#found this in my camera roll while having a clean-up

[bentosnackbox]

“Girl, just let me know / We can take it slow.”

lyrics: “Break from Toronto” *(2013 – PARTYNEXTDOOR

part one

MENTIONS : situationship, mentions of sex, gojo, suguru and shoko r also in the same age range, unprotected sex, pussydrunk!megumi, backshots, ghosting, alcohol, blunts, partying, college AU, fratboy megumi kinda..?, sexting, cursing, athlete megumi, pro basketball player megumi.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ IN THIS AU !!

DISCLAIMER : MDNI ( i’m not responsible of what you see on the internet, but still cmon guys let’s not lmao)

guys this is my first time writing a fic… like ever!! so don’t expect it to be good i’m still working on it lol.

also if u see me make a grammar mistake it’s cuz english isn’t my first language, so there will be some mistakes sadly 🫩

i plan on writing more fics if this blows up or i get comments n likes asking for more… anyways !!

there will be more parts cuz i’m too lazy too put everything in one part lmao sorry

master list: part one, part two, part thee

12 PM CAMPUS NEWYEARS PARTY | January 1st 2025

“you like that? you like when i hit it like that? yeah i know you love this dick baby girl.”

i let out a moan as he hits that sweet g spot religiously over and over again knowing how much i love it.

“who got the best dick girl? c’mon talk to me baby.”

“you do gumi!!” i scream out moaning while he gives me the best backshots ever.

“good girl” he groans as he comes inside earning a moan from me.

just as i’m about to come on his dick i hear a knock on the bathroom door with satorus voice coming through

“what y’all doing in there? c’mon out”

i look at megumi with wide eyes and put my panties back up with my mini skirt, not even bothering to clean up.

he pulls his boxers and purple jeans back up.

i turn to megumi “what the fuck do we do now?”

“relax baby girl s’ not like we’re in a relationship anyway, we’re just friends making each other feel good.”

just friends.

just friends.

just friends?

oh so this meant nothing to him? i was just one of his side bitches?

i get it we’re best friends since 6th grade and have been inseparable ever since

fucking each other wasn’t anything new

but the first time we actually did it was in the first year of college at his house

his girlfriend of a month cheated on him and he found out over a leak of her fucking his best friend yuji got sent around

i came over to help him get over her and watch a movie

little did i know i would get my pussy eaten

also i knew megumi was gorgeous and a player but damn this shit actually felt real for once

atleast for me.

“yeah right, um just friends” i say snapping back into reality as i notice i zoned out

he gives me a smirk and kiss on the cheek before finally opening the door

satoru is standing infront of the door, drink in hand waiting for us to open up

“the fuck were yall doing?”

“none of ur business” megumi says smirking and rolling his eyes shoving him out the way while dragging me behind him

we walk over to the drink bar and sit down on the stools

“watcha wanna drink baby?”

baby? after he said we’re just friends? and he says it like it means something

am i going fucking crazy????

“a piña colada please” i give him a fake smile, not like he can tell a difference from what’s fake and real

he’s rubbing my thigh up and down as we wait for the drinks

“gumi?”

“yeah baby?”

“i gotta use the toilet real quick”

“aight baby don’t take too long tho”

i never came back tho.

i ran back to my dorm in 6 inch heels tripping on the way there crying all the way there

mascara smudged, lashes falling off, wig a little lopsided

what the actual fuck ?? like cut the cameras bitch

who does this nigga think he is?

i block his number on messages, block his ig and twitter

best thing to do right now is focus on myself and keep my life clean

after all it was a new year’s resolution of mine.

______

06:00 PM talking with my roommate about the situation to recover | January 19th 2025

“omg he’s such a bastard”

i nod sobbing as i eat my ben and jerry’s ice cream while gossiping with my bestie a.k.a shoko!

we’re having our monthly gossip rant session in our matching bonnets, doing face masks while eating ice cream

i haven’t heard from him since the night it happend prob cuz i blocked him lol

and maybe that’s for the better.

for both of us

he isn’t around campus much ever since he got a deal to get signed to the memphis grizzlies in summer of last year

the only times he’s around is when there’s party’s or a holiday coming up.

“and he proceeded to say ‘we’re just friends’ baby you deserve someone better. need me to beat his ass?” shoko said ready to throw hands

i giggle “girl no it’s okay really-”

i get interrupted by a text message notification

unknown number

| can we talk now?

| are you done being mean?

no. fucking. way.

i stare at my phone with wide eyes not even listening to shoko rant about how annoying her classmates are and she notices

“everything okay y/n?”

i show her the message

“it’s megumi. i recognize his texts from a mile away”

but

how tf did he get my number.

shoko sees my anxiety kicking in again by the way i’m biting my nails right now

“calm down y/n, just ghost him it’ll work out trust me”

i nod ignoring his text messages

i ignored him.

oh i tried ignoring him.

but turns out he’s down bad

like the yearning type.. yup

______

10:18 AM on the following Monday | January 22nd 2025

i’ve been getting non stop no caller id calls

like non. fucking. stop

it’s crazy

new messages came through

unknown number

| stop fucking ignoring me deadass

| that’s fucking annoying.

fuck.

i’m in the middle of a lecture and he’s texting me?

shit i gotta think quick

“calm down y/n, just ghost him it’ll work out trust me”

and so i ghost him for the next 2 days until…

______

06:26 PM Wednesday in my dorm | January 24th 2025

shoko is out on a work dinner

and i’m bed rotting in my bonnet watching love island on my macbook

“they did my girl huda so fucking dirty!!”

i say as i’m eating my ben and jerry’s cookie dough ice cream again

*i get another message*

unknown number

| you haven't been texting me or calling me at all

| what the hell's your problem?

shit

wait can he see that i read his messages?

since shoko isn’t here to stop me i decide to text back

| i need some space

| from everyone, it's not just you

read 06.38 pm

he texts back almost in the blink of an eye

| SPACE????

| bitch if u wanted space you should've been an astronaut

| answer the goddamn Phone when i call you.

shit he’s mad.

NOTE : guys comment if y/n should pick up or ghost lmao

i enjoyed making this kinda fun tbh

again first time making a fan fic so don’t judge ok..

[daenerystargaryensgirlfriend]

Yuzuru Hanyu's 2018 Seimei step sequence

[zolass]

Live, Lust, Love Ch. 01

Bottom Male Reader x Male Yandere Harem

Finally here with Live, Lust, Love, this is going to be in 2nd POV to see what I like more, second or third, so I'm sorry for the confusion.

In general this fic is NSFT/NSFW content, ik this is a ran through idea for stories but Live, Love, Lust is gonna be one of my babies. It has DD:DNE content as well, and yes a yandere harem.

cw: exhibitionism and voyeurism, mentions of multiple rounds. sry if I missed some

1.7k words

Lewd moans reverberated around the warm and dimly lit bedroom, the bed looked soft with a plush blanket and pillows, a few shelves with some toys on it, or other interests– figurines or books with plants and other decor in the empty spaces.

Audible wet squelching and the squeaking of a chair, while you were simply lost in the pleasure. Your thighs quivered, while your head whipped back as the silicone dildo – which you had placed on the chair – disappeared and reappeared with every time you lifted and dropped your hips. Your legs were spread open, as your teary eyes barely saw the lit up screen from your live stream, you only heard the little dings every time someone donated money.

Your face was sweaty underneath the mask that covered basically anything except your mouth and eyes, while your hair clung to your skin. You could only feel the immense pleasure shooting up your spine, while your cock was weeping precum – bobbing uselessly between your legs. 

Even when your legs started to tremble in exhaustion, you simply kept chasing the all too familiar feeling that started to bubble in your groin. While you forced your legs and body to go faster, the moans spilling from your lips seemed to grow in volume as well until a high-pitched moan left your open hanging mouth– your eyes rolled back as your back arched, the toy buried until the hilt inside of you as you reached your third orgasm on stream.

Ropes of cum dirtied your stomach and chair, while some landed on your mask and lips– which you licked away as your eyes found the camera again. An exhausted yet satisfied smile formed on your lips as you leaned forward, letting your legs and knees rest on the chair, “Thanks guys for joining me today,” you chirped happily, gaining another few donations and a lot of messages that begged you not to go, to keep talking to them, while some wished you already a good rest. 

You blew a kiss towards the screen, while waving your hand, “Until next time,” your voice was laced with sweetness as you said those words – but the moment you stopped the livestream you couldn’t help but let out a heavy sigh as you leaned back. Slowly you tried to get up from the chair, while your legs were feeling like jelly– trembling underneath your weight as you held onto the furniture of your bedroom as you made your way towards your bathroom. 

After you cleaned yourself up and your legs trembling reduces itself enough for you not to immediately face-plant the moment you let go of your furniture, you dressed yourself in simple silky shorts and a top, before you cleaned your setup which means the chair, toys and desk. 

Only after that did you give yourself the sweet realization of your today's income, a small smile formed on your lips. A couple thousands were added to your bank account which still felt ridiculous, after all you only started out because of a little bet you had with a friend– but when you saw the numbers on your bank account reach new highs– you possibly couldn’t stop.

You still went to work– but with the additional money you could live more comfortably, without the stress on bills or food. It was a bit ridiculous you got pleasure and money and all you had to do was let others watch you on the infamous cam-site ‘Elysium Live’ which is an invite only platform– except you want to be a camgirl or camboy, then you’ll have to send prove, while they already rate you if you’re good enough for their site or not.

After you said that to your female friend– a friend of yours who also did it once but didn’t really gain a reach – first was suspicious and then wanted to simply break the bet off until you had to reveal that you already sent a video over. It did take a few hours until you suddenly got an email and a one-time entry key. Well after that you started with it and quickly realized that people on this platform paid quite a lot.

Now it was a second and better paid job that you worked, not that you could complain, especially now that you have had three days off to stream you had to work tomorrow again. So after glancing at the time which read 3 PM, you simply walked into your kitchen to make yourself a late lunch. Sometimes you think about how many people might be streaming on the platform, as it does have profiles and a small tap on the profiles in which viewers can leave comments or requests, like a social media – just with cam boys and girls.

Of course you’ve gotten some quite – disturbing comments that you reported and within twenty minutes the comment was deleted, with a few others that quickly followed. You can’t lie, the support system seemed to be really good, handling the reports quickly, which was quite satisfying service for the– employee’s. 

With your lunch plated you walked back to your computer, you had to list down some of the requests that slipped in during the livestream, jotting only those down you would feel comfortable with. You really wanted to have access on your phone as well – but you weren’t sure if it was possible or even if you even wanted to open the app in public.

You tilted your head at some of those requests– lingerie. Not something you would shy away from but, how could you get it without having to walk into a store all awkward– telling a lie about buying a gift for your girlfriend that didn’t even exist– or you could be bold and shameless simply saying it’s for yourself. You’re going to figure it out when the time comes, as for now you could focus on the ones you can already do on the next livestream.

The next day you had gotten ready for work early before driving over with your bicycle, you planned on getting a car when the money you have wouldn’t put a too deep dent into your pocket that could make you worry about your bills again. It’s not like you stream every day, so it was a slow process, but fun nonetheless.

As you finally arrived at the corner store you worked at, you quickly secured your bike before stepping into the staff room from the back. You quickly changed and walked out to the front, greeting your coworker and friend, Melina. “Well well well– if it isn’t our favorite camboy,” her teasing voice was hushed as a smirk formed on her lips as she saw the half-hearted glare you sent her way. “Ha-ha so funny, also don’t forget that I was able to buy you a really nice birthday gift with the money I made,” you shot back with a small winning smirk on your lips – after all the brunette loved your gift.

“I know that, after all was it my idea to start this bet with you–” suddenly the door opened making the bell ding, the two of you glanced at each other as Melina made a zipping motion with her fingers across her lips, as the two of you nodded. No talking about it until the end of the shift.

Which was how the two of you continued to work together, chatting over various topics that came to mind, while you either restocked or stood at the cash register together to gossip. Everything was going peaceful as ever until the door opened again, close to the both of you’s shift end, and in came what you would consider a handsome – even gorgeous man. 

You couldn’t help but watch as the dark haired man grabbed two pairs of energy drinks, before he stepped closer until he stopped right in front of you– putting the drinks down, which automatically made you focus on them for a split second, seeing faint scars, before quickly looking back at the handsome man. He was wearing tailored clothes – a suit – he had hazel eyes and a charming smile on his lips. 

Quickly clearing your throat in embarrassment from being so obvious in ogling at the man, you quickly scanned the drinks and typed in, “That would be 3,56–” you were suddenly interrupted by the man who suddenly placed a fifty bill on the counter making you raise your eyebrows, “Do we know each other? Sorry that I’m asking but you seem – quite familiar,” the man suddenly questioned, making you frown just a bit before shrugging and shaking your head, “I don’t think so.”

A frown formed now on the other’s eyebrows before they raised while his eyes widened slightly as if he realized something, a small melodic chuckle left the man, before he grabbed the drinks, “Then I’m sorry, must’ve been someone else– oh and you can keep the change,” with those words and another sexy and charming smile thrown your way before the man stepped out of the store.

There was a long moment of silence, before you looked at Melina who let out a gasp. Her mouth hung open while she stared with raised eyebrows and eyes between you and the door, “That dude was hot, and rich– did you see how he came in here?” suddenly the chattering began as you only tried to process what just happened, before focusing on putting the money in the cash register. “He’s a flirt and definitely has some hots for you– like gawd damn did you see how he basically undre–” you put your hands over her mouth, stopping her from continuing. 

“Melina– take a breath I think the heat is rising to your head,” you only warned her to not push it further. Making Melina roll her eyes as she only nodded, “Fine-fine, I won’t continue until– our shift is over,” she announced after you dropped your hand. Both of you glanced at the clock, over the two of you which showed that there were only seven minutes left until your shift was over making you internally groan as you wouldn’t hear the end of her rambling about the ‘sex eyes’ the guy gave you. 

You weren’t sure of what her motives were– but one was for sure she didn’t want you to stay single now that you were in your late twenties. Maybe that’s also why you made a dash for your bike the moment your shift came to an end, throwing your working clothes into your locker, only to hear the complaining of Melina. “I know where your house lives!” she yelled after you while you left her in the dusk.

[sweetlikemonie]

𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐏

lil drabble for my man based on this video 🤭

content warnings: light degradation (he calls you a nasty bitch), praise, use of a toy, fingering, you’re also being recorded

author’s note: a lil sum sum while y’all wait on that geto and pearline fic don’t curse me 🥲 i’ve been so busy i’m sorry.

“Don’t look away.”

Onyankopon’s voice poured over you like heat, rich and dark and steady. You sat on the edge of the vanity chair, legs spread, heels digging into the counter, bare skin slick with anticipation. The soft hum of the rose toy vibrated against your clit…lightly teasing and already your thighs were twitching, your breathing uneven.

He stood behind you, one hand around your throat, not choking, just holding—reminding you who was in control. Onyankopon’s other hand rest against your at your breast, tweaking and teasing at your nipples, occasionally dropping down to take one into his mouth.

His eyes flicked up to the camera, recording everything. The mirror reflected the whole scene: your glassy eyes, parted lips, the toy nestled between your thighs, and Onyankopon towering behind you.

“You wanna come already?” he murmured, kissing the side of your neck, watching you squirm under the suction. “You can’t even sit still, baby.”

You tried to hold on, tried to keep your eyes trained on the mirror like he told you. But your hips rolled forward, chasing the sensation, mouth falling open.

“Eyes up,” he snapped softly, the grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “This ain’t just for you, it’s for me. For them. Let ’em see how pretty you get when I turn you out.”

The rose pulsed harder, perfectly in sync with your heartbeat, and your body arched as a cry slipped from your lips—raw, high-pitched, desperate. Your reflection stared back at you, ruined and beautiful, every inch of you trembling.

“Don’t come yet,” he warned.

But it was already too late.

“You couldn’t even hold it, could you?”

Onyankopon’s voice slid over your skin like silk, low and amused, but heavy with authority. The rose toy buzzed weakly on the counter, soaked from the mess you made on it, your legs still twitching from the orgasm you weren’t supposed to have. You tried to pull yourself together, but your body wouldn’t stop trembling, your mind already gone.

He pressed in close behind you, one large hand cradling your jaw as he tilted your head toward the mirror. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Didn’t even ask. Just made a mess like a nasty little bitch.”

The way he said it…soft, damn near affectionate sent another rush between your legs. You whimpered, shame curling in your gut, but he smiled at you in the mirror. Like he adored how wrecked you were.

“Mmm,” he hummed, dragging two fingers down between your thighs, slow and teasing. “This what happens when I’m too nice to you?”

He gathered your cum on his fingers, then brought them to your lips.

“Go ‘head. Taste what disobedience gets you.”

You opened without hesitation, moaning as you sucked his fingers clean, tongue curling around him like you couldn’t get enough. He watched you with heavy eyes, thumb stroking your cheek once you were done.

“Good girl,” he said, almost like a reward. “Even when you’re outta line, you’re still my good girl, ain’t you?”

Before you could answer, his fingers were back inside you—deep, fast, merciless. Your body arched, your thighs tried to close, but he gripped your leg and forced them wider.

“You’re gonna take all of it. Every stroke, every pump,” he growled, voice still thick with affection, but dripping in filth. “I don’t care if you’re sensitive. You wanted to come without permission? Now you’ll come until you can’t anymore.”

His thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles in time with the thrust of his fingers. Your moans were loud now, desperate, echoing off the walls. But all he did was smile at your reflection watching you fall apart for him, again.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that,” he whispered, mouth brushing your temple. “You look so fucking beautiful when you lose it for me.”

And when you came again…loud, breathless, and soaked—he kissed your cheek, slow and sweet.

“Next time, you’ll wait,” he said, still stroking you through it. “Or I’ll keep you like this all night.”

[frightfullytreeish]

post 8x13 episode coda, facetime cooking yet again

"So you just stay hidden and keep quiet-"

"Yeah, dad, I know how surprises work."

