#yeah. I do. it's literally my brand and everything

[thepandalion]

nothing like having such a consistent theme that even your professor comments on it

[cassiemaebarnes]

I Noticed

Bucky x reader

Summary: You and Bucky are good friends, but you didn't realize he knew practically everything about you...

Word Count: 4,779

The conference room was unusually quiet for a Tuesday afternoon meeting. Everyone was already seated – Steve flipping through a tablet, Natasha sipping coffee, Sam looking like he was seconds away from falling asleep with his head propped on one hand.

You were seated toward the middle, elbow on the table, cheek in your palm, staring at the clock.

"Ugh," you groaned softly. "I'm already thirsty. I should've brought water."

Sam cracked one eye open. "Rookie mistake."

You gave him a half-hearted glare. "Thanks, Sam. So helpful."

Then your stomach growled and you sighed again. "I should've brought snacks, too. I have a bag of those garlic parmesan Dot’s pretzels in my room – they’re my favorite. I was gonna bring 'em but I forgot. They would've been perfect right now."

"Garlic pretzels in a closed room? Bold choice," Natasha quipped, smirking over her mug.

"They’re elite. You wouldn’t understand."

Just as you finished your sentence, the door opened and in walked Bucky, casual as ever, looking like he hadn’t rushed at all despite being a solid five minutes late.

"Hey," he said to the room before walking over to your seat.

Without saying anything else, he placed a bottle of water and a Ziploc bag full of garlic parmesan Dot’s pretzels in front of you, then sat down beside you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked at the items.

So did everyone else.

Steve’s mouth parted. Natasha looked genuinely surprised. Sam sat up straighter, eyebrows raised. Even Tony, who’d just entered behind Bucky, paused mid-step.

You looked at the bag. Then the water. Then at Bucky.

"...You literally just brought me exactly what I said I wanted like ten seconds ago."

Bucky blinked at you. "Yeah? I figured you’d be thirsty – you never bring water to meetings. And you usually get hungry around this time, so I brought snacks."

There was a beat of silence.

And then it hit.

"Oh my God," Sam laughed, pointing dramatically. "They’re not even dating and he knows her snack schedule."

Steve covered a smile with his hand. "That’s...actually kind of impressive."

Natasha leaned forward. "You even brought her favorite flavor?"

Bucky frowned slightly, confused. "Well, yeah. She likes the garlic parmesan ones."

"HE KNOWS THE FLAVOR, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," Tony declared like a ring announcer. "WE’VE GOT A SOFTIE IN THE WILD."

You buried your face in your hands, cheeks burning. "Oh my God, you guys–"

Bucky just shrugged, annoyingly unbothered. "What? She gets grumpy when she’s hungry."

And somehow that only made it worse.

Or better.

Depending on who you asked.

You hadn’t even opened the bag of pretzels yet. They just sat there in front of you, taunting you while your face turned redder by the second.

And Bucky? Completely calm. Like being a walking encyclopedia on your habits was not wildly incriminating.

That is, until Sam leaned forward with a grin.

"Okay, Barnes. Pop quiz."

Bucky gave him a suspicious side-eye. "Why?"

"Because," Tony chimed in, "you just demonstrated an alarming level of girlfriend knowledge for someone who's allegedly not dating her."

"We're not–!" you started, but Natasha held up a finger to silence you.

"This is more fun."

She turned to Bucky. "Favorite coffee order. Go."

"Caramel iced latte, extra ice."

Your jaw dropped slightly. "That’s–"

"Correct," Sam cut in, smirking. "Alright, alright – shampoo and conditioner brand?"

Bucky didn’t even hesitate. "Pantene – the coconut scent."

You whipped around to stare at him. "How the hell do you know that?!"

He looked at you like it was obvious. "Because your bathroom always smells like coconut. And that one time you stayed at my place after a mission, you complained that I only had 2-in-1."

Natasha bit back a laugh. "We’re logging that for future teasing."

"Okay, okay," Tony leaned on the table like he was hosting a game show. "Let’s make this harder. Favorite snack that's not garlic parmesan pretzels?"

"Peanut M&M’s. But she picks out the brown ones and eats them last because she says they taste the most ‘chocolatey.’"

You slapped a hand over your mouth. "Are you keeping notes somewhere?!"

Bucky just shrugged like it was no big deal. “You talk a lot when we hang out.”

"My heart can’t take this," Steve said, dramatically clutching his chest.

"Mine either," Sam added. "This is some Hallmark level slow burn stuff and I didn’t even know I wanted it."

"Do you know her favorite hoodie too?" Natasha asked.

He glanced at you, then pointed without looking. "That light grey one she stole from me? Wears it three times a week, minimum."

You gaped at him. "...You let me steal that."

"You think I didn’t notice?" he said, and you caught the tiniest curve of a smirk on his lips.

The room collectively lost it.

"Okay, this is criminal," Tony declared. "I’ve seen actual married couples who know less about each other."

"You’re clearly in love with her," Sam added helpfully.

Bucky’s smirk dropped slightly, and for a split second, something unreadable flickered in his expression as he glanced at you – soft, unsure, and maybe a little too earnest.

You froze.

So did he.

And then Natasha cleared her throat. "Well, this meeting is officially a disaster, but I’m emotionally invested now."

Steve gave you both a look. "Anything either of you wanna share with the class?"

You made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan, covering your face with your hands again.

Beside you, Bucky just leaned back in his chair and said, “Can we please talk about the mission now? Before they start planning our wedding?”

But even as he said it, you felt his knee brush against yours under the table.

--

The meeting finally wrapped up after an hour of mission briefings, supply checklists, and Tony trying to convince Steve to let him name the next Quinjet The Iron Bus. Everyone stood, gathering their things, but the tension in the room wasn’t about the mission at all – it was about you and Bucky.

You had barely pushed your chair back before Sam clapped his hands once and turned to Bucky with renewed mischief in his eyes.

"Alright, now that the boring stuff’s out of the way – round two."

Bucky blinked. "Seriously?"

"You thought we forgot? That whole time I was pretending to care about drone placements, I was building a list."

"I was also building a list," Natasha added, already pulling out her phone.

Steve sighed but didn’t stop them. “I mean…I am kind of curious now.”

Tony grinned. “This is the best part of my day.”

You groaned. “Oh my god, guys–”

“Nope,” Sam said. “Too late. Barnes, what’s her favorite candle scent?”

“Vanilla,” Bucky said without pause.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Okay, but how do you know that?”

“You lit one in my kitchen once. Said it was ‘elite cozy vibes.’”

Tony choked on a laugh. “He even quoted her. This is so real.”

Natasha stepped in next. “Alright – what color does she always pick for her nails?”

“Soft pink. Unless she’s in a mood, then it’s that dark reddish-purple color…what’s it called? ‘Black Cherry?’”

You squinted. “Okay, that’s either creepy or impressive–”

“Impressive,” Sam decided. “Definitely impressive.”

Steve raised a brow. “What about her go-to song when she’s in a bad mood?”

Bucky smiled a little. “idontwannabeyouanymore by Billie Eilish.”

You blinked. “Wait, how do you even know that?”

“You played it on repeat for like four days after that one mission with the HYDRA facility. I asked you if you were okay and you said, ‘I’m fine, I just need to cry and hydrate.’”

Natasha was actually laughing now. “He’s got quotes, too.”

Tony raised a finger like he was conducting an interview. “Okay, Bucky – final round. What’s her go-to breakfast when she’s had a rough night?”

Bucky leaned back casually. “Scrambled eggs with pepperjack cheese, hot sauce, two slices of toast, and coffee with oat milk and a tiny bit of cinnamon.”

Everyone turned to you like you’d just been caught in 4K.

You stared at him. “You remembered all of that?”

He shrugged. “I’ve made it for you before.”

Sam fake-fainted onto the conference table.

“I can’t take this,” Steve said, rubbing his temples. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s domestic,” Natasha corrected. “And I love it.”

You groaned again and dropped your head onto your crossed arms. “Can the floor swallow me now?”

Bucky leaned over and murmured, “I think they’re just jealous.”

You peeked up at him. “Of what?”

He gave you that tiny smirk again. “That I pay attention.”

You sat up and shoved the bag of pretzels toward Bucky with a flustered laugh. “Here. Take these back. You’ve earned them.”

