#so lets pretend this is for that and that im on time

[cheftsunoda]

hi honey, i’m baaacckkk!

my love for susie wolff has been reignited, so here i am! susie wolff x reader x toto wolff. it’s me of course so there’s a twist…………………………………….

ferrari team principal reader, yep she stole lewis from toto! i’ll let you decide if they’re already a couple or if they’re falling in love. and for the sake of my little ferrari loving heart, let’s be delusional and pretend ferrari is doing much better than they actually are

love you lots! i can’t wait to see what you do with this, and i can’t wait for a couple of hours to pass before i think of another request for you

finders keepers — toto wolff + susie wolff

toto wolff x !ferrari tp reader x susie wolff

smau + blurbs

when you were announced as ferrari’s new team principal, the motorsport world lost its mind. young, unapologetic, and brilliant — you weren’t just there to shake the table. you were flipping it over. then came the real shock- lewis hamilton signing with ferrari under your leadership, leaving behind a furious toto wolff and a suddenly intrigued susie. they called it sabotage. you called it strategy. "Finders keepers," you whispered into Toto’s ear at the F1 75 event, your hand brushing Susie’s as you walked past. the war was on. and so was the chemistry.

fc : irina shayk

(a/n) : MY WIFEEEEEY. my honey sugar baby loveeeee! you know as soon as you request something, i drop everything and make sure it happens. i love you soooooo much. such a good idea. i had so much fun!!

—

scuderiaferrari

liked by yn_ln, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and 7,525,002 others

scuderiaferrari : Breaking tradition, making history. Joining us this season is YN LN as our new Team Principal — and with her, she brings none other than 7 time World Champion Lewis Hamilton to the Scuderia. The future is bold. The future is red. 🔴

—

view 501,008 other comments.

lewishamilton : So honored to work beside YN. Let's make history together, Boss! Forza Ferrari. ❤️🔥

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and scuderiaferrari

↳yn_ln : boss makes me feel old...even though i am younger than you;) happy to have you champ! let's do this.

liked by charles_leclerc and yn_ln

↳ username000 : how old is she??

↳ username00 : 35

charles_leclerc : Welcome, boss. Don’t scare the engineers too much 😅They are already terrified.

liked by yn_ln, lewishamilton and scuderiaferrari

↳ yn_ln : aw i like to think im a little bit nicer than old man fred :(

liked by lewishamilton and charles_leclerc

sebastianvettel : This is the kind of chaos I would’ve stayed for. Welcome.

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc, lewishamilton and scuderiaferrari

↳ yn_ln : miss your smiling face. come by sometime this season?

liked by sebastianvettel

↳ sebastianvettel : I’ll be there boss.

liked by yn_ln

↳ username1 : omg if seb loves her. we are GOLDEN.

yn_ln : thank you everybody for the love and warm welcome. i can say with confidence for once that this really is our season. forza ferrari ❤️

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton and scuderiaferrari

↳ username5 : omg i love her already.

carlossainz55 : im not hurt. just a little upset. but this is so iconic i can’t be mad.

liked by charles_leclerc, lando, lewishamilton and yn_ln

↳ yn_ln : you are always welcome, carlos. you are family forever.

liked by carlossainz55

username7 : toto wolff punching the air right now 😭😭

liked by yn_ln

↳ yn_ln : finders keepers 🤷🏻‍♀️

liked by username7 and lewishamilton

↳ username11 : fuck. i really wanted to hate her but i can’t.

username15 : No hate but what’s her actual experience? Or did she just charm her way to the top?

↳ lewishamilton : You think I would just make this decision for anybody? You clearly haven’t done your homework. YN is one of the most intelligent, driven, and strategic minds I’ve worked with — male or female. She earned this. Every bit of it. Put some respect on her name.

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and scuderiaferrari

username17 : Ferrari hiring a woman for the attention is insane. This is Formula 1, I seriously don’t think she can take it. I give her 5 races before ferrari collapses again.

↳ susie_wolff : This is Formula 1 — which means it’s about intelligence, strategy, and resilience. All of which YN has in abundance. If you think she was hired for attention, you’re clearly not paying attention. And for the record? I’d bet on her over half the grid.

liked by yn_ln and lewishamilton

↳ yn_ln : thank you for the kind words, susie. you’re a doll.

liked by susie_wolff and lewishamilton

—

flashback

You arrive at the private meeting room in Maranello five minutes early. Of course you do. You don’t become Ferrari’s team principal—the first woman in history to do it—by being late. Especially not when you’re about to attempt the boldest power play of the decade— poaching Lewis Hamilton from Mercedes.

The room is quiet, floor to ceiling glass looking out over a polished test track drenched in winter sun. The espresso in front of you is untouched, more for optics than anything else. You’ve rehearsed every line, every scenario. But nothing quite prepares you for the quiet shift in atmosphere when he finally walks in. Lewis Hamilton. Seven-time world champion. The very embodiment of calm power. He’s dressed in head to toe black, subtle jewelry catching the light as he sits across from you. No entourage, no assistant. Just him. That in itself feels like a test. He studies you. Not in the patronizing way most men in this industry do—but like he’s reading your pressure points, your intent, your truth.

“Ferrari,” he says slowly, eyes flicking across the Prancing Horse logo on the leather folder you’ve laid between you. “Didn’t expect this.”

“I know,” you say evenly. “But you didn’t get to seven titles by playing it safe. And I didn’t come to Ferrari to follow tradition.”

He lets out the faintest breath of a laugh. It’s not unkind. It’s curious.

“You’re young,” he says, not as a judgment, more as a fact.

You nod. “And you’re still winning. That’s why we’re both dangerous.”

That earns you a pause. Then a flicker of something sharper—respect, maybe—passes through his gaze.

“I’m not leaving Mercedes lightly,” he says.

“I’m not asking you to,” you reply. “I’m asking you to finish what you started—with someone who won’t waste your last peak years babysitting board politics.”

He leans back in the chair, arms crossed now. “You think you can run Ferrari better than everyone before you?”

“I don’t think,” you say quietly. “I know.”

The silence after that is thick. You can feel the weight of it pressing down on your spine, but you don’t flinch. You want him to see that. You want him to look across this table and realize that for the first time in a long time, someone isn’t just offering him a car—they’re offering him control. A legacy. He glances down at the folder. Doesn’t open it yet.

“You know Toto’s going to hate this,” he says.

You smile, slow and deliberate. “I know.”

And for a moment, Lewis just stares at you. Measuring. Calculating. And then—smiling.

It’s a real one, this time.

“Alright then,” he says softly. “Impress me.”

—

You watch as Lewis slowly signs the contract, the pen lingering just a moment longer than necessary—not for show, but because he’s savoring the moment. Your name sits at the top— YN LN. Ferrari’s new team principal. The one who just convinced him to leave behind everything he built with Toto Wolff. When he finally sets the pen down, you don’t move. You hold his gaze, calm and steady, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips—like you’ve been expecting this all along.

He looks up, eyes searching yours. “You didn’t even flinch.”

You tilt your head, cool and collected. “Was I supposed to?”

Lewis shrugs and closes the folder between you. “I thought you’d be either overcompensating or underprepared. But you’re neither. You walk in here like you’ve already won.”

You smile, subtle but real. “Because I don’t make offers I can’t back up.”

There’s a quiet confidence about you, not loud or flashy, but magnetic. The kind of power that commands respect without demanding it. It’s a presence he hasn’t seen in a long time, maybe ever.

You stand, extending your hand for a formal shake, but when his fingers curl around yours, the grip is steady, controlled.

“I’ll make this worth it,” you say softly, your voice low but certain. “Not just for Ferrari—for you.”

For the first time in years, Lewis feels something new—a spark, a steady pulse of belief. He meets your eyes, honest and unguarded. “I’m not used to being impressed. But you managed it.”

You nod once, silent but clear—Good. As you turn and leave the room, the sharp click of your heels echoes behind you, and Lewis watches the red of your blazer fade through the door. This is no longer just about a contract, a car, or a team. This is about something bigger. You are something bigger. And everyone on the grid better be ready.

—

f1gossipgirls

1,188,009 likes

f1gossipgirls : The Ferrari team has officially arrived at the F175 Event— all looking insanely gorgeous btw— and let’s just say… they did not come to play. New Team Principal YN LN made her red carpet debut flanked by both of her drivers— Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton. Charles looked the happiest we’ve seen him in years, smiling ear to ear as he helped YN down the steps like a man completely at peace with his life choices. Lewis spent time catching up with the Mercedes team — but the real moment? YN coming face to face with the Wolffs for the first time since the signing bombshell. Tension with Toto? Absolutely. But YN held her ground with that signature smug, steel spined composure she’s already becoming known for.

—

view 72,909 other comments.

username000 : the way susie smiled at her though… baby the tension is not just between her and toto 👀

username00 : i was a doubter at first but if she delivers on track the way she just delivered on that carpet… i’m ready to repent.

username0 : she is so hot. i am fucking GAYYYYY

username1 : smh ferrari only hired her because she is hot.

username5 : someone said she looked like the villain who wins in the end and now I can’t unsee it

username7 : watching the YN haters slowly become obsessed with her is my favorite subplot tbh

username10 : FERRARI GOT THE SEXIEST TEAM ON EARTH NOW. like sorry. no one else is competing in looks or leadership.

username11 : leclerc in love. hamilton intrigued. wolff enraged. this is the perfect Italian opera.

—

The cameras start flashing before your heels even hit the carpet. You step out of the car into the bright light, black mesh pooling at your ankles like liquid confidence. One side of you is anchored by Charles Leclerc — smiling like a maniac, offering his arm with the ease of someone who’d follow you anywhere. The other, Lewis Hamilton — sharp, composed, and unreadable, but close enough that your fingers occasionally graze. The crowd murmurs the second they see you. Not just because you’re Ferrari’s first female team principal — that story’s been printed and reposted a thousand times already — but because you’ve arrived like you own the entire grid. And maybe you do. Two of the fastest men in the world walk beside you like they’re yours. Like they chose you. And they did.

Charles leans in slightly as the press surges. “You’re making history, you know.”

“I’m making headlines,” you reply coolly. “History comes later.”

He laughs, and you don’t miss how his hand lingers at your lower back, grounding you as the cameras flash. Lewis remains quiet, but his gaze scans the crowd with intention — observant, protective, almost amused by the chaos in your wake. And then you see them. Toto and Susie.

He’s as composed as ever, arms crossed, his eyes following you like a storm cloud with a purpose. Susie stands beside him, impossibly elegant in a satin dress that shimmers like moonlight, her hand resting loosely on his arm. She’s not smiling. Not yet. You could walk past them. Pretend you didn’t see them. But that’s not who you are anymore. So you stop. Charles stills beside you. Lewis glances between the three of you but says nothing — though you feel the shift in his posture, protective and silent.

You take a step forward, heels sharp against the stone, and raise your chin.

“Toto,” you say calmly.

He doesn’t flinch. “YN.”

The way he says your name—like it’s both a challenge and a caution—only makes you straighten further.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” he says after a beat, voice clipped. “Though I must say, I didn’t expect you to come for Lewis.”

You smile. “You should’ve. I was taught to never waste potential.”

There’s a flicker in his eyes at that. Maybe pride. Maybe regret. You can’t tell.

“And now?” he asks. “What happens when it all falls apart?”

You lean in, just slightly, just enough that only he and Susie can hear you.

“If it does,” you murmur, “at least it’s mine to rebuild. But I wouldn’t count on it.” Then, softly, with a wicked glint—“Finders keepers, Toto.”

His jaw clenches. You know that look — he only ever makes it when he’s trying not to lose his temper in public. Beside him, Susie exhales a quiet breath, her voice cutting through the tension like silk.

“She always did have a gift for knowing where things truly belong,” she says, eyes still on you.

You meet her gaze, and something passes between you. Not quite forgiveness. Not quite approval. Something heavier. Older. Intimate.

“Good luck,” she says at last.

You smile at her—not smug, not victorious, just steady.

“I won’t need it. May the best team win, Mr. Wolff.”

Then you turn, Charles instinctively stepping closer, Lewis falling into stride beside you. The flashes resume, brighter than before. The cameras can’t get enough. They all saw it. They saw everything. And you don’t look back. Because you don’t need to.

—

The lights shift to crimson as the music swells, pulsing through the speakers like a heartbeat synced to your own. You’re standing center stage, flanked by two of the sport’s most iconic drivers — Charles on your left, Lewis on your right — as the red silk slips away and the new Ferrari is revealed beneath the lights. It’s a monster. Sleek, sculpted, angry in all the right places. A promise made of carbon fiber and blood. Your signature — small, subtle — is engraved inside the cockpit, right beside the driver’s seat. A mark that says—This is mine. I built this. I chose this.

The applause is deafening. Flashbulbs explode. And still, you feel them. Watching. You don’t even have to look to know where they’re sitting — front row, slightly left of center. Toto in a dark suit, arms crossed, jaw locked. Susie beside him, calm, unreadable. But their attention is unmistakable. Fixed. They haven’t taken their eyes off you.

Charles leans in slightly, offering you the mic. “Your moment,” he murmurs.

You take a breath. Smooth your palms over your blazer. And step forward.

“Thank you all for the warm welcome,” you begin, your voice steady and sharp, echoing through the speakers. “This car isn’t just a machine. It’s a statement. Of intent. Of belief. Of red rising again.”

The crowd erupts into applause, but you continue — heart pounding, every word calculated.

“When I joined this team, I wasn’t interested in tradition for tradition’s sake. I came here to win. Not just races, but trust. Respect. And with these two men beside me, we’ve already started.”

You glance to your left. Charles beams at you like you hung the moon. Then to your right — and Lewis is looking at you with something quieter, deeper. Like he sees all the invisible wars you’ve had to win to stand on this stage.

“I believe in this team,” you finish. “And I believe we’re going to remind the world why Ferrari doesn’t follow stories. We write them.”

The audience roars. Charles is the first to speak. “When YN joined Ferrari, I’ll admit — I didn’t know what to expect. But now I do. She’s not here to participate. She’s here to lead. And I’ve never felt more ready to fight for this team.”

Then Lewis, mic low in his hand. He’s always more restrained, but when he speaks, the room listens.

“I came to Ferrari for a lot of reasons. But staying? That’s all because of her.” He nods toward you. “She doesn’t just make people believe. She makes us better.”

You hear it again — the roar of the press, the popping of cameras — but under it all, there’s a silence you feel inside your chest. And in that silence, you feel them. Toto’s stare is piercing, unreadable. Rage? Regret? You can’t tell. But it’s Susie who locks eyes with you. And there’s something else there entirely. Longing. Maybe even pride. Something that twists just below your ribcage and settles deep.

You don’t smile. You don’t flinch. You simply stand tall, two legends at your sides, your car behind you, and your name now etched into the Ferrari legacy. Let them watch. Let them feel what you already know. This is just the beginning.

—

3rd pov

The event had long since ended, but the tension lingered like static in the back of Toto’s jaw. The suite was dim, the windows overlooking London now dark and still. The sound of the crowd had faded, replaced by silence and the occasional clink of glass as Toto poured himself a drink with a hand far tenser than he’d admit. He stood there, unmoving, scotch untouched, staring at the empty crystal like it might offer answers. Behind him, Susie sank into the velvet armchair, heels kicked off, her posture relaxed in the way only someone deeply unsettled could fake. Neither of them spoke for a long time.

“It wasn’t just the car,” Toto said finally. Voice low, quiet. “It was her.”

Susie didn’t respond at first. She just watched him, brow drawn slightly, mouth pulled in that unreadable line she wore whenever she didn’t want to give herself away too quickly.

He turned to face her. “You saw it too.”

She nodded slowly. “Of course I did.”

Toto exhaled, sharp and short. “She looked right through me. Like I was… just another executive in a suit.”

“You were,” Susie said, not unkindly.

There was no bite in her voice. Only truth. Toto’s jaw flexed. “She stole Lewis.”

“She didn’t steal him,” Susie said softly. “She earned him.”

He stared at her, waiting for her to take it back. She didn’t.

“She’s smart,” she continued. “Controlled. Fearless. I haven’t seen that kind of presence in a paddock in years.” A pause. “Not since you.”

He turned away again, as if her words physically struck him.

“I thought you hated her.”

“I never said that.”

“But you should,” he snapped. “After what she did. What she’s doing.”

Susie looked down at her hands, twisting the edge of her bracelet, eyes distant.

“That’s just it,” she murmured. “I can’t.”

He stilled. Slowly turned.

Susie’s voice was quiet, but steady. “I should hate her. For the politics. For the power plays. For what it’s doing to you. But I don’t.”

She looked up then, eyes meeting his, and something in her face cracked open — just enough to let the truth out.