"-and then when I give the signal, I'll turn the camera on you and you shout surprise!"

Chris rolls his eyes from where he's sitting at the kitchen table, putting minimal effort into tearing up the mozzarella. "It's just Buck. You don't have to be so weird about it."

"I'm not being weird," Eddie says, checking his watch for the fifteenth time in five minutes.

It's normal to be excited about seeing your best friend and getting to share some good news with him, isn't it? Nothing weird about looking forward to that. One night with Chris back under his roof felt like a dream after the nightmare came true; all Eddie wants to do apart from talk to his son is talk to Buck about it.

Checking the time again, he watches the seconds hand tick around to 12pm precisely before he sends the facetime request; Buck accepts it immediately, as if he was just standing in his kitchen 800 miles away waiting for Eddie to call. His face fills the screen with a broad, toothy grin that slips in and out of focus while he fiddles with his cell phone, getting it propped up perfectly before he steps back and salutes.

"Afternoon, chef."

"Afternoon, chef," Eddie grins back. "What's on the menu today?"

"Stir fry. With-" Buck pauses dramatically, holding up a brown paper bag and shaking it at the camera, "the freshest baby king oysters on the west coast."

"Mrs Choi still hustling you, huh?"

"We still have our mutually beneficial arrangement," Buck corrects him, loftily.

From behind him, Eddie hears Chris cough out something that sounds like 'gross'. He glances over his shoulder, catches Chris' eye and has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at his son's horrified expression.

"I'm telling you, man," he says, more for Chris' benefit than anything, "she's saving way more on labour than you are on mushrooms. You know how much it costs to get someone to come clear your gutters?"

"Yeah, but it's fun. I found a California red-legged frog up there once! They're a threatened species, you know."

"Wish I'd known a month ago you think cleaning gutters is fun. Woulda brought you out with me, saved me doing it all myself."

It's the wrong thing to say; Eddie feels it as soon as he's said it, in the burst of silence that follows and the way Buck's expression slips, just for a second. And there's the rub, right? That Eddie didn't - couldn't, shouldn't - bring Buck with him.

"Like you could afford my rates," Buck says after a beat too long, smoothing out the silence with a laugh while he busies himself gathering his ingredients, not looking at the camera.

"Oh, my mushrooms aren't good enough for you?"

"'Fraid not. So what's cooking today, chef?"

"Pizza from scratch."

Glancing up at Eddie again, Buck whistles. "Dough and sauce?"

"Of course, what do you take me for?"

"What's the special occasion?"

"No reason," Eddie says as casually as he can while he's trying not to smile. "Just making sure my sous chef earns his keep."

He sees Buck's face light up in gleeful understanding the moment before he turns the camera on Chris, who waves his mozzarella-speckled fingers and yells, "Surprise!", only sorta sarcastically.

"Holy shit!" Buck shouts. "Look at you, Chris! How tall are you now? You're gonna be towering over Eddie in no time."

"I'm coming for the crown," Chris says.

"Eddie, you'd better sleep with one eye open! I mean, that is, if - Chris, you're - ?"

"Back where he belongs," Eddie fills in, holding his cell phone out like a teenager taking a selfie so he can smack an obnoxiously loud kiss onto the top of Chris' head with them both in frame. "Moved him in last night."

Buck's smiling so broadly at the two of them that Eddie has to take a quick screenshot: Buck, beaming in the kitchen Eddie still thinks of as his, with Eddie and Chris in their pop-up window in the corner of the screen, Chris caught mid disgruntled eye-roll.

"That's awesome," Buck says. "I - I'm so happy for you both."

And of course Buck is happy, Eddie knows - doesn't need telling - but as the call goes on and him and Chris fill Buck in on yesterday's disastrous chess tournament and Eddie's worst passenger this morning, Buck gets quieter and quieter. Until finally Chris gets bored of waiting for the pizza sauce to finish reducing and wanders off to play Minecraft, and then it's just Buck and Eddie again, in not-quiet companionable silence. Eddie gives the sauce another stir, and waits.

Without looking up from whatever he's chopping, Buck says, "It's stupid."

"You? Never."

"Har dee har," Buck scoffs, smiling anyway. "But it - it's fine, I don't wanna - tonight's about Chris being back home with you."

"Once it's time to assemble the pizza, maybe. Right now he's busy digging perfect squares, or whatever it is they do? I - really don't get Minecraft," Eddie admits and Buck laughs again, looking back up at the camera. "Point is, it's just me and you now. In fact…"

Turning the burner right down, Eddie leaves the sauce to simmer and grabs a beer from the fridge. He carries the bottle and his phone out into the backyard; he hasn't done anything with it beyond hacking back the wildest clumps of weeds, too busy making the indoors livable to think about the outdoors, but there's an old bench on the back porch. Eddie drops down onto it, props his feet up on a pile of loose bricks and balances his cell phone on the peeling window sill.

"There," he says, cracking open his beer. "Spill. What's up?"

On screen, Buck has moved to lean against the kitchen counter, looking down at Eddie in the phone in his hands. He shrugs.

"It's stupid," he says again. "Guess I just realised I - I'm kinda jealous. Of you, getting to hang out with Chris. But mainly of Chris, for getting to hang out with you. It's petty, I know. I just… miss you."

His camera is pointing right up his nose, an angle that should be objectively terrible for anyone, but staring into Buck's nostrils still feels like there's no view Eddie would rather have. Nobody else in the world, in this moment, that Eddie would rather talk to.

"I get it," he says.

Buck sighs, a sad dog sort of sigh. "Yeah. I know. I know you miss me too."

"Don't you forget it."

Eddie sips his beer, picks at the label, frowns out at his yard; it's a good size, lined with mature trees. Eddie could grow flowers, maybe, like Shannon always wanted, or try his hand at tomatoes. There's room to put down roots, if he wanted.

If Buck were here, he'd probably spend an hour or two working out what kind of trees they were, until he got distracted by a rare species of millipede or whatever.

"I'm jealous too," Eddie says to the yard. "Of everyone at the 118 who still gets to have your back on a call. Of - you know your sister keeps sending me photos of you when you guys're hanging out? I guess so I feel included or something, I don't know, but it's making me jealous of her too.

"Hell, I think I'm even jealous of the house, because it's yours now. I don't know, man. I mean it. I miss you, and I get it, okay?"

There's a pause, long enough for Eddie to stop peeling the label off his beer bottle and glance back at his phone again - back up Buck's nostrils. Buck's head is ducked, chin into his chest, and he's grinning kinda bashfully.

"Okay, Eddie," he says.

They look at each other. Buck lifts his cell phone back up to face height again, so that they're eye-to-eye, almost, and Eddie imagines everything else he could be jealous of in the kitchen of 4995 South Bedford right now. The counter under Buck's thighs, the phone in his hand, the glass screens between them.

"You should come visit," Eddie says. "In a week or two, maybe, once Chris has settled in."

"Okay," Buck says again, softly.

"Good," Eddie says.

He takes Buck back into the kitchen. Pictures him there in the room, in the flesh, while he stirs his pizza sauce and Buck heats the oil in his wok 800 miles away. Eddie could be jealous, he imagines, of the air between their bodies, if he let himself.

He imagines letting himself.

Now on AO3 here

[lovemomhatepolice]

gladiator - charles leclerc

navigation taglist requests

pairing: charlec leclerc x fem! reader

warnings: established relationship, cursing, pet names, slight! public sex, p in v English is my second language!

type: smut!

word count: 1k

belonging: NO NUT NOVEMBER

summary: did you have to wear that dress in public?

more content: formula 1 masterlist, charles leclerc masterlist

a/n: I encourage you to give requests in the Christmas marathon! click here :) and my first thousand celebration

The London evening was bustling with energy as the premiere of Gladiator 2 rolled out its gold carpet. Stars and fans gathered in crowds, cameras flashed in the dazzling lights of the city. Charles Leclerc stood at the center of it all, looking effortless in an elegant black suit and clean white shirt that fit his figure perfectly. His hair was neatly styled, and his trademark charm was on full display as he posed for photos, but his attention was constantly drifting to one person: his girlfriend, [Y/N].

You were radiant in an almost transparent floor-length gown that clung to her curves in all the right places. The larger material was on her breasts and hips, while the rest remained a bright shiny mesh. Charles couldn't take his eyes - let alone his hands - off you.

"You're going to be the death of me tonight." - he whispered in her ear as they stopped for a moment away from the cameras. His hand rested lightly on her back, and his fingers traced the exposed skin on her back with a light touch that sent chills down her spine.

She smiled, looking up at him through her lashes. "Behave yourself, Charles. We're in a public place," he said.

"I can't," he muttered, his voice low and full of desire. "Not when you look like that.

The tension between the two of you was enormous, and it only grew as the evening progressed. When it was after the movie premiere and Charles had given all the interviews, he grabbed your hand tightly and winked: "I need you. Now”

"Here?" you asked, raising your eyebrows.

He did not answer with words. Instead, he led you discreetly down a quiet corridor, away from the crowd. He found a vacant bathroom and pushed open the door, pulling you inside. He closed the door carefully behind you and his hands were immediately on your hips. And your lips joined in a heated kiss.

"You're unbelievable," you breathed between kisses, your hands entwined in his hair as he pressed your back against the cool tile wall.

"I can't help it," he murmured, and his voice was quiet as his hands roamed your curves, sliding down to grip your thigh and lift your leg around his waist. "All I could think about all night was you.”

You moaned quietly as he kissed your neck, his teeth brushing against your skin just enough to make it tremble. His hand moved down your leg, pushing aside its thin material.

Charles smiled under his breath when he felt your wet thong, and smiled even more when he matured that they were the ones he had given you himself.

"Mon dieu," he groaned as his fingers glided over the wet material. "You are death to me."

Charles growled softly, his lips capturing hers in another fiery kiss as his fingers slipped inside her, curling just right. Her moan filled the small space, and he couldn’t help but smirk against her lips.

“You’re so ready for me,” he murmured, his free hand sliding up to cup her jaw as he kissed her deeply.

[Y/N] couldn’t form a coherent response, her body arching into his touch as he worked her with expert precision. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and the sound of her pleasure was like music to his ears.

“Charles,” you gasped, your voice breaking as he added a second finger, his thumb brushing over your sensitive clit. “Please.”

“Not yet, baby,” he teased, looking straight into your eyes.

Charles' fingers worked inside you with precision, coiling inside you and hitting just the right spot, while his thumb circled your clitoris in perfect rhythm. The combination of his touch and the way he watched you - his green eyes darkened with desire - made your orgasm come faster than you could have expected.

Your hips bucked impatiently against his hand as waves of pleasure hit you. Charles didn't stop moving his fingers inside you, and his lips placed gentle kisses on your jaw and neck as you came down from your orgasm.

„That was amazing” you murmured, kissing his lips in steamy kiss. 

„That’s not the end” he responded. „Turn around for me pretty thing”

Obediently you turned toward the wall, moving more towards the mirror. You saw exactly how Charles stepped back just enough to undo his belt and pants, his movements quick and desperate. The sight of his ready and hard dick at your sight again amplified the wave of heat between your legs.

His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he pressed against you, his erection teasing your entrance.

"Charles," you moaned, glancing at him in the reflection of the mirror.

The man kissed your shoulder, slowly guiding his member to your entrance. He gently lifted your leg, holding it with one hand. You didn't take your eyes off him in the mirror, and as soon as he pushed into you slowly, filling you inch by inch, his gaze also caught yours in the mirror.

The stretch was perfect, and the way he fit inside you, maybe too much, but exactly what you needed. When he was fully seated, he paused for a moment, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath and be reasonably quiet. After all, you had risked a lot by making love in a public restroom at a movie premiere.

"Fuck, you feel amazing." - he muttered, and you could hear the admiration in his voice.

You pressed against him, and your body was already even aching for him to move. "Charles, please."

That was enough for him to do everything she wanted. His hips began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, but quickly gaining intensity. The sound of skin touching skin filled the small bathroom, accompanied by your shared moans and heavy breaths.

One of his hands slid down to your front, and his fingers found your clitoris again and easily. You felt that you were moments away from the longed-for fulfillment that was to come a second time that evening.

"You're so perfect," he moaned, his voice strained as he pushed harder, deeper. "So fucking perfect.”

You looked in the mirror, perfectly seeing Charles enter and exit you. It was the best view and feeling you had ever experienced in your life. You were so perfectly matched that it was downright exaggerated.

"Come to me," he mumbled, brushing his lips against your ear. "Let me feel you."

His words accelerated your orgasm. You slid lightly across the mirror, one hand clinging to Charles. Your walls clamped down on him, accelerating his orgasm. Charles joined you, moaning your name as you felt his cum inside you fill you.

For a long moment you stood like that, trying to calm down. Charles continued inside you, but slowly came out and let you clean yourself up, and carefully fastened his pants himself, bringing them back into order. He also helped do this to you with your dress, placing gentle kisses on your body.

“You’re going to kill me one day,” he teased, his voice warm and affectionate.

You laughed breathlessly, turning to face him with a teasing smile. “You started it, Charlie”

“Well, you should have not worn that dress,” he murmured, placing his hands on your hips and pressing a kiss to your lips.

And even though you could hear knocking on the door all around you, and all that media hype a little further away, for you the world did not exist.

A/N: i swear!! charles and carlos looked so good at that premiere

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[retireddaddyric]

This never happened.

Synopsis: (y/n) and Daniel are two best friends on vacation with their friends group. But Daniel asks for a little ‘help’.

Warnings: 18+, minors do not interact please. Forced proximity, smut, unprotected sex, oral sex, touching, fem and male orgasm, breaking promises.

Note: this is all fiction. English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance if there are any errors. Thanks for the comments, keep them coming!

When you accepted to go away to the mountains with your friends for two weeks you knew your best friend Daniel would come too.

Because he never missed a chance to spend time in nature away from the mess of the city, you knew him like your own pockets. What you didn’t know was what you were going to get yourself into when you packed your bags and left home.

The first week you guys spent it hiking and riding bikes, gathering around campfires at night, grilling meat, fishing in lakes, baking sweets to eat at breakfast or going grocery shopping in little supermarkets miles and miles away from the spacious luxury cabin you were all staying at.

In the morning you would all meet in the great living room to plan the day ahead and at night you would all say your ‘goodnight’ and go to sleep in your respective bedrooms upstairs. You and Daniel were always a pair, sharing the bedroom since they were all two bedded and the four other girls didn’t have a boy best friend. So you were the only one sharing it with a man, but it didn’t bother you because it wasn’t the first time you and Daniel would sleep in the same room, it had already happened. It just never lasted two weeks like it did during this vacation.

You would go to the bathroom to shower in turns but you never bothered to cover up when you were in underwear since you thought Daniel only saw you as a friend.

Or as a sister.

But when the second week rolled in something shifted.

One afternoon he was laying on his bed with his camera in his hands rewatching the pictures he took after a long hiking morning. He was just waiting for you to clear the bathroom. You came out of it after your shower in a set of sports bra and thong saying “Your turn!”

He nodded without looking your way while you kneeled on the floor by your suitcase looking for clean lounge clothes. After a couple of seconds you heard the unmistakable click of the camera so you turned your head and you found him smiling behind his Sony, still keeping it up and clicking it again.

“Daniel?” You asked shocked.

“Nobody will see these I will just keep the memories to myself.” He smiled looking at the pictures he took.

“Of my ass up in the air?”

“Sounds like a great memory to me.” He chuckled.

“Shut up.” You said shaking your head and laughing. But you were flattered.

That night you were both already into bed when he stood up and came in your bed with his camera to show you some ‘sick pictures’ he had taken during the day.

“I wanna sleep..” you murmured.

“Come on it’s just a couple of pictures.”

He yapped as always showing you how he framed certain angles to make a flower look like it was the focus of the whole picture or how he tried to hide a discarded backpack at the bottom of a panoramic view. You nodded, your eyes half closed while your body would feel very aware of the muscles your best friend had. Because he saw you as a friend but you never went into your own thoughts to examine why you found him hot anyway. You just grew to accept it.

“Hey hey wait watch this.” He said when he saw your eyelids closed. You opened your eyes whining and he showed you a picture he took of you while you were looking at a tree, while underneath the covers he put his thigh on yours and you felt his dick against your hip. The picture looked very cute but that hard dick twitching really woke you up at that point.

“Daniel you’re.. hard?”

“Nah that’s just blood..”

“Yeah I know how a hard-on works!”

He just giggled and pulled away going back to his bed.

The next day was even worse, you were all out on a trip to some lake and stopped there to eat your packed lunch. You were sat on the grass and he was next to you laying on it, talking to the others, his fingers tracing patterns at your lower back, underneath your shirt. You arched your back at the touch and looked at him with a questioning look. He smiled with a deep stare and whispered “Sorry, I’m just in the mood for cuddles..” You obviously felt goosebumps but just smiled politely. But when you guys came back at the luxury cabin that evening you couldn’t fake not seeing what was happening anymore. Because when you entered the shared bedroom he sat on his bed with a shy look on his face and cleared his voice brushing his hands on his thighs.

“I need to talk to you about something, (y/n)..” he said while you took your backpack off your shoulders.

You looked at him.

“I’m fucking horny.” He simply said.

Your eyebrows shoot up and you laughed but then he smirked and you knew he was being serious.

“What has this to do with me?”

“Oh come on don’t play dumb.. I need to..”

“..Wank? You want me to leave you alone for a bit?” You asked blushing.

He laughed and shook his head grabbing your hand to pull you closer between his legs. He lightly caressed your thighs at their sides looking up at you with his doe eyes.

“I’m used to have sex every week.” He admitted a little red in the face but still smiling. “It’s a habit I guess.. And this vacation is too long, i tried a wank three times but it’s a very momentary relief. Sleeping with you is making things worse.”

“You want me to leave the bedroom? One of us could go sleep on the couch downst-“

He stood up keeping his hand on your waist and you felt all kind of things. He looked down at you.

“Can we do.. something?” He asked you in a husky voice.

