#but like seriously i'm not going to be responding to these going forwards

[himasgod]

idk if its okay

but can I request for the tapis rouge boyos (vil, azul, jamil, ace) with a reader who gets hit on by a well known celebrity who has a reputation for being a playboy.

thank youuu

ACE, JAMIL, AZUL AND VIL X READER

Where a famous playboy actor wants to flirt with you in Tapis Rouge

How would guys react if, at the Vil's Red Carpet Cadets event, a famous actor with dark intentions approached you to hit on you?

I put Zane as the default name, if there is a Zane reading this, don't be offended😭 You don't need to have played the event to read the one-shot, I hope you enjoy it <3

Maquillaville was packed with rich, famous people who—according to Ace—were annoyingly full of themselves. He wasn't really used to this kind of fancy event, but he played it off well with his cocky grin and bold style. In his own way, he looked great.

You were chatting with a few guests when someone Ace couldn't ignore walked in.

Model, actor, and even film director. He had that fake-perfect smile and a dating history that probably broke some kind of record. Tall, tanned, and smooth-talking, he zoned in on you like a predator the second he saw you.

"Sorry to interrupt," "Zane" said with a charming smirk, "but your smile is brighter than the lights in this place. How about I buy you a drink… or better yet, take you out to dinner tomorrow?"

Ace stopped chewing his fancy canapé. He turned his head slowly, like he'd just heard the funniest joke ever.

"A drink? Seriously? Bro, do you think you're in some rom-com?"

Zane blinked at him, confused. “And you are…?”

Ace slid in next to you, his hand on your hip, flashing his most smug smile, though his eyes were sharp.

"The boyfriend. The only one who can make them smile like that without copy-pasting lines from Google."

Zane chuckled. "Well, lucky you, man. No harm in a compliment—"

“Sure, sure,” Ace said, crossing his arms.

"But there's a difference between a compliment and drooling all over my partner. If you want attention that bad, try flirting with a mirror. Bet it'll respond better."

Zane rolled his eyes and walked off in annoyance.

Once he was out of sight, you turned to Ace, one eyebrow raised.

“Jealous?”

“Jealous?!” Ace spun toward you, visibly offended.

"That wasn't jealousy! That was common sense! The guy was talking like you were a character in some cheesy pickup scene! And you laughed at one of his jokes! Like—seriously!?"

You laughed.

“Oh, Ace…”

He clicked his tongue, but his grin gave him away. He leaned in, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Look, I don't care if you're the center of attention. Honestly, I love it. Let the whole world stare… just so they know exactly who you're with—"

His voice dropped to a murmur against your ear.

“—and who they’ll never be.”

Then he pulled back, smirking wider.

“And if that C-list actor tries flirting again, I swear I'm going to stuff his ego in a box and send it back with a bow.”

Jamil was at your side, impeccable. Although he tried to appear calm, he kept scanning every corner of the room… especially whoever looked at you for too long.

And then he saw it.

Internationally acclaimed actor and singer, known as much for his musical hits as for his romantic history. He was the kind of person who turned every interview into an opportunity to flirt and every gala into a hunt.

He approached you with that well-rehearsed smile of his, champagne glass in hand, his eyes shining with that invasive interest.

"I didn't know stars walked this red carpet," he said, scanning you from head to toe. "Do you have a date for after the event?"

Before you could answer, you felt Jamil's firm presence at your side. His smile was barely perceptible, and his dark eyes, fixed on him.

"I don't think you heard correctly," he said calmly. "They're with me."

Zane laughed sarcastically, never taking his eyes off you.

"Oh, I thought you were a stylish bodyguard. I didn't know you were the… boyfriend?"

Jamil took a step forward, placing himself completely between you and him, like a protective shadow.

"I'll tell you this only once. I don't know what kind of games you usually play with your 'conquests,' but if you want to keep your reputation from falling further, I suggest you back off now."

He raised an eyebrow, still defiant.

"And if I don't?"

Jamil smiled with disturbing slowness.

"Then I'll make you understand. And believe me, I know exactly how to do it without ruining your image… although I wouldn't mind that in the least."

There was a moment of tension. He, perhaps for the first time in a long time, felt insecure around someone. And he left.

You looked at Jamil, somewhat impressed.

"Are you always so calm when you're jealous?"

"Jealous?" Jamil sighed, taking your hand.

"I'm not jealous. I'm irritated. Because that guy dared to look at you like a trophy."

He turned to you, his expression softer.

"And you're not a trophy. You're someone I chose, and who chose me. I don't need to shout it… but I won't let anyone dare touch what I respect."

Every flashbulb seemed to follow you as you walked beside Vil, so perfect it outshone even the biggest stars. The whole world felt like a runway, and you, at his side, were part of the spectacle.

You were used to receiving stares, but this time you felt a particularly insistent one.

"Do you know him?"

Vil whispered near your ear, without taking his eyes off a certain famous actor who was approaching.

It was an international star known for his leading man roles… and for his many love scandals. Vil pursed his lips with the elegance of someone who knew perfectly well who this man was and how little he liked him.

"Only by sight…" you replied, a little uncomfortable as you noticed the actor coming straight toward you.

"Then don't stare at him so much." Vil murmured with a charming smile, but his eyes were sharp.

The actor arrived and, as if he had no idea who Vil was (which was impossible), offered you his hand.

"I didn't expect to see someone so charming tonight. Have we met? Because if not, I'd love to change that."

Vil took a subtle step, standing half in front of you. His face, still sporting a polite smile, was tense like a perfectly placed mask.

"Funny, I thought charm wasn't enough when it came to respect," he said, in that tone of his as polished as liquid poison.

"My partner doesn't usually fall for such cheap tricks, Mr. Zane."

The actor laughed, as if he didn't take the hint.

"A couple? What a shame… Although that's never been an obstacle in romantic movies," he joked, winking at you.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Vil was quicker. He took your hand and entwined it with his, raising his chin

"This isn't a movie. And if you think you can turn my relationship into just another chapter in your "red carpet romances," you're sorely mistaken."

The actor seemed amused by the reaction, but seeing Vil's sharp gaze with pride, jealousy, and elegance, he simply raised his hands.

"Well, well. I didn't know you were so committed, Schoenheit. Lucky for you. And for you too."

He winked at you with a mischievous smile before walking away.

The air seemed to have cooled a couple of degrees.

Vil turned to you, still frowning slightly.

"I warn you, that man is like cheap perfume: strong at first, but in the end, only an unpleasant aftertaste."

"Are you jealous?" You asked with a soft smile.

Vil stared at you, then sighed, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in your attire.

"No. I'm forewarned. Because I value you. And I won't let someone like him touch you with even the hint of an intention."

He leaned in elegantly, his lips brushing the line of your jaw, just enough for you to feel it only for yourself.

"You're too precious to be trifled with. And if anyone tries… they'll have to face me."

The hair, his thin glasses, and that brown suit with subtle pinstripes gave him an air of sophistication that contrasted with his inner nerves whenever someone approached you.

You'd been walking through with him, just chatting, when a tall man with an easy smile and a foreign accent approached you.

"Are you the person everyone is whispering is stealing the event tonight? My name is Zane Duclair but you can call me Zane. Although I'd prefer it if you called me later."

He winked at you.

Azul blinked. He smiled, but his fingers trembled slightly as he gripped your hand.

"Zane Duclair… the actor with three public breakups and five harassment lawsuits… charming track record," he murmured.

Zane gave a carefree laugh, as if everything was slipping away.

"Oh, all in the past. Tonight I'm only interested in this beautiful person," he said, taking your hand without permission. "Would you do me the pleasure of dinner after the gala?"

Before you could respond, Azul placed a hand on your shoulder. His smile was still there, but his eyes were pure ice.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your attempt at 'conquest,' Zane, but my companion already has plans with me tonight. And they're non-negotiable."

Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"And who are you? Their manager?"

Azul let out a short, almost mocking laugh.

"No, I'm a bit more complicated than that. I'm the person who knows their every taste, every gesture, every look. And also the person who can't stand it when someone with a questionable reputation tries to fish in waters that don't belong to him."

Zane looked offended, but Azul stepped forward, still keeping his voice polite.

"And if you insist, I can present you with a complete list of legal clauses regarding harassment and non-consensual advances. I'm sure your lawyers will be able to read between the lines."

Zane left, visibly irritated, and Azul took your arm to lead you away, taking a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," you said. "I didn't expect someone like him to approach me like that."

Azul shook his head.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault there are men who confuse charisma with entitlement. But if he approaches you again… I won't need contracts."

He glanced at you, lowering his voice.

"You are valuable. I will not allow anyone to see you as something they can buy or conquer. Because you are already… firmly committed to me."

[sweetcalebb]

Bad Fight

⋆˙⟡ you and caleb have a fight after he decides to put some stranger in his place, stripping you of your autonomy. again

cw: angst

a/n: this is for my avoidant girlies 🫶🏻

──★ ˙

The tension was suffocating. Tonight was supposed to be a fun and relaxing—a rare break from both of your jobs. But Caleb had ended up telling some guy off for looking at you and ruining the whole night.

God.

What right did he have to just.. do that?

You sounded like an asshole, but Caleb was always hovering, always trying to play the knight in shining armor. But you weren't the little girl that needed saving anymore and he didn't seem to get that.

Now, you were silently walking up to his apartment a few steps behind him, your chest tight and your cheeks burning from frustration.

When he let you in, you didn't even thank him. Just walked past. And it killed him. He sighed, running a tired had through his hair before shutting the door and following after you.

"Hey, are you seriously still upset?"

Heat shot up your spine. It was that 'seriously' he threw in there that really made the churn in your stomach worse. He said it like he couldn't believe you were mad at him, like what he did was so noble.

But you pressed your lips into a hard line, refusing to answer.

"Okay. So that's a yes."

Still nothing.

Wordlessly, you shrugged off your coat, then draped it over his couch. You knew you were being a bit childish. The cold shoulder? Yeah. That was never the way to go, but you didn't trust your voice right now.

Caleb let out another sigh, taking a few steps forward. "I'm sorry I screwed up our evening," he breathed out, hand twitching at his side like he wanted to touch you. "But I'm not sorry I told that weirdo to back off."

You paused, desperately trying to swallow back the thousands of angry words trying to spill out.

Stop it.

For a moment, it was silent. Just you trying to hold it together, and Caleb, standing there, waiting for you say something. To snap at him, yell at him, anything.

But you never did.

"Can you at least..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say. "Can you at least look at me? Or say something?"

You licked your lips, the words just on the tip of your tongue.

Reel it in.

He means well.

Slowly, you turned around. You stared at him for a second, thinking of your words carefully before finally opening your mouth.

"I.. I know you mean well, but what you did back there—it didn't feel good. It felt.." you paused, afraid of what this might cause, "humiliating."

A flicker of hurt passed through Caleb's eyes.

Humiliated?

The word rang in his ears, made his jaw clench and his brows pinch together. He humiliated you? Him caring humiliated you?

He couldn't help the small scoff that slipped past his lips. It wasn't mocking. Wasn't angry. Just disbelieving. "So me caring about you was embarrassing?" The hurt crept in unbidden and he hated it, but he couldn't stop it.

"Did you even see the way he was looking at you?" he asked, voice edging on something rougher.

You sighed. "Caleb—"

"He was being disrespectful," he continued. "Basically undressing you with his eyes."

Your breath quickened, your stomach burning with frustration. "And I could've handled it myself."

"How?"

For a second, you hesitated. How would you have handled it? Would you really have said anything? Sure, you could say you would've, but if Caleb hadn't stepped in back there, would you have? Really?

"I would've said something," you responded, the words weak, even to your own ears. And Caleb caught it. The waver in your voice? He didn't miss that—the sound that told him you weren't sure, but still answering just for the sake of argument.

"Right."

Heat rushed through your veins at that single-word. Right. Right, as if it was impossible for you to defend yourself.

"This is the problem," you spat, instantly regretting the bitterness that laced your words, but committing to it anyway.

"What is?"

"This!" you said, exasperated, hands making some incomprehensible gesture between him and yourself. "You don't even let me try to protect myself."

The words felt like a punch to the gut. This? As in him? Something hot and ugly was crawling up his throat. He should've stopped it. In any other circumstance—where he hadn't seen some stranger ogle you like you were some piece of meat—maybe he could've been calmer.

But he had watched some guy ogle you, and now he was the one in the wrong for standing up for you?

"You think I like always being the one to step in?"

Caleb should've shut his mouth right then and there, but the words were already out. He couldn't stop now.

"You think it feels good to always be on edge," he continued, voice rougher than he intended, "wondering if I’m crossing a line or just doing what you won’t?"

The last had more bite than the rest and your breath instantly caught in your throat.

Then, in a fresh wave, it all came back, frustration washing over you.

"You're not listening!" you seethed. "It doesn't matter what I can and can't do! I'm not asking you to play hero!"

Your voice shook with the weight of your emotions. "You choose that on your own, and I keep asking you not to!"

Caleb huffed, shaking his head as he took a small step back. "Okay, so next time I should just watch?"

Your throat closed up, angry tears welling in your eyes.

Not now.

Please not now.

"No, that's not what I'm—" You paused, trying to swallow back the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

You hated this.

You hated crying out of frustration.

"That's not what I'm saying," you finished, your voice losing the bitter edge it had just seconds ago.

Caleb let out a soft exhale. He caught the slight shake in your voice, the way you'd silently pulled back.

Fuck.

He was being an asshole.

Caleb softened, but for a while, neither of you said anything. You wouldn't even look at him, and that alone was devastating. Caleb hated that he'd done this, that he'd let himself get carried away, trying to prove he was justified rather than listen to you.

His voice came out quieter when he spoke again. "What do I do? I mean, I can't—I can't just watch people do shit to you. But I also can't defend you." He let the words settle before continuing, "So what do I do?"

You ran a shaky hand down your face. "Forget it. Just—" You shook your head, turning on your heel and rushing toward the guest-room, the one that was reserved just for you.

Panic flared in Caleb's chest. "Pips—"

But you were already gone, slamming the door behind you.

Caleb stood in the doorway, his heart pounding in his ears. The apartment was suddenly quiet. Empty.

You always slept in his room when you were over. Even after fights. Even when things got messy.

So he waited up in bed for you.

10 minutes had gone by, and nothing.

15 minutes. Still nothing.

Then 30. And it was becoming painfully clear you weren't coming to bed with him tonight.

He knew he should give you space, so he tried to sleep, but he kept replaying your fight, kept replaying the way the angry set of your brow softened the moment he'd gone too far.

Then he thought about the tears in your eyes—

God, the tears.

He was horrible.

Caleb couldn't stand this. With a heavy breath, he reached toward his nightstand and grabbed his phone, thumbs moving shakily across the keyboard.

Caleb: i messed up.

Caleb: i didn't hear you.

Caleb: i'm sorry.

Caleb: can i still kiss you goodnight?

Meanwhile, you were in bed, cheeks puffy and eyes rimmed red, staring at his texts. You wanted to say yes. Wanted him to come in through the door and fix everything with a little kiss and a few sweet words.

But the fight kept replaying in your head. The bitterness, the almost mocking lilt he couldn't quite hide.

It hurt.

Too much to just let him in again.

You: not tonight.

[sugarwarachan]

hot for teacher

chapter two previous

pairing: shouta aizawa x f!reader

synopsis: You’re not expecting your day to fall to pieces at 8:21 a.m., but life hasn’t really been going your way lately. A string of lackluster dates, followed by two dead vibrators (with missing cords!), and the only outlet left for your mounting sexual frustration—the smut blog you diligently update—has been discovered by the one person you never wanted to find it: fellow teacher Shouta Aizawa. Who might just be the inspiration behind most of the fantasies you post about.

chapter cws: phone sex -> video call sex, soft dom aizawa being soft as hell, reader being vulnerable on main and hating it, gratuitous use of pet names, dirty talk, praise kink on crack, D/s vibes but never explicitly said, he talks you through it, reader referred to as girl once

word count: 2.2k

aizawa: You’re a good writer.

aizawa: This is Shouta, by the way. Shouta Aizawa, I mean. I suppose I should have started with that.

The compliment cracks your face into a wide, goofy grin that the rest of his texts only magnifies. He's a little clumsy with this form of media, and the thought softens the edge of anxiety.

You still can't wrap your head around the fact that Shouta fucking Aizawa not only found your blog, but was actually maybe into it?

You’ve mostly known him on the periphery, a part of the school’s landscape but never someone you felt comfortable becoming casual friends with. A crush of your magnitude already made talking to him difficult enough.

Which is probably best to not remind yourself of that fact before doing whatever the fuck it is you're doing with Aizawa.

The memory of fingers rubbing circles into your palm pops into your head. His touch had instantly calmed the riot of thoughts in your head.

You stare down at your phone. Thank you is not enough to say, and yet you have no idea what else to add. You shake your head. You’re a grown adult, for fuck’s sake. Surely you can respond to a text message.

aizawa: Can I call you?

You throw your phone across your bed. One of your cats, Bao Bao, raises his head to glare at you.

"Sorry, baby." You offer conciliatory scritches. He consents while your phone buzzes from the corner of the bed.

You pick it up with far more trepidation than necessary.

"Hi." You voices sounds wild to you, all high pitched and breathy with your heart thundering so hard in your ears you barely hear him say hello back. "How are you?"

You punch a fist into the bed sheets. How are you? Fucking seriously?

"Good. Are you nervous?"

You can't help but sigh. Clocked it in one. "Unbelievably."

A pause.

"Because it's me?"

"No, it's not that." You bite your lip. "I've just..."

It’s not like you’re inexperienced. You’ve fucked plenty of guys, but never really quite enjoyed having sex with any of them, which led to you churning out fantasies online.

"I've never really done any of the things I actually like with the people I've slept with. I guess I'm worried I'll be...bad, or something."

"Do you often think about your partner's experience over your own?"

This conversation is sounding more like a clinical psychologist appointment then a get-to-know-your-fuck-buddy chat.

A horrible thought occurs to you.

What if you're some kind of experiment to him? A curiosity? Rumi might know him from his college days and vouch for him, but you don't know shit about the guy.

"You know I can hear your brain whirring through the phone?"

"Fuck." You exhale out a laugh. "I'm sorry. I'm just finally realizing that I don't actually know what your intentions are. And men tend to be..."

"Manipulative pieces of shit?" he offers.

"Yeah. Something like that."

"I'm sorry. My 20 questions routine probably isn't helping."

You smile softly. "That and my anxiety. Always pushing forward the worst possible thought with little to no evidence. You're right, though. I'm usually in my head when I'm with someone. Can never get out of it long enough to actually enjoy myself."

He hums, considering. "What would help you not think so much?"

"Talking usually helps. I have a thing for nice voices."

"Do you like mine?" You swear you hear a touch of apprehension in his tone.

"Yeah," you say. "It's deep and kind of... I don't know, rumbley?"

"Rumbley," he repeats, chuckling. "I've never heard that before."

"It's a good thing, I swear."

"As long as you like it."

You have to strongly fight the desire to kick your feet up and down.

Keep it together.

Aizawa starts to speak again. "I know this is just words right now, but I want you to feel comfortable enough with me so you can tell me what you like and don't like."

Your stomach swoops at the calm intent.

"Right. I - " You swallow. "I want that, too."

"Good." The single word dries your mouth up. “Do you like to be called anything specific?"

An image of Aizawa's hand collaring your throat flashes through your head, his mouth an inch away from your ear as he tells you to behave—

"Isn’t this, I dunno, boring to you?" You toss the question out in a pitiful attempt at deflection. This conversation is already too honest, too real, too close to exposing who you are to another person.

He pauses. “Why would this be boring to me?”

"You know. We’re not doing the typical phone sex stuff. We’re just…talking."

"And you don't think that's enough to interest me?"

It never has been before.

You shut out the pitiful answer.

"Sorry. In my head again."

He's quiet for a moment.

"You’re telling me you’re not wet just thinking about the things I want to call you when we’re together?"

Your whole body flashes hot.

"I mean—"

"Tell the truth, sweetheart."

It’s impossible not to be, you realize; just from his voice alone, your panties are already damp and sticky with your arousal.

"Yes," you admit, and you wish you could see the look on his face when he lets out a gentle groan.

"I don’t care what phone sex is supposed to be like, I just want it to be what we like."

Oh god, you weren’t counting on Shouta Aizawa being sweet.

"That was one," you say, cheeks on fire. How is this both the tamest and sexiest conversation you’ve ever had? "I like being called sweetheart. But only, like, if I’ve been good."

Admitting this makes you feel off-kilter. You’ve never had such a frank discussion about what you like in bed, but talking to him feels safe, easy, even if your whole body aches, demanding to be touched.

"Oh?" His voice shifts, a deeper register making that single sound strike deep in your gut. "And what do you like to be called when you’ve been bad?"

You’re pretty positive that if Aizawa called you his little whore you’d detonate on the spot.

"You must have—"

"I know what you’ve written. I want to know what you like."

There's a bite in his tone you recognize, a struggle to keep himself quiet.

"Are you hard?" you blurt out.

His chuckle is strained. "Have been this entire time. And you called our conversation boring."