“I’m enamored with her,” she said. “And I can’t help it.”

Toto stared, frozen. There was no fury. No jealousy. Just the weight of knowing he wasn’t alone in what he felt — and that terrified him more than anything.

“She walked onto that stage like she belonged to the sport before it even knew her name,” Susie continued. “And now she’s the one everyone’s watching. Even us.”

Toto looked away, jaw tight, heart somewhere between admiration and ache.

“She’s dangerous,” he said.

“Yes,” Susie agreed, leaning back in her chair, eyes still on the window where the echoes of red silk and spotlight still lived in her memory. “But I’ve never wanted to be closer to danger.”

And neither of them said the rest — That it wasn’t just about racing anymore. Not even close.

—

2nd pov

You weren’t expecting her. The knock at your hotel door is sharp, deliberate — not press or staff. You’re still in your post gala clothes—dress unzipped, heels abandoned somewhere by the minibar, red lipstick half faded. You think about ignoring it. But something tells you not to. When you open the door, Susie’s already halfway through a breath. She’s in a long black coat over silver satin, hair pinned with effortless precision. Her eyes sweep over you, just once, and then she steps inside without waiting for permission. She always had that presence — like permission was implied, or unnecessary.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again tonight,” you say, voice quiet.

She turns, calm and unreadable. “I didn’t think I’d come.”

You shut the door behind her and lean against it, arms folded loosely across your chest. “So what changed?”

She looks at you for a long time, and for a second you think she might say something easy. Professional. Strategic. But then she exhales through her nose and walks past you, slowly, deliberately — toward the wide window overlooking the street lights.

“You didn’t just convince Lewis to leave,” she says, not turning around. “You understood him. That’s what I came to ask you.”

You blink. “You came to ask me how I won him over?”

Susie nods, still facing the city. “Because he doesn’t move for politics. He moves for people. And somehow, you made him believe in you.”

You step away from the door, your voice quieter now. “I didn’t win him over. I listened. I didn’t ask him to change. I gave him a space to be who he already was.”

Finally, she turns to face you. And when she does, it’s slower. Heavier. There’s something in her expression that you can’t place — not anger, not admiration. It’s too soft to be jealousy, too raw to be curiosity.

“I used to think I knew him better than anyone,” she murmurs. “But then I watched the way he looked at you tonight.”

You shift. “Susie…”

“And the way you looked at him,” she adds, but her voice falters slightly — just for a breath. “It wasn’t about victory. It wasn’t about revenge.”

“No,” you say. “It wasn’t.”

She steps closer. Just one, then another. The lights behind her outline her figure in soft amber and shadow. You don’t move.

“And now I can’t stop thinking about you,” she says, and the words land like a stone in the center of the room.

Your breath catches.

“After everything,” she whispers, eyes locked on yours, “after all the tension, all the rumors, all the silence between us… I still watch you like I’m trying to figure out what you’re really made of.”

You swallow hard, the air suddenly thick.

“And what have you decided?” you manage.

Her lips twitch into something that’s not quite a smile. “That I can’t decide. That I don’t want to. That maybe I just want to feel it instead.”

She’s closer now — so close you can smell her perfume, something expensive and subtle and maddeningly familiar. The space between you isn’t wide enough to breathe properly, not with her eyes on your mouth the way they are.

“Susie,” you say again, softer this time, and it sounds more like a warning than a plea.

She reaches up — slowly, like testing gravity — and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. Her fingers linger there, just a second too long.

“I don’t know if I hate you,” she says quietly. “Or if I want you.”

Your throat tightens. “I think maybe it’s both.”

And in the silence that follows, the only sound is the dull roar of your pulse in your ears and the faint hum of the city below. She doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. She doesn’t have to. The want is already humming between you — unspoken, unanswered, inevitable. You don’t move. You just let her look at you like she already knows how this ends. And for the first time since the season began, you don’t feel like the one in control.

—

several weeks into the season…

f1gossipgirls

liked by yn_ln, lewishamilton and 4,010,005 others.

f1gossipgirls : We interrupt your regularly scheduled chaos to celebrate the era we’re living in… Ferrari’s absolute domination — and more specifically, Team Principal YN LN’s reign of excellence and couture. Eight races in. Eight podiums. Ferrari leads the Constructors. Lewis Hamilton leads the WDC. And through it all? YN has served strategy, silence, and looks that could end empires. Swipe for some of her most iconic paddock outfits of the season so far — from the red silk in Bahrain to the chunky black boots in Australia (yes, the ones made her taller than both Charles and Lewis). This woman is running the most powerful team on the grid and turning pit lane into a runway every Sunday.

—

view 875,010 other comments.

username000 : mother is not just mothering. she is mother. matriarch. monarch. menace.

username00 : can’t believe she’s the same woman who stared and chased down toto in miami in six inch heels and a backless dress. a god.

username0 : i’ve never seen lewis this relaxed since 2015. she’s giving him peace and pace. we support.

username1 : i fear ferrari is winning on vibes, vision, and violently hot leadership

username5 : when she wore the red suit in bahrain i started apologizing for things i haven’t even done

georgerussell63 : i need her to drop the skin care routine and her strategy notes

liked by yn_ln and lewishamilton

—

Race morning. The hotel room is quiet, golden sunlight slanting through the open balcony doors, casting long, warm streaks across the hardwood floor. You’re halfway through fastening your watch, hair still damp from the shower, crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar — relaxed, but humming with the low voltage that always sparks beneath your skin before lights out. Your red blazer hangs from the back of a chair like a flag. You haven’t put it on yet. It feels like a ritual now — wait until the last possible second. Let it mean something. You’re calm. Or at least, you’ve gotten very good at pretending you are.

Eight races. Eight podiums. Lewis leading the championship. Ferrari standing tall, loud, and undeniable at the top of the standings. You should be satisfied. Elated, even. But there’s something else tangled beneath the pride. A tension that hasn’t eased since your ascent began. Since that first event. Since they started looking at you like something more than just competition.

You think about Susie more often than you should — the quiet conversations, the moments where her fingers lingered a second too long, her gaze always knowing, always searching. There’s something unsaid between you, coiled and waiting. And then there’s Toto. You’ve known ambition before. But you’ve never known it with charm wrapped around it like silk. He’s relentless in a way that’s almost beautiful — steady and sharp, every glance a challenge, every word carefully placed to get under your skin.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t work sometimes. You’re still half-buttoning your shirt when there’s a knock at your door. Three firm taps. You pause. No one’s supposed to be here. When you open it, it’s him. Of course it is. Toto Wolff stands in the hallway like he owns it, dark sunglasses perched in his hand, dressed in Mercedes black but smiling like he’s the devil dressed for church.

“Well,” he says lightly, eyes scanning you — shirt undone, sleeves rolled. “Am I early? Or did Ferrari move to a more casual dress code?”

You arch a brow. “This what you do now? Show up at rival hotel rooms to psych out team principals?”

“Psych out?” he echoes, stepping inside without waiting. “Don’t flatter yourself, Liebling. I’m simply visiting an old… colleague.”

You snort. “Colleagues don’t usually flirt like that.”

He tilts his head. “Neither do enemies.”

The air shifts. He stands a little too close. You don’t step back.

“I saw the numbers,” he murmurs. “Another front row. Charles second. Lewis on pole.”

You shrug, slow. “What can I say? We’re good at our jobs.”

“Dangerously good,” he replies. “Almost boring, if it weren’t so… dramatic.”

Your eyes narrow. “Is that what this is, then? You losing so you’re trying to play games before the lights go out?”

Toto smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I just wanted to see if the ice queen cracks before the race or after it.”

You match his stare, steady. “She never cracks. You taught her that.”

The words hang between you like smoke. And for a moment, neither of you moves. His eyes flicker to your mouth, just once. You almost let him. But instead, you straighten. Button the last few buttons. Slip the blazer from the chair and slide it on with slow, deliberate precision.

“Nice try,” you say softly, smoothing the lapel. “But I don’t get shaken. I win.”

You turn toward the door. “I’ll see you on the pit wall, Torger.”

And when you glance back, he’s still standing there — watching you the way one studies fire…with awe, with fear, and with the terrible, aching desire to touch it anyway.

—

You’ve stopped trying to describe the feeling. The podium lights. The anthem playing. The scarlet sea of Ferrari mechanics swarming the pit wall. The smell of champagne in your hair and the taste of victory still sharp in your mouth. Another 1-2.

Lewis P1. Charles P2. And you? Standing just below the podium, hands still trembling slightly from the final twenty laps, sunglasses smudged, blazer soaked in champagne and sweat and euphoria. Charles finds you first — he always does — leaping down from the podium and wrapping you in a hug so tight your feet lift off the ground. He’s grinning so hard it makes your chest ache.

“You did that,” he says into your ear. “You made this team do that.”

You laugh breathlessly. “I just gave you the car.”

He shakes his head, stepping back just as Lewis swoops in, equally breathless but more composed. His hands settle on your shoulders, grounding, proud.

“That’s not what I saw out there,” Lewis says, voice low. “What I saw was strategy perfection. Cold blooded timing. And a principal who’s rewriting this sport in red ink.”

You blink once, caught off guard. “You’re being unusually sentimental.”

“I just won a race,” he says, smirking. “Let me have this moment.”

You smile — and for a second, the chaos fades. The screaming fans, the shuttering cameras, the thrum of the grid behind you. You are, in this brief pause, happy. And then, slowly, the celebration begins to shift. Mechanics retreat. Media floods the garage. The adrenaline thins. Drivers disappear for debriefs and obligations. You’re walking down the hallway alone, red heels echoing against the concrete, when you hear your name.

“YN.”

You freeze. That voice is unmistakable — smooth, poised, accented like an invitation and a warning all at once. You turn.

Susie stands there in soft white linen,   tan, hair swept up, calm even in the fluorescent light of the paddock tunnels. Her badge is still clipped to her belt, though she doesn’t look like part of the circus. She never does.

“Congratulations,” she says simply.

You nod, unsure how close to stand. Unsure what this is. “Thank you.”

She steps forward. Not close enough to touch, but closer than she should. You can smell her perfume — something light and expensive and maddening.

“I’ve been meaning to say something,” she says. “But you’ve been busy. Winning.”

You tilt your head. “Is that what this is? A truce?”

She doesn’t smile. Not exactly. “It’s an invitation.”

You blink.

“When we’re all back in Monaco… come to dinner,” Susie says. “Our place. Just us.”

Your heart thuds once, heavy and sudden. “Why?”

She exhales slowly, eyes flicking to your mouth and back again. “Because I think it’s time you and I talk somewhere that isn’t full of engines and politics.”

“And Toto?”

“He’ll be there,” she says. Then, softly. “But it’s you I’m inviting.”

The silence between you stretches — taut, humming. You swallow. “I’ll think about it.”

“I hope you do,” Susie murmurs, then leans in slightly, her voice lower now, warm as silk. “You look good in red, by the way. But I think you’d look even better if you were ours.”

And then she’s gone, walking down the hall like she didn’t just set your pulse on fire. You don’t move. You just stare at the empty space she left behind, wondering what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into — and why every part of you wants to say yes.

—

yn_ln

liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, susie_wolff and 7,770,113 others.

yn_ln : solid last few weeks. so proud of my boys ❤️

tagged : charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, roscoelovescoco and susie_wolff

—

view 425,770 other comments.

charles_leclerc : hope you know we’re just trying to keep up with you. ❤️ grazie, boss 

liked by yn_ln

lewishamilton : So grateful to be a part of this team and for your leadership. Let’s keep pushing ❤️

liked by yn_ln

username00 : susie??? yn in her stealing arc to the MAXXXXX

susie_wolff : Always a lovely time with you. Congratulations on the season so far, YN.

liked by yn_ln

scuderiaferrari : BOSSSSS LADYYYYYY WE LOVE YOUUU

liked by yn_ln

lando : yn do you forgive me for barking at you yet? idk what happened my primal instincts just kicked in

liked by yn_ln and oscarpiastri

↳ yn_ln : haven’t decided yet. next time get on your knees and do it. ill be a lot more forgiving.

liked by lando

—

The Wolff home  is as elegant as you’d expect — minimal in design, warm in lighting, perched above the harbor with a view that would silence anyone less comfortable with luxury. But you are. You’re not nervous. Or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself. You’re dressed carefully — not too polished, not too casual. A thin black dress, red lips, your hair pinned back but soft. You don’t want to give anything away. Not yet. Susie greets you at the door.

She’s in cream silk, barefoot, a glass of wine in one hand. The kind of effortless grace that makes people underestimate how sharp she is. Her smile is warm, but there’s tension beneath it. It lives in her shoulders. In the pause between her words.

“Right on time,” she says. “We weren’t sure you’d show.”

“I wasn’t too sure myself,” you reply honestly.

She steps back to let you in. Toto is already at the table, rolling up his sleeves, uncorking a bottle of wine with far too much precision. The muscles in his forearms flex. You shouldn’t notice, but you do.

“YN,” he says with that slight smirk, like he knows exactly how much space he takes up and exactly what he does to people.

“Torger.”

He pours you a glass, his fingers brushing yours as he hands it to you. Just a second too long. Just enough to make your breath catch — but only slightly. You all sit. The food is simple — pasta, fresh bread, roasted vegetables. Monaco casual. The kind of meal made by people who don’t need to prove they’re rich. But the conversation is… careful. At first, it’s just surface level. Racing. Constructors’ standings. Quiet jabs and dry smiles. A dance you’ve all done before.

“You’ve built something ruthless at Ferrari,” Toto says over his glass. “I can admit that now.”

You arch a brow. “Only now?”

His lips twitch. “You’re very hard to ignore.”

Susie laughs softly. “That might be the understatement of the year.”

The table falls into a short silence. The kind that prickles with everything not being said. Eventually, Susie rises to clear a few plates, and you follow her into the kitchen. The room glows warm, a soft golden spill from pendant lights.

You place your glass down. “I can leave, if this was a mistake.”

She turns, slowly.

“No,” she says. “I didn’t invite you here by accident.”

You swallow. “Then why?”

Her eyes meet yours. Steady. Unflinching. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night.”

You feel it before you can react — the breath caught, the chill under your skin.

“And I’m tired of pretending it’s only tension,” she says, softer now. “It’s not just rivalry. It’s not just power. It’s you.”

Behind you, Toto’s voice cuts gently through the moment.

“She’s not wrong.”

You turn. He’s leaned against the doorframe, wine glass in hand, watching the two of you like he’s studied the angles a thousand times.

“You walked into the paddock like it belonged to you,” he says, eyes on yours. “And then you took it. Quietly. Without begging for respect. Without softening to make people more comfortable.”

You’re frozen in place. Your pulse is loud in your ears. Susie’s hand brushes against yours. A whisper of contact, but it feels like lightning.

“We didn’t plan this,” she says. “And we don’t want to scare you off.”

“But we’re drawn to you,” Toto finishes.

You blink. “Both of you.”

“Yes,” they say — at the same time. And somehow, that’s what makes your knees almost buckle.

You look between them — the ruthless man who once mentored you like a weapon, and the brilliant woman who’s been in your peripheral vision like a shadow and a mirror all season long. And here they are. Laid bare. Not asking for a decision. Just telling you the truth.

You whisper, “Why now?”

Toto tilts his head. “Because we finally admitted it to ourselves.”

Susie steps closer. “And because you’re winning. And we want to be near you… not just on track.”

There’s no kiss. No touch beyond that single brush of fingers. But the energy in the room is breathless.

“I need time,” you manage.

“We know,” Susie says gently.

Toto adds, “We’re not asking for anything tonight.”

He pauses, eyes glinting in the soft light.

“Except maybe one thing.”

You raise a brow. “What?”

He smiles. “Don’t make us regret inviting you.”

You smile back — slowly, deliberately. “You won’t.”

And deep down, you already know it’s too late to walk away. Not really. Because you’re not just sitting at their table. You’re already part of the fire.

—

You don’t hear from them the next day. Or the day after. But the silence doesn’t last. On the third morning, a delivery man shows up at your penthouse just past nine. You’re still in silk shorts and a robe, coffee in hand, hair pulled into something half presentable when the concierge buzzes in.

The first box is small. Velvet. Inside is a vintage Cartier lighter you’ve mentioned in exactly one interview three years ago. Attached is a note in unmistakably elegant handwriting—

For when you light the world on fire — just thought you should have something beautiful to do it with. —S

You stare at the card for a long time before setting it gently on your counter. By noon, another package arrives.

This one is heavier — a bottle of red wine from a vineyard you only ever drink from after wins. The tag is embossed with a single word—

Deserved. —T

You smile — helplessly. By sunset, the penthouse is beginning to look like the aftermath of a very luxurious heist— fresh flowers on the marble island, a dozen handwritten notes, and a cashmere scarf in Mercedes black. By the fourth gift, you’re done pretending you’re not utterly charmed. You text them. One message. Simple. Deliberate.