“..something? define something Daniel.”

“Oh come on we’re adults.”

“We’re friends.” You correct him trying deep down to think of what could go wrong.

“Nobody will know, it’s just you and me in here, I just need a little help..”

You both laughed, you were shy, he was amused.

“I swear I’ll be gentle and if you don’t like it just say the word.” He winked and then his lips were at your neck, kissing it softly, trying to convince you. You hadn’t had sex in a while since your last boyfriend and thinking of being kissed by Daniel.. you never really went there before in fear of getting stuck after a man who saw you as a sister.

“Was that a nod?” He whispered in your ear.

“I’m loud.” You declared.

He looked at you in the eyes with a devilish smile. “It will be just little touches I promise, we won’t really have sex.”

“Okay.” You smiled biting your bottom lip.

And then he grabbed your chin in his hand and kissed you. And you didn’t even remember being kissed like that before. His tongue explored every part of your mouth, his stubble was rough on your peachy face but you liked it.

He walked you to the bathroom without detaching his mouth from yours, and he started stripping your clothes off.

He had a needy look on his face that made him look even more sexier than how he always was.

“This is fucking wrong..” you muttered to yourself in pleasure while he sucked on your nipple, squeezing your tits in his veiny hands.

“Shhh, this never happened.” He whispered in your ear and turning you in his hands. He pushed you gently in the shower kissing the back of your neck.

And then a minute later his fingers were on your clit and his dick was sliding between your thighs from behind, not entering, just creating the friction.

You started breathing heavy and he found it so hard to not just slam it in. But he didn’t. He made you come with a little touching first. You moaned softly and arched your back, he helped you bend over, hands on the glass. Then he came too sliding his dick between your asscheeks, groaning, telling you how beautiful you were, how thankful he was.

You thought that was it.

Oh but you were so wrong.

Because for the following three days he ate you up during the night in your bed shutting your mouth with his hand, your legs spread over his shoulders. He fingered you in the kitchen while you were making breakfast for the whole group early in the morning, you were shaking while flipping pancakes and he laughed and whispered “go on baby don’t get distracted”. He asked for a handjob in the car during your ride back from the supermarket and you did it, he groaned while driving, looking at the road while telling you how good you were. And you sucked him off during a stroll at the lake, when the others were ahead and he faked not feeling well enough to climb the hill behind: you were on your knees and he got his hands at the sides of your head, guiding you, making you swallow his hot cum.

But the line was really crossed on the last night of stay in the mountains.

It was late, your friends were long asleep, the little lamp on the nightstand on. And there you were, at the edge of his bed legs spread, your panties moved to the side, him standing between your thighs, sliding his dick between your bare pussy folds, brushing your clit with his hard lenght in the movement, your nightie rolled over your waist. You moaned quietly looking him in the eyes, the slick sound that filled the room so hot. His hands were at your hips, helping you moving while he kept staring at you like he was in another world.

“Fuck you’re so hot can I take a picture?” He whispered.

And you were so long gone for him that you nodded, you would have done anything for him.

“Promise no one wil see it.”

“I promise, I would never show anyone, on my life.”

He took the camera from the nightstand and took pictures of you, of his dick between your pussy lips, of his hand on your belly, and your legs at his sides. Then he threw the camera behind you on the mattress and grabbed your soft hips again.

He looked at you while you were arching your back. You could say he wanted to say something but kept holding back.

“What is it Daniel?” You moaned.

“I just.. fuck.” He said embarassed and breathy.

“Say it.”

“Can I just.. slide the tip in? Just the tip.” He swallowed, his chest all red.

“Like-“

He nodded fast. “Please, just the tip.”

You nodded, he nodded sighing.

And he fisted his dick coating the tip in your wetness, slowly sliding it in, his tip disappearing inside your warm walls.

“Daniel.” You moaned rolling your eyes back, your legs already shaking.

“Fuck, (y/n)!” And he found it hard to stop, he almost came when he instinctively pushed ahead and got it all inside by mistake, balls deep in.

You gasped and looked up at him panting, he looked down at you in terror. “Fuck I got carried away I just-“ he withdrew but you moaned louder.

It was the best feeling ever.

He moaned when he got out. Your legs were shaking with an impending orgasm.

“Fuck me, Daniel, please, just fuck me!” You begged. He slammed back him, groaning, his shoulders were shaking, his chest rising and falling fast. You whined in ecstasy, coming hard while he fucked you hard, fast and deep.

“Where do you want me to come?” He asked helpless, as if you were a drug he got addicted to.

“Inside, I’m on the pill.” You moaned loud, forgetting where you were.

“Shhhh!” He shouted, too loud to really be efftective.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He kept saying as his dick started spraying your insides white. He reached a vibrating orgasm and fell on you soon after.

And you both knew there were only two ways in which this could go starting from the day after.

So you both stayed quiet, panting, you stared at the ceiling, he stared at your suitcases.

One thing was sure: your friendship was over.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Life is like a Box of Chocolates || LandOscar

Summary: When you take an edible chocolate with your boyfriends it has an unexpected side effect. Warnings: 18+ only, edibles, smut, oral (both), mmf. WC: 2. 3k

The box looked inconspicuous enough. 

Oscar turned the packaging over and read through the ingredients while you and Lando opened three individually wrapped treats. They looked like any other boutique chocolate you had tried but this one promised more than a sugar high. 

“Bottoms up,” Lando said with a grin. 

You tapped your square of chocolate against his with a reciprocal smile. “I hope so.” 

You both bit into the treats and moaned at the decadent richness that coated your tongue. You couldn’t even taste the drug that would absorb slowly into your system, leaving you with a long lasting high that would surely make the boring dinner party better. 

“Oh my god, that was so good!” you hummed as you licked your fingers clean and found Lando had finished his too. 

Oscar chuckled as he saw a spot of chocolate in the corner of Lando’s lips and kissed it clean before grabbing his own piece. “We normally take half.”

“You’ve never been to this event before, trust me, you’ll need a whole one,” Lando assured him, taking the chocolate and guiding it to Oscar’s parted lips himself. 

Your body started to heat in response to the small sounds Oscar made as Lando fed him. “Why are you two teasing me? You know we don’t have time to play before the car gets here.”

Reluctantly, Oscar pulled away and swallowed his mouthful before returning to pack up the box. He opened the box again and put the few remaining wrappers back in, before noticing the instruction booklet under the tray. “Uh, guys, I don’t think this was weed,” he mutters.

“What do you mean?” Lando said with a laugh. “This is the box Daniel said to get.”

“Wait, Danny?” You hoped you hadn’t heard correctly. “The same Danny who has been trying to get back at you for the prank in Vegas?”

Lando laughed and shook his head, but realisation seemed to slowly dawn on his face and he snatched the box out of Oscar’s hands. His eyes scanned across the page of tiny disclaimers until it fluttered with his shaking hands. 

“What did you give us, Lando?” you asked as you looked between both of your boyfriends. “Osc?”

“Okay, so, don’t panic,” Oscar’s words immediately made your heart start pumping faster and he pulled you into his arms to draw soothing circles over your back. “It’s fine, baby. You might just feel a little…”

“What?”

“Horny,” Lando answered for him before he couldn’t suppress his laugh any longer. “I’m going to get him for this.”

“You don’t sound very worried,” you said to Lando before looking at Oscar. Obviously, he was never one to worry so he just shrugged.

“I’ll take care of you if you need it,” he promised.

—

“I can’t tell if this is the chocolate or me,” you grumbled as you sat between your boyfriends in the backseat of the car. Your hands gripped their thighs in an effort to keep them from roaming any higher, but it was a losing battle. 

“That’s just you, baby, it said it could take an hour to kick in,” Lando said, fiddling with his tie again. “Why do these have to be so tight?”

“He says it like he didn’t asked to be choked last night,” Oscar chuckled, reaching over your shoulder to tuck the tie back under his collar. “Now relax.”

“That was the plan,” Lando said with a roll of his eyes. “I’m going to fucking kill Danny.”

“Worry about that later, we’re here.”

You accepted Oscar’s hand and stepped out after him to the flash of cameras. It was hard not to feel inadequate when you were standing beside two of the most handsome men you had ever met, but when they curled their arms around your waist and whispered sweet words the worry fell away. 

“You look so beautiful, darling,” Lando said softly as he brushed his lips over your cheek. “I’m having a hard time keeping this PG-13.”

Oscar caught his finger under Lando’s chin and turned his hungry eyes away from you. “Stop looking at each other like that, you’re not the only one having a hard time,” he groaned. You couldn’t help glancing down his body but the black suit pants hid the ‘hard time’ he was growing in them. “Stop looking at me like that,” he warned. 

“I can’t help that I am infatuated with you two,” you said innocently, a sweet smile drawing his attention to your kissable lips. “Tsk, tsk, stop looking at me like that, Osc. Have some self control.”

Lando laughed and led you away from Osc as he tipped his head back with a silent prayer to survive the evening with his brats. When he had his composure back, he scanned the area for you but in those short seconds you and Lando had disappeared into the busy venue. “Fuck,” he groaned before beginning his search.

The crowd of businessmen swallowed you whole and it was only Lando’s hand that kept you from being swept away as he followed the bodies into the venue. His stiff back that you tucked in behind was the only outward sign that he hated the event but it was a night that couldn’t be avoided as McLaren needed investors to continue its growth. 

“Drink, love?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Only if it’s strong,” you winked. He smirked before suddenly changing direction and towing you towards the bar. “Shit!”

Lando turned quicker than your eyes could follow and he was glaring at the shocked stranger who stared at the damp splash in your dress. It would have made you laugh if the dress wasn’t worth more than your monthly pay and currently freezing from the icy drink that now decorated your bodice. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” the man apologised. 

“You didn’t see her?” Lando asked in disbelief. He couldn't understand how anyone could miss the most beautiful person in the room. 

“It-it’s just water,” he stammered as he reached to brush the water drops away but Lando caught his wrist before he could touch you. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I wasn’t paying attention,” you said as you peered around for the bathrooms before spotting the arrow pointing down a hall. “Come on, Lan.”

“Watch where you are going next time,” Lando imparted the advice as he turned with you, feeling your elbow nudge into his ribs at the attitude. “What? There is no way he didn’t see you. Everyone else can’t take their eyes off you.”

You rolled your eyes at the idea and stepped into the room as he opened the door for you. “It’s you they are staring at,” you corrected.

He slipped inside the powder room behind you and checked the attached room for the toilet was empty before he attacked. His lips threatened to ruin your makeup as he pinned you between his body and the wall, grinding himself along your front until your eyes fluttered shut. “You don’t see what I do,” he murmured between his heated kisses to your neck. His hand ran up your thigh, finding the slit in the dress so it could climb higher and brush the edge of your panties. “So fucking sexy and everyone knows you’re mine.”

A throat cleared and your eyes flew open to see Oscar leaning back against the door, an amused smirk on his lips as he watched the show unfold. “Yours?” he taunted as he snapped the lock into place.

“Ours,” Lando accentuated with his usual sass that had Oscar pushing off from the door and crossing the distance in two long strides. 

Desire was pooling at your core as you watched Oscar’s hand envelope Lando’s throat and pull him closer. Their lips collided with a fierce need to determine dominance and Lando tried to fight it before he succumbed to Oscar with a moan. Satisfied, Oscar pulled back to see Lando’s pupils blown out and a breathy whimper escaped his swollen lips. 

“You are both mine,” Oscar clarified before his eyes danced over your body and noticed the wet material. “What happened?”

“Some idiot spilt his drink on her.”

Oscar grabbed a hand towel from the shelf and started to dab away as much moisture as he could but every brush of the material sent little bolts of lightning across your body. Suddenly it felt like your body was on fire and you bit your lip as the flames reached your core.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned as the last touch caught the underside of your beast and it felt heavy with need. “Do that again, please.”

Lando was feeling the same heated effects course through his veins as the chocolates reacted with his body. “I think it’s been an hour,” he chuckled, reaching for the stiff peak he could see pressing against the thin material of your dress. He brushed the back of his knuckles over your nipple and hummed at the sound you made for him. 

Oscar abandoned the cloth and sank to his knees on the tiles. He swore he could smell your sweet arousal, the mouthwatering scent driving him insane as he bunched your dress up and kissed your core over the lace. The ax of time hung over your head as you all knew the dinner was about to begin but you didn’t care  the moment you looked down at Oscar’s eyes. 

“Just a quickie,” he agreed as he read your mind. Lando crushed his lips against yours as Oscar pushed your panties aside and tasted you with a languid swipe of his tongue. One boyfriend made you cry out and the other stole the sound with his kiss. Your hands tangled their hair, feeling the different textures between your fingers as you deepened the kiss and rocked your hips against Oscar’s face.

“Fuck,” Lando groaned at the pretty sight. “I’m so unbelievably hard right now.” He grabbed your hand to prove his words and you stroked his length over his trousers. “I don’t know if I want to kill Danny anymore.”

Oscar laughed against your clit and the vibration curled your toes in your heels and you cried out at the sensation. The sound cut through Lando’s amusement and his belt snapped open, his trousers falling just enough to free his cock. Your hand wrapped around him and he covered your hand with his, guiding you up and down in long slow strokes. 

“We are going to make a mess of your dress, baby,” Lando moaned as he felt his orgasm coming embarrassingly quickly thanks to the chocolate. You barely heard him as your own impending release hazed your mind but Oscar thought quick enough to pull away. Your body missed his mouth instantly but your cunt clenched at the sight of him taking Lando’s cock deep in his throat. “Fuck, Osc, that’s it, babe.”

You could hardly breathe as you watched Lando’s jaw clench and he shuddered as he spilled himself in Oscar’s mouth. Your boyfriend’s throat bounced as stood up and he swallowed the mouthful down, leaving Lando to sag against the wall while he recovered. 

“You missed a spot,” you said as you leant in and caught the drop of cum that clung to the corner of his lips. A soft hum reverberated as you shared the taste with a kiss and you pressed yourself against him to feel just how much he was feeling the drug too. “Need a hand?”

“Not quite,” he smirked, turning you around to face Lando. “Hold on.”

Lando reached out and you gripped his forearms as Oscar bundled your dress up in one hand and pushed your panties aside again with the other. He gave no warning before he sheathed himself deep inside your cunt and you buried your face in Lando’s chest with a gasp. You felt impossibly full before he snapped his hips back and then buried himself in you, over and over, an unrelenting pace that quickly brought back the edge of your orgasm.

Your cries were muffled by Lando’s dress shirt and your nails threatened to rip the expensive jacket he wore as you were rocked by your release that came so suddenly white spots danced across your vision. For a second your body was disconnected from your mind and the two only collided back together when Oscar joined you, warmth pooling in your core as he filled it with his seed. 

“Wooow,” Oscar chuckled as he pulled out and combed a hand through his hair. “That shit is strong.”

“At least we have something to take the edge off,” Lando said, before tossing the hand towel to Oscar. Oscar ran the towel under the warm tap and carefully cleaned up the mess he made before he pulled your panties back into place and let your dress fall around your unsteady legs. 

Oscar curled a brow at his boyfriend and the glint in his eye that said he expected a few more stops to this room during the night. “Let’s try to make it back to the hotel next time.”

“No promises,” he said with a wink. “Now, shall we go and sit through a bunch of old man speeches and try not to fall asleep?”

You looked down at your dress and found the wet patch had dried considerably, so much that it wouldn’t even be noticeable in the dim lights of the hall. “You still owe me a drink.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lando gave you a salute and unlocked the door, opening it to an empty corridor. “A strong one. Osc?”

“No, thank you, one of us has to be responsible.”

Lando looked at you, his lips barely suppressing the grin on his face. “He says it like he didn’t just fuck you in a bathroom.”

[sweatyracoon]

Skz Reactions!

Summary: You're on your period, and leak through your pants/shorts.

A/n: ALL members, I know I used Felix as a crutch a lot sorry

Warnings: blood mentions, suggestive (not all), language

Bangchan:

You and the eight boys had been friends ever since they debuted, meeting because you were one of the staff. You were near their age, which helped the bond.

You were particularly close with Han and Bangchan, them being so similar to you.

While filming a dance practice, you felt something painful in your abdomen, immediately making you cringe. It was too early to start, so you brushed it off as a simple pre-cramp. You continued with the camera.

During break, while the guys watched the video for mistakes, Bangchan came up next to you, gagging you from behind. He loved hugs, and you were never one to say no. He was just to comfortable.

But after a few seconds, he let his grip loosen, making you yearn to feel him again.

He didn't step up next to you; he didn't leave his place behind you. Then, you heard a noise, one like the sound of clothing being removed.

You went to turn, but Bangchan stopped you, whispering, "Don't turn, y/n. You have a red spot on your jeans."

You froze.

Sure, he was your best friend, but to go through something like this? Your ears flushed, scrunching your nose.

Then, his arms wrapped around you again, this time holding the sleeves to his sweater, wrapping it snugly around your waist.

"Here, no one will know, okay? Don't be embarrassed. After this, just go change," Bangchan finally came into view in front of you, smiling gently.

"Channie, I'm so sorry-"

"Don't be, y/n. Its normal, I get it."

"But, I don't want to ruin your sweater-" You try pleading with him, face flushed.

"It can be washed, silly. Besides-" he paused, leaning in slightly. "I don't mind a bit of blood."

Before you could become more of a mess, he grinned and turned back to the guys. Getting in their positions.

"Hey, where'd your sweater go, hyung?"

"Y/ns holding it for me. It got too hot in here,"

Lee know:

You were in the kitchen with Felix and Lee know, the two guys you considered your closest friends. They both enjoyed cooking with you, and that made you happy.

It was late, you were sporting your white tee, and a pair of shorts that were cut a bit too short, but they guys didn't care. As long as you were comfortable.

The menu was simple, sushi and ramen. Quick, but filling.

The boys worked their magic, allowing you to help with slicing or heating.

As you went to roll some rice, a cramp knocked the wind out of you, the boys noticing the sharp intake of breath.