You grin at the teasing. "Can I see?"

You want to, suddenly, with a desperation that knocks you flat. If he were here, you're pretty sure you'd fucking crawl on your knees to get to him.

"Tell me what you like to be called, and I'll consider it."

You tell him instantly. "Slut, whore, brat. You could probably call me your little bitch and I’d like it."

"Fuck." He sounds wrecked. "Are you touching yourself, sweetheart?"

The pet name washes over you like sunshine.

"Umm. No, actually. I was..."

Waiting for your permission.

You handed him the reins a while ago, you realize, as soon as you obeyed his command to tell the truth.

"What are you wearing?"

Your thoughts stumble.

"The truth, y/n." His voice is so low now it's almost a growl. "I don't give a fuck if you're in a teddy or a trash bag, I just need to know how to get you naked the fastest."

"A t-shirt and panties," you breathe out. Arousal makes your skin tingle and pulse, every intonation of his voice drawing you closer to the edge. Rubbing your thighs together does nothing to ease the ache.

"Shit. You probably look so fucking cute in your bed right now." You hear him grunt and then a drawer shut. Thinking about Aizawa slicking up his hands and fucking his fist drives another thrum of desire through you. "Spread your legs apart, baby, pretend I'm right in front of you. Can you do that?"

You can barely breathe you're so turned on. "Yes, I can do that."

"Good girl. Now pull your panties to the side. Tell me how wet you are."

Just the caress of your fingers on your hips and inner thigh is enough to make you tremble. A light buzzing fills your ears and the world drops away to just your fingertips gathering the slick at your entrance. You graze your clit and gasp.

"I'm - " You suck in a breath, trying to articulate the words. "I don't think I've ever been this wet. Fuck, you're not even here and I'm practically soaking through my fucking sheets."

A second later, a video notification comes through.

You answer and Aizawa's face appears, his stubble heavier than normal, eyes hungry.

"Knew you'd look fucking beautiful like this," he says before you have time to speak. His eyes rove over your face like he's mapping it.

You wriggle under the compliment, under the implication—had he thought of you, too, before the blog?

"You look so good," is the only thing you can think to say, but Aizawa doesn't seem to mind. His eyes crinkle into a small smile. It's one you almost wish you hadn't seen, its sincerity something so rarely turned toward you it nearly stings.

"Thanks, honey."

Oh, you're never coming back from this.

"You still want to see?"

Really, truly, never coming back after Aizawa pans down his stomach, passing over a dark happy trail that makes your mouth water, and angles his phone over his cock.

Your pussy clenches around nothing.

"ohmygodyou'rebig," comes out in one long rush.

His head falls back against his headboard. He sucks in a breath and you watch, mesmerized, as he starts stroking his shaft slowly. He squeezes and twists the head, a little bit more pre-cum glistening at the tip.

"You've gotta stop lookin' at it like that, sweetheart, or I'll cum like a fucking teenager." Pride washes over you at how destroyed he sounds. It's like he would push himself through the phone if it were possible. "You have something there that will make you cum fast? I'm barely holding on and I want to finish with you."

You fumble for your rose, a thought occurring to you. Normally, you'd be too embarrassed to even suggest it, but you want to with Aizawa.

"Do you want to see me?"

The sound he makes is pornographic. You bite your lip, twisting your inner thighs together.

"Yes. God yes, I want to see you."

"I know you said you wanted me naked earlier, but maybe I can leave my shirt on?"

He nods. "Yeah, baby, let's do that. It's not like I don't want to see all of you. I just—"

"Want to save some things for next time?" you supply.

"Yeah." That soft smile again, the one that feels like your heart's being set on fire. "Exactly."

You do the same general pass over your body that Aizawa did, tracing over your waist and hips, encouraged by the way his eyes drink in every inch of exposed skin. Before you turn the rose on, you sink two fingers into your pussy and slide back out, slick webbing in between your fingers.

"Jesus, you're soaking wet." You can hear the lewd squelch of his hand along his dick and the moan you let out rivals his from earlier. You're shaking you're so turned on. "Turn your rose on, sweetheart, and then come back to me. I want to see you when you fall apart."

The toy suctions against your clit. A whimper falls from your mouth, and then several more, as Aizawa's voice washes over you. You lose track of how many times he tells you how good you're doing for him, how beautiful you look, but it feels like only seconds later that you're cresting toward your peak.

"Shouta," you breathe out, gasping for breath. His eyes are fixed on you, something unnameable in his gaze. "Please please please—"

"Cum, sweetheart," he says, and your eyes fall shut, voice keening into a wail as you thrash on your bed in the fiercest orgasm you've ever had. "That's my girl, showing me how much she wants me there stuff her full. Fucking perfect, so fucking perfect—"

Through the haze of orgasm, you barely register Aizawa's own orgasm, your own name echoing in your head as he finds his release.

"That was..." you trail off. You have no idea how to describe what that was besides life-changing, but that feels a little too intense to say.

"Amazing," he finishes. "Absolutely amazing. You were incredible."

You're pretty sure your body temperature could set your bed on fire you're so pleased by the compliment.

"You know you're cute when you're embarrassed," he teases.

You groan. "Your pillow talk needs work."

You were joking, but his face turns serious. "Got it. You were okay the whole time?"

A smile takes over your face before you can stop it. "Yeah. I was great. The whole time."

"Good."

You both don't say anything, and then you realize you're just staring at him, and the comfort is starting to make your skin itch. You aren't used to this.

"I should go to bed." The time on your bedside nightstand reads 1:03 a.m. "You too if we're going to get all the exams graded before break."

"Right. Good night, sweetheart."

You fall into sleep after the call clicks off, a trace of a smile on your lips.

You don't see the email come through.

SL: TIME SENSITIVE: SPRING BREAK - DEBATE TEAM COMPETITION - CHAPERONES NEEDED

taglist: @phaticserpent, @magidzi, @hotlosergirl17, @luckybibucky, @heyithinkilike, @getoisinnocent, @personally4runa, @kennys-partner, @geektastic84, @wave2mia, @bakery-angel, @constanttea, @aryuunachigiri, @sskorvid, @therefore-evermore, @one-scarred-mofo, @food4dead, @alphabetsoupyum, @cielito--lindo, @rentheannihilator, @juiceeypeach, @imastorytelleritsondvd, @ivydoesit23, @anotherfuckedupdayinthelifeofme, @deputy-azor, @ibby-miyoshi-nerd, @h3rmit-purrrrple420, @lousypotatoes, @hisbitch101, @greedygobbo

(･ω･)つandy's notes: another outrageously self-indulgent chapter that i had SO MUCH fun writing and I really hope you all enjoy it, too!! the posting schedule is Mon/Fri, hope u follow along! <3

ALSO ALERT ALERT AIZAWA POV NEXT WEEK

[withahappyrefrain]

i love that bob is getting love but where the hell is the love for our baby Jake. Sure, he's a grade a asshole but he's still admirable and honest

I like to think that Jake would be his wife's number 1 hype man. Like he gets turned on watching people flirt with his hot wife at the bar

Even assholes need love too!

Oh God, I can just imagine! This also fits Jake and Venus.

"Look at her," Jake beams, motioning to the opposite end of the bar, "Isn't she something?"

Bradley looked over to find you at the bar, facing a new recruit. Given the guy's body language, it was obvious the dude was flirting. He had the whole leaning thing going on.

You, on the other hand, looked bored to tears.

"Uh....is he flirting with your wife?" Bradley asked, incredulous of how calm Jake was. If it were Bradley's wife, he'd already be across the room.

"oh yeah, he's trying so hard. Bought her a drink and everything," Jake grinned, "Not that I blame the guy. My wife should be getting all her drinks for free."

"Doesn't she already?" Bradley snorted. Jake never was the possessive type. If anything...it seemed he got something out of watching others attempt to flirt with you.

"Watch this. He's able to lean further in. Probably to ask her if she wants to go somewhere quiet," Jake was practically giddy.

Right on cue, the new recruit leaned forward, closing some of the distance between your body and his. Bradley couldn't lip read the man's exact words, but he could make out want, out, and quiet.

"Now watch this. She's gotta let him down gently."

You leaned back, increasing the distance. Bradley recognized the look on your face; a polite smile, the shake of your head.

Holding up your left hand and pointing to the gold wedding band that was nestled under your huge engagement ring (seriously, how the hell did Jake afford that?).

You pointed in Jake and Bradley's direction. The poor recruit visibly gulped when he made eye contact with Jake.

The look of worry quickly turned into confusion when Jake responded with a happy wave and smile.

"C'mon Bradshaw," Jake elbowed his coworker, "Smile and wave!"

"Now he thinks I'm married to your wife too!"

"Please," Jake scoffed, "Like you could ever pull my wife.'

[lowkeylaufeysons]

forget me not

Caleb loses his memories, again. It turns out he's even more embarrassing about you without his memories.

caleb/afab!mc | xia yizhou/afab!mc

author's note: this is pure teeth rotting fluff. the power of love baybee, established relationship, i just wanted to write caleb being even sappier because he's high from painkillers, not proofread or beta'd, happy ending.

The light above Caleb's bed blinds him when he wakes up, piercing through his skull. It's aggravatingly bright, and he would really like to return back to nothing, thank you very much. Who the fuck interrupted the best sleep of his life?

He tries to swallow around the sandpaper in his throat, but he can barely move. He doesn't even know if he can open his eyes, settling instead for a half-assed groan.

Explosion, he thought, I had to escape...where?

"You're awake!" a voice cuts through the fog, "Caleb oh my god--".

Slowly the room comes into a sort of focus, and Caleb vaguely registers that he's in a medical facility of some kind. Not again. Before he can panic though, he turns to the sound of the voice and that's when he sees it.

There's an goddess sitting on his bed, holding his hand.

Caleb's heart starts to race, and the monitor next to him beeps angrily. There are purple shadows underneath her eyes from crying, was it something he did? and she's clearly exhausted, but there's no doubt about it. He had been sent a literal angel. Angels are real.

His jaw drops and he stares at her, mouth agape.

The angel looks at him, gaze searching his face, "Caleb are...are you alright? You probably don't remember but--".

Oh my god even her voice is perfect. Caleb thinks. Before he can stop himself, he blurts out-

" Who are you? Are you an angel?"

--

All around the room, jaws drop.

Your eyes widen in shock at Caleb's question. Zayne had warned you that he would likely be very disoriented when he woke up, and that his memories may not be fully intact after removing the Toring chip. You were prepared for that possibility when you signed his surgery waiver, after all, you were more concerned that Caleb was alive and free of the chip, even if it meant forgetting everything that you had built together.

But this wasn't what you were expecting.

Caleb continues to stare at you in wonder as he takes you in, purple eyes slowly going over your form, a look of naked innocent awe as he brings your hands to his cheek. Despite a lifetime together, you've never gotten used to the full intensity of his gaze.

"I must be dead..." he whispers, nuzzling your hand. "There's an angel here to take me away this time at least...right? That's what you're here for?"

Gideon leans forward, grinning, "Oh he's so high."

An emotion you can't name threatens to burst out of your chest.

His speech is slurred, but he continues to nuzzle into your hand, a dopey smile making its way across his lips. Suddenly he groans.

"Oh my god, you even smell good," Caleb declares, "You must be God's favorite. Seriously though, am I dead? If I'm not dead, why did they send a model to my room?"

Gideon starts laughing, "He's even more embarrassing stoned, holy shit".

--

Caleb didn't know that angels could blush. She's looking at him in shock, face warm, so lovely. So lovely, and she smells so good. In his delirium he can't place it, but he wants to live in the scent forever. If he's dead well, he better try to savor this feeling for as long as he can before it all turns to nothing.

She's trying to respond to him, but all she can manage is a very eloquent, "...What?" before turning to the door as a man with black hair steps in.

"You're not dead," this black haired man who looks like a doctor says, " She's your fiancee."

Caleb snorts in derision, "There's no fucking way. Me? Engaged to her? I'm dead and my head hurts, but I'm not stupid."

The doctor, Zayne or whatever based on his name tag, flips through a chart before turning to address her. "We don't know the full extent of his memory loss yet, but his physical signs are trending in the right direction. This is good."

He turns back to Caleb with a sigh, "I swear on my medical license. She's your fiancee. You're also not dead. Now can you sit up? I just need to run some assessments,"

-

Caleb looks at you, fingers tightening around your hand. "It's not funny to lie to someone," he insists. "Angel, are you both making fun of me?".

With some effort, you help Caleb move to a sitting position. He starts a little at the feeling of your hand on his bare back, and you can see his cheeks and ears flush red.

The entire time that Zayne runs his tests, Caleb stares you with a mixture of joy and disbelief. His mouth seems to be on autopilot, unfiltered sentences praising your looks, your voice, the clothes you're wearing, the entire time mumbling about how lucky he was. He's overjoyed when you slip his dogtags back on him, marveling out loud at how of course you picked the perfect gift for him. He listens with rapt attention as you describe your shared apartment, his proposal, the past few years. When you scroll to the engagement photos on your phone, his eyes well up.

"There's just no way. How did I get so lucky? My fiancee is you? You're perfect."

It's all a little bit much, and you giggle. You're not sure how it's possible, but Caleb smiles even harder upon hearing you. "You think I'm perfect?" you ask. "Really?"

With great effort, Caleb sits up straighter, " I know you're perfect. God you're so-- you're so-- really??? I'm going to be your husband?". Out of the corner of your eye, you see Zayne roll his eyes. Caleb had always been forthcoming with complimenting and praising you, but this was on a whole other level.

You clasp both of his hands in yours. "Look, here's the ring." It's a beautiful band, with stones that you had picked together. He had confessed afterwards that he had purchased the centerpiece with the first few paychecks he got from the DAA, and had been holding onto it ever since. "I'm your fiancee Caleb, I've been waiting for you to wake up from your operation."

Suddenly, he scowls, "I made you wait? God, I'm sorry I should've---" his voice falters as he suddenly looks at your lips, "You're-- can we...kiss? I can kiss my wife right? Can I kiss you?"

Wife.

You laugh, "We can kiss as much as you want", you say as you gently hold his face and press your lips to his.

Just like your first kiss, he stares at you after you pull away, his eyes filled with adoration. It reminds you of how the Caleb is when it's just the two of you, open, honest, exuberant, as warm as a beautiful summer day.

"Holy shit" he whispered, "We're gonna ...I'm not dreaming. You're real."

His exhaustion catches up to him, and he sinks back into the pillows. "Do I....have I treated you right?"

Your heart catches at the question. Despite his addled state, you can hear a trace of fear creep into his voice. The guilt and self-hatred omnipresent in his mind. Softened now, but forever there. His ever present concern for you, despite the state he was in, brings tears to your eyes.

"You're actually a stupid jerk sometimes, but you do," you say, "I love you so much."

His eyes start to flutter close, "Oh good...I have to...keep doing that. I gotta be with you forever."

You lean to kiss his forehead, "I need you forever too. Please stay by my side."

-

"Who are you? Are you an angel?"

Caleb groans as the crowd turns to the screen. Gideon promised a surprise was involved in his best man speech and could he pretty please use a projector too? Unbeknownst to Caleb, Gideon had managed to record the entire episode, and now he's playing it at max volume at your wedding.

"I'm dead and my head hurts, but I'm not stupid."

You turn to him, beaming, " You know I'm going to use this against you for the rest of our lives right?"

He scoffs in mock outrage, "As if you didn't already have enough ammo against me,"

The ammunition is my heart, my soul, it was promised to you since we met.

"I've always made it clear that I love you."

"Yeah but you think I'm an angel, literally sent from the heavens."

Caleb presses a kiss to your forehead, "That's what I thought since the moment we were kids, when we first met. Now I'm the lucky man with an angel for a wife."

When we first met in that sterile room, I knew my destiny was always going to be intertwined with you, is what he doesn't say out loud.

But it's always been obvious hasn't it?

a/n: This was originally way angstier at first but I scrapped all the backstory (it involved a ship exploding and like end-of-life flashbacks). Slinking back to my cave to write Xavier/MC/Caleb next I think. Reblogs and comments and likes are always appreciated!

divider is from CafeKitsune

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I wanna see what’s Ace’s family’s reaction when they found out Ace is dating reader Heheheh

I decided to have only Ace's brother present, since Mr. and Mrs. Trappola have yet to receive strong characterization.

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

The Trappola brothers sat across from one another upon red velvet chairs, and you, between them. They were both intently focused on building a house of playing cards—a task that Ace had warned took “serious patience, coordination, and a gentle touch.” (You had rolled your eyes and responded, “Great. You let me know when you’ve found someone that has all that.”)

Ace carefully laid a Two of Spades down, formed a triangle with a Three of Clubs and a Four of Diamonds. His hand slowly retreated, and the triangle stayed. He expelled a sigh, directed away from the cards so as to not disturb them.

You would have clapped for him, but Ace had discouraged you before the game had even started. So instead, you tapped your index and middle fingers together. Still giving applause, but not nearly enough to rattle the house of cards.

“Your move.”

“Huh, you’ve gotten better at this,” his brother mused. He toyed with an Ace of Hearts, expertly twirling it between dexterous fingers. “Too bad. I was really looking forward to smoking you in front of your new friend.”

“In your dreams,” Ace sneered, passing you a glance. “The last thing I’d want is to look uncool in front of my partner.”

His brother drew himself up in his seat. The card in his hand, stilling. “Your partner? Since when were you two a thing?”

“Oh, you know… since a while ago,” Ace casually replied. “And honestly, I can’t really blame’m. Who wouldn’t fall for my dashing good looks and roguish charm? I’m a catch!”

His brother regarded you with an almost pitying look. “It’s not too late to change your mind,” he advised.

You burst into laughter. "I think I'm good. Ace is an idiot, but he's at least my idiot."

He raised an eyebrow. "So you've got a sense of humor. You'll need that if you're going to put up with Ace all of the time. Congrats, you passed the first test."

"Whaddya mean 'put up with' me?!" Ace protested, puffing up his cheeks. A pout--adorable, you think.

"I mean it exactly how I said it. It's practically a full-time job dealing with you," his brother replied cheekily. "You gotta prepare people for it, or else they won't know what they've signed up for."

"Oh, come on! You're making me sound way worse than I actually am."

"This, coming from the guy who ghosted his ex?" He smirked, and you could see the family resemblance in it. The slight narrowing of the eyes, the way his mouth angled. "I dunno, I was half expecting you to stay single forever after that royal screw-up, lil' bro. You're lucky you found someone willing to take you~"

Pink exploded onto Ace's cheeks. "H-Hey...!" he hissed, leaning toward his brother. "Did you seriously have to bring that up?! Have a little more tact, will ya?!"

The older Trappola grinned. "Gotcha."

You realized why.

Ace's sudden movement had sent a slight breeze against the card house. It wobbled from top to bottom--then the structure collapsed in on itself, the cards all folding into one another. Within seconds, the house was a pile on the coffee table.

Ace fell to his knees with a pathetic wail, scrambling to salvage his hard work. His brother looked on, chuckling. A card, still in his hand.

"I didn't place mine yet," he declared triumphantly, "and since you made the house fall, it's technically my win!"

"Y-You sneaky...! You taunted me on purpose!!"

"Yeah, and it worked like a charm." He flicked Ace on the forehead. "You were too busy trying to flex in front of your S/O. It was easy to take advantage of that. You always were a cocky, predictable brat."

"Grrrrr..!!"

"Ace, it's fine," you soothed him, a hand on his arm. "You did your best. It doesn't change how I feel about you."

"Tch, there you go being all sappy again... You're so lame sometimes," Ace grumbled--but he covered your hand with his. A small gesture, but a reassuring one.

"Hahah, look at you two lovebirds," his brother teased, wagging a finger at you. Then he reached out and roughly ruffled Ace's hair, despite his complaints and attempts to swat him away. "Happy for you though, lil' bro! You gotta tell me how this love story started--"

[thirteenheavens]

Hello, good evening! or good morning or good afternoon aksjsjd sorry🥲

Do you still accept requests? If yes, can you please make Prof!Cheol x College! student oc fic?🙏�� Thank youuuuu!🫶🏽

Ps : sorry if my grammar is wrong ajznsjdh🥲

Yes Mr Choi || Choi Seungcheol

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Sir kink, Age gap but student is in uni

Notes: hope you guys enjoy this I spent so long on this! Last fic of the night <33

Seungcheol notices you daydreaming in his class again, his usually patient demeanor starting to crack. The entire class has already finished their work, but you're still scribbling aimlessly on your paper.

"Miss Y-N," he says firmly, walking over to your desk. "It seems like you're not taking this lesson seriously." His voice carries a hint of authority as he stands over you, arms crossed. "I've given you plenty of chances, but your behavior needs to change."

"Maybe I just find this class boring, sir," you respond defiantly, finally looking up at him. "Or maybe I just don't care." Seungcheol's jaw tightens at your attitude, his dark eyes narrowing. He leans down closer to you, lowering his voice so only you can hear.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he whispers harshly. "And it's going to get you into trouble." He places a firm hand on your desk, caging you in with his body. "After class, you're staying behind. We need to have a serious discussion about your behavior." Your friends snicker at your situation, watching as Seungcheol walks back to the front of the classroom. He shoots them a stern look, silencing their laughter.

