#wtf do you do without wanting to force it

[lauvsamara]

Omg, I love your writing and I really liked the Luffy x mermaid reader fic you put out! I’d also really like to see a Zoro x reader version if possible with the same scenario, but no pressure! I hope you’re doing well, make sure to drink enough water!

────⟢ ZORO RORONOA: Not Yours

(an: sorry this took me so long i hade to do more research on wtf nesting was... BUT I HOPE U LIKE IT ;-;)

⊹ Fluff

⊹ Zoro Roronoa x Fem!Reader

⊹ Word count: 539

જ⁀➴ In which, nesting season turns you into a grumpy, lovesick mess, and Zoro handles it by lying down next to you!

It was pathetic. You knew that.

The towels were bunched wrong, the deck too hot, the rope smelled like salt and someone else’s sweat—but you’d made your nest anyway. Instinct didn’t care if it looked stupid. It just cared that he was nearby.

And Zoro was always nearby.

That was the problem.

You didn’t even flinch when he walked past this time. Just kept your face half-buried in the hoodie you’d stolen from the laundry line. You weren’t even sure it was his. But you sure hoped it was.

He slowed.

Didn’t stop, not really. Just hovered. Like he wasn’t sure if you were dead or just being weird again.

You didn’t look up.

“You good?”

You shrugged deeper into the nest.

Another pause. You could hear him shift his weight.

“It’s hot as hell out here,” he said.

“So go somewhere else.”

“Tch. Grumpy.”

You didn’t answer. What was the point?

There was only so much dignity you could cling to while half-buried in a pile of sunbaked towels, dehydrated from your own feelings.

Zoro shifted again. His shadow angled over your tail.

You waited.

Then—quiet, casual:

“Is this a mermaid thing?”

You gritted your teeth. “Nesting season.”

“Hm.”

You hated that sound. Noncommittal. Like it meant anything. Like he got it.

He didn’t.

He didn’t know what it was like to want something so badly your body rearranged itself around the ache. He didn’t know what it was like to pick someone and be forced to wait—to hope—while they stood five feet away and did absolutely nothing.

You finally glanced up at him. He was still just… standing there. Looking out over the sea like it was a better conversation partner.

“No offense,” you said, voice hoarse, “but can you even swim?”

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“I’ve never seen it,” you said. “You seem like the type to sink out of spite.”

He blinked. “I grew up on an island.”

“So did sea cucumbers.”

That got a laugh. Barely. But it was there. You filed it away for later.

Then, casually, “You picked me?”

You groaned and pulled the hoodie over your face. “Don’t make it weird.”

“You literally nested in my laundry.”

“Again, not confirmed.”

Zoro sat down beside your pile without asking. Not in the nest—just next to it. Elbows on his knees, looking out at the water.

“…You want me to do something about it?” he asked.

You peeked at him. “Like what?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Swim? Let you bite me or whatever?”

Your tail twitched.

“You’re not supposed to offer to be bitten...” you mumbled.

“So what, I just sit here?”

“Basically.”

Zoro grunted. “Easy.”

You squinted at him. “You’re not weirded out?”

“Why would I be?”

“Because I built a sweaty towel fort with your hoodie and emotionally imprinted on you like a sea duck.”

“Yeah,” he said, laying back against the deck with a yawn, “but that’s not even the weirdest thing you’ve done this week.”

Your heart skipped.

He closed his eyes. “Wake me up if I’m in your way.”

You blinked.

Then grinned into the hoodie, tail flicking once behind you.

Not claimed. Not bitten. Not confessed.

But Zoro didn’t move.

And that was enough. For now.

[electric-plants]

listen we can be boring and just take this to mean “always been” as in post the archon quests OR we can make a bunch of headcanons instead such as:

1) they all meet up so much it feels like they’ve been doing it forever

2) these two were just fucking pretending they don’t know each other throughout the entire archon quest

3) alhaitham was being pedantic with “at the akademia” and despite being personal friends they fully separate their working selves and consider each other strangers in work matters

4) they’ve been meeting up as part of the friend group for forever but never actually talked to each other until this moment making it Extra Awkward™️

and literally so many more like the pathways this has opened up in my brain ughhh

[pendulouspuppyudders]

there is something to be said abt being born in america and knowing your existence and life is propped up by horrors committed by men you've never met hurting people around the world but then that life being that of poverty and marginalization so you don't even get the chance to do anything about it but flee the country and that's if you're lucky

[lord-squiggletits]

Also I'm just gonna say that even if it were true that Rodimus was a """""true Prime"""" and Optimus wasn't, that isn't as much of an L for Optimus as people seemingly want it to be.

Like so you're telling me Optimus was never a chosen hero and the burden of the Matrix/leadership pained him morally, emotionally, and physically, yet he still survived 4 million years of war?

You're telling me he wasn't God's Designated Special Boy but he still tried his best to live up to that impossible ideal to the point of developing serious depression and suicidal ideation as a result of so much goddamn loneliness and self-doubt?

Optimus wasn't a "true Prime" and yet he still believed in ideals of reconciliation and ending the cycle of violence? He wasn't a true Prime but he still stayed on Cybertron trying to fix a broken, broken society while also trying to stop Earth from being invaded for a second time? He didn't even need to do that he could've just stayed in exile which he was originally supposed to do all along, and which he would've personally preferred?? You're telling me that Optimus wasn't Primus' Specialest Boy And Chosen Leader and yet he stepped into leadership anyways bc he perceived that there was injustice to be fixed??

Wow yeah I guess Optimus is just such an inferior leader, clearly his actual actions/moral character as person don't matter and his "worthiness" should be judged solely on whether the Magic Cybertronian 8 Ball liked him or not.

[magnusmodig]

ovo whispers menacingly abt his grandstanding .

[louderfade]

exene talking about the state of the world. the good stuff starts at eight minutes. or you can just read the transcript complete with the usual errors that accompany robot transcribed speech (the irony of which is not lost on me). maybe it's not about transhumanism and living forever (or maybe it is who knows), but there's definitely an agenda of surveillance and control at work which is designed to keep the powerful in power. cash rules everything around me and you will own nothing etc. the future is worse.

[fairy-ganj-mother]

lmao my ex-friend got offended that I pointed out our music sharing group has only been sharing music by men like girl check your misogyny

[livwritessometimes]

Think Fast, I’m A Random Girl…

: Max Verstappen, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Pierre Gasly, and Daniel Ricciardo

: Main Masterlist

…

Max Verstappen

- You had seen this trend on TikTok, and ever since then, you had wanted to try it out on Max. You knew he was never the type to even look at a another women, so doing something like this would be fun.

- There he was, blissfully unaware Max Verstappen, washing the dishes. This was probably the best time to try it, since he wouldn't have time to think. And so you did. You jump from behind and quickly blurt 'Think Fast, I'm A Random Girl' and leaned in to kiss him.

- Without even a second of hesitation, Max emptied a cup filled with soap water on top of you head. "WTF MAX! WHY DID YOU DO THAT" "You said 'think fast' I think this was pretty fast" He said and went back to washing dishes, leaving you shocked and drenched in dishwash. Although now, the only thing on his mind was how quick his reaction had been. Maybe he should do this again but this time with a stopwatch.

Lando Norris

- Over the span of two years that you and Lando had been together, he had pulled multiple pranks on you. So, I think it's fair to say you wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine.

- The moment you watched the 'Think Fast, I'm A Random Girl' trend, you knew this was the one. So, you began your quest to find Lando and pull off this prank. You found him in kitchen, gathering all the ingredients to make his favourite sandwich. Without wasting a single second, you screamed the phrase and ran towards him.

- In a moment of complete panic, Lando did the only thing he could think off. He threw the entire loaf of bread at you. Yes, you read that right. He threw baked flour at your face. And no, I'm not talking about some soft, half-hearted toss like 'throw the nearest object at someone in a playfully annoyed way' NO. I'm talking full energy, like he's in a baseball game, ready for the first pitch. Think full force, full passion. Then he just stares back at you in shock, as if he's the one who has a reason to be shocked. "You can't just sneak up on me when I'm emotionally vulnerable. You know how seriously i take my sandwich, Y/n. Now pass me the bread, I still need to finish this"

Oscar Piastri

- Lando had sent you this trend, saying, 'Ohhh do this to Osc!!!!!' 'Record the whole thing and send it to me' 'omggg I'm so excited! If its good, I'll ask McLaren's admin to post!!!!!!!!!' I think we all know who was more excited about this trend. It was a good thing Oscar was already on his way home, else, you were almost certain Lando would have tried the trend himself.

- The plan was simple, wait for Oscar to get home, take him to the living room, where you would already have your phone set up, and pull the prank. Except...it wasn't that simple. While waiting for him to be back, you completely forgot about the trend and started to finish random chores you had been putting off. By the time you remembered, Oscar was already in the living room looking, extremely confused. There was no time, it was either now or never. So you looked him dead in the eye and said 'Think Fast, I'm A Random Girl'

- Out of habit, Oscar kissed you back before he even registered what you had just said. He immediately pulled away, looking even more confused, if that was possible. "Wait- what?" "Wait, stop it" "This is assault. Stay away or else I'll call the cops" He said all of this while slowly backing away from you, frankly afraid of what you might do next. The video ends with you clutching you stomach, falling to the ground laughing, and Oscar just walking off, too tired to deal with whatever that had just happened. I think it's safe to assume the reel made it to all McLaren platforms (all thanks to Lando)

Charles Leclerc

- You see Charles sitting in the living room, looking peaceful, and think, yeah, let's interrupt that. So you spend the next 15 minutes trying to find a trend you could try with him. That's when you see the 'Think Fast, I'm A Random Girl' trend. The plan was simple, go up to him, talk for a few minutes, then throw in the sentence as quickly as possible and finally attack him.

