#but it's where he belong to be honest

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Congratulations! As per the results of the last poll, you all voted to...

Put Uther in the blender! 🥳

[goemon-fan]

fujigoe

[strewbi]

I thought I wouldn’t enjoy yandere female characters because I’d hate to see a girl making THAT big of a fuss over a man. the whole key your car, burn your clothes indignity of it all, but I’ve been blessed so far with some real stars. Like female characters who are decisive and happy about the people in their life and emotionally fulfilled but give them a fucking reason and they’ll have the correct energy of “I don’t know who you thought you were talking to, but you got ME.” Like it’s not the same as a male yandere.

[actual-corpse]

Watching any YouTuber exposé because I have no allegiance.

[satoblue]

you know those safety precautions women take just to feel a little less vulnerable in their own homes? house alarms or extra locks — even a pair of men’s shoes by the front door?

well, yours are sneakers. slightly scuffed and huge — just enough to pass as believable. like there is a man of the house. and honestly, you’ve never thought twice about it.

that is — until satoru visits your home for the first time.

like always, he’s halfway through teasing you. this time, it is about your adorable entryway rug. the sorcerer is passing through the doorframe, ducking his head slightly due to his towering height when he suddenly halts in his tracks.

the words stutter to a stop on his tongue. the very tip of his right dress shoe hovers in the air above the floor where he stands frozen — paralyzed.

you can sense the shift in the air. it is not hard to miss. after all, satoru never goes quiet just like that. not unless something shakes the man.

and consider him shaken by the sight in front of him.

he spots a pair of men’s sneakers in the corner of his eye. nothing flashy yet glaring. one is upright, the other on its side. as if they had been haphazardly kicked off just recently.

there’s an eerie silence. a pause. a throbbing in his chest.

to be honest, you didn’t think he’d notice. but that’s the thing about him — you always underestimate what he notices. what he sees.

because in a millisecond, those six eyes are scanning for a thousand possibilities — racing with infinite thoughts you can’t read. but you can feel it — the way his whole body has gone absolutely still on reflex.

“what are those?” he questions lowly.

there is no humor. no teasing grin. just a raw, shaky edge in his voice. and for once, he doesn’t even bother with the usual sarcasm to hide the hurt that’s bubbling up in his chest.

it’s not that he doesn’t trust you — it’s that he wasn’t ready to feel this much about the idea of you letting someone else in. of having another man in your life. the very notion makes him sick to his stomach.

you blink, a bit caught off guard by his bothered demeanor and you hurry to explain.

“satoru, it’s not what you think— those aren’t anyone’s. they’re mine… for safety. you know, to make it look like a man lives here.”

soon enough, you watch your words land. you see the way his shoulders shift, the tension breaking only slightly with relief. but then — something darker shifts in his expression. angrier.

but not at you.

at the world.

at the fact that you even have to think that way. that pretending to belong to a man is the easiest shield society gives you.

satoru doesn’t say much after that. he just looks at you for a long, long moment before pretending as though it never even happened.

but the next time he comes over, he comes with a bag. and when you glance by your front door — the old pair is gone.

now, they’re replaced with a pair of his own — some obviously beat up sneakers from his school days. the kind he only kept around for nostalgia.

you lean against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed as you watch him shuffle through your pantry.

“so…” you start carefully, “are you gonna tell me what happened to my shoes, or should i guess?”

“it’s more convincing if they’re worn,” he huffs back quickly like he rehearsed in the mirror, trying to act nonchalant. but you see the way his eyes dart to the shoes in the front — his shoes now. as if making sure they don’t walk off on their own.

“they weren’t even really yours anyway…” satoru grumbles, acting like an unbothered cat marking its territory as he searches for his favorite chips you always keep stocked up for him.

“seriously didn’t expect to walk in and see another guy’s shoes by the door — off brand by the way.” he notes, continuing to mumble to himself before taking a little peek at you. “kind of a jarring welcome, don’t you think?”

you roll your eyes at his behavior. it’s clear as day — he was jealous. not that he’d admit it. not yet anyway. he’s too proud to admit he had gotten jealous over nothing.

when he finally finds his snack of choice, he shuts the cabinet and closes the distance between you in two lazy steps, arms slipping around your waist like it’s second nature and pulling you in close. your heart skips a beat.

“besides,” he adds, mouth close to your ear, voice dropping low. “you could’ve just told me you needed protection.”

and with that, satoru releases you before plopping onto your couch, big sock clad feet propping up on the coffee table like he owns the place — like he’s the man of the house now.

“my savior…” you mumble sarcastically, watching him open the loud bag of chips before popping one in his mouth and flashing you a charming grin as he chews happily.

but you know him. you know that there is something fierce beneath the casual tone — an unspoken promise.

he’s offering — no — he is telling you that he’ll be your home security system. unlimited plan. premium package. comes with a hot boyfriend as a plus.

because there is no world where he’d ever let anything happen to you. as if anyone could even dare to try.

[maskedbyghost]

more possessive!reader and our man Simon? hell yes!

You leave your stuff at his place like it’s your second apartment. Hair ties on his nightstand, your clothes in his laundry. That one lip balm he pretends not to use but absolutely does. He once found your earring on his pillow and sat there staring at it for ten minutes straight.

You correct girls when they flirt with him. Not rudely. Just with some subtle things. “He doesn’t like gin, actually,” with a little smile. “Simon’s more of a bourbon guy.” Meanwhile, Simon’s standing behind you, blinking like a confused dog. He didn’t even know he was a bourbon guy until you said so.

He starts dressing the way you like without realizing it. You complimented his black joggers once? Suddenly, they’re in heavy rotation. Mention his cologne smells good? He’s wearing it to the grocery store. You say, “I like when you leave your hair messy like that,” and now he’s suspiciously tousled 24/7.

You use your phone like a weapon. Screenshotting girls who like his pics. “This one again?” with a raised eyebrow. Sending him selfies when he’s out late with a little “missing you” just to make sure he’s thinking about you.

Simon tries to stay cool, tries to act unbothered. But then you say something like, “I don’t like when other girls touch you,” and he’s short-circuiting. Sitting there all red-eared and tense like his body’s trying to pretend it’s not turning into goo.

You say “mine” a lot. Half-joking. Especially when someone flirts with him in front of you. You’ll just wrap your arms around his waist, smile up at him, and go, “God, you’re so mine,” like it’s nothing, and he eats it up.

He tries to “set boundaries” exactly one time. It lasts approximately three days before you show up looking hot, acting normal, and sleeping in his bed like nothing ever changed. He doesn’t bring it up again.

He gets real quiet sometimes. He just looks at you like he’s still trying to figure out how the hell he got here, with you wrapped around him, calling him “baby” like it’s always been his name. And then he just mutters, “How the fuck did I ever think we were just friends?”

He calls you bossy. You take it as a compliment. And let’s be honest, so does he. You tell him where to sit, when to eat, what show to watch—and the worst part? He likes it. It’s the only time his brain shuts off. Just nods and goes, “Yes, love,” like you didn’t just grab him by the collar and steer him like a Roomba.

You never pretend to be casual about him. You look at him like he belongs to you. Like the very idea of someone else getting his attention is personally offensive. He’ll be tying his boots, not even thinking about anything, and you’ll mutter, “I hope no one tries to flirt with you today. I don’t feel like playing nice.”

You get real smug when he shuts down other women. Like, you knew he would, but it still hits different hearing him say “nah, I’ve got someone” without hesitation. You’ll just smile to yourself and say, “Good boy,” when he gets home—and he’ll pretend to roll his eyes while trying not to get hard.

You don’t get jealous. You get territorial. There's a difference. Jealousy is insecure. Territorial is knowing you’ve already won and still refusing to let anyone look at your prize without remembering whose he is.

And he loves it. Loves the way you don’t play games. Loves that you’re all in. Loves that being with you feels like being chosen every day.

PART 3

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

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[sainztropez]

✧ mr. wrong - smau ✧

⋆° summary: in the spotlight of Formula 1 and heartbreak pop, yn and charles leclerc’s whirlwind romance spirals from “first and last love” to cryptic posts, bitter lyrics, and emotional fallout. love burns fast on the paddock but heartbreak burns faster.

⋆° pairings: charles leclerc x verstappen!singer!reader x ? ⋆° genre: some angst, some fluff (it'll come). lots of drama and mainly musical. ⋆° warnings: cheating, swear words.

part 2 here

2020

liked by charles_leclerc16, maxverstappen1 and 1.524.000 users

yn he finally grew a pair and asked me out. my 1st and last. tagged charles_leclerc16

maxverstappen1 please leave me this yn you were my cupid maxverstappen1 lying like that? ❤️ liked by author

user so no one's gonna talk about the age difference

user cuties

user hope to see yn around the paddock sometime! ❤️ liked by author

lando mf finally did it yn stooooop charles_leclerc16 get over it i'm her first love

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc16 and 2,000,000 users

yn Sports Car single out now! Check out.

charles_leclerc16 my yn ❤️

charles_leclerc16 love you babygirl maxverstappen1 gross charles_leclerc16 love you too babyboy ❤️ liked by author yn thats the lestappen i ship charles_leclerc16 you're not for real

lando cool car ❤️ liked by author

carlossainz55 charles_leclerc16 i'm in your walls charles_leclerc16 what's with the jealousy? last time i checked her last name was verstappen not sainz... yn stop it you two!!!

user i'm so jealous of charles... why does he get to have her all to himself he doesn't deserve yn

user leclerc i wasn't familiar with your game

user "we can uh uh in it while you drive real far" wheres my baby yn? that sang about being "Enchanted to meet her prince"? user she's always been a lowkey freak with charles... user wait am i behind on chayn lore? user girrrrrl she used to be a bug about him, saying he was her first and last crush. even max got tired of it and eventually set them up lmao user a woman that years is a woman that earns!

liked by user, user, user and 125,002 users

f1gossip Legendary singer Y/n (born Yn Verstappen) talks about her relationship with Ferrari's golden boy Charles Leclerc. "So... How do I start it? I mean, since my first album it's pretty obvious that I'm in love with Charles for a really long long time. I started bugging him about going on a date with me since last year and he wasn't being really easy — eventually he gave up and asked me out. I've never been happier." — says Yn to Jimmy Fallon in a interview last night. The singer also explains some of the songs that appear on her latest album and claims Charles as her inspirational muse. "To be really honest he's always been my muse... ever since Enchanted and You belong with me, which is a song that I'm kind of shy about now that everyone knows I was being petty. So, well... if you ask me about the songs in my new album, I'll probably have the same answer."

user how's this any related with racing?

user i can't believe people complain about this account... there's lots of accounts that only posts race stats and stuff like that. this one is for gossip bitches like me... ❤️ liked by author

user am i the only one that thinks yn is kinda the giver in this relationship? i mean she's always supporting him and i don't see the same user ngl i kinda agree user atp i think shes obsessed with having him

february 2024 - almost 4 years into the relationship

liked by user, user, user and 154,000 users

f1wagsnews Trouble in paradise? Charles Leclerc spotted with mysterious brunette woman in Maranello. Is our Yn suddenly capable of being in two places at once? Has our Yn ditched her signature golden locks?

user charles leclerc is just a man anyway

user ughhh I swear she'd still stay with him even after he cheated user you dont even know if its him user regardless i aint wrong mmhm

comments section closed

texts between yn and charles

march 2024

♪ Like a tattoo - yn

liked by carlossainz55, iamrebecad, oscarpiastri and 4,254,449 users

yn best four years of my life (ps. leo loves me more)

charles_leclerc16 j'taime bébé (ps. he doesn't) yn he knows mommy charles_leclerc16 i know too yn stop... pr's gonna catch us.

maxverstappen1 love you baby sis ❤️ liked by author yn love you baby bro

lando be safe buggy ❤️ liked by author user even lando is fed up with charles bs

carlossainz55 you'll have to stop hanging around ferrari's garage you knoooow ❤️ liked by author

iamrebecad cutieeees <3 ❤️ liked by author

comments section has been limited

liked by yn, iamrebecad, alexsaintmlux and 1,022,544 users

charles_leclerc16 one and only

yn love you babyboy ❤️ liked by author

maxverstappen1 watch out

alexsaintmlux 🔒 couple goals ❤️ user whos this and why does only charles follow her ? user rumour has it they met in Maranello last month user yall dont know these people bffr

carlossainz55 they grow up so fast charles_leclerc16 stop acting like you're her dad carlossainz55 she's my daughter for real

lando cute bugs ❤️ liked by author

june 2024

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 5,665,899 users

yn New album "Chemtrails over the country club" out now! Check it out, everyone! Love you all forever.

user are they even dating anymore?

user baby girl dropped a whole breakup album and didn't even break up

user its giving chayn ending soon... but i cant prove

maxverstappen1 gag it! ❤️ liked by author user help who teched max that word??

lando waiting for it!! yn its already out???? lando you know what... user PLEASE LET ME KNOOOOW

tatemcrae SEATED ❤️ liked by author

taylorswift my dearest little blonde, this one is magical! ❤️ liked by author

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, user and 500,444 users

f1gossip Spotted: our favorite Monégasque heartbreaker tangled up with a mysterious brunette (again!). For legal reasons, we won’t be revealing the name of his elusive flame — though Saint surely rings a divine bell. 😇

Now, while we’re still clocked into this tea shift, let’s unpack the romantic rollercoaster that's left us clutching our pearls. Judging by yn’s latest album, things weren’t exactly smooth sailing. In How to Disappear, she writes:

“I know he's in over his head but I love that man like nobody can.”

We’re sensing some toxic devotion energy…

And then there’s Happiness is a Butterfly:

“If he’s a serial killer, then what’s the worst that could happen to a girl that’s already hurt?”

Sound the alarms — that is not what Leclerc’s PR team had in mind when marketing the Perfect Couple™.

To top it all off? Yn swerved every relationship-related question in her latest interview, avoiding any mention of Leclerc like she was dodging Monaco’s turn 6.

Breakup confirmed? Not officially. But this silence screams louder than an engine rev on race day. 🏁💔

user girl’s been obsessed for years… called him her first and hopefully last. and now this?? rip chayn nation

user lando and oscar watchu doin here ? user they're messy...

user kinda chocked how max hasnt kicked his ass yet

user this bitch

user honestly? she has been my fav wag for years... i hope she's okay.

user can’t believe y’all are still riding for her… she’s been out here for years saying she might be a lil toxic and obsessed, and you still act like she’s always in the right?? Maybe the guy just wants peace user yeaaaa she's literally admitted to have a bit of a problem. let charles breathe omg. user okay charles burners accounts

user lets hope this new one is less obsessive with him

user yall charles fans are just boymoms i cant

texts between yn and charles

♪ The only exception - Paramore

liked by iamrebecad, alexsaintmlux, pierregasly and 1,221,555 users

charles_leclerc16 my alex <3 alexsaintmlux

user cant believe you even got leo into this bs

user remember when it was "my yn"? comment deleted by author

lando foul one mate charles_leclerc16 let's focus on our own business mate lando sure

alexsaintmlux je t’aime, mon bébé ❤️ liked by author user girl read the room user cant believe now her insta is open lmao

iamrebecad couple goals ❤️ liked by author alexsaintmlux my cupid user the nerve

♪ Silver Springs - 2004 remaster - Fletwood Mac

liked by carlossainz55, iamrebecad, oscarpiastri, lando and 5,025,555 users

yn Deluxe album is out now! I poured all my love into this album and I truly hope you adore it. I’d also like to take this moment to say that I’ve received so many kind messages over the past few days (P.S. I tried to read every single one). Thank you for the support — I’ll always be here.

user i'm pretty sure her team wrote that last post… she don’t talk like that

user poor yn… hope ur okay (if u somehow see this 💔)

user "time casts a spell on you but you won’t forget me’ like HELLOOO the emotional damage he did to her? user bffr she didnt even wrote this post

lando you're the greatest

oscarpiastri whos this DIVA

maxverstappen1 love you babysis

carlossainz55 coolest verstappen out there!

user she's not even replying to her friends or brother :( user not even liking their comments :(

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

it was december 2024. every trace of you on charles’s instagram was gone. posts, comments, tags — wiped clean like you’d never existed. his feed had turned into a glossy shrine to his new girl, every image meticulously curated by his pr team. even your most innocent comments on random posts, from before you ever dated, had mysteriously vanished. it was that bad. but the world would move on… or pretend to.

since the day charles ended things, you’d struggled to breathe. not metaphorically — literally. each inhale felt like dragging yourself through quicksand. you couldn’t eat. couldn’t smile. couldn’t pretend everything was fine. your closest friends, lando and oscar (by force of proximity), tried everything: junk food binges at 2 a.m., sunrise runs you reluctantly joined, desperate late-night calls. even max once attempted to bribe you out of bed with an all-expenses-paid spa weekend. nothing worked.

charles was your one and only. you’d genuinely believed you were just “going through a rough patch.” then he ghosted — no explanations, no texts, no calls — leaving you dissecting every laugh, every shared sunrise, hunting for the glitch. were you too intense? did the age gap finally become too much? was your career somehow to blame? questions piled up with no answers. charles was gone, and he made sure never to look back.

under full management control, your own instagram had turned into a digital puppet: recycled smiles, staged captions, nostalgic throwbacks with no real emotion behind them. your calendar swelled with appearances, promo shoots, album updates, and vague tour hints — others writing the chapters you’d lost control of.

then came the apex of absurdity: a performance booked for the fia’s 75th anniversary. as if forcing you to share the same air that still smelled faintly of charles’s cologne wasn’t enough. but maybe it was time. sooner or later, you’d have to wake up.

somewhere between late december and the jagged start of january, you did something you hadn’t dared in weeks. you opened instagram explore page. and there they were — post after post of charles and his new girl, smiles you’d once worn, now repainted by someone else.

shit.

you didn’t want to see it. you didn’t mean to. but you did.

and something inside you snapped.