Bucky just grinned and tossed one in his mouth. “They taste better when I’m right.”

--

Eventually, the room emptied out. Steve wrangled Tony into actually submitting a mission report, Nat headed to the gym, and Sam left muttering about needing a nap.

You lingered, still sitting in your chair, picking at the label on your water bottle while Bucky packed up his notes. The teasing had died down, but your heart hadn’t quite stopped doing somersaults.

He was halfway to the door when you said, softly, “Hey, Buck?”

He paused, looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

You motioned for him to come back. “Can I ask you something?”

His brows rose, but he came back over, folding his arms as he leaned against the edge of the table beside you. “You wanna quiz me now?”

“Maybe.” You tilted your head, watching him. “I just wanna see how far this weird…psychic Barnes ability goes.”

He gave a lazy grin. “Alright. Hit me.”

You took a breath. “Okay. Pads or tampons?”

He blinked once. “Both.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Details?”

He scratched his jaw, not missing a beat. “You use the regular tampons most days, but you always keep a pack of those thin pads with the wings in your bathroom drawer – orange wrapper, right? You said the combo makes you feel less paranoid about leaks when you’re out on missions.”

Your jaw dropped a little.

Bucky’s smirk faded, growing a little more serious when he saw your expression. “I wasn’t, like, digging through your stuff or anything. You asked me to grab painkillers once while you were curled up on the couch, and I saw the pack when I opened the drawer. And you mentioned the tampon thing that one time when we got stuck waiting in that safe house for hours and you were grumpy.”

You swallowed. “Okay…uh. Chocolate preference?”

“Milk chocolate when you’re just craving sugar, milk chocolate with caramel when you’re on your period.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you didn’t stop. “When I cry, what do I want someone to do?”

“Sit with you. Don’t talk unless you ask. You like quiet comfort.”

You were fully staring at him now, unable to find any words, so he filled the silence gently.

“I know you get really overwhelmed when you feel like someone’s watching too closely while you’re upset. You hate feeling...exposed. So I don’t stare. I just stay close.”

You blinked fast, chest tightening with something way bigger than embarrassment now.

“Why?” you asked, barely above a whisper. “Why do you pay attention like that?”

Bucky shrugged one shoulder, not meeting your eyes at first. “Because you matter to me. And…when someone matters, you notice things. The important stuff. The things that make them feel seen.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, overwhelmed. “No one’s ever paid attention like that. No one’s ever noticed.”

Finally, he looked at you again. And this time, there was no smirk, no teasing grin – just something quiet and sure in his eyes.

“I noticed.”

After a moment, you smiled faintly. “What’s my favorite place to be when I’m sad?”

“Anywhere I am,” he said without missing a beat.

And this time, you didn’t even try to hide the way your heart skipped.

--

Later that evening, the compound was quieter – mission prep done, sparring sessions wrapped up, and the post-meeting teasing finally done.

You’d snuck off for a hot shower, hoping to wash away the lingering flush in your cheeks from earlier. The Avengers had been relentless, and even though Bucky hadn’t said anything else since the conference room, his words still echoed in your head.

I noticed.

You exhaled under the spray and tried not to think about it too hard.

Meanwhile, in the common room, the chaos was still quietly unfolding.

Tony strolled in with a tablet in hand, looking far too pleased with himself. “Alright, children, it’s that magical time – takeout vote. We've got Thai, Indian, tacos, pizza, sushi, and that weird little vegan place Bruce likes.”

“I swear to God, if you put seaweed bowls on the menu again–” Sam started.

“Focus,” Tony cut him off, tapping the screen. “We’ll tally up votes. Bucky, where’s your girl?”

Bucky, sprawled comfortably on the couch with one leg slung over the side, didn’t even flinch at the phrasing. “Showering.”

“Wow,” Natasha muttered. “Didn’t even blink at that.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “And you’re voting for her too, I assume?”

Bucky nodded, nonchalant. “Two for Indian.”

Steve looked up from his book. “Did she say that?”

“Nope.”

Sam smirked immediately. “So we’re guessing now?”

“I’m not guessing,” Bucky replied evenly. “She’s not in a pizza mood today.”

Tony looked at him like he was a contestant on a game show. “So you're locking in Indian for the both of you. No communication. No signals. No magic powers?”

Bucky shrugged. “Yep.”

“I’m starting a betting pool,” Sam announced, pulling out his phone.

“I want in,” Natasha said, crossing her arms.

“She loves pizza,” Steve reminded. “Are we sure about this?”

“She does love pizza,” Bucky agreed, arms folded behind his head. “But not tonight.”

Sam grinned wide. “Alright, let’s take some bets. Five says she picks pizza. Anyone else?”

Money and pride were quickly thrown around – half the team convinced Bucky’s luck had to run out eventually, the other half wary because…well. It was Bucky. And somehow he just knew things about you.

Five minutes later, you wandered into the common room in fresh clothes, hair damp and rubbing moisturizer into your face with zero awareness of the quiet, expectant tension in the air.

“Hey,” you said casually, “what’s going on?”

Tony cleared his throat, playing it cool. “Just figuring out dinner. Got a few options – Thai, Indian, tacos, pizza, sushi, and Bruce’s vegan sadness bowls. What sounds good?”

You made a face, thinking. “Hmm, not really in the mood for pizza today. Indian.”

The room exploded.

“NO WAY,” Nat yelled.

“Unbelievable,” Steve said.

Sam stood and threw his arms in the air. “THIS IS RIGGED.”

Tony shouted over the chaos, “I CALL WITCHCRAFT.”

You froze, blinking at everyone, confused.

“Did I miss something?” you asked slowly.

Bucky just sat there calmly, like he hadn’t just won the mind-reader Olympics. “Told them you’d want Indian.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Did you spy on me in the shower or something?”

“Nope,” he said, looking smug. “Just know you.”

The team descended into chaos again – some demanding their money back, others insisting on a rematch next week.

You just grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and chucked it at Bucky’s chest.

He caught it, laughed, and tossed it back. “I’m undefeated.”

--

The food arrived about twenty minutes later, the smell of warm spices and garlic naan instantly filling the common area. Tony called out a triumphant “Dinner’s here!” like he’d made it himself, and everyone swarmed the table to claim their orders.

You padded over a little slower, then Bucky turned from the table and held up a hand.

“I got your plate,” he said casually, already balancing two in his hands.

You paused. “Wait, I didn’t even tell you–”

“I know.” He handed it over without fanfare.

You looked down.

Your favorite combo – chicken tikka masala, a scoop of basmati rice (but not too much), a piece of garlic naan torn in half, some cucumber raita on the side, and a few spoonfuls of that tangy chickpea salad you always liked when you weren’t in the mood for something too heavy.

You stared at the plate like it had been conjured by sorcery.

He turned and headed for the couch like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just read your mind again. And behind you, the rest of the team was once more staring – some with mouths open, others quietly shaking their heads.

Sam muttered, “Alright, I’m starting to believe he’s just a very hot, brooding psychic.”

Natasha leaned toward Tony. “We should run a brain scan.”

Tony looked vaguely offended. “Trust me, I already tried. He’s just…annoying.”

You followed Bucky to the couch and sat beside him, setting your plate on the coffee table before sinking into the cushions.

“You keep doing that,” you said after a second, still looking at your dinner.

“Doing what?” he replied, tearing off a piece of naan without looking at you.

“Knowing what I want. Before I even know what I want.”

That made him glance over. His voice was quiet now, just between the two of you. “Is it weird?”

You thought about it. “It’s…not. I mean, it should be. But it’s not. It’s actually kinda–”

Your voice caught, the word sitting there, unsaid.

Comforting.

Bucky nodded like he already knew.

Then, like he wanted to shift the moment before it got too close to something you couldn’t take back, he leaned in a little with a smirk. “Don’t act too impressed. I just paid attention. And you’re kinda predictable.”

You nudged his arm with your elbow. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” He bumped his knee gently against yours. “Still right, though.”

The rest of dinner passed in a cozy haze – soft laughter, shared food, everyone gradually settling into their usual spots. But the way Bucky’s knee stayed resting against yours, neither of you moving – it felt like something new.

--

A while later, plates were cleaned, takeout containers scattered across the coffee table, and stomachs full enough that no one was in the mood to move much – perfect conditions for the sacred Avengers tradition: movie night.

