sex tape getting leaked... Reader has a plan...

Part One

Warning: Fem!Reader, NSFW themes, no actual smut, pure crack nonsense, fake Twitter post

The silence was loud. Very very fucking loud. And, so incredibly awkward. Honestly, you were surprised that this hadn't happened before. Gotham media literally had poll last week on who the hottest of the Wayne Family Orphans was. (You had placed fourth, but it's okay. You're pretty sure your ranking just shot up to first now.)

It was a PR miracle that there hadn't been a sex tape, nude, or dick pic leak before this. There had been swimsuit pics. And, someone had managed to get a picture of Dick in grey sweatpants. Lot's of people had been thirsting in the comments, talking about how they'd like to give him a son. Some of them were even women too. Internet people were feral.

Although, you try to shake that thought from your head because certainly you were in trouble.

Sitting in the Batcave with everyone - and you do mean everyone - giving you and Conner disapproving looks. The only reason Conner wasn't tied up and stuffed with kryptonite like a holiday bird was because Clark had joined the family. And, Jon was holding back Damian.

"In my defense, I did try to get it out of the carpet. But, I didn't want that to ping that in my search history. I know Tim checks that on the regular." You started, breaking the silence after what felt like hours of awkwardness. It had been twenty minutes. Still too long, but not that long. You could here a outraged 'Hey' from Tim and Alfred's exasperated sigh. You might actually make him retire at this rate.

"Is that really all you have to say on this matter?" Bruce is already using the Batman voice. And, still in his Batman gear. Not good. Wasn't he in a Justice League meeting earlier? Oh, well.

"I mean, do you want me to say anything else?" You're question causes multiple scoffs, guffaws, and Conner to choke on a laugh.

Such a shame he couldn't get to you fast enough. It was your fault really. You'd both gotten distracted in discussing where would be the best place to flee to. It had spiraled into an argument and then he had to fuck the brat out of you… So yeah… Didn't escape in time. Oopsie.

"How about an apology?" Jason had the audacity to say. As if he didn't literally murder people once upon a time.

You just shrugged. Not really feeling sorry about the situation. "Sorry for traumatizing the internet."

The grin Conner gives you is filled with glee, but he quickly hides it. There's only so much leeway he can get from Clark's presence before a little green crystal gets shoved into a newly made orifice on his person.

"I am… disappointed in you." Bruce barely manages to say through gritted teeth. And, it causes you to tear up.

"Are you saying that I'm officially the family disappointment?" There was way too much glee in your voice and a series of groans leave the rest of the family.

You had probably just earned the most coveted title in this family held together by a butler, costumes, fancy toys and BatBurger runs.

Bruce finds himself pinching the bridge of his nose when he realizes what he's done. This is the real reason he doesn't tell any of his children when he disapproves of something. He learned this with all his kids. He had genuinely thought he'd gotten lucky when you turned out normal.

He was wrong.

"Do you understand what you've done. You've just put a massive target on your back. Anyone that wants to get to Superboy will come after you now." He jumps into lecture mode instead. Trying to give the logical reason for being upset with this.

Though, in reality he was livid that, not only did Conner have sex with you, he had to do it in the damn parlor. The one they usually had family meetings in. He wasn't going to be able to sit in there anymore. Mentally, he made note to have the room renovated. And, to replace the carpet.

"Look I have an idea on how to fix that."

"Oh, and what's that?" Stephanie pipes up, trying not to grin. She knew you had something planned. And, she couldn't wait.

Almost everyone else tensed. Because they knew your plans could go to shit quick or work in the most convoluted bullshit ways imaginable. It was a gift, really.

"Give me like three minutes." You mutter before pulling out your phone and opening up your Twitter/X app. Typing out a quick sentence and sending it off.

There's a ping on the Bat Computer and Barbara pulls up the newest tweet from your account for everyone to see.

A/N: I didn't really plan on continuing this, but I thought why the heck not. Kinda short, bunch o' nonsense.

A/N: Forgive me if I seem absent, I got low energy right now and I'm stressed. I broke a tooth and I hate going to the dentist. But, I went, and I need surgery to fix it... Friggin AO3 curse hitting me and I ain't even posting on there yet.

[alpali]

yum !

haikyuu boys reaction to you biting them (lovingly), a little spicy in rin’s

tobio

he is the most confused man on earth

but he likes it too????

who’s gonna match his freak

He’s just in the kitchen getting some food out of the fridge

And there you go, skipping towards him

“Hi Tobi.” You quip, your hands smoothing out on his stomach.

Even though you two have been together for so long

He’s such a nervous baby when it comes to any kind of attention from you

“Hi.” He says with a small smile.

You smile evilly, your mouth inching closer to his neck.

He’s unaware of all of this mind you.

Until it’s to late and now your teeth are kinda sinking into his skin

He lets out a noise of surprise and his whole body shudders, maybe even shuts down too

You giggle at his reaction and he whips around to you

“W-What was that.” He says with brows pulled together and a bright red face

“I bit you.”

“Why?”

“I dunno.”

“I liked it.”

“What?”

“Hm?”

He does it more than you now.

koshi

He loves it so much don’t get me started

He LIVES for your bites

He always has such a pleasing smile on his face the moment you do it

And he ALWAYS kisses you after

In your defense he was just to fucking cute for you to not bite him

You were both cuddling and Koshi was just being his sappy sweet teasing self

He was attacking you with kisses and compliments

“My pretty baby.”

smooch.

“Love you so much.”

smooch.

You were laughing and well, couldn’t take it anymore

Your hands cup his cheeks and you swiftly move your head

Biting down on the space between his neck and shoulder

He laughs out loud, looking at you with amusement

“You bit me!” He’s cracking up

“I had to.”

“Really now?”

“Mhm.”

He kisses you, nibbling on your lip

“Koshi!” You exclaim.

“What! This is our thing now.”

And he fully means it

wakatoshi

plz he has no idea how to feel about it😭

he likes it????

But like he genuinely thinks there’s a reason as to why you’re biting him

“Are you hungry...?”

“Nope!”

“Okay…”

He always jumps when you do bite him

He definitely looks it up LMFAO

A whole Google search

‘What does it mean when your partner bites you’

He’s so unfamiliar with this

Cuteness aggression?

Are you biting him because you’re angry?

He eyes you after too

With pursed lips and blinking eyes

Just pure confusion

“Why do you keep biting me. You said you weren’t hungry. Do you have an oral fixation?”

gagged

“Honestly yea, for your biceps.” You smirk.

“Why?”

“Because you’re sexy.”

He looks down at them with your teeth marks everywhere

And he’s blushing AWWW

Definitely when he figures out he likes to be marked

He even starts absentmindedly holding his arm out for you just so you can place a little chomp

“You like it now?” You say as you squish his muscle

“I wouldn’t say so. But you like it.”

“I do.”

“Then maybe I do like it.”

rintaro

this fucking freak.

it just does things to him

other than the sudden chills he gets

he always smirks at you

HE NEEDS TO BE RESTRAINED

his pants?

gone.

he gets so horny 😭😭

he’s just a guy🎀

The moment your teeth graze ANY where

he’s on his knees

at your mercy

“You want it so bad.”

LIKE WHATTTT

He HATES when you do it in public though

because he can’t be all over you

Especially in front of the Miya twins

you don’t even greet him with a kiss it’s just a bite on his neck and he’s a puddle

“Just do it.”

just vote just vote

LIKE DO WHAT?!

He wants you to leave marks everywhere

Now those he’ll definitely show off he doesn’t gaf

© alplai