As the bell rings and everyone else files out, you gather your things reluctantly. The room feels different with only you and Seungcheol left behind. He stands at his desk, watching you with a mixture of irritation and something else you can't quite place. "Come here," he commands firmly.

"Yes sir," you say, walking to his desk with a hint of attitude still in your voice. "What did you want to talk about?" Seungcheol turns to face you, his expression stern but with a hint of desire behind his eyes. He takes a step closer, his tall frame towering over you.

"Your constant disrespect and daydreaming in my class," he says firmly. "It ends now."

"We're not even five years apart," Seungcheol continues, his voice dropping lower. "Yet you seem determined to treat me like I'm some old teacher." He moves even closer, backing you against his desk. "You need to learn some respect," he says, his hand gripping the edge of the desk beside you.

"But I have a feeling you're just looking for attention," he adds with a knowing smirk. "And I'm going to give it to you."

"Oh really?" you challenge, your heart racing as he traps you against his desk. "And how do you plan on doing that, Mr. Choi?” Seungcheol's eyes darken with desire as he leans in closer, his lips hovering near your ear. "I have my ways," he whispers huskily.

His hand moves to your hip, fingers digging into your skin possessively. "First, I'll make you focus. And then..." he trails off, letting his breath fan across your neck. Seungcheol abruptly steps back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "This is inappropriate," he mutters, clearly torn between desire and professionalism.

"I'm your teacher," he reminds himself more than you, turning away to create some distance. "And I need to maintain boundaries." His breathing is uneven as he struggles with his own attraction to you. "But God, you make it hard." Seungcheol takes one step forward, then stops himself again. His internal battle is visible on his face - wanting you but knowing he shouldn't.

"You're testing my limits," he says hoarsely, voice thick with desire. "One more step and I might not be able to stop myself." He runs his tongue over his lower lip, gaze raking over your body with barely concealed hunger. "Do you even understand what you're doing to me?"

"Maybe I want you to lose control," you say boldly, moving closer to him. "Maybe I want to see what happens when you finally give in." Seungcheol's breath catches in his throat as you close the distance between you. His hands clench into fists at his sides, fighting the urge to touch you.

"You're playing with fire," he warns, voice barely above a whisper. "And I'm the one who's going to get burned." Seungcheol grabs your wrist, spinning you around and pressing you against the desk. His body is flush against yours, pinning you in place.

"You're such a little tease," he growls in your ear, one hand sliding up your thigh. "Always pushing my buttons, testing my limits." His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck. "But I'm done playing games," he says roughly. "I'm going to teach you a lesson."

Seungcheol nips at your exposed neck while his hand continues its journey up your thigh. "I've wanted to do this for so long," he confesses between kisses. His fingers brush against your core, finding you already wet for him. "Fuck, you're soaking," he groans, pressing his hard length against your backside.

"And you're mine now," he says possessively, fingers teasing your entrance through your clothes. "No more teasing. No more attitude. You're going to do exactly what I say."

"Make me," you challenge, arching your back to press against his erection. "Show me who's really in charge here." Seungcheol lets out a feral growl at your defiance, roughly flipping you around to face him. His dark eyes are filled with primal desire as he grips your chin.

“You asked for it," he says, voice dripping with authority. "On your knees. Now." Seungcheol unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants, revealing his thick cock. "Suck it," he commands, gripping the base. You drop to your knees obediently, looking up at him with desire. His free hand tangles in your hair again, guiding you toward his throbbing length.

"Show me how much you want this," he demands, sliding the tip across your lips. "Make me believe you deserve to be taught a lesson." You part your lips and take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his head. Seungcheol lets out a deep groan, watching intently as you work his length.

"That's it," he praises, thrusting gently into your mouth. "Such a good girl when you're not being a brat." His grip on your hair tightens as he starts moving faster, hitting the back of your throat. "Take all of it," he commands, growing more dominant by the second. You struggle to breathe as he fills your mouth, tears forming in your eyes from the intensity. Seungcheol notices your discomfort and eases up slightly.

"You're doing so well," he says with a smirk, wiping away your tears. "But I want to feel your throat." He holds your head still and pushes deeper, testing your limits. "Swallow around me," he orders, his voice hoarse with pleasure. "I want to see you take every inch." You obey his command, swallowing around his thick length. Seungcheol lets out a guttural moan, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.

"Fuck, that's perfect," he groans, holding you in place. "You're such a good little cock-sucker." His thighs tense as he gets closer to release, his control slipping further. "I'm going to cum down your throat," he warns, fingers tightening in your hair. "And you're going to swallow every drop."

With one final thrust, Seungcheol releases into your mouth, holding you firmly against him as he empties himself. "Drink it all," he commands, watching your throat move as you swallow. When he finally pulls out, you gasp for air, his taste lingering on your tongue. Seungcheol helps you stand up, supporting your weight as your legs tremble.

"Such a good student," he says with a satisfied smirk. "Now let's see how you do in my private lessons." Seungchel bends you over his desk, your skirt flipped up to expose your bare skin. "Look at this perfect ass," he says, massaging your cheeks roughly.

"You've been a naughty student," he continues, delivering a sharp smack. "But good girls get rewarded too." His fingers trace along your wet folds, finding you dripping with need. "I'm going to make you scream," he promises, teasing your entrance with one finger. Seungcheol slides one finger inside you, then another, pumping them in and out slowly. "You're so tight and wet for me," he groans.

"I've imagined this moment so many times," he admits, curling his fingers to hit your sweet spot. "But the reality is better than any fantasy." He adds a third finger, stretching you while his other hand reaches around to rub your clit. "Cum for me," he commands. "Show me how much you want to be fucked by your teacher." Your walls clench around his fingers as your orgasm builds, your legs shaking uncontrollably. "I'm close," you moan, pressing back against his hand.

Seungcheol increases the pace, his fingers working you expertly while his palm presses against your clit. "Cum for me, now," he demands, biting your shoulder through your shirt. Your body convulses as you reach your peak, crying out his name as pleasure courses through you. "Such a good girl," he praises, working you through your climax.

As you come down from your high, Seungcheol withdraws his fingers and steps back to admire your shaking form. "That was just the beginning," he says darkly. He unzips his pants further, freeing his fully hard cock again. "Now it's time for your real lesson," he says, positioning himself behind you.

"You ready to be fucked properly?" he asks, teasing your entrance with his tip. "Because I'm not holding back anymore."

"Please, Mr. Choi," you beg, looking back at him with desperate eyes. "I need to feel you inside me." Seungcheol grins at your pleading tone, pushing just the tip in. "Begging now?" he teases. "What happened to all that attitude?" He holds still, waiting for your response while his hands grip your hips possessively. "I'll give you what you need," he promises. "But you have to be my good girl."

"I'll be your good girl," you whimper, pushing back against him. "Please, sir. Fuck me hard." Seungcheol groans at your words, his control snapping completely. He slams into you with one powerful thrust, filling you completely.

"You asked for it," he growls, setting a brutal pace as he fucks you roughly against the desk. "This is what happens when naughty girls provoke their teacher." The desk shakes with each thrust, papers scattering to the floor as Seungcheol takes you from behind. "You're so tight," he pants, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Your pussy was made for my cock," he groans, hitting deeper with each stroke. "Say it - say it was made for me." Your body bounces with the force of his movements, your walls fluttering around his thick length as pleasure builds again. "It was made for you," you cry out. "Only you, Mr. Choi!"

Seungcheol's rhythm becomes erratic as he nears his second release. "I'm going to breed you," he growls possessively. "Fill you up with my cum until you're dripping with it." His hand moves to your stomach, pressing down as if imagining his seed filling you. "Tell me you want it," he demands, his pace brutal.

"I want it!" you scream, feeling your orgasm building again. "Please, fill me up, sir! Breed me!" Seungcheol releases a primal growl as your words push him over the edge. He buries himself deep inside you, releasing his hot seed with a powerful groan.

"Take it all," he grunts, holding you tight against him as he fills you completely. "Every drop is for you." Your walls milk him as you cum again, both of you shaking from the intensity of your combined orgasms. "Mine," he whispers possessively, resting his forehead against your back. After several moments of heavy breathing, Seungcheol finally pulls out and helps you stand. His cum drips down your thighs as he turns you to face him.

"You're mine now," he says again, pulling you into a deep kiss. "I'll teach you properly from now on." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card. "Here's my personal number," he says, tucking it into your hand. "Call me tonight when you're ready for another lesson." Seungcheol watches you walk away, his eyes lingering on your swaying hips. "Until next time, Y-N," he calls after you, already planning his next move.

As you leave the classroom, he leans against his desk, adjusting his pants. "She'll be back," he thinks to himself, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "She's hooked now." From now on you’re always on time to his lectures and always paying attention. Every time Seungcheol catches your eye in class, he gives you a knowing smirk. Your studious behavior doesn't go unnoticed by him he's watching you with even more intensity than before.

After class, you receive text messages from him during office hours: "Good girl, paying attention now. Want to discuss your extra credit assignment tonight?"

[enhani-ki]

🎀 nishimura riki as your (pervert) classmate that's in love you 🎀

warnings: smut, nsfw, cursing, etc.

♱ student!reader who is a mean girl and delinquent but classmate!ni-ki thinks he might be into it.

♱ classmate!niki who keeps on showing up wherever you go.

"what the fuck, ni-ki? do you have a tracker on me or something?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

he replied, "it's just a coincidence." shrugging. "don't flatter yourself."

"bullshit." you shot back, crossed arms. "you're always popping up where i least want you."

♱ classmate!ni-ki who's very attentive to you and even though he never actually said it, he's making it painfully obvious how much he likes you.

when the teacher had finally decided to do something about your constant tardiness, you ended up sweeping the dusty classroom floor where ni-ki spotted you.

"what do you want?" you asked when you heard his footsteps. you turned to face him, resting your hands on the broom handle.

he replied, "i'm just going to wait for you."

you rolled your eyes and turned back to your task. "don't you have something better to do?"

"hmm, not really." he stepped into the room, "i think this is more fun."

"watching me clean? oh you've got a weird definition of 'fun'."

he didn't answer. he simply stood there, watching you and even though he is silent, ni-ki's presence was still distracting.

you felt tired suddenly and with a huff, you glanced over your shoulder.

"ca-can you help me?"

the words left your mouth quietly before you could stop them, you instantly regretted it. "my god..." you thought. you weren't used to asking anyone for help, let alone ni-ki's.

your cheeks burned slightly as you turned away. "nevermind..." you said, turning to focus on the floor again.

ni-ki stepped forward and took the broom from your hands without a word.

"hey-"

"i got it." he said, cutting you off. he started sweeping like he'd been doing it all his life and within minutes, the dirt pile you'd been struggling with had already doubled in size.

you stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do or feel with yourself. "you don't have to do everything..."

"you asked for help, so i'm just being thorough." he said, making you flustered.

you turned away and muttered, "thanks, i guess."

"no problem." he replied, still focused on sweeping.

you couldn't help but steal a glance at him. his sleeves were rolled up slightly and his hair was bouncing with every movement.

ni-ki looked so…

and before you could finish that thought, he dusted his hands off with a satisfied smile. "done. anything else you want me to do?"

what is he, a butler?

you stared and blinked at him, unsure how to respond. finally, you shook your head. "no... that's it."

"good." he said, walking past you to put the broom away then he leaned close to you making you step back. "next time, just ask me from the start. you know i don't mind doing stuff for you."

"are you genie?"

"jinny? who's that jerk?"

"the genie from the movie, you idiot..."

ni-ki laughed awkwardly. "ahh the one from movie."

♱ classmate!ni-ki who gets jealous easily when a guy approaches you.

"hey." a voice called. you looked up to see a guy from another class approaching, smiling easy and confident. "do you wanna partner up for gym?"

"ni-ki! here!"

you turned and saw ni-ki standing with a group of guys with a soccer ball in his hands. he was staring at the guy beside you and without hesitation, he launched the ball. not towards his friends though but directly at the guy's head.

the ball smacked into the back of his head with a satisfying thud, cutting off whatever the guy was about to say.

"ow! what the hell?" the guy turned around, rubbing the back of his head as niki jogged over, faking innocence.

"sorry, bad aim." ni-ki said, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips said otherwise.

the guy said something under his breath before walking off, leaving you staring at ni-ki in disbelief.

"seriously?" you asked, shaking your head.

ni-ki shrugged, completely unapologetic. "yeah, so what?" he asked.

you rolled your eyes, kicking another rock as you walked away from him.

♱ classmate!ni-ki who keeps asking you to go to school everyday that you actually started showing up little by little and going in early didn't seem so bad anymore, and not to mention, you're grades were starting to improve too.

you handed back his notes then ni-ki adjusted your tie, his knuckles were brushing against your chest.

suddenly, ni-ki glanced at his watch then cupped your face gently. "i gotta go before someone sees me hanging out with a bad girl." he teased, grinning while anticipating your reaction.

you raised an eyebrow, scoffing. "oh, so you're embarrassed to be seen with me?"

his lips curled into a smirk, "i'll kiss you in front of everyone if you want." he said, adding a laugh.

you eyes widened, heat started to rush to your cheeks. flustered, you pulled his hands away. "you just said-"

"i'll see you later!" ni-ki interrupted, spinning on his heel with a playful grin before sprinting off, leaving you standing there, completely stunned.

"that guy..."

♱ classmate!ni-ki who teases you about your handwriting but secretly keeps every note you've ever written for him.

♱ classmate!ni-ki who kept asking to copy your homework, but it's actually just an excuse to check if you did it right.

♱ classmate!ni-ki whom you unexpectedly started making out with, one night while studying at your house.

and when he stood and stretched after, you accidentally looked at his pants where his dick were straining against the fabric, making a tent on his sweats.

you quickly whipped your head away. but ni-ki noticed and laughed as he walked towards the bathroom. "yeah, but i promise it's nothing you can't handle."

♱ classmate!ni-ki who seems to be really patient with you.

you wandered through the library then you spotted niki sitting by the window. his head were leaning back against the seat, eyes closed and looking so peaceful.

your heart ached slightly. you sat down quietly beside him, trying not to disturb him.

and as if sensing your presence, ni-ki's eyes fluttered open. a small smile formed his lips as he shifted, putting his arm on the back of the seat behind, welcoming you. then, without a word, he rested his forehead against your shoulder.

"i missed you." he murmured, his voice were low and sleepy.

you swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck and cheeks. "what happened the other day…" you began hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. "did you tell anyone?"

ni-ki lifted his head slightly, his expression turned into worry. "no, of course i didn't."

"good…" you muttered, letting out a shaky breath you didn't realize you'd been holding.

he smiled faintly and rested his head against your shoulder again, his hand grabbed yours, caressing it, as if reassuring you.

"i- it's not a big deal, right? niki?" you asked.

ni-ki's jaw tightened for the briefest moment, his outward calm masking the storm that's happening inside. maybe it's just making out but the truth? he's been thinking about it nonstop, replaying every detail in his mind and it gave him more clarity just how much he likes you... and that he had probably jerked off thousand more times since that day.

but he wasn't about to let you know that.

"no." he whispered, his lips brushing close to your ear, "it's not."

you turned to him, your eyes lighting up with relief. "great! thanks…"

before he could respond, you stood abruptly, brushing your skirt down. "well, i've got to go now. see you!" you said, smiling while giving him a quick wave.

ni-ki watched you go, his hand still resting on the seat where yours had been moments earlier. he sighed confused, running a hand through his hair.

"yeah, sure." he muttered to himself, half-heartedly returning your wave. his eyes watched you until you disappeared from view, and then he leaned back in his chair, the ache in his chest stronger than ever.

♱ classmate!ni-ki who uses your birthday as his phone passcode.

♱ student!reader who's slowly getting more conscious and aware about how popular ni-ki is... but he's yours.

you went back to class where you notice girls were chatting together. "niki asked me to wait for him after class!" a girl squealed nearby, her excitement cutting through your thoughts.

your ears perked up liked a dog then stepped closer to eavesdrop.

"do you think he'll ask you out?" another girl added.

you scoffed audibly, unable to help yourself. the sound drew their attention and you froze as their curious gazes landed on you. blinking awkwardly, you mumbled an apology and quickly walked away.

you: are you busy after class?

you: are you going somewhere with someone?

ni-ki: oh, right. i'm just going to talk to the new class representative. like an orientation thing.

ni-ki: i can cancel, though.

you laughed loudly and shook your head.

you: no, no! don't cancel. we can hang out later.

later, the two of you were lounging on your couch, the TV playing in the background. ni-ki had his head resting on your lap, scrolling aimlessly on his phone but after a while, he sat and he set it aside. you could feel him staring at you.

"what?" you asked, not bothering to look away from your own phone.

he didn't answer immediately, instead he gently moved your hair to the side. his fingers were brushing lightly against your neck.

"stop." you muttered, still scrolling.

ni-ki chuckled softly. "i don't want to."

sighing, you set your phone aside as well, giving him an exasperated look. "why the hell do you keep doing this?"

"doing what?"

"i don't know, maybe the flirting, doing everything for me, following me around-"

"oh, i thought you already knew." ni-ki interrupted.

"knew what?"

"that i like you." he said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

you blinked, taken aback, before scoffing. "how can you say that so casually…" you muttered under your breath.

he smirked at your reaction. "what? it's true. i thought you knew."

"i know that! but i just never heard you actually say it until now." you replied, your voice quieter than before.

ni-ki sat up slightly, cupping your face in his hands and forcing you to meet his gaze. "i like you, y/n."

you turned your head slightly. "i- i said i know that… you don't have to repeat it."

his lips curved into a mischievous smile. "you shy?"

you pushed his hands away, cheeks flushed. "i'm not!"

ni-ki didn't buy it, a chuckle escaped his lips. he reached down and grabbed one of your thighs, effortlessly pulling it over his lap.

"i bet you're going to stop being like this once i become your girlfriend." you mumbled.

he shook his head with a smirk. "hmm, i don't think so."

"rea- really?"

he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. "yes," he murmured. then, his arms wrapped around you. "come closer."

you scooted closer to him, your heart pounding as he tilted his head, capturing your lips in a series of soft, gentle kisses. slowly, the kisses deepened, his hands sliding to your waist.

your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as his lips trailed down your jawline, every touch of his lips on your skin made you shiver.

breathless, ni-ki paused, his lips hovering over yours.

"you're hard." you said.

he kissed you again, deeply before pulling away slightly. "it's okay."

"but i want to..." you whispered against his lips. ni-ki smiled, reaching down and with a slow, deliberate motion, pulled his pants down, revealing his erection that's pulsing with anticipation.

he felt a rush of heat as your eyes locked onto him, the intensity in your gaze sending shivers down his spine. he reached out, cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

his cock throbbed when he felt your fingers around it, light as feathers, stroking his hard length.

ni-ki's breath hitched as you lowered your head, your lips following the path your fingers had taken. "that's good..." he groaned out as you took him in your mouth. the sensation was electrifying, sending waves of pleasure crashing through him. your head bobbing up and down, gagging each time his cock hit the back of your throat.

he gripped your hair, his fingers tangling tightly in the soft strands causing slight pain you chose to ignore.

"yes, just like that." he managed to gasp, breath catching in his throat while arching into your mouth as the pleasure became overwhelming. ni-ki shuddered, a deep guttural sound escaping him, hips bucking wildly as he came, a hot burst of release flooding your mouth.

cum started to drip in the corner of your mouth, "don't let it out." he said, wiping the remains as he watched you swallowed it like a good girl, your eyes locked on his.

you sat beside him with a smirk playing on your lips. "you're a freak."

ni-ki chuckled at your remark. "for you."

you started making out again, the kiss charged with the afterglow of what had just happened. then you felt his hand slip down, stroking his member, which was already starting to stiffen again.

"you're still hard..."

"i know, right?" ni-ki groaned, looking so needy. "can i put it inside you?"

a/n: the only way i could write these days lol

similar read: Nishimura Riki as your boyfriend

fuckboy!ni-ki x reader part i || part ii

マスターリストm.list

[mrsfancyferrari]

My Priority

Summary: MV1 + "You're my priority." 🍂🦃

Song: i'm yours by Isabel LaRosa

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 6.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The sun dipped low over the Monaco harbor, casting a golden hue over the sleek yachts and classic buildings. It was race weekend, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement.

Fans adorned in vibrant team colors filled the streets, while the pit lanes prepared for the moment that would thrill millions around the globe.

Among the horde of dedicated supporters and high-profile personalities were three friends, caught in a whirlwind of competition and camaraderie: Max, Charles and Lando.

Today, he stood in the crowd, his eyes fixed on you—a talented influencer and recently appointed ambassador for the racing team.

With your effortless smile and magnetic personality, you effortlessly drew a gathering of admirers around you, signing autographs and taking cheerful selfies, your laughter ringing like music above the cacophony.

Charles and Lando, seated comfortably on a nearby bench, exchanged knowing glances as they watched Max, who seemed lost in a dreamy haze.

“Look at him,” Lando snickered, leaning back on his hands. “I swear he’s drooling.”