Tonight. 9. Come over.

The doorbell rings at 8:57. You open it without hesitation. Toto is in a black linen shirt, sleeves rolled, watch glinting at his wrist. Susie is behind him in cream silk again — always silk — her hair down, her eyes trained on you like she already knows what happens next. They don’t speak right away. You step aside, letting them in. The penthouse smells like fig and bergamot candles. You’ve made sure of it. A bottle of champagne sits uncorked on the counter, glasses already poured. No one mentions the gifts. No one needs to. Toto takes in the view, the subtle lighting, the thin black dress you’re wearing like it’s a threat.

“You meant it then,” he murmurs. “The invitation.”

“I am not one to do anything half-assed.,” you say, voice low.

Susie smiles faintly. “We’ve noticed.”

You hand them each a glass.They clink. They drink. And then the silence returns — not heavy, not awkward. Charged. Like the air before a thunderstorm.

You speak first. “I haven’t stopped thinking about the dinner.”

Susie tilts her head. “Neither have we.”

Toto sets his glass down. “You’ve been in my head for months.”

“I’m not interested in a game,” you say softly.

“Neither are we,” Susie answers, stepping closer.

She reaches out — slow, deliberate — and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers grazing your skin. It’s so gentle it makes you dizzy.

“I want this,” she murmurs. “You.”

Toto moves behind you, his voice warm against your spine. “We both do. Entirely.”

You exhale, and it sounds like surrender. You turn, facing them both.  No more politics. No more tension pretending to be rivalry. Just want. And when you lean in to kiss Susie — soft, sure, tasting of champagne and longing — Toto’s hand slips to your hip like he belongs there. It’s quiet. Intimate. The kind of kiss that says finally. When you pull back, Susie’s lips are slightly parted, her eyes searching yours.

“I thought this would scare me,” you whisper.

“It still might,” Toto says.

“But not enough to stop,” Susie finishes.

You look at them — the two people you were never supposed to fall into orbit with. And yet here you are. The most dangerous thing in racing… is no longer the cars. It’s this. And you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything. 

—

The first thing you register is warmth. Not just the soft sheets tangled around your legs or the filtered Monaco sunlight spilling through the windows — but bodies. Breath. The quiet rhythm of two people asleep beside you. You blink your eyes open slowly. Toto is to your left, arm still wrapped loosely around your waist, his bare chest rising and falling beneath the rumpled edge of the duvet. He’s impossibly serene like this — the usually guarded steel in his expression replaced by something soft, almost boyish.

On your right, Susie sleeps facing you. One hand curled beneath her cheek, the other resting where your arm meets your shoulder. Her hair has fallen loose. There’s the faintest smudge of red at the corner of her mouth, a reminder of last night. You breathe in, long and slow.

You haven’t known quiet like this in weeks — months, maybe. Not since the season began. Not since the wins started piling up. Not since the world started watching you like a hawk, waiting for the cracks to show. But here, in this bed, there are no cracks. Just closeness. A calm you didn’t know you’d been starving for.

You shift carefully, trying not to wake them — but Susie’s eyes flutter open the moment your fingers move beneath the sheets. She blinks once. Then again. And then she smiles. It’s small, real, private.

“Good morning,” she whispers, voice like velvet.

“Morning,” you murmur.

Her fingers trace your arm absentmindedly, slow and affectionate. “You didn’t leave.” 

You smile faintly. “Was tempted to. Just to be dramatic…but then I realized this is my house. ”

Toto stirs beside you, groaning softly, dragging a hand through his hair before cracking one eye open.

“If you left,” he says, voice still thick with sleep, “you’d be back by lunch. We both know that.”

You chuckle. “Arrogant.”

“Experienced,” he corrects, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

You let your head fall back onto the pillow. It’s dangerous, how natural this feels. You should be thinking about the team. The media. The optics. About what it means for you — for Ferrari. For everything you’ve built. But all you can think about is how good it feels to let yourself be here. With them. No audience. No paddock. No performance. Just this.

Susie props herself up on one elbow. “How are you feeling?”

You glance between them, then answer honestly.

“Like I don’t want to leave this room for a very long time.”

Toto laughs quietly, low in his throat. “Then don’t.” 

And you don’t. Not for a while. Because for once, you’re not chasing something. You’ve already arrived.

—

He wasn’t supposed to happen like this. You’d planned on easing Charles into the reality of your new… entanglement. Maybe over a glass of wine. Or during a quiet post-race dinner. Something calm. Controlled. Definitely not in your kitchen at 9:14 in the morning.

And definitely not while Susie Wolff has you backed up against the marble island, her lips pressed to yours, one hand tangled in your hair, the other splayed against your waist like she owns you. You’re too far gone to notice the door opening at first. Too distracted by the heat of her mouth, the hum beneath your skin, the way you’re smiling into the kiss like someone with no regard for consequences.

“Mon dieu.”

You both freeze. There’s a beat of silence. Then—

“NO. Nope. Nope nope nope. WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

You wrench away from Susie, both of you snapping toward the doorway.

Charles stands there, coffee in one hand, wearing an oversized hoodie and horror in his eyes. He looks like he just walked in on his parents doing something irreversible.

“I—this is—I CANNOT UNSEE THIS,” he shouts, physically turning around and pressing a hand to his temple like he’s trying to reboot his brain.

You clear your throat, trying and failing to sound composed. “Charles—”

“No. Don’t speak. Don’t say words. I’m already unwell.”

Susie, ever composed, takes a small step back, wiping the corner of her lipstick-smudged mouth with the pad of her thumb. “Good morning, Charles.”

“Don’t say good morning to me like we’re in a normal family household,” he cries. “You’re literally making out with my boss in her kitchen.”

“My penthouse,” you correct, deadpan.

“IT DOES NOT MATTER,” he wails, pacing toward the living room, hands in his hair. “I was coming over for pancakes and therapy and instead I get psychological warfare.”

You follow him slowly, while Susie suppresses a smile behind you.

“Charles, I was going to tell you—”

“When? After I walked you down the aisle? During a strategy meeting? In the middle of the Monza debrief?!” he gasps, eyes wide and fully wounded. “What next? Are you secretly with to Toto too?”

There’s a beat. Your silence says more than anything else could. Charles stares at you. Then at Susie. Then lets out a strangled sound so pitiful you almost feel bad for him.

“I need to lie down.”

He collapses dramatically onto the couch, flopping like a fainting Victorian woman, muttering into a cushion. “I can’t do this. This is above my pay grade. I am a race car driver. I don’t know how to process this level of emotional betrayal.”

You sit beside him, gently patting his back. Susie leans against the doorway, arms folded, watching with far too much amusement.

“I still love you,” you tell him softly.

“I DON’T BELIEVE IN LOVE ANYMORE,” he snaps into the pillow.

You laugh. You can’t help it. Susie walks over and places a glass of orange juice on the coffee table in front of him like he’s a patient recovering from a great trauma. Charles peeks out from behind the pillow.

“I swear to God,” he mutters. “If I ever walk in on Toto, I’m moving to Redbull.”

—

[ridingreeves]

𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗈➤𝟤

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－𝖤𝗅𝗂𝗃𝖺𝗁*𝖲𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾*𝖬𝗈𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗑 𝖡𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒－𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝖲𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾’𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾－𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗏𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖸𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌－𝖧𝖺𝗋𝗌𝗁 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾，𝖭－𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗎𝗌𝖺𝗀𝖾，𝗍𝗈𝗑𝗂𝖼 𝖾𝗑 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾，𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋

A/N- im not good at part two's so i hope you enjoy it 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗌��𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗆𝖺 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽❤︎︎

Smoke’s name lit up your phone just after 11 p.m.

You were already turned away from the light, arm tucked under your pillow, trying to pretend the day didn’t shake you. But that name on your screen?

It flipped your whole body heat like a switch.

You groaned and answered anyway. “What, Elijah?”

Smoke chuckled, low and gravelly like he’d been waiting for you to cave. “Damn. Full government? You mad or tryna be professional?”

“I’m tryna go to sleep.”

“Yeah? Thought maybe you was waitin’ on him to get home. But that nigga probably still somewhere drinkin’ kombucha and talkin’ about tax brackets.”

You sighed, loud. “What do you want?”

“You doin’ somethin’ Saturday?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I said—Saturday. You busy?”

You sat up a little. “Why?”

“Family cookout,” he said like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just turned your whole emotional equilibrium inside out hours earlier. “Stack throwin’ some ribs on the grill, aunties bringin’ plates, kids gon’ be in the yard actin’ up… you know the drill.”

Your voice flattened. “So? What’s that got to do with me?”

Smoke hesitated, just for a second. Then came the truth.

“Wanna see you there.”

You nearly laughed. “Why would I come to your family cookout?”

“Because you family,” he said, voice low and firm. “Still my son’s mama. Still got my last name. And ‘cause you already know my people been askin’ about you.”

“Oh, have they?” you said, sarcastically.

“Yup,” he said. “Aunt Dee talkin’ ‘bout how you used to bring them red velvet cupcakes, askin’ if you finally left that boy who look like he drive a Prius and listen to meditation playlists.”

You sighed. “Smoke…”

“Look, I’m not askin’ you to come over here and confess your love. I’m sayin’… I'm taking lil man. Come eat. Chill. Be around folks who know you.”

“And him?” you asked.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Smoke scoffed. “Man, he not invited. Hell, if he pull up in them tight-ass pants talkin’ about chakras, Stack gon’ put him on the grill next to the sausages.”

Despite yourself, you snorted.

“C’mon,” Smoke said, quieter now. “You ain’t gotta stay long. Just come through. Our boy gon be running around with his cousins. Let your hair down.”

“I don’t know…”

“Let me make it easy,” he said, voice slick now, confident. “If you don’t pull up Saturday, Stack gon’ post that baby picture of you at our gender reveal. The one where you fell asleep holdin’ that blue onesie with cupcake on your face.”

“You wouldn’t dare—”

“I already sent it to his phone.”

“Smoke!”

He laughed. Like deep, belly-rolling, “I got her” laughed.

“That’s dirty.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But it’s family business, right?”

You were quiet for a long moment. The idea of seeing them all again—his people, your people once upon a time—was dangerous. You knew that. Knew it’d be stepping back into something you worked too hard to walk away from.

But also?

You missed them.

You missed you—the version of you who laughed too loud on plastic lawn chairs with a cup full of spiked sweet tea. The you who wore crop tops and hoop earrings without worrying about what her new man would think.

“…What time?”

Smoke didn’t say “I knew you’d come,” but you could hear it in the way he exhaled through a grin.

“Three. Bring some of that pasta salad they always beg you for.”

You sighed again, but softer this time. “You better not start with me when I get there.”

“I won’t,” he said, voice low. “I’ma just be happy to see you. And maybe… remind you what you walked away from.”

You shook your head. “You never stop, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you? Nah.”

You didn’t say goodbye. You just hung up and stared at the ceiling in the dark, heart pounding louder than it should’ve been.

SATURDAY

The music hit you before you even turned onto the street—classic Frankie Beverly & Maze, the anthem of every Black barbecue across the country. You rolled down the window a little and smiled despite yourself.

You hadn’t even parked before your son ran to your car.

“They got the bouncy house again.”

“Do they,” you said, trying to keep it cool.

He lit up like a firecracker anyway. “YESSS!”

You parked down the block. Far enough away to feel like you could slip out if things got weird. Close enough to be seen.

And oh, you were seen.

Stack spotted you first, posted by the grill with a white towel over his shoulder and a pair of tongs in one hand.

“Look what the wind blew in!” he yelled, grinning. “Look at her—comin’ through with the thighs out like she ain’t been missed!”

 “So where yo’ boyfriend at? He don’t do sun, or he just allergic to bein’ useful?”

You rolled your eyes. “He had to work.”

Stack laughed like that was the funniest lie he’d ever heard. “Of course he did. Probably somewhere tryna sell somebody an extended warranty.”

“Stack—”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your sunglasses. “Don’t start.”

Stack came over to you, watching your boy run back with his cousins, then winked at you. “Your man let you out the house wearin’ that, huh? He brave.”

You didn’t answer. Just walked behind your boy toward the backyard where all the noise was coming from—kids hollering, grown folks talking over each other, people playing cards.

And then you saw him.

Smoke.

In a black tee, chain glinting in the sunlight, red Solo cup in one hand, leaning back in a lawn chair like he didn’t start half the drama in your life—and dare you to hold it against him.

He stood up when he saw you, smile slow, easy. Dangerous.

“Look who decided to bless the function,” he said, eyes sliding down your body.

“Relax,” you muttered. “I’m just here for my son.”

“Mmhm,” he said, stepping in close enough that only you could hear. “But you brought that sundress and them hoops like you knew I was gon’ be lookin’. That for me, mama?”

You pushed past him.

But the heat in your chest betrayed you.

⸻

The afternoon rolled on in that chaotic, beautiful way only family cookouts can. Kids in the sprinkler. Aunt Dee yelling at folks not to touch her potato salad. Stack on the grill talking ‘bout “I do this,” while burning the hot dogs anyway.

You sat on the folding chair under the tent, trying to stay cool and low-key, sipping sweet tea and avoiding all the side-eyes and slick comments from Smoke’s nosy-ass cousins.

You hadn’t been around in a while, but they remembered.

“Ohhh, she came back,” one of them whispered, not quiet enough.

“Lookin’ like she ain’t missed a beat,” another said, fanning herself.

Smoke was everywhere—tossing his son over his shoulder into the bounce house, cracking jokes with Stack, throwing shade with charm. But every time you glanced up, his eyes were already on you.

Like he never stopped watchin’.

Like he never would.

⸻

Later, when the sun was low…

You were sitting alone now, your son passed out under one of the tents with a plate next to him, cheeks sticky and hair wild.

You leaned back, trying to breathe. Trying to remember why you said you’d come.

Then, of course, Smoke appeared.

He sat down beside you, close but not touching. Just enough for the air between you to get thick.

“Appreciate you comin’,” he said.

You nodded.

He nudged your knee with his.

“You remember last summer’s cookout?” he asked. “Before everything fell apart?”

You looked at him. “Yeah. I remember.”

“You was dancin’ to that Fantasia song like you ain’t had no worries. I remember thinkin’, ‘Damn. That’s mine. Ain’t no way she ever leavin’.’”

Your chest ached. Because you remembered too. How good it had been before it wasn’t.

He turned toward you, full now. Honest. Dangerous in a new way.

“Everybody out here keep sayin’ we done,” he murmured. “But they don’t know how we built this. What we survived together. What we still feel. You think you can run from that, mama? But you always end up back here.”

“Back here don’t mean I’m stayin’.”

“Yeah?” he said. “Then why you still got that ring in your jewelry box?”

You looked at him, stunned.

He smirked. “Yeah. Ej told me. Said you wear it sometimes when you think nobody lookin’. Said you said it was ‘just a memory.’ But you don’t keep memories in velvet cases, do you?”

You stood fast, heart in your throat.

“I gotta go.”

Smoke stood too, but slower. Measured.

“You sure?” he asked. “’Cause you ain’t even tasted Stack’s ribs yet. Or had your second plate. Let me walk you to the car like I used to.”

You didn’t answer.

You just walked to your sleeping son, lifted him gently, kissed his sticky forehead.

Smoke followed behind you all the way to your car.

You laid your baby in the back seat, adjusted the belt, then turned around—and there he was. That same damn look on his face. Like he knew.

“Thanks for today,” you said, voice soft.

“You gon’ thank me better later?” he teased, but there was an ache in it. Something deeper.

You looked at him for a long second. Then whispered

“Smoke… don’t make me come back if you not gon’ keep me this time.”

His jaw clenched.

He stepped forward, hand brushing your wrist.

“I ain’t never stopped wantin’ to.”

You didn’t kiss him. Didn’t let him kiss you.

But the promise hung in the air.

And when you drove off that time, hands still trembling slightly on the wheel?

You weren’t scared like before.

You were curious.

Because you knew now—

That door?

Wasn’t as closed as you told yourself it was.