“what do i gain from crying over him?” you thought, your mind a blank echo chamber. “did the world stop spinning?”

it didn’t. and maybe… maybe you needed to start spinning again too.

you’d stayed quiet long enough.

as the final grand prix of the year approached, a current of defiance surged through your veins. maybe it was the sound of engines. maybe it was the way the world kept turning without you. maybe you simply craved your moment back. whatever it was, you woke up and chose war, not peace.

you arrived at the track dressed to kill —not for him, not for pity, but for yourself. your signature stilettos, designed by the one and only christian louboutin just for you clicked like punctuation marks across the paddock, each step trailing confidence you didn't know you still had and chaos, 'cause theres no way you did not go there just to put gasoline into the fire, in equal measure.

down in the mclaren garage, laughter echoed off concrete walls. you slid into a seat between lando and oscar, leaning in as the three of you traded insider jokes that felt like home. oscar — someone that stepped up for you in a way you couldn't quite understand why, but he was there, trying to make you be you again; maybe it was the fact that he knew how awful is the feeling of being cheated on... or maybe he just wanted to see you happy — dared lando to something quite stupid that made lando nearly snort it out when you whispered: “loser buys dinner.” mechanics and engineers paused to watch the scene, the marketing team already having their phones out.

lando sneaked up behind you and draped a safety helmet over your head, making you shriek and punch his arm. oscar seized the moment, teasing “careful, danger’s cooking here.” you shot him a wicked grin, traced a finger along the helmet’s visor, and quipped, “i’ll take my chances.” they howled, crowning you “chief troublemaker.”

then the reporters swarmed. flashes erupted. one finally asked, their tone sharp as a thumb screw: “are you having an affair with one of them?”

with a malicious smile you raised an eyebrow and smirked, your voice low and playful: “they’re just good friends. very good friends... i wouldn't dare to choose between them so we'll have to stay like that”

lando feigned indignation, oscar dramatically clutched his chest, and you let out a clear, ringing laugh that scattered any pity in the air.

you waved at fans as you passed and paused for quickfire interviews, your eyes glittering with mischief. then, like sprinkling salt over an open wound, you dropped the final line: “i was invited by my dear friend carlos sainz—but let’s just say i’m saint-fully banned from entering that holy garage.”

you turned to the camera, lips curled in challenge: “carlitos, if you’re watching this… buena suerte, mwaaa!”

you didn’t simply walk the paddock. you owned every square inch of it, like you used to do before. maybe you were back to yourself.

you greeted team principals with a mischief expression, acting like you owned the place, cracked jokes with ferrari engineers — not daring to enter their garage —, and of course slipped into the red bull garage to plant a quick hug on max’s shoulder. “good luck, babybro,” you whispered, your voice warm and supportive. and before you left: “my heart’s orange today... you know”

red flags waved like flames on your way back to mclaren's garage.

somewhere in the blur of flashbulbs and engine roars, you felt it again.

the light shot diamonds from his eyes — as you once stated in your song Like a tattoo.

charles. watching. still.

you didn’t flinch. didn’t look back. didn’t break. he doesn't deserve me, you repeated like a mantra.

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 5,885,666 users

yn just 3 bitches tellin each other exaaaaactly. btw very proud of my (big) babybro, also carlitos last podium with ferrari! everyone. lets just love each other. xx

lando missed you bug oscarpiastri you literally knock on her door everyday lando shut up yn love yaaaaaalllllll my pals mates

user omg THE REAL YN IS BACK IN TOWN

user she was kinda shady towards alex/charles today.... lmao user well.. they deserve it.

carlossainz55 never ending beef with ferrari? you look soooo good in red user why he's flirting with her, mate you have a gf user they are very good friends. why are you trying to imply a fliting ?

oscarpiastri exaaaaaaaactly diva

maxverstappen1 please tell me you wore a jacket over that dress . please tell me you were not alone with those two. yn well i wont maxverstappen1 say sike rn

lando posted a story oscarpiastri posted a story

caption(1): they're forming a duo now @/oscarpiastri @/ yn

caption (2): did lando just outcunt yn

𖡡 monaco

liked by alexsaintmlux and 1,558,665 users

charles_leclerc16 coming back home to have some rest, may 2025 season be greater. thank you for always being with me, my alex <3 love you, my one and only.

alexsaintmlux j'etaime <3 ❤️ liked by author

iamrebecad stop stealing her away from meeeeee alexsaintmlux lets runaway becs ❤️ liked by author

pierregasly you were great mate! ❤️ liked by author

you step out of the car feeling a familiar flutter in your stomach. you look incredible, but nerves are twisting like roller-coaster loops. of course you have studied the seating plan like it was a final exam —he’s front row, eyes going to be glued to you when you perform. the thought is part thrill, part panic.

two weeks ago you sat cross-legged on your living-room floor with coffee and headphones, refining your set list with your manager, trying to decide what to go for with this performance. obviously, two of your heaviest hitters, Sports car and Like a tattoo, plus a surprise mash-up of fan favorites. it felt just right: enough to light the room on fire with a twist only you could pull off.

the red carpet stuns as your gown flows behind you. cameras erupt, microphones thrust forward. you tilt your head to laugh at a reporter’s question and keep moving, slipping past the velvet ropes into the hushed grandeur beyond.

when it’s your time, the opening chords of “don’t blame me” roll out and you can’t resist a genuine, full-on smile. your cheeks flush at the memory of how deeply you once fell, every lyric felt like a whispered confession. by the second chorus, you’re lost in the melody, head tipped back, soul bared to the crowd.

the beat shifts into “sports car” and dancers carve around you with perfect precision. you ride the rhythm, that mischievous grin tugging at your lips as you sing every word like a private joke. it’s pure pop perfection and you dare to remember the scenes that inspired the writing process of this song. you smile.

to close, you pour your heart into “like a tattoo.” when you sing “the light shot diamonds from his eyes” your smile becomes electric, unmissable from any corner. you raise your hand like you’re reaching for him but let the moment hang there, deliciously unresolved, the way he let things end.

afterward, you drift through the crowd of staff members, torn between choosing to sit at your brother’s table with red bull and the your duo at mclaren. you shrug and think, why not add more fuel to the fire? and slide into the seat between lando and oscar, instantly feeling their buzz.

the host spots you three and leans in, voice smooth, you didn't know what was coming: “look at this little setup: two ripe papayas and one pop princess. with all that heat, who needs a safety car? guess y'all are going to need some serious lubrication…”

you and oscar burst into stifled smile. lando leans back, uncontainable smile that hang ear to ear. and a few feet away, charles leclerc watches with tightly pressed lips, not even a flicker of a smile. yes, that was caught on camera.

as the night caves in, you don't even know if you wanna head home or if you just wanna hang around those two a little more. they just accept it.

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 8,999,544 users

yn not every single song is about you. happy to be here today! (omw to buy some lub, someone say i might need it)

maxverstappen1 if i could choose one of your songs to disappear forever it probably be sports car… lando why mate thats my fave ❤️ liked by author maxverstappen1 know your limits, norris

lando you're kinda cool ❤️ liked by author yn only cool? oscarpiastri no funny business today for you ❤️ liked by author

oscarpiastri i voted for orange dress ❤️ liked by author user your fashion taste sucks... glad she choose it herself maxverstappen1 not you too piastri

carlossainz55 blue suits you sm more ❤️ liked by author yn thats not the versainz i ship btw carlossainz55 get over it, please.

iamrebecad divaaaaa

user (redacted) doesnt read the room lmao

user glad to see you glowing yn! ❤️ liked by author

sabrinacarpenter gagged. lysm my bbgirl! ❤️ liked by author

liked by user, user, user and 1,669,314 users

f1gossiper Throuple sighting?? More trouble in paradise?? Yn Verstappen, Lando Norris & Oscar Piastri were spotted cruising the streets of Milan last night, and word is the blonde bombshell was trading kisses and cuddles with both mclaren boys 👀💥

Did anyone see this coming? Is it just a wild friendship or full-on #trisal energy? D rop your thoughts — who’s ready for this love triangle meltdown?

user shes a lucky bitch omg

user honestly couldnt care less

user ferrari's golden boy for two newbies in the game... it aint the upgrade yall think it is. but who am i right?

[iamasaddie]

AN HONEST MISTAKE

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: swiping left and right on tinder, you think you match with Joel Miller, a handsome single dad in his late 30s. Feeling enamored and horny you decide to meet in person, only to be met with an almost completely different person. warnings: darkfic, dub-con eliments due to alcohol intoxication, gaslighting, very big age gap [Joel is 61], switching POVs, explicit sexual content. Some tags are not added to avoid spoilers, dm me if you need the full list. reader description: afab she/her, has hair long enough to be pulled; has boobs and ass; reader mid to late 20s-early 30s. word count: 6,2k

a/n: thank you for all of the excitement and interest you'd shown to this idea, i have been working on it for some time and i'm finally happy to show you part one. huge thanks to @arcanefox207 , Ally helped me to polish this chapter and shown me a lot of support which i truly appreciate <3 READ ON AO3

MASTERLIST | part 2

Dating wasn’t fun. It always felt like an inescapable chore for you, and you tried to avoid it at all costs. Hiding your face in your morning cup of tea when attacked by your mom’s questions, her voice distorted by poor video connection. Joking only to avoid the topic of boyfriends and girlfriends when your friend kept nagging you about it. Losing yourself in an unsatisfactory myriad of hands that belonged to faceless people when the nights got too cold for empty sheets.

You looked at your table, a small hand-made sign read “do better” in your own handwriting. And that was exactly what you were going to do. You were going to kill not two, but three birds with one stone, and that stone was going to be going on a date. A real, proper date, with excruciatingly predictable questions and awkward first touches. And you were going to have fun. 

On the fourth hour of swiping Tinder, you were a breath away from ghosting everyone you knew and hiding in the Peruvian Amazonia for the rest of your life. The few conversations that you managed to have quickly died out when the person you talked to learned what you were there for. A month ago you’d find a pretty face and invite them over to smoke and have some fun, but that wasn’t a great start for an actual relationship. No, your fuckgirl days were over, so you went back to swiping. 

And that was when you saw him.

Joel M., 39 Southern gentleman with a beautiful daughter. Work in construction, so I can build you a house. I am looking for a real connection, please, respect that.

God, he was handsome. Your mouth started salivating as you swiped through his pictures. He was broad, tall and had a tool in his hand. Not the one you immediately started wondering about, but it looked like at least he didn’t lie in his description. Feeling like a complete creep, you screenshotted his profile. If you weren’t a match, at least you’d have someone pretty to think about before going to bed tonight.

Gently, as if afraid, you swiped right. Your screen lit up, and so did your face, you gave a wide grin to your phone. “It’s a match!”

He was too good to be true. A gentleman, he didn’t lie there. Joel gave you the exact amount of attention to make you run towards your phone whenever it rang. It was definitely nothing like you expected. He was attentive, remembering what you said and when, never shied away from your questions, and on top of that he was devastatingly hot.

You heard a blip of a new message and unlocked your phone, a smile already plastered on your face like a Pavlovian reaction.

[Joel M.]: I was thinking, we seem to have a nice connection here, don’t we? [You]: I think so, too. A little unbelievable, but I am feeling hopeful. [Joel M.]: Unbelievable how?[You]: Unbelievable that no one snatched you up earlier. From where I am sitting, you look like a full package. [Joel M.]: Well, you’re sitting awfully far away, so I see how it looks like that. Why don’t we meet in person and find out if you still think the same, darlin? [You]: Joel, are you inviting me on a date? [Joel M.]: Only if you’re accepting. How about a dinner at my place? I am a pretty decent cook.

Your hand hovered above the screen. It wasn’t smart, going to a man’s place for your first date. He could be a creep, he could be a murderer… But then again, you could never brag about your self preservation instincts, sometimes you just thought with a little kitty purring between your legs. 

You tapped on his profile again, looking at the zoomed in picture of his face. His brown eyes looked sad, but kind. A half-smile tugged on his soft-looking lips. Just a few sprinkles of salt and pepper in his hair. Even if he turned out to be a creep, you’d never had such a handsome lay before, and you were planning to check all of his tools as soon as you could, you thought to yourself before typing your reply.

[You]: I’d love that. Send me the address?

You weren’t worried, not really. You never struggled with too low of self-esteem. You knew your strong suits, and you wore them like armor. The upcoming date sent a pleasant shiver down your back, anticipation made you giggle into the void of your lonely apartment. The closer the day came, the giddier you became.

So on the fateful night you had enough confidence to pick out the dress that was a bit uncomfortable but looked gorgeous on your body. You smacked some lipstick that complemented the shade of your skin, grabbed a small purse and a bottle of wine and winked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked good, you felt even better.

August kept tricking you with its weather, the days still suffocated you with heat while the nights were unpleasantly chilly. You hugged your naked shoulders and rubbed your skin in an attempt to warm up as you waited for your Uber to arrive. 

You got inside the white Honda Civic, the smell of cigarettes unpleasantly soaked into the seats so you opened up the window praying that it wouldn’t stink up your dress. The driver acknowledged you with a small grunt and a nod, you did the same, not willing to start a conversation. The estimated forty minutes dragged out and became an hour in the man’s GPS, of course you got stuck in traffic it was just your luck. And on your way to a literal dream man, no less. 

Your kitten heel kept tapping on the car floor, the annoyed-looking driver gave you a stern look in the rear view mirror that you completely ignored. You needed to warn Joel that you were going to be late, and it made you want to grind your teeth. You hated being late, be that a party, a dentist appointment or a walk in the park with a friend. It made you feel guilty, leaving your palms sticky with cold sweat. You clearly weren’t going to make a good first impression, and with the way you chewed your lip bloody, you might not even get a kiss. You looked at the picture of him you shamelessly saved to your camera roll. Out of the two of you, you were definitely winning the creep competition, while he was just a dream come true. 

You zoomed in on his face, your thumb caressed the pixels of his skin. There were smile lines around his lips, and you wondered what made him laugh so hard throughout his life that the remnants of the gesture permanently cut themself into his skin. Joel’s eyes were gleaming with youthful mischief, something you’d thought a person loses after having a child, but he clearly proved you wrong. Sun made his brown look like amber, adding to the overall handsomeness of the man. You imagined yourself next to him – yes, it was way too early, but you couldn’t keep your mind from wandering – he’d be taller, bigger than you, his strong hand on your lower back as you walk through the city. The eyes of men and women hungry to have what’s yours, but he’d only look at you. Yes, he was a bit older, but still young enough to have you on his arm without dealing with accusatory stares and venomous whispers behind your back.

A loud honking from the car behind you made you jump in your seat. The line of cars finally started moving and it brought a sense of relief to you. You had 20 more minutes, maybe you were still going to make it.

The sound of your heels kissing the pavement echoed like gunfire through the neighborhood. When your taxi left you at the needed address, you looked around. It wasn’t too late, the small houses still looked alive with yellow lights and muffled voices. You took a deep breath, straightened your back and looked in front of yourself, examining the location. 

From the outside, Joel’s house looked nice. Nothing too fancy, the white paint a bit chapped, but the porch looked recently freshened up. A sturdy looking rocking chair covered with a blanket and a pillow gave the place a cozy feeling. His lawn was perfectly trimmed, and you imagined watching him mow it from that same porch with an iced tea in your hand. He’d be sweaty and shirtless, you’d drag him inside to fuck before he finished even a third of the territory. You clenched your thighs, a small pool of wetness gathering in your thongs. You better keep that thought away or you’d jump the poor man’s bones before he had the chance to say hello.

You checked your phone, 8:27 PM. Not too late, even acceptable in some countries, you tried to cheer yourself on. You hoped he wasn’t as insane about being late as you were or here went your first date in years. Gently, you tapped on the wooden door, the sound of someone approaching from the other side made you squeeze the bottle neck harder.

When the door flew open, you stretched out the hand holding the wine and fired out an apology in the most comical way you could, your eyes tightly shut.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, the traffic was horrendous. I promise I am usually never late, ever.” When no reply followed, you opened your eyes, a smile still tugging on your lips as you took in the man in front of you. It was both Joel and not. With your hand still outstretched, your mouth dropped with a hundred different questions, but you only managed to ask one. “Joel?”

“Hello, darlin’.”

“Is this some kind of a joke? Are you his dad or something?”

The man in front of you was not in his late thirties, hell, he wasn’t even in his late forties! The Joel that was staring at you looked pretty old, mid-fifties at least, you thought to yourself. His hair was mostly salt, no pepper in sight. It was inches longer than in the picture, soft-looking, it curled at the bottom. He was as tall and broad as you imagined, and it did give a little pang to your core that you quickly shut off. His face was ridden in wrinkles, prominent crows feet near his eyes that were still sad, still brown. You had half a thought to turn around and order yourself an Uber home, but the bewildered look on his face made you stop where you were.

“Darlin’, I know what’s going through your head right now, because I promise I didn’t expect you to be this young either! It must’ve been Sarah, my baby girl. She set up this thing, said she was tired of seeing her old man sad an’ miserable. Guess she didn’t think I was mighty attractive anymore.” He says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “She just straight up told me today that a nice woman would come over for a dinner, said she’d be here too, and if I loved her I had better prepared my nicest shirt an’ all. Christ, what was that girl thinking?” 