"Y/n? You okay, noona?" Felix asked, patting your shoulder.

"Mhm," you breathed out, nodding. "Sorry. Don't worry, it's all good."

"Okay," Felix responded, reluctantly going back to what he was doing.

You were suddenly tired, rolling less and less, leaning against the counter.

You heard shuffling behind you, and then a small gasp. That's when you felt it. The small, subtle trickle running down your leg. Blood.

Before you could get any words out, you heard Minho say to Felix, "An aspirin and a pair of sweats from my room," all Felix did was nod, looking shocked.

You went to move as the said that, but Minhos arms around your waist stopped you from cleaning the blood running down your leg.

"Minho, I-" you couldn't help but cringe when you felt the wet, cold paper towel running up your inner thigh.

Minho dragged it all the way up into your shorts, making you shudder. The coldness kept you alert and aware, feeling how he was taking care of you.

"Don't let this embarrass you, Y/n. It happens, okay? Here, put your hand where mine is," he told you, waiting for you to listen.

When Felix came back with the stuff, Minho led you to his room, blocking the sight of you from anyone passing by, trying his best to protect your image.

"Thank you, Min. I really appreciate it."

"No worries,"

Changbin:

As Bangchans younger sister, you often found yourself in the company of the 8 boys. You loved them all to death and hoped they felt the same.

Changbin by far was your favorite, because he was genuine with you. You had listened to his insecurities and helped him through them, only to be rewarded with hugs and random raps. You didn't mind.

You were sitting on one of the cushioned chairs in the lounge room, waiting for the boys to finish their interview.

It was at the JYP studio, so you weren't worried, knowing they were in their element.

You sat, scrolling through IG, waiting. It had been a few hours, but these things take time.

You felt your stomach rumble, and you sighed. Perhaps there would be time for a snack while you wait. But you had no cash.

The rumbles grew louder, and that sinking feeling in your stomach grew larger, turning into a sharp pain, making you whimper.

Normally, your period isn't painful, which is why you thought it wasn't your period.

"Y/n?" You heard from in front of you.

You were so deep in thought that you didn't hear them exiting the room.

"Binnie? How'd it go?" You asked, trying your best to smile.

"Fine. But your looking pale, jagi. What's the matter?" Changbin crouched, looking at you.

"Just some stomach pains, is all," You put your hand to your stomach, grinning.

"Need a hug?" He stood, spreading his arms. "They can cure anything!" His joy made you smile, standing to capture him in a warm embrace.

Your stomach died down for a little, but you felt Changbin shift.

"Maybe not everything..." He almost sounds like he was about to laugh, making you turn to see what he was seeing.

Your eyes widened.

Where you once sat was a large red spot, staining the chair, and, most likely, your sweats, making your face flush.

"Oh my god, Bin-" you choked, embarrassed by the sight. "We need to get rid of this chair,"

"How?"

"I don't know!"

"Treat it like a dead body...Let's burn it."

You smiled, knowing he was trying to get you to calm down.

"that's...oddly specific."

He looked at you with a glint in his eye, "Let's go get you some new sweats first."

"We can't leave this here, Bin,"

He thought for a second, before taking off his leather jacket, and, gracefully, placed it over the stain.

"Better?"

Hyunjin:

You and Hyunjin didn't get along, to say the least. Jeonjin was your friend, and when you started hanging with the others, everyone but him seemed to like you.

This didn't upset you, of course, but it was unfortunate because he was hot cute.

Jeonjin, you, Felix and Hyunjin were all at an art museum, looking at his work. You loved seeing his art despite his distaste for you.

His art was real, and it had meaning. It connected with you.

But once that feeling of happiness started, it all came crashing down the moment you felt your cramps. It started. Of course.

You motioned for Felix to come over to you, him obediently leaving mid conversation with some art critiques. Hyunjin was one of them, scoffing at you.

"Felix, I just started, but I don't have a tampon with me. I think there's one in the center console of the car. Could you grab it fo-"

"I'm on it, jagi. I'll text you when I'm back, okay?" Felix didn't wait for a reply, leaving.

He was such a good friend to you, and it nearly made you cry.

You turned, making your way to the restroom, not wanting your period to leak so soon.

"Hey!" You heard, turning. Hyunjin was standing there, a displeased look in his eye. "What'd you say to Felix that made him run out like that? I was talking to him," he complained, not meeting your eye.

"Girl talk," you replied, walking back slowly, trying to reach the door.

"Girl talk?" He looked confused before looking down at your bottoms.

It only occured to you in that moment that you chose to wear white jeans and a white shirt, your ears turning red.

"Oh...girl talk," Hyunjin breathed. He looked back up to your face to see you tearing up.

You expected him to laugh, maybe even shout about it, focusing the attention on you, but his eyes softened, making your blurry eyes close.

"Here-" Hyunjin whispered, pushing you into the bathroom, making his way to a stall with you. "We're at an art show, so maybe...if you..just-" he was stuttering, waving his hands, going to touch you, but stopped mid way.

"What?" You cringe at how little you sound, waiting for him to explain.

"Maybe, smear it around...?" He shrugged, leaving them suspended as he made an interested face.

"You want me...to smear blood...all over my clothes...?" You ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.

"Ive always wanted to make art with blood ... I don't know-" he was interrupted by your phone.

Felix had the tampons.

"Hyunjin...Felix is at the door with my things. Definitely not tonight. But maybe, before it ends...you could use my blood if you want to," It makes you confused, saying it out loud, but seeing Hyunjins face light up makes you not doubt it.

"Okay,"

Han:

Lee know was teaching you a dance in the dance room while waiting for the others to show up for practice.

You and Lee know were close, so you spent a lot of time together.

He even knew about your crush on Han, but Han only saw you as a friend. Right? Lee know begged to differ, but he is also a tease.

You, Lee know, Bangchan and Felix were already there.

Your body cramped up a lot, so when your stomach clenched angrily, you brushed it off as being overworked. Continuing, you ignored the pain as best as you could, jumping into the next position.

When Han walked in, he caught sight of you behind Lee know, watching yourself in the mirror, focused on the routine. He admired this about you.

How your hair flopped with your movements, your face scrunched with focus, your neck glistening with sweat. He loved watching your torso, because even though you were a girl, your thrusts compared to his were so masculine, making him feel tiny.

And your ass-! He always felt the need to stair, making him think he spent too much time with Lee know.

He loved that it moved so gently at a fast pace, defining your figure. How the sweats hugged it just right before flaring at the legs. How it was painted red with your-- wait, what?

It was then that he noticed that you were on your period, and leaking. No one else seemed to notice, him being grateful in silence, not wanting to embarrass you.

Without a second thoughts and trying to not make a scene, he ran up behind you, and gave you a hug, pressing himself flush against your back.

"Y/n! I missed you!" Han said, trying to sound normal.

"Han? Come on, I was dancing, man!" You groaned, not truly bothered.

"Hey, I got some news. Wanna hear it?" This caught both yours and Lee knows attention.

"Okay...?" Han never really acted like this with you, so you were a bit confused.

"Well, then I need you to come with me," he whispered. His bag of a change of clothes and water was still slung around his arm.

"What? Why?" You giggled, seeing his expression in the mirror.

He playfully tugged you backwards, making you roll your eyes.

"Just trust me, jagi. Close your eyes, I can't have you looking," Han smiled as you listened, gently leading you backwards into the hall, and to the private restroom.

He finally let you go, telling you to open your eyes.

"Han, what are we doing in here," You asked looking at him for an answer. He looked nervous all of a sudden.

"I made sure no one saw, so before you get embarrassed, it was just me," he explained nervously, digging in his bag.

He pulled out an extra pair of pants, holding them out to you.

"Why are you giving me your pants?" You asked, taking them anyway, looking at them with confusion.

"There's...blood. On your pants. I wasn't sure if you knew-" Han said, fidgeting.

"Oh," was all you could muster before seeing that his face was flushed, his cheeks puffed out.

"Thank you, Han."

"Of course. I'll let you change,"

Felix:

Felix was your best friend. Your partner in crime. Your go-to. He was your everything. And now, you both sat, playing videogames together.

"No!" He yelled, scrambling to get back in the lead.

All you could do was laugh as you continued your pace, besting him. He groaned as you wiggled in your spot, happy to have won.

"Don't get used to it," He grinned at you, making your heart flutter.

He was extremely attractive, and even more so with his black hair. A new color, one you had yet to see on him.

"Watch me," you stuck out your tongue, it being green from your sucker.

He returned the look, his tongue displaying purple, making you laugh.

"Are you hungry? I'm going to make some popcorn," he said, standing from his spot on the floor.

Comfortable and content on his bed, you responded with, "Chips."

He nodded, making a noise of approval before leaving, making you smile. He always took care of you.

When it was time to sleep, you both snuggled on his bed, and fell into a deep sleep.

Your dream was sweet. You worked a cafe bar with your friend, Felix. You were taking an order for some girl before hearing your sunshine call you. And then again. And again.

Now, your eyes open slightly, being Shaked awake gently, Felix calling your name.

"Y/n, you need to wake up," he whispered, not wanting to worry you.

"What's wrong, Lix?" You yawned, suddenly feeling sticky.

"I think...you made a mess..." He looked down at your power half, making you squirm.

Following his gaze, you saw a large patch of blood on the bed, your shorts, and...Felix's shirt.

"ohmygod Felix..." You gasped, now more awake than ever. "I'm so sorry!"

"Shhh..It's okay, jagi, it happens," he tried calming you, seeing you tear up. "Here, I'm going to go run a bath for you, and put the sheets in the wash, okay?" He went to get up, but you caught his wrist.

"What? No, it's my mess. Let me clean it up," you said, trying to sound strong.

"Y/n. Just let me take care you you, okay?" He said, and then a cramp hit you. You gasped lightly.

Almost as if he knew your body, he bent down and placed a soft kiss on your stomach, then left to start the bath.

Seungmin:

You and Seungmin never really talked, but you both often caught the other staring. It wasn't uncommon for the group members to tease you both about it, making you both flush.

Today was one of those days.

"Seungmin, like what you see?" Changbin snickered making the two of you look away.

"Shut up," he grumbled, making his members laugh.

"Awe, come on, Min. You know you like her," Hyunjin giggled, making Seungmins eyes widen.

They continued to bicker, getting a reaction from him. You continued to stay quiet, feeling uncomfortable due to your period cramps.

You had a tampon in, but it felt heavier than usual, making you aware. The boys stood making you stand and followed them. You were at an arcade for the day, courtesy of JYP.

Splitting into teams of three, it was Jeonjin, Hyunjin, and Lee know. Second, Bangchan, Changbin and Han. Third, You, Seungmin and Felix. What could go wrong?

About an hour in, Seungmin noticed your disinterest in the games, starting to worry. You brushed it off, just saying you were tired.

And you were. You lost so much blood, it nearly made you sick.

While he and Felix were shooting at dinosaurs, you felt the wetness between your legs, making you gasp, shuddering.

The guys noticed this, stopping their game.

"Y/n? Is it...?" Felix stopped himself.

Felix was like your brother, and he knew when your period was bothersome, so, you nodded, Felix responding by getting up to leave.

He was going to get another tampon from the car.

Seungmin looked confused, looking at the two of you. Then he saw your face scrunch up in pain.

"Y/n? You okay?"

"I will be," you nod, flashing him a small smile.

He noticed you rubbing your legs together, and as he looked closer, he saw a small patch of blood. It wasn't hugely noticable, but he saw it. He grabbed your hand and led you to a secluded area with barely any people, sitting down in a chair.

Instead of you sitting next to him, however, he placed you on his lap.

"Seungmin!? What are you doing?" You gasped, shocked at his boldness

"Shhh..." He said, wrapping his arms around you, rubbing your upper and lower abdomen, making you moan. It really relieved the tension from the cramps, making your mind blur for a few moments.

"Better?" He whispered, watching your face relax.

"mhm,"

I.N.:

As Seungmins sister, you found yourself head over heels with his best friend, Jeonjin.

You and him became close, but not as close as you had hoped.

One day, in the dorms, you were all eating dinner together, but you weren't as hungry as you usually were because of your cramps. No one really noticed other than Jeonjin. He was worried because eating was one of your favorite things to do.

Why aren't you eating?

He saw you using your chopsticks to poke the food around, and that was when he took action.

"Here, jagi. Try it," he said, bring his sticks to your mouth.

You looked at him, and seeing him like this, you couldn't say no. You gently bit the food off his sticks, chewing it happily.

The sight made Jeonjin calmer, seeing you eat.

After dinner, everyone was tired, and forcing themselves to their rooms. It was just you, Jeonjin, Bangchan and Han in the main room.

"Night, everyone," you yawned standing to make your way to you and your brothers shared room.

Everyone exchanged good nights, but as Jeonjin watched you walking in the hall, he saw a large red spot on your bottom, making him call out to you.

"Yeah-?" You looked at him with sleep in your eyes.

"Change your pants,' He whispered as he walked up to you.

"Why?" You yawned again, watching his features soften.

"Because..." He hugged you, but instead of a normal hug, he let his hands brush against your ass, making you gasp.

It was so unlike him.

When he brought his hand back to show you, you saw the red liquid glistening on his hands in the poor hall light.

"Jeonjin-"

"Shh, it's okay. It doesnt bother me," he said wiping it on his own sweats, making you cringe, but in the best way possible.

"Looks like we both gotta change," You giggled.

[cherry-flavoured-thot]

☽ ◦ ◦ ◦ ✩ Cute Moments With Them (HSR) ✩ ◦ ◦ ◦ ☾

✩ March wants the very best photo of the two of you to be her lockscreen. She takes it very seriously. She mulls over what's in her camera roll in contemplation to consider what could be. You ask her to show you what photos were in the running. When she puts her phone to you, showing you some of the cuter photos you've both taken together, you take the opportunity to dart off in the other direction with her phone. She chases after you, and you take a picture of you running with her all blurry behind you. You make it her lockscreen before handing the phone back. You're laughing the whole time, while she pouts at you for taking her phone. "I'm keeping this as my lockscreen to remind you of how mean you are!"

✩ Natasha looks very stern when she spots the cut running down your leg. To the point where you're already apologising before she even says a word. She sighs with the shake of her head. "I shouldn't be surprised these days, go on sit." She works in swift movements of cleaning the blood of the cut and wrapping the wound in bandages. "There all done, I'd tell you to be careful but I'm honestly starting to wonder if you get hurt just to come see me." You laugh sheepishly at her comment, and while she should give you another stern look she merely shakes her head again but this time with a smile.

✩ "Sweetheart, you're a bit heavy handed with your pour." Gallagher doesn't let anyone behind his bar to pour their own drinks. But you're the exception, as much as Siobhan teases him about it. Sometimes he hears her laugh from around the other side, when you give him your best doe eyes and sweetest voice to let you behind the bar. He doesn't mind, you don't do it often, and most of the time you're doing it wanting to make him a drink. But you seem to be a bit too free with your measurements, sometimes one drink has even him feeling a bit buzzed. He still drinks it everytime as long as you promise to let him lean on you all the way home.

✩ Topaz has been looking all over the place for you and Numby. She wasn't overly concerned, as she thinks that if both of you are missing it's clear that you've wandered off somewhere together. She just wasn't expecting you both to come back with a bag full of treasure and Numby draped in random shiny gems you'd both found along the way. She bursts out laughing, a noise that causes Numby to jump in delight. "Hold still I need to get a photo of this!" The photo she takes on her phone is one that always makes her grin when she sees it.

✩ "I don't think pottery is your talent." Aventurine had considered lying about the disfigured mug you had made, but you seemed very aware of how ugly it was when you showed it to him. But miracalously it still ends up serving it's purpose, as you find out several mornings later seeing him drink coffee out of it. As you stare at him puzzled that he's even drinking from the mug that he almost burst out laughing at how strange it looked. "It has it's endearing qualities. I won't have it openly out on display, ever. But it's still useable." By endearing qualities, he means the thought of you attempting to make the mug only for it to turn out like this but you don't need to know that.

✩ Jing Yuan encourages you to come visit him on slower days. Not because he's looking for a chance to slip away, well okay, that's part of it. But because he takes any chance he can to spend time with you. He hadn't intended to doze off before you'd arrived, but alas sleep had sunken its claws into him. He stirs slightly upon hearing the closing of doors and you saying his name. Curiously, he keeps his eyes shut to see what you'll do while thinking he's asleep. You call his name again, footsteps growing closer until your right by his side. He doesn't expect you to attempt to rouse him by running your fingers through his hair. But you also don't expect him to move so that he's pressing his face into your hands.

[hamilton-here]

Oooh what about journalist!reader and engineer!reader? Love your stories admin 💖💖💖

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒

Authors Note: Hey Guys! Here's another request. I do have a engineer story coming at some point so stay tuned. Thank for the kindest. Hope you enjoy. Praying for Ferrari! Lots of love xx

Summary: A journalist and Lewis Hamilton fall in love, secretly at firstuntil he kisses her on live TV after winning for Ferrari.

Warnings: slight swearing

Taglist: @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes @piston-cup

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The press room was chaos the kind that made rookies sweat, and veterans roll their eyes and tighten their grips on half-dead voice recorders.

A hundred voices tangled in the air, bouncing off scaffolding and the aluminium frames of hastily assembled walls. Phones were thrust upward like weapons. Hands flailed. Someone knocked over a folding chair, but no one even blinked. Reporters barked names like auctioneers each hoping to snag a moment, a word, anything they could spin into a headline before it hit the paddock group chats.

You sat in the back row, unbothered, untouched by the noise.

Your espresso had long gone cold. It didn’t matter you weren’t drinking it for warmth. It was habit. Anchor. Ritual. You tapped your pen against your notepad slowly, rhythmically, as the chaos unfolded around you like a badly scripted reality show.

Same circus. Different weekend.

Drivers would file in, sweat barely dried, trying to sound fresh and focused while their PR reps hovered with schedules printed to the second. Half of them would repeat the same three soundbites. A few would try too hard. And Lewis Hamilton?