[tornad001]

u actually never once have to pretend that it was ever ok what the democrats dod to this country and to Biden himself. the level of elder abuse to make an 80-fucking-year-old man the president of the united states is appalling. perhaps the only thing more appalling than the abuse that represents towards the person is the abuse it represents towards the people/country/world.

yeah, Biden had competent (if do-nothing) democrats around him and the Person of the President isn't nearly as important as the Office of the President, and yet with all of that being true, it was still fucked up to let the most powerful person in the world be someone in the midst of age-based mental decline. whether or not the old person in question wanted it. im sure my decrepit grandpa would Love to do more yard work, doesn't make him any more capable of doing so.

the right answer is never to lie. u can point out how bad the trump situation is without ever having to pretend the Biden situation was acceptable or non-abusive. even in decline, biden was worlds better than trump, but that doesn't mean he wasn't in decline.

idk why it's apparently this radical idea that the most powerful position in the world should be filled by someone who can remember what they had for lunch, but here we are. we talk about how the republicans hate their constituency and think they're so fucking stupid (they are) when they brazenly lie to them, but then they can't seem to see that that's EXACTLY what was happening with the dems lying to our faces about how bad Biden's condition was. crazy thought, what if we had actually made good on the purpose of the vice presidency and let biden bow out gracefully early on, allowing Kamala to get the spotlight for 2-3 years before then having to run her a campaign where the majority of it was focused on answering the voter question "kamala harris, who tf is that?" as well as giving her some time to do good things to then campaign on. imagine that

Biden was old. Trump is a traitor.

Big difference.

[authorhjk1]

May I request Yoona in green pls? Those hips, that peach, that bod, everything is perfect she makes you want to just devour her whole…in a good way.

https://x.com/mystarmyangel/status/1674366849121927168

https://x.com/mystarmyangel/status/1674386325661945861

https://64.media.tumblr.com/adf6a28c97285056f2422e72d36288e5/da6b6af7912c5cf4-b0/s2048x3072/327d9b42bc0e711321c074e44d3538ccf2587a5f.jpg

Green

(Yoona X Male Reader) Word count: 3265 words

"Have fun, honey."

You read your mom's text after telling her you are going to spend the night at a friend's house. Putting your phone back into your pocket you cross the road. Your hand shakes a little in excitement when you ring the doorbell. The sound of heels clicking on marble floor reaches your ears. Then they seem to stop right in front of the door. The milky glass enables you to make out a silhouette behind the door.

When it swings open you're greeted by Im Yoona. Your teacher.

"Hello, Ms. Im."

And your friend's mother.

"Hello, honey. Are you here for my son?"

"Yeah. I planned on sleeping over tonight."

You try to look nonchalant, but you notice your voice betraying you a little. You know it's wrong and yet you have fantasized about your friend's hot mom a million times. The fact that she's your teacher makes it even worse. In a good and in a bad way.

"Oh? He didn't mention anything."

"Typical."

You joke and Ms. Im cracks a laugh.

"I swear he got this from my husband."

She steps out of the way to let you inside.

"Please come in. He isn't home yet though."

"He isn't?"

You take your shoes off and follow her into the house.

"No, but I'm sure he'll be here soon."

As you walk after her your eyes naturally wander towards Ms. Im's perfect backside. Her most attractive feature is definitely her face and she has an amazing body to go with that, but seeing her ass in that tight green skirt has you thinking all kinds of things. You know you shouldn't think them. She's your teacher. Your friend's mother.

"Anything to drink, sweetheart?"

You feel something tingle inside of you whenever she addresses you with these teasing nicknames. You know she is just doing it to her son's friend and she has been doing it for years. But you wish she would see you as someone on her level.

"I would... I would like a water, please."

"Water?"

She chuckles as she walks into the open kitchen.

"I can't remember the last time my son drank water. He's always after something sweet. Please, make yourself comfortable."

She motions towards the couch in the living room and you don't plan on ignoring her offer. As you sit down you watch her preparing a glass of water. She's facing you and once again you can clearly see the face that always distracts you during class. Just like earlier today. That small, but warm smile and the always loving and caring gaze she seems to carry around everywhere.

"It's a hot day today. You should really be drinking a lot."

You quickly pretend like you were not staring when Ms. Im looks up and walks around the counter towards you.

"It really is."

You accept the glass with both hands.

"Thank you."

Ms. Im sits down next to you on the couch and you're both frightened and excited. Your gorgeous teacher is sitting so close to you, her knee almost touching yours.

You watch her reaching for the hand cream on the coffee table and you nervously take a sip.

"So, what are you boys up to today?"

"Homework."

You reply, which earns you a hearty laugh.

"You're such a sweet talker, mister."

Ms. Im playfully slaps your leg. You feel your cheeks heating up and you would've loved to feel her hand on your thigh just for a second longer.

"For real, though. Anything interesting in mind?"

She glances over at you with an encouraging smile on her lips.

"I was serious."

You chuckle.

"But apart from that we thought about going out later."

"Anywhere specific?"

The slight hint of hidden curiosity doesn't escape you. As much as you would love the idea of Ms. Im being insecure about you going out, you know it's just wishful thinking. She's just curious because of her son.

"A friend of ours has the house to herself for the weekend."

"Oh, I see."

You continue to glance at her hands as Ms. Im is applying the hand cream to her skin. Until now you never thought of fingers or hands as explicitly attractive parts of a person's body. But the way the white cream is partially covering her skin makes you shift around a little.

"And I'm sure your mom knows what you've planned?"

She gives you a cheeky, but knowing smile. One that warms your heart. You know that she is pretty chill about parties and all that. And of course you could lie, but you don't want to get caught the next time the two of them talk.

"Not exactly."

Ms. Im laughs again.

"Teenagers."

She continues to massage the cream into her skin. You would've loved to correct her. You're not a teenager, you're a man. But you know she'd just give you an amused laugh.

"Can't blame you though. I was once your age as well."

Your breath hitches when Ms. Im leans closer. Her smile widens a little and you know she caught on to that.

"It's gonna be our little secret."

She winks and smiles at you and you have the desperate urge to excuse yourself and head to the bathroom.

Ms. Im then ups the ante by placing her hand on your thigh.

"I hope you're able to keep it."

Suddenly you have the feeling she isn't talking about the party anymore. You try your best to stay calm and look into her eyes. Not just because you want to seem confident, but also because you're very aware of the fact that you can see her black bra shimmer through her green top. Earlier in class today it only seemed like imagination, but now when she sits so close, it's clear that it's definitely real.

"But you know me. I'm not the best in keeping my mouth shut."

Only now you notice how her tone has switched from warm to seductive. You don't know when it happened.

"I'm little chatter box."

You bite your lip. You pray that you're not dreaming. Is she really hinting at the thing you've been thinking about since she opened the door?

"I don't think you're that bad."

"Oh, really?"

Ms. Im's smile continues to play around her lips as she raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Yeah."

You look away. Out the window. Looking at her is starting to become too much.

"Oh, please. You're probably the person who knows the most of my son's embarrassing childhood moments. Even the ones he doesn't know himself."

The mention of your friend makes you remember that this his mom. That this is wrong. You shouldn't even be entertaining the thought of his mother wanting something from you.

But when you turn your head again to look at her, you catch Ms. Im looking down at your body, her teeth biting her lower lip. You glance down as well. Wearing a white shirt on such a hot day was a mistake. Even without moving much you're sweating. Or maybe it's because of her? The fabric is sticking to your well toned body.

"But I think you could help me."

"H-Help you?"

You see her having to repress a laugh at your nervousness.

"Yes. Help me."

By now she's almost whispering into your ear.

Then you feel two of her fingers slowly moving towards your crotch on your thigh. As if they're walking.

"If we share a secret, a very important one, I'm sure I can learn how to not tell anyone."

You know that she didn't mean anyone. She didn't mean your mother. She meant her husband. And your friend.

"I-I'm not sure about this."

You say that, but you're mentally kicking yourself.

"Just go with it!"

Your inner thoughts scream at you.

"Trust me, handsome. No one will ever find out."

Once the last word has left her lips, Ms. Im's fingers have reached the zipper of your jeans.

You finally manage to look into her eyes. A mixture of lust, excitement and amusement meets you.

"Oh oh."

She says as if it was an accident.

Your breath catches in your throat as she keeps eye contact. The noise of her opening your zipper is the only sound in the room. Both if you don't dare to breathe for a second.

Then, Ms. Im reaches into your pants. You feel her fingers search for a moment. You aren't wearing underwear and soon her fingers wrap around your length.

"Oh my god."

You whisper, which makes her smile.

"You never had a handjob before?"

Carefully shaking your head, you hope this will turn into more than a handjob.

Ms. Im takes your cock out of your jeans and looks down on it.

"Not bad. More than I usually deal with."

Her wicked grin and another teasing bite of her lip makes you shiver. Did she just tell you you're bigger than her husband? Your friend's dad?

"Do you like this?"

You can only nod as she strokes your length. She's doing it very slowly, almost too slowly. But you're sure she knows that all too well. Ms. Im always likes to tease. And it seems like she doesn't mind doing it with your cock in her hand as well.

"Want me to go a little faster?"

There it is. The innocent tone of her voice makes you even more desperate.

"Yeah."

Your voice sounds hoarse now.

"Say please."

Her whisper makes you bite your lip.

"Please, Ms. Im."

"That's a good boy."

You can't believe this is happening. Your head rolls back when your teacher picks up the pace a little.

"So nice..."

She murmurs and then looks you directly in the eyes.

"And so thick."

Your cock twitches in her hand, which only widens her smile.

"So you like it when someone compliments your cock?"

"I-I guess so."

"You guess?"

Ms. Im shakes her and you notice her teacher face appearing.

"Don't guess. You know, or you don't know. Do you guess when you take an exam?"

That'd be a yes, but you feel too good to ruin this right now.

"No. I like it."

"That's what I thought."

Ms. Im reaches for the bottle of hand cream once more.

"Do you want me to continue then? Do you want me to admire and praise your dick?"

She is saying that with such a nonchalant and innocent tone. It makes you buck your hips up into her hand.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Her smirk makes you melt further into the couch. Especially when she lets the bottle hover over your cock.

"I'm gonna have to empty this all over your cock. It's so big I won't be able to pleasure you properly otherwise."

You sigh when you feel the cold cream fall onto your tip.

"That's it."

Ms. Im begins to spread it all over your cock as she continues to talk. "I have to admit, your dick really looks nice. Long and thick...and look at those veins. I bet I'd feel every inch of you if you were pounding me."

The dirty talk alone is already challenging for you. Ms. Im talking about talking your cock is even worse. She continues to stroke you, which means you don't even get a break. Her cream is completely covering your cock now. She has picked up her pace again and the white substance sticks to her fingers and parts of your length.

"And with a cock like that? Your cum must taste amazing."

You watch her lick her lips which almost does it for you. If it weren't for the sound of the front door opening. Your eyes grow wide, but before you can even move, Ms. Im has already thrown a blanket over your lap.

It's the person you've been waiting for.

"Hey, mom."

He sees you sitting next to her.

"Hi, man. Sorry for being late."

"It's all good."

You know you sound weird. But it's hard to talk if your friend's mom is stroking your cock while he's standing right there.

"I'll take a quick shower and then I'm ready to go."

"Take your time."

This is the first time in your life that you really mean those words.

"He's right, honey."

Ms. Im looks into your eyes while her son walks out the room.

"Take your time."

Her handjob becomes quicker under the blanket and before you can say something about getting closer towards your limit, she places a finger over her lips, shushing you.

The two of you hear the lock of the bathroom door click. Then the shower starts.

"Come wit me."

Her devilish smile makes you expect the worst, but you still get up. Not just because you want to feel more of her body, but because she is holding onto your cock.

"Now..."

Ms. Im has reached the bathroom door.

"If you can keep it together until he's done, you can do whatever you want with me."

You swallow hard. Not sure what she is hinting at, but you nod your head in agreement.

"Which implies your chance of deciding where to dump your load as well of course."

Ms. Im gives you another wink.

Your breath hitches when you watch her reach down and take her panties off. She keeps the skirt on, but the black lace disappears into the right pocket of your jeans.

"Take me."

She gives you a quick kiss on the lips.

"Take me hard."

Too stunned to speak, you stay in place while Ms. Im turns around. She places her hands on the white wood of the door and slightly bends over.

"Come on. I've caught you staring at me thousands of times. I know you've fantasized about this exact moment. Put your cock in my pussy and your dreams will become reality."

You hesitate only a second and then you step closer. With a shaking breath you let your cock disappear underneath her skirt.

"Oh god."

A whisper escapes you when you feel her wet folds against your tip.

"Yes, right there. That's where your huge cock belongs."

You push into your friend's mom, penetrating the tight walls of her pussy. Your hands find themselves on her naked waist as you try to hold onto something. Her insides overwhelm you as you push deeper. A groan escapes your mouth when you bottom out inside of Ms. Im and you almost fall over, your legs shaking.

"God, yes. Fill me up."

She moans against the door and despite the running water you're afraid your friend is gonna hear her. That's why you want to take it slow, but you can't control yourself. Within a matter of seconds you thrust in and out of her at a quick pace, leaving Ms. Im a moaning mess.

"Deeper. Harder."

She half whispers, half moans. Her hands hold onto the wood for support as you basically fuck her against it. You pull her hips back whenever you push forward, making her take your entire cock.

"Fuck. You are stretching me out so well. Your cock is amazing."

Her breathless sighs and moans makes it harder for you to keep your composure.

You still can't believe your fucking your teacher, your friend's mom, while he's showering on the other side of the door. It feels wrong and you think you should stop. But you also know that it's too late to turn around. You already had a taste of Ms. Im's pussy by now and you are sure you won't be able to live without it from now on.

"Keep going, yes."

Her moans begin to increase in volume.

"Ruin this pussy, baby."

You decide to silence her, afraid she might get you caught. Even over the running shower you can clearly hear her.

"Make me your-"

As much as you would've loved to know the ending to that sentence, your hand seals her mouth right before she finishes it. Your other hand still holds her waist and now you are able to fuck her a little harder.

Ms. Im moans into your hand. You feel her drooling onto your palm a little as the pleasure overwhelms her. Unfortunately, you become louder as well. Your grunts increase in volume as you near your end and the continuous thrusting makes you grow tired. You know it won't be long until the shower stops running. It can only be a matter of minutes.

Afraid you might not last that long, you lean forward and rest your lips right next to Ms. Im's ear. If these are your final moments, you might as well say everything you ever wanted to say to her.

"You're so fucking sexy."

You groan into her mouth while your cock plunges deeper into her snatch.

"I dream about fucking you in your class constantly."

Ms. Im moans into your hand in response as if she's challenging you to do it the next time you're in her class.

"Whenever you lecture us about anything I just wanna shut you up by putting my cock in your mouth."

You feel yourself getting closer towards your orgasm. Your rhythm starts to become irregular.

"I-fuck..."

You feel Ms. Im's tight pussy hugging you even more, making it even harder to move inside of her.

"I want to cover your face with my cum. Make you look like the slut I always imagined you to be."

It hits you in that exact moment that this really isn't your imagination anymore. This is real. Your inside Ms. Im's pussy. You're fucking her. Her walls are threatening to make you cum.

That's when the shower stops. You only realize the water is off a couple of seconds later. Instinctively, you let go of Ms. Im's mouth and slow down. Which proves to be difficult, because by now you really are right on the edge.

But instead of pushing you off of her and leading you away, Ms. Im just turns her head and looks at you. Her eyes are filled with lust and you catch her lower lip quivering.

"Do it."

She whispers.

"Do it right now."

You don't understand at first, but when she placed a hand your abdomen and pushes you a step back, you realize what she means. Your cock slowly leaves her tight cavern, her juices making it easy for you to slide out. Once she isn't filled anymore, Ms. Im turns around fully. She gives you another deep kiss and then looks into your eyes.

"Now make me look like the slut that I am."

She gets on her knees right in front of you. Your breath hitches. Ms. Im wraps her hand around your cock once more. Instead of her cream, it's her juices that make it a smooth handjob. It only takes her a couple of strokes to push you over the edge.

The only thing you see before you have to close your eyes is Ms. Im on her knees, eyes closed and lips firmly pressed together, waiting for you to shower her with your cum. Your orgasm hits harder than ever before. You almost lose your balance. You feel your built up load leave your body.

When you finally manage to open your eyes, you look down at a cum covered Ms. Im. Her lips and nose got hit with the most of your semen, while her closed eyes and one cheek got some of it as well.

You let out a deep breath, too tired, too baffled to say anything.

Then the klick of the door lock echoes in your head.

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

Hi everyone!

This is chapter number 50! I can't believe I actually wrote this many colour chapters already. And I keep getting more and more requests. My list of chapters that I am going to write has already surpassed the 150 mark. So stay tuned for the next chapters!

[stillalivebydemand893]

Mosh Pits & Real Bruises

18+(can't keep it pg13 even if i tried)

A chaotic weekend at Riot Fest becomes a battle of unresolved tension when you’re forced to share a tent with Erik

The moment you stepped out of Julia’s Jeep and into the chaos of Riot Fest, you knew this weekend was going to end in either sex, arson, or both.

Mud. Music. Mayhem.

And him.

Erik. Fucking. Campbell.