You caught yourself feeling bad for the man, your heart clenching. He was still definitely handsome. His stomach was slightly more prominent and his was shirt hugging him tightly in the middle. His hand that tucked a little white strand of hair behind his ear matched his face in little sun spots, skin that had been kissed by the burning star for longer than you’d been alive. But he still got it, in a silver fox kind of way. Poor man, put into such an embarrassing situation by his own daughter. Being willingly childfree had never looked more appealing to you. 

“You came all the way here just to be disappointed, I can’t tell you how-“

“I’m not disappointed,” you interrupted him quickly and stepped forward, an unknown force drove your hand to squeeze his forearm in a reassuring gesture. His eyes dropped when your manicured nails dug into his ironed flannel. “Just surprised, but that’s not a bad thing. We both unknowingly catfished each other.”

“Catfish? Ain’t that a type of fish?” 

“No,” you laughed lightheartedly, the man was adorable. The cold breeze picked up, and you were reminded that you were still on the porch, if any neighbors were out they were definitely getting a fresh batch of gossip to discuss before sleep. “It’s when you… You know what, no matter, it’s not important.”

Joel looked hesitant, his jaw ticked and you noticed him look you up and down before swallowing hard. Was he blushing? 

“I want to make it up to you before you go. I made us a nice dinner when I thought you were umm… age appropriate,” Joel tightened his lips and gave you an apologetic smile. “It ain’t catfish, just a steak, but I swear on my mama, it’s good.”

Before you could respond, your stomach growled making the decision for you. Your hand jumped to it, fisting the material of your dress as if trying to silence the embarrassing sound.

“Well, I don’t see any harm in that,” you smiled, accepting Joel’s invitation. The man looked harmless and you didn’t want to leave him sad and miserable, it seemed like he felt guilty enough. “It was quite a long drive.” Maybe it all could become a funny story you both would tell your friends. Separately. 

He stepped aside and you waltzed inside his house. It was big enough to still be cozy without making you feel trapped. The warm light made everything look safe and homey, hardwood floor creaked gently under your footsteps. The door lock clicked behind you and you turned around.

Joel was looking at you, a more confident smile now stretching his lips. The soft lighting took a few years off his face, and once again you noted that the man aged like a fine wine. That reminded you of the bottle you were still tightly gripping in your hand, and you stretched it out to Joel for the second time that night. He accepted with a muttered ‘thank you’.

“Feel at home, sweetheart, I’ll just grab something real quick.” Joel pointed towards his kitchen, the space was open, luring you in with a mouth-watering smell. 

You felt awkward walking around a stranger’s house, but followed his instructions. 

You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on the exposed skin of the back of your thighs, his tongue flicking over his lower lip in anticipation. 

He disappeared further into the hallway, and you made your way towards the dining table. 

Alone, you took the opportunity to study the place you were allowed in. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very unique, or maybe you were just a shitty detective. Joel’s kitchen that spilled out into a dining room was disappointingly ordinary. Walls painted a soft yellow; polished doors of wooden cupboards and kitchen cabinets that looked old but taken care of; a four-person dining table that was now set with a few plates, simple utensils, napkins and wine glasses. You narrowed your eyes trying to see the pictures that were stuck to the fridge with small butterfly magnets. Your long ride and empty stomach must’ve taken a toll on your eyesight so you could barely make out Joel in those. There was a picture of him with another man, and… You leaned over the table as if trying to get closer, to see better.

“You know, you can just come closer to the fridge.” Joel’s chuckle made you jump in your seat.

“Sorry, I was just,” the right explanation failed you, and you surrendered. “I was just being nosy.”

“Didn’t catch you going through my drawers, so no harm. Can’t really snoop if it’s out there to see, right?” Joel set the opened bottle of the wine you’d brought on the table and waved a bottle opener in his right hand. “Haven’t had wine in some time so had to go look for this guy,” he explained. 

“Whatever you made, it smells delicious,” you smiled at him. The sucking feeling in your stomach became uncomfortable, and you cursed at yourself internally for skipping lunch.

“Well then, let’s get some of it in you, shall we?”

Joel seemed way more relaxed, maybe your agreement to spend time with him made him feel less guilty for his daughter’s actions; or maybe it was the confidence of being a host. Either way, it looked good on him. 

You didn’t stop your eye from wandering over his frame while he looked away, putting food on your plates. His dark green shirt was snug around his broad shoulders, the soft-looking material translated the feeling of warmth and comfort you lacked in your dress. He had blue jeans on, and you felt your cheeks heat up when you noticed a firm ass hidden behind the rough fabric. Your hand left the table, and you tugged at your bottom lip absent-mindlessly. What was twenty more years? He turned around and since your eyes hadn't moved, you were now shamelessly staring at his crotch. The jeans did not hide much.

You snapped your face up immediately at Joel’s quiet cough. There was a barely hidden smirk on his face, so you decided that no harm was done. So what if you gave the man a quiet compliment? You’d been doing that for the last two weeks, even though apparently his daughter was the one responding to them. You could spare some flirting for the poor guy, he looked like he enjoyed a bit of your harmless attention.

He didn’t lie, he was a decent cook. The meat melted on your tongue and the wine you brought complimented it nicely. You didn’t notice the way your glass was always full, Joel’s stories from the past kept you too entranced.

Heat was creeping up your chest, settling in your cheeks and you moved the wine glass away. You could tolerate a full bottle without being visibly affected, not your proudest trick but it was what it was. Yet, now you felt like you’d emptied at least a couple of bottles on an empty stomach, even though the bottle on the table proved otherwise. You felt dizzy, but not in a bad way, just more relaxed than you were planning to be. Joel looked more handsome every minute, his syrupy thick voice lulled you into a trance-like headspace.

“Can’t lie, you look mighty pretty, darlin’. Had I been thirty years younger it’d be hard to keep my hands to myself.” 

Wine dimmed your instincts, so you just giggled. Joel’s eyes darkened as he tripped his gaze from your face to your bust, your breasts straining against the silk fabric of your dress. You noticed him looking and cleared your throat, tits jiggling slightly. 

“Forgive an old man, sweetheart?” There was nothing sorry about his tone, but it slipped your mind completely, your guard almost all the way down. “As I said, haven't had a pretty thing like you here in ages.”

You tried to study his face, your brain foggy as you struggled to figure him out. “You compliment like a man deep in the dating pool,” you smirked, “makes it hard to believe it’s all an accident. Maybe you actually lured me in here

intentionally?” You raised your eyebrows, but couldn’t handle your own silly accusation, breaking down in giggles.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, this old dog is all bark no bite.” His smile looked sincere, kind laughter leaving his wet lips and he gave you a wink.

“You’re not that old,” your voice dragged the words out like you wanted to convince yourself more than him. You felt hot all over and you weren’t sure if it was the result of the wine you drank.

“You’re too kind, sweetheart, no need to spare my feelings. My prime is long behind the horizon.”

“No, you’re actually very handsome,” you didn’t lie, anyone with a good working set of eyes would see his attractiveness, and you had two weeks to cement it in your brain. “You have a very nice smile, and your hands,” your eyes dropped on the table where a giant fist was curled around his fork. “A lot of women appreciate a good set of hands.”

“Learned to work with them pretty well, too.” Joel nodded and smirked. “Leaking faucets, clogged drainage. Can fix it all.”

In your mind that phrase sounded naughtier than you were sure the man intended it to, and you reprimanded yourself, feeling a different kind of heat rise from your belly. With one swift movement you’ve emptied what was left in your glass of wine, forgetting about your need to somehow get home after dinner. Joel only poured some more in your glass, smiling softly.

He learned the dance moves long ago. Pretty birds like you were comfortably predictable, and even though you oozed a different kind of odor, he knew exactly what to say. He watched you sip your wine with ease, his own glass barely touched on the table.

When the last piece of salad was cleaned off your plate, you felt a pleasant fullness in your belly. Your head was heavy in a sleepy kind of way, and you looked around, trying to find something to hold your attention on. Your eyes skimmed the living room, from where you were sitting you could see an old couch, in some spots it was now more beige than brown, its big cushions looked soft and the blue quilt draped over the back of it was calling your name.

There was a guitar leaning against one of the armrests and you moved your eyes back at Joel who was silently studying you.

“You play that?” You blindly pointed your thumb towards the strategically placed instrument and Joel curtly nodded.

“I pluck the strings, sometimes something bearable comes out.” He joked, the apples of his cheeks saturated with color and you reached your hand to take his

and gently squeezed it. Joel’s skin turned out to be warm and dry, the sensation of giving him such an innocent touch tingled on your fingertips.

“I noticed you tend to undersell yourself. Would you play something for me?” You didn’t want to leave yet, and your empty plate didn’t really leave you a reason to stay. You tilted your head to the right and gave Joel a sweet smile, hoping he’d succumb to your charm. He didn’t wait long before returning the soft gesture. Slowly, he got off his seat. His figure loomed above you for a quiet moment before he outstretched his palm.

“I’d never be able to refuse you,” he admitted. Your hand drowned in his and he tugged you up. You almost crushed into his broad chest, but to your own dismay he took a step back. Your insides throbbed, the smell of his cologne mixed with his own odor awoke every single receptor on your skin.

“Do you like old stuff?” 

“I’m still here,” you quipped and shrugged your shoulders innocently. Joel stopped, making sure you saw him roll his eyes in fake annoyance. He couldn’t contain the breathy laugh, though, so you knew he got your joke. 

You moved towards the couch, while Joel walked a step behind you, enjoying the view of your ass in a skin tight dress. The outline of your thongs was visible to him, and he smiled to himself, maybe you weren’t as innocent as you pretended to be. Joel bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from any comments.

His hand hugged the neck of the guitar confidently, while you made yourself comfortable on the couch.

“I think I know just the thing.”

Your eyes never left his fingers as he started to hum an unfamiliar melody.

His voice lulled you in, deep vibrations as he plucked the strings reverberated in your chest. You felt so warm inside, the heat that was pooling in the depth of your belly rose and touched your chest, neck, the tips of your fingers. The dress clung to your skin unpleasantly and for a moment you wished you could take it off. Was it so wrong?

Your eyes traced Joel’s face, the sharp angle of his nose, the tip of it twitching as he sang gently. His lips caressed the words with a tenderness of a lover and you wondered when was the last time they did the same to a woman. Your thighs tightened as your body already knew something your mind only danced around. You shifted in your seat, moving closer to Joel, letting your knees touch.His eyes found yours, a question burning in his browns. You shrugged your shoulders and gave him a small smile, he smiled back. The melody continued, his warm timbre embracing the words.

Maybe tomorrow, honey, Some place down the line, I’ll wake up older So much older, mama, I’ll wake up older, and I’ll just stop all my trying

Your fingers drew patterns on your dress, nails picking at the seam with nervousness. The fire in the center of you gave you confidence to follow through, and your hand ended up on Joel’s knee, slowly moving up until your pinky touched the wood of his guitar. The melody didn’t falter, but his voice did.

“Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?”

“It is a date, isn’t it?” The shreds of your confidence only allowed you to squeeze his thigh with a hint, yet your eyes looked anywhere but his face.

“You shouldn’t do something like that to an old man like me, will break my heart when you leave,” he sounded so painfully sad, it made your heart ache as bad as your pussy. You looked him in the eye then, god, he was so handsome. 

“What if I don’t leave?” You challenged him like a mouse challenging a lion. Joel shook his head, his hand gripping the guitar’s neck viciously.

“Stop playing with me, darlin’.”

“What if I’m not playing?”

You expected another sad plea, another crack in his voice. But instead, he put his guitar to the side and spread his legs wider than before. “Then prove it.” He husked out. “Prove that you know what you’re doing.”

There was no mistake in what he meant. His voice added a new depth into it, eyes glowed with something dark. Passion, you thought. Need. The one that was pushing you to your knees at that same moment. The one that numbed your skin when your bones hit the hardwood floor between his spread thighs. The one that guided your hands to his zipper before you could even steal a kiss off his tantalizing lips.

He was hot underneath his clothes, his skin was burning like he had a fever and you were almost too impatient to be gentle. Joel lifted his hips just enough to help you tug his jeans down, his grey cotton boxers followed. He watched you intently, and you watched his half-hard cock lay heavily on his full balls. They were hanging low, their size intimidating. But no more intimidating than the main course.

You weren’t offended that he wasn’t fully hard yet, still, Joel took you by the chin and made you look at him. “Sorry, darlin’, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve seen in a long time, but at my age, it’s just not enough anymore.”

You nodded, your mouth flooding with saliva at the thought of him growing under your tongue. He was thick, veiny, more veiny than the dicks you’d seen

before so you thought it was an age thing, however the vines surrounding his shaft only made you whimper harder, thighs squelching with your arousal. 

You leaned forward, inhaling full lungs of him. It was heady, strong, and made you dizzier than all the wine you drank. You reached your hand out with the intent of touching his cock, but Joel stopped you.

“Touch yourself.” For the first time you heard something dark in his melody. Commanding.

“What?” You were confused. Did he want you to just play with yourself? Because you were on the verge of bursting if he didn’t let you get closer to his cock.

“Put your little hand in your panties and slick it up with all the sweet juices that have been leaking out of you since the moment you saw me, darlin’.” Your mouth fell open, hand following his order under Joel’s dominant gaze. “Then you can wrap it around my dick, and prove to me that you really want this.”

It was so easy to just do what he said, without questioning the moral, the consequences. Your hand was wet with your arousal, pussy begging to keep it

there, to give some attention to your clit, but your mind was set on the man before you. 

He hissed when you wrapped your slick hand around his shaft and started jerking it slowly, feeling the girth of him thrum with growing desire. You looked at his cock, entranced. His shaft was shining with your own juices, a pink head became deeper in color as more blood rushed to his cock. You swiped your thumb over it, a tiny drop of precum glistening in his slit. 

“You’re doin’ such a good job, angel.” Joel’s hoarse voice was almost a whisper. You felt the steam coming from him, it made you sweat, your breath hitching. “Why don’t you put that mouth to use, hm, darlin’? You speak awful lot with it.”

It almost made you giggle, a plan forming in your head. Instead of letting his cock in the scorching wetness of your mouth, your head dropped lower. You

stuck your tongue out, lathering his heavy balls in your saliva. They were fuzzy, like a ripe peach, and you massaged them with the wet muscle. 

“Fuck, ain’t nothing angelic about you, huh?” Joel’s voice was barely recognizable, hungry and low it vibrated in your pussy. You opened your mouth wider, sucking his balls in turn. “That’s right, making me feel so good, sucking on my balls like that. Come on, baby, use your tongue.” 

You tried to alternate between licking and sucking on his ballsack, your spit drooling over your chin while you were panting like a rabid dog. The only thing that mocked your ladylikeness was your goddamn dress, and it was almost drenched in your own slick at this point. 

“Good girl, sucking on my balls like it’s what you came here for. Came here to make an old man cum? What a perverted little girl you are, sweetheart.” Your pussy tingled with your praise. The mouth on him made your head spin, like a newfound drug that affected only you he seeped under your skin making you pant and moan as you continued pleasuring him. Your hand jerked his thick cock in tandem with your mouth on his balls. Joel’s eyes never left you, as he continued praising you. “Mmhm, that’s good, drench ‘em, fuck you’re a dirty one.” 

You felt his hand at the back of your head as it pressed you harder into him, your nose was forced into his perineum and he almost humped your face with his groin. Your tongue hung out, and he managed to slide his balls across it before it almost went too low. The tip of your tongue almost touching his puckered hole covered in more hair. 

“Not today,” you heard him grumble before tugging you up. “Come on, darlin’, don’t make me waste a load.” He pushed on your cheeks with his hand, feeding you his cock in one movement. It was a lot to take, your teeth barely scraping his shaft, and you used your tongue to protect the underside. “Take it all, come on, darlin’, you’re the one who wanted it.”

Intoxication and arousal didn’t mix well, as you just moaned pathetically around him, letting him deeper in your throat. It bulged with the sheer size of his dick, you felt it, uncomfortable, but you couldn’t move, your body too heavy and tired. Instead, your hands found his wet balls, already tight and ready to blow every drop of cum he’d been saving for you. You tried to fit them in your hand, gently tugging at his sack to stimulate him further.

“Ready, sweetheart? I better not see you waste a drop.” His hips bucked, and your nose was pressed into the soft tuft of his grey pubes. Joel pressed your head into him harder as his hot load trickled down your throat. You tried to breathe through your nose, the lack of oxygen blackening your vision.

He pulled out seconds before you were ready to pass out.

“Gotta tap my leg or somethin’, sugar. I don’t need you dying with my cock still in your throat.” You chuckled, not sure why. Joel placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip, slippery with your saliva. His whisper sounded gentle, “God, you’re a mess. Beautiful.”

You didn’t trust your throat to work, so instead, you tried to get up on your trembling legs. Your pussy still screamed for release, so wet you could feel your arousal escaping your thongs and dripping down your leg. You hiked the skirt of your dress up, not an ounce of shame inside, and straddled Joel.

“Whoa, darlin’, slow down,” his hands dropped to your hips, keeping you in place. Your brows furrowed. He didn’t look like a man who’d let a lady down. “Why don’t we change our location?”

You didn’t get an opportunity to look around, your feet scrambling as he tugged you into a dark room. His pants were up, but undone, and you lost your heels somewhere along the way, your dress still hiked up like a common whore.

Everything was spinning, so when he dropped on the bed at first you thought he fell. His voice was navigating you through the darkness, but you could barely concentrate on it.

“Come here, angel, let this old man take care of your pretty pussy.” Joel smacked his lips, and guided you to climb on top of him, legs on each side of his body until your pussy hovered over his face.

“Panties,” you whimpered and heard an immediate crack of fabric ripping.