“Alright,” Tony called out from where he was already draped dramatically over the recliner. “What are our options tonight?”

Okay, we got The Godfather, Jaws, Tangled, Mission Impossible, 21 Jump Street, and John Wick,” Sam read off the screen.

You stood, stretching. “I’ll be right back. Don’t vote without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve said, even though everyone absolutely would.

The second the bathroom door clicked shut, Tony sat up like a meerkat. “Alright. Let’s go. What’s your pick, Barnes?”

“John Wick,” Bucky said, without even looking up from where he was idly spinning the empty naan container on the table.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Nat whipped her head around. “You’re not choosing Tangled?”

“Nope.”

“She just said the other day that she wanted to watch it,” Nat reminded him, pointing dramatically. “Like, word for word, ‘I wanna rewatch Tangled soon.’ You’re telling me you’re going against that?”

Bucky just shrugged, totally unbothered. “I know what she wants tonight.”

Tony looked at Sam, eyes narrowed. “This is the beginning of the fall of House Barnes. The man’s gotten cocky.”

“I give him one more round,” Sam muttered, already pulling out his wallet. “Five bucks says she picks Tangled.”

“Ten says 21 Jump Street,” Clint called from the kitchen. “I say she’s in a comedy mood.”

“I’m going full chaos,” Nat added, grinning. “Twenty on Jaws.”

Steve, ever neutral, just raised his eyebrows. “You really think she wants an action movie right now?”

Bucky finally looked up. “She’s tired. Mentally wiped. Tangled is comfort, yeah, but she wants to zone out, not cry over animated lanterns.”

Tony blinked. “You’re playing 4D chess.”

“She’s playing checkers,” Bucky replied calmly. “I just know the board.”

The room was a barely contained mess of betting and bickering by the time you reappeared.

You sat back down, cozying up with the blanket you’d left on the couch. “We vote yet?”

“We were just about to,” Steve said, way too quickly.

They went around the room, collecting votes with forced casualness.

Then, all eyes turned to you.

You paused, lips pursed in thought. “Hmm…”

The silence was deafening.

You tapped your chin. “Not really in the mood for Disney right now, actually…”

Someone gasped.

“…Let’s do John Wick.”

The room erupted.

“WHAT?!”

“No way – NO WAY–”

“Check her room for bugs!”

“ARE YOU TWO SECRETLY DATING?!”

Tony was pacing, Sam collapsed dramatically onto the rug, and Nat looked like she was genuinely questioning reality.

Meanwhile, Bucky just leaned back, arms crossed, as calm as ever.

You blinked at the chaos. “Did I…do something?”

“Oh, you did something,” Sam groaned, flopping backward.

“You broke them,” Bucky muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, his voice full of quiet amusement.

You looked over at him, fighting back a smile. “You knew I’d pick it.”

He met your gaze, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Course I did.”

And somehow, in the middle of popcorn-throwing accusations and Tony trying to demand a federal investigation, your heart started beating just a little faster.

--

The next morning started like any other: coffee, early training, then hitting the showers.

You stretched your arms behind your head, grimacing. “I’m starving. I want eggs. Like, five eggs.”

“Go shower, Egg Queen,” Sam called. “We’ll save you a spot.”

You flipped him off over your shoulder, already headed toward your room.

Once you disappeared around the corner, the rest of the group started trickling toward the kitchen. Bucky walked in with Steve, Nat, and Sam, still towel-drying his hair, when the teasing immediately resumed.

“So,” Nat said, leaning against the counter with a smirk, “you gonna make her eggs now, Barnes? Scrambled? Sunny side up? Whole omelet situation?”

Bucky gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Would. But she’s not gonna want eggs anymore.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “She literally said the word ‘eggs’ like two minutes ago.”

“Yeah,” Sam added. “Plural. With intention.”

“She’s gonna change her mind,” Bucky said calmly, reaching for the pancake mix.

There was a beat of silence.

“…You’re kidding,” Clint said, appearing behind them and already suspicious.

“Nope.”

Nat crossed her arms. “Alright. What is she gonna want?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” Bucky said, pulling ingredients from the cabinet. “Light layer of peanut butter on top. Not spread thick. Just enough.”

“And syrup?” Steve asked, deadpan.

“Just a little. Thin drizzle over the top, not drowning.”

“Drink?” Sam challenged, narrowing his eyes.

“Chocolate milk.”

At that, no one said anything for a second. They just stared. Nat was already pulling out her phone.

“I’m documenting this. If you’re wrong, I’m sending the video to every group chat we have.”

“Do it,” Bucky said, already whisking batter like a man with zero fear of failure.

Ten minutes passed. Pancakes were golden, peanut butter spread lightly, and the chocolate milk was already poured in your favorite mug.

And then, you walked in, hair damp and pulled back, hoodie sleeves half covering your hands. You opened the fridge, still blinking from the heat of the shower.

“Hey,” Bucky said without turning around. “Want me to make your eggs?”

You stared into the fridge for a beat. “Mm…no, actually. I think I want pancakes.”

The room went dead silent.

You didn’t notice. “Do we have chocolate chips?”

Still silence.

“Oh, and chocolate milk,” you added, pulling the fridge door closed. “You know, that sounds really good actually.”

You turned.

The plate was already sitting on the counter.

Your chocolate milk was already in your mug.

You blinked. “Wait. Did you–”

“Yeah.” Bucky slid the plate toward you with a casual smile. “Figured you’d want pancakes.”

You looked down at it, then back up. “Okay, that’s…insane.”

“I’m used to you changing your mind,” he said with a little shrug. “I listen.”

And then, the room exploded.

“NOPE – NOPE, I’M OUT!” Sam stormed out of the kitchen.

Nat was filming again. “I hate how calm he is. Like he didn’t just perform witchcraft again.”

“I’m convinced,” Clint muttered. “They’re telepathically bonded.”

Steve just looked vaguely disturbed. “I don’t even know my own favorite pancake setup that well.”

You blinked at Bucky again, who was completely unfazed, like this wasn’t the millionth time in twenty-four hours he’d rearranged reality by knowing you a little too well.

You took a bite of the pancake, still warm and soft and perfect.

“…Okay,” you mumbled with your mouth full. “This is actually kinda amazing.”

He leaned against the counter, smug as ever. “Told you.”

--

The others slowly trickled out of the kitchen after breakfast, muttering in stunned tones, still trying to recover. Nat was rewatching her own footage like it was evidence in a conspiracy theory. Tony was threatening to install surveillance.

But eventually, it was just you and Bucky, the clink of your fork on the plate and the hum of the fridge the only sounds left behind.

You took another bite, slower this time. It was still warm.

You glanced at him, leaning back on the counter across from you, arms crossed, looking completely at ease – like this wasn’t the weirdest thing in the world, like he hadn’t just predicted your entire breakfast down to the drizzle of syrup.

“…How do you do that?” you asked, finally, voice soft in the quiet.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

You gave him a look, the corners of your mouth twitching. “Bucky.”

He smirked a little, then pushed off the counter and walked over to you, grabbing a clean mug and pouring himself some coffee. He didn’t answer right away.

“I just pay attention,” he said eventually, voice quieter now. “That’s all.”

You swallowed the last bite and leaned forward on your elbows. “Yeah, but…it’s more than that. You don’t just notice, like, big stuff. You know all these little things about me. Things most people don’t even think to remember.”

He looked over at you, gaze steady but warm. “Well, most people don’t really look at you the way I do.”

You blinked.

“Not in a creepy way,” he added quickly, a hint of a smile breaking through. “Just…I notice things.”

He sat across from you, wrapping his hands around the coffee mug. “You start craving chocolate when you're stressed. You say you want eggs, but if you’ve just showered, you usually go for something sweet instead. You hum when you’re thinking. And when you’re overwhelmed, you get really quiet – not annoyed, just kind of…floaty. Like your brain’s stuck buffering.”

Your breath caught a little, something fluttering deep in your chest.

“And you always drink chocolate milk when you feel safe,” he added, softer this time. “Not just when you’re hungry.”

You looked down at your mug. You hadn’t even realized that.

Silence fell between you again, but this time it felt heavier – comfortable, but with something unspoken stretched between you.

“…Why?” you asked, finally.