- And so that's what you did. You sit beside him, all innocent, asking him about different things, talking about the upcoming race. The second Charles began his rant about next week's strategy, you knew this was your chance, and so you took it. Quickly throwing in the random girl line and kissing him.

- In a split second, Charles used both his hands and pushed you with such force, that you fell flat on your back. Instantly, he started gagging. As seconds passed, the gagging just got more intense. As you sat up, you saw Charles leaning against the balcony, still pretending to gag. "GET—Blegh—THE—Blegh—FUCK—Blegh—AWAY—Blegh—FROM—Blegh—ME" At this point, even Leo was looking concerned at his father. He slowly turned his little head, looking at you as if saying 'Is this man okay?' Picking him up, you start walking towards the bedroom, "Leo I think it's safe to say your father will never kiss a random woman. Although I can't say for certain, he might give her PTSD. But oh well" Leaving a dramatic Charles still acting repulsed on the balcony, not knowing his audience is now cuddling in the bed away from his antics.

Carlos Sainz

- Carlos had this thing, where he would always prank you by jumping out of random places to scare you. Everyone by now knew you hated jump scares, so naturally, half of Williams' account was filled with videos of Carlos scaring you. It was about time you started planning your revenge. What you didn't expect was for the fans to come through. You got tagged in multiple videos about this trend going on where you kiss your boyfriend and say 'pretend I'm a random woman'. It made sense to try this out, after all, Carlos had this coming.

- You saw him in the bedroom talking to someone over the phone. What better time to do this than now? So you sneak up behind him and say the magic phrase 'Think Fast, I'm A Random Girl' and wrap your arms around his waist, excited to see his reaction.

- You expected Carlos to be confused. You expected him to not pay attention to what you had just said. You even expected him to wriggle away from your hold. What you didn't expect him to do was lift his free hand in full force and elbow you straight in the rib. So there you are, laying on the ground clutching your—now probably—bruised rib. "Y/n you should not sneak up on me! You know I took self-defense classes, mi amor" He said as he abandoned his phone and helped you off the ground. One thing's for certain now: you will never try to sneak up on Carlos Sainz Jr. EVER AGAIN

Lewis Hamilton

- Lewis has always been put together. Always presentable, Always calm. He likes to say 'I'm too old for all this' when he sees the grid being childish. But we all know this man loves to indulge in it from time to time. So one day while, you were walking around in the paddock, all the rookies surrounded you. From far away, if someone were to see this scene, they'd think, 'awww all the rookies are bonding with you' 'they all look so cute together' 'grid mum moment' but if they were to walk closer, they'd hear the planning and plotting. None of the rookies had been able to prank Lewis yet. So far, they had successfully crossed off Max, Oscar, George, Alex, and Charles from the list. There were still many more to go, but the day they saw Lewis shake his head and laugh at their antics, that's when they decided who next in the list.

- But all that being said, pranking Sir Lewis Hamilton turned out to be more difficult than they expected. Which is why they decided to pull in a wild card. The wild card being: you. The plan was simple. Say the phrase to Lewis, see his reaction, and record the whole thing for the rookies to see. And so off you went.

- You texted Lewis that you were waiting for him in his driver's room. You had already set up the camera, ready to pull off the prank. The moment he entered the room and closed the door behind him, you initiated the plan 'Think Fast, I'm A Random Girl' You had barely finished your sentence before Lewis turned around in one swift movement, grabbed your face, and pushed you backwards on the sofa. "I'M MARRIED BITCH" "STAY DOWN" He then calmly walked towards the bottle of water that was on the table. You sat still, unable to wrap your mind around what had just happened, and just before the video ended, you were heard whispering 'But we're not even married yet' It's safe to say the rookies LOVED it!

George Russell

- George Russell was many things—smart, funny, British, a tire whisperer—but more than anything, he was currently getting on Alex's last nerve. Which is how you found yourself in a huddled position with Alex and Lily outside the Mercedes garage. "Y/n, you gotta do this for the greater good" "And what do I get in return?" "My respect, the thrill of pranking George, a dinner treat from yours truly" "Hmmm..." "Ugh, fine! Lily for a week" "You've got yourself a deal"

- So here you were, phone all set, ready for George to return from his meeting with Toto. Your antics had caught the attention of the garage, and you already had three cameras set, ready to record your prank in 4K for Mercedes' channel. You heard George before you saw him turn the corner. The moment he stepped within your reach, you said the phrase and quickly reach out for him.

- 'Think Fast, I'm A Random Girl' George immediately grabbed both your hands and pushed you away from him "Ugg—ahh—back off" "HELP" "SOMEONE HELP" "SECURITY" He screamed as he dramatically launched himself to the wall to get as far away from you as possible. At that exact moment, Toto walked out. Immediately all the cameras turned to catch his reaction. Toto suddenly paused, looked at the entire scene in front of him, then looking at you, then at George. He let out a deep sigh before he turned around and walked back into his office, closing the door for good measure.

Alex Albon

- Alex had always been chaotic. There was never a dull moment in your relationship. From the time he tried to cook pasta in the hotel's kettle and almost burned down your room, to the time he desperately tried to convince you to steal an alligator from the zoo, saying 'I'd make a great addition to the Albon zoo'. Life was full of unpredictable surprises with him. So naturally, when you came across this trend, you knew in your heart you had to try it, because what are the odds you saw this trend the same day Alex was staying over? It was like the universe wanted you to try it.

- So here you were, standing in the kitchen watching Alex contemplate between Harry Potter and Mean Girls. It was go time. You quickly placed your phone and hit record before making your way to him. When Alex saw you, he put the Diet Coke can down and reached out for you. Just as he was about to hug you, you yelled, 'Think Fast, I'm A Random Girl'

- In an instant, he grabbed the front of your shirt, pulled you towards him, and let out the loudest burp in your face. It felt like an eternity had passed, but his burp hadn't stopped. When it finally ended, it was like your knees gave out, and you fell to the floor. "Did—um—did you just burp on my face?" "Well yeah, I had to do something. It was my defense mechanism" "YOUR DEFENSE MECHANISM WAS GAS??" "You told me to think fast. You gotta admit that was some pretty fast thinking, ay?" And with that, he turned back to the TV, finally deciding to watch Mean Girls.

Franco Colapinto

- Franco was anything but calm. If there was one Taylor Swift lyric he could relate it, it was 'I swear I don't love the drama, it loves me.' From the moment he made his debut in F1, everyone knew, this guy loves to be a menace. Be it his lack of PR-trained behavior or his ability to always do or say something that lands him in trouble (and the two of you in yet another PR meeting) So you thought, why not let his behavior influence you, just this once?

- So there you were, sitting with Alpine's admin, ready to pull this prank on him. The moment you got the signal from the admin, you made your way towards him. Franco saw you and smiled. As he started to make his way towards you, arms open expecting a hug, you quickly screamed 'Think Fast, I'm A Random Girl'

- Franco: "NO BACK OFF" "I'M GAY" You: 👁👄👁 Alpine's Admin : 👁👄👁 Pierre: 👁👄👁 Everyone Else: 👁👄👁 Franco looked around and saw everyone's reaction and immediately sprinted out of the garage. "FRANCO WAIT" With that, you ran after him. Seeing the chaos, the admin also started running after you guys, because there was no way in hell they were going to miss something like this.

Pierre Gasly

- Pierre had surprised you with a vacation during the one race-free week he had. You were beyond happy to finally get to spend some time with him. You had not been able to attend the first few races due to work, so some alone time together sounded amazing. While you were waiting for your room, you decided to scroll through TikTok. While doing that, one video caught your eye. Looking up at Pierre, you saw him look your way and give you a flying kiss. You smiled and looked back down at the video. You knew what you had to do.

- Setting up your phone near the edge of the jacuzzi, you leaned back into his arms. You tried really hard to suppress the smirk that was itching to make itself known. "Hey babe…" you said, looking at him. He nodded, signaling you to go on. You quickly blurted, 'Think Fast, I'm A Random Girl' and moved to kiss him.

- It was almost like he knew this would happen, because the second those words left your lips, he dunked your head underwater. So your phone captured good four seconds worth of footage of you flailing your arms and legs, trying to understand why you suddenly couldn't breathe. The moment you were back up, Pierre started laughing, looking at your expression. The whole thing was so unreal that you yourself couldn't help but laugh as you reached for your phone to end the video. Safe to say someone did not get lucky the entire vacation. And someone definitely ended up with a new necklace.

Daniel Ricciardo

- Grocery shopping was always a fun experience. Doing it with Daniel just made the entire experience even better. It was your thing. There had never been a single grocery trip that either of you had refused to go on. You love it so much that every time you see a grocery store trend, you guys immediately rush to the nearest one to your house and record one yourself. So, when you saw a video of someone doing this to their boyfriend in the grocery store, you immediately called Daniel and asked if he wanted to go for a grocery run.