Shirtless. Covered in tattoos. Sunglasses on despite the fact it was cloudy as shit. Holding a six-pack of root beer like it was the Holy Grail and he was the sin-soaked Indiana Jones of your nightmares.

You froze. Eyeliner? Shaking.

“JULIA,” you hissed.

“What?” she replied, with the stone-cold cool of someone who definitely knew what she did. She popped her gum like a villain. “I thought you’d be happy. I put you in the same tent. Save on space. And, y’know…”

She raised an eyebrow.

“The friction.”

You blinked. “I’m going to end you.”

“Don’t dry hump too hard,” she added cheerfully, grabbing her duffel. “The zippers can’t handle that kind of tension. Trust me. I speak from deeply unfortunate experience.”

You spun on her, ready to either scream or cry or crawl into a garbage can.

“You what?! Jules, are you serious?Im going to faint, I need three packs of Marlboros and a gallon of tequila right fucking now.”

“It’ll be fine,” she shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Cue Erik walking up like he heard from God Himself.

“Peach,” he said, dragging the nickname out like a goddamn love song dipped in sarcasm. “Nice to see your eyeliner survived the car ride. Did you use paint thinner this time?”

“You’re one joke away from getting buried alive in a port-a-potty, Campbell.”

Still, you hugged him.. The worst part? He felt good. Warm. Familiar. Like the disaster you never quite outgrew.

This was the guy who made you fall in love with KISS when he showed you Detroit Rock City on DVD ages ago. He used to made fun of you every time you sobbed at the end like a widow.

“THEY MADE UP, ERIK. AT THE CONCERT. IT’S FUCKING BEAUTIFUL,” you’d wailed once, sobbing into his shirt.

He just laughed. “Get a grip, Jesus. You’re leaking.”

Now, standing here, shirtless and smug, he was the same annoying bastard. But hotter. More dangerous.

“By the way,” he added, casually, “don’t spray that crime-against-noses perfume inside the tent again. I swear I sneezed for five hours straight last year.”

You flipped him off. “I’ll just fart instead.”

He nearly tripped over the tent trying to chase you down.

And just like that, war was declared.

By 4 PM your Docs were murdering your feet, you were on your third vodka Red Bull, and Erik had already managed to:

• Flirt with both bartenders.

• Arm wrestle a guy in a fishnet bodysuit.

• Steal a joint from a group of hippies and pretend he “found it on the ground.”

And somehow still have enough energy to piss you off every 15 minutes.

You were mid-rant about your boots when Julia dropped a bomb from her festival chair like she was narrating a true crime documentary.

“So... tiny thing. Your ex is here.”

You stopped chewing your fry.

“WHAT?Don’t joke with things like that Jules!I almost choked.”

“Brad. Cargo shorts. Tank top. Emotional damage.”

You blinked. Hard. Calculating whether stabbing him with a corn dog stick was legally considered assault or performance art.

Erik plopped down beside you. “Why do you look like you’re planning a crime?”

“Her ex is here,” Julia replied, sipping a neon drink .

“Fucking Brad? Is he still pretending to care about climate change to get laid?”

“Worse,” Julia said. “He’s with that TikTok blonde. Looks like she filters her soul.”

You stood, rage bubbling. “Nope. I’m leaving. Give me the keys. I’ll walk to the next state.”

Julia grabbed your wrist. “No. Screw him. Let’s get drunk. Start a pit. Snap a few bones for fun!”

Then Erik stood too, voice low, smirk deadly.

“Or…”

You raised an eyebrow. “Or?”

He leaned in. “We pretend we’re together. You sit on my lap. We kiss. He combusts. I win. You win. Everyone else loses.”

“Why would you enjoy it?”

“I’ve been dying to shut you up with my mouth since sophomore year.”

Your brain said no. Your body? Already glitching.

Your knees? Compromised.

You glared. “That’s evil.”

He grinned, stepping closer. “And hot.”

You took a breath. “Fine. But if you do anything weird, I will kill you with a glow stick.”

He leaned into your ear, voice pure sin.

“Peach, I invented weird.”

Ten Minutes Later

You were in Erik’s lap.

His arms wrapped around your waist.

His hand? Under your skirt, just resting on your thigh. Just enough to drive you crazy without doing anything explicitly illegal.

“This is… disturbingly comfy,” you admitted.

“You’re welcome. I make a great emo couch.”

“You’re also warm. I might keep you.”

He tensed. Just barely. Then squeezed your hip.

“Careful, sweetheart. I might not let you go.”

Your heart betrayed you.

Then- here came Brad. Like a walking red flag and discount cologne.

He looked over.

You smiled.

Erik leaned in, lips brushing your neck.

“Smile for the cheaters,” he whispered.

You ground down just enough to make him hiss.

“You’re playing with fire, Peach.”

You looked back, eyes glowing with mischief.

“Then burn with me.”

Suddenly: “FOO FIGHTERS, BABY! LET’S FUCKING GOOOOO!” Julia screamed, sprinting toward the stage like her taxes depended on it.

Erik helped you down, and you laced your fingers through his.

Then, without thinking, you grabbed his hand and wrapped it around your waist as you walked.

“What’s this?” he murmured, smirking against your temple.

“Just wanted you to hold me,” you mumbled. Vodka was 80% of your blood. Truths were leaking.

Erik rubbed his jaw like it physically pained him. “Jesus, Peach. You’re drunk. And you’re killing me.”

You giggled. “I am drunk. But don’t die. I want to kiss you before you turn into a ghost.”

His grip on you tightened.

“Peach…”

You turned to him. “Yeah?”

He looked at you like he wanted to kiss you and start a fire at the same time.

“You better mean it. Because if I kiss you… it’s not fake anymore.”

You smiled.

Twenty minutes later, you were tipsy off vodka slushies and Erik’s smug hand on your waist.

The music was thunder. The crowd? Unhinged. You could feel the bass in your spine. Somewhere, someone was vomiting behind a speaker.

Romance was in the air.

You were pressed up against Erik, half-dancing, half-grinding, fully pretending you weren’t imagining what it would be like to climb him like a jungle gym and scream into his mouth.

“Peach,” he warned, voice in your ear, “if you keep looking at me like that, we are not making it to the end of this set.”

“Good,” you purred, letting your hand trail up under his shirt, just slightly. “Then let’s end it early.”

He visibly malfunctioned. You could practically hear the Windows XP shut-down sound in his brain.

“I hate you.”

“You wish.”

Then-

“BRING ME THE HORIZON’S STARTING, LET’S GO DIE IN A PIT!” Julia screamed, launching herself into the crowd like a goddamn Viking.

You whooped, grabbed Erik’s hand, and pulled him in after her.

Big mistake. Huge.

The Mosh Pit

It was a war zone. Sweat. Boots. Elbows. You got hit in the ribs twice, and you loved it. Someone screamed, someone lost a shoe, someone proposed to their girlfriend mid-breakdown. You lived for it.

Until someone shoved you. Hard.

Your boot caught in the mud. Your body lurched. And before you could hit the ground-

Arms. Around you. Tight. Warm. Familiar.

Erik.

He caught you mid-fall, pulling you flush against his chest like you weighed nothing. The look on his face?

Absolute panic + raging murder boner.

“ARE YOU OKAY? WHO THE FUCK SHOVED YOU?”

“I’m fine,” you gasped, but your knees said liar, and your ribs weren’t vibing either.

Erik scanned the pit like he was about to start swinging. “I will punch someone into the sun.”

“Chill, Campbell.”

“No,” he snapped, grabbing your face in both hands, eyes dark. “You do not get to die in my arms because some punk jackass couldn’t handle the circle pit. You’re mine, got it? If anyone’s going to bruise you, it’s gonna be me. Consensually.”

You blinked. Slowly.

“…That was the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Fuck it,” he muttered, lifting you bridal-style like it was nothing. “You’re done. We’re going back.”

“Erik, I can walk-”

“You limped. I saw it. Don’t argue. I’m turned on and concerned and that’s a terrible combo.”

By the time you got back to the tent, you were buzzed, bruised, and completely feral.

Erik laid you down gently like you were made of glass, then immediately turned into a one-man emergency team. He yanked his hoodie off, shoved it under your head, grabbed a half-used first aid kit from his bag, and muttered to himself like he was about to perform surgery.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked.

“My soul. Also my ribs.”

He huffed out a laugh and lifted your shirt,carefully. You watched his face go from playful to holy shit as he caught sight of the forming bruise.

His fingers brushed it softly.

His jaw clenched.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he murmured, not looking up. “I thought-fuck. I thought I was gonna lose you.”

“You’d miss me?” you teased, even though your heart was hammering like a war drum.

He finally met your gaze. And this time, there was no joke in his voice.

“Peach. I don’t think I’d recover.”

You swallowed.

The tension exploded like a firework at point blank.

One second you were staring at him.

The next?

Mouths. Colliding.

Tongues. Teeth. Desperation. Heat.

He kissed you like he was mad at you. Like he wanted to ruin you and hold you forever all at once.

You moaned into his mouth, pulling him closer, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

He groaned against your lips. “You sure?”

You nodded, whispering: “Just don’t stop.”

That was all he needed.

He tugged your shirt off, eyes devouring every inch like you were a feast and he was starving.

“God, look at you,” he breathed. “All mine. Finally.”

“Less talking,” you panted. “More ruining me.”

He smirked.

“Brat.”

And then he did exactly that.

You were pinned to the floor of the tent, chest rising, breath ragged.

He hovered above you, hair falling into his eyes, skin flushed and glowing from the adrenaline of the pit and from you. His hands were everywhere. Up your thighs, along your waist, gripping, claiming.

“Say it,” he growled against your neck, voice low and wrecked. “Say you want this.”

You gasped, back arching into him as his mouth sucked just below your collarbone, hard enough to bruise.

“I want this.” You swallowed, voice shaking. “I want you.”

That did it.

He crushed his mouth to yours with the kind of heat that short-circuited your brain. Tongues tangled, teeth clashed. His hands slid under your shirt,greedy, like he couldn’t decide what to touch first. The feel of him pressed between your legs had you melting.

You rolled your hips up into him, and he growled.

“God, Peach…” His lips traced fire down your throat. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“You first,” you breathed, dragging his shirt up and over his head. He helped, then dove right back in, hands skimming your sides like he was memorizing you by feel alone.

You were bare from the waist up in seconds, cool air hitting hot skin, and Erik froze. His eyes roamed every inch of you, jaw clenched like he was holding back a scream.

“You’re not real,” he muttered.

“Then keep touching me until I am.”

He did.

His mouth closed around your nipple and you cried out, fingers fisting in his hair, dragging him closer. His free hand slid between your thighs, over your underwear, pressing just enough to make your legs shake.

He kissed his way up your chest, lips swollen, voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking wet.”

You moaned, hips lifting.

He smirked. “All for me?”

“Only for you.”

And then,he moved his hand.

Slow. Firm. Torturous.

You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but he just chuckled darkly.

“Don’t hold back now, baby.” His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear. “I wanna hear how badly you need me.”

You whimpered, nails dragging down his back as he leaned in, voice dark and delicious in your ear.

“I’ve waited years for this, Peach. I’m not stopping until you forget your name.”

He kissed you again, slower this time. Deeper. The kind of kiss that made your body melt, made your legs fall open, made you want to cry.

Your bodies ground together in a rhythm that felt filthy and perfect, a desperate.

Clothes disappeared. Hands roamed. Skin on skin, breathless and begging.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Erik, please-”

He pulled back, eyes black with want.

“Anything you want,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’m yours.”

“I’m never letting you into a mosh pit again,” he growled, dragging his fingers down your thigh where a scrape still stung.

“I’m never wearing a bra again.”

He blinked.“God bless.”

You smirked and pressed into his hand like the brat you were,already warm, already soaked from adrenaline and the way his voice rasped when he was pissed and turned on at the same time.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice full of danger. “All needy and whiny. My little brat.”

And then,zip.

Your eyes dropped.

Holy shit.

Pierced. Leaking. Ready to ruin you.

Your lips parted involuntarily.

“Someone’s excited to meet me,” you purred, with innocence while inching closer .

“Count your blessings, sweetheart.” He grinned darkly.

Before you could say anything back, he slid into you in one brutal, perfect thrust,no warning, no mercy. You bit down on a gasp, but he was already there, covering your mouth with his, swallowing every moan like it was his favorite song.

And it was. You could feel it. The way he moved. The way his hands gripped your waist like a lifeline. The way his tongue tangled with yours like it was personal.

“Fuck, Peach,” he groaned against your lips. “You feel like you were made for me.”

One hand found your breasts ,thumb brushing your nipple until your back arched like a string had snapped inside you.

“This tent is too damn small-” he grunted.

You barely got the words out: “Then let me ride you.”

That flipped a switch.

In one slick, filthy motion, he rolled and pulled you onto him, guiding your hips like he was building a symphony from chaos.

You settled over him, breath caught in your throat as his piercing brushed that sweet, unbearable spot deep inside you.

“Please guide me,” you whispered, already shaking.

His eyes were black with hunger as he took your hips in both hands and slammed you down, making you cry out.

“Always, baby. I got you.”

And he did. Every bounce. Every drag. Every time your thighs quivered and your moans turned breathless, he was right there, helping you fall apart and loving every second.

“You’re a fuckin’ angel, Peach,” he said through gritted teeth, voice rumbling against your ribs like thunder. “So pretty, so loud for me-keep goin’, I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.

You just moved.

Riding that high with his fingers digging in, his mouth back on your throat, his breath hot against your shoulder, whispering filth you didn’t have the brain cells left to process.

Until it hit.

That snap. That white-hot, stars-exploding, everything-blurring release.

You collapsed against him, shaking, babbling something like his name and a curse and maybe a love confession.

And Erik-sweaty, gorgeous, wrecked,wrapped his arms around you like you were made of glass and buried his face in your neck as he followed, cursing against your skin.

Silence.

Then:

“I think I saw God,” you mumbled.

Erik laughed,that deep, post-orgasmic wheeze of a man who knows he did that.

“If God’s in this tent, we’re both going to hell.”

You didn’t care.

You were in his lap. Still full of him. And the world could wait.

Because for once, you didn’t feel broken.

You just felt his.

You woke up to the smell of sweat, sex, and the faint scent of Julia’s anxiety coffee wafting in from outside the tent.

Your legs were jelly. Your throat was wrecked. Your body?

Fully used. Thoroughly destroyed. Proudly ruined.

You shifted slightly and winced.

“Fuck,” you muttered, flopping back onto the sleeping bag like your bones were made of mashed potatoes. “He actually broke me.”

A voice, dangerously smug, purred beside you:

“That’s what happens when you tell me to go crazy, sweetheart.”

You whipped your head toward Erik, who was lying on his side like a smug little slut .Bedhead. Hickey-covered chest. That damn piercing catching the light. Still naked.

And grinning like the devil just gave him a participation trophy .

“I should slap you.”

He reached over and trailed his fingers down your bare stomach. “You did. Repeatedly. Pretty sure you left claw marks on my back too.”

You flushed.

“…You deserved them.”

“You moaned my name like a prayer and then cried after the third—”

“ERIK.”

He smirked. “You started it, Peach.”

You groaned and shoved your face into the hoodie he’d thrown over you sometime during the night. It still smelled like him. Sin. Laundry soap. Regret. Lust. Possibly weed.

Then, the sound that could strike fear into your horny little heart:

“I KNOW YOU’RE AWAKE, SLUTS!”

Julia.

“IF THAT TENT SMELLS LIKE REGRET AND CUM, I’M BURNING IT.”

You choked on your own oxygen.

Erik grinned. “She’s so supportive.”

You shoved his face into a pillow.

Outside, Julia continued:

“I BOUGHT DONUTS AND THREE TYPES OF GATORADE. BUT NO ONE GETS ANY UNTIL I GET DETAILS. AND YES, I’M YELLING. BECAUSE YOU BUTT DIALED ME AGAIN AND I HEARD EVERYTHING.”

You buried yourself deeper in the hoodie. “I’m never showing my face again.”

Erik sat up and stretched,like a cat who just knocked everything off your emotional shelf.

“You sure you’re gonna be able to walk?”

You glared at him. “If I limp, I’m telling everyone you punched me.”

“You screamed my name loud enough, babe. No one’s gonna believe that.”

You threw a boot at his head.

You eventually emerged wearing his hoodie (because yours had mysteriously vanished), his hickeys, and the haunting realization that your knees were still shaking.

Julia handed you a donut and a coffee with a grin.

“You got railed so hard the rats left the campsite out of respect.”

Erik, unbothered and half-dressed, just sipped his Gatorade like a post-sex Olympic gold medalist.

Brad and TikTok Barbie walked past at the worst possible moment.

You locked eyes with your ex.

Erik stood, walked over, and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind like he had every right to. And he did.