He looked up.

You met his eyes. “Why do you notice all that?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you for a moment, like he was deciding how honest to be.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper: “Because you make it easy to care.”

You didn’t say anything.

Couldn’t.

He took a breath, eyes flicking down to the table, then back up.

“I’ve had to watch my back for a long time. I notice things – it’s how I survive. But you…” He gave a quiet laugh, like it surprised even him. “You’re the first person who made me want to notice the good stuff. The small stuff. Just so I could take care of it.”

That flutter in your chest turned into a full-blown ache.

You stared at him, unsure what to say, heart pounding.

But before either of you could say another word, Sam’s voice yelled from the other room:

“Hey, Barnes! If you’re done being a walking love song, can you bring the remote?!”

Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Every time.”

You were still looking at him, a soft smile pulling at the corner of your lips. “You’re kind of a sap.”

He grinned at that, his eyes flicking to yours with a spark. “Only for you.”

And then he got up, grabbed the remote, and tossed a wink over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

Leaving you alone in the kitchen.

With your perfect pancakes.

And a heart that wouldn’t stop racing.

--

Masterlist

Bucky Taglist: @winchestert101 @herejustforbuckybarnes @avengemepercy @buckyslove1917 @nelachu2423 @iyskgd

[sourappl3s]

i never hear anyone talk about how overwhelming it can be to wake up with your desires one day after so long, i’ll speak about my void state success story, when i first entered it. i wont tell you what i manifested since i explained it to an ask. yeah waking up after doing the void state and getting all you want is a pleasant thing but can we talk about how overwhelming it is to literally have you reality just shifts like that? because when i woke up the next morning after inducing the void state my heart genuinely stopped for about 10 seconds and i’m not even exaggerating, because everything was just different? i wasn’t in the same room i was before. LIKE LITERALLY WHEN I WOKE UP I FORGOT I HAD MUSIC PLAYING THE OTHER NIGHT AND RIBS JUST STARTED PLAYING out of nowhere. i like to think of ribs (the song guys) as a new beginnings song, even though the song symbolizes bittersweet memories and friendship. the new beginnings feeling is just my personal feeling. so as ribs was playing i started crying hard on the spot. congratulating myself for reaching this huge milestone, i took in my new environment and cried harder, i sound dramatic but thats just how it was for me. i was shaking and not from fear just from extreme excitement. when i went look in the mirror i cried so much more, everything about me just screamed different, i’m sorry i keep repeating “different” so much because thats literally what it was. everything was just different. i kept repeating to myself “please don’t let this be a dream” over and over, doing everything i can so i’d be sure it wasn’t a dream, when i accepted it wasn’t a dream i went scream into my pillow and started jumping around my brand new room like a hyperactive puppy. thoughts were running everywhere “oh the new memories i’ll make” “i’m finally happy” “its over now” “i can’t wait to see what this new life has in store for me”. i didn’t touch my phone the entire day after waking up with a brand new reality. i barely touch my phone now but i still try to help people on tumblr so they can finally accept their power. i’m not saying i woke up with a terrible/bad overwhelming feeling it was more of a “oh my god theres no way” type of overwhelming feeling. i wanted to share my void state success story with the world but from seeing some liars that were caught (no im not a liar) i was scared people would deem me as a liar because they would “demand” proof. or assume “im lying for attention”. but no this is me coming to you with full honesty that i’ve manifested my dream life, i can still be on social media but that doesn’t automatically make me a liar. if you truly believed in LOA then you wouldn’t have to dwell on solely getting proof for your own satisfaction to really know the law is real. THE LAW IS REAL, THE VOID STATE IS REAL, YOU ARE ALWAYS PURE CONSCIOUSNESS, IMAGINATION IS EVERYTHING, SHIFTING IS REAL, MANIFESTING IS REAL, YES YOU CAN MANIFEST WHATEVER YOU WANT, YOU ARE LIMITLESS.

live in imagination, stop looking for more information, stop starting over, stop giving up, stop doubting, stop looking for the 3D for proof, look within for proof. time isn’t real but yes your clock is ticking, break the pattern or the loop WILL repeat tomorrow. you’re destined for success.

[sobbingscripter]

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼wc. 3005🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Do… do you think we’re friends in every universe?”

Mark’s voice is quiet, back pressed against freshly mowed grass, eyes focused on the starry sky above you. It stretches endlessly, an abyss dotted with the faintest glows, celestial pools that reflect off your pupils and you hum. Chewing on your bottom lip.

“I think so.”

You shift on the grass, your shoulder bumping against his and your head bumps lightly against his, and Mark bites back a grin, but you can see the dimples that threaten to appear in his cheeks. “Yeah?” He whispers.

“Mhm.” You swallow. “It doesn’t seem right that I’d only know you in one life.”

Mark’s fingers lace with yours, his pudgy digit tracing over the pretty ring that adorns your thumb.

“I think we always find each other. Even if, like, I don’t know, different worlds. Or timelines. Or species.”

His eyes remain trained on the black above him, wind rustling at the cypress branches, blades of grass tickling the back of his neck, the backs of his legs and he glances at you, pupils dilated so much that you’d think he was on something.

Lashes fluttering shut, the ball of your nose brushing against his and your lips brushing over his. In a sweet, chaste promise that managed to toe the line between friendship and something neither of you could comprehend.

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

“You fought and won, against Godzilla. Like, literally.” You deadpan. “But an off-brand kraken with toenails and spikes, rocks your shit?”

Your scoff breaks Mark from his reverie, his eyes moving to where you’re perched on the closed lid of your toilet, arms crossing over your chest and obscuring nearly half the image of your oversized sleeping tee.

Mark’s never seen that fucking T-shirt leave your wardrobe.

Ratty, frayed at the neckline. A faded print of some presidential candidate from how many years ago. He knows you couldn’t even vote then.

“I didn’t get my shit rocked.” Mark speaks, clearing his throat to get rid of the lump because this is the closest he’s been to his best friend in a while. No arguing, no tension. Just you taking care of him, like you always have.

“Fine, you got your shit jostled.” You correct yourself and he snorts, the cut on his bottom lip doing nothing to prevent that dorkish grin from spreading across his face.

“I won, didn’t I?” He brags.

“Barely. Vincible.”

He rolls his eyes at your chide, before resting back against the edge of the tub, soaking his aching muscles in the concoction of Epsom salts and hot water, bubbles frothing at the surface because Mark refuses a bath where he doesn’t get to use your bubble bath.

The scent clings to his skin, and he lets out a breath, taking in that sweet smell before peeking at you from beneath his lashes.

“Put those ladyfingers to work.”

He hums, eyes fluttering shut and he cocks an even wider grin at the sound of you shuffling, wetting your hands before squeezing a generous glob of shampoo into your palm, griping all the way as you rub our palms, waiting patiently until it emulsifies.

Snowy cream is strewn from between your hands before you massage it onto Mark’s scalp, scratching and watching the way his eyes roll back in his head.

His hand moves to grip your thigh, brows scrunching into a pleased frown at the way your nails rake against his skin, scratching at the nape of his neck and your palms work a thick lather into his hair.

“Your hair’s not even dirty.” You huff. And Mark groans in a ploy to shut you up and it works. But not because he’s interrupting you.

But because you’re watching the way suds slide down the side of his neck, settling in the crevice of the muscle and your watching his broad chest heaves, pink lips parting to let out relaxed sighs and you’re questioning everything you’ve ever known.

You know you have a thing for Mark, that’s for sure. You’ve basically lived on the manifestation side of TikTok in an attempt to get him to dream of you, but you never followed up on if he ever did. You’d do little rituals to make him think of you, forcefully but still.

But never once, did you consider the possibility that Mark’s beginning to qualify as ‘fine shyt’.

“Scratch at the crown.” Mark groans quietly, eyes shut to keep out the shampoo and you comply with a silent ‘uh-huh’, scratching at the crown of his head. Inky strands are messy and soapy, and you drag your nails along his scalp one last time, before you’re reaching for the showerhead, and covering Mark’s eyes with one hand, while the other rinses away the suds.

And he sighs, thumb pressing circles into your thigh and you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to stifle the squeak that threatens to spill.

And Mark peers up at you, a perfect brow raising and he hums.

“What’s wrong?”

You know damn well.