“Sorry, darlin’, can’t make you wait any longer,” his face pressed into the side of your thigh, sticky with your own juices, and you whimpered pathetically at the texture of his scruff scratching your sensitive skin. “Smell so good, fresh, like a new doll.”

You couldn’t understand what he meant, you didn’t even try to. When his lips latched onto your clit, your head tilted back and you let out a loud moan. Joel only moaned back, the sound penetrating your pussy alongside his tongue.

His hands gripped your asscheeks painfully, forcing you to grind on his face. His tongue slipped in your wet hole, and you felt yourself shaking on top of him, your legs giving out as he kept fucking you with his tongue. 

Joel growled in your skin, making you crawl to your orgasm faster and faster with every swipe of his tongue. 

The tip of his nose kept hitting your sensitive clit, as he pushed his tongue further and further in your fluttering hole. He kissed his way up, pinching your clit between his tightly clasped lips and sucked, punching a cry out of you with his raw vigor.

“Come on, sugar,” he commanded, “I feel her cryin’, give her what she wants.”

With doubled passion he flickered his tongue over your throbbing bud, and you felt sweat trickling down your neck and soaking into your dress as an orgasm rushed over you.

Your body felt powerless, and if not for Joel’s strong hands still holding you up, you’d have fallen back. But he kept you somewhat steady, lapping up all that your wasted body could give him until every swipe of his tongue started being painful and you had physically push his face away with trembling hands.

“Got too enthusiastic, my bad. Ain’t every day I get to drink from a fountain of youth.” Joel joked, helping you settle next to him in his bed.

Your tired body was half laying on top of him, fully drained yet still unexplainably insatiable. Forced by something deep in the pit of your belly, you dragged your nails over his soft stomach until you touched his soft cock again. Joel quickly stopped you, grabbing your wrist and bringing your hand to his chest. You felt the sparse hairs on his nipple tickle your palm. His heartbeat was hard, but steady.

“Sorry, angel, ain’t that young anymore.” He said, kissing the crown of your head. His fingers found their way into your hair and he tugged at it gently. “If you want me to fuck that pretty hole of yours, you’ll just have to agree to a second date.”

Your words were slurred, eyelids too heavy to keep them open. “Maybe I will, old man.” 

He chuckled, the grip of his fingers in your hair tightened as he looked in the distance. A couple of flickering street lamps visible from his window were providing minimum light in his room and a possessive smile creeped onto his lips as he listened to you snoring lightly into his chest.

You weren't the first mouse to get trapped so easily, but something told him you were special. He wasn't ready to discard you just yet.

LEAVE A COMMENT, YOUR FEEDBACK IS MY MOTIVATION <3

[returntosunder]

Nightmares Gang (Bad Sanses) reference sheets ^^

I Finally finished them :D (They've been in my wips folder for 3 months 0_0)

Close-ups and More info under cut ^^

Killer

I had way too much fun with him ima be honest. I knew i wanted to use more green then blue compared to the others, just to stray away from that "Sans" look (If that makes sense) and ive seen others use Charas look as inspo and I liked that idea

My only thought when designing them was, "How can I strap as many knives on It without making it too complicated?" And ran with that lol

Murder (Dust)

I kinda projected some of my own things on them so bare with me for a sec

I like the ideas others had where he prioritizes comfort more than practicality or style. I used the cap idea others had to cover their face along with the hood (cause of him getting overstimed by bright lights, which same bro >_<)

I also gave them 3 layers of clothes (the heavy layers are for the pressure). I feel like being alone for a while makes them crave some form of comfort like that. He also has a piece of Papyrus' scarf wrapped on their arm

Horror

I didn't really change much then just giving his jacket some extra bits and giving him more of a "spooky man that lives in the woods" vibes

I want to explore his design more in the future because I wasn't inspired by anything yet and I feel like his design lacks somthin, but this is what i will use for now

Nightmare

I obviously wanted him to have a more "Kingly" look with his design and this was one of my main inspos.

I also wanted his cloak to resemble a tree trunk and roots at the bottom as a reference to his relation to the Apple tree. His tentacles also like to hang lower on his back to also resemble tree roots (I used Morticia Addams and Batman as inspo for his cloaks silhouette and how it moves ^^)

I made extra comfy clothes for him cause he's an old man and probably dosen't always wanna wear his fancy ass outfit lol. I also have one for Dream but I'll draw that for a later thing ^^

Extra

They all have a patch on their jackets sholder that resembles Nightmares emblem thing (Killer is the only one with the patch on both his sholders). This was to mimic the Stars having a star brooch on their person. Anyways i hope yall like em ^^

On a serious note. I would like to take this moment to talk about Horrortale

Due to recent events, I wanna say that I do not support Horrors creator and their actions. However, I would still like to draw Horror and have him featured in more of my art and projects in the future. I will treat him the way I do with lust and will separate the character from the creator with my own interpretation and design, but all credits of the original Horrortale still belong to his creator. I will not talk about this topic anymore other than here

Thank you for reading

Og Nightmare belongs to Jokublog

Og Killer belongs to RahafWabas

Og Murder belongs to Ask-DustTale

Og Horror belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios

[colouredbyd]

The Button Nest

wolfstar x fem!whimsy!reader

summary: you’re a shy crow animagus, quietly watching the marauders from the shadows, admiring them from afar. you think you’re invisible, but sirius and remus have started noticing you in ways you never expected. then, after a sudden accident leaves you vulnerable, the quiet distance between you begins to unravel, one button at a time.

warnings: shy reder, animagus transformation, animal form, accidents and injury, vulnerability, slow-burn romance, subtle emotional tension, insecurity, blood, infirmary, angst, lonely reader, anxiety, social awkwardness, mention of ravenclaw!reader, teasing and gentle flirting, mild language, moments of self-doubt, themes of trust and acceptance, angst, happy ending.

w/c: 6.1k

a/n: as someone who was always seen as 'weird', this was so healing to write <3 masterlist

It wasn’t unusual for you to be roaming the grounds late at night.

In fact, it had become something of a ritual—an instinct more than a plan, something stitched into your routine without you ever deciding it. The forest always felt more alive once the rest of the castle fell asleep, the air cooler, the trees older, the world quieter in a way that let your thoughts breathe. 

Most nights, you slipped from your bed and disappeared beyond the edge of the grounds, feathered and weightless in the shape of a small crow, darting through branches and perching high in the canopy where no one thought to look.

What was unusual, however, was this: Remus Lupin limping through the forest, his arms slung around the shoulders of Sirius Black and James Potter like they were the only things keeping him from falling apart entirely.

Now that—that was something new.

You stilled in the trees, tucked between the leaves, dark eyes following the scene below.

It was strange, not because they were out after curfew. That much you’d come to expect from the troublesome Marauders. But because even here, in the middle of the forest, long past midnight, the three of them still carried with them that same impossible brightness. 

You had never spoken to them before, not once, and yet somehow you knew their names the way everyone did. James Potter, Quidditch star with a laugh loud enough to rattle windows. Sirius Black, the most troublesome student, who drew people to him like a flame. And Remus Lupin, softer than the others but no less magnetic, with his weary kind of stillness that felt older than all of them combined.

You’d seen them around—of course you had, everyone had, but you’d been watching them for longer than you’d care to admit. Not deliberately, or creepily, you hoped. 

It was just that once you started noticing them, you couldn’t seem to stop. 

They moved through the castle like they belonged to it, like the halls bent slightly to let them pass. Even when they weren’t trying to be the center of attention, the world seemed to place them there anyway, everything revolving around their presence like they were born to be the stars of some story no one else had been invited into.

And even now, deep in the forest where no one was meant to see them, that pull hadn’t faded. The trees themselves seemed to lean toward Remus, branches curving like they knew he was hurting. The wind circled Sirius like it was part of him, rustling his hair just so. And James—he kept his head high even though his shoulder bore half of Remus’s weight, eyes sharp and steady in the dark like someone who refused to be afraid.

From your branch above, your small body shifted forward slightly, feathers ruffling against the bark.

Remus looked worse than you expected. Pale and exhausted. His mouth was tight with pain, and he leaned heavily on both of them, clearly fighting to stay upright. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. You didn’t need someone to spell it out for you.

You already knew.

You’d known for some time now, if you were honest with yourself. It wasn’t a secret, not if you paid attention.

The monthly disappearances, the gray pallor that settled into his skin for days afterward, the limp he sometimes carried with him, the faraway look he wore when he thought no one was watching. 

It was clear, if you knew how to see it. Remus Lupin was a werewolf.

You weren’t afraid of him.

You weren’t sure what you felt, actually. Not pity, not fear. Just this soft ache in your chest, a fluttering concern that made your wings twitch and your claws dig slightly into the bark beneath you. 

You wanted, more than anything, to help. Not in a way that would ever be noticed, not in some dramatic act of kindness or courage. Just… to be useful. To ease the weight of whatever he carried, even if only for a moment.

But you didn’t move. You stayed quiet in the branches as they passed beneath you, Sirius murmuring something to Remus that made the corner of his mouth twitch upward, just barely.

James glanced up once, scanning the canopy, but didn’t pause. None of them noticed the crow perched above them, holding her breath.

You watched them disappear between the trees, the sound of their footsteps fading into the dark, and felt that familiar twist settle in your chest again.

You were never part of their world. That much had always been clear. You moved through corridors like a ghost with pockets full of silence, a soft-footed observer in a universe that burned far too brightly for someone made of distance.

Where they shone with the ease of constellations, you lingered at the edges like mist, half-invisible and entirely forgettable.

It was not envy that caught your breath when you looked at them, it was something lonelier than that. 

You told yourself it was mere curiosity, a passing glance toward something golden.

But the truth pressed heavier than that simple excuse. You had spent so long folding yourself into the corners of rooms, shrinking beneath your own voice, that to witness something so effortlessly vibrant felt almost otherworldly.

It was not that they demanded your attention. You would have resented them if they had. It was that your attention, unbidden and unwilling, bent toward them in spite of you.

As though their presence altered the air itself. As though their laughter rewrote gravity.

You tried to retreat, to withdraw as you always had, but the further you pulled, the harder you were drawn in.

It was the slow inevitability of celestial force, like a lonely moon being dragged across the dark by a sun too blinding to ignore.

You told yourself you were content in the quiet, and maybe you were. But every so often, when the night made the world gentler, and their noise softened into something almost tender, you allowed the wondering.

You let yourself ache for the impossible. To imagine, just briefly, what it might feel like to stand in the warmth.

And then, as always, you turned back into the branches, into the dark, into the small and silent shape of someone who was never meant to be seen.

You stay in the tree long after they pass, eyes tracking the shape of them as they disappear into the thicket, the way James’s silhouette leads, the way Sirius shifts slightly to support more of Remus’s weight without ever making it seem like a burden. 

They speak in low voices, too distant for words to reach, but the rhythm of their steps is steady, if uneven, and for a moment you allow yourself to believe they’ll be alright.

Still, you follow.

You shift in the branches, feathers settling against your sides as your body lightens, stretches, and then lifts, black wings cutting through the night with soundless ease.

You dart above the treetops, careful to stay far enough that they won’t hear the flutter of your passage, but close enough that you can still see them through the breaks in the canopy.

You watch as Sirius ducks beneath a low-hanging branch—too low, it turns out. The edge catches his shoulder, just barely, and he swears under his breath.

James chuckles while Remus winces and lets out a soft noise you can’t quite hear. They all pause for a beat, just long enough for Sirius to adjust his grip around Remus’s back.

And that’s when you see it.

The glint of something small and dark tumbling from Sirius’s cloak as he shifts. It falls soundlessly into the underbrush, half-hidden by shadow and leaf, but you catch the flicker of it all the same.

A button. Round, worn, and gleaming faintly in the moonlight as it lands near the base of an old root.

They don’t notice.

They keep walking, unaware, their laughter returning faintly on the wind as they near the edge of the woods.

You watch them for a few more moments—watch as James pushes the castle door open with his shoulder, as Sirius leans close to say something low into Remus’s ear that makes him sigh softly despite himself.

Their backs retreat into the stone, swallowed by the warmth of the light spilling from within.

Only once the door swings shut behind them do you move.

You dive, wings spread in a wide curve, and land beside the tree root. The button sits half-buried in moss, still holding the faint warmth of Sirius’s coat.

You press your beak against it, tilting your head. It’s not much, just a lost scrap. An unremarkable little thing that no one will miss.

You nudge it into your beak carefully, curling your claws against the bark to steady yourself. The metal is cool, and a little heavier than it looks. A strange weight for something so small.

You glance up once more toward the castle, just to be sure. And that’s when you see him.

Sirius.

He’s paused in the doorway, slightly turned, head tilted back toward the woods. His eyes scan the tree line..

For a second, your eyes lock—his wide, gray, still crackling with whatever storm he always carries behind them, and yours small and dark and unblinking.

Then he gives a tiny tilt of his head, just barely perceptible, like a question. 

Then he turns and disappears into the castle all the same.

And you lift your wings again, button tucked in your beak like a treasure, and fly after him—back toward the tower.

The days that followed blurred into one another with a kind of quiet that felt dreamlike. Nothing monumental had happened, but something within you had shifted.

You told yourself it meant nothing. Just curiosity, perhaps. A trick of loneliness. A moment that would fade if you left it untouched. After all, you didn’t really know them.

And yet, your gaze sought them in every room. You lingered in places you normally passed through.

You didn’t know how to name the feeling that followed you. It was not love, not yearning, not anything so clear. Just a soft ache that fluttered behind your sternum whenever they looked your way.

So you tried to smother it gently, the way you always had, with quiet rituals and familiar comforts.

That afternoon, the castle pulsed with early spring. Laughter echoed through open halls, and golden light spilled across the stone like a secret.

You had left the library later than usual, the small wooden box clutched protectively to your chest, your bag slipping slightly off your shoulder as you hurried to make it down the hallway before the rush swallowed you. 

You weren’t paying close attention to where you were going. Your fingers curled tightly around the lid of the box, and your thoughts, once again, had drifted far ahead of your body

You didn’t see them until you collided.

Your shoulder struck something solid—someone’s chest—and your breath caught in your throat as the impact jarred the box from your hands.

The lid sprang open, and in an instant, a hundred small fragments of your quiet world tumbled across the cold stone floor.

Buttons scattered in all directions, clinking and skipping like startled birds, tiny kaleidoscopes of color and shape spinning out across the corridor.

You dropped to your knees with a sharp breath, heart racing, hands frantically collecting what you could before they rolled too far.

You reached for them with trembling fingers, too humiliated to look up, your mind already preparing for the laughter, for the awkward glances, for the words you’d have to stumble through.

But the first voice you heard was warm, low, touched with a gentle humor.

“Are you okay, love?,” came the voice, unmistakably Remus Lupin’s.

Your breath froze.

You looked up slowly, dread tightening behind your ribs—and there he was.

Remus stood just above you, tall even when slightly tilted from the weight of his cane, his soft knit sweater stretched slightly across his frame, the collar turned wrong in a way that made your fingers ache to fix it. 

His gaze was steady, unreadable, but not unkind—warm in that quiet, bone-deep way he always seemed to carry, as if the tiredness in him was ancient and affectionate and chose what it wanted to notice.

Beside him, Sirius Black was already crouched to the floor, hair falling in black waves around his cheekbones as he reached for one of the stray buttons—a glossy red one with a cracked side. He held it between his fingers and tilted his head as he offered it out to you.

“I think this one belongs to you,” he said, and there was a smile in his voice—not mocking, not teasing, just bright and real and somehow far too much for your chest to hold at once.

You reached for the button slowly, your fingertips brushing his for a second too long. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Sirius turned the button once more between his fingers before letting it go.

“This looks exactly like the one I lost the other night,” he said thoughtfully. “Coat got caught on a branch, and I remember it falling.”

You blinked, your mind scrambling to build some sort of casual response. “Oh. That’s… funny. What are the odds?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes with mock suspicion, but only smiled. “Yeah. What are the odds.”

Remus’s voice broke in again, quiet but curious. “Do you usually carry a whole collection around with you?”

You glanced down at the box in your lap, half-full, many of the buttons still scattered across the stone. 

“I collect them,” you said. “I find them, and rescue them, I guess.”

Sirius leaned closer, crouching again, interest flickering in his expression. “You rescue them?”

“Yeah, I just think buttons are really cute,” you said softly, cheeks warming. .

There was a pause, quiet and weightless, suspended like a held breath.

Then Remus smiled, slow and gentle. He leaned down slightly, balancing his cane with practiced ease, his gaze steady as it met yours. 

“I think you’re really cute,” he said, voice low but certain, as though he were stating a simple fact rather than handing you the sun.

Your breath caught. The heat in your cheeks flared instantly.

Sirius, still crouched beside you, let out a bark of laughter. “Moony,” he said, grinning wide, “you’re absolutely flustering her.”

He then picked up a button shaped like a starburst and turned it over in his hand.

“Do they have names?” he asked, half-smiling.

You hesitated again, but they were both still looking at you like they genuinely wanted to know. And so—shyly—you nodded.

“That one,” you said, pointing to the pink with the curved edges, “is Dai. The red one is Cheri, the little navy blue one is Ruxy, and the green swirl one is Teo.”

Sirius grinned. “Ruxy looks like a cutie.”

“She is!” you said automatically, and then blushed again.

Remus gave a small laugh—barely audible, but sincere.

And then Sirius’s gaze flicked back to you, brighter now, edged with something that felt almost like a secret.

“Well then,” he said, voice low and amused. “Can I have a button named after you, Miss Ravenclaw?”

The words hit you all at once. You stared at him, mouth parting slightly.

“I—um. You can have the whole box,” you said too quickly. “If you want, I don’t mind.”