“Morning, Brad,” he said cheerfully. “Peach couldn’t walk this morning. I take full responsibility.”

You blinked.

Barbie gasped.

Brad’s jaw clenched so hard it could’ve snapped.

Julia whispered, “Ten outta ten. Emmy-worthy.”

You turned, grabbed Erik by the shirt, and pulled him down for a kiss that was all tongue, bite, and I dare you to look away.

When you pulled back, Erik looked dazed.

“I’m keeping you,” he muttered.

“You better,” you whispered, voice low.

Brad stormed off.

Julia did a backflip emotionally.

And you? You leaned into Erik, bruised and aching and alive in a way you hadn’t felt in years.

“Same tent tonight?” he asked, voice in your ear, already smug again.

You grinned.

“Only if you promise to break me again.”

[lemon-limess]

ʜᴏᴍᴇᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ

Solivan is a perverted bastard and fucks with your coffee when you decide to meet up with him in the library to study.

cw/tw: food tampering, bodily fluids in your drink, pre-established relationship

Solana version

note: decided to make another one of these 'yandere character puts weird shit in your food/drink' but with the og version of Solivan

also I am a firm believer that if given the chance, sol will put his damn semen in our food he cooked cuz he's a creep... he's a weirdo... (haha im so funny)

The Kid at the Back is an 18+ game and this post will contain 18+ content MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

"Let's meet up tomorrow at the library to study for the upcoming exam!" You suggested, slipping the strap of your bag over your shoulder. "Does that sound like a plan?"

Sol nods, watching you walk out the classroom with a wave.

Now it's tomorrow. In his hands were both yours and his coffee orders from the cafe you've been talking about nonstop. Sol chuckles to himself at the thought of your excitement from the surprised drinks he bought for you.

But that's not all he has planned for you.

Alone in the cafe bathroom, door locked and shut to keep pesky intruders out, Sol unzips his jeans, shimming both it and his boxers down to his thighs. Sol's cock hits his lower belly with a soft 'plap'.

Breathing a sigh of relief from the restraint, Sol removes the plastic lid of your cup, breath hitching from the hot steam hitting the mushroom head of his cock.

It sends shivers down his spine, taking his cock in a tight hold and stroking himself up and down, rotating his wrist when he reaches to his head.

"Fuck..." Sol breathes, resting against the wall of the bathroom stall, cheeks red. His grip on the cup shakes, fucking his cock into his hand faster, the wet squelching noises echoing in the in the empty room.

He wonders what your expression will be when you taste your drink. Will you like it? Or will you notice that somethings wrong with the taste?

He fucks into his fist faster, whimpers escaping his lips. Do you trust him enough to not put anything in your drink? Maybe you secretly liked it.

"H-hah~" Sol groans, arching his back slightly. If you did like it, do you want to take it from the source itself? The mere image of you on your knees in front of Sol, licking at his cum leaking from his tip, tits free from your shirt, has the knot in his stomach snapping.

Thighs quivering from the onslaught of pleasure, Sol lets out a loud moan as he shoots his load into your drink. He gives his cock gives a few more weak pumps before hastily setting your cup on the floor before letting his limbs go weak.

I... didn't last long, Sol thought, a bit embarrassed before popping the cap back onto the cup, fixing himself to look presentable for you. No matter, meeting up with you is what matters right now.

.

"Oh, Sol! You're finally here!" You give him a warm smile, standing up from your table to give him a hug, definitely not noticing how he sniffed your hair.

"Yeah, sorry for being late." Sol frowns, pretending to be ashamed at his tardiness. "Turns out that cafe you were talking about is pretty popular, but I ended up getting you a drink."

Gasping, you take the drink from his hands, nearly purring from the warmth spreading throughout your body. "Thank you so much! You didn't have to." And in front of Sol's watchful eyes, you take a sip.

Smacking your lips a few times, you wrinkle your brows, examining the drink. "The taste is... unique"

Sol is quick to ease your worries. "They make their own creamer for drinks." he shrugs. "Maybe it has ingredients you don't normally find in stores." phew, what a save.

Eyeing the drink, you take another sip to decide if you were going to drinking the entire thing. "Yeah, maybe you're right, it's not too bad." And you went back to your table, taking another long sip before setting the cup aside.

Sol gulps, feeling his dick twitch as he watched you take big gulps of your drink here and there. You ended up liking his little surprise~

"Hey Sol, do you know how to solve this problem?" You pointed at your paper, causing Sol to snap out of whatever horny mindset he had.

"Yeah, so you subtract this problem first, then divide the answer to the original problem." He trails off.

Maybe he'll give you a few more drinks full of his home special creamer in the future and maybe... you'll want to come home with him to watch him make it.

My tip jar! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

THIS IS FOR MY TWIN KAZ 🙏🏻

[rinsnumber1fan]

Sae itoshi x reader

[Reader is sae's manager][nsfw content ahead!]

he can't control himself but he has to.

When you two get into a stupid fight and haven't been talking but one particular night he takes things rather personally.

You and Sae were closer than just manager and player, you were like friends. You'd tease him constantly and he'd pretend not to see you. Still he was better than most men you'd been friends with before.

Today was.. however a bit different. You and Sae got into a stupid childish fight about how you threw a pillow over his face to get his attention when he was ignoring you and then he crashed out on you.

You knew you shouldn't have!! But ugh, its not like he hasn't hit you with a pillow before!

Glancing at the time which hit 12:45AM You arrange your stuff in your office which ego designed specifically for you to do your work properly. The door that was closed had a familiar knock placed over it the sound echoing in a distance.

"You can come in!!"

You said as you tried to arrange the things on the top shelve and tried to get out a certain file.

The man had entered your room and placed some thing you considered to be a register down on your table without saying anything. You hummed in acknowledgement, "jus' keep it right there! I'll keep it in a min-"

the file you so desperately tried to reach at the top of the shelve was now being accompanied by saes hand, slowly drifting the file down the shelf was when you realized just how close he was to you.

Your back pressed against his chest, his hand right above your head like he was pinning you.

You quickly look back only to regret how close he was to you, "your file." He said in a voice which would be his usual voice but it wasn't. It was deeper, raspier.

His eyes were locked onto you like he was trying to focus on something else but he kept being drifted back on you.

You froze for a moment, "..thanks.." you replied shortly, but he didn't move.

Just stayed there not moving an inch.

His eyes half lidded as he looked down at you, unable to stop himself from leaning his head lower and lower. He wasn't even doing it himself it was like a.. magnetic pull.

"You know," sae started, breaking the silence.

You looked back up at him, he seemed to be,

Undressing you with his eyes.

Half-lidded trailing over and under your body, your lips, just thinking about how how you'd look if he could do all sorts of things to you in this office right here over the desk.

But he had to stop himself...

He tried to.

He gulped lowly, "you're too naive."

You blinked twice at his words, you expected 'can I kiss you?' Or something romantic after all that tension but he just insults you?!

"Naive? Please, you're still mad at me for-" the words caught in your throat are lost as thoughts only when he pushes you back against the shelf and pins your hand over your head making you feel unbearably exposed.

"You'd just let any guy in your office after midnight, hm?" He asked like he was mocking you.

"You really are naive." He fought back a smirk.

You scoffed, not making any effort to push his hand away from your wrist because you liked how it felt and shot back, "but I know you're not that kind of guy!"

You sounded so sure of yourself.

"Really?" He stepped closer and closer and suddenly friend didn't seem to good of a title to describe whatever this was. "You trust me, that much?"

He asked leaning closer and closer. Your heart races, you want this its all over your face and body. The way you look up at him so longingly and then he pulls back

He pulls back.

Putting his hands away, "im sorry." He said before turning around and going to rhe door to avoid you for the rest of his life but you grab his wrist, "dont be sorry!" You frowned but a rosy pink blush appeared on your cheeks as he turned back to see you. "....huh?" He deadpannned.

"I'm...I.. uhh.." you stammered having nothing to back it up.

"Nevermind! g-good-bye!!" And you slammed the door shut after throwing him out.

He might not avoid you after all.

I wrote this half asleep pls send help if anything seems stupid or wrong and also pls don't be mad there's no real smut because we'll he's supposed to control his urges and I thought it's hot when he's kinda holding back and shiii type shi 🤑🤑🤑🤑

[angelsafa]

The only post you need to stop doubting.

Hi my loves,

Wdym you are not able to manifest that thing because some thoughts are popping into your head, and are making you doubt, and there's a voice that says that you are not able to do it???

Okay. Let's take a deep breath and relax.

You’ve been feeling like maybe your doubts are blocking your manifestations? Maybe you overthink a lot? Or you feel scared sometimes? Or you’re like "omg do I have to believe everything all the time or else it won't happen 😭😭"??

I got you my angel. I came here to save you hehe

First of all: NO. Your doubts aren’t ruining anything. The only way they “delay” something is if you start BELIEVING them. Like if you go “ugh I feel doubt... that means I won’t manifest” then obviously you're giving power to that version of reality. You’re choosing it. But that doesn’t mean the doubt is the problem — it’s your decision to let it be more important than what you want, yk?

The doubt itself? Harmless. Like a mosquito. Annoying but whatever. Just don’t feed it. That’s it.

You’re not supposed to feel perfect 24/7. You’re not a robot. You’re still pure consciousness, yes, but in a human experience. You get to have thoughts and still manifest instantly. You get to have doubt and still shift. You get to have fear and STILL BE THE MF CREATOR.

You think infinite consciousness is gonna get blocked by a lil anxious thought? Pfft. Be fr.

Now listen to me: You don’t need to believe in the void. You don’t need to believe in yourself. You don’t need to feel like you’re floating in a magical cloud. You just need to decide.

“I have this. It’s done.” That’s it. You decide, and the 3d shifts. Period.

And you already KNOW the 4d is the real reality, right? Sooo... you already shifted. The 3d just has to catch up. That’s literally all.

"B-but S-afa I-im scared the d-doubt is p-pushing i-it away..." My sweet angel. Let me say this lovingly: stfu. (not because I’m mean, but because I love you and you need to snap out of it). You’re too powerful to keep acting like a lost little sheep my sweet angel. YOU’RE A LION BABE. YOU ARE THE DESIGNER OF YOUR REALITY. WAKE UP.

The fear isn’t doing shit. You thinking “the fear is ruining it” is the only thing getting in the way.

Now. About the void, 4D, all that stuff...

Let’s simplify:

4D = your inner world. Your imagination. Your decisions. That’s what’s real. That’s what manifests.

3D = the mirror. The echo. The leftover energy (stop reacting to it. It’s not even real).

The void = your natural state. Pure being. No thoughts. No ego. Just the real YOU. When you’re not playing the “I’m this little human with trauma and fears” game.

Shifting = literally just choosing a different version of you and living from that. That’s it.

(Tbh I don't really belive in those terms because we are simply everything and anything all in one. But I use them so you my sweetcheeks understand it)

And no, you don’t need 100% belief. You don’t need perfect thoughts. You just need to say “I’m in the void because I said so.” And that’s it. DONE.

You think the void is a special club that only chosen ones can enter? My love, YOU ARE the void. You’re it already. You’ve just been pretending you’re not. Or maybe you forgot. Idk.

So... stop pretending, and remember who you truly are.

Be like: “lol okay yeah I feel scared and got doutbts rn but that doesn’t mean shit. I still get what I want. It’s already mine.”

You’re not affirming for fun. You’re not persisting for the aesthetic. And certainly you are not faking anything. You’re doing it because YOU ARE THE CREATOR and the 3D literally has to obey you.

You wanna manifest in the void? Go in. Say “I’m there.” That’s enough. There’s no waiting. There’s no test. It’s yours.

You wanna manifest in the 4D while still thinking random negative thoughts? Cool. Do it. Because YOU are the one deciding what’s real and what isn’t. And those couple of shitty thoughts won't do anything to the manifestation sweetie.

So now tell me, are you gonna keep crying over a thought that says "but what if it doesn’t work?" OR are you gonna laugh and say "anywayyy it’s already done so shut up?"

Your choice.

Now go be delulu, go script like crazy, go feel it, go DECIDE. Go live in the 4D like your life depends on it (bc spoiler: it kinda does). The 3D is just the old news. Boring. Let it catch up. (Or well, tbh it doesn't even need to because manifestation is instant lol).

You’re the void. You’re the imagination. You’re the power. You're everything.

So go and act like it!!

And I better see you out there ACTUALLY manifesting and not procrastinating!! Stop with reading the same information, that is just written with different words in blogs. You already know all you need.

Oh and I better read your success stories soon, you hear me my sweet angels?? Because you literally got this. Like you are the designer of your reality do you realize that??!!

Anyways, remember who you are, and you got this my loves!

Lots lots lots of love,

Safa

[uconndallas]

Name: Whiteout

A/N: Hi guys! I took the last two days to finish this story. I decided to keep it a short story, and I will post chapter four and five today and those will be the final chapter of Whiteout. I just wanted to say im very thankful for everyone reading this series it means so much to me. I already have something planned for the next series AND one shot, so the wait wont be long! Again tysm for reading <3

Summary: Paige and Azzi have been roommates all their college years teammates on the court but worlds apart off it. When a surprise snowstorm traps them together on campus overnight, old tensions boil up, and buried feelings start to surface. As the campus shuts down and the night stretches on, the walls between them begin to crumble. But can they face what’s really been hiding beneath the surface before the morning comes?

Chapter Four: What Was Never Said

The storm had softened to a hush.

It was still out there, still folding the world in snow and silence, but the rage of it had passed. The windows no longer shook with each gust. The candlelight danced steadier now, as though even the flames could sense the shift in atmosphere.

Inside the dorm room, Paige and Azzi sat side by side on Paige’s bed, knees barely touching beneath the thick blanket that covered them both. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore it was full. Brimming with things they hadn’t said for too long. With a closeness they had both tiptoed around since sophomore year.

Azzi had one hand loosely draped in her lap, the other fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. Her eyes were focused on the flickering candle on the windowsill, but Paige knew she wasn’t really seeing it. She was somewhere else. Back in a memory. Paige could feel it in the way her shoulder leaned just slightly into hers.

“I keep thinking,” Paige said suddenly, voice quiet but deliberate, “about the last time we were like this.”

Azzi turned her head, a flicker of surprise passing over her face. She didn’t say anything, just watched her, lips slightly parted.

Paige swallowed. “It was that night, after the South Carolina game. We stayed up late. You brought that bottle of Gatorade you swore was magic.”

Azzi smiled, just a little. “It was. We won that game.”

“And then we…” Paige hesitated, but there was no turning back now. “We kissed. We didn’t talk about it. You slept in my bed, and we held each other all night. And the next morning, it was like it never happened.”

Azzi exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding that breath for two years.

“I didn’t know what to do,” she admitted. “You acted like it didn’t matter. Like you regretted it.”

Paige blinked. “What?”

“You were so distant,” Azzi said, more firmly now. “You got dressed without saying anything. You barely looked at me. And when I left the room… I waited for you to say something. Anything.”

“I thought you were the one pretending,” Paige said, stunned. “I thought I had messed everything up. That you didn’t feel the same and didn’t know how to let me down easy.”

Azzi’s jaw tightened. “So we both thought the other one didn’t care.”

Paige nodded slowly. “Yeah. And then everything got weird.”

“That’s one word for it,” Azzi said. “I started pulling away because I didn’t want to embarrass myself. I thought if I kept being normal if I just acted like nothing had happened, maybe we could still be friends.”

“You’ve always been better at pretending than me,” Paige murmured. “I thought you were over it. Over me.”

Azzi turned her whole body now, sitting cross-legged on the bed so she was facing Paige fully. Her face was illuminated by candlelight, soft and open and vulnerable in a way Paige hadn’t seen in a long time.

“I was never over you,” she said. “Not for a second.”

Paige looked at her, and for the first time in years, didn’t look away.

“I told myself it was just a phase,” Azzi continued. “That we were just close because of the team. Because we lived together. But that wasn’t true, and I think I always knew it.”

“So why didn’t you say anything?” Paige asked, her voice tight with something between hurt and disbelief. “If you knew?”

“Because I didn’t want to lose you.” Azzi’s voice cracked at the end. “And I thought saying it out loud would ruin everything. I figured if we could just keep going if I could be close to you, even just as a friend it was better than nothing.”

Paige felt her chest ache. “You thought nothing was safer than something real?”

Azzi nodded. “I was scared. And I figured you were fine without it.”

“I wasn’t.” Paige leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I spent two years convincing myself I didn’t care, but every time you walked into the room, it was like I forgot how to breathe.”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

“I hated that sweatshirt,” Paige added quietly.

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“The one you used to wear all the time. The grey one with the stretched out collar. I loved it, because it was yours. But I hated seeing you in it after that night. Because it reminded me of how close we were… and how far away you felt after.”