- So there you were, in the cornflakes aisle, setting up your phone to record Daniel's reaction. Seeing you press record, Daniel walked into the frame and started to do a little dance. There couldn't have been a more perfect moment than this, when Danny was being himself. You walked towards him and quickly said, 'Think Fast, I'm A Random Girl'

- Daniel stopped whatever he was doing, turned to look at you, and said "I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND" The only problem was he said that a little too loud, because now two random shoppers, three workers, and one baby who was sitting on the cart were looking your way. After this, Danny immediately walked away to a different aisle. Leaving you standing there awkwardly looking like a stranger who hits on committed men. You quickly grabbed your phone and ran after him, already yelling "DANIEL JOSEPH RICCIARDO, GET BACK"

...

Tags: @wobblymug | @evasmlp | @ln8118 | @piastri-fvx | @vannylen2144 | @freyathehuntress

[lyriumsings]

my group members got me so fucked up rn i’m gonna choke slam someone thru my phone i swear to god but it’s fine i ran the grades and i can get a 0 on this assignment and a 10/50 in “group evaluation” from you mfers and still pass this class so idc do what you want lol

[pretend-i-don-t-exist]

sy trying to create a pidw au would be so funny

i feel like he'd actually commit to it to spite airplane. at first, it garnered attention bc it was from the peerless cucumber, notorious critic and biggest pidw hater, so ofc they're all curious how pidw would look like in his eyes. it was surprisingly (well not really, considering the tens of paragraphs peerless cucumber wrote during his rants, all of which have immaculate grammar and spelling— bc ofc he can't let anyone find something to nitpick on his review so they're forced to see the point!) well-written and definitely more plot-focused.

majority of the readers disappeared after the first few chapters, mainly because of the lack of smutty scenes, but those that do remain are very engaged. one of them is airplane's burner account, when he needs to separate himself from his airplane persona. he's really, really curious as to what his hater is doing to his work.

he... he actually likes it. it's not really the novel he envisioned when he was first working on pidw, nor does it contain all the elements of his original draft, but it was good. he likes it a lot better than what pidw turned out to be.

airplane spent so much time contemplating and considering before finally saying fuck it, and dms peerless cucumber to see if he can work as a co-author with him and they can rewrite pidw together. he even sends parts of the original draft (what was left of it, anyway) as incentive!

it takes a long week before even peerless cucumber replies, and by then he has written a novella detailing how much better the original draft was and him screaming very informally at why airplane had to cast it aside.

lol i need money bro im broke af and porn sells, airplane answers.

it takes another week before peerless cucumber finally answers. then live with me, his message reads. no rent. i'll pay for whatever food you want. and whatever bills you have. just write a good fucking novel, i swear to god.

airplane thinks it's a joke, until he receives the address. an actual penthouse. in the richest streets of guangzhou. there is also a request to meet up (seeing as they don't actually know each other, and sy's brothers are very intent on not getting him murdered in his sleep) and airplane, after much, much thinking, accepts.

airplane does not really know what to feel when he finally meets and talks to shen yuan— pampered third son of a very wealthy family, with two protective older brothers and an even more protective little sister— and sy is just. well. he's exactly airplane's type. the beautiful, ice prince who apparently has only shown this much emotion around airplane. sy's meimei had told him cheerfully and then threatened to gut him if he so much as steps a foot out of line. airplane is starting to feel like he's just met a mafia family.

shen yuan's family aside, airplane is actually living his best life. he no longer has to worry about money. he lives in a luxurious (gods he has never seen such a large bedroom before wtf) penthouse without needing to pay rent (!!!) and utilities (!!!) and even food (!!!). he can write as much as he wants. this must be what artists felt like when they're taken care of noble families in exchange for their art.

he does... well. he and peerless cucumber are friends now. they work on the rewrite together. airplane keeps finding out many things, like how shen yuan likes his tea with a lot of honey, dislikes milk chocolate, and prefers drawing over writing. he also runs hot during the night, when he sleeps.

how does airplane know that? well. bros gotta do what bros gotta do. it's a good thing they both like to cuddle.

[mosaickiwi]

Hey hey !!! Just wanted to say I really appreciate your writing, reading a fic of yours always brings me comfort :D

I was wondering if you’d be okay doing a body swap! AU between Angel and Ren/Redacted. You’re welcome to take whatever approach you deem fit, I’m curious as to what you come up with

thank you !!!

Thank you very much <33 Taking this as a warm up so I can remember wtf i'm doing!! So it's a HC list with a little blurb :3c most of my writing the past four months has been for my own projects/personal use lmao

Also happy day 5 yayyy yippee 🎉

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Body Swap!!

[REDACTED] in your body?? Thriving

Fascinated and loving it. Since they've been studying you for years he knows all the little physical quirks you have, but now he gets to experience them himself and it's weirdly exciting.

Additionally, NO ONE would realize anything was wrong. Acting like you would be even easier than getting into character for Haruko. Except he might not be able to help himself and do a little friendship sabotaging.

He's being extremely weird in private if you give him permission lmao

A little unsure of physical affection at first because of the self loathing. Of course he still wants it, but being on the other side of things has his thoughts all "that's how my scars feel to you? my hands are really this cold?" Notes for himself to keep plenty of hand warmers in his pockets.

Puts the collar of their shirt over his mouth like he's cold… but it's really just a quick excuse to sniff your clothes outright in public I'm so sorry.

You in his body?? Suffering

You bump your head on door frames, constantly hit your hip on counters, trip in your platform shoes if you're not used to them.

You're tired all the time??? You knew they hardly slept but it was THIS bad? The constant coffee and energy drinks are the only reason you don't fall asleep in the middle of conversations.

Piercings feel weird too if your angel doesn't have them. Constantly touching your tongue to the roof of your mouth, fiddling with your ears, etc. 

Unaware of your new strength. Picking up furniture is surprisingly easy. You probably broke a door lock when turning the key with a little too much force. 

Your friends are dismissive and standoffish with you. Can you blame them? At best he ignores them, and at worst you have to be physically between them (but closer to [REDACTED]) to keep both parties happy.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

"Watch your head," you heard from in front of you. 

You carefully ducked into the doorway to your apartment. It was hard to get used to your new height — and almost as hard to get used to hearing someone else use your voice.

The same couldn't be said of your partner. Not even thirty minutes had passed since the unfortunate incident, but [REDACTED] already seemed at home in your body. As if it was natural to him. 

While you panicked about suddenly swapping bodies in the middle of a hangout with your friends, he calmly made a plan. All you could do was follow along.

You'd observed them, dumbfounded as they perfectly mimicked your personality and mannerisms. He'd excused you both from the carnival early, and gotten you home without a hint of suspicion from anyone. It was unexpected and illogical, but his obsession with you clearly paid off.

No one seemed to notice — or care, since they weren't friends with him — that the pissed off emo their friend dragged around looked crazier than usual as you both left.

The door shut as you stumbled into the living room like a newborn fawn, your now shorter partner hovering at your side. How did he manage to wear three-inch platform boots while this tall? You tripped your way over to the couch with a sigh.

"I'm calling in sick tomorrow," you groaned into the armrest. The couch felt even more uncomfortable in his body. Inviting him over just to let him sleep on the couch one too many times probably warranted an apology. 

"We should be back t'normal in a few hours."

"Is that what WebDR said?" There was no response, but you threw out another question. "I guess we could kill time and watch a movie, what do you think?"

Again, he didn't answer. You heard the faintest sound of your phone vibrating and searched every inch of your outfit. When you found his phone instead, you sat up to look for him. 

The temporary owner of your body was standing just beside the couch, your phone still ringing in their hand, but his thumb hovering dangerously close to the screen. There was an annoyed frown on his face… your face? 

"Leon's calling," he finally said.

"Oh my god." You jumped up to snatch the phone away and hurriedly declined the call. 

Your partner's frown quickly turned to amusement at the situation. "Y'don't trust me t'play nice with him?"

"When you're using my voice? Fuck no." You texted an apology to Leon for leaving early, lied about your throat hurting so he wouldn't call back, then hid the device in one of your many pockets. "Oh wow." 

"What's wrong?"

"... Nothing, I guess."

Staring down at your own face this closely was… off. You reached forward and grabbed their chin, turning it every which way as if something about it would change. 

"You really get to look at me from all the worst angles when you're this tall, huh?" you hummed to yourself. 

"And y'look perfect at every single one, love."

God, he was awful. "Ignoring you."

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Yandere! Kidnapper

warnings: captivity, forced infantilization, nonconsensual themes, physical violence, drugging, collaring, stalking, dead dove: do not eat

—becomes increasingly more unhinged, lowkey inspired by a disturbing manga I accidentally read twice, so take that as you will.., so yeah that's my last post of 2024, happy 2025 people!

©Copyright -2024- thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

Y! Kidnapper that hunts you through the forest and tackles you to the ground after an escape attempt only to scold and berate you for every little scrape on your body, as if it wasn't his fault in the first place, as if you're just too clumsy for your own good.

Y! Kidnapper that never would do anything sexual without consent, but doesn't take no for an answer when you tell him you don't want him to bathe you—you are his, so of course he will rub you clean, even the spot between your legs.

Y! Kidnapper who tells you his entire day, everything, as if you're his lifeless oversized doll, only to pinch your nipples whenever he asks a question, daring you to answer and enjoys your torment in staying quiet and pliant for him

Y! Kidnapper who sits you down, clips even your toenails for you, kneads your sore muscles from doing nothing all day, carries you everywhere, doesn't even let your feet catch callous from walking on them, only to treat you absolutely diabolical in bed, branding each inch of skin he took such good care of either with his hand, a belt or whatever he gets his hands on..