“Nothing.” You answer, still chewing on your bottom lip as you rinse his hair. “Just hungry.”

That’s not exactly a lie either.

You’re not too hungry. Well, not hungry enough to be considered hungry but you can eat.

“Big back.” Mark whispers under his breath.

“I’ll drown you.” Your eyes narrow. “Don’t test me.”

You try not to focus on how the scalding waters make his skin flush so prettily, how the light of the bathroom dances on his features and makes the flecks in his iris look golden. And you try not to notice that the smell of him, him and him alone, is mixing with steam and your body wash, and your shampoo.

And you think that having sex with Mark might smell like this.

Heady, sweaty and refreshing. Sweet and musky. Calloused hands pressing your thighs apart, soft lips pressing at your erratic pulse and the way he’d breathe you in like you’re his next lungful of life. The thought makes your skin prickle and you feel an empty ache between your thighs that you’ve never quite felt before.

Your mind drifts to the way his lips would ghost over your ears, the way his biceps would shift to pull you closer, the way a veiny hand would wrap around the base of his swollen, leaky cock, lining him up at your messy cunt before—

“Your heartbeat’s getting fast.” Mark comments. “What’s that about?”

“I’m thinking about holding your head underwater.”

And a smile stretches across your lips.

Under your waters.

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Why do you have so many T-shirts from elections?” Mark questions, rifling through you drawers before settling on one. He pulls it overhead, and you watch the way the muscles of his back flex beneath his skin, and you pull the covers up, over your chest.

And Mark look down at his T-shirt.

“They’re not even all from the same country.” He snorts, muscular legs carrying him over to your bedside before he creeps beneath your blankets, tugging them up to his neck and he presses his face against your shoulder.

Inhaling the scent of your skin, the scent of the sheets he hasn’t been wrapped up in for far too long and he throws an arm over your waist, tugging you into his orbit before pulling you into his chest.

The worn fabric does nothing to tamper with the furnace that Mark’s become, claiming your title as the warm one, and you feel the way he melts against you. Legs entangling with yours, and his nose brushes against the nape of your neck. Calloused fingertips slip beneath the edge of your shirt, tracing along where the ribbed elastic waistband of your shorts cuts into the plush of your hips. Fingers draw patterns on the soft pudge and you turn into a puddle when his lips brush against your pulse.

He's so gentle. Drawing little flowers around your navel, hearts on your lower belly and his fingertips trace along your ribs.

You don’t know how long you’re laying in his arms.

Feeling warm breath fan across the curve of your neck, feeling even warmer fingertips clutch at you like you’re his whole world and for the first time, in a long time, it doesn’t feel like you’re second choice. Not to Eve, not to Amber, not to anyone or anything.

The world quiets down until it’s just you and him. Mingling breaths in the comfort of your bedroom, the soft thud of raindrops hitting the ground, slightly louder when they patter against your windows. And you shift in his grasp, turning to face him instead.

Mark’s heart stutters when your arms wrap around his midsection, your legs following and wrapping around his thighs, your face pressing into the slope of his neck. The ball of your nose is cold, icy almost, he feels the way your lashes flutter as you shut your eyes, and he can hear the steady thrum of your heartbeat.

His hold tightens, chin resting on the crown of your head, feeling the way strands tickle at his face, and Mark inhales. Deep enough until you’re settling in his lungs, fingers clutching at your T-shirt and he curls his body around yours.

And there’s a silence that settles in the room, only interrupted when Mark’s voice breaks it, quiet and so, so very boyish.

“So, are we gonna talk about you peeking through my window, yet?” He whispers teasingly, his hand shifting to the back of your neck where he traces patterns on your nape, the action ticklish enough for you to act on impulse. Tucking your neck, and you peer up at him with narrowed eyes.

“Are we gonna talk about the panties you stole yet?” You bite back, a brow raising and you watch Mark’s lips purse.

“No, we are not.” And he ushers your face back to his neck, his cheeks burning a bright red when e feels your hushed giggles against the sensitive flesh and he breathes out. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’m a gaping asshole.” You correct. “Respect my truth.”

And Mark laugh. Loudly, and you hear that breathy little hitch in his voice, peeking up at him to watch the corners of his eyes crinkle, to watch the way pink lips part and reveal pearly teeth and you linger on his canines. Before moving over to his dimples, to the rosy apples of his cheeks and finally, you drink him in as a whole.

Damp raven strands that fall over his forehead in perfect strands, a sharp jaw and you feel the way his muscles flex as he readjusts his grip on you.

“My bad.” Mark huffs out a snort. “My bad for mischaracterizing you. How can I fix it?”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“This isn’t what I meant.” Mark grumbles, muscles flexing with each movement as he continues to fold, and bend different articles of clothing, brows scrunched into a furrow as he organizes your closet.

“Yeah, but it’s what I want.” You respond with a snort. “An besides, you should be comfortable handling my clothing. You know, since you’re like, half-Korean.”

Mark stares at you, watching the way you take another bite of your cookie. His expression is blank, lips falling open in shock at the easiness of what you just said.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Mark’s brows bunch and you can tell he’s not offended, so much as confused and trying not to laugh.

“You know,” You shrug, “Koreans tend to open dry cleaners.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s like… Family Guy, they go to a Korean dry cleaner. In American Dad, when Stan opens a dry cleaners with a bunch of strippers, he complains about the Koreans. It’s a statistic.”

Mark’s lips twitch and he curls them inward, trying to stifle the laugh.

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“You folded more than half of my closet in like, 15 minutes. It’s in your DNA. The D stands for—” “If you say dry cleaning, I’m gonna hit you in the mouth.”

And your lips purse.

And you take a slow, and loud bite of your cookie. And he shuts his eyes, letting out an even breath.

“I hate you so much.”

Mark goes back to folding before he lifts one of the shirts. And he gasps. “You dick, you never gave this back.”

“You kinda left me on a building, so you know.” Your lips purse and Mark winces at the memory. Before looking almost sheepishly ashamed, brows scrunching and his lips tug downwards into a frown.

“I’m sorry about that.” Mark murmurs.

“It’s chill, I got a happy meal out of it.”

He tosses the Seance Dog T-shirt at you. Pretty brown eyes focused on the way you catch the fabric like it’s something precious, holding it to your chest.

Mark doesn’t glance away as you turn your back to him, hands reaching for the edge of your shirt and you pull it overhead. He stares at your back, the curve of your spine, the way your waist curves and suddenly, he’s hiding an erection behind a Pinocchio T-shirt, eyes locked on the way your back flexes as you pull the Seance Dog shirt on, and he watches the fabric fall just below your ass. Fleshy globes only obscured by your ridiculously short cotton shorts and Mark swallows.

Gaze flitting up to meet yours.

“Looks g-good.” He nearly sputters, hands fisting the fabric of the top in his lap and your eyes lower to the veins that bulge at his hands and forearms.

“Did Pinocchio’s nose always look like that?” Your brows furrow.

Mark begins to sweat, droplets forming at his neck and disappearing behind the neckline of his shirt.

“Yeah.” Mark lies. “You got this at that 3D shirt place, remember? You wanted his nose 3D so it looks like you could poke kids in the eye.”

And while you can’t remember, that does sound like something you’d say.

And you plop into your bed, wriggling beneath the covers before you peer at Mark, watching his muscles shift as he continues and you sigh at the sight, bottom lip wedged between your teeth. And your lips part to make a quip, most probably something offensive but you’re interrupted by Mark’s phone, buzzing incessantly and you glance towards the screen.

And it’s the superhero equivalent of Hailey Bieber.

Your lips purse at Eve’s contact, eyes narrowing and you’re already shifting in bed, internally readying yourself for a brief ‘gotta go’.

Mark’s shoulders stiffen as he shifts, his body nearly throwing itself across yours as he reaches for his phone, swiping at the red button. And he turns his phone off, crawling beneath the covers alongside you and his body blankets yours. His face nestles in the curve your neck, his arms tuck themselves beneath the small of your back and he holds you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

And right now, it feels like it is.

For the first time, in a long time, Mark feels… Complete.

Complete and very, very hard. Cock straining against his boxers, precum staining the stretched fabric and he takes a deep breath, inhaling the smell of you. God.