Sirius laughed, rich and surprised, eyes narrowing just slightly as he leaned in a little.

“All of them?”

“They’d be safe with you,” you answered, almost without thinking. “With you and Remus.”

Remus looked at you again, gently. “But I thought you said they were precious.”

“They are,” you murmured, your fingers curling tighter around the box. “But I think they would be safe with you.”

Sirius leaned back, something like admiration flickering behind his lashes.

You didn’t quite know what to do with the way they were both looking at you.

And just when the silence stretched a little too long, a voice called from the far end of the corridor—“Oi! Sirius! Remus!”

All three of you looked up.

James Potter stood down the hall, grinning, fingers laced with Regulus Black’s in a way that felt less surprising than it should have been. Regulus looked vaguely annoyed, but didn’t pull away.

Remus stood first, then Sirius, both of them brushing imaginary dust from their sleeves.

Before turning to leave, Remus looked down at you once more, his expression softer than it had been all afternoon.

“Buttons like these,” he said gently, his voice as low and warm as a lullaby, “are safest with someone like you.”

He smiled once more, and then he was gone—walking beside Sirius, their shoulders brushing as they headed toward James and Regulus, leaving you behind with your heartbeat in your throat and your button box held close to your chest like it had just turned into something more than what it had been that morning.

In the days that followed, you found yourself seen in ways you had not expected. It was never loud or showy. Just the kind of noticing that lingered in the spaces between things. 

Sirius would greet you with a grin that curved wide, his laughter always arriving half a beat early, as though he had been waiting for yours. 

Remus had a different quiet, a warmth that never needed words. He would glance at you across the Great Hall, the corners of his mouth tilting up slightly, as though something about your presence softened the sharpest parts of his day. 

Their light caught you even when you were not trying to catch it.

And somehow, you found yourself orbiting them without realizing when it had started. You did not speak of it. You simply moved in tune with it, steps quieter, glances longer, as though gravity had chosen for you.

But on full moon nights, the gravity changed.

You could never remain in the Ravenclaw dormitories, not when the thought of them beyond the walls left your chest tight and your sleep restless. So you became what magic had allowed. 

You shifted. Feathered and silent, you slipped into the dark as a crow, wings slicing through the wind with singular purpose.

You did not follow too closely. You never let yourself be seen, but you watched. You hovered high in the trees, a shadow among branches, waiting for their safe return.

It was not out of duty. It was something far deeper, far stranger. It was worry, but it was also something you refused to name.

Especially when it came to Remus.

There was something about the way he moved beneath the moonlight that left you breathless. Something quiet and aching, something wild and controlled all at once.

It drew you in the way a fire does to someone who has always lived in the cold. You had not meant to fall into such devotion, but you did.

What you had not meant to do was get caught.

You had not seen the branch until it was too late. It had splintered beneath your landing, sharp as a blade, and pierced clean through the delicate bones of your crow’s foot.

You had cried out, a sound that belonged to neither bird nor girl, and now you are trapped. Your leg is twisted, impaled through the narrow branch, wings fluttering uselessly, body trembling from pain and fear.

The forest is deep and dark around you. The sky is heavy with clouds. The world below is quiet in the way that makes sound feel impossible.

You try to pull free, but it only burns. You try to breathe, but each breath comes thin and shaky.

You had come to protect. You had come to be sure they were safe.

And now, you are the one in danger, and no one knows you are here.

Remus was lying curled in the grass, his body trembling with the aftershocks of transformation. His skin was slick with sweat, chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths. 

James crouched beside him, murmuring something too low to hear, while Sirius stood just behind, watchful and steady, arms folded tightly across his chest.

They were preparing to carry him back—like always. The routine had become muscle memory by now: someone took his shoulders, someone his legs, and they would move through the underbrush in silence, just three boys and the weight of what they refused to name.

You watched from above.

You always watched.

Perched in the tree line, your feathers damp and trembling, your heartbeat a staccato against the splintered wood that held you. The pain was sharp now—constant.

The branch had pierced clean through your crow’s leg, the wound throbbed with each flutter, and your small body had begun to lean sideways from exhaustion. 

You really were trying not to fall.

You tried to call out again, but the sound was strange and half-formed, stuck somewhere between your beak and your pain. You blinked, dizzy and panicked, watching Remus blink slowly up at the trees, unaware that you were breaking just above him.

Sirius glanced up. It was casual at first, a flicker of curiosity. His brows furrowed slightly, his gaze lingering.

"There's a crow watching us," he muttered.

James looked up too. “Bit early for birdwatching, innit?”

“Looks hurt,” Sirius added, voice quieter now, cautious. “Wing’s twitching.”

“Probably just spooked by us.”

But Sirius didn’t look away.

You wobbled again, wings fluttering helplessly, and this time the pain stole your breath entirely. Something gave—a soft sound, barely audible—but Sirius stepped forward like he heard it anyway.

“That’s not normal,” he said, a strange edge to his voice. “That—James, that bird's not flying off.”

James straightened, still holding Remus’s arm draped over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not scared of us. It’s watching us. Bleeding, even.”

You blinked again, vision swimming. The pain was starting to blur the edges of things.

And Sirius had always been sharper than he let on. He stepped forward, squinting up into the tree line, eyes narrowing. “It’s too still, like it’s waiting.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach turn.

They didn’t know you had followed them—every full moon, without fail. That you had shifted the second they were gone, just to make sure they were okay. That you stayed out of sight. That it wasn’t a coincidence, the way a crow always seemed to circle above them at the end.

They didn’t know because you’d never told them.

Because what would they say?

The shy Ravenclaw girl who barely spoke at meals. Who had feathers hidden beneath her skin and a fondness for strange winds. 

You hadn't meant to be seen.

You hadn't meant to fall.

And now, all it took was one branch and one mistake to unravel it all.

Sirius took a step closer.

“Something’s not right,” he said, voice low now. “I’m going up.”

“Pads—” James started, but Sirius was already reaching for a low limb, already climbing, already listening to something he couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore.

Sirius climbed carefully, boots pressing against bark slick with moss, one hand braced on a branch as he narrowed in on the trembling bird.

The crow didn’t flinch. It only watched him with dark, glassy eyes, chest rising unevenly with every breath. Its feathers were ruffled, one wing visibly twitching from strain, its claws caught by a jagged splinter of wood. The wound had darkened the bark below it with a smear of blood.

And beside it, nestled in the fork of two branches, was a small, uneven nest.

A nest filled with buttons.

Sirius froze.

Red. Pink. Navy. Green.

His breath hitched.

Cheri. Dai. Ruxy. Teo.

It struck him like a gust of cold wind, the memory rising all at once—how you had shown him those buttons in the quiet corner of the hallway when you bumped into him and Remus, your voice barely above a whisper, explaining that you named the small things you kept close. 

He looked back at the crow, still trembling, and his chest clenched with certainty.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low but sure, “it’s you.”

And in the seconds that followed, you shifted.

Feathers melted into skin. Wings collapsed inward and became arms, trembling and bruised. Your body curled in on itself, still perched awkwardly in the tree, leg bloodied and twisted at an angle that made Sirius’s stomach flip. 

You clutched the branch with shaking fingers, hair matted and face flushed with effort and something deeper—shame, thick and suffocating.

You didn’t cry from the pain. Not even when your injured leg gave a sharp spasm, tearing through the nerves like fire, or when your fingers trembled uselessly against bark still sticky with your own blood.

You cried because you had been seen.

It had always been the one thing you wished for. The softest, most secret ache of your childhood.

To be seen. Not glanced at, not acknowledged in the polite way professors nod at a raised hand or classmates murmur a distracted hello—but truly seen.

To be noticed with intention. To be understood in your full, strange shape. You had begged for it in silence, prayed to stars without names, asked the moon to make you visible.

And now the universe, in its crooked wisdom, had answered. You had been seen—bloodied, exposed, and caught in your smallest truth.

You had sat through years of being overlooked, of having your voice mistaken for wind or your presence mistaken for absence. You had learned to expect it, but never stopped wanting otherwise.

You had begged, in ways that did not involve words, to be noticed

And now, here you were.

Revealed in trembling flesh and blood. Not behind a desk, not through the soft offering of a smile or a story or a named button—but like this.

Injured, fragile, unraveled, and caught.

They had seen you, truly seen you. Not the version you curated in classrooms or in hallways with quiet nods and subtle glances. They had seen the strange bird who followed them into the night.

The girl who built nests out of threadbare things. The one who had watched them like they were made of light and belonged to a constellation she would never be brave enough to touch.

And it was cruel, wasn’t it? How the universe had finally answered your oldest prayer, but in the wrong language.

How being seen could still feel like being misunderstood.

You hadn’t wanted them to think you were weak. You hadn’t wanted their pity or confusion. You hadn’t wanted their worry to be born from the sight of your blood or the way your hands shook. You hadn’t wanted to be caught.

You had wanted them to understand.

You had wanted them to see the quiet devotion threaded through every watchful flight. The care behind every shadowed perch. The love it took to stay hidden when every part of you wanted to land at their side.

But now that they had—now that they had seen the part of you you kept hidden beneath feathers and wind—you wanted to disappear all over again.

Isn’t that the tragedy of it? That the very thing you once begged for could arrive in a form you didn’t recognize. That after all the aching, all the hoping, all the prayers you sent to unseen gods, being seen could still feel so much like being misunderstood.

And yet, even in that moment, even with shame biting at the edge of your vision and tears sliding down your cheeks, part of you still clung to the hope that perhaps—just perhaps—they hadn’t misunderstood you after all.

“Hey—hey. Look at me,” A voice low but urgent breaks through your haze.

Hands find your face, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes with a softness that makes something in your chest splinter further. 

“Don’t cry, love. Please don’t cry. You’re alright. You’re safe. I’ve got you, just breathe with me, yeah? Just stay with me.”

You try to look away, but he won’t let you. His gaze holds yours, steady and unwavering, the kind of look that feels like being tethered—pulled back to something real, something warm.

You barely notice Remus limping toward you until he drops beside the branch, breath catching in his throat.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and his voice breaks around the edges. “Is it your leg? Are you hurt? Y/N—what happened?”

You can’t answer, not right away. Your mouth opens, then closes again, but Sirius is still there, crouched in front of you, hands steady despite the thudding panic you can feel rising in both your chests.

He speaks again, softer now. “You—you’ve been watching us? All this time?” His voice trembles with something between awe and heartbreak. “Alone? During every full moon?”

You nod once, a small, broken motion, tears slipping down your cheeks in silence. Your jaw is clenched so tightly it aches.

“I didn’t want you to know,” you whisper. “I thought—if you saw me, it’d be weird or pathetic, or—���

He cut you off gently, reaching out to cup your cheek with a care that made your throat tighten.

“Pathetic?” he echoed, incredulous. “Pathetic? Y/N, you’ve been dragging your body into the sky just to keep us safe. You bled for us tonight. You’ve been doing this alone. That’s not pathetic—that’s... that’s fucking brave.”

His voice broke on the last word.

Below, James appeared at the base of the tree, voice rising in concern.

“Sirius?” James shouted. “Is it hurt? Is it—wait, where are you?”

“It’s Y/N!” Sirius called back down. “It’s her. She’s an Animagus.”

“What?” James’s voice cracked. “What do you mean it’s her?”

But Sirius wasn’t listening anymore. He was already helping you into his arms, cradling your body close with infinite care, his hand pressed protectively to your injured leg, holding you like something precious and breakable. 

He whispered reassurances as he climbed down, slow, careful steps that betrayed the panic beneath his steady hands.

By the time Sirius’s boots hit the earth again, Remus was already beside him.

His breath came ragged, the lingering tremors of the transformation still curled in his limbs

Now, standing just steps from you, Remus looked like the ground had given out beneath him. All the color had drained from his face, but it wasn’t just shock. 

You tried to speak, but the moment Sirius set you down gently in the grass, Remus was already kneeling, like his body had moved before his mind could catch up.

“Y/N?” His voice cracked, hoarse and thin. “What—what happened? What were you doing out there?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. Not with the weight of both their gazes pressing into your skin. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“A burden?” he repeated, the word leaving his mouth like it tasted wrong. “You’ve been following us? While I’ve been transforming? Every full moon?” His breath hitched. “While I was—”

“I didn’t want anyone to worry,” you whispered. “I just needed to know you were okay.”

Remus inhaled sharply and let it go like a wound reopening. His hand hovered near yours, trembling. Then he reached for you anyway, brushing your hair back from your damp, dirt-streaked cheek.

His fingers paused near the scratch below your ear, reverent, aching.

“You shouldn’t have had to do that alone,” he said, softly but with conviction, like he was swearing an oath he never should’ve forgotten. “You shouldn’t have had to hide this. You didn’t have to hide this.”

“I didn’t think you’d understand,” you murmured, tears threatening again.

“We understand now,” he said, brokenly. “And it shouldn’t have taken blood for us to see it.”

Sirius’s jaw was clenched so tight it trembled. Remus’s voice was frayed, but firm. And both of them looked at you like you had done something immeasurably brave. Like you were worth mourning, protecting, holding—everything.

You finally looked up at them, eyes glassy, face streaked with tears and dirt and disbelief.

Sirius exhaled sharply, pressing a kiss to your temple. Remus closed his eyes, his hand settling gently over yours.

James crouched nearby, still stunned, but his voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “Next time, you don’t watch us from the trees. Next time, you’re down here with us.”

The walk back to the castle was slower than usual. Not because the path had changed, or because the forest was any darker than it had been—but because something between the three of you had shifted.

Sirius carried you most of the way, arms secure beneath your back and knees, murmuring quietly each time you winced, while Remus walked close beside him, watching your face as though afraid it might disappear. 

James had gone ahead to clear the way and fetch Madam Pomfrey, but you hardly noticed his absence.

Your body ached, but it was the tightness in your chest that throbbed hardest. You had never meant for them to know, not the Animagus form, not the secret flights, and certainly not the nest tucked into the trees like a childhood you’d never outgrown.

By the time Sirius set you down gently on the edge of the infirmary bed, your throat was dry from trying not to cry again.

Remus didn’t speak at first. He just knelt beside you, hands gentle as he peeled away what was left of your sock and began tending to your leg. His fingers were deft but soft, brushing the dried blood away with a damp cloth, jaw clenched as he examined the wound with quiet intensity.

You hated the silence. You hated how heavy it felt.

“I’m sorry,” you said, the words breaking free before you could stop them. “I know it’s weird. I know I’m weird. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

Sirius, who had been standing nearby, leaned forward suddenly, resting one hand on the mattress beside your hip.

“Stop,” he said, firm but not unkind. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for being the one person who cared enough to follow us into the dark.”

Your breath caught.

“I just… I didn’t want to be a burden,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

Remus’s hands paused in their careful rhythm as he finished unwinding the gauze. He looked up slowly, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet but certain.

“Y/N, if you truly believe we’d ever mock you for caring—for watching over us in the only way you could—then I’ve clearly failed to show you the kind of man I am, and the kind of man I hope to be.”

Your fingers curled in your lap. “I watched you,” you whispered, eyes flicking toward Remus. “Every month. I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out there. I just... needed to make sure you came back.”

Remus didn’t look away. He soaked the cloth in warm water and pressed it gently to your scraped skin with hands that trembled slightly—not from fear, but from how much he was holding back. “You never needed to explain that,” he said. “But I’m glad you did.”

Sirius moved closer, silent until now. He sat down beside you on the bed, his palm finding the small of your back, grounding you.

“You watched over us,” he said, his voice low and rough at the edges. “Even when we didn’t ask. Even when we didn’t know. You broke your body trying to keep us safe. And you’re still sitting here thinking we might call you strange for that?”

You looked up at him then, wide-eyed, voice shaky. “I mean... I collect buttons. I sleep with open windows so I can hear the wind. I speak to animals. I—I’m not exactly—”

“Normal?” Sirius offered, a half-smile playing at his lips. “Good. We’re not either.”

Remus finished wrapping your leg and looked up, expression softening like a wave pulling back from shore. “You think we’ve spent all these weeks noticing you for no reason? You think we didn’t see the way you listen more than you speak, or how your eyes always catch the smallest things—the things no one else notices?”

“You care in ways no one else ever has,” Remus added, more gently now. “You cared about me in a way I didn’t know how to accept until right now.”

Your breath caught. “Wait… are you saying...?”

Sirius laughed under his breath and leaned a little closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “Love, we’re saying we’ve been completely enchanted by you for ages. We just didn’t know how to say it until tonight.”

You blinked, stunned. “Really?”

“Really,” Remus said, his voice warm. “In every way that matters.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came. Your throat was too full of something tender, too new. 

Remus leaned closer, his voice softening. “Listen to me,” he said. “You don’t have to hide yourself from us. Not your wings, not your magic, and certainly not your quiet. We like you—we care about you—for everything you are. You’re not strange, love.”

Your lip trembled.

“And the button nest?” he added, grinning now. “It’s the most heartbreakingly you thing I’ve ever seen. That nest in the tree… it wasn’t weird. It was beautiful.”

Sirius smiled, something quiet and bright in his expression. “Well, we were talking about it on the way back—Remus and I, and if there’s ever room for two more in that nest, we’d be honored to be named and to be part of something you created.”

You blinked. “You want to be… buttons?”

“Not just buttons,” Sirius said, bumping his shoulder gently against yours. “Your buttons.”

Remus looked up then, meeting your eyes with something deep and sure and aching in its sincerity. “If we’re lucky, maybe you’ll even give us names.”

You looked down at your lap, hands trembling in your lap, and then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, tentative but real.

“You can be in my button nest,” you said, voice barely a whisper.