Y! Kidnapper who's obsessed with providing warm meals for you, the highest quality ingredients are used—everything to accommodate your sensitive gut, only to drug you out of your mind and giggle while doing nothing else but cuddle you while watching TV and popping chips in his mouth, all while commenting on the script of the particular horror movie he’s watching and listing thousand of things he would've done better than the director

Y! Kidnapper who before capturing you was the weirdest fucking stalker in existence— openly groping you, offering you food with a smile (mind you he’s a complete stranger???), appearing in front of your doorstep at night to holler at you, banging his fists on your door and actively breaking in only to stare at your sleeping form while jacking off. Did I also mention he would email you like you're his secret rendezvous? Oh and he went along and introduced himself to your whole family with a fake identity over email (like—wtf is whatsapp?), hahaha..

Y! Kidnapper who wants to control every single aspect of your life—from how you pluck your brows to when you're allowed to use the restroom. Will literally stare you down with a hand on the chain connected to your collar, that he forced on you after your latest escape attempt, while you're pants are pooling at your feet and you’re trying to pee. (Why? Because the window is a few feet away..)

Y! Kidnapper from who, let's be honest here, you will only ever escape in death and that will probably be in old age, with how well he takes care of you, having baby proofed his home enough to ensure that you couldn't hurt yourself even on accident and don't even think about using a razor! he will do that for you, just sit down in the bathtub, all drugged out of your mind, dumb and drooling, losing touch with reality, while he does everything for you

—just be his passive little kitten he declawed, and that's enough for him, just dependent on him and he will paint your cage gold, even if the paint will chip away one day

[norristrii]

HAUNTED.

“You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loved you.” — Torn apart by break up, bound by work, haunted by each other’s voice.

pairing. Max Verstappen x journalist! fem! reader

warnings. angst (happy ending??), Max being a bit of dick, longer than I expected wtf??

babs’ notes. IN THE HONOR OF MAX’S WIN IN JAPAN! this race was well.. something. Guys ik I promised so close to 2 BUT for some reason i wrote chapter 3 & 4 first so it’s bit complicated.. give me time 😭

music. Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac.

JOURNALISM IN FORMULA 1 WASN’T JUST A CAREER—it was your dream, your passion, the goal you had spent years working towards. The roar of the engines, the adrenaline of race day, the stories waiting to be uncovered in every corner of the paddock—it all fascinated you. So when you finally landed your role, credentials swinging around your neck like a badge of honor, you felt like you had made it. This was where you belonged.

And then, there was him—Max Verstappen. The reigning champion, the so-called “arrogant” and “rude” driver who had built a reputation as much off the track as on it. Everyone talked about Max with a kind of reverence laced with caution, as if he was more of a storm than a man. A force of nature, unpredictable, intense. But the first time you met him, you realized there was so much more to him than the media’s caricature.

It wasn’t arrogance you saw when you interviewed him that day. It was focus, determination, an intensity that burned behind his sharp blue eyes—the kind of intensity only someone who had given their entire life to this sport could possess. His Dutch accent was strong, his words direct and unfiltered, but there was a warmth there too, hidden beneath the layers of his public persona. The kind of warmth that could make you question everything you thought you knew about him.

Max wasn’t just “arrogant” or “rude.” He was confident, unapologetically so, but not without reason. He carried himself like someone who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. Yet, in those fleeting moments when he looked at you, when he softened just slightly, you wondered if anyone else had ever seen this side of him—the side that wasn’t a storm at all but something quieter.

You had gotten closer to Max, much closer than you ever thought you would. It wasn’t just the quiet conversations away from the cameras or the way his sharp blue eyes lingered on you longer than necessary. It was the way he made you feel like you mattered—like you were the only person who could understand him in a world filled with noise and expectations. He ensured you loved him, pulling you in slowly, deliberately, until the thought of him consumed your mind entirely.

You’d slept together more than few times, nights filled with fiery passion and moments of unexpected tenderness that made you believe this was different. That he was different. He didn’t just hold you physically; he held your emotions in the palm of his hand, his touch leaving a mark on your heart you couldn’t erase. For a fleeting moment, it felt real. Like the guarded driver had finally let someone in, and that someone was you.

But then, just as you had allowed yourself to believe, he shattered it. Sitting across from you, his voice low and steady, his Dutch accent cutting through the words you weren’t ready to hear. “I’m not ready for a relationship,” he said, almost matter-of-factly. “I don’t do that... I need to focus on myself and my career.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words crashing over you like cold water. He wasn’t apologetic, not really. To him, it wasn’t personal—it was just the way things were. But to you, it felt like a betrayal, like he had pulled the rug out from under your feet just as you began to stand on solid ground. Wow, you thought, your mind racing to make sense of what had just happened. Maybe you should have expected this.

The signs had been there, hadn’t they? The way he avoided deep conversations about the future, the way his life revolved around the sport he lived for, the way he always seemed just out of reach. You had seen it all, but you chose to ignore it because you wanted so badly for this to work—for him to be different.

Sitting in the emptiness of his words, you realized the truth. Max Verstappen wasn’t yours to hold. He belonged to the track, to the roaring engines and the thrill of victory, to the world that demanded every ounce of his focus and energy. And you? You were just a moment, a fleeting connection that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—prioritize.

You still saw the day he said those words to you in your dreams. It played on a loop in your mind, vivid and unrelenting, as if the memory itself refused to fade. You could still hear his voice, the exact tone he used—calm, almost detached, like he hadn’t just ripped the ground out from beneath your feet. It wasn’t the words alone that haunted you; it was the way he’d said them, so measured, so unshaken, as if it had cost him nothing at all.

Some nights, the dream would start with the warmth of his touch, his blue eyes meeting yours with a flicker of something you once mistook for sincerity. And then, as if the universe were mocking you, the scene would shift, the same cold words spilling from his lips. “I’m not ready for a relationship.” The sound of it, the finality of it, would jar you awake, your chest heavy with the ghost of heartbreak.

The memory clung to you, reshaped you. It made the F1 paddock—once your dream, your sanctuary—feel suffocating. Everywhere you turned, there were reminders of him. The roar of the engines, the press briefings, the fleeting glances in the paddock… it all felt like too much, like you were trapped in a world where his shadow loomed over everything.

And so, you made a choice. You left. You handed in your credentials, packed up your life, and decided to start over. Football became your refuge—a fresh start, a chance to leave the echoes of Max Verstappen behind. You thought maybe, just maybe, switching to an entirely different world would silence the memories.

But you haunted Max too, probably even more than he haunted you. He wasn’t the type to dwell on emotions—not openly, not consciously—but you had made an impact that he couldn’t shake. Your voice lingered in the corners of his mind, unbidden yet ever-present. He heard it in the hum of the engines, the roar of the crowd, and in the silence of the nights that followed. It didn’t matter where he was—on the track, in a hotel room, or staring at the endless line of questions during an interview—you were there.

When he raced, he was untouchable, focused, pushing every limit. But somehow, even in the middle of the chaos, you would find him. He could almost hear your laugh, the lilt of your tone when you teased him, and the way you called him out in ways no one else dared to. It wasn’t distracting, not exactly, but it was there, a part of him now.

The interviews were worse. Sitting under the blinding lights, fielding questions about his victories, his rivals, his career—it should have been second nature. And yet, all he could think about was you. He’d catch himself scanning the press room, half expecting to see your face, your notebook in hand, your eyes meeting his with that spark that had undone him so many times before. But you weren’t there anymore, and the absence was palpable.

At first, Max explained your absence at the races with small, dismissive assumptions. Maybe you were sick, maybe you’d taken some time off—nothing out of the ordinary, nothing permanent. It was easier for him to believe that than to confront the possibility that your absence had something to do with him. That maybe you’d left because of him.

But as the weeks turned into months, it became impossible to ignore the truth. You weren’t just absent—you were gone. Completely. He found out from someone in passing, a casual mention that you had switched to football journalism. There was no announcement, no explanation, no goodbye. You had just vanished from the world you had dreamed of being part of, the same world where he had selfishly taken you for granted.

It hit him harder than he expected. The irony wasn’t lost on him—not in the slightest. He had done the same to you. He had walked away without giving you closure, without considering how his actions might affect you. And now, you had done the same to him. The emptiness left in your wake mirrored the emptiness he had created in you. It was poetic in the cruelest way.

Max tried not to let it bother him, tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. But it did. He realized it every time he glanced at the press room and didn’t see you there, every time he answered a question about his performance and your voice wasn’t the one asking. The races felt different now—not because the roar of the engines had changed, but because your presence wasn’t there to ground him in something outside of the sport.

Your departure haunted him. Not just because you were gone, but because it reminded him of the way he had treated you. He didn’t know what to do with the guilt, the regret, the quiet ache he felt whenever he thought of you. And maybe that was the real irony of it all—the fact that he had pushed you away only to realize he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Six months later, there you were, standing in front of the paddock gate once again. The world around you felt both familiar and foreign, as if you’d been transported back into a life you weren’t sure you belonged to anymore. The hum of activity, the chatter of journalists, the whir of tools in the distance—it all reminded you of a chapter you thought you’d closed for good. But here you were, holding the very thing that had once been your dream and your curse: your paddock pass.

Your fingers brushed over the laminated surface, tracing the outline of your photo and the bold letters that read Media. It felt heavier than it should have, almost symbolic, like it carried more than just access. This wasn’t just a pass; it was a ticket back into a world you’d deliberately left behind. A world that he—Max—still occupied.

You stared at the gate for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. It wasn’t the roar of the engines that sent a shiver down your spine, nor the thought of the stories waiting to be written. It was the memory of him, the way his voice had echoed in your mind for months after he’d let you go, the way he had unknowingly followed you into every corner of your new life. And now, you were walking straight back into his orbit.