“You’re so warm…” Mark whispers against your skin, his body shifting and your gaze flicks up to your ceiling, and you’re gonna bite off your bottom lip at this point. Every hole of your body is clenched, your mind is working overtime to commit every sense you’re feeling to memory.

You swallow hard when you realise Mark’s hips are wedged between your thighs, layers of fabric doing nothing to make him feel less of the heat between you, and Mark presses his lips against your pulse. The ball of his nose brushes against your earlobe, his hips press against yours and you’re feeling all of him and simultaneously not enough.

Mark’s pressing sweet kisses against your neck, a low sound leaving the back of his throat when he feels the way your head tips back, exposing the supple flesh of your throat. And Mark sighs against your skin, dragging his tongue up your jugular before lifting his head, shifting until his face is above yours.

Lashes fluttering and his head dips.

Mark’s lips meet yours in a soft kiss. Uncoordinated, so unpracticed, and so, so hot. Mark’s lips move against yours in the sweetest way, hands pawing at your waist, pulling you closer and he loves the way your thighs press against his waist, soft. Inviting.

And so warm.

He loves the way your fingers sink into his hair, nails dragging and carding through his hair, strands slipping from between your fingers. The covers keep the two of you entangled, and Mark can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be than here.

With you.

In your dimly lit room, while your TV plays as background noise. Unable to drown out your sighs, Mark’s hums and the way your body feels against his. He can feel the way your nipples harden beneath that oversized T-shirt, and with each shift of his chest, he hears that whine you let out.

And he swallows your syrupy sweet whines, your tongue tastes like cookies and he feels the way your thighs tremble at his sides.

“Wrap your legs around me.” Mark breathes out. “Please…” His breaths are so hot, fanning against your neck and his hands shift, grasping at your hips with so much want that the action alone has your panties clinging to your cunt.

He lifts his head, soft eyes focused on the way your cheeks are burning even hotter than his, your lashes fluttering and your legs are following his command, wrapping around his waist and he nearly moans at the feel of your heels digging into his lower back, bringing him closer.

And Mark’s head falls against your shoulder.

His hips roll against yours, messy and so unpracticed. You feel the way his cock presses against you, and you nearly whine.

Swallowing hard when he speaks softly. No... Not speaks.

Begs.

“Can I fuck you?”

T🌼A🌼G🌼L🌼I🌼S🌼T

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[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSURPRISE PARTY TOUR: BOSTON'S ENGAGEMENT PROPOSAL * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　Where, at the Boston show of the Surprise Party Tour, Matt finally reveals his first solo surprise of the tour: proposing to Y/N.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Matt felt like a complete idiot.

Which was honestly fine.

Normal, even.

Because what else are you supposed to feel when you walk into Tiffany & Co alone, camera in one hand, jacket half-zipped, and the literal knowledge in your brain that today’s the day you buy your engagement ring?

The second the glass doors swished shut behind him, he instantly felt underdressed. The place was too clean. Too bright. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet where even your footsteps sound loud, and you’re 90% sure the floor costs more than your car.

"Okay." He muttered, clicking on the small camera in his hand, flipping the screen so he could see himself, waving with his free hand. His messy strands were doing their own thing, and his voice cracked a little. "Hi, uh, so I guess this is happening."

The Tiffany logo glimmered in the reflection behind him, all silver and serious. He turned the lens toward the inside of the store, slowly panning across the display cases that sparkled so hard it hurt to look at them.

Everything was white and silver and pale blue. Velvet chairs. Smooth marble counters. Employees moving around like they were floating, all super polished and weirdly calm, which was the opposite of how he felt.

He found a small table in the center of the room with a modern glass vase on it and propped his camera there using the tiny tripod suction he’d brought.

"I sent an entire email explaining this to the brand and asking for permission to record it. They gave me it. I even brought it printed." He laughed breathlessly, angling the lens to frame the table and the chairs across from it.

Matt sat down and let out a quiet breath, tapping his fingers anxiously on the edge of the table.

He didn’t really know what he was expecting walking in here. Like maybe it would hit him differently, feel more real. But all he felt was this warm weight in his chest and the nonstop loop in his head.

Don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up.

A woman appeared after a few moments, dressed in sleek black with a small Tiffany-blue badge on her chest. Her heels clicked quietly as she walked toward him, her smile calm and super professional but not cold.

"Hi there. Matthew, right?" She said warmly.

"Yeah, hey." He stood up awkwardly, then realized she didn’t expect that and just kind of hovered in a weird half-stand before sitting back down.

She smiled kindly.

"I’m Elena. Thank you for coming in today. I've been informed of your plans."

He nodded.

"That's great! Thank you."

Elena let out a soft laugh at how stiff he looked and pulled up a chair across from him.

"Don’t worry. You’re definitely not the first person to come in here with that look on your face. You’re shopping for an engagement ring, yes?"

The words still made his brain stutter. But he nodded.

"Okay, then let's start." She said, already opening a small black folder in front of her.

Matt sat back and rubbed his beard covered jaw. The room felt big. And small. And too real.

"Alright." Elena said, flipping open a tray of sample bands, all lined in rows with tiny cards that probably had words like platinum and cushion cut on them. "Let’s talk about her. What does she like?"

Matt blinked at the rings for a second, overwhelmed by sparkle. Then he focused.

"She actually wears a lot of jewelry." He started, voice calmer now that they were actually talking logistics. "She wears gold more than silver, but like both. And she hates anything super chunky or loud. She's more into the delicate, kinda simple stuff. Like she has these tiny gold hoops she wears almost every day and these little rings that look like... minimalist or whatever."

Elena nodded, already pulling a few bands from the tray and setting them aside.

"This gives us a lot to play with, actually."

"Good." Matt said, nodding. "She also... okay, I don’t know if this helps, but she likes stuff that’s classic but not boring, y’know? She’s not trendy. That sounds kinda corny, but..."

"No, that’s perfect." Elena said, already unlocking another small drawer in the case nearby.

Matt glanced down at all the million options, fingers drumming a quiet beat against the edge as his brain tried to concentrate.

Fuck, he wished his brothers were there.

Chris would’ve made him laugh to calm him down while Nick would’ve asked twenty questions about resale value and the clarity of the stone or whatever.

It was weird doing something this big without them next to him. Like losing your phone and realizing how much you depended on it. He was so used to them being right there in every step.

But not this time.

This was just him.

"Here." Elena said gently, breaking the spiral as she placed a new tray in front of him. "I think we’re getting close."

Matt leaned in, eyes scanning the rings. One stood out immediately.

It was delicate, so thin he almost missed the band entirely. A single oval-cut diamond sat in the middle with six claws holding it in place, no extra flash, no weird shapes, just clean and clear and... her.

He pointed to it, eyebrows lifting slightly.

"That one’s really nice."

Elena smiled like she’d been waiting for him to say that.

"That’s one of our most classic solitaire styles. Platinum band. Oval diamond."

He tilted his head.

"Yeah... she’d actually wear that. Like she’d live in that."

"Exactly." Elena said. "You want something she’ll love now and thirty years from now."

They added a curved matching band that hugged the engagement ring perfectly. It looked like the two rings were designed to never be apart.

Matt stared at them for a second too long.

"Can I- uh... get a second to record this?" He asked, already reaching for his camera and bringing it closer.

He lifted the box gently, showing the rings to the lens and whispering.

"This is the one. I hope you love it."

The big screen flicked for a millisecond before showing the banner with 'SURPRISE' written in big white letters.

The noise was immediate, and it only seemed to increase when the countdown appeared seconds after, huge and bold across the giant screen. The numbers started ticking down from 5, all in that signature grainy style.

The theater echoed with voices. People clutched their phones tighter. Someone behind Y/N whispered a breathless "Oh my god, it has to be Matt", but she didn’t even register it at first, her eyes glued to the screen.

And then, there he was.

Matt.

Standing in front of a camera, looking directly into it while adjusting his tie.

The crowd lost it.

They weren’t even at fault for their reaction. Six shows had passed through, and Matt wasn't the one bringing a solo surprise in none of them.

Matt smiled at the screams. He stood up from the orange couch on the left, where he’d been sitting shoulder to shoulder with Chris, and grabbed his mic.

The crowd didn’t calm down. If anything, they screamed harder, but there was something about his nervous little laugh that softened everything around it.