Well. Lewis never needed to try at all.

You didn’t look up when the energy in the room shifted but you felt it. It was unmistakable.

The hum of cameras grew louder. Voices pitched higher. The tension in the air pulled taut like wire. And then—

He entered.

Not like most drivers did. There was no nervous twitching or sideways glances at their handlers. No stiff posture or rushed smiles. Lewis walked in like the building belonged to him. Like time slowed to match his stride.

Sunglasses on. Ferrari-red fire suit immaculate. The fabric caught the overhead lights and shimmered just slightly tailored within an inch of its life, clinging in all the right places. He didn’t smile. Not yet. His expression was neutral, bordering on bored.

Until his eyes found you.

It was almost comical, the transformation. His face lit up. One corner of his mouth curled first, followed by the other, forming a grin so familiar you’d practically developed an allergy to it. Bright. Charming. Annoyingly irresistible.

“Ah,” he said loudly, drawing the attention of half the bullpen, “my favourite journalist.”

You didn’t bother looking up. “I’m every driver’s favourite until I ask the second question.”

He laughed. A rich, velvety sound. Smooth enough to bottle and sell.

And then, like gravity forgot everyone else in the room, he walked closer towards you dodging a flurry of outstretched microphones, waving off a desperate PR rep mouthing, Lewis, the schedule-

He didn’t care.

He reached the partition in front of you and leaned on it, casual, but intentional. Close. Too close. The scent of him hit first clean, woodsy, expensive. Whatever cologne it was, it made your brain skip.

“You missed me,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

You clicked your pen once. Twice. “No,” you said, still scribbling in your notebook. “I missed the coffee in the McLaren motorhome. Stronger. Less sweet.”

He clutched at his chest with mock offence. “Wow. Brutal.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“You always are. That’s why I like you.”

You finally glanced up, slowly, eyebrow raised. “Tell that to the quote you tried to retract last time.”

“That wasn’t me,” he said with a grin. “That was past me. He was reckless.”

“You were twenty minutes younger.”

“Time is a construct.”

Your sigh was theatrical. “So is your humility.”

He laughed again, then leaned in, voice lowering just enough to make you aware of the proximity. “Admit it,” he said. “Your whole weekend’s just a little duller without me in it.”

You met his gaze, deadpan. “Are you under the impression you’re interesting?”

“I’m not just interesting,” he said, flashing teeth. “I’m fascinating.”

You let your pen pause on the page. “Fascinating like a car crash, maybe.”

“Ouch.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, reaching for your cold espresso. “Most crashes are the highlight of the broadcast.”

He gave a full belly laugh then head thrown back, hand braced on the divider like he might fall over if he didn’t. Cameras clicked wildly, phones recorded every second. You already knew TikTok would have this cut, captioned, and shipped to hundreds of “Hamilton x Hardball” fan accounts before the day was over.

You shifted your notebook just slightly, cool as ever.

“Ready for your actual interview,” you said. “Or are we still in your delusional version of reality?”

He tilted his head. “What if I prefer the delusional version?”

“Then you should talk to Red Bull’s strategy team. They live there.”

The laugh that escaped him was softer this time. Less performance. More real. His smile lingered, just a fraction too long.

He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned a bit closer. “You’re really not going to let me win, are you?”

You stared at him like you were bored. Like your pulse wasn’t going haywire. “Nope. But I’ll let you talk. For now.”

“Lucky me.”

You straightened, lifted your voice just enough for the recorders to catch. “Let’s start with something simple. Q2. Sector 3. You locked up at Turn 11. Radio said something about grip issues. Are we blaming the car or the man today?”

The room went still. Everyone was listening.

His expression flickered just briefly. Then the smirk returned.

“Straight to the throat,” he murmured. “God, I’ve missed this.”

You didn’t blink. “You’ll miss the podium tomorrow if Ferrari doesn’t sort that balance.”

He licked his bottom lip, the way he always did when he was deciding whether to flirt or focus. “Bit of both. Car wasn’t behaving like I wanted. And yeah, maybe I pushed harder than I should’ve. I wanted to see how far I could take it.”

You raised a brow. “And the plan to fix it?”

“Can’t give all my secrets away,” he said, with a wink.

Another camera flash.

“I’m not asking for secrets,” you replied, voice dry. “I’m asking for accountability.”

He exhaled through his nose. “You always hit where it counts.”

“Good,” you said. “I aim for the heart.”

A beat passed. Then he leaned in again, this time with a different glint in his eyes softer, teasing, but unmistakably genuine.

“I’ll give you the full scoop,” he said. “Off the record. Over dinner.”

You sighed. “Keep dreaming, Hamilton.”

He grinned like a man who already was. “I do. Every night.”

A collective oooh rose from the nearby reporters. One of them dropped their phone. A PR assistant broke through the crowd, expression frazzled and whisper-shouting about timing and post-session obligations. Lewis held his ground until the last possible second.

As he was pulled away, he turned to look at you one more time.

A wink. A smile. A promise.

You shook your head, scribbled something into your notebook, and muttered under your breath, “Golden retriever energy. With a PR team.”

The journalist beside you leaned in, wide-eyed. “You do realise half the internet thinks you two are secretly dating, right?”

You flipped a page calmly. “Good. Let them keep fantasising.”

And still, every race weekend without fail he found you.

Even if you never called it chasing, he always did.

You were halfway down the paddock, cutting through the midday haze and the thick scent of Pirelli rubber, your heels clicking rhythmically against the asphalt. The air buzzed with post-qualifying energy team radios crackling, cameras flashing, fans yelling from behind barricades like their voices could carry miracles.

You clutched your notepad under one arm, voice recorder in hand, the strap of your media pass digging slightly into your neck. The Red Bull hospitality suite loomed ahead like a steel-and-glass spaceship, all chrome finishes and deep navy accents. Everything about it screamed precision and control even the PR team posted outside looked like they’d been handpicked from a Scandinavian runway show.

Max Verstappen had ten minutes slotted for interviews. Ten. No more. And the list of journalists waiting for him was longer than the pit lane. If you missed this window, you’d have to crawl back into the rotation with an apology email and a fake smile. And you hated crawling. Especially for Max.

You were just a few strides away. Almost there.

Then came the voice. Smooth. Familiar. Teasing.

“Red Bull, huh? Didn’t take you for the traitorous type.”

You didn’t have to turn around.

“Go away, Hamilton.”

The footsteps behind you didn’t stop. Of course they didn’t. In fact, they got closer. Uncomfortably close.

“That’s no way to talk to your favourite seven-time world champion,” he replied, tone dripping with mock offence.

You finally turned, just enough to throw him a glare over your shoulder.

And there he was. Lewis Hamilton.

Dressed in full Ferrari red, the fire suit unzipped halfway down his chest, revealing the sweat-damp base layer clinging to his skin. His race boots scuffed just enough to look like he’d actually worked that morning. His cap tilted slightly, curls tucked beneath it, grin wide and infuriatingly smug.

He walked beside you like you were glued at the hip, like he belonged in your orbit—like he was allowed to waltz into your space just because he wanted to.

“I’m working,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from letting his presence rattle you.

“So am I,” he shot back, shoving his hands in his pockets like this was a Sunday stroll through the paddock. “Part of the job is being nice to the press.”

You narrowed your eyes. “This isn’t being nice. This is harassment.”

“Oh please,” he said, clearly enjoying himself. “If I were harassing you, you’d know it. This is just…” He let the word hang, searching the air theatrically. “Charisma.”

You barked a laugh. “That’s what you’re calling it now?”

“That’s what they call it,” he said, nodding toward a nearby group of junior reporters who were very clearly watching the two of you like it was the latest season of Drive to Survive. One of them nudged another, mouthing something that looked a lot like They’re doing it again.

You groaned softly. “You’re turning my job into a meme.”

“I’m giving it flavour,” he said with a wink.

“You’re giving me a headache.”

Lewis leaned in just a fraction, close enough that you could smell his minty breath and a touch of cologne that was expensive. “I bet you say that with a smile when I’m not around.”

You didn’t blink. “I bet you say that line to every woman who walks past your garage.”

He placed a hand over his chest, mock wounded. “Wounded. Again. You really know how to break a man down, huh?”

You stopped walking. Spun on your heel so fast he nearly collided with you.

“What exactly do you want from me, Hamilton?” you asked, voice low, tight, sharp around the edges. “You’ve got a world-class car, a million fans, and a team press officer who’s probably already drafting an apology email because of this detour. So why the hell are you following me to the Red Bull paddock like a lovesick intern?”

He didn’t flinch.

If anything, he smiled wider. But it wasn’t as cheeky now. It was more intentional.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, eyes narrowing. “You’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” he repeated, scoffing like you’d accused him of baking cupcakes in secret. “Why would I be jealous? It’s not like Max is charming or witty or well, me.”

You stared at him, heart thudding louder now, stubbornly uninvited.

He stared right back, and for a brief, unexpected second the grin slipped.

Just a flicker. Barely a blink. But enough.

“I just don’t like sharing your attention,” he said, the words quieter, almost like they cost him something. “Especially with him.”

Your breath caught chest tightening before your brain could catch up.

And then—

“Hi—hi!” A young comms assistant appeared beside you in a flurry of nervous energy and tablet-clutching. “Max is ready for you now. Sorry, we’re running tight on time.”

You nodded, forcing your features back into something polished. Professional. Detached.

“Coming,” you said.

You started walking again, this time briskly, trying to shake off the heat crawling up your neck.

Lewis didn’t follow.

But just before you reached the steps to the suite, his voice floated toward you like a final warning or a promise.

“Dinner. Still on the table.”

You didn’t look back.

“Only if it’s not Ferrari catering,” you called over your shoulder, your voice steadier than your pulse.

His laugh followed you down the walkway, full-bodied and reckless, like he knew exactly what kind of chaos he was leaving behind.

Inside the hospitality suite, the air conditioning blasted your skin, but it did nothing to cool the burn under your collar.

You reached Max, shook his hand, and launched into your first question with a rehearsed smile.

But your heart was still hammering fast, uneven, annoyingly hopeful.

Because Lewis Hamilton had never played fair.

And despite every instinct, every boundary, every moment of journalistic decorum…

You didn’t really want him to. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Later that night.

The hotel ballroom pulsed with soft jazz, champagne flutes, and the dull thrum of tired engines still echoing in your ears. The post-qualifying media reception was glamorous in a muted, corporate sort of way dim chandeliers overhead, sponsor logos glowing from screens lining the walls, and the gentle rustle of expensive clothing trying not to wrinkle.

You were tucked into a booth at the edge of the room, laptop open, notes scattered, half a glass of wine untouched beside you.

You weren’t here to network. You were here to work to file quotes, shape analysis, write the kind of sharp yet digestible piece your editor liked to call “clickable without being desperate.” And if you wrapped it up tonight, you might actually sleep before the race tomorrow. Might.

Your attention was fixed on your screen, the cursor blinking back at you, taunting. You paused your typing just long enough to scribble a detail in your notebook something Max had said about tire degradation that could use a dramatic twist.

Then, a voice cut through the noise like velvet through smoke.

“Didn’t take you for the wallflower type.”

You froze.

No. No, no, no.

You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

But you did.

Lewis Hamilton stood beside your table, hands in his pockets, head tilted, eyes trained on you like he’d been looking for you since he walked into the room. He was no longer in his race suit now dressed in tailored black trousers and a deep burgundy shirt that should’ve been illegal in this lighting. Sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms. Watch glinting. Smile lethal.

“Didn’t know you were invited,” you said, slowly closing your laptop.

“I wasn’t,” he said, unapologetic. “Heard there was a party. Didn’t realise it was invitation-only.”

“It is,” you said pointedly.

He slid into the booth opposite you without asking.

“Then I guess I’m crashing,” he said, reaching for your wine glass and taking a sip without hesitation. “You really need better taste in Pinot.”

You stared at him, equal parts exhausted and flustered. “Lewis.”

He met your gaze evenly. “That’s my name.”

“Don’t you have, I don’t know, a team debrief? A massage therapist? A manager to annoy?”

“They’re all very busy. I figured I’d come annoy you instead.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I’m working.”

“You’re always working,” he said, softer now. “Even when you’re trying not to be.”

There was a beat of silence between you thick, charged, unspoken.

He leaned back against the booth, watching you like you were some riddles he couldn’t quite solve.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he added. “About not liking to share your attention.”

You glanced down at your notes, pretending to be disinterested. “Don’t make this a thing, Hamilton.”

“Too late,” he said. “It already is.”

You didn’t want this. Not here, not now. Not when your article was half-finished and your reputation barely balanced on the edge of objectivity.

But still, you asked, against your better judgment: “Why me?”

He blinked, as if the question genuinely surprised him. Then he leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice lower.

“Because you don’t flinch when I push. You give it back. And you see right through the noise. You don’t care about the headlines, or the car, or the team colours. You care about the truth. That’s rare.”

Your throat tightened, but you kept your tone flat. “That truth goes in my article tomorrow.”

He smirked. “Then make sure you quote me right.”

“Off the record,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

He lifted both hands in surrender. “Fine. Off the record.”

You stared at him. And for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel like a reporter and a driver on opposite sides of a line.

You felt like two people circling something dangerous and undeniable.

Then he stood, sliding out of the booth and adjusting his sleeves.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” he said, stepping away. “But dinner’s still on the table. And I’m a much better cook than Ferrari catering.”

You didn’t answer. Not right away.

You watched him melt back into the crowd, his presence lingering like a fingerprint on your wine glass.

Your hands hovered over the keyboard, the article blinking back at you.

And then, without thinking, you typed one sentence you hadn’t planned to include on your phone.

Lewis Hamilton doesn’t play fair. But maybe that’s what makes him worth watching.

You hit save.

And maybe just maybe you let yourself smile.

The race was over, but the tension hadn’t left the air.

Ferrari had secured a podium. Red Bull took the win. The champagne had been sprayed, the anthem played, and still, the paddock buzzed like a live wire as teams started packing down, cameras still rolling, and reporters shuffling between media pens, trying to catch every last usable soundbite before the feed cut to commercial.

You stood just outside the press pen, notebook in hand, voice recorder clipped to your collar. You were supposed to be focused. Professional. Detached.

But it was him again.

Lewis Hamilton grinning like the devil knew a secret, his Ferrari race suit tied at his waist, sweat-damp curls sticking out beneath his cap was drifting dangerously close to your section of the paddock, talking to Sky, joking with mechanics, and glancing at you way too often for it to be innocent.

You pretended not to notice.

But you did notice the way his smile changed slightly when he looked at you. Like it was private. Like it was meant just for you.

You were mid-sentence, jotting down something from Max’s interview, when you heard it:

“Looks like I’m not the only one who had a good race.”

Your pen froze.

You turned.

Lewis was right there.

Too close.

You stepped back slightly. “Shouldn’t you be doing debriefs or plotting world domination?”

“I was,” he said, eyes scanning your face. “But I got distracted.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Try harder.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You always this grumpy post-race?”

“I’m always this grumpy when I’m being flirted with in front of three camera crews.”

He glanced around nonchalant, confident, knowingly and shrugged. “Let them look.”

“They are looking,” you hissed, lowering your voice. “And half of them have Twitter open right now.”

“Good,” he said, a flicker of something bolder in his tone. “Maybe they’ll finally stop pairing me with that pop star I haven’t texted in eight months.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He tilted his head, stepping just close enough that his words felt like heat on your skin. “I don’t flirt with anyone the way I flirt with you.”

You hated the way your stomach flipped.

You hated it even more when you caught the corner of a Sky Sports camera panning in your direction.

You stepped sideways, trying to shield your face behind your notebook. “Lewis, this isn’t—”

“Relax,” he murmured. “You’re the only one who thinks I’m not serious.”

That shut you up.

Because for a second just a split second it didn’t feel like flirting.

It felt like a line he meant.

You stared at him, pulse hammering, breath shallow, throat tight.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. “Come on. I made the podium. Don’t I get a kiss?”

Your breath caught.

You weren’t sure if it was the boldness of the ask or the very real, very smug look on his face as he said it right there in front of a handful of media staff, a couple of Ferrari crew members, and one very stunned Sky presenter clearly trying not to react on camera.

You blinked slowly, schooling your features. “Not unless you want that kiss turned into an HR complaint.”

He grinned. “I’ll risk it.”

You rolled your eyes hard enough to strain something, but you were fighting a smile. You could feel it faint, traitorous, tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Then, mercifully, someone called his name probably his press officer, furious.

He didn’t move.

Not right away.

Just looked at you, gaze steady, something soft curling beneath the charm.

Then he smiled again genuine this time and stepped back.

“I’ll let you go back to being cold and terrifying,” he said. “But I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Media dinner. Don’t pretend you forgot.”

You had forgotten.

Shit.

Before you could respond, he was gone walking backwards at first, grinning like he’d just scored pole position.

You watched him go, flustered beyond repair, heart doing double-time behind your press badge.

And then your phone vibrated.

A message from your best friend:

“Girl. You and Hamilton are on every F1 gossip thread. Again. 👀 I told you they’d catch on.”

You groaned.

Clicked the link.

There it was already reposted by three accounts: a clip from the paddock, where Lewis leaned in to talk to you. The way he smiled. The way your jaw clenched like you were trying not to smile back.

The caption?

“If this isn’t flirting, I don’t know what is.”

You closed the app.

Shoved your phone into your pocket.

And for once, you didn’t deny it.

A few hours later you arrived at the venue.

The restaurant buzzed with low chatter, soft jazz curling through the air like cigarette smoke. Flickering candlelight danced off polished cutlery and wine glasses, casting everyone in flattering shadows. Waiters glided through the space like chess pieces, placing tiny sculptural appetisers on pristine white plates. The PR teams had pulled out all the stops long tables, imported wines, and menus that required Google Translate.