You spotted Lissie near the media setup, her smile lighting up the moment she saw you. She was one of the few familiar faces you felt truly comfortable with, someone who had been your anchor back when the paddock felt like a storm you were constantly navigating. You couldn’t help but grin as you approached her, the weight of the past six months lifting slightly with the comfort of her presence.

“Y/n!” she said brightly, pulling you into a quick hug. “I was starting to think you’d never come back.”

“Missed me that much, huh?” you teased, the warmth in your tone belying the nerves still lingering in your chest.

“Of course,” Lissie said, her eyes sparkling. “Nobody asks the questions you do.” Her voice was laced with nostalgia, and you wondered briefly if your absence had left a gap bigger than you’d realized.

The drivers started to filter in one by one, the hum of the paddock growing louder with each arrival. There was an electric energy in the air, as there always was after a race, the buzz of victory and defeat still lingering. You stood near the media setup, microphone in hand, mentally preparing yourself for the endless stream of questions, answers, and moments that would play out in front of the cameras.

But he wasn’t there. Not yet. Probably still waiting for his turn, somewhere out of sight. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you weren’t scanning the crowd for him or bracing yourself for the inevitable moment when he’d appear. Yet, your gaze seemed to wander anyway, unconsciously seeking out the one face you weren’t sure you were ready to see.

It was almost a relief, then, to be pulled from your thoughts by the warm smiles of familiar faces. People recognized you instantly, their expressions lighting up as they spotted you standing there. Drivers, team members, journalists—they all greeted you with nods, waves, and smiles, as though no time had passed.

For Max, the whole day felt off. It wasn’t something he could pinpoint exactly—just a nagging sensation that something was wrong. Or maybe it wasn’t wrong at all. Maybe it was something else entirely. He had gone through the motions as usual, the race, the debrief, the endless stream of questions from his team. But the feeling lingered, gnawing at the edges of his focus.

As he waited for his turn to be interviewed, the noise of the paddock buzzed around him, a familiar chaos that usually grounded him. But today, it felt different. And then, he heard it—your voice. At first, he thought he was imagining it, that his mind was playing tricks on him again. He had heard your voice in his head so many times over the past six months, haunting him in moments he least expected. But this time, it felt more real. Louder. Closer.

He turned his head, scanning the crowd, his pulse quickening despite himself. And then he saw you. Standing there, microphone in hand, interviewing Charles. You were laughing at something Charles had said, your smile lighting up the space around you in a way that made Max’s chest tighten. He blinked twice, as if trying to assure himself that you were really there, that this wasn’t just another cruel trick of his imagination.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His heart was racing now, a mix of shock and something he couldn’t quite name. Lando, standing beside him, turned his head at the sound of Max’s curse, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“What?” Lando asked, his brow furrowing as he looked at Max. His friend's demeanor was visibly off—nervous, tense, unlike the usual calm confidence that defined him. Max wasn’t even pretending to act normal, and that alone was enough to catch Lando’s attention.

Max’s voice was low, almost strained, as he pointed toward the media area, toward you. “Y/n’s here,” he said, his words clipped, heavy with the weight of realization.

And then, he came walking towards you. The moment you had been trying so hard not to think about was suddenly unfolding right in front of you. Max Verstappen. Of course, you knew he’d been assigned to you for the interview—how could it have been anyone else? Yet, despite your efforts to stay composed, to treat this as just another name on your clipboard, the reality of seeing him again made your heart race.

You gripped the microphone a little tighter, your pulse quickening as you watched him approach. He moved with the same self-assured confidence he always carried, his strides purposeful, his expression unreadable. You forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. You had done this thousands of times before—countless interviews with drivers, each one conducted with the poise and professionalism you had perfected over the years. This would be no different, you told yourself.

But when his eyes met yours, you felt the air shift. It wasn’t the usual tension of a post-race interview; it was something deeper, heavier. His blue gaze lingered on you for a moment too long, and you saw the flicker of something behind it. Was it surprise? Recognition? Guilt? Whatever it was, it left you unsettled.

“Max,” you began, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you. “Congratulations on the race today. Let’s talk about your strategy—particularly during that late overtake. What was going through your mind at that moment?”

Max adjusted the cap on his head slightly, his expression composed but with a trace of thoughtfulness behind his sharp blue eyes. “That late overtake,�� he began, his Dutch accent giving his words a distinct cadence, “was about timing. I knew I couldn’t risk waiting too long—if I hesitated, the gap would close, and I’d lose the opportunity.”

Max stood before you, his expression outwardly composed, but there was something different in the way he looked at you. It wasn’t the detached gaze of a driver facing an interviewer, the routine exchange of words that he had perfected over years of answering media questions. No, the way his eyes lingered on you spoke of something more—something unspoken but undeniably present.

As you asked your questions, his voice carried the sharp precision you expected, but you noticed the subtle tremor behind it. It wasn’t enough for anyone else to pick up, but you knew him well enough to see it. With each response, his tone faltered slightly, like he was fighting to keep control over a conversation that felt far from ordinary.

Your gaze met his several times, almost unintentionally, but each meeting brought a quiet tension that neither of you could ignore. His blue eyes held yours longer than they should, breaking away only to wander back moments later. And even as you tried to focus on the task at hand, your own eyes betrayed you, drawn to him in a way that made the air around you feel heavier.

Max’s answers were calculated, yet distracted, as if he were answering out of habit rather than genuine thought. When he spoke about his late overtake, his words stumbled briefly, his gaze flickering back to you as though seeking something he couldn’t put into words. For a moment, you saw the mask slip—the professional veneer cracking just enough to reveal the man beneath it.

The interview drew to a close, your professionalism intact despite the weight of the moment. You lowered the microphone, offering a polite nod. “Thank you for your time, Max,” you said, your voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil simmering beneath your calm exterior.

Max matched your professionalism with his own, nodding briskly. “No problem,” he replied, his words clipped, almost routine. For a moment, you thought that was it—the end of the interaction, the closure you needed to move forward. But the moment was far from over.

As the cameraman turned off the equipment, signaling the end of the broadcast, the air around you shifted. The noise of the paddock faded slightly, the buzz of activity momentarily muted. And that’s when you heard him. His voice, softer now, no longer performing for the cameras.

“Good to see you back,” Max said, his tone carrying a weight that hadn’t been there during the interview. His blue eyes met yours, unguarded and searching, the barrier he’d constructed between you cracking just enough to let the truth slip through. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t dramatic—it was simply him.

You blinked, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his words. For a brief moment, you didn’t know how to respond, your heart betraying your attempt to remain unaffected. But then, just as quickly as the moment came, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of mechanics and drivers like he always did.

You stood there for a moment longer, the echo of his words lingering in the space around you. “Good to see you back.” It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t an explanation. But it was something—a fragment of the truth he couldn’t admit outright. And as the paddock buzzed back to life, you realized that he had left you with more questions than answers.

After hours of catching up with colleagues, swapping stories with managers, and fielding countless “welcome back” smiles from drivers, you felt the weight of the day settle over you. The energy of the paddock was as intoxicating as ever, but now, it left you drained, longing for a quiet moment to yourself. Deciding you’d had enough for the night, you packed up your things and made your way out.

The paddock had changed under the cover of darkness. The once-bustling pathways were now quieter, bathed in the soft, golden glow of overhead lights. The hum of activity had dulled to a faint background noise—mechanics packing up for the night, the occasional sound of an engine being tinkered with, the low murmur of voices carrying on the cool evening breeze. The air smelled faintly of rubber and oil, a scent so distinctly tied to this world that it felt almost nostalgic.

As you walked, the click of your shoes against the concrete echoed softly in the stillness. You let your mind wander, replaying moments from the day—the laughter with Lissie, the surprise on familiar faces, and, of course, the interview. His interview. The memory of his quiet “Good to see you back” lingered in your thoughts, stirring emotions you weren’t ready to unpack.

The paddock gates loomed ahead, signaling the end of your night here, but you didn’t rush. Instead, you took your time, letting the calm of the night paddock wash over you. This was a place that had once felt like home and a battlefield all at once. Now, walking through it in the quiet moments, it felt like both again.

“Y/n!” The voice cut through the quiet of the night paddock, freezing you mid-step. You knew that voice instantly. It was one you hadn’t heard off-camera in over six months, yet it still held the same unmistakable weight. Max.

For a moment, you considered ignoring it, considered walking away without looking back. But something—some stubborn, lingering part of you—made you stop. Your feet faltered as your heart thudded in your chest, a mix of emotions crashing into you all at once. You turned slowly, the strap of your bag slipping slightly on your shoulder as you did.

There he was. Max. Jogging towards you, his expression more open than you’d ever seen it. His blue eyes were fixed on you, and even in the dim light of the paddock, you could see the hint of urgency in them. It wasn’t the composed, collected driver that the world saw. This was different.

You stood there, waiting as he closed the distance between you, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know what to expect—an apology, a confrontation, or something else entirely. But as the man who had once been so infuriatingly composed now hurried towards you.