“Max, the biggest simp in Monaco,” Charles teased, suppressing a laugh. “He’s got those hearts in his eyes again.”

Max was clearly oblivious, completely entranced by your graceful presence. He didn’t just admire you; it was as though he had built a world around the very idea of you.

The way you spoke with your fans, how you listened to each story and responded with genuine interest—it captivated him.

“Should we go over and rescue him?” Lando suggested, feigning concern while he grinned. “Or do we let him bask in his hopeless dreams for a little longer?”

“He’ll be fine,” Charles replied, shaking his head. “But maybe we should give him a little push. He wouldn’t take any of this as serious if it were us in front of that crowd.”

“I can’t believe he’s got it this bad,” Lando said, his tone playful, “What spice do you think he would add to the word ‘simp’ if it was his turn to describe it? Charismatic? Earned? I can practically hear his monologue right now.”

Charles laughed, then leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he studied Max. “But seriously, look at him. It’s like watching a puppy. You know he wouldn’t even know what to say to her.”

While they teased Max, he remained entranced. Conscious of his friends’ snickering, he reluctantly stole a glance at them and noticed their laughter.

Realizing what they were up to, he straightened, a blush creeping up his neck.

“Guys! Quit it!” he called out, his voice laced with embarrassment. “I’m just watching!”

“Yeah, watching her while looking like you’re in a personal rom-com,” Lando snickered. “How about a quick flirt, huh? We can’t let those hours of sim racing go to waste, Max!”

“Or we could help you,” Charles added, the corners of his mouth curling into a teasing grin. “I could distract her while you swoop in for a heroic rescue.”

Max rolled his eyes, attempting to shake off their banter, yet a smile tugged at his lips, unable to fully resist the comedic timing of his over-the-top friends.

“You two are ridiculous, you know that? I’d rather drown than ask either one of you for ‘help’.”

“Oh please, it wouldn’t even be asking!” Lando exchanged a knowing grin with Charles. “You’d be thanking us with how epic this moment will be.”

Just as their banter continued, you finished with the last group of fans, standing tall under the sun, blissfully unaware of the trio observing you.

You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and took out your phone, scrolling through your messages.

“Look! She’s free! Go now!” Lando exclaimed, shoving Max lightly.

“What? No! I can't!” Max stuttered, standing rigid, his earlier confidence evaporating.

Charles leaned closer, unfazed by Max’s protests. “You brought this on yourself. You can’t let the opportunity pass you by. Just be yourself.”

“Be myself?” Max echoed incredulously. “What does that even mean? Look at her! She’s amazing. I’m just… me.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Charles replied. “She doesn't want another trophy; she wants someone real. If you don’t go talk to her, you’ll never know.”

With a deep breath, Max took a step back, contemplating the ocean of thoughts that whirled within him. “What if I mess up? Or worse, what if she thinks I’m just a weird guy?”

“Mate! You're the Max Verstappen,” Lando shrugged. “I don't think she'll care.” He winked. “Now go. You could get all the cool points.”

With a silent nod and a rush of adrenaline, Max finally took a step forward. As he approached you, he tried to focus on the words swirling in his mind.

Closer and closer, he felt his heart race—this was it.

You looked up just as he reached you, and your eyes met his. His breath caught, a mix of excitement and nervousness weaving together. “Hey…,” he managed to say, suddenly feeling small in this vast world of possibility.

You smiled brightly, that same warmth radiating from you that had drawn him here. “Hi there! You’re a fan of the team, right?”

Max nodded, wrestling with the best response while standing here, finally face to face with the person he admired yet knew so little about. “Yeah, I mean, um, I—I am.” He swallowed hard. “I saw you with your fans over there, and, um, you were amazing.”

A soft chuckle escaped you. “Thank you! I love connecting with them. It’s the least I can do. They make our sport so vibrant and exciting.”

“I can see that,” Max said, feeling the confidence slowly emerging. “Just like you’re making this whole weekend brighter.”

The two of you shared a laugh that alleviated the tension, and with each word, the distance between you lessened. The shimmer of stars began to paint the sky as the sun set, casting a magical glow over the race circuit, where a new chapter began to unfold.

Meanwhile, Charles and Lando watched from a distance, an approving grin plastered on their faces. “Maybe our Max isn’t such a hopeless case after all,” Lando mused, nudging Charles.

“Looks like our little simp might just prove us all wrong,” Charles replied, folding his arms in satisfaction as they witnessed the unfolding moment between you and Max, already knowing it was destined to be a story worth telling.

You’ve always found comfort in the chaos of racing. The revving engines, the smell of burnt rubber, and the exhilaration hanging in the air—every race was a whirlwind of excitement.

As a social media influencer, you had the chance to immerse yourself in this electrifying world, and attending each Grand Prix was like living in a breathtaking dream.

But it wasn't just the races that thrilled you; it was the company you kept, particularly Max.

He was a whirlwind on the track, deftly maneuvering through the chaos of his competitors. Off the track, however, he was refreshingly down-to-earth.

From the moment you met, a strong bond formed—a friendship that quickly evolved into the kind of connection that made fans and onlookers raise their eyebrows with curiosity.

Your camaraderie was vibrant and infectious, turning the drivers’ lounge into your personal arena of chaos where everyone else was a spectator.

“Hey, Max!” you exclaimed, waving as he walked through the driver’s lounge after a particularly grueling race in Miami. A smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth.

“Y/N! Ready for some ‘maxplaining’?” he teased, giving you a playful nudge.

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “You mean me doing the yapping, Maxplaining is your job.”

“Touché,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But let’s compare notes on what went wrong today. I have a few things to say.”

You led him to a quieter corner, the hum of the lounge fading as the two of you settled into a rhythm. You were comfortable with each other, like family.

“Okay, admit it,” you began, leaning in conspiratorially. “You totally could have cut that last corner better. What were you thinking?”

Max feigned a horrified gasp. “What do you mean? I was just giving the crowds a show! It’s about the drama, Y/N!”

“Drama?” you chuckled. “More like a slow dance with the wall! Lando warned you, didn’t he?”

Max smirked, clearly enjoying the banter. “Lando is always going on about it. It’s like he thinks he can drive better just because he’s got a fancy new helmet.”

At that, you burst out laughing, imagining Lando prancing around, confidently boasting about helmet aerodynamics while utterly ignoring the zen of driving.

Lando had long since accepted his role in your friendship as the comedic relief, always reminding you both to loosen up amidst the pressure.

As the races sped by from more distant tracks like COTA to the legendary Brazil Grand Prix, your friendship deepened wonderfully, forming an unbreakable bond.

Instagram stories filled with laughter and spontaneous videos of Max’s antics, unfiltered and untamed, all while being followed by millions.

It wasn’t merely a friendship; it was an adventure, one you cherished.

“Oh, I’m definitely maxplaining this one for the Gram,” you declared one day, holding up your phone as Max attempted to juggle a football while simultaneously answering questions from fans.

“Y/N, focus! We need to practice our pre-race rituals, not showcase my juggling skills,” Max replied, though he couldn’t resist the allure of the camera, striking a mock-serious pose.

“Fine, focus mode activated! But I’ll always film your epic fails,” you bantered, capturing him dramatically failing to keep the football afloat.

The moments you shared were infused with invaluable lessons and effortless joy. It was on a chill evening following a hot race that things began to shift for you both.

“Do you ever think about what life would be like if you weren’t racing? Like, normal stuff?” you asked, settling comfortably in a lounge chair, your gaze fixed on the sunset outside the paddock.

Max paused, his expression turning thoughtful. “Sometimes. It’s hard, though. Racing is everything I know—you lose track of reality. But I guess if I weren’t here...” he trailed off, his brow furrowing, “I’d probably be lost.”

“I get that,” you affirmed. “But you’re not just a racer, Max. You’re an inspiration to so many. It’s more than just speed; it’s the grit and passion the fans see.”

A shy smile crept across his face. “And you, Y/N, you’re more than just this influencer. You humanize the sport. You put a face to racing that isn’t just helmets and stats.”

Caught off guard by his sincerity, you felt a flutter in your chest. “Thanks, Max. That means a lot,” you replied, warmth spreading through you.

There was a beat of silence before he continued, “Have you ever thought about how this could go beyond racing?”

Your heart raced. “What do you mean?”

"Nothing," he muttered shyly, his ears went bright red and excused himself to finish his debriefing. . . .

The evening sun cast a warm glow over the park as Max leaned against a nearby wall, scrolling through his phone.

He had been enjoying his time with you, your banter and laughter filling the air, a comfortable rhythm you had established over the weeks.

Yet, beneath the surface of your friendship, Max felt a flicker of something deeper, a burgeoning affection he hadn’t quite dared to voice.

Suddenly, he noticed a figure approaching you—a tall, dark-haired guy who carried himself with an ease that annoyed Max for reasons he couldn’t fully articulate.

As the guy drew closer, he greeted you with a wide smile, and you responded with a tension in your shoulders that sent alarm bells ringing in Max’s head.

"Hey, Y/N!" the guy said, his voice overly cheerful as if he were trying to create an upbeat atmosphere. "Long time no see! How have you been?"

“Uh, hi, Ben,” you replied, your voice lacking its usual vibrancy. “I’ve been… good.” You shifted your weight uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact while fiddling with the strap of your bag.

Max couldn’t hear the rest of your conversation, but he could see your discomfort rise like a tide. Ben leaned in closer, gesturing animatedly with his hands, and Max’s heart raced.

It was clear you wanted to retreat, but Ben seemed oblivious to your disinterest.

Max took a step off the wall, deciding he didn't like the way Ben was invading your personal space. He approached them, a casual yet protective demeanor in his stride.

“Hey, babe! There you are!” he had called out, forcing the brightness into his tone, hoping to drown out the awkwardness hanging in the air.

Your relief was evident as you turned to him with that light that made everything feel right.

“Oh! Maxy, hey!” you exclaimed, that simple greeting sending a jolt of happiness through him.

He couldn’t help but grin at the way your eyes lit up when you saw him, a stark contrast to the cloud that overhung your expression when you were with Ben.

“Yeah, I just… um, was catching up with Ben here,” you said, the slight falter in your voice not going unnoticed by Max.

He felt a flicker of protectiveness flare up inside him, and he stepped closer, narrowing the space between you and Ben.

“Ben!” Max called, feigning cheerfulness as he directed his attention to the other guy, whose smile seemed to dim the moment he realized Max had entered the scene. “You’re still talking about high school? What a wild ride that was, right?”

Ben chuckled lightly, clearly irritated with Max's interruption but not wanting to show it. “Yeah, we were just reminiscing about old times,” he replied, shooting you a glance. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

“Right,” you muttered, your gaze darting away, unable to meet either of their eyes.

Max could see you were struggling, trapped in some unspoken tension, but he didn’t want to let you stay there any longer.

“Well, we’ve got our own plans,” Max interjected smoothly, a hint of challenge in his voice as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder gently.

“So, are you ready to grab that smoothie we talked about? The mango one?” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice like a conspirator sharing a secret, “I hear it’s worth it.”

You caught his eyes, and in that moment, your gratitude was palpable.

“Yes! I could really go for a mango smoothie right now,” you said, the tension easing from your face as you shifted your weight towards Max, your unexpected ally in this moment.

“Smoothies are great for tackling the past,” Max added with an exaggerated grin at Ben, who now looked like a puppet with its strings cut.

Max felt a thrill of satisfaction watching the other man’s expression sour, knowing you were finally free to escape this uncomfortable confrontation.

“Good to see you, Y/N,” Ben forced through gritted teeth, his eyes boring into Max as if trying to figure him out.

“Yeah, you too,” you replied, the practiced politeness in your tone striking a sharp contrast to the warmth you’d shown Max.

Together, you turned away from Ben, the café’s atmosphere lightening as you stepped outside into the warm sun.

Once you reached the sidewalk, your sigh of relief was almost comical. “Thank you for that, Max. I didn’t know how to get away.”

“Anytime,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual while his heart raced. “Ben can be a little… intense, can’t he?”

You laughed, the sound genuine and bright. “Intense is one way to put it. He has a way of making things complicated.”

“He’s... well, we have some history that’s not exactly fun,” you admitted, your expression somber as you waited for your smoothies.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Max asked gently, his heart thumping in his chest.

He didn’t want to push you, but he was curious and concerned at the same time.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers tracing the rim of your phone. “It was just a complicated relationship. One of those where things started out great, but eventually spiraled into something toxic. It was… hard to let go.”

Max’s expression softened. “I understand. You don’t have to share everything if you’re not comfortable, though. I just want you to know I’m here for you, always.”

You smiled, a genuine light coming back to your eyes. “I appreciate that, Max. I think after all this time, I’ve finally learned what I want in my life. You just being here means a lot.”

“That’s what friends are for, right? And I wouldn’t want anyone to make you feel uncomfortable. You deserve better than that,” Max said, handing you the smoothie.

“Thanks, Max. You really are a great friend.” As you two walked away from the stand, you stole a glance at him, your eyes shining. “You know, I’m really glad to have you in my life.”

Max smiled. He just hoped he was something more to you. . . . .

It was a sunny Thursday afternoon when your phone buzzed unexpectedly. The screen lit up, revealing an incoming call from a number you recognized as belonging to Red Bull Racing's media team.

Your heart raced; you just had been following F1 closely, and your recent friendship with Max Verstappen had garnered its fair share of attention on social media.

You answered the call, curiosity piqued.

“Hey! Is this Y/N?” a cheerful voice greeted on the other end.

“Yes, it is!” you replied, trying to sound composed. “Who am I speaking with?”

“This is Sarah from Red Bull's media team. We’ve been monitoring the amazing fan reactions to the content featuring you and Max. We’d love to capitalize on that momentum,” she explained.

"We’d like to invite you to join Max for a fun game, which we plan to share on our social media. Are you up for it?"

You couldn’t believe it. “Absolutely,”

“Great! We’ll set it up for tomorrow afternoon. You'll both be given ten questions. Some will be about F1, and others will be random. Sound good?”

“Sounds fantastic,” you hung up, excitement bubbling inside.

Who wouldn't want to play a game with one of F1's biggest stars?

The next day, you arrived at the Red Bull Racing headquarters, a breathtaking fusion of sleek modern design and rich motorsport culture.

The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted with genuine smiles from the team members bustling around, their energy infectious, the air thick with the anticipation that always brewed before a race.

ou could hear the chatter about tire compounds and race strategies, a symphony of excitement that made your heart race.

After a quick cup of coffee—rich and strong enough to zap you awake—you engaged in light banter with a few of the engineers, teasing them about the latest car performance.

Just as you were beginning to feel at home, Olivia, the content manager, came over and ushered me into a bright studio space designed explicitly for video content.

“Ready for some fun today?” she asked, a playful glint in her eyes.

“I’m always ready for fun, especially with Max,” you replied with a grin.

As you entered the studio, you spotted Max Verstappen lounging against a table, his trademark red and blue cap perched backward on his head.

He was scrolling through his phone, but he looked up as you walked in, his face lighting up with a warm grin.

“Hey! Finally, the famous Y/N has arrived!” he exclaimed, his tone playful and welcoming.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Don’t exaggerate, Max. I’m just the guy who occasionally shows up in your videos.”

“Nah, you’re a big deal now! Everyone loves the banter we have,” he insisted, pushing himself off the table and giving you a light punch on the shoulder. “Ready to get this started?”

“Absolutely. Let’s see who knows the other better!” you replied, feeling playful and competitive.

Sarah stepped in, ready to explain the rules. “Alright, everyone! Here’s how it will work. You’ll each take turns asking questions, alternating between F1 trivia and personal ones. Let’s find out just how well you know each other!”

“Sounds good,” Max said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ladies first.”

“Alright, Max,” you said, preparing to razz him with your first question. “What’s my favorite food?”

He crossed his arms, a teasing glint in his eyes. “That’s easy—pasta! But the way you always go on about it makes it seem like you think you’re Italian.”

You burst out laughing, caught off guard by his accuracy. “Damn! You’ve been paying attention,” you replied with mock disbelief. “But just wait till you get yours.”

“Bring it on!” He replied, leaning in with an eager grin.

You took a deep breath and decided to up the ante. “Okay, here’s an F1 trivia question. What year did Red Bull Racing first win the Constructors’ Championship?”

Without missing a beat, he said, “2010,” You raised an eyebrow. “Impressive!”

Then it was Max’s turn. He leaned closer, an intensity in his gaze. “What’s the last concert you went to?”

You paused for a moment, recalling the memory. “It was a Coldplay concert last year. They were amazing!”

The questions flowed naturally, and laughter filled the room as the banter turned to playful teasing. Each time he got an answer right, there was a spark—a moment of connection that seemed to linger in the air a second too long.

You caught him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his expression both challenging and curious.

“Okay, okay, I have one for you,” he said, leaning forward conspiratorially, as if ready to break some sacred bond. “What do I like to do on my days off?”

You squinted, trying to remember the few times the team had shared off days together. “Uh, you like spending time with your cats, and you also love to do sim racing?”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Close! I do love spending time with sim racing, but I also spend too much time playing FIFA. You should’ve known that!”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Alright, your turn! What’s my guilty pleasure?”

Max smirked, a glint of mischief swirling in his gaze. “You’re definitely a sucker for reality TV. Pretty sure I’ve caught you watching Love Island USA a couple of times.”

“Guilty as charged!” you admitted, laughing along with him. “But I can defend my choices if you want—ahem, it’s simple entertainment!”

His lighthearted ribbing felt warm and right, and the camaraderie between the two of you had grown into a familiar rapport almost effortlessly.

As the Q&A continued, you both slowly drifted into laughter punctuated by thoughtful pauses where a silence spoke volumes.

You began to wonder if he felt the same magnetic pull you were experiencing. In those fleeting glances, you saw a flash of something—curiosity, longing—as if both of you were teetering on the edge of discovery.

Finally, as the game progressed toward the final question, Sarah interrupted with an excited sway. “Alright, I think we’re done for now! This video is definitely going to be a hit.”

You glanced at Max, who still wore that boyish grin—his energy infectious as he reveled in the laughter circulating around the room.

But deeper than that, you felt a weight pressing on your heart, urging you to say something more.

“Hey, Max, can I ask you something?” you called out, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions threatening to spill over.

“Sure, what’s on your mind?” He looked at you with genuine curiosity, and for a brief moment, it felt as though you were in a bubble, shut away from everyone else.

“About our chemistry—does it mean anything to you?” The question hung in the air like a transmitted spark, and you could see his expression turn serious, the lightness shifting into something deeper.

He took a moment, weighing your words. “Ever since we started being friends, it’s been… different. Fun, but something more,” he admitted, the sincerity in his voice resonating through you.

Your heart soared. Max was just as captivated by your chemistry as you were. It was as if some invisible thread had tethered you both, pulling you closer together.

With a casual flip of his cap back to forward, Max held your gaze. The laughter faded, and there you stood, surrounded by the energy of the Red Bull Racing headquarters, but your world had narrowed down to this single moment.

You felt the magnetic connection evolve into something tangible, something real that could break the barriers between colleagues and something much deeper—a thrilling journey ahead sparked by an unexpected electric tension. . . .

You glided down the hallway, adrenaline and excitement coursing through your veins. This was no ordinary night; in an unexpected twist, Max had chosen you to accompany him to an exclusive F1 gala.

You had always seen him as more than just a friend, but the tension between you had never been openly addressed—until now.

The door to the living room gave way, revealing Max perched comfortably on the sofa, his classic black tuxedo accentuating the chiselled lines of his physique. His tousled dark hair was slicked back, emphasizing the sharp angles of his jaw.

You couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked. But when he turned to face you, his expression changed from admiration to sheer shock.

“How do I look?” you asked playfully, knowing full well that the dress you wore clung to your curves in just the right way.

Lifting the last of your earrings into place, you caught his gaze, lingering far too long on your neckline.

Max’s mouth fell slightly open, and he stammered, “I-uh- You look— You look great.”

His eyes seemed glued to your chest, and you smirked at him, shaking your head. “Yeah, okay, let’s keep our thoughts innocent,” you teased, a playful glint in your eye.

He blinked rapidly, as if waking from a trance, and his cheeks tinged with a light shade of crimson. “Right. Innocent. Of course.” His voice dropped an octave, trying to regain composure.

“You look—really beautiful. I mean, not that you don’t always…”

You laughed softly, enjoying the fluster you’d caused in the usually confident driver. “Thanks, Max. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He stood up, adjusting the lapels of his tux and shooting you a half-welcoming smile. “Ready to go? I think I’m about to break a world record for the longest time spent staring without saying anything coherent.”

“Let’s get out of here before you break any more records,” you replied, grabbing your clutch and heading toward the door.

The gala was being held at a splendid venue in Monaco, the ambiance glowing with extravagance. The soft sounds of classical music floated through the air as you and Max made your way inside, adorned in gold and silver decorations.

It felt surreal, the elegance around you contrasting sharply with the adrenaline-fueled world of racing that was Max’s daily routine.

As you entered, the murmurs of guests turned into a wave of excitement. “Max! Over here!” A handful of fans spotted him, rushing forward with cameras and excited whispers.