You were seated between two motorsport journalists you vaguely liked, your recorder tucked away for the night, a half-full glass of champagne sweating at your elbow. This dinner was supposed to be harmless networking, laughing at polite jokes, asking the occasional softball question and calling it a night.

Then he walked in, Lewis Hamilton.

Black suit. No tie. The collar open, revealing just enough to stir something that had no business waking in the middle of a professional event. His presence soaked into the room like honey slow, warm, unmistakable. And the worst part?

He was looking directly at you.

Like he’d known where you were before he even stepped through the door.

He should’ve gone to the other table. There were three others. He should’ve.

But of course, he didn’t.

“Evening,” he said, pulling out the empty chair beside you like it had always belonged to him. “Is this seat taken?”

You didn’t even look up. “It was.”

“Not anymore,” he replied smoothly, already lowering himself into it. He shrugged off his jacket in a single fluid motion, hanging it on the back of the chair, and leaned slightly into your space, elbows grazing the white tablecloth. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You gave him a sideways glance, careful to keep your voice low. “This is a work event.”

“Exactly.” He grinned, shameless. “I’m working.”

“On what?”

“You.”

The journalist across from you choked on his water.

You sighed, closing your eyes for just a second. “Lewis.”

“Yes, darling?”

You turned to him now, slowly, giving him your sharpest, most disinterested stare. “Try not to embarrass yourself tonight.”

He held up both hands in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m simply enjoying the evening. The food. The company.”

“The company was better before you got here.”

He laughed under his breath, the sound dark and rich. “Yet you haven’t moved.”

You took a sip of champagne to avoid answering. He watched you do it with that same infuriating tilt to his head, like he was already two steps ahead of you and enjoying the wait.

Around you, conversation hummed of race strategy, tire degradation, who’d be switching teams next season but Lewis didn’t care. He made the right comments to the right people, just enough to be polite, but his real attention stayed on you.

Every word. Every pause. Every glance.

“You always frown when you’re trying not to laugh,” he said casually, somewhere between the foie gras and the main course.

“I’m not trying not to laugh.”

“Liar.”

His knee brushed yours under the table light, accidental, then deliberate. You moved away.

He followed.

The breadbasket made its rounds. Lewis handed it to you silently. You reached for it, and his fingers lingered just long enough for your skin to touch. Warm. Intentional. You didn’t pull back, but your pulse stuttered.

He noticed.

“You look good tonight,” he murmured. Just loud enough for you to hear.

“It’s a black dress, Hamilton. Calm down.”

“It’s not the dress.”

You stared down at your plate. “Do you ever turn it off?”

“Not when I’m trying to win.”

You finally turned to look at him. And there it was the challenge in his eyes, that unshakable confidence, wrapped in something slower, darker. Something not for show.

He wasn’t just trying to rattle you.

He wanted you to feel it.

He wanted you.

“Save it for the podium,” you said, voice cool, just as the dessert was set down in front of you.

But he didn’t back down. He just smiled wider. A slow, lazy, satisfied kind of smile the one that meant he already knew how this game would end.

Just as your spoon dipped into the brûlée, he leaned in again, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

“Still thinking about that kiss?”

You nearly dropped the spoon. Heat flared in your chest and climbed up your neck like wildfire.

Across the table, one of the journalists arched a brow. “Everything alright?”

“Fine,” you said too quickly, adjusting your posture.

Lewis stretched an arm across the back of your chair, not quite touching you, but close enough that you could feel the heat of him. Your spine went rigid.

The rest of the meal blurred together, a hazy mix of candlelight, half-listened conversations, and the constant awareness of the man beside you. You kept your face neutral. Your laugh controlled. Your answers professional.

But Lewis? He kept chipping away.

A glance that lingered too long. A low joke whispered in your ear. A comment about how your lipstick hadn’t smudged yet.

He was relentless. And maddeningly composed.

By the time the final plates were cleared, and people began to drift into the lounge for drinks, your jaw ached from clenching.

You stood abruptly, grabbing your clutch. “I need air.”

Lewis stood too, like it was instinct. “I’ll come.”

“You won’t.”

“I’ll still follow.”

He did.

Out through a glass door and into the garden terrace, where string lights dangled from old stone archways and ivy crept down the walls like a secret. The city glowed just beyond the wrought-iron gates golden and glittering. The night air was cooler than you expected, brushing over your skin like a sigh.

You stopped when you reached the edge of the garden, turning sharply to face him.

“What is wrong with you?”

He halted just short of you, eyes gleaming in the low light. “I just wanted to see how long you could pretend not to want me back.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Because the truth was burning at the back of your throat and if you said anything now, it would come out all at once. Too much. Too raw.

He saw the hesitation.

He knew.

Still, he waited. No smile now. Just eyes locked on yours, steady and silent.

“You gonna keep pretending?” he asked, voice low, intimate.

The words landed like a touch.

Your heart thundered in your ears. Your mouth was dry. And still – still you didn’t move.

But you didn’t walk away either.

Your silence stretched between you like thread pulled tight. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think not with him this close, not with his words still echoing in your chest like a secret you didn’t want anyone else to know.

“I’m not pretending,” you said finally, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Oh?” His brows lifted just slightly. “Then what is this?”

You shook your head once, slow and unsure. “This is a problem.”

He stepped in. One breath closer.

“Why?”

You swallowed hard. “Because you make it impossible to think straight.”

He smiled, softer now. No smirk. No smugness. Just truth.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Then we’re even.”

And he didn’t touch you not yet but he didn’t have to.

Because the war was over.

And you both knew exactly who had surrendered first.

The night had softened around you, the city glittering in the distance as the cool air kissed your bare shoulders. After the terrace confrontation or confession, if you were honest with yourself you hadn’t gone back inside. You’d needed a second to breathe, to steady your pulse, to remind yourself who you were before Lewis Hamilton decided to crawl under your skin and stay there.

You didn’t expect him to wait for you.

But when you turned the corner of the restaurant, clutching your phone and quietly Googling the nearest ride-share, he was already standing by a sleek black car out front. Jacket back on, tie still nowhere in sight. Leaning casually against the passenger door, like he knew you’d come this way.

“Your driver?” you asked, not stopping.

“Yours,” he replied, standing upright. “Figured you’d rather not make small talk with a stranger tonight.”

You hesitated.

It was tempting. Too tempting. Every cell in your body was begging for stillness. Quiet. Just a little more time to figure out what the hell had just happened on that terrace.

“I don’t need rescuing,” you said softly.

“I know,” he said, just as soft. “Still offering.”

You exhaled through your nose. “Fine. But no more lines.”

He opened the passenger door for you with a small smile. “Not a single one.”

The leather seats were warm. The car smelled like clean soap and something subtly spicy probably his cologne. He slid into the driver’s seat, glancing at you once as he started the engine.

“You, okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “Just decompressing.”

He pulled onto the quiet street, the city lights stretching out through the windshield like constellations. For a few minutes, neither of you spoke.

And for once, Lewis didn’t fill the silence.

Instead, he let it settle between you, calm and unforced.

“I wasn’t always like this, you know,” he said eventually, eyes still on the road.

“Like what?”

“Relentless. Always chasing.” A pause. “I used to be quieter.”

You looked at him then, catching the gentle curve of his jaw in the soft dashboard light.

“What changed?”

He shrugged; one hand relaxed on the steering wheel. “Life. Racing. Pressure. Winning makes you loud. Losing makes you louder.” He glanced at you. “But you make me want to be quiet again.”

Your throat tightened.

“That’s not fair,” you said, turning back to the window.

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t come here for this. I came here to do my job. Stay invisible. Be… untouchable.”

“You’re anything but invisible.”

“Exactly the problem.”

He was quiet again. You thought maybe you’d said too much.

But then he pulled up at a red light, and with one hand still on the wheel, he turned his head and looked at you. Really looked at you.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he said simply.

You blinked. “This?”

“This whatever it is. The pull. The spark. That kiss we’re both still thinking about. I’m not trying to win anymore. Not with you. I just want to know you.”

You sat still for a moment, processing it. Processing him.

And for the first time since you’d met him, you let yourself stop bracing.

“I grew up splitting weekends between two houses,” you said, voice quiet. “Learned early on not to take up too much space. Or expect consistency.”

He didn’t interrupt. Just listened.

“I wanted to be a lawyer,” you continued. “Or a detective. Something sharp. Something that made people pay attention when I walked in a room not because I was loud, but because I mattered.”

“You do.”

You turned your head. His eyes were still on you.

“You don’t even know me,” you whispered.

“I’m trying,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”

The light turned green, but neither of you noticed until the car behind gave a gentle honk. Lewis drove on in silence, but it wasn’t awkward now it was something like understanding. Like the edges between you had softened.

When he pulled up to your building, he didn’t kill the engine right away.

You looked at him. “You really meant it?”

“Every word.”

You didn’t kiss him. You didn’t need to.

You just sat there, staring at him like maybe for once you didn’t have to keep your armour on. His eyes held yours, soft and steady, like he was memorising this version of you. Not the one from the paddock, not the one at the media event. Just you.

And then without asking he leaned in just slightly, one hand rising between you.

You held your breath.

He gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers barely grazing your cheek. The touch was feather-light, reverent. It made your stomach twist in that dangerous, beautiful way the one that felt like falling, but somehow felt safe too.

His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer.

Then he leaned forward and pressed a soft, warm kiss to your cheek.

Not rushed. Not suggestive.

When he pulled back, there was the smallest smile on his lips quiet, earnest.

“Goodnight,” he said, voice low.

Your hand was already on the door handle, but you paused for one more second, letting your fingers brush the inside of your wrist where he’d touched you earlier. You could still feel it.

Your heart thudded.

“I’ll think about it,” you said, lips curling into a smile you didn’t bother to hide.

And this time, he was the one left watching you walk away.

Speechless.

Hopeful.

And, maybe, just a little bit undone. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Few days later.

You were mid-sentence, microphone steady in hand, nodding along as the Alpine team principal launched into a detailed explanation about tire degradation and long-run pace. Your expression was the very picture of professionalism neutral, attentive, practiced. You’d done this a hundred times, maybe more. Ask the question, listen carefully, nod thoughtfully, deliver the follow-up. Keep your tone measured, your face steady, your personal space a fortress.

But what you didn’t know what you couldn’t possibly see was that just behind you, out of the camera’s frame, Lewis Hamilton had silently appeared.

And he was making faces.

It began subtly: a slow arch of his eyebrow, an exaggerated tilt of his head as if hearing something utterly baffling. When the team principal mentioned the word “strategy,” Lewis’s eyes widened in mock astonishment, then he pulled out a slow, theatrical yawn that looked entirely too genuine. The cameraman caught on quickly and stifled a laugh, trying hard to keep his composure.

Lewis was relentless. He leaned forward and blinked slowly, deliberately, like he was struggling to stay awake during a particularly dry lecture. Then, with the precision of a seasoned comedian, he made a grimace so over-the-top it was borderline cartoonish exactly the “this guy again?” look you imagined everyone in the paddock had perfected by now.

You, however, were completely oblivious. You stayed locked in your role: nodding, listening, responding your face an expert mask of concentration.

That is, until the Alpine principal’s eyes flicked to your shoulder mid-answer and twitched in amused recognition.

You caught the shift immediately.

“Everything alright?” you asked, a faint furrow in your brow.

“Uh yeah. Just…Hamilton’s behind you,” came the awkward reply.

Without hesitation, you twisted on your heel, your gaze sharpening.

There he was Lewis, way too close for comfort, grinning like a mischievous child caught in the act. His jacket hung casually off one shoulder, his tie undone, eyes sparkling with mischief.

He gave you a cheeky little wave.

You raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you twelve?”

“Emotionally? Probably,” he replied, utterly unbothered by your glare.

“I’m working.”

“I know,” he said, voice low and sincere, “and you’re very impressive.”

He leaned in a little closer, voice dropping to a stage whisper only you could hear, “But also, incredibly serious. Someone had to loosen things up.”

You shook your head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of your lips and turned back to the mic.

“I’m so sorry,” you said apologetically to the team principal. “He wasn’t invited.”

Lewis gasped dramatically behind you. “Wow. Cold.”

“Security,” you said without missing a beat.

The room chuckled the crew letting out quiet laughter, the team principal himself cracking a smile.

Lewis wasn’t done. He leaned forward again, just close enough so only you could hear.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly.

You didn’t turn. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t let your guard down.

But your voice, when you answered, was warmer than it had been moments before.

“I figured.”

A slow, mischievous smile spread across his face as he took a small step closer. His voice lowered even more, drawing you into a private moment despite the camera still rolling and the surrounding crew stifling their laughter.

“You know I’ll only stop pestering you if you finally agree to that date,” he said, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

Your lips twitched, trying to keep things professional. It was impossible.

“The date,” you echoed, voice low but still clear enough for the mic to pick up, the word hanging between you like a secret.

“Yeah. You. Me. Somewhere quiet. No cameras. No interviews.”

Your eyes flicked sideways toward the camera lens. The cameraman gave you a barely concealed grin, like he was in on the joke.

“And you think I’m going to say yes to that?” you teased, voice dripping with playful challenge.

Lewis’s grin deepened, his breath just a whisper against your cheek. “I think you want to.”

You took a slow breath, feeling your heartbeat rise not from nerves, but from the thrill coursing through you.

“Fine,” you said, your tone mixing mock solemnity with genuine warmth, “Yes. You win.”

The team principal shook his head, laughing softly. The cameraman gave an enthusiastic thumbs up.

The live feed continued unabated.

The media was definitely going to lose their minds.

And you?

You let yourself enjoy the moment, the subtle shift in the air around you.

The spark had been struck.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe something unforgettable was just beginning.

The moment you said yes, a subtle ripple passed through the crew. The cameraman’s grin turned into a barely contained chuckle. The Alpine team principal exchanged a knowing look with his engineers, shaking his head with a smile like this paddock had just gotten a lot more interesting.

Back in the broadcast van, the producers caught the exchange live, and their immediate reaction was audible through the comms laughter, surprised whistles, and a few rapid-fire messages about clipping that moment for social media.

Within seconds, the paddock’s social feeds lit up. Journalists whispered into their phones, fingers flying over keyboards. “Did you see that? Hamilton’s charm offensive is officially on air,” one tweet read, while another teased, “Who’s got the popcorn? The new Hamilton romance saga starts now.”

You caught Lewis watching you out of the corner of your eye, his smile almost smug but utterly genuine.

As soon as the interview wrapped, Lewis slid in beside you with a relaxed ease, as if he belonged there, despite the chaos his presence always seemed to bring.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he said quietly, voice a velvet rumble only you could hear.

You glanced at him, a slow smile spreading across your face. “Don’t get too cocky. I’m just giving you a head start.”

He laughed softly, eyes bright with mischief and something warmer, something like anticipation.

“Fair enough. But now that the world knows, I guess we’ll have to make it a date worth remembering.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart wasn’t in it. “No pressure.”

He winked, and just like that, the playful game between you had shifted into something deliciously real.

The days after that on-air moment felt like stepping into a secret world one that existed just between you and Lewis, away from the prying eyes, vibrant cameras, and relentless headlines.

At first, there was nothing official. No announcements, no social media posts, no whispered rumours swirling in paddocks or paddock cafés. Just stolen mornings spent over strong black coffees at quiet cafés tucked away behind the circuits places where nobody recognised you, or if they did, they respected your space. Casual texts that lingered longer than necessary, filled with playful banter, inside jokes, and late-night messages that made your heart beat a little faster.

You’d joked about that live interview the way he’d teased you into agreeing to a date, the way his eyes twinkled with mischief just before he whispered the words that made your pulse skip. At the time, it had felt like a dare, a game. But the truth was, neither of you had imagined it would start so quietly, so carefully, so deliberately off the radar.

Lewis was thoughtful, almost protective of the fragile bubble you both had created. He understood how quickly the public could turn something beautiful into a circus. So, he made sure your moments together were shielded from the glare of cameras and the noise of speculation. It was a rare kindness, and you treasured it.

Some afternoons, you found yourself slipping into the garage, pretending to review notes, while he adjusted the car’s settings nearby. You caught him stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Those quiet minutes surrounded by the scent of rubber and fuel felt intimate, a world apart from the chaos of race day.

Other times, you met at the hotel gym, the hum of treadmills and clinking weights your only soundtrack. You’d exchange quick smiles between sets, sharing fleeting moments of normalcy amid the madness. The staff who passed by barely spared a glance, the invisible shield your secret relationship created.

You learned the small things about him the way he preferred his coffee black and strong, the soft hum he made when lost in thought, the way his smile deepened and eyes softened when he caught you off guard with a quiet compliment whispered just for you. You found yourself letting your guard down, shedding the layers of professional distance you’d built over years of interviews and cameras.

It wasn’t always easy. The pressure to stay hidden gnawed at you sometimes, a restless ache beneath the surface. The fear of being discovered brought a thrill and a tension that only made those moments sweeter. There were times your heart hammered in your chest when you heard footsteps approach unexpectedly, or when a photographer lingered too long in the distance.

But those stolen moments with soft smiles exchanged in the shadows, whispered conversations over coffee, the brush of his hand against yours as you passed were yours alone.

One afternoon, several weeks after your whispered “yes to date” on live TV, Lewis caught you just as you were about to leave the paddock. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the bustling scene, but when he stepped into your path, the world seemed to hush. He looked casual, in a simple T-shirt and jeans, but the way his eyes locked on yours was serious, the kind of serious that made your breath catch.

He cleared his throat, a slight nervousness in his smile. “So,” he said, stepping closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear over the din, “how about we make that date official? Not just a maybe or a secret but a proper night out. Just us.”

Your heart skipped a beat, a mixture of nerves and excitement swirling inside you like a summer storm.

“Just us,” you echoed, feeling the weight and warmth of the promise in those words. A slow smile spread across your face despite the fluttering in your chest.

He nodded, his smile widening, the familiar spark returning to his eyes. “No cameras. No distractions. Just a night where you don’t have to be the professional interviewer, and I don’t have to be the driver.”