And for the first time, it wasn’t just that someone had seen you.

It was that they had recognized you — all the strange, quiet, fragile pieces you’d kept tucked behind your ribs, the ones you had never dared to name aloud.

They hadn’t flinched from your softness, or your silence, or the wild devotion stitched into the things you loved. They had understood it. And more than that, they had chosen it. 

Chosen you.

You had spent your life making altars out of small things. Buttons, feathers, the hush between words. You had prayed in your own language — not in churches or temples, but in the way you noticed everything others overlooked. You had asked the world for so little: just to be held in return. 

Just to matter to someone the way you had quietly, unfailingly let others matter to you.

And for so long, the world hadn’t answered.

But maybe it was not that it hadn’t heard you. Maybe it had simply taken time.

Because now, without asking, without performing, without even meaning to — you were seen. Not in passing, not in pieces, but fully, tenderly, and without having to translate your love to the world.

You were no longer a distant thing. 

And perhaps, after all, the universe had been listening the entire time.

Now, it had spoken , softly and reverently, in the form of two boys who looked at you as if you were something celestial stitched into the earth. 

After all, the button nest had always been waiting for them too.

a/n:

to the readers with soft hearts and quiet hopes; may someone see your soul the way you see the world. to the readers who love gently, who notice everything, and who wait, patiently, to be noticed in return; may your button nest always be full ❤️‍🩹

-dalia

[norristrii]

STAND BY ME.

You and your best friend, Lando, made a pact to marry each other if neither of you started dating anyone within the next 10 years—a promise Lando never fails to remember.

pairing. Lando Norris x bsf! fem! reader.

warnings. drunk lando, drunk decision, best friends to lovers, humor genre. part 2.

music. Better Off (Alone, PT.III) by Alan Walker // Stand By Me by Ben. E. King.

THE MEMORY WAS HAZY, but some moments from that wild, reckless phase of your teenage years stayed sharp as glass. You and Lando were unstoppable back then, two troublemakers who fed off each other’s impulsiveness. Whether it was sneaking out late at night, stealing booze from parties where you didn’t belong, or egging each other on to make the dumbest decisions imaginable, those days were pure chaos—and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

But one night stood out more than the others. The air was thick with the scent of summer, and the streetlights outside cast faint shadows on the walls of his living room. You were lying on his couch, limbs splayed as if the weight of the world didn’t exist, while Lando leaned back against the armrest, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. There was something unspoken between you, a familiarity that didn’t need words, and in that quiet moment, he turned to you with an idea.

“If we don’t date anyone by the time we’re 25,” he said, his voice smooth but tinged with mischief, “we’ll get married.”

You turned your head, arching a brow at him. The absurdity of it made you laugh at first—a carefree, genuine laugh that echoed through the room. But as the words settled, you realized that, in some inexplicable way, it made sense. With Lando, everything always seemed to make sense, even when it shouldn’t. “Deal,” you said, matching his grin with one of your own.

The two of you even wrote it down, scribbling the pact on a scrap of paper you scrounged from his kitchen drawer. The handwriting was messy, barely legible, but it didn’t matter. At the time, it felt like you were cementing something sacred, a promise sealed not just in ink, but in the unbreakable bond the two of you shared.

Over the years, you found yourself navigating the ups and downs of teenage dating, testing the waters with a few boys along the way. But somehow, it always felt like Lando was there, lingering at the edges of your relationships, subtly or not-so-subtly sabotaging them. A missed call here, a well-timed comment there—it wasn’t overt, but the signs were undeniable. And, if you were being completely honest, you didn’t mind. There was a part of you that found it comforting, almost like you knew deep down that none of those boys could ever measure up.

Lando had his own share of girlfriends, too. There were moments when you’d watch from the sidelines, wondering if he’d found someone who might pull him away from you. But, time and time again, those relationships fizzled out as quickly as they began. You didn’t even have to try—it was as if some unspoken force kept pulling you both back into each other’s orbit.

The club buzzed with life, neon lights flashing and music thumping as you danced alongside your friend Alex. The energy in the room was infectious, pulling you deeper into the rhythm as laughter and excitement mingled around you. The celebration for the Las Vegas Grand Prix had brought together crowds of exuberant fans, drivers, and friends, and for you, it was the perfect way to mark the occasion.

You swore Lando had been there just moments ago, his unmistakable presence in the crowd. But as you glanced around, there was no sign of him. A fleeting thought crossed your mind—maybe he’d gone to the bathroom or stepped outside for air. It wasn’t unusual for him to slip away for a moment in the chaos of a party. You didn’t think much of it, instead letting yourself get lost in the music and the carefree spirit of the night.

Alex leaned in, laughing about something you couldn’t quite catch over the booming bass. You laughed along, the atmosphere too good to interrupt with stray thoughts. But still, somewhere in the back of your mind, the flicker of Lando lingered—a quiet, unspoken sense of anticipation that you couldn’t quite shake. This was his kind of scene after all, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he reappeared soon, grinning in that way that had always made everything feel lighter.

The club's music thudded in the background as Max tapped your shoulder, leaning close to make himself heard over the pulsating beat. “Y/n! Can you come with me outside?” he asked, his voice urgent enough to catch your attention despite the chaos around you.

“Of course,” you replied without hesitation, nodding as you turned to follow him. Something in his tone piqued your curiosity—Max wasn’t usually one for abrupt interruptions during a night out. You glanced back instinctively, your eyes scanning for Alex to see if he had noticed you leaving or was following you. The kaleidoscope of neon lights and swirling figures blurred in your periphery as you stepped away from the dance floor.

Max led the way towards the exit, his demeanor seeming slightly more serious than usual. The cool desert night air hit you as the door swung open, a stark contrast to the warm, frenetic atmosphere inside. You couldn’t help but wonder what was waiting for you out there—something told you this wasn’t just a casual chat.

The scene outside the bar was something straight out of a comedy sketch. Carlos, Oscar, and Charles stood in a perfectly straight line, their expressions overly serious, like they were guarding the entrance to some exclusive event. You blinked, trying to process what you were seeing. What the actual fuck?

Carlos cleared his throat with exaggerated drama, drawing all attention to himself. Oscar, playing along with equal flair, handed him a piece of paper as if it were some sacred document. “Ten years ago, on this day…” Carlos began, his voice dripping with theatrical gravitas. You turned to Alex, your face a mix of confusion and disbelief, only to find her grinning ear to ear, her phone held up to capture every second of this absurd spectacle.

Carlos continued, undeterred by your bewilderment. “Lando Norris and Y/n L/n made a pact that confirmed they’ll get married if they don’t date anyone else,” he declared, his tone so serious it was impossible not to laugh. You could feel your cheeks starting to ache from the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

“And on this day, at the age of 25,” Carlos concluded, pausing for dramatic effect, “they appear to be both single.” His words hung in the air for a moment before the absurdity of the situation hit you like a tidal wave. You doubled over, laughing so hard you could barely breathe. The whole thing was so over-the-top, so utterly ridiculous, that you couldn’t help but lose yourself in the hilarity of it all. What was even happening? This was chaos, and you were absolutely here for it.

The trio parted like the curtain of a grand stage, revealing Lando standing there, his messy curls catching the faint glow of the streetlights. His white shirt was half unbuttoned, the casual disarray somehow making him look even more like the Lando you’d always known. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate yet slightly unsteady, his hands reaching out to gently take yours.

“Y/n, the love of my life,” he began, his voice carrying the unmistakable slur of someone who’d had a drink or two, but you didn’t care. The sincerity in his eyes was enough to make your heart skip a beat. “I hoped all my life to get to this day with you,” he said, his words soft but weighted with meaning.

You felt your breath hitch as he continued, his grip on your hands tightening ever so slightly. “Do you promise you’ll always stand by me, even though I’m a dick sometimes?” he asked, his tone shifting to something almost boyish, as if he were afraid of your answer. You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips despite the tears welling in your eyes.

And then, slowly, he began to kneel, his movements deliberate as he reached into his pocket. The world seemed to hold its breath as he pulled out a small box, the kind that could only mean one thing. “Y/n,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos of the moment, “will you marry me?”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so you did both, the emotions bubbling over in a way you couldn’t control. “Yes,” you managed through your laughter, your voice trembling with joy. “Yes, I will.”

Lando slid the diamond ring onto your finger, its brilliance catching the faint glow of the city lights. It was exquisite, almost unreal, and the thought lingered—had he just pulled off some last-minute miracle, or had he been holding onto this ring, waiting for the right moment? Either way, the gesture felt deeply intentional, like he had always known it would lead to this moment.

As he stood up, his smile wide and genuine, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close in a hug that felt like home. His lips found yours in a kiss that was soft yet filled with all the emotions words couldn’t convey. It felt perfect—chaotic, surprising, and utterly perfect.

Behind you, the ever-lively Max broke the moment with a cheerful shout. “Can I be bridesmaid?!” His words were slurred with enthusiasm, drawing laughter from everyone around. You turned back to him, your grin widening as you replied without hesitation, “Of course, Max.”

The night had been unpredictable, filled with energy and celebration, but nothing could have prepared you for this—the moment you got engaged to your best friend on the pavement outside a club in Las Vegas. It was messy, spontaneous, and entirely unexpected, but somehow, it fit the two of you perfectly.

© norristrii 2025

@haniette <3

[mommyameliestorycorner]

Reasons Why ALL Boys Belong in Diapers

Boys are messy creatures. From their sticky fingers to their questionable aim in the bathroom, boys have never been good at keeping things clean. A diaper just simplifies the whole process—no more "oops, I missed" or "it was just an accident!"

Moms and girlfriends are already cleaning up after them. Ever noticed how boys conveniently “forget” how to do laundry, dishes, or pick up their own socks? They already expect someone else to handle their messes—diapers just make it official!

They think farting is funny. So let’s see how they like a full diaper. Boys love to giggle about their own gas, but let’s see how funny it is when there’s more than just air in their diaper. Oh, what's that? Suddenly it's "not so funny"? Thought so!

They have the attention span of a goldfish. Oh, look! A ball! A car! A flashing light! Boys get so distracted by the simplest things—who has time to actually remember to use the potty when there are way more important things to focus on? Best to keep them safely diapered so they don’t make a mess when they inevitably forget.

They have NO shame. Boys will scratch, burp, and do all sorts of gross things in public without a second thought. If they have no problem acting like babies in front of everyone, why not dress them like one too?

They never know when to stop playing. Boys will run around, roughhouse, and completely ignore their obvious potty signals until—oopsie! Too late! Rather than trusting them with big boy underwear (as if!), it’s just safer to keep them padded so they can go whenever they inevitably lose track of time.

They’re so lazy. Let’s be honest, even if a boy could make it to the potty, would he really want to? Getting up, stopping what he's doing, actually aiming—so much effort! It's just easier to let him go in his diaper like the helpless little thing he is.

They still act like babies, so they might as well wear what babies wear. Boys whine when they don’t get their way, throw tantrums over the smallest things, and sulk when they lose. If they’re going to act like fussy little toddlers, they should be dressed like one too—diapers included!

They hate being told what to do. Which makes it even more fun! The best part? They’ll huff and puff, but there’s nothing they can do about it. They can squirm all they want—at the end of the day, they’ll still be right where they belong: safely diapered.

Deep down, they know they belong in diapers. At the end of the day, all their silly protests and puffed-up bravado don’t change the truth—boys just aren’t meant for potty training. They’re much better off being padded, protected, and properly taken care of. And while that will never change, their diapers certainly will—again and again and again

Please reblog I you agree, that all boys should be in diapers 24/7! Thank you @all4thedips for your suggestions and help.

[apricustar]

i can’t stop thinking about how intentional it felt that buck’s big grief moment—his most open, honest reflection about bobby with someone in his life—was with tía pepa. not eddie. not maddie. but eddie’s aunt—eddie’s family.

it’s soft, intimate; a conversation underlaid by years of something we haven’t seen on screen, but that exists all the same—an undercurrent of familiarity, of care, of a relationship built quietly in the background.

and the thing is, pepa doesn’t speak to him like a guest, doesn’t treat him as her nephew’s coworker (or old coworker, i guess): she calls him evancito, later cariño—terms you don’t just throw around. those names come from genuine affection, closeness—love.

and then there’s the moment she calls him our eddie. not my nephew. not eddie. our eddie. buck is already part of the ‘our’—already included, inherently.

all of this tell us everything the show doesn’t say out loud: that this isn’t new. that buck is already hers. already family.

and that line in the episode description? buck contemplates where he’s supposed to be.

yeah. it’s here!!!

in this home. in this kitchen. with this family—the family and life he and eddie have been building together for the past 7 years.

this is where he belongs, the people he belongs to.

[satoblue]

you sit beside satoru on the couch, your legs tucked comfortably under you as you tap lazily on your phone to cruise the late night takeout menu.

satoru’s legs are warm atop of yours, stretched out and crossed over one another like he owns the place (he kinda technically does), his head resting back on his hands against the arm of the couch.

“why do you still call me gojo?” he asks suddenly, turning his face towards you, lashes fluttering over those stupidly pretty blue eyes.

you don’t look up. “because that’s your name? chinese?”, you suggest.

“wrong. japanese, actually,” he corrects, sitting up. you give him a look, because he knows full well that is not what you meant.

satoru flashes you an innocent grin. “gojo is what the world calls me. sorcerers, students, enemies, fangirls, haters — and haters who are also fangirls.”

you raise an eyebrow at that. “and what should I call you then? lord of infinity?”, you tease.

“that’s reserved for when you’re feeling especially reverent in the bedroom — write it down.”

you roll your eyes. “you’re impossible.”

he leans in so close his voice drops to that low, velvety tone he saves just for you — the one that makes you forget whatever you were saying.

“satoru,” he states softly. there’s a flicker of something behind his grin — something delicate and honest. “call me satoru. just you. only you.”

you blink, lips parting slightly. your phone slips a little in your hand. “satoru,” you echo, trying it out on your tongue. and it feels right — like you’ve already said it a lifetime ago. and the one before that.

those snowy lashes flutter shut like he’s tasting it — savoring it from your lips. “god, it sounds so good when you say it,” satoru practically moans.

your cheeks heat at his shamelessness, but he’s already grinning all smug, tilting his head in the obnoxious little way that he does.

“no one else gets to say it like that,” satoru continues in an affirmative tone. “not like you do, okay? that name — it’s yours now. yours to ruin, yours to whisper, yours to yell if i’m doing something wrong. or doing something right — like you.”

you gasp sharply, scandalized. “preferably you,” he smirks cheekily, eyes shimmering with mischief and warmth.

you shove his shoulder gently and he pouts. you laugh, but your heart feels like it’s swelling with something bigger than you can name, and your cheeks feel too hot. “you’re serious?”

satoru’s voice softens. “i’m serious, baby. i’ve met many people, and i’m telling you — it’s you. from the moment i saw you, heard your voice — i knew it was only ever gonna be you and me in the end and in every life after this. so yeah… my name belongs to you.”

you look at him — really look at him. and for all the power he holds — the strength, the godlike abilities… in this moment, he looks so sincere. so raw — so human.

just satoru. your satoru — if you’ll have him. which you will. just like you’ve had every version of him.

“satoru,” you say once again. and you feel the way his fingers twitch in response where they rest beside yours, skin grazing skin like he can’t help touching you — like the sound alone does something to him.

satoru groans, head flopping onto your shoulder before lifting up again, face so close to yours that you can feel the whispers of his breath against your cheek and his hair tickling your forehead.

“say it again and i’ll marry you right now in that ugly t-shirt.” he says in a serious tone, looking you right in the eye.

you glance down. “this is your t-shirt.”

“all the more reason,” he whispers.

you lean your head on his shoulder and whisper back, just to tease. “satoru.”

satoru inhales sharply like your words are physically hitting him, tipping his head back on the couch with a stupid grin on his face — the definition of a man in bliss.

“again.”

“satoru.”

“again.~” he sing songs.

you sigh, but you still say it. “satoru.”

“again.”

and you do.

again and again — you do. and you do it well, of course. because you’ve had thousands of lifetimes to practice.