“What do you want, Max?” you asked, your voice calm but edged with a slight exasperation as you crossed your arms. You slightly rolled your eyes, watching as he tried to catch his breath. His hair was a little messier than usual, his cap tilted slightly askew, but he didn’t seem to notice. He looked unsure, almost uncharacteristically so, and for a moment, you almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“Uh, well,” he began, pausing to rub the back of his neck—a gesture that immediately gave away his uncertainty. He was nervous, that much was clear, and seeing him like that was both disarming and unsettling. “I just... what made you come back?” he finally asked, his voice quieter than usual, almost as if he was afraid of your answer.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. A dozen answers ran through your mind, each one more complicated than the last. The truth—that you had come back, in part, because of unfinished business with him—wasn’t something you were willing to admit. Not to him, and not even to yourself, if you were honest.

So, instead, you shrugged, keeping your tone light and detached. “Money,” you replied simply, the hint of a smirk playing on your lips. “They offered me a big amount for interviewing you.”

Max stared at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. You couldn’t tell if he believed you or if he was trying to figure out the truth behind your words. Either way, the flicker of something—disappointment, maybe?—crossed his face before he masked it with a faint nod.

“Of course,” he said, his voice neutral, but there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place. He glanced away for a brief second, as though gathering his thoughts, before looking back at you.

“And I also wanted to know how you’re doing,” you said, your voice softening as the words slipped out. It wasn’t rehearsed, and it wasn’t meant to sound vulnerable, but it did anyway. For a second, you almost regretted saying it, the quiet weight of your own admission catching you off guard.

Max’s gaze shifted, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity you weren’t sure how to interpret. His expression wavered, the practiced coolness giving way to something more genuine—something raw. He didn’t speak right away, as though your question had disarmed him, pulled him out of the routine he lived so comfortably in.

“I…” he started, pausing as his hand instinctively brushed the back of his neck. He hesitated, the confident driver who always knew exactly what to say suddenly at a loss for words. “I’m fine,” he finally said, his tone quieter than before, almost uncertain. “I mean, I’m… okay.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy and unyielding. You both stood there, the quiet of the night paddock wrapping around you like a cocoon, amplifying every unspoken word. Maybe you didn’t want to accept it—that he was fine without you. Maybe that’s what made the silence so unbearable.

But then, he broke it.

“Fuck no, I’m not okay,” Max said suddenly, his voice raw and unfiltered, cutting through the stillness like a blade. His words hung in the air, sharp and unexpected, and you felt your breath catch in your chest. He wasn’t looking at you now, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, as if the admission was too much to deliver while meeting your eyes.

“I miss you,” he added, his voice quieter this time, but no less intense. The vulnerability in his tone was something you’d never heard from him before, and it hit you like a wave, crashing over the walls you’d built to protect yourself.

“I still hear your voice,” Max said, his voice raw and unsteady, the vulnerability cutting through the silence like a knife. He exhaled sharply, as though the words had taken more out of him than he’d expected. “In the car, at home… everywhere.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes momentarily dropping to the ground before flicking back to yours. “I think I was going insane for the past six months.”

The confession caught you completely off guard, your chest tightening at the intensity of his words. You weren’t sure what to say—or even if you wanted to say anything at all. There was no trace of the self-assured, composed driver standing in front of you now. This was Max, stripped down to something raw and real, baring the parts of himself he had always hidden so carefully.

He took a step closer, the light from the paddock glinting off his features as his blue eyes searched yours, desperate for some kind of response. “I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I thought… I thought pushing you away was the right thing. For me, for my career, for everything. But I was wrong.”

What did he expect you to say? This was too much—too much information, too much emotion, all at once. You stared at him, the weight of his words pressing against the walls you’d built around yourself. “What do you want me to say or do, Max? I don’t understand,” you said, your voice steady but tinged with frustration.

He shifted his weight, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “I thought…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair before exhaling sharply. “I thought maybe you would give me a second chance?”

The words hung in the air, heavy with hope and uncertainty. It felt almost laughable, absurd even, that he would ask this of you now, after everything. But as you looked at him—this man who had always seemed so untouchable, now standing before you with an open vulnerability—you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. Not outright.

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief flashing across your face. “I thought you don’t do relationships,” you said, your tone measured but carrying a pointed edge.

Max winced slightly at your words, the reminder of his past declaration hitting him like a sharp jab. “I didn’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “I thought I couldn’t. But I… I was wrong.”

He looked at you then, his blue eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen in him before—regret, yes, but also sincerity. And for the first time, you realized that the man who had once pushed you away wasn’t the same man standing in front of you now.

You sighed, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on your chest. The words hung on the tip of your tongue, hesitant, uncertain, but impossible to ignore. “Maybe we should try it again,” you said quietly, the admission leaving your lips before you could second-guess it.

Max’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of hope flashing across his face, quickly tempered by a hint of caution. He straightened slightly, his usual confidence replaced by something softer, more tentative. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, as if he didn’t quite trust what he was hearing.

You glanced away for a moment, your gaze landing on the dimly lit path behind him. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice carrying the weight of everything that had happened between you. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy. I’m not even sure it’ll work.” Your eyes flicked back to his, meeting his steady, searching gaze. “But... maybe it’s worth a shot.”

Max exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as relief washed over his features. It wasn’t the triumphant grin of a man who always got what he wanted. It was something quieter, more genuine—gratitude, maybe, or the quiet realization of a second chance he never thought he’d get.

“I won’t mess it up this time,” he said, his tone firm but with an edge of vulnerability that made his words feel more like a promise than a declaration. “I swear, Y/n. I’ll do it right.”

You didn’t respond right away, the silence stretching between you as you searched his face, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But there was none. For the first time, you saw a man who wasn’t just saying the right thing—he truly meant it.

© norristrii 2025

[absinthehyuk]

love galore

pairing. ex boyfriend seungcheol + afab reader

summary. when you meet your ex at a charity event, you like to imagine that the universe just wants to kill you. luckily, the mysterious forces of nature have other plans.

w.c 0.9k

warnings. porn with very little plot, car sex, backseat shenanigans, riding, minor tit play, BIG DICK CHEOL!!!! steamy sex, skin slapping, petnames: hers baby, slut his cheol, cheollie — 18+ MINORS DNI!

a/n. exam szn testing my fucking patience. maybe i’m back. maybe i’m not. based off of the song love galore by sza but not rlly 🫶 also wtf we are at 800 followers?? thank you???!!!! also, i surived nnn ;)

this was supposed to be a relaxed evening for you, visiting the charity event in Gwangju just to look at some cute animals and donating for a good cause.

it was supposed to be a few hours that you didn’t spend moping about in your apartment after breaking up with someone who you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with.

well, the word ‘suppose’ doesn’t even cross your mind at the moment.

how could it, when his hands grab at your hips, his lips parted in a groan? when his mouth says your name so beautifully?

you’d not noticed seungcheol at first. not until you were on your knees stroking a moody ginger cat when suddenly someone’s fingers brushed against your own.

at first glance, you wanted to cuss him out. scream, yell, clock him in the jaw, commit arson– every crime under the sun.

but all you could do was helplessly moan like a desperate whore.

seungcheol hastily led you to his car, mouth melding with yours, opening the back door and practically throwing you inside. he tasted like mint and a hint of coffee. just the taste you liked.

nothing about the moment is soft. all that can be heard is his groans, your soft breaths and the lewd dance of your tongues.

“take your pants off,” seungcheol heaves, sitting upright in the backseat as he tugs you into his lap. one of his hands pushes his hair back, eyes dark as he scrutinizes you.

you follow his orders without batting an eye, unbuttoning your jeans with much difficulty in the cramped space and sliding them off.

seungcheol yanks your tank top down, spitting on your nipple as he spares it a lick. “missed you,” he mumbled, teething on your peak as if you hadn’t lost all train of thought the second his lips had met yours.

“missed you, missed these gorgeous tits, and of course, this needy pussy,” his fingers slide between your legs, prodding at your folds. “she’s still mine, right? or did you find someone else?”

you shake your head with a whine when his fingers enter you, feeling your tight walls contract around him. with the pad of his thumb on your engorged clit, seungcheol thrusts his fingers in, a pace that has your mind fogging.

“c-cheollie,” you hiccup, but he shushes you with a bite on your left nipple. “shush baby, just enjoy it,” his words are hoarse, as his tongue lavs over and over your perky mounds.

you can feel the impending telltale of your orgasm the second his fingers curl and they hit that spot inside of you. seungcheol feels a gush of arousal from you, not letting you cum, but just about there to silently remove his fingers and suck them into his mouth.

his cock replaces his fingers, and you just about lose the air from your lungs. no matter how many times you’ve had sex with him, it always feels like the first.

the fat tip pushes past your folds, slowly sinking you down on him. he hisses at the contact. “still so tight f’me... you’ve been a good girl, haven’t you? didn’t let anyone touch what’s mine, hm?”

he knows he’s blabbering, but when he notices the tears spring up to your eyes, seungcheol’s fingers, slightly wet from his saliva wipe them away.

“it’s okay, baby. i love you. i still do.”

you lean into his touch, relishing in the soft moment inside the steamy car when the bastard ruins it.

seungcheol bottoms out inside you, eliciting a moan that sounds so pornographic, you wonder why you’ve not switched careers yet.

the one thrust is enough for you to grab onto his shoulders, lips crashing against his with the power of a sea storm as you begin to ride him.

your tongue swirls with his, squelching noises coming from down below as he meets your thrusts halfway, hands planted on your hips. he sets the pace, your ass bouncing on his thighs, a noise that he has thoroughly yearned for.

“such a good little slut for me,” he whispers against your lips as you lean back, tits bouncing in his face as your thighs start to ache.

but you couldn’t care. not now anyway.