You glanced around, suddenly aware of the usual chaos of the paddock fading into the background, leaving only the two of you suspended in that moment.

“I’d like that,” you said softly, meaning every word.

“Good,” he replied, voice low and steady. “Because I’ve been waiting to ask for weeks.”

That night, as you walked away with your pulse still racing, your mind replayed the moment over and over. You knew, deep down, this was only the beginning.

Weeks passed, and your time together grew richer with each secret meeting, each shared smile. You both moved slowly, carefully, savouring the quiet intimacy that only those first days of something new can hold.

One evening, you found yourselves sitting side by side on a balcony overlooking the city lights, the noise of the world far below and forgotten. The air was warm, scented with jasmine and night blossoms. You watched as the city flickered to life, streetlights blinking on like stars pulled from the sky.

Lewis reached out then, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. His gaze held yours steady, full of something deeper than you’d felt before.

After a comfortable silence, Lewis turned slightly, searching your eyes as if looking for permission.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said quietly. “About us. About this whatever it is.”

You smiled, fingers curling around his hand.

“I want to stop hiding,” he continued, voice steady but vulnerable. “I want to be with you not just these secret moments, but all of it. The good, the messy, the loud, everything.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, eyes glistening.

“So,” he said, a slow smile tugging at his lips, “would you be my girlfriend? Officially. Publicly. Me and you, no secrets.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, a warmth flooding your chest.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I want that too.”

His smile grew, radiant and real, as he pulled you into a gentle, lingering hug.

For the first time in a long time, you felt completely seen. Completely free.

Because even if the world wasn’t ready yet, you were.

Ready for whatever came next. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

A month after dating -

The atmosphere was electric.

The Ferrari garage pulsed with energy, a blur of red, roaring voices, and champagne spraying like rain in the late afternoon sun. Mechanics and engineers embraced, team members shouted in celebration, and fans along the barriers screamed Lewis’s name like it was gospel.

It was his first win with Ferrari and the paddock hummed with a kind of high that only came when history was being written in real time.

You should have been swept up in it, too. And in a way, you were. But you were still at work mic in hand, earpiece live, standing just outside the McLaren motorhome and trying to stay composed for your post-race segment.

You were interviewing Lando Norris, who’d crossed the line in second, still flushed from the race and smiling wide, his race suit unzipped down to his waist. He was rambling playfully, his accent warm and teasing.

“I mean, I almost had him,” Lando said, chuckling. “But you know Lewis...Give him a car that breathes, and he’ll make it sing.”

You grinned, trying to focus. “Well, if today’s anything to go by, the Ferrari anthem might be on repeat for the rest of the season.”

“Looks like it,” Lando replied with a pointed glance over your shoulder. “Speaking of the man himself…”

You blinked, confused, following his gaze—

And then you felt him.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind, warm and grounding. A familiar scent sweat, champagne, and just the slightest hint of his cologne washed over you in an instant. You froze, the microphone dipping slightly in your hand.

Your eyes widened as the realisation hit. Lewis.

He didn’t say a word at first, just pulled you flush against him in a moment so casual and effortless that it made your heart stop. Your breath hitched, and your body tensed before instinctively relaxing into the comfort of him.

Then his lips brushed your cheek. Soft, slow, intimate. A kiss that wasn’t rushed or hidden. It lingered like a promise. Before pepper kissing your face…

On live television.

In front of thousands. Maybe millions.

Lando burst into laughter. “Well, alright then.”

The cameraman wavered, unsure whether to keep filming or pan away, but it was too late. The moment was caught. Burned into the feed. Sent out into the world in crisp, clear definition.

You turned in Lewis’s arms, stunned. Eyes searching his, your brain trying to catch up. Your heart was hammering in your chest, both thrilled and absolutely panicked.

“We’re live,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said calmly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I figured it’s time.”

Your jaw nearly dropped. Time? You had been careful. So careful. The private dates, the whispered conversations in corners, the inside jokes behind closed doors. You had walked this tightrope for months he, a global icon; you, the ever-neutral journalist.

But Lewis?

He looked completely unbothered. Happy, even.

“I’ve waited long enough to show this,” he added, lowering his voice for only you to hear. “You’re not just some secret I want to keep. Not anymore.”

The producer’s voice crackled in your earpiece, asking what the hell just happened, but you didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your face burned with heat, and your fingers trembled slightly where they clutched the microphone. But your chest, your heart was full.

When you finally stepped away from the camera, the chaos had already begun.

By the time you made it backstage, your phone had exploded. Notifications filled your screen in a dizzying scroll text from colleagues, friends, your editor in all caps. Twitter was in absolute meltdown. Instagram reels were already cutting together fan reactions. TikToks analysed the hug in slow motion, zooming in on the kiss, the way your face lit up.

“Lewis Hamilton confirms mystery girlfriend live on air.”

“Ferrari’s golden boy and the F1 journalist he’s been flirting with for months—finally official.”

“The way he hugged her. The way she froze. The cheek kiss. I’m sobbing.”

#HamitonHasHer was trending within the hour.

Clips of past interviews resurfaced. Fans shared moments they swore they saw sparks how he always seemed to smile a little wider when talking to you, how your questions were often met with teasing, how his eyes had always lingered a little too long on your face.

People had guessed, sure. But no one had known.

Until now.

You sat in the media centre later that night, dazed. Your laptop open but untouched, your phone still buzzing with alerts. A dozen F1 journalists were speculating on podcasts and YouTube videos, analysing every moment between you and Lewis from the past year.

And then, a text from him:

“Dinner? Just us. No cameras. I’ll pick you up in 20.”

You smiled, a little breathless.

It didn’t matter what the world said now. You weren’t a mystery anymore.

You were his.

And for the first time, he was yours publicly, unapologetically and forever caught in the glow of victory and something deeper than just a race.

[badtsan]

Can you make a jaehyun smut where you are a trainee while he is an idol?

idol!명재현 x trainee!reader    ✩    word count  542     ──   warnings  smut, quickie, unprotected sex, coming inside, biting, mouth covering, est. relationship, secret relationship, post weversecon

“why didn’t i see you today?”

you looked at jaehyun, who was exaggeratingly pouting. “probably because we arrived late and left early?”

he frowns. “why?”

you were part of a small trainee group that was working very hard to debut, and with that meant attending your seniors’ concerts to watch their performance to take notes when you weren’t training. “jaehyun, are you upset?”

still with the pout etched onto his lips, he nods.

“i’m sorry, honey.” you open your arms, inviting him into a hug. “i would’ve loved to see you, but we were there to watch our seniors perform. not to see our boyfriends that we aren’t supposed to have.”

this draws out a little giggle from jaehyun and he finally stepped forward into your arms. the two of you had met up in an empty practice room that you’d booked for ‘individual practice’ after leaving the festival, something you often had to do in order to get some alone time with him. you and jaehyun knew the rules all too well, but you also knew that it was impossible to deny your feelings for one another. “make it up to me?”

after making sure that the cameras in the practice room were covered and their view of the two of you was obscured, you found yourself bent over as your boyfriend relentlessly pounds into you. his thrusts were a little messy, but deep and full of passion. you were used to these quick moments of intimacy — his schedule was packed and you were typically too busy with training to have much more, so the two of you came to know each other’s bodies and what gets you off the quickest. and while it’s risky, you know that the quickest way for jaehyun is to fuck you without a condom.

the feeling of being in you raw instantly has his mind reeling. he can feel every part of you in such detail — his cock has mapped out your insides perfectly, every muscle and every spot that makes you clench down around him. on the other hand, he also knows just how to get your legs shaking in the five spare minutes you have on most days. how to rub your clit just right. not too much pressure, but not too light. not too fast and not too slow. how to angle his hips to expertly grind his cock against your sweet spot. jaehyun knows it all.

which is how he has you coming so quickly. he has to place his hand over your mouth to stop you from moaning his name too loudly. your thighs quiver and if it weren’t for his other arm wrapping around you, they’d have given out. his release quickly follows, your inner muscles contracting being what sends him over the edge. he has to bite down on your shoulder to muffle his own noises, which in turn causes you to make a noise in return. he lazily rolls his hips into yours to ride out the both of your orgasms.

a moment later, you can feel him smiling against your shoulder.

“i think i’m still upset.”

“oh my god,” you laugh. “get off of me, jaehyun. we need to clean up before someone looks for us.”

[jscrawls]

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, mentions of injury, poor writing, ooc writing,

Part 18: turning point

🔹🔹🔹

The police come to the manor the next morning to question you about the incident, one of them was in the garage looking over the car while another officer sits with you in the foyer with a notepad and pen like this was the forties, how quaint.

Thankfully for your sanity they don't seem to judge you much as you recount the incident in a clinical voice, after just a few moments Bruce joined you on the couch and throws an arm around your shoulder and silently sets his hand on your leg. you nearly rolled you eyes but bit your tongue for the time being.

sure he's no longer a stranger to you, but it pisses you off how he acts like he's concerned and supportive when there's other people around after the way things went last night. you have to wonder if it’s for your sake or his image sake.

He remained pretty much silent, only chiming in to tell the officer he can get camera footage sent to them to show when exactly you and Damian left and returned, the hand resting on your arm tightened near enough to bruise during certain parts of the questioning, his nails dug into your skin when you went into detail about the gun against your head and the threats against the boy. he only relaxed his grip on you when the topic changed to questions about whether you knew the man or not, whether you believed the attack was connected to your concussion, etc.

As soon as the officers leave so do you, you shrug off Bruce as soon as he attempts to speak to you and trot to your room. You don't care how childish it comes off as, you're still pissed and you know you’ll restart things if he pushes you right now.

You hardly speak to anyone for days after that, suddenly you're no longer to be found in the library or going on walks around the property edges, you stay in your room and push yourself to train to the point of incapability and then go down to the kitchens to feed yourself and repeat the cycle, it’s terribly unhealthy and you’re well aware of that, but you’d rather hurt your body while building yourself up into something useful rather than hurt what little rapport you have left with the waynes.

And that's just how things stay, Bruce avoids you after you shrugged him off and Alfred only makes half-hearted attempts to engage with you, finding excuses such as needing to clean your room or insisting on bringing you tea. The kids must know what's going on because they awkwardly avoid you, Duke constantly stumbles over his words when you walk by and leaves the room if you run into him in the kitchen, Cass stares at you silently from corners and nooks, never directly engaging with you. you haven't even seen Tim once in days, it's like he just up and removed himself from the home. Seems the only one not totally pissy is the youngest…

“can we talk?….” his knuckles rap in the door as he let's himself right in, clearly not caring to wait for an answer first.

You sit up from where you'd been doing pushups to frown at the kid, your shirt sticks to your skin from sweat and you're sure you look like a royal mess at the moment. “….i’m a little tired, damian.”

He rolls his eyes at you and drops down on your bed with a loud thump, mossy eyes scrutinizing your form while you cap a water bottle and chug half of it in one go.

“no you’re not, i just….wanted to talk.” his voice loses bravado part way through and he looks away while awkwardly fiddling with the bedding, picking at random strings like they're so very interesting. You sigh as you set the bottle down and wrap your arms around your knees. “….okay, what’s up kiddo.”

For a moment he's quiet, fidgeting in place as he tried to gather himself into his usual snarky form, you look around the room to avoid silently staring the kid down and make him more uncomfortable.

“i wanted to…. apologize….for what happened.” Damian looks uncharacteristically out of his element, that almost sounded painful for him to choke out judging by the wince of his lips like he sucked on a lemon.

With a sigh you roll to your feet and stretch your arms above your head, muscles aching something fierce in protest to your overdoing it. “what happened in the city isn’t your fault, you're not responsible for anyone else's wrong doings, kiddo.”

Damian just loosely crosses his arms over his chest while looking up at you, his expression hard to read. But you'd like to think you've got a decent read on the kid by now, his body language screams unhappiness.

“i forced you to go out, you and father are fighting because i disobeyed his orders.” his tone drops to something more sullen, your gut twists at the way he refers to Bruce's rules as ‘orders’, it doesn't sit right with you, too painfully familiar. Your own childhood ‘orders’ echoes through your mind and you quickly dig your nails into your palm to distract yourself, the pain is grounding, familiar like a family friend.

The mattress squeaks under your weight when you drop down beside him, your hands awkwardly clenching in your lap before you do something insanely out of character like trying to comfort the boy. hopefully he doesn't get grossed out by your sweaty form.

“look, i won’t lie to you or sugarcoat things, we shouldn’t have gone out without telling bruce or alfred, you’re smart enough to see that. but anything between me and bruce is just that, between me and him. things are….difficult right now, a disagreement was bound to happen no matter the cause.”

Your gentle voice doesn't seem to put the kid at ease, he turns towards you with a pouty scowl on his face as he practically bristles like a cat.

“that doesn’t change things, i almost got you killed again.” he gestures at your head while speaking, you're suddenly reminded of the fact that Damian was also there when the concussion happened, how many times has he watched his parent figure narrowly avoid death?

“….damian, you’re not responsible for me. in any way, shape or form. i’m an adult, you’re a child. you’re supposed to do….child things, i don’t know. The point is that anything that happens to me isn't your fault. Neither you or Bruce are my guard dogs.”

Damian swallows audibly and looks away from you, his eyes again downcast as he starts pulling on a loose thread on one of the pillow cases.

His voice is heavy when he speaks again, refusing to meet your gaze as he all but whispers. “….i wish you remembered.”

Something about that makes your intuition prickle, you don't know if it's the heaviness in his voice or the way Damian seems to suddenly look worn, more like a soldier than a child.

You don't like the way it makes your skin crawl, your chest heavy like there's cement behind your ribs. “…remember what?”

Damian looks up and opens his mouth to speak, them slowly closes it.

“….. Never mind…. You…you were really cool, how you beat that guy up….”

You know it's a deflection, and the way he's looking at you you know he knows you know. But you're not gonna push the boy. So instead you just mess up his hair in an annoying way.

“…don’t mention it…”

There's a lot of unspoken words hanging in the air, you know he's holding something back, something that's hurting him, and for a moment you think of spilling your own demons, to tell him you're not who he thinks you are, this isn't a mission after all, you don't have any goals here, you have no reason to keep pretending except your own cowardly desire to sweep your real self under the rug. Pretend you're almost something half good. yet it doesn't come out, maybe one day it'll rot you from the inside out until someone sees the real you gaping from between the cracks. Until then both of your jaws remain stubbornly clenched.

🔹🔹🔹

Nightwing squats on the ledge of the warehouse roof as he peers through the skylight, positioning himself just right so he doesn't cast a shadow into the building. watching the wannabe Mafia punks sort through various stolen goods on top of the wooden crates and old tables.

It's almost funny how clueless they are to being watched, thanks to these people batman's benched and the GCPD is scrambling for more manpower with the increasing attacks, luckily none so bad as the first night but it's clear what they're doing. Establishing presence. Nightwings gloved hands tighten around his eskrima sticks as a few of them laugh loud enough over something to be heard from his position.

“How many we looking at?” A mechanical voice hums from behind, Nightwing doesn't have to look to know red hood's stalking up to him.

“Looks like two, maybe three dozen, could be more coming with how quickly they're cracking boxes open. Like they're expecting more product to sort through.” Nightwing replies quietly, not taking his eyes off the thugs.

He feels a hand briefly land on his shoulder as red hood kneels by him, also trying to avoid casting a shadow in the minimal moonlight peering through the clouds.

“sounds like a party, already tagged the getaway cars?” Wordlessly Nightwing taps his com twice, Oracle chimes in red hoods ear to answer his question.

“tagged and plates all already ran, we'll have a full list of every registration within an hour.” Red Hood hears her loudly sipping on something in his com and snorts in amusement, focusing back on the men inside. “Penguins?”

Nightwing shakes his head, leaning closer to the glass to keep an eye on a man moving out of sight. “someone new, still trying to pin down the head.” Red Hood sharply turns his head to look at him, Nightwing can guess at his expression under the helmet.

“they're operating in penguins usual territory? This'll go to shit quickly once word gets out…” he groans quietly and rubs the back of his neck, he pulls his Glock out and starts checking and rechecking his ammo, pulling his extra mags out and checking those too.

“…so…. We gonna talk about the elephant in the room?” Nightwing murmurs without looking away from the men, though he doesn't miss how red Hood throws his head back and sighs.

“your ass, or the little spat B and operater had?” Oracle's voice crackles in both their ears, Nightwing snorts while red Hood sighs again. “Can you not talk about asses right now, I'd like to keep my appetite thanks.”

Nightwing playfully elbows him, snickering quietly at his reaction. “You're such a child, man. You'll get the talk from Bruce eventually.”

Oracle also giggles in both their ears, taking another obnoxiously loud sip of whatever it is she's drinking. “Someone's gotta break the ice around here.”

“I'm not talking about someone else's marriage issues.” Red Hood huffs, stubbornly checking his weapons one more time before watching the thugs below them again.

“Well too bad, I am. Operater looked ready to put themselves in jail and B nearly burst a blood vessel when he found out, you should see the clips I put together from the parking lot cams.”

“I don't blame them, B’s way over reacting and being a smothering jackass.” Red Hood replies tensely.

“He's not being smothering.” Nightwing rolls his eyes and corrects himself when both Oracle and Red hood scoff loudly. “Okay he's a little smothering, but it's more like….thin blanket smothering than heavy pillow smothering though. He's smothering with love and concern.”

“meat rider.” Red hood mutters under his breath, Nightwing elbows him in offense. “Shut it, how else is he supposed to respond to the near public execution?”

“you and I both know that if someone pointed a gun at the little demon B would do the same thing, it's like he forgets that people outside of costumes can do more than freak out. Plus he's so goddamn weird around them now.” Red hood scowls under his helmet, do they need to have this discussion here?

Oracle clears her throat quietly. “Well…I agree with that sentiment…but…” her voice takes on a hesitant edge, both Nightwing and red Hood glance at each other in confusion.