[nyoru]

━━━ TEACH ME, TOO

ㅤsypnosis ⁝ㅤㅤa curious question turns into something much more intimate — with su-ho being surprisingly good at teaching.ㅤㅤ〝 cw.ㅤㅤprotected sex, oral sex ( f & m rec. ), light praise kink, best friends to ??ㅤㅤ﹪ㅤㅤ𝖺𝗁𝗇 𝗌𝗎-𝗁𝗈 × 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

you met su-ho during orientation week — he was late, loud, and still somehow the most magnetic person in the room. you were the opposite. quieter, awkward, unsure where to stand, too anxious to even hold your own schedule right-side-up.

you remember it clearly: him crashing into a folding chair, laughing too hard, calling your name like he already knew it. he made you feel like you belonged in a room you had just started shrinking away from. and that’s all it really took.

from then on, it was you and su-ho. always in the same frame. your classmates joked about it constantly — if they saw one, they expected the other. he became your person, the one who waited outside your labs, the one who shared earphones on the train back, the one who’d text ‘yo dummy u eat yet’ at ungodly hours like it was part of your daily survival.

you were different, but you got each other. he’d distract you during exams, you’d calm him down before presentations. it just.. worked. and maybe that’s why no one ever suspected anything deeper. not even you.

you were used to being mistaken for the girl who liked si-eun — he was the calm one, the smart one, the one people admired from a distance. and truthfully? you did admire him.

it was hard not to. but it never made your stomach flip. not like the way su-ho looked at you sometimes. not like the way he’d lean back on his arms, grin at you sideways, and say things like “what, you thinking dirty thoughts or something?” just because you zoned out for two seconds.

you laughed it off like always. he joked about everything. teased like it was his default language. but lately — lately, it’s been harder to ignore how warm your face gets. how your chest does that annoying twisty thing when he slings an arm over your shoulder. how you catch yourself wondering if he actually knows more than he lets on.

because the thing is — you don’t know anything. not really. not when it comes to sex. not beyond vague textbook definitions and secondhand stories from friends. you never bothered asking before. it always felt far away, not something meant for you.

until you realized you didn’t want to be left behind.

until you realized you wanted to understand.

and more than that — more than anything — you wanted to ask him.

you weren’t sure why at first. maybe it was because su-ho always made you feel safe, even when you were dumb or confused or too flustered to speak. maybe it was because he never made you feel stupid for not knowing.

maybe it was because part of you, deep down, knew he’d be honest. or maybe it was just the way he said your name sometimes. like he was waiting for you to ask something — anything.

you don’t know when exactly it started. the way your eyes would linger on his lips when he laughed. the way your heart did that unexplainable flutter when he licked honey off his thumb one morning during breakfast. it wasn’t about romance. it wasn’t about being in love. it was about wanting to know. about needing to understand.

and su-ho.. su-ho was the first person that came to mind.

it’s little things, really. the things you used to ignore. like how su-ho always sprawls himself out across your bed when he visits, like it’s his own. he’ll toss his phone aside, prop himself up on one elbow, shirt riding a little too high, and say, “you’re not gonna fail your midterms if you lie down for five minutes. c’mon.” and you’ll cave. you always do. you’ll end up beside him, shoulder to shoulder, his knee brushing yours.

he never moves away. there’s no reason to panic, you tell yourself. you’re friends. he’s like this with everyone. maybe he just doesn’t care about personal space.

maybe the way his voice dips a little when he calls you “baby” is just a joke. he says that to strangers too, doesn’t he?

but then there are the nights he talks quieter. like when you’re both half-asleep after cramming for exams, the light from your desk still casting a soft gold against the room.

he’ll mutter something like, “you’re too cute when you’re sleepy, y’know that?” and you’ll freeze. because it doesn’t feel like a joke. not then.

and maybe he doesn’t realize the effect he has on you. maybe he doesn’t see the way your breath catches when he leans over your shoulder to check your notes, the warmth of his chest ghosting your back.

maybe he doesn’t notice the way your thighs press together when he lounges back and pats the space between his legs with a casual, “you can sit here, dummy. I don’t bite.”

but you notice.

you notice everything now.

you notice how he smells — like warm fabric softener and that faint trace of cologne he probably thinks you don’t recognize. you notice the way his hands look when he’s typing or fiddling with his rings.

you notice how low his voice can drop when he’s serious — or when he’s annoyed, like that time someone tried to flirt with you at a party. he got quiet. didn’t say anything for ten minutes after.

just passed you your drink and stared across the room like he was trying to set something on fire. and yet, even with all of that — with how aware you’ve become of him — you still don’t know how to bring it up. not the way you want to.

not the way it’s started echoing in your head at night, in the quiet moments between being awake and asleep.

you’ve had dreams. not always clear, not always intense — but enough. enough to wake up and feel heat between your thighs, confusion in your chest. enough to leave you sitting there, alone in your sheets, wondering what it would feel like.

to be touched.

to be wanted.

to be taught.

and for some reason, you can’t imagine anyone else doing it but su-ho.

not si-eun, not a stranger, not someone from a checklist. just him. the boy who knows your favorite drink and the password to your phone. the one who holds your wrist when you’re walking through crowded streets. the one who grins like he’s never met someone funnier than you, even when you’re not trying.

you’re not in love, you don’t think. but you do think about how it would feel to be touched by someone who already knows all your soft parts.

who’s already seen you at your most unguarded. who calls you “trouble” in the same breath he offers you his last bite of food.

you wonder — if he touched you, would it still feel like friendship? or would it finally feel like the answer to everything you’ve been too scared to ask?

it happens on a thursday. nothing particularly special about it — your classes ended early, your hair’s still a little damp from a rushed shower, and su-ho’s on your bed again, hoodie sleeves pushed up, legs stretched long like always.

he’s scrolling through something aimlessly on your phone, and you’re sitting at your desk, pretending to be preoccupied with your laptop, but mostly just staring at nothing.

there’s something different in the air today. maybe it’s just you. maybe you’ve been holding it in too long. you’ve gone through every possible version of this in your head: how to say it, how he might react, what it would mean.

maybe he’d laugh. maybe he’d tease you for the rest of your life. or maybe — just maybe — he’d say yes. and it’s that maybe that makes your stomach twist.

that makes your fingers tighten around your mug and your tongue feel too big for your mouth. you don’t look at him when you finally say it.

“can I ask you something?”

your voice comes out smaller than expected. like you’re already regretting the thought. he hums lazily, doesn’t look up. “you just did.”

“no, like—seriously.”

that gets his attention. he shifts, sits up a bit straighter, and turns to you, brows raised. “you good?”

you nod, too fast. “yeah. yeah, just—”

the words feel heavier in your mouth than they did in your head. this felt easier when it was 1am and you were half-asleep and desperate. now, with him actually looking at you, it feels like you’re about to step off a cliff with your eyes wide open.

“can you teach me?”

he blinks. “teach you what?”

you don’t really know how long you sit there, legs tucked under you on the edge of your chair, while su-ho stays crouched in front of you like he’s not even thinking about how awkward that must feel for his knees.

there’s something in his eyes that you haven’t seen before — not even when he’s being overly gentle, not even when he’s drunk and slurring jokes and leaning his weight on you like he trusts you to carry it..

“so,” he starts again, voice low, a little careful. “when you say ‘teach,’ what exactly do you mean?”

you hesitate, then — in the quietest voice you’ve ever used — you say, “about sex.”

the silence that follows is unreal. like the air thins, like time stalls for a second too long. you want to hide. maybe crawl under your desk. maybe vanish entirely. but then you hear him shift again, a soft rustle of fabric, and when you finally glance at him —

his expression isn’t mocking, it isn’t judgmental, it’s just still. quiet, a little wide-eyed, like he’s trying to make sure he heard you right.

“wait,” he says, voice low. “you’re serious?”

you nodded, your throat is dry. his brows furrow slightly, but there’s no laughter, no teasing. just something unreadable flickering across his face. he leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes searching yours.

you swallow. “I mean—like, I know what sex is, obviously. I just…” you trail off, scrunching your face. “I don’t know what it’s actually like. or how to do it. or what’s supposed to feel good. i’ve never done anything. not even with myself.”

his brows lift, surprised — but not in a mocking way. if anything, he looks more thoughtful. his voice stays quiet, almost too gentle.

“you’ve never?”

you shake your head. “no.”

“not even kissing?”

“not really. maybe like… dumb little pecks in high school. never something serious.”

su-ho exhales slowly through his nose and leans back a little, settling cross-legged on your rug now, chin tilted up to still meet your gaze. “okay. wow. okay.”

“is that bad?”

“no,” he says quickly, firmly. “not bad. not at all. it’s just—” he runs a hand through his hair, a little stunned. “i didn’t know. you never seemed like someone who’d be shy about stuff like this.”

you shrug, suddenly very interested in your desk lamp. “I guess I just never trusted anyone enough. or cared enough. until…”

you don’t finish the sentence. you don’t have to. he looks at you for a long moment. and then his expression softens.

“okay,” he says again, slower this time. “so you’re not asking me for a hookup. you’re asking me to… guide you?”

you nod.

“and this is what you want?”

you glance at him, then down at your hands. “I think so. but I don’t want to regret anything. I don’t want it to feel like… just a lesson. like you’re doing me a favor or something.”

he shakes his head, almost laughing under his breath. “believe me,” he mutters, “if I didn’t want it, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

you look up. “you’d want to? with me?”

he rolls his eyes a little, teasing now. “you’re cute, you know that?”

your heart jumps stupidly.

but he’s already reaching for your hand, holding it between both of his like it’s nothing — like it’s something he’s always wanted to do but never got around to.

“look,” he says, thumbs brushing slow circles into your skin. “if we do anything, I want it to be because you feel safe. because you’re curious and I get to help you understand your body. not because you think you’re behind or missing out.”

you nod again, slower this time. “I just want to feel close to someone. and I… I guess I trust you the most.”

his smile turns soft, so soft it feels like a hug.

“then we’ll take it slow,” he murmurs. “you set the pace. we talk through everything. and we stop whenever you feel weird, no questions asked.”

your chest tightens in the best kind of way. not scared. not shy. just warm. like you’re really being held, even without his arms around you.

“can I ask things?” you say. “like, stupid things?”

“you can ask me anything,” he says. “even if it’s what that little flap on condoms is for.”

you laugh, a little too loud. “you know I almost asked you that once.”

“I know. I saw you hovering over the search bar in incognito mode.”

you groan, tossing your head back, but su-ho’s grinning now, bright and proud like he lives to make you flustered.

“so, okay,” he says. “i’ll answer stuff. we’ll go slow. and we’ll make it, y’know… a learning experience. a good one. no pressure. no tests at the end. just…” he pauses. “just me and you. figuring it out together.”

you squeeze his hand back, and when you finally look up again — his eyes are still soft. still watching you like you’re something rare and good. and for once, you believe it.

the first time his mouth finds its way between your legs, it’s nothing like what your imagination tried to prepare you for.

there’s no rush, no hunger, no mess of fingers fumbling to strip you bare all at once. just su-ho, kneeling at the edge of your bed, coaxing you to lie back while his hands trail slow up your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“i’m gonna teach you how to enjoy this,” he murmurs, thumbs pressing softly at the inside of your knees to spread them apart. “and how to tell me what feels good. okay?”

your voice comes out small. “okay.”

he leans down, kisses your knee. then a little higher. then a little higher than that.

you’re already wet — he makes some low, surprised noise when he slides your underwear down and sees it for himself — but he doesn’t tease. doesn’t smirk or comment or make you feel like this is some joke.

instead, his hands keep you open, warm and steady, while his mouth lowers between your legs like it belongs there. the first press of his tongue to your slit makes you twitch.

“oh—”

“it’s okay,” he says, voice muffled but soothing. “just relax. tell me if anything feels too much.”

and then he starts again.

soft, slow licks at first, more about getting you used to the feeling than chasing anything. you feel like you’re floating — like your whole body’s pulling taut, breath catching every time he flattens his tongue against your cunt and draws a long stripe up through your folds. when he finds your clit, you nearly jolt again, gasping.

“there?” he murmurs. “that sensitive?”

you nod quickly. “yeah—y-yeah.” he hums, and the vibration makes you arch slightly.

“good,” he says. “it’ll get more sensitive the more turned on you are. it’s not about pressure—it’s about rhythm. like this.”

he circles it gently with the tip of his tongue, again and again, unhurried, careful not to overwhelm you too quickly. his hands stroke over your thighs, calming you as your body stutters and writhes. the sounds coming from you are soft, unsure, breathy little moans that escape before you can stop them.

he lifts his head only briefly. “you’re doing so good, baby. i’m proud of you.”

that single sentence makes your heart squeeze, makes your hips lift up for more. he smiles, then goes back in — and this time he’s firmer, more purposeful. you can tell he’s been holding back, and now that he knows you’re okay, he gives in a little more.

suckling your clit between his lips, tracing his tongue in slick circles, pausing every few seconds to hear how your breath catches, to listen to what makes you moan.

you’re not even thinking when you whisper, “I feel something—i think—”

“let it happen,” he whispers against you. “don’t be scared. let it build.”

and when it does — when the knot inside you snaps and everything floods hot and sharp and overwhelming — you feel his hands hold you down, grounding you, his mouth never leaving you until it all ebbs and your legs are shaking.

you don’t even realize there are tears in your eyes until he’s crawling up your body, wiping them away gently.

“too much?”

you shake your head. “no. that was… that was so good.”

he kisses your forehead. then your lips. “told you.”

you laugh breathlessly. “you’re actually a really good teacher.” he smirks at that, but it fades into something softer. more thoughtful.

“wanna try something now?” he asks, settling beside you. “you don’t have to, but if you want, I can show you what I like too.”

you nod. “yeah.. I want to. teach me, I asked for this, remember?”

he breathes out slowly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say yes so quickly.

“okay,” he says. “c’mere.”

he guides your hand down first — shows you how to unbutton his jeans, how to ease them down. his cock is already hard, flushed, leaking at the tip, and when your eyes widen, he grins.

“it looks big,” you mumble.

“it won’t hurt,” he promises. “not if we go slow. and besides, i’m not asking you to take it all. not yet.”

you swallow. “so… what do I do?”

he leans back slightly against the pillows, voice a low rumble now.

“start with your hand,” he says. “wrap your fingers around it, gentle. just like that—yeah. perfect.”

you’re fascinated. it’s hot and heavy in your grip, pulsing a little when you stroke up. su-ho groans, a quiet sound that sends a jolt straight between your legs again.

“use your thumb,” he pants. “over the tip. fuck—that’s it. damn, you’re a fast learner.”

you watch his face as he reacts to every little thing you try, how his jaw clenches when you squeeze a little, how his chest rises when you lick a tentative stripe up the length of his cock.

he guides you without pressure, encouraging you softly, telling you what feels good, what he likes.

“use your mouth,” he breathes. “just the tip. go slow, baby. just like that—fuck.”

his hand settles lightly at the back of your head but doesn’t push, just rests there, as you wrap your lips around him. it’s warm, salty, a little overwhelming — but the way he moans your name makes you want to keep going.

he’s so vocal, breathy and praising between gasps. “you’re doing so good,” he whispers. “so pretty like this. your mouth feels so fucking nice—shit.”

you hollow your cheeks, experiment with your tongue, and when you glance up at him, when your eyes meet his while you suck slowly, he curses under his breath and pulls you off with a shaky hand.

“if you keep going,” he says, voice wrecked, “i’ll come. and I don’t wanna come yet.”

you smile, dazed, lips slick with spit. “was i good?” he laughs, short, breathless, affectionate.

“you’re perfect.” and then he leans in to kiss you again, deeper this time.

“you okay?” su-ho asks again, quieter now, brushing your hair away from your face. his thumb strokes your cheek while his other hand rests over your waist, the heat of his palm grounding you, still holding onto the last of your breathless high from before.

you nod. “mm-hmm.” then softer, “more than okay.”

he smiles, then leans in and kisses you gently — slow, like he’s giving you time to change your mind, even now.

but when you kiss him back with that same neediness you’ve been carrying since you first asked him to teach you, his hand slides lower, resting on your hip.

“you wanna keep going?”

you nod again. “yeah. I… I think I want to try.”

his gaze scans your face. you know he’s checking for nerves, doubt, fear — but all he finds is a quiet kind of trust. something that makes his voice go softer when he speaks again.

“okay,” he says, “but we talk first. that’s part of it too.”

you blink. “talk?”

he nods. “before sex. especially your first time. communication makes everything better. safer. and honestly?” he grins a little, “hotter too.”

you bite your lip. “what do we talk about?”

“a few things,” he murmurs, kissing down your jaw. “protection first.”

he shifts away for a moment, reaching for his backpack on the floor. he pulls something out — silver foil, crinkly — and raises his brows at you like he’s been waiting to use it for this exact moment.

“su-ho,” you say slowly, “why do you have a condom in your backpack.”

he snorts. “remember the frat party? si-eun and I saw it in the cr, he didn't want it so I picked it up.”

you roll your eyes. “you guys are idiots.”

“probably,” he shrugs. “but at least i’m a responsible idiot.” you watch as he sets the condom gently on the nightstand, not rushing to open it.

“we use this,” he says, “every time. unless we both get tested and talk about it first. cool?” you nod. “cool.”

he smiles. “good. next topic: positions.” you blinked, “there’s more than one?”

his laugh is soft, affectionate. “there are a lot. but for your first time, we should pick one that feels safest and lets me see your face. missionary’s the classic. I can also be on my knees with your legs over my thighs. or we can spoon. slow and close.”

you flush, trying to picture any of them. “you choose. I trust you.”

his gaze warms at that, softening again in that way you’ve only ever seen in rare moments.

“then we’ll go slow. missionary. but we can adjust anything if it gets uncomfortable. just tell me, alright?”

you hum a quiet okay, and then he leans in closer. “next,” he says, voice lower now, “I wanna know what turns you on.”

your eyes widen. “I—I don’t know yet?” he nods, unbothered. “that’s fine. that’s what this is for. we’ll find out together.”

his fingers trail up your bare thigh again, light and thoughtful. “some people like rough. some like being praised. some like being told what to do. or doing the touching. or slow teasing. you reacted to my voice earlier, when I praised you.”

you flush, remembering.

“I think you like being talked to,” he murmurs, his voice dipping, lips brushing your ear. “you like feeling good and hearing how good you’re doing. am I right?”

you breathe out shakily. “yeah…”

he smiles, kisses your neck. “good. that’s a start. anything you don’t want to try?”

you think. then shake your head. “i’ll tell you if something feels off.”

“perfect,” he says, then kisses you again. this time, his body presses more firmly into yours, and you can feel him — his cock heavy against your thigh through his boxers, thick and pulsing with restraint.

“last question,” he murmurs. “do you want me now?”

you meet his eyes. “yes.”

he nods once, slowly, and then everything moves like a softened blur: his fingers easing between your legs, gently checking, making sure you’re still wet, still relaxed. then him rolling the condom on with practiced care, breath hitching when your hand lingers on his hip.

when he kneels between your legs, you shift beneath him, legs opening, heart thudding in your chest.

“you sure?”