“so big inside me cheol... filling me up all the way,” you moan, eyes rolling as your lower stomach tightens slightly.

the stretch of his cock is too much, splitting your pussy into two in the best way possible. you feel every ridge and vein of his cock, twitching inside you as you praise his size. god, the man’s ego was almost as huge as his dick.

“gonna make me cum like that, baby,” seungcheol whispers, one of his hands leaving your hips to come up and squeeze your mounds. “want me to pull out?” he asks, flicking your nipple with a finger.

“fuck– hah! yes, pull out, pull out!”

with one last thrust and impeccable timing, you feel yourself cum, as he pulls out and releases all over your stomach. the white paints your skin and manages to land a few specks on your tank top.

seungcheol’s breathing is unsteady, as is yours. the sex induced fog seems to fade slightly, as you come down from the incredible high you’ve just experienced.

“stop looking like you regret this, y/n. i know you wanna come back to my place,” seungcheol pushes a strand of damp hair behind your ear, pressing a soft kiss to the sweaty skin of your jaw.

the moment is soft, a rare gem among the monstrous haze that the demon of lust had bestowed upon the two of you.

“what do you think, baby? wanna fuck on the couch like usual?”

oh, how you could you refuse that offer?

© absinthehyuk, 2024

[izzih22]

Do you think you could write a fic where after Azzi and Paige start dating Azzi gets insecure about her body because she is like Strong and Solid but she doesn’t feel very feminine or delicate like some of Paige’s past hookups or whatever

And obviously Paige will comfort and be like wtf you’re literally the most beautiful princess I’ve ever laid eyes on?

Thanks :)))

Beauty and Strength

Note: I kinda ate with this I think also it’s longer than usual so you’re welcome😂😂 But also thank you again for 1,000 followers!!

Warning: Kinda smutty

Paige found her in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror.

Azzi was wearing one of Paige’s old Team USA shirts the long-sleeved navy one that fit her snug across the shoulders but fell loose and low everywhere else. Her legs were bare, hair still damp from the shower, and she was staring at herself in a way Paige recognized immediately.

It wasn’t just checking her reflection. It was the kind of staring that came with too much thinking. Heavy silence. The quiet unraveling of confidence not all at once, but just enough to make her look smaller.

Which was rare.

Because Azzi wasn’t the kind of girl who shrank.

She was solid. She was strength and calm, soft-spoken and grounded a force, even when she didn’t mean to be. She was the kind of person people trusted without knowing why. She walked into a room and slowed everything down without trying.

But right now, Paige could tell something had settled in her chest.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Azzi’s waist from behind her chin fitting perfectly against Azzi’s damp shoulder.

“What’s going on, baby?”

Azzi hesitated. “Nothing. I’m good.”

Paige kissed her bare shoulder, slow and warm.

“Try again.”

Azzi sighed softly, not moving. “I was just looking at myself.”

Paige didn’t speak. Just stayed still, holding her close, letting Azzi lead.

“I don’t feel… delicate,” Azzi said finally. “I don’t feel like the girls people think of when they say ‘feminine.’ I feel strong. Like I’m made to hold weight. Like I could carry a team on my back. And I know that’s not a bad thing. But sometimes, I look at my body and wonder… is this what you want?”

Paige blinked, her hands tightening slightly on Azzi’s waist. “Wait — are you saying you think I’d rather be with someone more… delicate… than you?”

Azzi didn’t answer.

And that silence said everything.

Paige gently turned her around until they were face-to-face. Azzi’s eyes were still soft big and a little too glossy but she didn’t flinch when Paige stepped in, just rested her hands against Paige’s hoodie, fingers curling in the fabric.

“Az,” Paige said, lowering her voice. “You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. You always have been.”

Azzi gave her a small, tired smile. “You’re biased.”

Paige smirked. “Damn right I am. Biased because I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen. Since that first day at Team USA, when you were the quietest one in the gym, but somehow the loudest person in my head.”

Azzi huffed a laugh, even though her eyes were still glassy.

“I remember just staring at you,” Paige went on, soft and steady. “You were sitting on the bench, pulling your knee sleeve up like it was nothing, and I swear to God I forgot what words were.”

Azzi shook her head, blushing a little.

“I’ve been yours since then,” Paige said. “I just needed you to catch up.”

Azzi finally looked up and met her eyes.

“I don’t need you to be delicate, Azzi. I’ve never needed that. You’re strong but you’re also the softest person I know. You care about everyone. You leave notes in my bag before games. You remember how I take my coffee even when I don’t. You laugh with your whole face.”

Paige reached up, brushing her fingers gently along Azzi’s jaw.

“You don’t have to be anyone else. You’re already the girl. The only one. My person. The reason I sleep better at night. The reason I play better. The reason I actually learned how to take care of someone who matters.”

Azzi leaned in, forehead against Paige’s chest now letting Paige hold her completely.

And Paige did wrapping her arms tight around her girl, a little taller, a little broader, but somehow still the one clinging for dear life.

“You’re not just enough,” Paige whispered. “You’re everything. Strong, sweet, so damn funny when you don’t even mean to be. You’re the girl who makes me want to do everything better.”

Azzi stayed quiet, letting the words wash over her, letting her body melt into Paige’s warmth.

“I don’t want anyone softer,” Paige said, kissing her temple. “I want you. The real you. The strong one. The one who always picks me up when I’m being a baby. The one who could probably squat me if she wanted.”

Azzi smiled against her. “Probably?”

Paige chuckled. “Okay, definitely. But you let me think I’m stronger, and I appreciate that.”

“You are,” Azzi said softly.

Paige pulled back just enough to look at her. “Maybe a little. But you’re the reason I stay grounded. You’re the reason I breathe easier.”

Azzi leaned in and kissed her slow, warm, the kind of kiss that said thank you without needing words.

When they pulled back, Paige pressed her forehead to Azzi’s again and whispered, “You’re my girl. My princess. The most beautiful one in the whole world. And if I have to remind you every single day, I will.”

“You already do,” Azzi whispered.

“Good,” Paige murmured. “Then let me remind you one more time.”

She pulled Azzi back into her arms easily, securely holding her like something cherished. Azzi’s smaller frame tucked perfectly against her, strong arms wrapped around Paige’s waist, and the soft rhythm of her breathing finally starting to slow.

And in Paige’s arms Azzi didn’t have to feel like she was lacking anything.

She was soft. She was solid. She was Paige’s.

Always had been.

⸻

Azzi stirred slowly as sunlight crept through the curtains. She was warm skin against soft sheets, Paige’s body curled protectively behind her, one arm draped across her waist.

She felt kissed, held, and safe.

Then Paige moved slow, purposeful and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her neck.

Azzi hummed, barely awake. “Paige?”

“Mmhm,” Paige murmured, voice still rough with sleep. “You’re awake?”

“Barely.”

“Perfect.”

Paige shifted, her hand sliding over Azzi’s stomach, holding her closer, and then… her lips began to move again. Not just one kiss. A trail of them. Featherlight and deliberate. Down her neck. Across her shoulder.

“I want you to lie here and just let me love you,” Paige whispered, her voice quiet and steady.

Azzi smiled faintly. “That’s what you’re doing?”

“No,” Paige said softly. “That was sleeping. This is… worship.”

She rolled Azzi gently onto her back, leaning over her with slow reverence, blue eyes locked onto hers.

“I need to show you something,” Paige murmured, brushing Azzi’s curls off her forehead. “I need you to see what I see.”

Azzi blinked, still hazy.

Paige pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then the tip of her nose.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered. “But not just the kind people say because you smile pretty or your hair is perfect — though both are true. You’re beautiful in the kind of way that makes time stop. You’re beautiful in the kind of way that makes me forget who I am unless I’m touching you.”

Her hands pushed up the hem of Azzi’s shirt slow, careful, asking without words.

Azzi let her, let Paige lift the shirt over her head and toss it aside, baring her to the morning light.

Paige’s breath caught.

“You don’t even know,” she whispered, fingers trailing over the line of Azzi’s collarbone, across her chest, down to her stomach. “What this body does to me. What you do to me.”

She kissed Azzi’s shoulder again then lower, to the swell of her chest, murmuring between each kiss.

“This strength,” kiss. “This heart,” kiss. “This skin.”

Azzi trembled under her, already flushed. “Paige…”

But Paige was just getting started.

“You talked about feeling strong but not feminine,” she murmured, mouth now trailing kisses down the center of Azzi’s stomach. “But you have no idea how soft you are to me.”

Her hand slid along Azzi’s side, thumb brushing her ribs. “You make me want to be better. Be gentle. That’s what you do to me. You make me slow down. You make me feel.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her hands resting on Paige’s shoulders, eyes locked onto her like she was trying not to come apart.

“You’re strong, yeah,” Paige whispered, mouth moving lower, her words like prayer. “But strength can be feminine. Strength is feminine. You’re proof of that every time you laugh, every time you love me with those hands that could crush a defender’s chest but hold my face like I’m something precious.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her legs shifting instinctively as Paige’s lips grazed the inside of her thigh.

“Paige…”

Her voice cracked, shaky, raw.

But Paige only kissed her again, soft and slow and open-mouthed now, until Azzi’s fingers curled in the sheets, her body arching into her touch.

“I love this,” Paige whispered against her skin. “I love you. This body. These legs. These hips. This stomach.”

Her hands moved with the words, mapping her out again like she had all the time in the world.

“You are so feminine, Az. So gentle. So warm. You don’t even have to try.”

Azzi let out a shaky, broken sound a mix between a gasp and a sob and Paige immediately slowed, kissing her inner thigh again, anchoring her.