You watched as he interacted with them effortlessly, signing autographs and posing for pictures. A wave of pride washed over you; he was not just a friend but a superstar—one of the best drivers in the world.

After several moments of mingling with his fans, he returned to your side, breathless from the attention.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he said, his voice now lowered to an almost intimate whisper. “It’s... a lot sometimes.”

You offered him a warm smile, knowing how taxing the spotlight could be. “It’s nice to see you outside of the track. You can actually relax for once.”

With that notion in mind, he later led you to the bar, where you both ordered drinks—Max preferring a classic whiskey while you chose a sparkling signature cocktail adorned with fresh fruit.

As you sipped your second drink, you turned to him. “So, any secret dreams for the season?”

Max leaned back against the bar, an amused smile stretching across his face. “Well, aside from winning, I might want to one-up my last season’s record. Or maybe…”

He paused dramatically, “I was hoping for a podium finish on our next outing in Italy. It’s always been a special place for me.”

“Why is that? The food, the scenery?” you queried, genuinely curious.

“It’s got the perfect blend of everything. The passion, the fans... And the tire placements at Monza are—well, they’re quite thrilling,” he explained, his enthusiasm evident.

You listened, fascinated by his love for the sport and the intricacies he shared. “I can see why you love it so much,” you replied, “It’s like an art form...”

“Exactly!” His eyes sparked with enthusiasm. “And speaking of art, I could hardly choose an artwork more stunning than you tonight.”

Feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you chuckled softly. “Smooth, Max. Just remember, I’m not a trophy to be won.”

“More like a prize, then,” he shot back, his grinning eyes glinting in the light.

After what felt like a whirl of conversations and laughter, you noticed the transition in the evening. As Max caught your gaze, he spoke softly, “Say, would you like to dance?”

You hesitated for a moment, caught off-guard. “Dance? I’m not even sure I know how to—”

“You know how to sway, don’t you?” he teased, offering his hand. “Just follow my lead.”

The two of you shifted onto the dance floor, surrounded by elegantly dressed couples twirling and gliding with grace. The music faded into an intoxicating sound that seemed to pull you both closer together.

His hand found the small of your back, guiding you smoothly.

“What do you think?” he whispered in your ear as you found your rhythm. “Not so bad, is it?”

“Not bad at all,” you replied, heart racing as you shared his space. The warmth from his body enveloped you, grounding you.

Eventually, the song slowed, and as you swayed in closer, you could feel the heat radiating between you. It was a different rhythm now, one that echoed the unspoken tension of your friendship.

You felt his breath hitch as he leaned closer, inhaling softly.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked, his voice earnest.

“Yeah?” You searched his face, and the way his eyes flickered with vulnerability sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m glad I chose you to come with me tonight,” he admitted, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re not just a date; you’re... you’re everything.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I care about you. More than just a friend,” he confessed, the courage of his words electrifying.

And there it was, laid bare before you in the most romantic of settings.

“Max, I feel the same.”

His gaze held yours, vulnerability mixing with unfettered joy. The music around you faded, but the world felt suspended in time, just the two of you wrapped in honesty.

He took a breath, then leaned down, brushing his lips softly against yours, tentative at first. You melted into the kiss, feeling like the most cherished person in the room.

The night had transformed into something truly unforgettable, and you knew that this moment was the beginning of something beautiful.

You wake up to the insistent buzzing of your phone beside you on the bedside table. Light streams through the curtains, illuminating the chaos of your living room, remnants from the night before—glasses, laughter, and the unmistakable scent of champagne.

You try to ignore the phone, but the buzzing doesn’t stop, and neither does the nauseating flutter of anxiety in your stomach.

“Who is it?” you murmur to yourself, glancing at the screen. Max’s name flashes back at you, and your heart races. Memories come flooding back. The party. The laughter.

His lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that made everything else in the room melt away. The kiss—a moment suspended in time, etched forever into your mind.

But then everything changed. The kiss had been captured, and going viral made it feel all too public. You had fallen for him—hard—but now the weight of that kiss felt like a betrayal.

You were terrified it would affect his career, and yet, what happened was beautiful. You cannot reconcile the two.

“God, what have I done?” You bury your face in your hands as shame washes over you. The thought of what the public would say twists like a knife in your heart.

You pick up your phone and stare at it, the guilt tightening its grip on your throat. You tell yourself you should call Max, but what would you even say?

You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve ruined everything. You let it ring through to voicemail, your thumb hovering over the disconnect button.

“Hey, it’s Max Verstappen. I’m probably busy right now, but please leave a message.” His cheerful voice rings out, and you hear the tremor of hope in it.

You feel like you might cry, but you can’t give in. Not now. You drop the phone back onto the table, letting out a shaky breath.

A few hours later, you finally get out of bed and make yourself a cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine will steady your nerves. On impulse, you switch on your laptop.

The first thing you see is a headline blaring from every angle: Max and Y/N: The Viral Kiss That Broke the Internet. Your heart sinks further. This was surreal and terrifying all at once.

“Incredible,” you mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes. You want to escape from it all. In that moment, the coffee tastes bitter.

Later that afternoon, you’re stirring the milk when your phone lights up again. It’s Max. You feel a rush of warmth mixed with dread.

You hesitate, fingers trembling as you stare at his name. Finally, you press the button, willing yourself to answer.

“Hello?” his voice is light, almost cheerful, and you can hear how easy it is for him to smile despite the chaos surrounding both of you.

“Max,” you manage, voice shaky. “We need to talk.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end. “Are you okay?” His concern is palpable. “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath. “About last night… the kiss… the cameras… I can't help but feel like I’ve ruined your career somehow. We’re all over the media, Max! What if it affects your races? Your reputation?”

“Whoa, whoa,” he interjects, clearly caught off guard. “You didn’t ruin anything. Trust me. In fact, I’m glad it happened. I wanted people to know how I feel.”

“How can you be so relaxed about this?” you manage, frustration creeping in. “You’re an F1 driver. Your image matters.”

“Yeah, but my heart matters more,” he replies, and there's an unmistakable intensity in his tone. “You matter more.”

“Max, what do you mean?” Your heart skips a beat. Those words run like electricity through you.

“You and me… last night was amazing—life-changing, actually. I’ve been wanting to be with you for a long time, and it finally happened.” He chuckles softly, the sound bringing a small smile to your lips.

“All the media chatter is just noise. I'm happy people see how I feel about you.”

“You don’t understand. They’ll twist it. They’ll make it sound like you’re just some guy who kisses his fans! This isn’t a good look!”

“Listen,” he says firmly. “If they want to spin it that way, let them. But I know the truth, and so do you. I didn’t kiss a fan; I kissed the person I care about the most. That’s you, and nothing anyone says will change that.”

You feel like you could cry. Max’s words are a balm for your frayed nerves. But still, the doubt claws at you. “What if it backfires? What if it affects your team’s performance?”

“It won’t,” he insists, voice lighter now. “I thrive on pressure. Trust me; if I can drive a Formula 1 car at 200 miles an hour, I can manage whatever they throw at me. More importantly, it’s you I want in my life. Can you at least think about that?”

The sincerity in his voice is undeniable. You take a moment, letting it seep in. “I just… I don’t want to be the reason you face backlash.”

“Only if you don’t call back,” he says, teasing you gently. “But seriously, let’s enjoy this. Go out with me, just once, without worrying about the cameras.”

“I don’t even know how the press will react,” you sigh.

“Then surprise them. Pick a restaurant, and I’ll be there.”

You can feel your heart racing as you mull it over, but deep down, something beautiful stirs—a possibility, a spark. You could face the chaos together.

Finally, you admit, “Okay, then. Tomorrow, let’s go to that Italian place we love. But just a warning: I’m not putting on a show for anyone.”

“Perfect. Just you, me, and pasta,” he chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, feeling the tension ease a little.

As you hang up, you stare out the window, meeting your own gaze in the reflection.

The episode before you has unsettled you, but perhaps, just perhaps, you and Max are writing the first chapter of something profound—something that even the world beyond the two of you could never fully understand.

Your heart swells with anticipation for what lies ahead. . . .

The soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains of your room, casting playful patterns on the floor as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your heart raced with excitement and nerves as you brushed the last strokes of mascara on your lashes.

You wanted to look your best, not just for yourself, but for Max. After the viral moment that had your names splashed across every social media feed, meeting up felt like stepping into a whirlwind you couldn’t escape, nor did you want to.

“You look amazing!” your best friend Mia said, planting herself on your bed, her phone in hand. “That dress is perfect for you!”

You twirled in front of the mirror, the fabric swirling around your legs. “Do you think he’ll even notice?” you laughed nervously, trying to inject levity into the situation.

“Are you kidding? Max will definitely notice. He’s been on cloud nine since that kiss!” Mia replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I mean, who wouldn’t be a little distracted by the thought of a girl like you?”

Just then, the sound of your phone buzzing stole your attention. You rushed over, your heart leaping when you saw Max’s name.

“Hey!” you said, trying to contain your excitement.

“Hey!” he replied, his voice warm and a little nervous. “I’m outside. Ready to go?”

“Yeah, just give me a second!” you hurried to grab your jacket and purse, glancing at Mia over your shoulder. She gave you a thumbs-up and a grin before you dashed down the stairs and out the door.

Max stood leaning against his car, looking effortlessly handsome in a fitted navy shirt and jeans that accentuated his athletic figure. His hair was slightly tousled, the sun catching the glint in his blue eyes as he turned to you.

“Wow,” he said, his smile widening. “You look incredible.”

“Thanks! You don’t look too bad yourself,” you replied, trying to act cool while your cheeks heated up.

“Ready for our big adventure?” he asked, opening the car door for you.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied with a laugh, settling into the passenger seat.

Max drove in a comfortable silence for a while, the radio playing softly in the background as you occasionally glanced at one another, the tension palpable yet exciting. Eventually, you broke the silence.

“So, about that kiss…” you began, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

Max chuckled, a little shyly, “You mean the one that broke the internet?”

“Yeah, that one! Do you think… I mean, how do you feel about it?” you asked, your heart pounding in your chest.

He glanced at you, his expression serious yet playful. “Honestly? I’m still pinching myself. I didn’t expect to get carried away like that, but when I saw you, it was like everything else faded away.”

“Same here,” you admitted, your gaze locked onto his profile, trying to decipher his thoughts. “But now the whole world knows, and that’s a little overwhelming.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I get that. I wasn’t ready for the headlines either. But I kind of love that we’re doing this together, even if people are watching.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with the attention?” you asked, concern flickering across your features. “I mean, we didn’t even talk about what this means.”

Max reached over and placed his hand on yours, sending a warm jolt through your arm. “I’m okay with it because it’s you. I like you, and I want to see where this can go, with all the chaos around us.”

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. “You really mean that?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a sincerity that made your breath catch. “So, how about we forget about the cameras and just enjoy our time together?”

Nodding eagerly, you felt a surge of relief wash over you. “I’d like that.”

You spent the afternoon at a quaint café downtown, the hum of conversation and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee setting a cozy atmosphere. You shared stories over pastries, laughter ringing between you both as you learned more about one another.

“Okay, your turn,” you said after Max revealed his embarrassing childhood nickname. “What’s your biggest fear?”

Max took a moment to think, a slight furrow spreading across his brow. “Honestly? Losing the people I care about. Being a driver means that you travel a lot which means you lose friends quickly.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, feeling a rush of empathy.

“It’s alright,” he said quickly, lifting his gaze to meet yours. “It taught me to value the people in my life even more. I guess that’s why I feel so lucky to have met you.”

Your heart fluttered as he leaned in slightly, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Also, I’m terrified of clowns.”

You burst into laughter, the tension from earlier melting away. “Oh come on! You can’t be serious.”

“I am! They’re just so unpredictable,” he insisted, his expression mock-stern. “One minute they’re juggling, and the next, they’re doing who knows what.”

You continued to share stories and tease each other, the world beyond the restaurant fading away. It wasn’t until you stepped out into the warm evening that you realized just how much you enjoyed his company.

“Wanna take a walk?” Max suggested, his hand naturally finding yours.

“I’d love to,” you replied, intertwining your fingers with his while you strolled through the twinkling lights of the downtown streets.

As you walked, the conversation flowed easily, your laughter mingling with the warm evening breeze. With every passing moment, the nervousness that had initially gripped you dissipated, replaced by a growing affection.

Then, as you rounded a quieter corner near the park, Max paused, turning to face me. The city lights danced in his eyes, and the warmth between you two was undeniable.

“Can I—” he hesitated, his gaze searching yours, “Can I kiss you again?”

You nodded, your heart fluttering wildly. “Definitely.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours, igniting a flurry of butterflies in your stomach. This kiss was different, deeper, and more meaningful than the last—an unspoken promise of what was to come.

You pulled away, and you laughed breathlessly, trying to catch your breath.

“You know, if this goes viral too, at least it’ll be a better story,” Max teased, a charming smile spreading across his face.

“Let them talk!” you giggled, feeling a wave of confidence wash over you. “As long as it’s with you, I’m in.”

“Good,” he replied, his expression sincere. “Because I think we’re just getting started.”

With that, hand in hand, you continued your stroll, the world around you two fading into a beautiful blur as you embraced the adventure that lay ahead—together.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the paddock. You and Max walked hand in hand, the sensation both electrifying and soothing.

The world had made a spectacle of your private moment, and now, as you stepped into the paddock, everyone watched, their eyes glimmering with curiosity and amusement.

“Why do you have to look at me like that? It’s making me weak, please stop,” you said, your voice a soft murmur as you caught his gaze.

His eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something deeper—an unspoken promise that made your heart race.

Max chuckled, a warm laugh that seemed to drown out the chatter of the surrounding crowd. “Look at you, though. How can I not? You’re stunning today,” he said, his fingers gently squeezing yours.

He was always so effortless, a confidence that could light up a room, and now he was casting that glow on you.

You blushed slightly, trying to suppress a smile. “You know that’s not fair. You always know what to say to make me squirm,” you replied playfully, a hint of teasing in your voice.

“I’m just being honest,” he replied, turning serious for a moment. “You have to know how lucky I feel. I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone.

The sincerity in his words made you feel exposed, yet cherished.

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks at the compliment. “Lucky, huh? You’re the one racing in the fastest cars in the world. I’m just here, taking selfies and trying not to trip over all the cables.”

He squeezed your hand, a reassuring gesture that made you feel as if the two of you were in your own little world, separate from the high-octane chaos surrounding you. “Nah, the real race is in my heart. And you’ve won it.”

“Smooth talker,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully, though your heart fluttered at his words. “Just wait until you end up on the podium again; you’ll be too busy celebrating to remember little ol’ me.”

“Not a chance,” he replied, his voice filled with conviction. “You know I’d dedicate every race to you if I could. Last time on the podium—remember? I pointed to you. That was for you.”

“Yeah, I remember,” you said, your smile wide. “You were practically glowing. It was such an amazing moment.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt happier,” Max said, a serious tone creeping into his voice. “Every time I look at you, I get reminded of what really matters.”

“Okay, now you’re going to make me cry,” you joked, but there was a hint of sincerity in your tone. “Don’t ruin my makeup, please!”

Max laughed, the sound warm and infectious. “I promise, I won’t deliberately make you cry. But you are basically my good luck charm. You have to come to every race now.”

“Deal. But I get to pick the after-party spots,” you replied, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Who said I was going to take you to an after-party? I might want to just take you home and cook you dinner.”

“Cook? You?” You laughed. “I thought you’d just rely on takeout after the races.”

“I can surprise you,” he said with a smirk. “Besides, there’s something nice about a home-cooked meal. Wouldn’t you want to try my pasta? I’ve perfected it over the years.”

“Fine, but it better not be like the time you tried to make pancakes and turned them into a science experiment,” you shot back, remembering the sticky disaster that had resulted in laughter and flour-coated walls.

“Hey! That was one time. I’m much better now,” he insisted, pretending to be offended. But the twinkle in his eyes told you he was just teasing.

As you walked past the team garages, you noticed the crew setting up for the next race, and the adrenaline of the environment pulsed through you. “Max, look at all of this hustle and bustle. Doesn’t it make your heart race?”

He nodded, his expression serious now as he gazed at the busy scene. “Definitely. It’s the thrill of competition—everyone’s working hard for one goal. But to me, nothing compares to this moment with you.”

Your heart swelled at his words. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you?”

“I try my best,” he admitted, a playful grin returning. “But honestly, you inspire me to push harder, to be better. I want to win races, not just for myself, but for you.”

“Max, that’s so sweet. Just promise me you won’t risk it all out there. I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”

His expression softened, and he brought your hands to his lips, kissing them gently. “I promise. I’ll always be careful. You and I have a lifetime of moments to create together, and I won’t let anything take that away.”

You both stood there for a moment, the noise of the paddock fading into the background as you simply enjoyed each other’s company. The world around you became a blur, and it felt as if time stood still.

“Alright, what’s next on our agenda?” Max asked, breaking the spell of the moment.

You glanced around thoughtfully. “How about we grab a bite to eat? I’m starving.”

“Perfect! I know this great place just down the road. And after that, I’ll show you my secret hiding spot in the paddock where I keep my trophies,” he said, winking at you.

“Trophies and secrets? You really do know how to woo a girl,” you replied, playfully nudging him as you both started walking toward the exit.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty more up my sleeve,” he said confidently, pulling you closer as you stepped into the evening light, hand in hand, ready to face whatever adventures were ahead. "You are my priority after all,"

[ladybyakuya]

| I WISH YOU ROSES + KAIJU NUMBER 8.

+cw. —f!reader, smut headcanon + scenarios format, sort of exs to lovers, mature content, angst and hurt, comfort, alcohol consumption, established relationship

+syn.— making amends after the fight. who apologizes first? does it always end up with sex? or is he sleeping on the couch tonight?

+wc. —1.5k

+notes. — wanted it to be super smutty but ended up with angst instead. enjoy and scream in tags if you like it| redirect to blog navigation.

→ [ ICHIKAWA RENO ]

reno would stare at the screen of his mobile phone opening your message box yet not send a single text to you. he is a little stubborn. in the spur of the moment, he said, “maybe we had nothing, to begin with in the first place.” those were some heavy words. he won't disagree. even liquor isn't enough to drown his feelings about you. why do people drink to forget their love anyway? it's stupid. it's so stupid. he locks his phone and then buries his head in his hands murmuring, “god why can't I just call her?" the rusty fizzy flavor is threatening his throat again. his phone starts to vibrate and rings a little later making him jump a bit but his reflexes were quick enough not to get you a first full ring. “hello? babe? is that you?”

“just call her man.” Iharu drawls from the other side and disconnects the call even though he sits opposite him. Reno looks at him ungodly pissed until the prior speaks up, “don’t waste your anger on me, dude.” Reno’s phone rings again.

“you’re doing this on purpose, aren't you picking on me?” Reno tartly responds holding his phone towards him so sure about that Iharu is doing it again but that dimwit is so drunk that he has to lean forward, squint his eyes at the screen.

“no dudee. It's your girl—” Reno picks up the phone but he doesn't speak.

“are you at a bar right now? i just finished my work.”

“yes, I’m. can I go pick you up?”

“of’course you can but I got a cab. bye. text me the address.”

When you reach at the bar you could easily spot him. He is sitting at the corner in a secluded area. Ofcourse he is. Then, there is Iharu practically drooling on the table.

“why are you here?”

“what do you mean why I'm here? You texted the address.”

“yes but aren't you angry? At me?”

“yes but I know better than to take you seriously when you are that angry. ” he looks away from your face. “we can talk about it if you are still upset.” he shoots you a lazy smile and gets up.

“what about him?”

“what about who?” reno asks with pinched eyebrows.

Iharu’s snores are quite loud by now. You look at Reno holding your hand out. He doesn't protest. He gives you his phone and says his passcode. He gets you. His words are not drawly but rather slower than usual. At first, you intend to call Kafka but both of them being a pain in the ass you texted his vice-captain.

The can ride from bar to home was silent. Reno was laying his head down on your shoulder, eyes closed but a little fidgeting was there every now and then. As soon as you reach your apartment complex he got out, even leant against the wall while being on the elevator. He's sulking. It's adorable sometimes. When you reach your shared apartment he doesn't come in stands outside until you ask him to.

“i’m sorry.” reno says loud enough to kick out the drowsiness out of his body. “i'm sorry, babe.”

“well, it was partly my fault too but —” you grab his collar and pull him towards yourself. his defense system is useless against you. “but I'm going to make it memorable.” you say unbuckling his pants. As soon as his trousers hit the floor Reno closes the door with a kick while you go to your knees. “perhaps we should fight more,”

With his member in your hand you look up at him and then blink. once. twice. thrice. And then get up and walk inside your room. A few seconds of silence and then Reno is walking on your trail left by you apologizing for a few more times until you just shut him up with the most sloppiest toe curling blow job.

→ [ GEN NARUMI ]

“do not walk away from me. I'm not done talking yet.” Narumi's voice is perfectly flat devoid any splotch of anger or even frustration. he is leaning against the door as you move from kitchen counter to the dinning table carrying the dishes, then cooked meals and a water bottle. his eyes are going back and forth waiting for you to say something, anything or just yell at him. he can handle your blood and tears, not this silent treatment.