Azzi was still, eyes locked on hers.

“I wore that sweatshirt because it smelled like you,” she said.

Paige looked down.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered.

“I didn’t want you to,” Azzi said. “I didn’t know how to be brave.”

“I wish I’d said something sooner.”

“I wish we both had.”

The words weren’t an accusation. Just the truth.

Paige reached out slowly, not touching Azzi yet just giving her the space to meet her halfway.

She did.

Their fingers brushed. Then held.

Paige looked down at their hands, thumb brushing Azzi’s knuckles. “So… where does that leave us?”

Azzi was quiet for a long moment. Then she whispered, “I don’t want to go back.”

Paige looked up. “You don’t?”

Azzi shook her head. “No. I don’t want to pretend we can undo what happened. Or try to be who we were before. Because we’re not those girls anymore.”

Paige’s lips curved slightly. “Then what do you want?”

Azzi’s gaze held hers. “Something new. Something honest.”

Paige nodded. “Okay.”

Azzi blinked. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Let’s try again. For real this time. No pretending. No walking on eggshells. Just… us.”

Azzi leaned into her, forehead resting against Paige’s. Their hands stayed laced, their breath slowing until they matched.

“I’m still scared,” Azzi murmured.

Paige smiled gently. “Me too. But I think we’re allowed to be scared. As long as we don’t run from it this time.”

Azzi nodded, eyes fluttering shut.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours. The storm had become background noise—just white noise now, soft and distant.

Eventually, Paige reached over to blow out the last candle.

But before she did, she turned back to Azzi.

“I never stopped loving you,” she said.

Azzi didn’t answer with words. Just leaned forward and kissed her—slow, steady, certain.

This time, there was no hesitation. No miscommunication. No looking away.

Just warmth. And breath. And all the things that had gone unsaid finally finding their way out.

When they pulled back, Azzi whispered, “You still feel like home.”

Paige smiled against her skin. “Good. Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

The candle flickered once. Then went out.

And for the first time in two years, they weren’t lost in the dark.

They had found their way back to each other.

[megapteraurelia]

don’t mind me… in ur inbox for the 6th time today BUT corruption w suna… except reader is the one corrupting him hehehhehehehheheheheh -👨‍🍳

send me a kink you assume i have and i'll confirm or deny it.

im gnawing at the bars of my enclosure bc i'm gonna pretend like corruption kink is not a thing i'm into. you are insatiable !!!!!!!!!!! suna would absolutely love that, this pervert (AND YOU TOO!!)

ALSO, ughghghghgh reader corrupting suna ohh this made me think to find in what way he could be corrupted, because in my works, as he is in many others', he's already filthy as can be. anything i thought of just...would rile him up more, so i had to end with this T_T

i hope you dont hate it v_v

there's not a lot suna rintaro hates.

"don't even try," he says, tone flat, "i'm not eating that."

except anything involving olives.

he's leaning against the counter, eyeing the plate you just set down as if it's a personal insult towards him, his bloodline and the world he's living in. you know how much he dislikes them, yet you swirl the fork between your fingers with a hum, scooping up a bite for yourself. a faint sigh slips through as you chew, eyes fluttering half close. his eyes narrow in return, fingers pressing into the counter behind him. when you bring another bite up to his lips, he bites his tongue. you pause slightly before you could nudge his mouth to look him into his eyes, allowing a promise to shine through.

"come on," you make sure your voice is soft, a little quiet, your eyes lifting slightly to meet his, "just one. for me?"

"no."

you let the fork hover between you whilst you close the distance, enough that your chest is close enough for him to be able to feel your heat simmering against him, for suna to smell your perfume, warm and a little distracting. as you tilt your head, a pout forms on your lips, "it would make me happy, rin."

the corners of his mouth twitch, "you being happy doesn't mean i have to eat poison."

"come on, rin—ta—ro," your lips brush the edge of his jaw, leaving tiny little kisses on his skin, and the sauce paints his lips when you press up the fork against his mouth, "i want to see you give in for me, please, rin? don't you want to break for me?"

he doesn't answer, the silence sick, but then he exhales, the brush of his breath like an admission to you. something leaves his mouth, something akin to a curse, and then slowly, begrudgingly with sharp eyes focused on your parting lips that he'd rather devour, he takes the bite.

he chews and chews, and your tongue leaves a trail on his moving jaw, and his cock's hard when your nails dig into his skin, when your breathy voice sounds so turned on, "wasn't so hard, was it?"

[deardiarywrites]

make lemonade with the lemons life throws at you - dealing w the blues alone . . .

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

hey guys! how are you all? oh, me? im doing a little meh.. i am someone who feels a lot and yeah you guessed it right. that means whenever i am upset, i feel really really upset and my mind starts bubbling up and slowly starts to disintegrate. that is exactly why i am creating this post. to help myself and you to heal and get better, even when we have no one by our side. especially if we don't have anyone or feel like no one gets us. teeny tiny fix - there are people who care abt us ok? it's just our cute little minds being a bit under pressure rn so it feels like everyone is against us.

tip one : acknowledge your feelings

be upset. be depressed. cry. yes, let it all out. no toxic positivity here. who are we without our shadowy bits? there is nothing wrong to be upset and it's fine if no one gets it. they don't have to get it for it to be real. you are going to be okay. listen to songs that totally describe your situation and mood and let yourself be sad. feel it. and accept it. but don't make it your identity.

pls note ! : please don't harm yourself as it will further ruin your mood. it is possible to allow yourself to feel w/o inflicting damage upon yourself or others. yes, others too. just because you are upset, try not to bring down other people. if u feel like you tend to be extra mean when you are upset, i suggest taking deep breaths before answering someone and don't be afraid to be vulnerable, if you are upset, don't act like you're on top of the world.

tip two : create something even if it sucks

create something. literally anything. paint rocks. braid grass. try a new hairstyle. make a stickman comic strip. make a quiet book (so so so fun). create a notion template. write a short story. write a poem about how you are feeling. draw yourself. choreograph a popular song. cook smth. draw on your body. try a makeup look. cut your hair. write letters you'll never send. write a script and act. create cute costumes. cosplay as your perfect character.

it doesn't have to be perfect. just create. and not for any kind of validation. create something and don't tell anyone about it. it will be your little secret. let it age, like fine wine and fix it every now and then. and then later, when you're feeling better, look at what you created and smile !

tip three : have a "boring" hour

select an hour when you can be left alone, undisturbed and basically do absolutely nothing. don't do anything at all. stare at a wall. no sleeping, reading, showering etc. like nothing, ykwim? for one whole hour, let yourself do nothing. maybe at first you will feel like you are going insane, but it helps. trust me.

maybe you'll figure out parts of yourself, thoughts, emotions, memories you almost forgot about. let yourself be bored. <3

tip four : therapy sessions with chatgpt

i had one today. and trust me when i tell you that i bawled my eyes out. ask chatgpt to act like a professional therapist and just start talking to it, it is honestly an amazing alternative for real therapy if you're unable to get that due to certain circumstances.

why i love this : it actually makes you feel heard and seen and brings light to different kinds of prespectives. helps decode + validate your feelings while guiding you on how to change and get better.

pls note ! : don't get too emotionally attached (lol) to chatgpt cuz it is an ai after all. keep that in mind.

tip five : pretend to be your favourite character for a day

choose someone you look up to and act like them for a day. research about when they wake up, their habits, what do they do when they are upset, and totally lock in in that feeling. and at the end of the day, reflect. how did you feel? which parts of your day were your fav? which parts of your fav character would you like to keep with you?

have fun ! be quirky ! be cringe ! do things you love !

tip six : spend time naked but don't look into the mirror

just relax and feel your body in its barest form. this is all yours. nothing that belongs to someone else. all yours. and just exist. let shame fade away into the background and just have fun with your body. give it hugs, tell it that it's loved and is beautiful.

look, life won't just suddenly start feeling better. you will have to put in the work. and also, there is no pressure. do it as slowly as you can. but do it okay? take action! nothing changes if nothing changes!

xoxo,

@deardiarywrites

[sirxaibs]

Do you know that scene in 'Regular Show" when Rigby tells Mordecai that his dating someone? You know, this one.

https://youtu.be/mTj87DvP0zE?si=dHh1sLPRuU5AA7RU

Right, so this is the exact same way I Imagine Sal telling his gang about him and his S/O. Right so you can just do whatever with it, you can turn it into a fic, use it in one of your other request, or just don't do anything with it. I just wanted to rant ig💀

OK GUYS PRETEND IM READING MY REQUESTS AND NOT BUSY!!!

this is a short one and is a heavily silly one!! I guess this can go with for popular reader AU! (modern au? idk i make a zoom reference)

masterlist

synopsis: gang minus ashley (supposed to be a dude hang out until the reader crashes it) finds out youre dating sal. Larry is as dramatic as fucking always.

“Dude,” Larry groaned, voice raspy like he’d just woken up which he had, two hours ago. “I think I’ve hit a new low.”

Todd didn’t even look up. “You say that so often bro.”

“No, no, this one’s different,” Larry muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I stayed up late watching compilations of goth girls with nose rings reading poetry last night. I don’t even know why. My brain’s starving, bro.”

Sal snorted softly, while drawing. “You’re unwell.”

“I’m deprived, man,” Larry said, dragging himself into a slouched sit up. “I haven’t been touched in, like, months. Not even accidentally. I brushed hands with some chick at 7 Eleven and popped a big one.”

Todd grimaced and finally looked over. “You need help.”

“I need a miracle,” Larry said, pointing between them like he was conducting a funeral. “I’m surrounded. Whores to the left of me ” he gestured to Todd, “virgins to the right ” he tossed a finger toward Sal, “and here I am, balls dry and brain fried.”

Todd pushed up his glasses. “Being in a committed relationship with Neil does not make me a whore.”

“tell that to neil, i think he would say otherwise” Larry replied, picking up a cold chicken nugget from the coffee table and eating it without hesitation.

“That’s private.”

Sal blinked. “youre actually so gross man”

“Don’t act surprised,” Larry said, pointing a chicken finger at him. “You’ve got that hopeful little ‘I believe in true love’ look in your eye. It’s disgusting.”

Sal gave a noncommittal shrug. “I just think you find the right person when the time’s right. Someone who sees you. Who, like, actually wants to sit in your mess and love you anyway.”

“Okay, Plato,” Larry scoffed. “You say that like someone’s gonna come knocking on the door and say, ‘Wow, Larry, I love how you smell like weed and sweat. Let me fix you.’”

Sal offered a small smile. “Maybe they will. You never know.”

Larry stared at him, deadpan. “Dude. No offense, but I’m not taking dating advice from the other virgin in the room.”

Sal opened his mouth like he might respond, then just shrugged again. “Fair enough.”

“Like, I’m dying out here,” Larry groaned, tossing his head back. “I’m the whole package! like you both think I am!”

Todd was trying not to laugh now. “You are… impressive.”

“Don’t parronize me, Todd. You’re out here getting laid between being a smart fuck and fucking smart and I’m just trying to remember what it feels like to make eye contact with someone who isn’t in a Zoom lecture.”

“You haven’t been in a Zoom lecture for months,” Sal said helpfully.

“Exactly!” Larry snapped. “I’m practically a ghost!”

Todd sighed, rubbing his temple. “You do realize that you could… I dont know, go outside and meet someone, right?”

Larry leaned forward with a dark grin. “thats not in the cards mate”

Sal let out a laugh that made Larry smirk. “dude then that's fully on you”

“Thank you,” Larry said proudly. “I may be dying inside, but I’m still funny. That’s all I’ve got.”

“Maybe you should try actually dating instead of just flirting with sad bookstore cashiers and girls who sell crystals on Instagram,” Todd muttered, standing to stretch.

“I like sad girls!” Larry defended. “They’re mysterious. not to manic pixie dream girl these girls but fortunately for them, it makes them on my radar, they've seen things”

“They’ve seen you,” Sal muttered under his breath, grinning.

“Exactly. And they ran,” Todd added.

Larry flopped over. “You’re both cruel. I open my heart and you throw shade.”

“much needed shade,” Todd muttered.

“literally shut the fuck up” Larry said with a shrug. “Anyway, if either of you know anyone hot, weird, emotionally damaged, and preferably into aliens or tarot, please send them my number.”

Sal gave him a look. “You say that like you’re a good investment.”

“I could be,” Larry corrected.

Todd rolled his eyes. “dinner could come faster if you shut up.”

“mmmm sure,” Larry said, suddenly perking up. “And if it’s pizza, I’m sitting next to you and giving you a personal special gift.”

“God, please don’t,” Todd muttered

Sal stretching. “We’re getting you a hobby.”

“Sex was supposed to be my hobby!” Larry called after them.

Sal blinked slowly, coming back from his stretch. “Dude, calm down.”

“I won’t!” Larry flailed his arms dramatically.

Todd shifted just enough to rest his chin on his hand. “You have issues.”

“I have needs, Todd. Human ones. I’m touch starved and mentally unstable. It’s a great combo if you’re into damaged goods, but apparently no one is!”

Sal sighed, still sketching. “Maybe you need to stop going after people who are guaranteed emotional disasters.”

“Oh, and what would you two know about my kind of dating?” Larry snapped, voice getting sharper. “Todd, you skipped the trauma part and jumped straight into cozy domestic bliss with Neil like it’s some damn romcom. And you ” He jabbed a finger at Sal. “You’ve got the dating experience of a damp napkin. Don’t lecture me on romance when your only action comes from drawing mysterious girls in your sketchbook like it’s 2005.”

Sal’s pencil froze for half a second. Larry leaned back, huffing, muttering under his breath. “God, even my insults are sad now.”

But Sal didn’t respond. He slowly set the pencil down and looked up. The room was quiet.

Larry glanced up. “What?”

Sal gave Larry a long, tired look. His voice was low and calm. “Actually, smart guy, I have been dating someone.”

Larry froze. “What?”

Sal shrugged once. “Yeah.”

“…Bullshit.”

“I’m serious.”

“No. No, you don’t just drop that like it’s nothing. Who? Who the hell would date you?” Larry excitedly looked at him. “No offense, but if i were into you, I would but that’s because we match each others freaks, who else would?”

Sal leaned forward slightly. “It’s Y/N.”

Larry blinked. Todd looked like he was trying not to visibly flinch. Larry sat up a little straighter. “I’m sorry what?”

Sal nodded, a little awkwardly but without backing down. “Yeah. It’s been a little while now.”

“You’re telling me… Y/N. Our Y/N. The only normal person who tolerates our lame asses. That Y/N.”

“hey im normal”

“youre literally not todd”

“Yes.”

“And you’re dating her?”

Sal just nodded again.

Larry slumped back into the couch like he’d just been slapped across the face with a cold fish. “Unbelievable. I am literally in hell.”

“It wasn’t a secret,” Sal added quickly. “We were just… taking it slow. Didn’t want to make it weird.”

“Didn’t want to ” Larry laughed, raspy little noise. “Bro. Everything is weird. You should’ve led with that like, weeks ago! That changes the entire dynamic! I’m out here crying about not being loved while you’re sneaking off to make googly eyes at the one decent human being left in our orbit!”

“It’s not like I did it to spite you,” Sal muttered.

Todd held up a hand. “Okay, let’s not turn this into a thing ”

Larry ignored him. “You didn’t even tell me! ME. im highkey offended.”

Sal actually looked a little guilty. “I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“’Hey Larry, stop crying into your ramen, I’m dating the coolest person we know!’ That’s how you bring it up!” Larry exclaimed.

Todd muttered under his breath, “You’re being a little dramatic.”

“I earn my drama,” Larry hissed. “You guys are all out here winning at love, and I’m over here making up scenarios in my head.”

Sal’s voice was quieter now. “I get it. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

Larry let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Nah. Nah, it’s fine. I’m happy for you, man. Seriously.” He looked off to the side and added, “I’ll just go sacrifice a lock of my hair to the moon goddess or whatever the hell it takes to not die single.”

Sal chuckled. “Want help with that?”

“Not from you, traitor.. You don’t belong in my trenches anymore.”

Sal offered a faint, slightly guilty smile. “youll find someone ”

“I know,” Larry mumbled. “its just so rough”

The three of them fell into silence again Larry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Whatever. At least I still have pizza.”

“I actually thought we would warm up some leftovers” Todd pointed out.

Larry stared blankly into the void. “I have nothing.”

then the front door creaked open.

“Hey, losers!” came Y/N’s familiar voice. The warmth in her tone was immediate, She kicked off her shoes in the hallway with a thunk, holding a tote bag full of snacks and energy drinks. “I brought sugar and caffeine. Prepare to worship me.”

Larry didn’t even look up. “Oh, look what the cat dragged in.”