“yes,” you whisper again, this time steadier. “please.”

he exhales slowly — then reaches to guide himself to your entrance. “deep breath,” he says softly. “just relax.”

you did, and the first push is slow, barely there, until your body stretches around him. it’s strange, at first — tight, full, unfamiliar — but he holds still, whispering praise, letting you adjust.

“you feel amazing,” he breathes. “so warm, so tight. doing so good, baby.”

he kisses you through the sting, rubs your clit gently to distract you, and only when you nod again — wordless, aching — does he move. slow. so slow.

you feel him first, hovering over you, his body heat settling around you like a blanket, his fingers brushing your cheek so gently it almost makes you shiver.

the moment feels quiet, almost suspended in time, as if the air around you recognizes the shift — how the weight of what you’re doing finally lands between your ribs and expands there, soft and all-consuming.

su-ho’s gaze, as always, is steady and sure, but there’s a kind of reverence in his expression now, something new that makes your heart skip.

his hands are careful, so careful, as he rolls the condom down the length of his cock, fingers trembling slightly despite how composed he always seems. he aligns himself to your entrance, his eyes not leaving yours even once.

“tell me the second you feel uncomfortable,” he whispers, voice already low and thick. “and if you want to stop—”

“I won’t,” you murmur, fingers curling around his wrist where he steadies himself beside your head. “I just… want to know what it feels like. with you.”

he breathes out through his nose. closes his eyes for a second. and when they open again, they’ve darkened, not with lust alone, but something deeper. a kind of hunger laced with restraint. a kind of want that you know he’s held back for a while.

his hips move slowly, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance, where you’re already soaked for him, eager and warm and open. he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you gently, pausing when he feels your breath hitch.

“okay?” he asks again, jaw clenched tight, the muscles in his forearm straining as he holds himself still.

you nod, voice barely a whisper. “keep going.”

so he does. gradually. so slow that every bit of him feels distinct as he slides into you — the stretch, the burn, the fullness of it. you gasp softly, head tipping back into the pillow, one hand flying to grip the sheets while the other stays pressed against his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart.

he doesn’t move for a long second once he’s fully inside, buried in you to the hilt. you can feel him shaking slightly, his breath warm against your shoulder, a soft groan vibrating in his throat as he tries to stay still.

“you’re so tight,” he finally breathes, and it sounds like a confession. “feels like you’re made for me.”

you feel yourself clench at his words, and he groans again, deeper this time. you nod, giving him permission, and that’s all it takes — he starts to move, slow and steady, each thrust a gentle press of his hips against yours, a roll rather than a sharp snap. the drag of him inside you is like nothing you’ve ever felt, so overwhelming and yet addictively good, like it lights something up inside you you didn’t know was there.

your legs wrap around him without thinking, pulling him closer, and the new angle has him hitting a spot that makes your mouth fall open. he notices immediately, adjusting again to make sure every thrust brushes right there.

“right there?” he asks, voice strained, lips brushing your ear.

“yeah,” you gasp, arms wrapping around his back now, clinging. “feels so—su-ho, please—”

“fuck,” he breathes, hips pushing deeper now, grinding down just enough to make your entire body tremble under him. “you’re so warm. you’re doing so well, baby.”

the endearment makes your stomach twist in the best way, and when his thumb drifts between your legs again, circling your clit in slow, practiced movements, it pushes you closer to the edge so fast your vision blurs.

he watches your face the entire time. every expression, every sound. he’s studying you with the same intensity he brings to everything else, but this time, it’s just for you.

“look at you,” he murmurs, watching the way your face twists with every grind of his hips. “taking all of me. like you were made for it.”

you moan, and he groans in return — like he’s feeling how much you want this. his pace picks up a little. not rushed, just deeper. more deliberate. your walls pulse around him and he curses again, biting back the urge to just let go.

“you don’t even know what you do to me,” he grits out, pressing his forehead to yours. “every sound you make—every little gasp—it’s fucking perfect.”

you can barely answer him, too focused on the slow roll of his hips and the weight of him inside you. but your hands move on their own, clutching his back, your nails dragging lightly across his skin.

he gasps. “shit—do that again.” you did, and he thrusts deeper. you whimper his name, and his rhythm stutters.

“you close?” he asks, thumb still moving, his cock grinding into that perfect spot over and over again.

“so close,” you manage, hips bucking up against his. “su-ho, i’m—”

“cum for me,” he whispers, his thrusts picking up, still deep but just a little faster now. “let me feel you.”

and you do. everything tightens, your legs locking around his waist, your walls clenching down on him so hard he groans your name like it’s a prayer, his forehead falling to your shoulder.

you tremble under him, your climax washing over you in waves, and it’s only a few thrusts later that he follows, hips jerking forward as he cums deep inside the condom with a low, desperate sound.

for a moment, the only sound in the room is your breathing, tangled and uneven, in sync. he stays there, bodies still connected, his weight resting gently over you, careful not to crush you but unwilling to pull away just yet.

he presses a kiss to your temple. then your cheek. then your shoulder. “you okay?” he asks again, softer this time. almost reverent.

you nod slowly, arms still holding him close. “yeah. better than okay.”

he exhales, and you feel the tension drain from him all at once. “you were… incredible.”

“you too,” you murmur, smiling into his neck. “best lesson ever.”

he laughs softly, and you feel it echo in his chest. “we’ll have to review next week, then.” you roll your eyes but kiss his jaw anyway.

you’re both still wrapped up in each other, limbs tangled and breathing gradually slowing down, the quiet hum of the night pressing in around you like a gentle lullaby. you didn’t move for a while, just letting his body settle over yours, the weight of him heavy and warm and safe.

his chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths right against your back, and you can’t help but feel a kind of calm you didn’t expect — like all the noise inside your head has finally quieted down. it’s strange how something so simple as just being held could feel like the most important thing in the world.

his fingers begin to roam gently, tracing soft, aimless patterns on your arm. the touch is featherlight, like a whisper, but it grounds you in a way nothing else can. you let your hand find his, fingers curling around his palm instinctively, and he squeezes back, the pressure steady and reassuring. no words are needed right now — the silence between you is comfortable, filled with understanding and something close to reverence.

“you did really well,” his voice is low, thick with a tenderness you haven’t heard from him before. “better than I expected.” there’s a pause, and you can hear him swallow the hint of vulnerability in his own admission. “i’m proud of you.”

you smile softly, your breath catching when he presses a gentle kiss just below your ear, the warmth of his lips lingering there like a promise. “you made it easy,” you say, voice barely more than a breath, but you mean it. it’s not just his skill — it’s how careful he is, how present, how much he respects you.

he shifts slightly, pressing another kiss against your temple, then your cheek, slow and deliberate like he’s memorizing every inch of your face. “we’ll go at whatever pace you want,” he murmurs, fingers weaving through your hair, the touch light and soothing. “there’s no rush here. this is your time. your experience.”

you close your eyes and lean into him, letting the softness of his words and the warmth of his skin wash over you. there’s no pressure, no expectations — just this quiet bubble of safety and trust you never knew you needed but always wanted.

your fingers trace lazy circles on his forearm, feeling the taut muscle beneath his skin and the steady beat of his pulse. “thank you,” you whisper, meaning more than just the moment. for the patience, for the care, for being the first person who made you feel like you could explore this without fear or shame.

he hums softly, lips brushing the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “I want you to feel comfortable. to know that with me, it’s always okay to ask, to say no, to take a break—whatever you need.”

you nod against him, the trust between you deepening with every word. “i’m glad it’s you,” you say quietly. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”

he smiles against your skin, the movement gentle and full of warmth. “and i’m glad it’s you.”

time stretches around you both, slow and easy. you talk in hushed tones about everything and nothing —

about your favorite music, the dumb jokes he made that morning, su-ho’s surprising seriousness when it comes to protecting the people he cares about. your voices blend together like a quiet symphony, filling the room with something real and alive.

eventually, he shifts, pulling you closer into a warm embrace, your faces mere inches apart. “class tomorrow together, yeah?” he asks softly, thumb stroking along your collarbone. “i’ll walk you to every lecture. maybe we can grab something after.”

you smile, heart fluttering in a way that feels new but right. “i’d like that.”

it felt easy, honest. like something real could start from this, not because you were rushing into anything, but because there was trust here. because with him, it didn’t feel scary. it just felt right.

[rinnstars]

youre my world!

in which they accidentally reveal your relationship to the public (and confirms it)

bllk boys x reader (reo, nagi, rin, sae,): fluff, crack, pro-athletes bllk boys, drabbles, not proofread + likes n reblogs are appreciated!

reo mikage:

sometimes, contrary to what reo believes, he’s simply impulsive and childish in the face of love - excitedly posting a story of you and him at your favourite cafe, beaming at the way your hands merged with him so well - so well that he posted it to his main public account associated with both mikage corporation and his soccer career in manshine city where everyone witnessed it up for 12 hours before he wakes up to his PR calling him freaking out. to be honest, he thinks it shouldn’t be such a big deal right? its not as if the media hasn’t speculated over his relationship status for months now - from every little jewellery that fits perfectly onto his wrist, neck and fingers, from every visits to designer clothes store, to designer jewellery store, to designer shoe stores bringing out huge shopping bags that make his frame look petite in comparison, from every single photo he posts on his feed that they scruntised from the angle, to the place, to the clothes that seem to belong to a matching set somewhere somehow. its expected some thinks - he’s rich, he’s got a decent career, he’s charming both in looks and personality publicised in front of television for many to swoon over, there’s no way he isn’t taken just yet. but now, the focus that he’s so used to shifts to you, who’s only half a face is revealed but has gathered just as much attention a selfies he posts on social media at the request of his managers. and perhaps he now feels it - the jealousy that runs green at his heart as if its always been there tugging at the red muscle, and suddenly all he wants to do is to keep you in his treasure chest of things only he can have, keep you caged in his warm embrace like after practice forever, keep you safe away from the public side of the world that he’s practically born to face. but right at the same time, he wishes nothing more than to parade you in front of the world that he’s sure he loathes secretly in his heart, to share with the world of hte blessing that the world has given him in the bitter and harsh world, to express his love in the way he knows how to.

he thinks it was fate that he accidentally posted it on the wrong account, and who is he to go against the universe that have led you to him in this lifetime. and so, he posts a photo dump of you and him right on his main account - filled with pictures gathered and kept by him in his phone in a folder, whether that be a picture of you eating that sugary-sweet treat that he can still taste from the kiss he shared with you right after that photo, picture of you with him right after his first ever win in his career beaming ear-to-ear hat he looks at like its his lucky charm till this day, picture of you and him wearing that matching chikawa pajama at his apartment studying late into the night together for your finals together. and next time the reporter asks him, he doesn’t hesitate to profess his love of you to the world as though he’s waited his entire life to confess it out to the world.

nagi seishiro:

nagi seishiro is practically on the hunt list by paparazzis - infamously hard to capture on film not because of his bright white hair that seems to avoid flashes but rather that he rarely goes out of his apartment - and when he does, does the paparazzi goes crazy especially when he leaves his house on a blue moon, hands tangling with someone else’s. to him, it was just another day - dragged by you to go to wherever you want for the day that you surely deserve after sleeping over at his place for the past few days cramming for your assignments and whatnot in a quiet environment that just so happens to be his room whilst he lazes around in his bed playing his game with his earphones on glancing at you unbeknownst to you. it was supposed to be just another lunch date just like any others you’ve been with him, wearing whatever to go to your nearby cafe that practically recognises you and nagi and hides you at the corner booth where he first confessed to you out of pure impulse after seeing you chat excitedly about your interest with such passion he can’t help but feel his heart skip multiple beats at once. and yet here you both are giggling at the edits and theories his fans have came up with in defence against a dating rumour as you two lie on his bed, body practically melted together, limbs tangled with his — whether that be deeming you as his little sister that hes strangely close to, to deeming the photo as a breach of privacy, to deeming the photo as straight up edited. he thinks its sort of funny, isnt it clear you two are clearly together romantically? with his hands wrapped around yours that fits just right like a puzzle piece fitting into one another. his eyes glancing at you as though youre his entire world, his smile that rarely appears on his face as he listens to another of your passionate chats.

and he supposes he must be a pretty passive or straight up bad partner when on his next win, a reporter asks about you in such a demeaning and insulting way that ticks his brain the wrong way. he thinks its too much of a bother to get fired up, he thinks its useless to get all upset and red in the face, he thinks its only fools that let their emotion overtake them — yet its against that comment that he suddenly stands up that surprises his members, the reporters around and even the crowd, his mouth leaning onto the microphone that for the first time speaks of something other than mediocre and uninterested responses but the same passionate tone that he thinks you must be rubbing off him, announcing your relationship with him with nothing but love and pride in his voice. and maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t regret it and its no bother to defend you to the world - its you and him against the world anyways.

itoshi rin:

all of this started simply because of rin’s first win in the world cup - pulling at the promise ring attached to his necklace to kiss in celebration that went trending on social media. its not uncommon for football players to celebrate on field or have lucky charms - but for fans to see the logical and detached itoshi rin to indulge in such superstitious habits is unnerving, completely out of character of the cool and calm player that practically overwhelms the field completely. he doesn’t think much of it, youre his lucky charm anyways - every game he makes sure to kiss that polaroid of you that he took of you badly with your new digicam that is slightly blurry and slightly way too bright but he kisses that beam of yours anyways, every game he makes sure to hear that voice message of you wishing him luck in that cheery tone that just makes him replay it over and over until time is up and he practically runs out to the field for the game, and every game he makes sure to dedicate each and every step. kick, turn all to you. he doesn’t get why the reporters keep asking him the same old question - “are you dating someone?” the answer is obviously yes, but that doesn’t mean he can say it - whether it be due to his PR manager, whether that be due to not wanting the media in his personal life, whether that be simply to protect you from the spotlight. its irritating, standing under that spotlight as questions gets thrown at him again and again - all he can think about is you on the stand still waiting for him probably getting cold from the harsh and ruthless wind that your sweater might not be able to keep you warm despite it all, all he can think is the congratulationary kiss you give him after each game that melts both yours and his lips together that makes his entire face go uncharacteristically bright red and his eyes go wide, all he can think about is you so close to running off mid interview again like hes a spoiled child throwing a tantrum as the media described it just to see you a little earlier and spend a little more time with you rather than these irrelevant people. really, not even the harsh critics by the media and fans that compares him to a clone of his brother that leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, not even his PR manager’s scoldings and nagging can deter him from running away from all of these to you, and hell hes sure not even if the world ended right in front him right now would he hesitate before running with all hes ever known, even faster than he runs during these matches to get to you, to at least kiss you once last time before you two turn into mash like those zombie movies that perhaps have gotten a little too into his head.

and he ticks his tongue again at that same question. are you dating someone? he sees you from the corner of his eye, walking away from the venue likely going to his car to get some warmth at least, and he cant stand to see you walk alone and so it leaves before he realises. “yes.” one word before he runs as though he’s back right into another life-or-death situation on the field. runs as though that is his only way of salvation, runs as though hes chasing after world - you. and its with you he thinks that he loses that logical and cold persona that everyone forces on him - because with you, hes just itoshi rin, your boyfriend and not any of the names the media and the world wants to throw on him whether positive of negative.

itoshi sae:

every time he goes back to japan, he swears his luck goes all the way down - first time where he goes home and finds out that his middle school had closed down where he went there the morning after, second time where he realises the convenience store he goes to closed down for the very week he was staying, and third time where he finds a photograph of him buying a ring for you going viral online. and he finds out when he sees you giggling hunched over on the other side of the red. his right side feels awfully ice cold without your arms wrapping around his body drooling in your sleep that he’s much more used to. if anything, he’s more surprised that youre awake - he doesn’t know what time it is, a stark contrast to him in spain that’s practically like a robot to the way he automatically wakes up at six on the dot and automatically does his exercise routine on auto pilot - all he knows is that its certainly too early for you to be leaving his side to laugh at god knows what. its only in your apartment that he gets to act all grumpy as though he’s back to been thirteen sleeping over at your house where he spends the night completely awake at your tight embrace on him as though he’s your plushie that’s now on the floor abandoned for his warmth and wakes up completely sleep-deprived that’s remedied by your bright grin. he doesn’t hesitate to turn a little to your side and snake his hands around your waist, his hands fitting right with your body, earning a flinch from you from his ice cold hands that contrasts with your warmth. its only then he realises his surprise has been completely spoiled - its not the only thing the media has pretty much put a dent in his life, constant comparison that drove a wedge deeper into him and his brother relationship, flip-flopping between praise and criticism of each and every of his gameplay on the field that makes him secretly doubt his own self that he doesn’t wish to admit, and now spoiling a surprise he was excited thinking of spending the two of your life together for the rest of eternity. your laugh clears any of the black cloudy joke that hazes over his mind with negative thoughts of self doubt, of insecurities, of irrational fear in your eyes, you don’t hesitate to hold him in your embrace, turning him back to his previous sleeping position - away from your phone, away from any distraction, away from the outside world. and he knows, he knows, even with that surprised spoiled, he’s sure you might just say yes to the diamond ring he still has kept in a dark red box right in his luggage tonight for a home-cooked dinner.

and he supposes he can give the media a glimpse of his life once in a while, playing the disappearance act for a few months as per usual before he posts a photo of you and him - draped in white cloth surrounded by white flowers with you and his friends and family at the side away from the camera, draped in jewelleries that he’s surprising not well-known to in the media that’s picky about the picture-perfect facade of itoshi sae that they have long decided on, draped in each others tugging at each other with nothing but love between both of you. in this world, its you and him whether or not with the media included or not, but he can’t help but to show you off to the world his angel can he?