“well, don't treat me like I'm one of your missions and we are good.” you exclaim with a low voice while waving a hand as if you were talking to yourself but actually you just wanted to beckon him for dinner.

“i don't us to be just good. I want us to be better, to be comfortable in each other's presence, even in thoughts. . .” and now he is going to lecture you, like one of his subordinates. there is an agonizingly awful silence filling the room as you wait for him to continue but he is just there, standing, still silent.

you turn your chair to spare a look at him. his stance is still the same, lazy and nonchalant. he isn't mocking you or your love for him. he genuinely cares for you.

“i mean it.” he starts walking towards you in faster pace than usual. “and you know that.” he stands in front of you looking like a kicked puppy. the moment you leave your seat he is going to pounce on you like a wounded animal. this has happened before and last time it hurt a lot. so you don't get up instead just turn around to eat.

He grabs your wrist before you can even touch the food. “I said we’re not done talking.” he almost yells. seeing you flinch he sighs deeply before he gets on his knees and rests his head on your lap. “we submit are phones after turning it off. that's why I didn't know— that you were coming early from work. we work in different departments so we have different rules too. you can ask around. they'll tell you.”

“why didn't you say that earlier? was the whole fight really necessary?” you said with utter frustration laced underneath your voice.

“shouldn’t i at least get the benefit of doubt?” he looks at you placing his chin on your thighs.

you stroke his hair and he closes his eyes. “yes but — umm— never mind.” you say running your thumb over his lips. he graces a glance at you before running his hands on your back tracing up to your shoulders, he is crouching now and then pull away your top. now you're naked and sitting on a chair as he is standing. he throws the top away and sits on his knees again. hooking his arms around your calf muscles he licks in between your legs. “this is payback.” he whispers. your panty is still on and all Narumi is doing is licking slowly over the cloth, sometimes barely touching but if this is the payback you don't mind it at all, unlike last time.

→ [ HOSHINA SOSHIRO ]

Hoshina is the one who gives you the silent treatment even if he is at fault. He doesn't want his anger to harm you in any way, be it due to you or due to himself. He is not much of an angry person to begin with but somehow he just loses it for you. Maybe that's his protective instinct for you or the fear of melting the cocoon he created for his own protection. Either way, it's frustrating. It's frustrating enough that he keeps telling you how you should not put yourself in danger to protect him in a field mission yet you keep disobeying him at every mission. Either you are mocking him or trying to take his position which by the way both are wrong given the fact that you are his subordinate. He sat on one of the benches in the training room. he is too frustrated to concentrate on training.

“you know, you can let your anger out right? on me?”

Hoshina looks at you, pupils ever so still like a moonlight pond on a windless night. That's exactly what he doesn't want. don't you get that? you're wearing your night dress not your suit, which means you were either waiting for him or going to bed.

“i'm not mad at you.” he sighs. “not even myself. just at the situation in general. i know it's your instinct to protect people but sometimes . . .” he trails off looking at his fisted hand. he unfists his hand again.

“i can take it all, you know?. be it your love or anger. . .” Hoshina looks at you keeping his bottle aside. he swallows before leaving his place and dragging you inside the training room, the door still not closed.

“are you sure about that my love?” he graces his hands in between your thighs while whispering. you give him a nod. “let's see how long you last.” as his hand rubs against your entrance his mouth starts to suckle over your nipples as his other hand pins both of your hands above your head. the night suddenly feels long and breezy.

[sereia4skz]

minho? blades? i'm intrigued 🤭

1k Followers Event | i'd bleed

pairing: cat!Minho x afab!reader | part 2 | part 3

genre: smut

warnings: MDNI, knife play, marking, small cut, they rile each other up, Minho doesn't ask to cut her but she doesn't care, rough lol

event masterlist: #1kShootingStars

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Maybe this time i won't give any advice, you should find out yourself

Xoxo Reia <3

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The kitchen was warm with the scent of spices and something frying gently in the pan. You moved around barefoot, humming softly as you stirred the sauce, occasionally sneaking peeks at Minho. He stood a few feet away at the counter, tail swishing slowly as he chopped vegetables with neat, mechanical precision. His ears twitched when you shifted too loud or dropped a spoon, but otherwise, he stayed focused, jaw tight.

God, he was cute when he concentrated.

“Are you seriously still working on those carrots?” you teased. “Concentrating so hard just to cut a carrot. What are you cutting them with, a spoon?”

His ears flicked, but he didn’t respond.

You leaned your hip against the counter beside him. “You know, Felix says you’re so good at cooking. I’m starting to think he’s just being polite.”

Minho’s knife paused mid-slice. “Careful.”

You grinned, undeterred. “What? Gonna cry? Angry little housecat?”

He turned slowly, golden eyes narrowing as he lifted the clean knife and let it hover just above the cutting board. “I said, careful.”

The blade in his hand didn’t move, but his tail snapped once behind him in warning. He wiped the knife clean, held it mid-air above the cutting board, the sharp edge catching the light.

He didn’t look angry. He looked… still. Controlled. Focused. He looked hot.

“Don’t push me,” he said, tone quiet and deadly.

You stepped closer anyway, emboldened. “Oh, is the kitty gonna growl at me? Gonna puff up and hiss?”

You reached up and slid your index finger beneath his chin, lifting it gently. His jaw tensed under your touch.

“You forget I’m not one of your little toys,” he murmured.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “And you forget I like playing rough.”

That was the last straw.

Minho’s hand moved like lightning, grabbing your wrist and spinning you around, pressing your front flat against the cool counter. Your hands were yanked behind your back, gripped firmly in one of his. You gasped, the sudden shift leaving your heart thudding in your throat.

The flat edge of the knife traced up the side of your neck, cold, feather-light, and menacing.

“You wanna act tough?” His voice was barely more than a growl. “Then take the consequences like a big girl.”

Your breath hitched. He leaned in close, the weight of his body pressing into yours. You could feel his arousal hard and insistent against your ass.

“You think just because I let you tease me, I’m soft?” he muttered. “That I won’t flip the table and fuck you on it if you push hard enough?”

You tried to grind back against him. A silent plea.

He smiled. “God, you do want it. You’ve been begging for it since the second you opened that bratty little mouth.”

His free hand grabbed your hip roughly, then slid to your ass. He gave it a hard slap that made you jolt forward. You whimpered, and Minho exhaled a low, pleased sound.

“You make so much noise, and I haven’t even put anything in you yet,” he said mockingly. “Slutty thing.”

He moved your panties aside and slid two fingers along your slit, smearing your slick up and down with a hum of approval. “So wet already,” he whispered. “All because I pulled a knife on you? You are fucked up. Does Sweet Lixie know how disgusting you are?”

You moaned, thighs trembling. "Does he know you get your rocks off in the kitchen?"

Minho chuckled darkly, dragging his fingers up to flick your clit once before pulling back completely. “Touché,” he muttered. “Smart mouth.”

He let go of the knife, it clattered on the counter, it distracted you just long enough to spin you around and lift you onto the counter, your thighs falling open for him instinctively. But instead of giving you what you wanted, he leaned in, grinding himself against your still-soaked panties with a low groan. The friction of his cock through both layers of fabric made your head fall back, a breathy gasp escaping your lips.

“Feel that?” he hissed against your neck. “You’ve got me so hard I could break this fucking counter.”

His hands roamed greedily, gripping your thigh, sliding behind you to grab a full handful of your ass. He squeezed, pulling your hips tighter against his, rocking his length along your slit through his sweats, each slow roll making you whimper.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to grind back, but he retaliated with a sharp slap to your ass, making your whole body jolt.

“Try that again and I’ll make you come just like this, humping like a desperate little pillow princess.”

Another spank. Your hips bucked. He kissed the side of your neck, rough and claiming. “You're gonna behave, or do I need to take you apart right here?”

“Take me apart,” you whispered, breath catching. “You said it yourself, I'm fucked up.”

His cock twitched hard against you.

“Oh, kitten,” he growled, biting lightly at your earlobe, “you really are.”

He flipped you, pressing you against the cold marble once again. You feel the boy wiggle out of his pants, before he lined up the thick head of his cock and pressed in slowly, deliciously, until he bottomed out inside you. You choked on a gasp, arching back toward him instinctively.

“Yeah,” he rasped, the sound nearly feral. “Just like that. You’re so fucking tight.”

Minho pulled you upright by your arms, your back flush with his chest. The dull edge of the knife kissed the front of your throat, a cold contrast to your flushed skin. His hips moved, slow and deep, fucking into you with deliberate strokes. Each thrust pushed you forward, your breath catching every time he filled you completely.

“You love this, don’t you?” he hissed. “Being used."

Your walls fluttered around him, and he chuckled darkly, hips rolling deep and slow, savoring the way you clung to him. “I feel that. You’re gonna come just from getting manhandled, aren’t you?”

You whimpered something incoherent, too far gone to be smart anymore.

He buried himself to the hilt, making you gasp, then stilled. “Say it,” he growled. “Say you like it. Say you want more.”

“I- I want more,” you gasped, barely managing the words.

His grin was wicked as he started to move again, rougher now, more deliberate. Every thrust sent shockwaves through you, the slap of skin echoing in the kitchen. He let go of your wrists with one hand, only to reach for the knife again, his movements still precise even as he was fucking the sanity out of you.

Your breath hitched.

He held it sideways, letting the flat of the blade trail down your chest, between your breasts, then up to your collarbone. “Look at you,” he murmured. “So messy, so fucking good like this.”

You felt the dull edge drag gently across your skin, no danger, just the weight of his control. His hips slow, you whine, buckling yourself against him. And then. 

"Stay still," he turned the blade slightly. A shallow sting bloomed across the top of your collarbone as he pressed the point in, just enough to nick you. You gasped, body clenching around him, orgasm hovering so close it hurt.

Minho’s eyes locked with yours as a single drop of blood welled up. “Mine,” he growled. He leaned down, licking the blood slowly from your skin with a low, filthy moan. “You taste like you were made for this.”

The sensation of his cock buried deep, his tongue against your skin, the dull throb of the mark, it was too much. The wave of your orgasm crashed into you with violent force, your body seizing in his arms.

“Minho!” you cried, clawing at his shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he grunted, fucking you through it, the slap of his hips harsh and perfect. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

You came hard, trembling, choking on a scream as you clenched around him. Minho followed seconds later with a deep, ragged groan. He thrust one final time, cock twitching as he emptied inside you, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to claim. Mark you again, just next to the small nick.

Neither of you moved for several long moments, your chest pressed against his, breaths mingling, the knife resting harmlessly on the counter beside you now.

Then slowly, he pulled out, keeping an arm tight around your waist so you didn’t slump.

You were boneless. Fucked-out. Blood-warm and dazed, with a fading sting at your collarbone and his cum dripping down your thighs.

Minho looked at you and his thumb brushed gently over the small mark he’d made.

“Too much?” he asked quietly, eyes softer now.

You shook your head slowly. “Perfect,” you breathed.

He kissed the bite on your shoulder, then the mark on your collarbone. “Good,” he said, voice like velvet now. “Next time I’ll make it hurt… just a little more. You’re insane, teasing me like that,” he muttered.

You tilted your face up with a lazy smirk. “Worth it.”

He rolled his eyes, but kissed your forehead anyway, holding you close. His tail flicked up to wrap loosely around your thigh, possessive even in rest.

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taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o

[llamagoddessofficial]