Y/N paused, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What’s with the tone?” She walked in further, holding out the snacks proudly. “I got those weird sour gummies you like, Larry.”

“Oh, wow,” Larry said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sour worms. Truly, you do care.”

Sal was now refusing to make eye contact with her, suddenly very invested in the corner of his page. Todd, meanwhile, was watching the scene unfold like it was a sitcom. Y/N squinted at all three of them. “…Did someone die?”

“Not someone,” Larry muttered, resting his chin on his knees. “Just my faith in friendship. And honesty. And romantic transparency. But whatever.”

Y/N blinked. “Okay. Definitely weird vibes going on here.”

“Is it?” Larry asked, dramatically pulling the blanket tighter around his body like he was the heartbroken lead in an indie film. “Or is it just the smell of secrets festering in the air?”

“What is going on?” Y/N laughed nervously, looking between the three of them. “Why are you all acting like you just got caught burying a body?”

Todd hummed. “Could say something was buried.”

Sal cleared his throat and didn’t look up. “Larry’s being dramatic.”

“Oh, I’m being dramatic?” Larry whipped around to glare at Sal. “You kept your little romance saga under wraps like it was state security, and I’m the problem?”

Y/N’s smile faltered. “…Romance saga?” Silence. Too long. “Sal?” she asked slowly, eyebrows raised.

“Hmm?”

“Wanna fill me in?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

Todd let out the tiniest chuckle. Y/N looked back to Larry, confused. “Okay, am I missing something? Why are you glaring at me like I just kicked you in the face?”

“Oh, don’t play coy, Juliet,” Larry hissed. “You think you’re slick. Romeo told me everything”

“did he now?” Y/N laughed, exasperated now.

“i would argue not everything” sal peeps in

Y/N’s mouth opened, then closed. She looked at all three of them, eyebrows furrowed in panic. “Wait. Wait. What do you think you know?”

Larry stood, pointing dramatically. “Don’t play dumb! I know about you and Sal!”

“Oh my god,” Y/N finally muttered. “He told you?!”

“Damn right he told me,” Larry snapped. “Dropped it right in my lap like it was no big deal.”

Y/N flushed. “It wasn’t supposed to come out like this ”

“Oh, you think?”

“I didn’t mean ”

Larry threw up his hands. “Do you know how long I’ve been bitching about being single to both of you?! You could’ve at least let me know you were off the market so I could suffer in targeted isolation!”

“I was going to tell you eventually!” she said, defensive now.

“When? At your wedding?” Larry barked.

Todd: “Oof.”

Y/N rubbed her temples. “Okay. Okay, fine. It’s true. We’re dating. Happy?”

Larry crossed his arms. “Not really. I was hoping one of you was secretly wanting to date me.”

Sal smirked faintly, still not looking up. “Sorry.”

Y/N looked over at Todd. “you're such a bitch”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to help,” Todd said casually. “Watching it click was the highlight of my week.”

Larry exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. So congrats, lovebirds. I hope you’re very happy. I’ll just be in my room. Alone. Googling shit for special time that looks like one of you.”

He stomped toward the hallway like a man defeated. Y/N looked to Sal. “…Should we talk to him?”

Sal shrugged. “Give him fifteen minutes. He’ll come back for snacks.”

Todd held up the sour gummies while opening them. “I’m hiding these until he calms down.”

Y/N sighed and flopped down onto the couch with an audible groan. “dawg i’m so confused, i feel like i just cheated in him.”

Sal finally looked up, his voice quiet and honest. “Ew me too, but at least its out in the open.”

Y/N gave him a small smile. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

Todd smirked to himself. “About time.”

[pansyfemme]

bestie I've been down this road before so trust me when I say love is not supposed to be hard. I went from the most abysmal dogshit relationship right into to a loving and probably forever partnership and let me tell you everything about it is different. you will know when it happens because you will realize pretty quickly that you're not pretending you're fine or having to make shitty compromises or just generally feeling anguished all the time. it will feel not real. you will be expecting it to feel worse all the time. that is the devil. granted I did not need to get ect about my breakup but I feel this same principle applies.

not saying you have to be Ready for next time, but im being so real when I say there is someone out there who will make it easier next time. it can be hard to think that but trust. your dreams are not out of reach. you are so easy to love and I will say that as many times as you need to hear it.

love you bestie. im breakcorekyoheikadota sex in the van

hey bestie❤️❤️❤️ thank you very much. it took me a little bit to realize that if i wasn’t getting the same amount of effort that i was putting into the relationship back and was getting burnt out that maybe it wasn’t meant to be. that i shouldnt feel stressed or like i have to juggle everything to keep things together. i hope that the next one will be easier on me, its hard to be several months post breakup and still reeling from just how big an impact it made on me. but im positive that i’ll find someone someday. just might be a little impatient until then

[ari-writist]

ROMANCE WITH ZORO

[headcanon] PRE TIMESKIP

• Zoro is someone who dreams to be the greatest swordsman, we all know that. Achieving romance with zoro is unlikely given that he is focused on his goal, but if, for some unexplained reason, this guy actually managed to get in his brain that he's in love, I think this is how it would go.

• Zoro is more of an action type rather than verbal, so he would show you that he cares in action. Through body language, maybe like, standing close to you without realizing it, offering you water or food without comment, or looking away when you catch him staring.

• Even though he likes you, he might not get into a relationship with you so it'll all just be unspoken tension between you two. (I love you but I can't. Why not? Ahhh)

• He might train himself more and avoid you, because if he gives in, he's going to lose sight of his goal — he's gonna be in denial. Also, he'd be mad at you, at himself, at the world. Because you’re now a distraction—a distraction with soft eyes and a laugh that echoes in his head while he’s trying to train.

• But he'd train harder, push himself more, and sleep less, because if he can just be strong enough — maybe he won’t need to choose between you and his dream.

• He avoids you. Not in an obvious way, he'd just always be somewhere else, and if you ask him why, he’ll grunt and say, “Got stuff to do.”

• He thinks about telling you once. But whenever he opens his mouth, the words taste like betrayal so he swallows them with sake and silence.

• Eventually, he would just stay in one place once he sees your down casted face every time he goes somewhere else if you're around, but he wouldn't actively seek for you, if you did for him then this man is not going to move from his place. He would just listen to you talk, or do whatever you want to do by his side.

• He would always be looking at you. His eyes would trail on where you once were if you were to disappear and if you manage to catch his eyes he would either close them to pretend like he's taking a nap or he would look away out in the distant sea.

• But why wouldn't he let himself love you? It's because he thinks that love will weaken him. That if he lets himself fall, he’ll lose the drive to stand back up. That if he chooses you, he'd be failing Kuina, his promise, his vow.

• Also because he believes he doesn’t deserve you yet. He thinks you deserve someone who can give you a future, not a man chasing ghosts with a sword on his back.

• But zoro isn't stubborn. No, no, he's terrified. Because once he lets himself love you, it won't be halfway — it will never be — it will be everything. And you’re the only thing in this world more dangerous than Mihawk’s blade.

IM GETTING THE HANG OF THIS. Anyways, as alwaysz this one is kind of rushed, wanted to get it all out of my head first. But when I read it, I thought it was good enough so I'll just post it and possibly edit it again when I wake up when I realize that omg wrong grammar, yeah when that hits me. Anyways, hope you guys had fun reading this.

Spoiler alert, I'm actually writing a short fic about this. Idk how to write angst properly — oops? Wasn't supposed to say that.

I WAS ABOUT TO SLEEP TIGHT WHEN I FORGOT TO ADD TAGS GAH

[hellboundhimbo]

how long i would last in a fight with each of the strawhats

or as i like to call it: hydrogen bombs vs coughing weeb. because i’m bored.

luffy: i feel like i could hold him off for a little bit with meat unless i like really pissed him off somehow (maybe he heard me call sanji a twink idk) maybe while he’s eating i can stab him a bit before he sends me to joyboy idk. a respectable minute.

roroneedadickinmenoa zoro: i don’t think he’d even pull out the swords on me bruh he’d just flex his haki and knock my ass out. he wouldn’t let me cook anything, 3 seconds. if it’s pre timeskip zoro he’d just cut me in half so 4 seconds (extra second for the time it takes to give me a twin)

can’t make any jokes abt her it’s june happy pride yall: okay assuming she doesn’t have the climatact I THINK nami would still kick my ass yeah. i think she pulls hair </3 im going down swinging tho she would win but it’d take like 3 minutes probably. if she does have her boom stick tho 2 seconds she strikes me down like zeus.

my goat: OKAY HEAR ME OUT I THINK I COULD TAKE PRE TIMESKIP USOPP. post timeskip yeah no he could fuck me up but PRE TIMESKIP I COULD JUST LIKE. SIT ON HIM. assuming i could catch him i think he’d run away. BUT IF I COULD GET HIM BEFORE HE RUNS I HAVE A DECENT CHANCE AT WINNING.

twink: i want to say id body sanji on principle honestly but as goes the name of this i know he’d kick my ass and he’d kick it hard. literally 4 seconds he breaks my nose then runs over my corpse to go beg nami for coochie.

my son birthed directly from my balls: 0 seconds i would let him win im not hitting chopper even if he could kick my ass in heavy point fuck you

robin (couldn’t think of anything soz): 2 seconds she breaks my neck using her devil fruit before i even approach the ring

sir jjba is that way: i would punch him, break my fist, go OWIE, then he’d coup de boo me into the next life. 5 seconds only because i think he’d let me have the first hit out of manly respect

sans undertale: okay hear me out, if i brought a comically large leaf blower

my husband: 2 seconds no diff i can’t even pretend like id fight back. maybe he’d let me go because i have a pure and honest soul and also give good head

[vicsstars]

so happy to see u back!!

today i was just thinking....like its offseason currently, and lets just pretend no injuries happened 💜💜and we're spending the summer in france with vic😭😭😭like i think it'd be so cute, just domestic bf wemby in his home country!!!! smut or not i'd be really happy if u could elaborate 😭🙏i literally have noone irl or online to talk about him im in so much pain

❝ you ever think about leaving? ❞

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

summary: staying in a cottage during off season brings out the true beauty in both you and victor, making him wish it could never end.

warnings; none!! just fluff, talking about moving during offseason

an: i’m on a roll now that i’m back so THANK YOU for giving a fluff request, ive been a little freaked out so it’s time for me to chill (jk guys you know the next post will probably be be smut again)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

he didn’t wake you.

he just let you sleep. window cracked open to let in the sound of the wind through the olive trees. it was early. the kind of early that didn’t feel real. pale light, no clocks ticking, the whole room soft and still like the inside of a shell.

he’d been up for a while, padding barefoot through the old cottage, feeding the cat that kept showing up on the back steps, flipping through a worn paperback he found on the shelf. off-season looked good on him. slower. looser. no press, no flights, no bruises blooming beneath his skin.

just france. just home.
just him, and you, and the quiet between.

victor stood at the edge of the bed, shirt in hand, curls still wet from the shower. he hadn’t shaved yet. you liked that he didn’t. liked the softness at the edges of him, the slow way he moved when he thought you weren’t watching.

his eyes lingered on your back. bare, turned toward him. you’d kicked off the blanket sometime before dawn, too warm, too soft. your arm curled under your cheek, lips slightly parted, breathing even.

he sat down beside you. careful. weight dipping the mattress just enough to pull you toward him.

you stirred.

“hm?” you barely a sound.

his hand brushed your spine, featherlight. “go back to sleep,” he murmured.

you didn’t.

instead, you turned over, blinking slow, reaching for him like instinct. he let you. let your fingers curl into his shirt where it draped over his thigh, anchoring him there.

“where were you going?” you asked, voice gravelly.

he shrugged. “walk.”

you looked up at him, still half asleep. “without me?”

his lips twitched. not a smile, exactly. but close. “you looked peaceful.”

“i always look peaceful.”

he huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “not always.”

you were both quiet for a second.

then, softer.
“will you wait?”

he nodded. leaned down, kissed your temple. let it linger.

“for you i’d wait a lifetime.”

you walked through the village hand in hand, fingers woven loose, like the space between you was already closed. a few locals waved. a baker sweeping his doorway nodded toward victor like he knew him. maybe he did. maybe everyone knew him here. not as the player, the face on tv, but just the boy who came back when the season ended. the tall one with the quiet voice. the one who didn’t need to be seen to be known.

you stopped at the boulangerie (bakery). he ordered in french. you tried, and stumbled. he didn’t correct you, just smiled and said the words again, slower, until they felt like something you could hold in your mouth without dropping.

you took your pastries to go. sat on the low stone wall near the church, feet dangling over the edge. he passed you a pain au chocolat and wiped powdered sugar from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

“you always eat slow,” he said.

“you always finish mine,” you replied.

his eyes flicked toward you, heavy lidded, amused. “you want me to stop?”

you didn’t answer. you never did.

back at the cottage, the afternoon slipped into something golden. the air still, cicadas buzzing, laundry lines dancing in the breeze like they had somewhere to be. you laid out on the floor. cool tile under your back, victor beside you, stretched long, his knee brushing yours.

he was tracing something on the inside of your wrist. slow. absentminded.

“what’re you drawing?” you murmured.

“not sure yet.”

you looked over. “is it me?”

he didn’t look up, just gave a light smile like you’d caught him red handed. “always.”

your breath caught. you didn’t say anything.

he finally turned to you, admiring you as if you were a goddess sprawled beneath him.

“i like it here,” he said.

you nodded. “i know.”

“feels like, i could be someone else.”

you watched his face.

“you don’t have to be someone else,” you said. “you just have to be.”

his eyes softened. just barely. he looked down at your hand again.

“still learning how.”

you reached over and laced your fingers with his. squeezed once. “i’ll help.”

and he didn’t say thank you. didn’t say anything, really. just held your hand a little tighter. let the silence stretch between you like something holy.

the tile beneath you was smooth, faintly cool, holding onto the last shadows of morning. the sun hadn’t reached this corner of the room yet, but you could see the way it poured in through the kitchen window, bright and still, like it had nowhere better to be. dust danced in the beams of it, suspended. like even the air knew how to be slow here.

victor hadn’t let go of your hand.

his fingers were long, warm, completely wrapped around yours, thumb brushing rhythmically across the ridge of your knuckle. he was quiet again, but not distant. there was a softness in his stillness this time. like he was thinking of how to say something without saying it.

his body stretched next to yours, broad and long, one arm tucked behind his head. he didn’t shift much, but you could feel the weight of him beside you. not heavy. grounding. like a presence you didn’t have to look at to know it was there.

“you smell like the garden,” you murmured, your voice low, half afraid to break whatever spell was resting in the room.

he turned his head toward you, eyes dark and unreadable, but softened at the edges.

“you’re just saying that because i picked rosemary.”

“hm, no,” you said. “it’s your skin. it holds things.”

he didn’t answer right away. just blinked, slow. you could see the golden flecks in his eyes when the light hit just right. rare, like something you had to earn. his gaze moved across your face, then back to the ceiling.

“you ever think about leaving?” he asked suddenly, voice low. “not permanently. just for a little. no phones. no noise.”

you hesitated. not because you didn’t know, but because you did.

“all the time.”

he nodded once, almost like he expected it.

“sometimes i think, maybe i’ll just stay here after the season,” he said, voice quieter now, like he was afraid the walls might overhear. “no press. no travel. just this. the garden. you.”

the way he said it made your chest pull tight. not romantic, not exactly. something deeper. ache and want and exhaustion, all tangled together and barely spoken aloud. he was yearning for something in his reach, but something that seemed to disappear the moment he touched it.

you turned your head. studied the line of his jaw, the small bump on the bridge of his nose, the soft curve of his mouth. he didn’t look like the version of him the world clung to. didn’t carry that sharpness. that steel.

he looked like someone trying to remember how to be human again.

“what would we do all day?” you asked.

he smiled, faint but real. “make coffee. read. maybe get a dog.”

“what kind of dog?”

“something small,” he said, and you gave him a look. he smirked. “okay, big. ridiculous. taller than you.”

“rude.”

“it’s true.”

you huffed, but your smile was already creeping in. you turned your hand in his, letting your fingers slide up the inside of his wrist, tracing that soft patch of skin where his pulse beat steady and slow.

“i’d stay,” you said, finally.

he didn’t move. didn’t even blink.

“i know.”

there was something fragile in the quiet between you now. not heavy. just full. like it might spill if you let it.

outside, the cicadas started again, humming low like static beneath everything. the light shifted on the wall. you thought maybe it was getting hotter, but you didn’t move. neither of you did.

just the tile, the breath between words, the press of his thumb across your knuckles.
just the idea of a world that was only this room. only this morning. only you and him and the sun not quite reaching your bodies yet.

and maybe, if you stayed still long enough, it might stay like this forever.