He walked to the side of the stage, shoes scuffing the dark wood, and turned toward one of the wooden shelves that were part of the set.

"Okay, okay." Matt said into the mic, voice shaking slightly but still him. "I’m gonna need you guys to chill a little, like, just enough for me to hear myself, alright?"

The crowd laughed but actually obeyed. Kind of.

"I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time." He admitted, glancing out at the audience like they were all his best friends and not strangers in a dark room. "And I’ve honestly never been this nervous before."

He paused.

Looked down.

And without needing to search, his eyes dropped straight to the middle seat in the front row.

Y/N.

There she was, sitting all cute and clueless, smiling so big it almost hurt him. She had that gentle sparkle in her eyes that only came out when she was happy in quiet ways.

She had no idea. Not even close. And God, she was going to freak out.

Matt felt his heart full-on trip over itself.

She was wearing the red and black Ralph Lauren jacket he had used on Philadelphia, and her hands were folded over her legs. She was watching him like she was proud just to see him standing there. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And that made it worse.

And better.

And way harder not to cry.

Chris and Nick were now on the left couch, explaining the dynamics of the live broadcast channel and the hint Matt was going to show to the public.

"Matt." Chris called, adjusting his mic. "We’re gonna be here all night if you don’t open that damn shelf."

The crowd cracked up.

Matt rolled his eyes dramatically to the audience, grinning as he turned back toward the cabinet door.

"Okay." He said, laughing through his nose. He reached out, fingers gripping the cool handle. "Let’s see what the hint is."

He pulled it open.

A ring.

Not the ring.

Just a ring.

It was chunky and bold and totally not bridal. Something from Paula, their stylist. Gold with a flat top, engraved with something random that didn’t matter.

Matt grabbed it and shut the cabinet again, turning around. He made his way back to the couch, but instead of sitting down, he stood in front of his brothers and held up the ring for them to see.

Nick leaned forward.

"What is that? A mafia ring?"

Chris squinted.

"Wait, wait- is your surprise a jewelry line? Are you releasing jewelry for Yesterday's Problem now?"

The mention of Matt's mystery brand made a crazy effect over the crowd, who screamed and begged for it to be about Yesterday's Problem.

Matt raised his eyebrows at the youngest.

"No, of course not." He pressed his lips together in a smug kind of way, then looked over his shoulder to the crowd. "Y’all are so off." He laughed under his breath.

Nick sat back with his arms crossed.

"This is too vague."

Matt ignored him. He tucked the fake ring in his jacket right pocket, feeling it clinking against the hidden velvet box, and finally walked over to the opposite couch.

He sat down slowly, smoothing his jeans and adjusting his mic. And for the first time, he looked up, not at the crowd, not at his brothers, but to the grandstand section near the side stage.

He found them instantly.

His parents. Nate. Mikayla. Sam.

All there. All watching.

Their expressions were... hard to read. Focused. Neutral, but expectant. His mom had her hands clasped near her chin, her brows slightly knit. His dad was still.

Matt swallowed. Looked back to the screen.

"Well, let's see what I did."

And then the video started.

It didn’t come with any fanfare or intro, which already made it so different from the slow builds Chris and Nick did for theirs.

"Okay."

Video-Matt’s voice crackled through the speakers, low and kind of nervous. On screen, the camera shook slightly as he clicked on it and flipped the screen to face him. He waved awkwardly with his free hand, his expression caught between a smile and full-on panic.

"Hi, uh, so I guess this is happening."

A wave of laughter rippled across the theater at how awkwardly he opened the video.

On stage, Chris squinted at the screen, tilting his head.

"Wait, where even is he?"

Matt hadn’t said it, but the massive, gleaming Tiffany & Co. logo was reflected behind him in the video - polished silver letters on a blue-tinted wall.

The moment the logo came into focus, Nick let out a confused noise beside Chris, practically leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Is that-"

"Bro, is he in Tiffany’s?" Chris finished, brows furrowed.

Even Y/N blinked in quiet surprise. Her head tilted slightly as she watched Matt on the screen set the camera down on a sleek little table inside the boutique. She’d never seen him even mention Tiffany jewelry. Vivienne Westwood was his thing, silver chains, edgy rings.

But she still smiled wide because he looked nervous as hell.

Matt, onscreen, muttered something about having emailed the brand beforehand to ask for permission to film, even flashing a crumpled printout of the email at the camera.

"I even brought it printed." He chuckled under his breath, clearly trying not to combust from stress as he fixed the frame.

Back on stage, Chris snorted.

"Why does he look like he’s about to commit a crime?"

Nick leaned toward the mic.

"Your surprise is that you stole some expensive jewelry, Matt?"

The crowd laughed again, some people clapping, some just wheezing into their hands.

Y/N was frowning now, eyes glued to the screen. Matt hadn’t looked that nervous since- well, since he asked her to move in with him from Boston to LA years ago.

On screen, Matt sat down at the table, his fingers tapping a beat on the edge like he couldn’t stop moving.

Moments later, a woman walked into frame - sleek black outfit, small Tiffany-blue name tag pinned to her chest.

"Hi there. Matthew, right?" She asked with a kind smile.

Matt stood up too fast and then kind of froze mid-stand like he wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to do. He hovered awkwardly for a moment before sitting back down with a stiff, nervous nod.

Y/N laughed quietly, leaning forward in her seat.

"Oh, baby..." She mumbled, her heart just full.

"I’m Elena." The woman said, settling into the chair across from him. "Thanks for coming in today. I’ve been informed of your plans."

On the couch, Nick let out a quiet, "What plans?"

Chris nudged him but was just as confused.

"That’s great! Thank you." Matt said in the video, his voice an octave higher than normal.

Elena smiled, clearly used to this kind of energy.

"Don’t worry. You’re definitely not the first person to come in here with that look on your face. You’re shopping for an engagement ring, yes?"

The theater went silent.

Chris blinked.

Nick sat all the way back into the couch like the air had been punched out of him.

The crowd gasped.

And Y/N... Y/N froze entirely.

Her jaw went slack. Her breath caught in her throat. Her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, twitched.

Did she hear that right?

Chris was the first to react.

"Wait- WHAT?" He half-shouted into his mic.

Nick was still staring at the screen, eyebrows drawn so hard together that they were practically touching.

"She just said- she said engagement- he- what?"

The audience exploded in a mix of laughter, shocked screams, and collective gasping.

Y/N covered her mouth, eyes glued to the screen, heart pounding in her chest so loud it drowned everything else out.

She didn’t blink.

She didn’t breathe.

Her gaze stayed fixed on the boy on the screen, the boy she’d loved quietly, gently, patiently, for what felt like forever, who was sitting inside Tiffany & Co., looking like he was going to throw up from nerves, and apparently about to buy a ring.

For her.

Matt had been planning this.

He had planned this entire thing.

"Oh my god." She whispered behind her hand, her voice shaking with shock and joy and every emotion crashing together in her chest.

Chris turned slowly to look at her from the stage, his mouth slightly open like he was seeing the twist in a movie.

"You knew about this?" He asked, pointing to the screen.

Y/N shook her head so fast it almost made her dizzy.

"How could I know this, Chris?!" She squeaked, the words barely coming out.

Nick blinked rapidly, rubbing his forehead.

"Chris, a wedding propose is supposed to be a secret to the one being proposed."

But Chris still hadn’t recovered.

"A ring, dude. Like... for real. We’re on stage, and he’s proposing?"

Y/N sat back slowly, staring up at the screen like it was made of stars. Her lips trembled, not from sadness or fear or anything close to hesitation, but just from the way her entire soul felt like it was floating.

This wasn’t just a surprise.

This was Matt.

Her Matt.

And somehow, he’d managed to turn an ordinary night into the most extraordinary moment of her life.

The video continued playing, but no one really moved.

The entire theater was still.

Hearts pounding.

Eyes wide.

Waiting for the big moment.

The last frame of the surprise video froze on the big screen, the tiny velvet box open in Matt’s hand, his voice low and trembling, whispering like a private secret.

"This is the one. I hope you love it."

And then... nothing. The screen went black.

For a second - two, maybe three - the entire venue was suspended in absolute silence. No screams, no gasps, no whispers. Just air. Thick and vibrating with a kind of collective disbelief that made everything feel just a little unreal, like the world had glitched and was still buffering.