A little indulgent, venty drabble.

~~~

Your bedroom door opened. You were absolutely certain you had locked it. Alarmed, you shot up in bed, looking to the entrance to see who was intruding on you when your mood was so crushingly terrible.

It was Nightmare. He had a weird expression on his face, he looked very... calm. Calm was weird for him. He was the last person you expected to see.

... Also probably one of the last people you wanted to see.

"What're you doing?" you snapped. "Get out of my room."

His voice was low. "is everything alright?"

"Uh. Yeah." Perhaps you sounded more hostile than you needed to. You were glaring. "Everything's fine. You can go."

... His lovely cyan eye lingered on you.

...

He did not, in fact, leave. He closed the door behind him.

What the hell? Indignation coursed through you. "I'm seriously fine. Leave me alone."

"no," he said, softly.

You really really didn't have the self control for this, right now. You spent every moment of every day watching your words, taking stock of everything that left your lips, ensuring it wouldn't bother those around you even if it was at your own expense. Right now, you were fraying at the edges. You did not have the energy.

"Nightmare. Go away. I want to be alone right now."

He started walking toward you. He looked so calm. He looked like he understood exactly what was going on.

Anger flashed inside you, oil catching in a pan, it spittled and flew to your lips. You did not understand what was going on, and you didn't like feeling stupid.

"Get the fuck out of my room!"

"no."

“What the hell is your problem!?" You leaned forward, voice raising, like a cat raising its hackles. "You want to come watch me at my lowest? Point and laugh, rub it in? Real fucking mature of you.”

He didn't take the anger bait. "no." 

Stars, something was really wrong with you today, because his lidded socket and soothing voice just utterly infuriated you.

“Get out!” you yelled.

He didn't respond. He just looked like he cared.

You picked up the nearest weighted thing - your matte plastic water bottle - and threw it at him as hard as you could. He paused, but only to let the bottle literally just bounce off him... it hit his chest and thudded to the floor, rolling away plaintively.

You were probably acting more like a toddler than a grown adult human right now. But you were out of self control. Out of anything, really. Tired and cranky.

“Fuck off! Leave me alone!”

"it's okay."

What? When he started approaching again, you picked up another heavy object to throw, this time it was your bedside lamp. You were shocking yourself with your own bad behaviour. When you launched that at him, a tentacle curled in the air and caught it, setting it carefully down on the floor and not even interrupting his stride.

“Go bother someone else! I’m not a child!”

Honestly? You left that one open for him. You wanted him to make the most of the opportunity to insult you - maybe he’d say something sharp like “not a child? you sure are acting like one.” Something that would bring you back into territory you felt safe in. You didn't like the way he was looking at you, the way you were the only one yelling but he looked so empathetic and gentle. You wanted some control.

“it’s alright,” he murmured. “you can say what you need to. i know you don’t mean it.”

“What - what the fuck are you talking about?!”  

Nightmare sat beside you, cross-legged on your bed. And before you could do a thing, his extremely dexterous tentacles curled around you; and pulled you in, until you were sitting between his legs.

Oh, you were furious. You weren't even sure what you were yelling, but you were definitely yelling something. If you had been a cat raising your hackles before, now you had your claws out, you were scratching and biting and yowling. You kicked at him, you slapped at his chest, you shoved him like that would do anything.

... He didn't say a thing. His arms rested on either of his knees, and a tentacle carefully brushed your back. You kept hitting him. You ...

... You started to run out of steam. Your 'hits' on his chest became weaker, feebler, until you weren't really hitting him anymore. You were just bumping your enclosed fist against his sternum. The water bottle from before probably did more damage than you were doing now.

...

... You hiccuped.

And then you just started to bawl.

Nightmare clearly had anticipated this all along. He leaned down, face closer to your level, like he wanted you to know he was there. Your head thumped against his shoulder, where it remained, sobs wracking your entire body. He didn’t interrupt. He just let you cry - getting it all out. 

Part of you wanted to be embarrassed. Assaulting him and then wailing right there in his lap. But oh... there was something so wonderful about acting your absolute worst, and yet, not being abandoned. You worked so hard to be liked; every day, you did everything you could to be the kind of person that the people around you would enjoy. So much so that you had no idea what was left, underneath all of the personalities you'd stitched together to make a quilt people would like looking at.

Nightmare had just watched you scream at the top of your lungs, then sob with anything you had left. And yet? He was still there.

By the time your crying quietened down, his eyelight was glowing a little brighter. A little bluer. You weren’t sure what that meant.

“... I-I...” you rubbed your eyes with your sleeve as best you could. Your voice was horrendously hoarse and thin. “I didn’t... mean...”

“i know,” he said, warmly. Sitting this close, you could hear how his voice thrummed from within his chest, not really his mouth. Knowing his lecherous and borderline evil personality, you thought that basically sitting on his lap would've felt different. Risky, perhaps. Right now, it didn't - you felt comforted. The good kind of surrounded.

"I'm sorry."

“don't be. if there’s anyone who would know when anger is a cry for help, it’s me.”

You kept your head on his shoulder. "I shouldn't have hit you."

He tilted his face to you a little more. He was so close - inches away. You could feel his breathing. “honestly? i incited you, in the hopes you would. you just wanted to be angry. everyone deserves to feel angry, every now and then.”

“It doesn’t always feel like it is okay," you muttered.

"anger isn't something to be ashamed of. anger protects you. it tells you when your lines have been crossed."

"How can I be angry, without hurting people? If you were anyone else, I would've really hurt you."

"i'm afraid there's no easy answer to that, dear."

You looked up at him. “How did you know I didn't want to be left alone?”

"did you forget i can read emotions?"

Ah. True. You always forgot Nightmare wasn't just any old skeleton. He was some kind of God, wasn't he? A deity of negativity. He probably read everything going on in your mind the moment it arose.

"I kinda did, yeah."

His socket crinkled at the corner. “i felt what you wanted. heh, that, and... i know your insults well enough to know your heart wasn’t in those.”

You couldn’t help but let out a tiny watery snicker, at that. He seemed to like it. 

“... Thank you." You brought your legs up to your chest, tucking closer against him. "For... for not leaving.”

He finally put his arms around you.

“of course.”

[runnning-outof-time]

Change His Ways | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: In which Tommy falls for a woman out of his reach and does whatever it takes to get closer to her.

Warnings: Tommy’s certainly not canon here, language, smoking, religious themes (Tommy goes to church)

Word Count: 4025

A/N: I dusted this WIP off because I was itching to keep writing after I finished my celebration blurbs. The idea has Tommy ooc, but it was one that I just had to write down while reading a book - I’ll share a bit more about it down below for those who are interested (it’s based on a true story). Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in stories similar to this one!

Tommy's world stopped the second he saw her. She was in Polly's main room, gathering her cleaning supplies as he stepped into the home. He watched from the doorway as she tried, but failed, to take them all into her arms, the bucket and broom falling to the ground. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Gray," she quickly apologized to the woman standing next to the fireplace for the commotion, crouching down to - try and - gather it once more. Polly didn't say anything, only watching on as the younger woman struggled.

"Let me help you, miss," Tommy spoke up, balancing the cigarette he was smoking between his lips before he stepped over to her, leaning down to grab the stick of the broom before she could.

"Oh, thank you, mister," she smiled over at him, her (y/e/c) eyes instantly mesmerizing Tommy. He almost forgot what he was doing.

"Where do these need to go?" he asked after clearing his throat and pulling himself from his thoughts.

"Just outside. My father's picking me up," she responded, smiling over at him gratefully. He felt like she had knocked the wind out of him.

"Alright then," he nodded, standing in time with her and taking a bucket from her full hands so that she'd have less to carry. He then let her lead him out to where an older looking farm-typed truck was waiting. The man sitting in the driver's seat just glared at Tommy, who ignored his presence altogether. "Should be it," he remarked as he sat the broom and bucket into the back of the truck.

"Thank you, really," the woman smiled at him.

"You're welcome," Tommy nodded politely before she got in the truck and he walked back up the path to his aunt's house. Polly was standing in the entryway with her arms crossed when Tommy re-entered the house. "What, Pol?" he questioned, brushing past her into the main room.

"She's a good woman, Thomas," she heeded a warning. A warning that Tommy disregarded completely.

Tommy showed up at Polly's every day for a week until he figured out what times the unnamed, beautiful woman was present at the house. And each time she was, he would help her with the things that she needed to carry out to her father's truck.

He didn't quite get to his destination today because the very person he was looking forward to seeing was walking along the sidewalk about three blocks from his aunt's house. He slowed down his car with his brow furrowed, and bent his head down to look at her. "All ok?" he asked after he watched her take a few more struggled steps. "Your father coming to pick you up?"

"Not today," she shook her head, the tone of her voice showing how much she was struggling to keep everything in her arms. "He's been held up at the farm."

Tommy was out of his car the second he heard her answer. He walked around the side of it with a quickened pace before he took the bigger cleaning supplies from her arms. "I can take you home," he offered, already opening the back door of his car before she gave him an answer to set the supplies he'd taken inside.

"Oh I can't bother you like that," she tried to decline his offer politely, but Tommy didn't want to hear it.

"I insist," he stressed, his eyebrows raised slightly to show his seriousness. He held his eyes on her and saw her weary expression form into a smile. She nodded her head in agreement before he opened the passenger's side door for her to get into the car. Once she was in, he shut the door and walked back around to the driver's side.

"Do you have a name, sir?" she asked him almost immediately after he'd sat in the front seat, "because I feel like I should know the name of the man that has so kindly offered me a ride."

"It's Thomas Shelby," he said, clearing his throat before adding: "you can call me Tommy though."

The woman smiled at him. “It’s nice to meet you, officially, Tommy. Thank you for driving me home," she spoke politely. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N)," she added, her cheeks heating up slightly when she realized that she hadn't formally introduced herself to him.

"It's nice to officially meet you as well, (Y/N)," he couldn't help but smile as he tried her name out for himself, "and there's no need to thank me...the pleasure's all mine here," he concluded his sentence by turning his car back on and pulling away from the sidewalk so that he could take her home.

There was an older man leaning up against the side of a rusted farm truck as Tommy pulled into the driveway that (Y/N) said was hers. He looked rather intimidating standing there, and if Tommy wasn't in the line of work that he was, he definitely would have been put off by him.

"Hi, daddy," (Y/N) smiled as she got out of the car so that she could grab her supplies from the back. She was too slow, however, because Tommy already had it in his hands.

"Where do you want this?" he asked her.

"Just by the shed over there," she answered as she motioned to said shed, "I can place them where they need to go later." Tommy nodded and then walked the short distance so that he could rest the supplies against the wall of the shed. "Thank you, Tommy," she sent him a bright smile once he'd finished.

"You're welcome," he nodded, deciding that being paid in her smiles would be better than any lump sum of money he could ever receive.

"You Thomas Shelby?" (Y/N)'s father then came into the situation, his voice making Tommy's expression go serious as he turned to face the older man.

"I am," he nodded, extending his hand.

"What are your intentions with my daughter?" her father got right to the point, glancing at the hand but not shaking it.

Tommy found himself feeling like a young boy again, and it made him wonder just how interested he was in (Y/N) for him to be feeling like this. "I brought her home. She was struggling with carrying the supplies," he explained himself.

The older man looked Tommy up and down before nodding slightly. "Ok," was all he said before he turned and started to walk over to one of the barns on the property.

"Thank you, Tommy," (Y/N) sent him another smile, pulling him out of the confused stupor that was brought on by the previous conversation. "I hope you make it home safely."

"You're welcome, (Y/N)," he responded, loving how her name sounded coming from his mouth. He then returned her wave before he walked to his car and got into it, backing down the driveway and away from the beautiful woman who was standing and watching him leave.

"I think you're a bloody idiot for coming up with that idea," Polly spoke her mind after Tommy had finished explaining to her where he'd gone a few days ago.

"That's why I'm doing it properly," Tommy tried to work a different angle.

"Properly or not, the (Y/L/N)'s are a God-fearing family, and I can't remember the last time you stepped into a church with the intent of speaking to the Maker," she remarked, quirking an eyebrow in his direction. Tommy sighed in response, shaking his head as he brought the cigarette back up to his mouth. He and Polly then stared at each other for a few moments before the woman sighed and hung her head, "but you'll still give it a try anyway," she stated in defeat, knowing just by his glance alone that her nephew's mind was made up.

Tommy cleared his throat as he stood from the chair in Polly's living room. He grabbed his coat and pulled it over his shoulders so that he was ready to leave the house. Polly tried to call after him, but he wasn't listening to her words as he opened the door and exited the dwelling. After getting in the car and starting its engine, he began driving to (Y/N)'s house with the full intention of winning her father over.

"You cannot court my daughter," (Y/N)'s father spoke firmly from where he sat across from Tommy in the front room.

"She's a very lovely woman, and I will be a gentleman to her," he tried to sway the older man, laying on the Shelby charm in full force, "all I am asking is for a date with her." If only his family could hear him now.

"If you want to see my daughter, you'll see her at church," her father decided, nodding his head once to show his decision was final.

"Mr. (Y/L/N)..."

"Save it, Shelby," the older man cut Tommy off, standing to leave the conversation. Tommy watched him walk, knowing there was nothing more that could be done. He also stood, showing himself out. He looked to the farmhouse after opening the door to his car and saw (Y/N) standing in one of the second floor windows. A sigh escaped his lips. He knew what to do.

Tommy met the (Y/L/N)'s at their church that Sunday. No one bothered to question how he knew where they worshiped, and he was thankful that he didn't need to explain.

They all sat in the same pew, Tommy to the right of (Y/N), of course, while her father sat on her left. He didn't listen much to the sermons, or participate in singing along with the choir.

He did, however, try to get even closer to (Y/N). After a few glances down, he slowly inched his hand closer to her lap. At first he attempted to take hold of her hand. She moved it away the second she felt his fingers brush hers. But she didn't look his way though, still focused on what the preacher was saying. So he let his hand stay there. Instead of holding hers, he flipped his palm down and draped his fingers over the curve of her thigh.

His hand had just started to warm from her body heat when he felt a sharp, but silent, smack land on the back of it. It made him remove his hand and quickly look her way. She was still looking straight ahead. Tommy kept his eyes on her, his brows furrowed. He was sure that he hadn't imagined that; she'd just smacked him.

The feeling of his eyes on her made (Y/N) glance to her right. She knew he wouldn't look away until he addressed her. But her father would instantly know that her attention had been taken off of the message being told. Ever-so-slowly, she leaned closer to Tommy, getting close enough so that he could hear her whisper. "There should be no touching in the Lord's house. It's considered blasphemy."

Tommy couldn't respond because she sat straight again the second she finished speaking. He took one last look at her before looking straight again, his hand resting on his thigh once again.

Tommy continued going to church with (Y/N) and her family every Sunday, and eventually they got into a routine of him walking her back home.

Every Sunday, they'd stop at the beginning of her dirt driveway, and she'd thank him with a kiss on his cheek. They'd then say their goodbyes and she'd begin walking to her house. Tommy would stay and watch, waiting until she was on her porch before he left.

This Sunday was different. (Y/N) was unusually quiet on the way home. The walk that was normally filled with her sweet laughter and entertaining stories was now overruled by silence.

They stopped at the end of her driveway, and (Y/N) turned so that she could face him. Tommy's eyes were immediately on her, and he noticed that she was looking at the ground. "I won't be in church next Sunday," she finally spoke, playing with her fingers in hopes it'd give her something to focus on. She glanced up at him through her eyelashes then, seeing that he was looking out at the fields for a moment. Thinking now'd be the best time to say goodbye, she lifted her head and leaned in to press her lips to his cheek.

Tommy turned to talk to her at that same moment, and he was met with the most rewarding accident he'd ever been given in his life when his lips met hers. The kiss was soft, quick, and innocent. Too quick for his liking.

(Y/N) pulled back with a gasp the second she realized what was happening. She looked at him then, her eyes now opened wide; looking as if she'd just seen a ghost, or a horrible crime be committed. I've fucked this up, Tommy thought to himself, the breath caught in his throat. The worst part about it was that he didn't quite know what to say that could make the situation better.

So he just stared at (Y/N), watching as her eyes searched his for what seemed like eternity. Then, after what felt like forever, (Y/N) leaned in and pressed her lips to his again. She kissed him more soundly this time, and he took hold of her waist to make sure that she wouldn't leave him too soon. When she eventually moved to pull back, he let her, keeping his eyes closed when she stayed close and rested her forehead against his.

"Why?" he asked once their breathing had returned to normal.

"Huh?" she was clearly confused by his sudden question, and she finally pulled back to look at him once more, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Why won't you be there, love?" he asked with a soft laugh, squeezing her waist softly as he remembered that he was still holding onto her.

Realization struck her and her confusion melted into a sheepish smile, remembering what they were talking about before the kiss happened. "My family and I are traveling to see my grandparents. We'll go to the service at their church since we'll be staying through the weekend," she explained the reason behind her initial statement.

"Should I find you there?" he asked her then, wondering if he could still make things work. He'd been seeing her every Sunday for a month and a half now, and he'd be lying if he said that he didn't look forward to it every week.

"There's no need for that, Tommy," she giggled, her stomach filling with butterflies at the sweetness of his voice. "I'll be home before you know it."

"Then I'll be waiting," he nodded, showing his sincerity as he squeezed her waist once more, his actions making her smile. His eyes flitted down to her lips then, their closeness and inviting nature becoming paramount in his mind again. "Can I?" he asked permission before doing anything, something he never could have imagined himself doing weeks ago.

"Please do," she smiled at him, her hands finding his collar as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers once more.

"Fuck," Tommy huffed, pressing his fingers to his eyes in frustration.

"So what do we do, Tom?" Arthur asked his brother, clasping his peaked cap in his hands. "He's there. He's for the taking. We could just..."

"No," Tommy cut him off abruptly, leaning forward so that he could rest his elbows on the desk and put his head in his hands, "no, there'll be problems if we do that."

"Then what?" John chimed in, a bit of an incredulous look present on his face. "We know he did it. He shouldn't get to even think he got away with it."

"We do it another way," Tommy insisted.

"What way?" Arthur asked.

"I don't know yet," Tommy huffed, finally looking at his brothers before he continued, "but you fuckers better not try anything." He accented his direction by pointing at each of the two men as he spoke, his eyes wide to convey his seriousness.

Silence fell in the room then. John and Arthur shared a look before focusing back on their brother. They were both thinking the same thing...but who was going to be the one to say it?

Arthur looked to John again. "Seems like our brother's gotten himself a new perspective," he commented aloud, seeing Tommy's eyes snap to him from the corner of his.

A grin formed on John's face as he heard his older brother speak. Arthur was the one to cast the first stone. Now the floor was wide open. "I think it's because he's been going to that bloody church each weekend," he shared his thoughts on the situation.

Arthur shook his head. "Nah. The only reason he's going there is so he can give that girl a quick shag. You think it'll be worth it, Tom?"

Tommy was now seeing red. "What the fuck are you two going on about? Eh?!"

"That girl from Pol's place. (Y/N), was it?" John answered, even though the previous question was meant to be rhetorical.

"Yeah, yeah. That's her name. She's real pretty," Arthur commented, a smug grin now present.

Tommy couldn't take the comments anymore. He slammed his hand down on the desk, commanding their attention immediately. "Enough!" he bellowed, his eyes wide with anger. "You're not going to talk about her like that. In fact, you're not going fucking to talk about her at all. Understood?" He let out a heavy breath then, looking between the two of them before he swiped at his hair, returning the strands that had fallen over his forehead back to their resting place.

Neither John nor Arthur responded verbally to their brother's statement. Arthur let out a grunt of agreement and John merely nodded, both surprised by the show of emotion they'd just witnessed.

Tommy nodded in response to the silence. "Good. Now go out and figure out how we can get this guy. We need to do it cleanly," he gave them an order, one that made the two of them nod before turning and heading to the door.

John exited without another word, but Arthur stopped with his hand on the door's handle. He looked back to his brother, who had both of his palms placed flat on the desk as he finished recollecting himself.

"She really means something to you, doesn't she?" he broke the silence hanging in the room. His question made Tommy look up. They held eye contact for a few moments. Not a word was said. Arthur got his answer though; he could see it in Tommy's eyes. So instead of prolonging the staring contest, he nodded and exited the office.

Tommy let out a huff as the door shut, closing his eyes and tipping his head back against the chair. (Y/N) came to mind then, and he relished in the thought of her as it made his stresses wash away.

Tommy just happened to be sitting out on the floor of the betting shop when the most out of place looking person entered the building. He clocked the man speaking to Scudboat and continued working on the papers in front of him as he tried to listen into the conversation.

"Is Mr. Shelby in?"

"He's busy. You'll need an appointment. That can be arranged with his..."

"I just need to speak to him for a moment."

"You'll need to arrange an..."

"He's fine to speak with me, Scudboat," Tommy cut into the conversation, coming over to where he and (Y/N)'s father were standing by the door.

"Yes, Mr. Shelby," Scudboat bowed his head as he left the conversation, knowing he was no longer needed.

"What can I do for you, Mr. (Y/L/N)?" Tommy asked (Y/N)'s father then, his eyes trained on the man who still looked so out of place.

"I'm not here to spend any money," the older man quickly replied, a rather sour look present on his face.

"I never thought you were," Tommy responded, hoping that his level voice would ease the other man's inhibitions. "Has something happened to (Y/N)?" he asked then, his brows furrowing as a feeling of worry washed over him.

Mr. (Y/L/N) looked around the room for a moment before his eyes found Tommy's again. "Can we speak somewhere more private?" he requested, the inflection of his voice not giving Tommy any concrete answer to his question. He hated that.

"We can," the gangster nodded, then moving towards one of the private offices - a little too quickly for his liking. "Has something happened to (Y/N)?" he asked again once the two men were behind the closed door.

(Y/N)'s father sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, shaking his head every so slightly before he began speaking, "I know what you do...and I know that it's not right, nor good..." he started, his eyes darting around the room so he wouldn't have to hold Tommy's stare. "But I've seen you with my daughter, how you've tried to open up and let God into your life..." he paused again, taking another deep breath. Tommy wished he'd say what he needed to already. "She sees something in you that I can not, Mr. Shelby, and I hope that you see something in her that goes beyond physical desire."

"Way beyond, Mr. (Y/L/N)," Tommy was quick to tell him, "she's...she's changed me in ways I'd not thought possible."

"Good," the older man nodded, looking pleased with the response he'd gotten. Silence hung in the air then, and both men stared at each other. It was almost like one was waiting for the other to crack; for the other shoe to fall. Mr. (Y/L/N) was the one to speak first. "You have my blessing. You can court my daughter."

Tommy exhaled the breath he didn't know he was holding upon hearing the other man's statement. He immediately extended his hand. "Thank you, Mr. (Y/L/N)."

"Treat her well, Thomas," her father sternly said, accepting the handshake Tommy had offered.

"I will."

Tommy and (Y/N) arrived at the road to (Y/N)'s home, and (Y/N) turned to face him like she always did. She smiled at him, sweetly thanking him for walking her home from church. Tommy smiled at her, tipping his hat and making her giggle - like he usually did. (Y/N) then leaned in and pressed her lips to his, giving him the quick kiss that she'd always leave him with. This time, however, Tommy's hands found her waist and he held her close to him when she pulled away.

"Be mine," he whispered against her lips, pulling back slightly so that his eyes could find hers.

"Tommy," (Y/N) breathed in response to his statement, "my father..."

"He gave me his blessing," he assured her, "will you be mine, (Y/N)?" he asked this time.

A smile spread across (Y/N)'s lips as butterflies erupted in her stomach. This is what she'd been waiting for. Everyone had told her that Tommy Shelby was a man who was to be feared, but that was not the Tommy Shelby that she had the pleasure to know; to get close to. And now he was asking her the question she'd hoped he'd ask ever since the first kiss they shared.

"Yes, Tommy," she answered with a slight nod, excitement bubbling up inside of her, "yes, I'll be yours."

Her words made a smile form on Tommy's face, and instead of saying anything in response, he leaned in and kissed her, showing her how happy he was to hear her answer through the passion he put into the kiss. She was the only person who'd get him to change his ways...and now she was his.

**a little bit about the background: this was based off of a vignette that I read in a book about America in WWI — a man, who was rather rowdy, into no good things, took interest in a woman, and the woman’s father told him that the only way he’d get to court her is if he came to church. The man essentially changed his lifestyle around for her because he was so interested in her and they eventually got married — so just like Tommy, he got the girl.

———

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[vettelshon3ybadg3r]

he doesn’t - dr3 ❤️‍🩹

“…I know you don’t need my comfort but I’d like to think I can carry some of it for you…if you want of course…” Is this how first dates usually end up? Who the fuck have I been going on dates with? Where did he spawn from?”

word count - 4.3k

summary - reader with unspecified chronic illness, general health anxiety, gentleman! Daniel, mentions of being uncomfortable around alcohol, food, prescription medication. suggestive of slight sexual tension and difficult health related conversations. fluffyyyyy.

"Girl I don't think I can do it..." you repeat on the now three hour FaceTime call to your best friend for what seems like the millionth time this evening.

"You can. And you will! You deserve this, more than anyone" she also repeats for probably also the millionth time.

You sigh and continue curling your hair.

It's your first date since your diagnosis 9 months ago, after two years of battling with debilitating symptoms, gaslighting doctors and pain medication that doesn't even scratch the surface. Not forgetting the tears, the tears cried and the hope lost that you'll ever be okay again.