“I’ve got you,” Paige whispered. “I’m right here.”

Azzi met her eyes, wide and glassy. “You make me feel… so seen.”

Paige crawled back up, kissed her again lips soft, hands steady.

“You are seen. Every inch. Every part. Not just your strength. Not just your play. I see you when you’re sleepy and laughing, when you tuck your feet under me on the couch, when you hold my face after I miss a free throw and tell me I’m still your favorite. That’s softness, Az. That’s you.”

Azzi didn’t respond.

She just pulled Paige into a kiss so deep it stole both their breath.

And when Paige’s hand slid between them, finding skin that was already warm and wanting, Azzi didn’t flinch she opened. Completely. Pulled Paige closer. Let herself fall apart under the hands and mouth and voice of the girl who’d loved her from the very beginning.

Paige took her time. Touched like she was memorizing. Spoke like every word was carved in gold.

And Azzi soft, strong, hers let her.

⸻

Paige could feel it the second Azzi let go.

It wasn’t just the way her body arched or the soft sounds she made though those, God, those would be burned into Paige’s memory forever.

It was something deeper.

It was the way Azzi opened. Slowly. Carefully. Like someone learning how to breathe again. Like someone who’d spent too long holding herself in.

And Paige was there to catch every piece.

She had Azzi laid out beneath her, shirt long gone, skin warm and flushed. Azzi’s curls were sticking to her cheek, her thighs shaking, her breath already uneven.

And she was gorgeous.

Not just hot. Not just strong. Not just impressive.

She was achingly, heart-breakingly, world-shatteringly beautiful.

Paige kissed her stomach slowly, then rested her cheek against it, her hand spreading over Azzi’s hip to anchor her there.

“I wish you could see what I see right now,” Paige whispered.

Azzi blinked down at her, eyes half-lidded, dazed. “I do.”

“No,” Paige said softly, looking up. “You hear me. But you don’t feel it yet. Not the way I do. Not the way I see you.”

She crawled back up, slow, kissing every inch of Azzi’s chest her collarbones, the dip beneath her throat, the side of her neck. Azzi gasped when Paige nipped gently at the sensitive skin there.

“Every part of you,” Paige said, dragging her fingers up Azzi’s ribs, “was built to be loved. And I’m the luckiest person alive that I get to be the one to do it.”

Azzi let out a soft, shaky breath. “Paige…”

Paige cupped her face, leaned in close enough that their noses brushed. “I need you to feel how beautiful you are. Not just believe me. I need it to live in your body. In your bones.”

She kissed her slow, deep the kind of kiss that makes your chest ache, the kind that feels like home and heaven and truth.

And then Paige pulled back just enough to whisper, “Can I show you?”

Azzi nodded wide-eyed, breathless. “Yes.”

That one word was all Paige needed.

She moved lower, settling between Azzi’s thighs, kissing along the soft skin there like she’d waited her whole life for it. Azzi’s legs trembled, and Paige anchored her again with both hands one on her hip, the other stroking gentle circles along her thigh.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” Paige whispered. “You’ve got all this power in you. And then you smile, and I forget how to stand up straight.”

Azzi let out a weak, breathy laugh but it cracked halfway through. Paige looked up, saw the way Azzi’s chest was rising too fast, her lips parted, her hands clutching the blanket beside her.

“You’re already close,” Paige murmured. “You don’t even need much. Just me.”

Azzi nodded again quick, desperate, wrecked already. “Please.”

Paige kissed the inside of her thigh again. “Say it.”

“Please,” Azzi whispered again. “Please, Paige. I need you.”

“You have me,” Paige promised. “You’ve always had me.”

And then she gave it to her. Slow, deep, thorough.

Her mouth moved with intention, not just to make Azzi fall apart — but to build her back up. Paige kissed like she was putting her back together, like every stroke of her tongue, every press of her lips was writing something back into Azzi’s body.

You are beautiful.

You are soft.

You are enough.

Paige could feel the moment it hit when Azzi broke.

It wasn’t just her moan, or the arch of her back, or the sob that tore from her throat.

It was the way she cried.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, her body completely undone, legs trembling, hands searching for something to hold.

Paige was already there, crawling back up, pulling Azzi into her lap, wrapping her arms around her.

“I’ve got you,” Paige whispered. “Let it out, baby. I’ve got you.”

Azzi buried her face in Paige’s neck, still shaking, still crying, still feeling everything.

“You’re so beautiful,” Paige whispered into her hair. “I’m never gonna stop telling you. Not ever. Not until you know it. Not until you feel it everywhere.”

Azzi clung to her, breath hitching, and whispered so softly Paige almost didn’t catch it:

“I believe you.”

Paige froze.

Azzi pulled back, just enough to look her in the eyes. Her cheeks were wet. Her mouth swollen. Her whole body bare and open and glowing.

“I believe you,” she whispered again. “I feel it. All of it.”

Paige cupped her face with both hands, kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. “Good. Because it’s true. It’s always been true.”

Azzi didn’t even answer. She just kissed her back, deep and slow, like gratitude and surrender and love had all wrapped themselves into one unstoppable feeling.

And Paige held her. Let her stay on top, let her body melt against hers, let her sob until the tension turned to laughter, until the tears turned to kisses, until Azzi whispered over and over and over again:

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

And Paige?

She whispered back:

“I know. I feel it. I’ve always felt it.”

[vernonetics]

“love & other variables” — ob87

summary — road to realization with a very oblivious ollie and his best friend! (and her little quotes)

fc & cw — demitra kalogeras. psychology student reader! very self indulgent if u think about the fact that i start uni in 2 months!! one (1) incest joke.. uhm boring? it’s my 1st smau, i don’t know how to be funny.. tumblr quality hates to see me coming. sorry 4 this lame ass thing, i wanted to try it out..

liked by sister1, sister2, olliebearman and 234,567 others

yourinsta back when he was mr ferrari! #theygrowupsofast

see comments

yourinsta “Attachment is the emotional bond that forms between people — the glue of all human relationships.” — Bowlby, 1969 🤍

olliebearman miss freud!

yourinsta ew wtf don’t ever call me that again.

user1 i’m starting uni in a couple months! do u have any advice?

yourinsta ugh baby i’m so excited for you 😭🫶 my best advice?? ask questions!! say hi first!! literally no one knows what they’re doing so u might as well romanticize it. also: you’re allowed to change your mind. like a lot. that’s just part of the whole experience! you’re gonna do so good ok i believe in you 🤍

user2 ollie did not just call her miss freud..

olliebearman okay god forbid a guy don’t know any other psychologists…

user3 no one talks enough about how sweet yn is!!! i met her last week when she was in the paddock and she was so sweet when i asked for a pic :((

liked by sister2, kimi.antonelli, olliebearman and 251,782 others

yourinsta 🤍

see comments

yourinsta “the meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.” — Carl Jung

sister2 okay miss future therapist 🤏

kimi.antonelli i was forced to hang out with you two (ollie and yn)

user5 is her whole personality based around being a psych major???

user4 yeah and it’s still more interesting than your personality being based around hating women online

user6 okay.. double date?

olliebearman for the record, yn and i were third wheeling the whole time

liked by yourinsta, sister1, haasf1team and 267,192 others

olliebearman happy birthday to my absolute favorite person to bother 🧠🎂

i genuinely don’t know what i’d do without you, you’ve been there through everything (even when i definitely didn’t deserve it lol)

you’re the kind of friend everyone wishes they had: smart, loyal, very terrifying, and somehow always right. thank you for being my human comfort zone, hope today is as sweet as you are <3

love you like a sister 🫶

see comments

user7 “love you like a sister” is CRAZY work…

user8 oh. ohohoh.

yourinsta love u too bro, ur trauma makes u fun at parties sometimes 🤝

user2 no pls yn no…. bro…

user9 guys my chest hurts i’m hyperventilating guys guys no guyspls

kimi.antonelli dumbest dumber dumb man 🐻

user10 5th slide is my exact reaction to the caption..

sister1 uploaded to their stories.

yourinsta uploaded to their stories.

SMS. OLLIE & YOU

yourinsta uploaded to their stories.

liked by kimi.antonelli, sister1, sister2 and 327,971 others

olliebearman i really don’t know how to explain it without sounding weird or stupid, but i really think she’s it.

she gets me like no one else does and still sticks around when i’m being annoying or dumb.

life just makes much more sense with her in it <3

see comments

user11 my slow burn of 5 years finally burned 🔥🔥

user12 oh he’s lucky she even looked his way after the like a sister thing..

user3 is this considered incest then????

user7 you’re asking the real questions here

user13 my parasocial relationship with these two just got more real hehe 🤗

yourinsta now i can start bullying you publicly as your girlfriend instead of your friend!!!! so excited

kimi.antonelli oh thank god… sister2 and i have been plotting on forcing you two together if you guys didn’t hurry up..

yourinsta “love is not two people gazing at each other, but two people looking together in the same direction.” — Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

olliebearman i love you too baby

liked by olliebearman and 567,087 others

yourinsta favorite place to be 💌

see comments

yourinsta “love is a process of self-discovery through another person.” — Rollo May

user14 still not over the “love u like a sister post” ..

user15 ynollie nation we keep winning

olliebearman “in case you ever foolishly forget: i am never not thinking of you.” — Virginia Woolf

yourinsta oliver what the fuck

yourinsta oli answer please ollie i’m going crazy i can’t breath

yourinsta i love you what

sister2 real double dates start now .. 😈

kimi.antonelli the only difference is that they’ll be kissing now