“…but…?” Nightwing presses on. “…but, I think we can agree that mentally torturing someone in a parking lot is just a bit extreme right?” At both their silence she continues. “you saw the clips from red Robin right? You'd think they'd just leave as soon as the threat was incapacitated, not shove a gun down their throat while literally interrogating them.”

Nightwing hesitantly speaks up, “I mean, obviously yeah. But they recently survived something traumatic, take it from the guy who's been in their shoes, it can fuck up your entire response system.”

“Night, a coma doesn't teach you how to successfully crack my programs and rip them out of hardware by the roots. A coma doesn't make you try to stab people or beat someone half to death. Whatever's going on with them isn't normal and we're trying to figure out where it's coming-” red Hood interrupts Oracle before she can continue. “Hang on, you're telling me you think they're what, a body double? An alien spy? You letting the old man's paranoia get to you now Oracle?” “…I'm just checking all our bases, B and red robins doing it too, It's precautionary.”

Nightwing grabs red hoods shoulder before he can react, putting his finger to his lips before gesturing down below them. “Don't lose focus.” His voice is nearly a hiss, squeezing his shoulder once before letting him go.

“…you're the one who's been going off about B lately, now you're spying on operater for him?” red Hood grumbles as he shifts, moving away from the glass to peer over the edge of the building when he hears the rumble of an engine in the distance.

“Unknown vehicle, quarter mile away. Traffic cam shows an old fire truck heading your way. Now don't call it spying, that makes it sound creepy.” Oracle's voice echoes slightly as they hear her shuffling through the ear pieces, probably adjusting her headset.

“I've got eyes on it, I'll call it what it is Oracle. You're butthurt about the hacking fail so you're going to extremes on them.” Red hood mumbles, ducking down as the truck slowly pulls up to the warehouse.

“As if you're not constantly butthurt about something, weren't you pissy for a week because they didn't pick your movie?”

“like they've ever favored the godfather over Lord of the rings, I know once they watch it they'll obviously see the superior choice.” red hood huffs exasperatedly, clearly still bitter.

nightwing holds a hand up, red hood shuffles back to his side to peer down at the men, he watches them all shuffle towards the entrance just as the firetruck parks in the alley beside the building. “more goons, great.” red hood sighs out sarcastically.

“another eight, looks to be armed. got the deets on the truck oracle?” nightwing hums, starting to do some light stretches as he gets ready.

“you know i’m on it….hmm, stolen from a collector last month. they’ve got somewhere they’re hiding stolen cars?” oracle replies, tapping coming through the mic as she switches between different monitors.

“….so are we gonna ignore red pouting?” nightwing says playfully, he snickers when red hood elbows him roughly and moves away from him to get into position. “shut your whore mouth, dickhead. i’m taking lead.” red hood rolls his eyes under his helmet when he hears two voices snickering at him.

nightwing holds his hands up when he gets a sharp look, trying to wipe the smirk off his face as he rolls his neck and shoulders. “alright, alright. it’s officially dropped…until this is done. take your spotlight red.”

red hood sighs exasperatedly as he stands, after a moment of silence he kicks through the glass and jumps into the building while multiple people yell in surprise.

🔹🔹🔹

M.list | prev | next

A/n: this is kinda giving filler chapter to me, sorry y'all 😔 the next one is much more interesting tho 👀👀

Taglist: @cxcilla @mercuryathens @dind1n @redsakura101 @ninihrtss @let-me-dance @ladykamos @one-piecelover @cuntiesweet @omnivirgo @shirp-collector-of-fixations @spidermanluvr444 @br33zy-blizzardz @lunarapple @findingjaxx @4rachn3 @buckturd @tsxukikami @paastaboi @duskeras

[flemingsfreckles]

Morning After

Synopsis: you wake up to a cold bed and find your girlfriend outside reading (aka I found that middle photo of Jessie from months ago and this was my first little blurb idea)

Warnings: suggestive, that’s it

WC: 1.3k just a little guy 🤏

A/N: I’m having big time lack of motivation and writers block recently, this came about when I was cleaning out my camera roll solely because of that photo. I might try to do more short, 1-1.5k pieces to see if that helps get some creative juice back.

You have no idea what time it is when you roll over and squint at the harsh bright light coming in through the window. Turning over you expect to see a pair of brown eyes and a freckled face, instead you get an empty pillow. Sure it was a little disappointing not getting to see your girlfriend’s beautiful face first thing in the morning, but it wasn’t unusual. You had slept over before and Jessie was an early riser, she’d be up before you, cooking breakfast or making a coffee. But part of you had just expected after the night the two of you shared that she’d be lying next to you when you woke up.

You walk out of the bedroom, Jessie’s shirt across your chest and a pair of her sleep shorts around your waist. Unsure if Niamh was home yet you scan the hallway before heading out into the living room. Niamh knew about you and Jessie but you’d make yourself more presentable if she was home. That’s when you find Jessie, she’s sitting outside on the balcony. The door is cracked and you can feel the cool morning air coming inside. She’s sitting in a chair, her back to you. You can see her curls resting on the back of her neck, the black hoodie she’s wearing, she’s looking down toward her lap.

As you walk further into the room you’re able to take in more of the sight of your girlfriend, she’s reading, a book clasped between her hands, a pen and notepad on the table. Also on the table is a cup of what you could assume to be her morning coffee and her water bottle. She looked peaceful, just enjoying the morning sun and her book, you almost didn’t want to disturb her.

And while you didn’t want to disturb her at the same time you did, you wanted to take the book out of her hands and drag her back to bed where the two of you could cuddle, skin on skin, gentle touches across each other's arms and backs, soft kisses all while fighting the urge to fall asleep in her arms again.

You take another step while still debating if you wait for her to notice you or if you say something and pull her attention away from her book. The floorboard makes the decision for you, creeping loudly as you shift your weight onto it. Jessie’s head whips around. When she sees you she smiles and closes the book in front of her.

“Good morning.” She’s still sitting looking at you through the cracked door.

“Good morning.” You try to fight the overwhelming urge to grin like an idiot at her. You can feel the start of a blush rising on your cheeks, you look to the floor.

“How’d you sleep?” Jessie asks.

“Good, you?”

“Also good, sorry I didn’t mean to leave you alone in bed, just I woke up an hour or so ago, I knew if I stayed in bed I’d just want to wake you up.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t worried.” It’s true you weren’t, maybe in other relationships, waking up to an empty bed after sharing your bodies for the first time the night before would have made you nervous, not with Jessie. You hadn’t expected her to be far, maybe in the kitchen, maybe on a run, at the store, but you knew she wouldn’t have left completely. You had a different level of trust with her.

“Good.”

When you don’t respond, unsure of what to say to the girl, she stands up, pushing in her chair and makes her way to stand next to you, the floorboard creaking again as her weight moves on it. She reaches to grasp your hand with her own, gently playing with your fingers.

“I had a really good time last night.” She says softly, trying to make eye contact with you, your eyes choosing to look at where her hand held yours. Watching the way her fingers soothed over your own while keeping your eyes off of her.

“Me too.” You feel the blush growing and the flutter of your stomach start. You and Jessie had been officially together for a few months and much to Niamh and your teammates annoyance, pinning over each other for years before that. Everyday she made your head spin and your heart jump. From the simple things like a sweet good morning kiss when she’d pick you up for training, or when she’d put her hand on your thigh while driving, how she’d wink at you across the pitch when no one else saw. You were completely infatuated with the woman.

Last night the two of you were able to explore the extent of your physical relationship, Niamh finally being away for a few days, leaving Jessie’s place to be empty, giving you and Jessie the perfect excuse to finally fall into bed together for different reasons than sleep. It had been sweet, soft, and slow with Jessie and she had left you blushing and red cheeked for more reasons than one last night.

“Do you want coffee? Tea? Food?” Jessie released your hand and walked toward the kitchen.

“Coffee would be nice.” You followed her into the kitchen watching as she grabbed coffee out of the cabinet before moving over to another cabinet to grab you a mug. She turned her back to you and headed over to start the coffee maker. You stand, leaning against the counter as you watch her move around. She catches your eye every few moments making you both give sheepish smiles. After a few fleeting glances Jessie comes up to you, gently placing her hands on your face and bringing your lips to hers.

The sigh she lets out when your lips connect has a flash of heat running through you, all too reminiscent of your evening last night. Jessie’s hands come to your back before gently making their way down to your butt before she breaks the kiss to move her hands to the backs of your thighs. “Jump.”

You do as she says and next thing you know your thighs are coming into contact with the cold countertop as Jessie lifts you onto it. You lean down to connect your lips again, missing the feeling. When you pull away Jessie is looking up at you, wide eyed and smiling.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Jessie’s pulling you down slightly so that she can whisper in your ear.

“Yeah.” You turn, putting your lips against her ear, whispering back.

You hear Jessie take a shaky breath before she exhales and speaks at the same time. “I love you.”

You hear the words and immediately pull back to look at her face, only this time it’s her who’s shying away, tucking her head into your chest. You gently pull on her chin, trying to get her to look at you but she stays firm, fighting your grasp to keep her face buried into you.

“Jessie.” She doesn’t budge. “Babe.” You give her another gentle push, this time she gives in pulling back from you. Her cheeks are red, a look of worry across her face, her eyes glued to your lap. You lean into her, tilting her chin up to put your lips against her ear. “I love you.” You whisper back to her.

“Yeah?” Jessie looks up at you, you can practically see the relief wash over her body, her shoulders releasing their tension, a smile finding its way to her lips.

“Yeah, I love you.” You confess to her before leaning down to give her a quick kiss.

“I love you.” She says it again, making both of you smile. You sit for a moment, letting the reality sink in, you were in love with her and she was in love with you. It’s then that you look over and see the long abandoned coffee beans.

“I’d maybe love you more if you made me that coffee.”

[hunkpossession0]

Stealing my former high school bully’s body was so easyyy. Look, now I am hot, and the best part is that I’m gay.

I leaned back in the plush leather seat of his—no, my—new car, savoring the feeling of power. God, I’d waited so long for this. All those years of torment, the sneers, the shoves into lockers, the homophobic slurs... they were all a distant memory now, fading away like smoke. The only thing that mattered was this body I was now inhabiting, perfectly sculpted and oozing confidence.

I smirked at the reflection in the rearview mirror. His—my—strong jawline, the chiseled features that had made everyone swoon, and those piercing blue eyes that used to look down on me with contempt were now mine to control. And control them I would.

The plan had come to me after a particularly rough night, one too many drinks mixed with the lingering bitterness of my high school years. I’d always been obsessed with the idea of revenge, but not the kind that left scars. I wanted something deeper, more satisfying. I wanted to become him. To live the life he’d never appreciated and do it better.

It wasn’t hard to find a spell. You’d be surprised at how many dark corners of the internet are devoted to body swapping. A few emails, a payment sent in crypto, and a strange-looking amulet later, I was ready. The ritual was simple enough—though it took a lot of concentration. But the moment I slipped it around his neck while he slept, it was over in seconds. I woke up in his bed, in his skin, and he… well, I don’t know where he is now. I like to imagine he’s trapped somewhere, conscious of what’s happening but completely powerless.

The first thing I did was check myself out in the mirror—really take in everything I’d just acquired. This body wasn’t just hot; it was perfect. Years of disciplined workouts, clean eating, and who knows what else had transformed him into someone who looked like they walked straight off a magazine cover.

Actually, make that literally off a magazine cover. I found a stack of fashion magazines under his bed with his stupidly gorgeous face plastered on them. He’d somehow turned his pretty-boy looks and gym rat habits into a full-fledged modeling career. I guess that explained the ridiculous number of selfies on his phone, each one showing off a different outfit or a perfectly timed flex in front of the mirror.

So yeah, I wasn’t giving up the gym. If anything, I was leaning into it. It’s not like I had to do much to maintain this body—he’d already done the hard work, and now I was reaping the benefits. I still hit the gym daily, if only to flex for the mirrors and admire my reflection. The attention I get now is incredible, and the best part is, I can be shameless about it.

Of course, I couldn’t wait to see what Grindr was like from this side of things. Installing the app was the first thing I did once I figured out the password to his phone. The moment I uploaded a shirtless pic, the notifications started rolling in—an endless stream of thirsty messages. Guys were practically lining up for a chance with me, throwing compliments, and I have to admit, I loved every second of it.

I’d spend hours swiping through profiles, chatting up whoever caught my eye. The way people reacted to me now was night and day compared to before. No more awkward small talk, no more second-guessing myself. I could tell someone to meet me at the gym just to watch me lift, and they’d show up without hesitation.

And the best part? I’ve started getting more gigs, just from a few posts on social media showing off his—no, my—body. Modeling agencies are all about that lean muscle, those killer cheekbones, that smirk that could melt anyone on the other end of the camera. He’d never really appreciated what he had, but I’m about to take this career to the next level. I’ve already got a photoshoot lined up for some luxury brand—an easy way to rake in the cash while showing off.

His—my—Instagram is blowing up too. I’m always in the gym, flexing and posting thirst traps for the masses. The likes pour in, and the comments? They’re pure gold. People are practically worshipping me, and I’ve only just begun. This body was wasted on him, but now that it’s mine, I’m going to enjoy every moment of it.

Every time I flex, every time I see a new message pop up on Grindr, it’s a reminder of just how sweet this revenge is. Not only did I take his body, but I’m living his life better than he ever could. I’m hotter, more confident, and finally free to be myself in the best possible way.

This is just the beginning.

[mindofharry]

Anything

pyscho!harry is my absolute fav. obviously he comes with warnings so if this triggers you please do not read. kidnapping and m!rder mentioned. please send in your thoughts!

Harry liked to watch her. 

At first, it was for simple pleasure. He enjoyed going to see his favourite girl after a gruelling day of work. It did not consume him. Not until now. Not until he saw Y/N, his perfect, beautiful, Y/N with another man. Of course, Harry had to do something about this. 

And that is why a man is on his basement floor, choking on his own blood.  

“Do you get hard thinking about her?” Harry asked manically, kicking the man who lay on the floor. He didn’t wait for a response, moving towards a little desk in the corner of the room. Harry smiled wiggling his fingers at his toys. A gun would be too quick, too messy. A knife is exactly right. He picked up the butcher knife, humming to himself softly. The poor guy was still on the floor in a mixture of blood and vomit. This sight is the only thing that could get him hard, other than Y/N.  

“This is going to be incredibly fun. Not for you, but definitely for me,” 

Y/N had been stood up. For the fourth time. She wonders if there was something wrong with her. Four times cannot be a coincidence like her friends keep telling her. The men seemed desperate for even a second of her attention and then when given it – radio silence. She just didn't understand. She would get excited, finally having a guy to tell her mother about. And then after three days, that dream guy disappears.  

Lana, Y/N’s roommate, and best friend of three years sits in front of her, “You just haven’t found the one that's right for you. “Everything happens for a reason,” she said trying her best to comfort her best friend.  

Y/N rolled her eyes. 

“I’ve got work. I’ll see you later,” she said, kissing her friend on the cheek and walking away. Y/N had worked at the diner on main street since she was a teenager. Thats where she met most of her admirers. Mostly the elderly locals and the odd few college students cramming for their next exam. Y/N used to be like those students too. Until she dropped out and thought working full time at the diner was better than a law degree.  

Y/N quickly pulled her leggings down, along with her pink panties. She walked over to her wardrobe and pulled out her work uniform, which was a white dress, apron, and knee-high sock. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, not giving much thought to it or the make-up that adorned her dresser. Quickly, she put her comfortable sneakers on, grabbed her phone and jacket and made a beeline for the apartment door. 

“Working the night shift, so don’t wait up,” Y/N yelled, she heard a quick mumble from Lana and then grabbed the keys on the table beside the door. She always forgot them. The last time she did a night shift, she wobbled home and had to sleep in the hallway as Lana was fast asleep and couldn't hear the calls or bangs from her roommate. 

Harry’s day started like it usually did. 

He got up. Showered. Got changed and had food. Brushed his teeth and checked on his cats. 

And then he butchered someone. Cut them up piece by piece and then throw them in the river. It was a normal morning for him. 

He felt hard at the thought. 

His alarm on his watch beeped and he sighed happily, it was time to see his girl. Although Y/N didn’t know him and had never actually spoken to him, he knew she loved him the way he loved her. There was no other choice and Y/N is a good girl. She would grow to love him one way or another. Harry looked at himself in the mirror, straightening his tie. Today is the day he would introduce himself, claim her if you will. Every time he saw her, he wanted to ravish her and today would be that day.  

While Y/N was serving customers, harry was rechecking the rope in the car. When Y/N started to clean the counters, Harry tripled checked the security cameras. Finally, when Y/N was closing the diner, early in the morning, Harry was behind her.  

Instead of flowers behind his back, he held a cloth full of dangerous chemicals. 

Y/N spotted him, startled dropping the keys. 

“I am so sorry, we just closed,” she apologised bending down to pick up her keys at the same time as this mysterious man. She gazed up at him, being met with green eyes, pale skin, and hot breath. She thought he was beautiful. Tortured, but beautiful. 

“It’s ok,” Harry murmured, his ring covered fingers grazed her own sending a shock through her system. Y/N swallowed heavily, not sure if her stomach was producing anxiety or arousal.  

“I feel like I know you,” Y/N hummed, finally picking up the keys and straightening herself up, the man did the same. 

“Maybe we’ve met in another life,” He smiled, for some reason, Y/N blushed. That would have never worked with any other man. To be honest, she would have made a run for it the minute she saw him if he was not this man.  

She put it down to the little male validation she got. 

“Maybe,” Y/N replied after a few beats of tensioned silence.  

Harry’s heart was beating wildly, not because of the possibility of getting caught but because of this woman. She smiled at him. Blushed at his words. 

Oh, he was going to keep her, there was no doubt about it. 

“Anyways, I have to get going, I’ll see you around?” Y/N asked, hope invading her voice.  

“You’ll be seeing me,” Harry said, grabbing her arms, holding her tight as she squirmed. He placed the cloth to her lips and within seconds her body lay still. 

“Mine,”