You don't feel that you will ever be okay, but your friends can't stand to see you wallow in bed and accept your life passing by, and long story short that's how you matched with Daniel on some dating app they downloaded on your phone.

"Okay, my Ubers here" you shakily tell your friend through the phone, sat on your vanity. You smooth your long-sleeved black mini dress, pull at your knee high boots and adjust your bag on your shoulder.

"Do I look okay?" You ask, looking down the camera, stepping back and giving a spin.

"Breathtaking. Go get him girl" she smiles.

"I'll keep you updated" you pick up your phone, checking your lipliner in the camera.

"You have everything you need?" she checks. You know what she's referring to.

"Yep, meds...and backups..." you nod.

"Condoms?..." she smirks.

"Okay let's not get too ahead of ourselves" you laugh. you never even anticipated that being an option for tonight.

"Go on...go have some fun, you deserve it."

You hang up and take a deep breath, taking the lift from your apartment downstairs to your uber.

"Uber for y/n?"

The driver nods, you get in and take some deep breaths, taking a moment for yourself with the anxiety bubbling and the potential placebo of your body giving out on you at any point from now on.

The scenarios that play out in your head through the short drive are relentless, from him standing you up to something going seriously wrong within the blink of an eye during dinner and having to explain to Daniel...well...everything, and blowing your chance at something good happening to you for once.

It's those scenarios that scarily pass the time, and before you know it you're outside the restaurant, shakily closing the door to the uber and forgetting how this all works.

Do i go inside? Is he already inside? No i’m ten minutes early so he'll arrive any second...what if he's fifteen minutes early and already sat-

"Y/n?"

I jump and spin on my heel, there he is.

Good lord.

"Daniel hi!" You go on your tiptoes and wrap an arm around Daniel's shoulder, resting your chin on the other. He rubs his large hand over your back and his scent fills your nose, musky but floral.

God he’s tall.

"Shall we?" He gestures to the door, flashing a smile and you respond with a nod. A smile that's enough to make you forget all the scenarios and worries repeating in your head since you got out of bed this morning, well...afternoon.

He pulls your chair out for you, sitting opposite and tucking himself in.

"So! How are you?..."

There's the dreaded question. Lie.

"I'm really good! I've been really looking forward to trying this place out!" You smile and look around the low lit Italian restaurant.

"How have you been? You're home for the holidays?" You return the sentiment, picking up the jug of water to pour a glass for your drying mouth and Daniel doesn't miss the shake in your hand at its heaviness.

"Let me.." he takes the jug from you and pours you a glass, pouring himself one after. You smile as a thank you. You wait for him to question it, he doesn't.

"Yeah, yeah I'm home for Christmas and then back to it in January" he nods, taking a sip of water and kissing his teeth. You can't tell if it's awkward, you feel like he knows you're being standoffish, keeping your guard up or just simply thinks you're being a bit of a bitch.

He doesn't.

She’s breathtaking. I can’t stop looking at her lips, the sparkle of eyeshadow lighting up her eyes and how effortlessly her hair falls on her shoulders. She’s enchanting.

You also take a sip from your glass, it's like you've forgotten how to act and just copy him except you put your glass down and hold onto it, the coldness soothing your clammy palms.

"So what is it you do again...you're a racing driver?" You tilt your head, leaning forward on the table. His eyes crinkle into a smile as a chuckle escapes his lips and he nods.

God he's beautiful.

"Mhm, formula one...never heard of it?" His lip curls into a smile and you blush.

"By the sounds of it I should have..."

"No no not at all..." he shakes his head and leans back in his chair, resting his forearms on the table and tapping his fingers.

"It's not like it's the highest level you can get in motorsport or anything..." he shrugs, putting on an act of mock nonchalance and scratching the back of his neck.

You laugh, you actually laugh.

"Oh right! I'm sorry Mr. Bigshot! I suppose I better ask for your signature or something huh?" I tease.

He shakes his head, clasping his hands together under his chin and resting his elbows on the table.

"How about my phone number?"

Your heart flutters. Wow he's forward...wow.

You feel the heat creeping up your neck and onto your cheeks and look into my lap as a small laugh escapes your lips.

"Maybe..." you smile softly, before his eyes on yours grow that smile into one you haven't felt in a long time, an actual smile.

The waiter arrives, requesting our drinks order and placing the menus down in front of us. You gesture for Daniel to go first.

"Yep Uhm..." he glances at the drinks menu, before looking up at you.

"What you feeling?..."

Your heart skips and your hands go clammy.

"Oh go with whatever..." I nod and smile, he returns the expression.

"Do you have the uh...Chianti Classico? Red?...a bottle for the table please and a lasagna for me" Daniel glances up at the waiter, your eyes on his hands spread across the menu, holding it so effortlessly and his fingers dancing lightly over the print.

The waiter nods and takes note, looking at you.

"Oh could I uh...just grab a Coke Zero?" You say in a small voice, Daniel looks up at you.

"Would you like a different wine? Do you prefer white?" He opens the menu back up, worried he hadn't considered your taste.

You shake your head, not wanting to create something.

"No no! I'm okay...honestly..." I smile and nod, Daniel leans forward slightly.

"I don't mind driving you back? Or ordering you an uber or?..."

he doesn't get it, you can't expect him to...it begins.

Your throat feels tight and you wipe your palms on your dress, licking your drying lips and looking back at the waiter.

"I'll have a glass for the wine, and I'll just stick with the water on the side, oh and Uhm...the spaghetti bolognese please" I smile and nod, handing him the menu as he expressed he'll be back with our order.

As long as you drink it slowly...steady and slowly it'll be okay...it'll be okay...

Daniel looks at you, expectantly, but unsure of what exactly. You wait for him to pry, he doesn't.

"So what do you do?..." Daniel asks as the waiter returns with the wine, pouring into your glass and you stop him after just a a few glugs. Daniel accepts an actual glass of wine.

"I work in digital marketing and advertising" you leave out the details of it being remote, and part-time.

The conversation flows, the laughter bellows, your knees knock under the table and you feel fine...great actually. You try not to think about the three sips of wine you've drunk, and whether you'll have to skip your medication tonight and it comes easy because Daniel's presence doesn't leave you space to think of those things, not with that smile and almost honk of a laugh he has.

The food arrives, he's dramatic, eccentric, authentic.

"Oh wow you have to try" Daniel's eyes widen as he holds out his fork to you, with some of his meal on to try.

I glance at him, almost checking it's okay but the sparkle in his eyes with excitement to share this experience with me tells me everything I need to know. I giggle and shake my head, before scraping off the small bite from the fork with my teeth, closing my lips around the fork.

My eyes shut then widen.

"Wow..." I nod slowly, looking at my own plate.

"You definitely got the best dish...wait you’re…sorry you’re not sick or anything are you?” You hesitantly check.

He shakes his head.

“Fit and healthy…you won’t catch anything from me today…” he smiles.

That must be nice.

He gestures with his hand to give him some of your food to try, as if to test your claim.

You chuckle and shake your head. He's so easy to be around.

You gather some of your dish on your fork, holding your hand under it and moving it across the table to him, watching his lips close around it and his hand come up over his mouth.

"No way yours is so much better!" He exclaims with a laugh.

"Swap?" You offer, going to lift your plate. Daniel shakes his head.

"I can't take a beautiful girl to dinner and steal her food..." his laugh booms, it fills your chest and your ears and the blood rushes to your head and your toes and your fingertips.

"Share?" I suggest, tilting my head.

The two of you end up sharing both meals, laughing...obnoxiously, sharing stories, fingers brushing one another's on the table and by the end of the meal both leant in to the middle of the table. Like you can't breathe each other in enough. He's tantalising. He's too good to be true.

The waiter collects your plates, offering the dessert menu. You check the time on your phone.

21:30pm.

"Uhm...hmm I..."

"We'll have a glance..." Daniel smiles and nods, you appreciate him taking the pressure off as the waiter scurries away.

"No room for dessert?" Daniel pours some more wine into a glass, gesturing to yours to ask if you want some, you hold up your thumb and index finger with a small gap to suggest a little, he pours a little.

"It's just late...and...yeah I guess...yeah I'm not really a dessert girl-" you stumble and blush.

Fuck now you really look like you're trying to escape.

"Wait I...I'm sorry...I..." Daniel tilts his head at your apology.

"I have ice cream at mine? If you wanted to finish up here and maybe?..." you offered.

You didn't want Daniel to think you were trying to get out of the rest of dinner, because this was truly the best night you'd had in...well probably over a year, and typically by this time in the evening you'd taken your medication and were in bed, certainly not out on a date.

"That sounds perfect...if you're comfortable of course..." Daniel nods, you nod and smile.

"Of course."

Daniel pays the bill and you leave the restaurant, your arm linked in his and you uber back to your apartment, the second you unlock the door you remember the state you left the place in.

The blankets on the sofa, the hospital letters and documents strewn across the kitchen with prescription boxes you had been sorting.

"Oh god okay don't look!" You exclaim, going up behind Daniel to try cover his eyes with your hands.

"Okay nope too tall..." you mutter to yourself, he throws his head back and laughs, spinning around with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"It's fine..." he smiles.

"Okay..." you sigh,

"You come in here..." you drag Daniel into the living room, quickly tidying the blankets and fluffing the pillows.

"And don't move...I'll be two seconds!"

He laughs, spreading his legs and leaning back on the couch, his large hand on his thighs. You clear your throat before remembering he can see you staring, stepping off to the kitchen and trying to turn it into something that looks somewhat presentable. You grab two spoons and the three ice cream tubs from the freezer alongside the Nutella bringing them back into the living room and setting them down on the coffee table, finding Daniel observing the photos on your cabinets, tracing his slender fingers alongside your trinkets and general miscellaneous keepsakes.

"Can I get you a drink?" You blurt out, standing awkwardly. Daniel turns with that crinkly eyed smile, shaking his head.

"I'm good for now...thanks" he sits back on the couch and you join him.

"Nutella and ice cream?" He quizzes, leaning forward to grab a spoon.

"Yeah...it's kinda my comfort food..." I chuckle, unzipping my boots.

"No I love that...I like controlling the ratio..." he nods, looking over his shoulder  at you with a curl in his lip and glint in his eye.

Okay that look was definitely a moment.

He notices you struggling with your boots.

“Want me to?” He nods to your boots, holding out his hands for your foot.

You nod and lift your foot, he takes it in his hand effortlessly and the weight lifted is heavenly.

“Mmm..” you involuntarily groan, your cheeks reddening.

Daniel turns to look at you with a smirk, his large hands still resting on your calf and knee.

“Long day on your feet?”

“Could say that..” you smile, as his fingertips move to the zip on your inner thigh and your breath hitches at the contact. He moves the zip down slowly, tenderly, you can’t take your eyes off his gaze on your leg, his attentiveness making your stomach flutter. He places the boot on the floor and gestures to your other leg, which you lift and sigh at the relief, he lets out a small chuckle.

Daniel rests his hands on your legs, as if to not let you put them back on the floor but not consciously, like he wants you to rest on him.

The two of you share ice cream, more stories, more laughter. Daniel’s fingertips trace up your legs, not teasingly, gently. Rubbing the skin softly relieving tension you didn’t know you had.

“Can I just have a second?”

Daniel nods, you get up and head to the kitchen, popping out your medication for the evening and pouring a glass of water.

As you put the tablets on your tongue Daniel walks in with the tubs of ice cream, all in one hand…god his hands were huge.

“Oh…sorry I…”

I shake my head and swallow the tablets, turning around.

“No no…sorry…I just…”

“I just uh…the ice cream was melting and uh…yeah”

I nod and take them from him, bending and putting them in the freezer, Daniel glances across the counter to your container of medication.

I turn back and smile.

“Shall we go back through?”

The two of you head back to the living room, you’re keen to forget the awkward encounter, you know he wants to ask, but the answer will make him wish he never questioned it at all.

You sit back down next to Daniel, your legs curled up and your hand rubs your feet, those boots really did a number on you.

He notices, gesturing with his hand to take your feet.

“Want me to?”

You blush.

“Give me a foot massage?” You ask jokingly. He nods, seriously.

“If you want…those boots didn’t look the comfiest…beautiful…but not exactly comfy” he chuckles. You drape your legs over his lap.

“You think they’re beautiful…” you snicker.

“You’re…beautiful I mean…” he looks over at you.

God he’s smooth.

You smile and shake your head, watching as his nimble hands relieve the tension from your feet.

“Mmm…” you nod, closing your eyes.

“Good?” You can hear the smile on his lips.

“Oh yeah…”

It’s quiet for a while, comfortable. you didn’t think on your first date in 9 months you’d be being given a foot massage on your couch at a measly 10pm…but here you are…and you didn’t expect to feel so…normal about it.

“So uhm…” he begins.

Oh no.

“What was Uhm…” Daniel gestures with his thumb to the kitchen.

“I mean…like are you feeling okay?” He continues.

Great…and you spoke too soon because it’s about to go all wrong.

I shake my head, as if to brush it off.

“It’s nothing…just some meds I have to take every now and again…”

“Are you sure…I mean I completely understand if you don’t wanna talk about it…but I…look I really like you, and I wanna get to know you”

You take the jump and open up. About your symptoms, your diagnosis and your daily life. Explaining how tonight was quite a big night for your journey with your health, as it’s the biggest thing you’ve done for yourself in a while. How you didn’t want to tell him at the table about your situation with alcohol and medication and the complications of mixing the two.

“Fuck I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to…pressure you or anything”

You shake your head, putting your hand on his arm which was still tracing on your leg.

“No…no please don’t be sorry…you can’t have known it’s okay…”

You continue with your story a little, leaving out the not so glamorous parts of the 2am breakdowns because nothing is cutting the pain, or the calling your best friend because you can’t get to the bathroom by yourself.

He listens intently, his eyes never leaving your lips as you ramble on, and his hands continuing their soft tracing of touches on your legs.

You take a breath, satisfied with how much you’ve shared, until it feels like too much.

“I’m sorry…I-“

“No” he cuts you off.

“I mean…don’t be sorry…thank-you…” he continues.

“Thank-you?” You chuckle.

He nods, scoffing slightly.

“Yeah…I mean that shits…that shits heavy…you didn’t have to trust me with all that…yet you did. All of that and you’re still accommodating to letting people in…it’s…yeah you’re impressive” he nods.

“I wouldn’t say impressive…”

“It is…maybe it’s my own ignorance or…I dunno…but if you hadn’t mentioned anything I wouldn’t have suspected a thing. I mean you go to hell and back daily…yet you still, show up, and smile…and laugh…” Daniel drapes a hand over the back of the couch.

“I’m sure you’ve been told before, and it might not mean much anymore when it seems like you’re fighting a losing battle…but you’re strong…like fuck…I couldn’t…” he shakes his head.

“Well unfortunately this shit just creeps up on you…whether you can or not…you don’t get a say…”

He nods.

“You’re right…sorry I…”

“No no…you don’t need to…comfort me…I’m not trying to be standoffish…it’s just…”

“No I get it…I mean no sorry I don’t get it…I understand the principle of what you’re suggesting…nothing I can say will make it better you’ll still wake up tomorrow and do it all again…”

Okay pinch me…he gets it?

I lean my head on his arm that’s draped behind me on the couch. Smiling at him. He smiles back.

“Your profile doesn’t do you justice you know that?”

He chuckles.

“No?” He raises an eyebrow. You shake your head.

“You’re gorgeous…” you almost whisper. He scoffs and looks into his lap. He looks back at you, his hand lifting and his fingertips tousling with the hair at the back of your head.

“C’mere” you whisper, gesturing for him to come closer. His hand moves up your leg, moving it to the side as he moves between your legs. Your hand finds the back of his head and you pull his face to yours as your lips meet, pulling him down onto the couch with you. His hand holds himself up by your head, as the other continues to move up your hip and waist, really holding you, his thumb rubbing over every curve and bone.

The kisses become breathless and heavy, your fingers tightening in his curls as your other hand grips his jaw, your noses knocking and his forehead on yours as he pulls away for air.

“All that medical talk like foreplay for you ey?” He breathlessly chuckles. You giggle, before dreading the next expected development.

“Daniel I…”

“Not tonight…I know…” he nods warmly.

“I’m sorry I…I just-”

“Shh shh shh…” he squeezes your hip, looking down at your plump lips and tucking some strand of hair behind your ear. you stare at his warm doe eyes and pink cheeks.

“Just this…this is okay…you’re more than enough like this…”

You nod.

God he makes it impossible not to take him right here.

“Is that okay?…can I?…” he looks back down at your lips, taking your chin between his thumb and index finger, you nod.

You and Daniel spend some time like this, your lips on each others like teenagers, not testing the waters for something more but instead completely satisfied with it being just this for tonight.

It comes to Daniel leaving, he’s at your front door, flushed cheeked and bearing a shit eating grin.

You lean against the doorframe as he stands in the hallway.

“I had a really…really good time tonight…I really needed it…” I smiled.

Daniel stood with his hands in his pockets, nodding.

“Me too…I really like you…i…yeah so if you wanna uh…maybe do something again another time?”

“I’d love to…really…” you nod.

“You’re choosing this time…theme park or movie night here…time and place I’ll be there” he smiles.

You nod, with a smile you know looks cheesy and giddy, but you don’t care. You’re happy.

“Can I…get that number then? Or signature…I’m sure I can show it around…” you joke, he laughs, well…bellows, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh I uh…I wrote my number on the post it in your kitchen earlier…I was worried you wouldn’t wanna see me again so I thought when you didn’t call I could just tell myself you didn’t see the note”

You laugh and step forward, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into you.

“Believe me I don’t want it to end here…” I look up through my eyelashes at him, his hands finding my waist and gripping tightly.

“Mm” he hums.

I tiptoe up and press a chaste kiss to his lips.

He nods.

“Yeah…yeah don’t let it end here please…”he chuckles after his almost needy admission.

The two of you part ways, and you get ready for bed giddy, thinking of him and his gentle hands on your feet and calves but their harshness and neediness on your hips. The sound of his laugh and the taste of his lips tainted in your memory. The smell of him lingering in your apartment.

You send a quick text to your best friend.

“He’s perfect. Deets tomorrow xoxo”

She responds with a simple, “EEEK! Get it girl!” You laugh.

Sleep claims your body instantly as your head hits the pillow, for once you’re not dreading waking up…for once.

It’s just gone 11am, you’ve been laying in bed for around an hour, just recuperating from last night when your doorbell goes, you’re not expecting a delivery.

You grunt as you push yourself up out of bed, padding barefoot and in an oversized T-shirt to the front door, unlocking and peering through the gap.

“Hello?”

“Morning…”

“Daniel?” I pull the door open further in shock, to reveal a hoodie, shorts and snapback clad Daniel, holding a brown paper bag and some coffees.

“I brought some food…ease you into today after last night? I can leave it with you or?…”

I shake my head.

“What?…I’m…what?” I chuckle out of shock.

“Sorry…I just…I just thought with how much last night must have been for you…I could bring you food so it’s one less thing for you to think about…I know you don’t need my comfort but I’d like to think I can carry some of it for you…if you want of course…”

Is this how first dates usually end up? Who the fuck have I been going on dates with? Where did he spawn from?

You grab the food from him and place it on the counter, grabbing the pocket of his hoodie and dragging him inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Woah I-”

Daniel looks down at you, grinning, as your body’s pressed against his.

“We could always pick up where we left off last night?…or just…have breakfast…” you shrug teasingly.

Daniel kicks off his shoes with a grin, bending down and pulling you over his shoulder.

“This okay?”

You squeal a “yes”, laughter ringing through your apartment as Daniel stands and carries you over his shoulder to your bedroom…actual laughter.

“We definitely have some unfinished business” he grins.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

My thoughts about the Trump assassination attempt

After having a few hours to process this whole thing and see reactions from across the political spectrum, I'm having some thoughts and some feelings.

First off, as I said earlier, Trump is a fucking boss. Take anyone who ran for president in the last 20 years, put them in that exact situation, and I don't think a single one responds by raising his fist and snarling in defiance and righteous anger. They run. They cry. They keep their heads down and the first statement you h ear from them is hours later filtered through 20 different speech writers. Today proved to me that, whatever else he may be, Trump is a genuine bad ass. He's exactly the person I want at the end of a sword pointed the United States. Because he's going to have a sword of his own pointed right back, and he's not going to run and hide when it comes time to use it.

Second, the modern left is full of monsters. The amount of people screaming and crying because this assassination attempt failed actually sickens me. It's one thing to have fantasies about easy solutions to the things that scare you. Hell, I'm not innocent. I've thought about how much better things might be if this politician was no longer around or this activist group got axed. But one of the things I did today was think about how I would feel if the assassin succeeded. And then I thought about how I'd feel if someone took a shot at Biden and he didn't survive. Neither thought gave me any good feelings. Obviously I'd be more upset if Trump died, but today showed me that I don't want us to start down the path of shooting political leaders. But too many people on the left, people who should know better, at least enough to hide their true feelings, have no problem publicly wishing Trump was dead right now. That assassinating presidential candidates was a legitimate tactic--but only against the politicians they don't like, of course.

Fuck that.

Fuck them.

America is better than that. Americans are better than that. We're not some third world shithole like Mexico. We're the greatest country in the world. We're the last bastion of representative government. The last place in the world where freedom exists. And it's time we started acting like it.

Third, I ain't got no time for conspiracy theories. Sorry guys, but this wasn't staged and this wasn't a CIA hitman. Unless real, hard evidence comes out otherwise, you won't ever get me to believe any of the nonsense I've seen floated around. Don't be so lost in the true things the media has dismissed as "conspiracy theories" that you immediately jump to the most conspiratorial explanations first for everything that happens. It's lame and cringe and a lot of people I've seen seriously putting these theories forward should know better. I know we're in our emotions right now, but keep your heads.

Fourth, my heart breaks for the families of the people who were hit with the bullets meant for President Trump. But that's the kind of evil we're facing. Whoever did this decided that the idea of a Trump presidency was so awful that they were okay with shooting innocent people just to stop him. And this is after he was already president and none of the things the media is fear mongering about happened during his first term. Those people just wanted to see a man speak. To have some hope for the future. And some piece of shit shot them because he didn't like a presidential candidate. Or worse, because the TV made him scared.

Fifth, fuck the media. You think you hate them enough, but you don't. The media is the driving force behind our enemies, and there's no such thing as a good journopig. They're all lying propagandists. We just like some of them because their propaganda occasionally hits on the truth.

And that's all I got. None of this is organized, none of this is proofread. These are just the thoughts I've been wrestling with for the past few hours. This is the only place I can get them all down without being interrupted or feeling like I need to censor myself. Do with them what you will.

[mapis-putellas]

I’ll keep you warm

Pairing: Natasha x reader

Words: 731 (blurb)

Request: “I have a request for Nat and g!n reader with the prompts, “I’ll keep you warm.” and “Are you blushing?”

Warnings: mentions of guns

Summary: Natasha Romanoff does not blush.

Notes: Thank you to the anon who requested this <3

"You know, being Russian doesn't stop you from freezing to death. Which, you know, you will, if you insist on wearing that." You cross your arms against your chest as you stare down at Natasha.

She was sat on the bottom step of the stairs tugging on a pair a boots, her body clad in nothing but jeans and a t shirt which looked strange considering your own attire which consisted of sweatpants, a hoodie and a jacket.

"Detka, seriously. You worry too much. I'll be fine, okay? Now let's go." She rises to her feet and reaches for your hand, firmly interlocking it with her own. Knowing it would be pointless even trying to fight her on the subject, you allow her to pull you out of the house, watching as she makes quick work of locking up behind you before pulling you down the street.

You were currently hiding out at a safe house after a mission gone wrong, but due to lack of preparation on Tony's end, there was absolutely no food available for you to eat. You hadn't minded initially due to the fact you were used to not eating for long periods of time -thank you foster homes- but the second you'd heard Natasha's stomach grumble, you'd been insistent on going out and at least trying to get something to eat.

She'd fought you, but you'd been stubborn.

It wasn't ideal, leaving the safe house. You knew that, and so did Natasha. But it wasn't like you had any other options. Anyway, you had a gun tucked into the waistband of your sweats should anything go wrong, and if the holster just visible peeking out from Natasha's jeans was anything to go by, she was more than prepared too.

But no one knew you were here. The location was hidden. So you figured a trip to the nearest store would be okay.

"I guess I'll keep you warm then." You mumble, releasing her hand and throwing your arm over her shoulder instead. Natasha doesn't respond verbally, but the way her cheeks flush a light shade of red doesn't go amiss. "Wait," you gently tug her to a stop, a teasing grin already on your lips. "Are you blushing?"

"What? No! Of course I'm not." Natasha scoffs, averting her eyes away from your own. Your smile widens as you pull her body flush against your own, clasped hands resting just above her rear end. Her own arms rise to cling to the material of your shirt, but she pointedly avoids meeting your eyes.

"Oh, so these red cheeks must be because you're cold, huh?" You reach up and brush the backs of your fingers across cool skin. Natasha doesn't want to admit that you were correct about her blushing, so she does with the next best option. Lying about being cold.

"Yeah. Totally. I'm freezing." She forces herself to shiver as she leans properly onto your arms. Her voice suggests she was telling the truth, but her skin was still warm to the touch telling you that she was very much lying.

Amused more than anything, you press your lips against her forehead before letting out a quiet sigh and shrugging off your hoodie.

Her eyes widen. "What? No. Put that back on, right now." She all but demands, grabbing a fistful of the material and attempting to pull it back onto your body. You smirk and shake your head, successfully managing to pull the hoodie off before yanking the head hole over her head.

"Baby. Seriously. I'm fine! I wasn't actually being se- is that my shirt?" Green eyes meet your own as they appear over your hoodie, and you immediately look down and see that you were, in fact, wearing her shirt.

Figuring she was distracted enough, you guide her arms through their respective holes in the hoodie before pulling it properly down her body.

"Yes. It is." You reach forward and pull her hair out of the neck hole. "Ready to go?"

Knowing it would be pointless trying to give the hoodie back considering you could give her stubbornness a run for its money, Natasha sighs and begrudgingly nods her head before tucking an arm around your waist.

"Sure am."

You throw your own over her shoulder and press a kiss to her forehead. "I'm craving pizza."

Natasha rolls her eyes. Of course you were.