Then someone - probably a fan in the front row - gasped out loud.

And the silence cracked.

A mix of choked sobs, happy cries, shocked laughter, and chaotic squeals broke like a wave through the audience.

Mary Lou covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide and glossy. Mikayla had literal tears streaming down her cheeks, clutching the side of Nate's hoodie. Even the tour crew was caught off guard, one of the lighting guys had his jaw dropped like he was about to cry.

Nick blinked rapidly and turned toward Chris, totally stunned.

And then there was Y/N.

She was still seated, her mouth parted just slightly, her eyes wide and blinking slow, like she was trying to make sense of gravity again. Her entire body felt... floaty. Like she wasn’t quite in the room anymore. Like she was watching someone else live her life and was just now realizing that someone else was... her.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, and her hands felt cold and sweaty at the same time. She couldn’t move. She didn’t even breathe.

And then Matt stood up.

Still on stage, in front of the giant screen, with tears in his eyes and his heart practically written all over his face.

He looked at her.

Just her.

And the noise around them blurred into something distant and unimportant. He brought the mic up to his lips, eyes momentarily running from hers.

"Can- uh, can one of you help her up here?" He asked, nodding toward the security guard on the right side of the stage, voice trembling through the speakers.

The crowd seemed to become louder.

Screams. Cries. People clapping and jumping. Y/N could barely process the guard gently approaching her, a soft smile on his face, as he reached out a hand.

She blinked at him.

Then blinked again.

"Come on, sweetheart." Matt said into the mic, his voice cracking. His smile was soft and a little wobbly. "It’s okay."

That’s when her legs finally moved. Barely. But they moved.

The crowd cheered louder as she slowly stood up, holding her shaky hands to her chest, fingers scratching against the glitter of her shirt - the same one that Nick was using.

She followed the security guard to the edge of the stage, the warm lights making everything feel more surreal, more floaty. Like a fever dream she didn’t want to wake up from.

And then, she was there.

Up on stage.

Everything around her was blurry except for him.

Matt. Matt. Matt. Matt. Matt. Matt.

Standing there, eyes glassy, hands twitching like he didn’t know where to put them. He looked like he was holding back a loud cry.

"Come here, angel." He said again, softer this time. Just for her.

She walked toward him slowly. Feet barely touching the stage, everything trembling. The lights, the crowd, the sound, it all disappeared as she reached him and stopped a foot away.

His voice was shaking. His hands were shaking. But when he looked at her, it was solid. Sure. Like there was nothing else he believed in more than her.

"Okay." Matt started, laughing nervously and brushing his fingers under his eye. "Uhm... wow. Okay. So... I had this whole thing in my head. Like, how I was gonna say it. But now I’m just... losing it."

She let out a teary laugh. So did the crowd.

Matt looked down for a second, then back up, voice steadier this time.

"I love you." He said first, like he had to just get that out before anything else. "I love you so much."

Y/N let out a shaky breath. Her hands came up to her mouth, eyes already overflowing.

"You’ve been with me through everything. Everything, Y/N. When I was nobody. When we were filming in our parents' kitchen and only getting a hundred views. When I had zero dollars to my name. When I moved to LA with my brothers and literally lived on hope. You were there."

He sniffled.

"You’ve always been there."

Her whole body was trembling now. She could barely stand straight.

Matt stepped a little closer, reaching out with one shaky hand to hold hers, gripping tight like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"I’m not good with words. You know that." He said, voice wobbling but warm. "But you- you’re everything to me. You’re the reason I’m even here. Not just like, here here." He gestured around at the stage. "But like- here."

Her lips quivered as she sobbed softly, squeezing his hand.

"I wake up every day, and I can’t believe I get to love you. That you love me back. That I get to see you reading on the couch or ranting about your series or dancing while you brush your teeth. You’re the best part of my day, every day." Another laugh cracked in his throat, wet and breathless. "I brought your perfume with me to Vegas so my shirts smelled like you. That’s where I’m at. That’s how far gone I am."

Y/N let out a choked laugh through her tears, wiping at her eyes, her fingertips coming out black with mascara. Matt laughed too, even as a tear rolled down his cheek.

And then he reached into the right pocket of his jacket.

The room seemed to still again.

He pulled out the small velvet box. Hands trembling.

She bit her lip. A hand flew to her chest.

And then Matt was getting down.

On one knee.

His knee hit the stage softly. He opened the box again, showing two beautiful rings sparkling under the lights, and tried to hold it up while still holding the mic. But his hands were too full.

Chris was already moving before Matt could even think of asking for help. He ran up to them, gently taking Matt’s mic right out of his hand, and held it up close to Matt’s mouth for him.

Matt looked up at his brother, breathless and laughing softly through the emotion.

"Thanks." He whispered, voice cracking.

Chris just smiled his widest smile, his eyes shining with tears, and nodded.

Matt turned back to Y/N, holding up the box in his shaking hands.

"Y/N." He said. "Please, allow me to spend the rest of my life by your side. Will you marry me?"

And it was like the world held its breath.

All she could do was nod at first, crying and covering her face. Then she laughed through her tears and choked out.

"Yes. Yes. Oh my god- yes!"

The crowd exploded. Screams. Cries. Phones held high. Some people literally jumped. Nick tackled Chris in a hug. Their mom sobbed against Jimmy.

Matt stood up and pulled her into his arms so fast the empty box slipped, and they both stumbled a bit, laughing and crying and shaking.

And when he kissed her, right there in front of everyone, it wasn’t polished or pretty. It was messy. And emotional. And real.

"I love you so much." He whispered in her ear.

And she whispered back.

"I can’t believe you’re mine."

They stood there for a long time, just holding each other.

Two people on a stage. In front of thousands.

"The 'getting down on one knee' thing was successfully approved, Matt." Nick's voice echoed around the room from the speakers before two more bodies collapsed around them, holding them close.

They were the only ones in the world.

© vanteguccir

[onlythebravest]

.

[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

[missimaginx]

CELEBRITY CRUSH | KA12

pairing: kimi antonelli x f!brazilian!tennis player!reader

plot: where kimi needs to introduce the paddock to you, his celebrity crush.

warnings: narrated in first person (kimi's pov); female reader; italian-brazilian female reader (but you can just ignore that); female tennis player reader; kimi being a nervous and lovesick mess around the reader; possible grammatical errors; english is not my first language :).

a/n: images taken from pinterest. this is my first time writing a one shot 🥹, hope you like it (wc: 3k)

remembering that this is just fiction, all the people portrayed here have their own personalities and their own relationships.

MIAMI GRAN PRIX — 2025

I’m sweating.

Like, a lot.

And I’m not even wearing the race suit yet.

“…and it would be great if you could show her around the paddock, Kimi. She’s Mercedes’ special guest because of the shared Adidas sponsorship, so be nice. Engaged. Natural.” The Mercedes PR finishes with that professional smile that, at this point, feels like the devil’s grin.

I nod. That’s all I can do. Because, honestly? I’m speechless. In shock.

Y/N L/N is going to be here.

THE Y/N L/N.

The girl who lives in my head like she pays rent. The tennis prodigy. The one I watched playing at the Australian Open when I was sixteen and became absolutely certain she’s the love of my life—even though she doesn’t even know I exist.

I’ve seen her on TV. On Instagram. On TikTok. In interview replays. I’ve read articles from Brazilian sites in Brazilian Portuguese and tossed them into Google Translate. I know what brand of racket she uses. I know she likes passion fruit juice and has a superstition about a red hair tie.

And now she’s going to be here.

With me.

Getting a paddock tour.

And I HAVE TO BE NATURAL.

“You’re pacing.” Ollie says, sitting on the press room couch with the most bored expression in the world. “Again. You’ve literally circled the table three times.”

“I’M SHOWING HER AROUND THE PADDOCK, OLLIE.”

“Yeah, you said that. Three times. In different volumes.”

“She’s going to look at me and think ‘who is this idiot?’ And then I’ll stutter and trip over myself and maybe even throw up! Ollie, I MIGHT PUKE IN FRONT OF HER!”

“You’ve raced in torrential rain with zero visibility. You can handle a girl.”

“She’s not just any girl! She’s Y/N L/N!”

“Right. The love of your life you’ve never said ‘hi’ to. Got it.”

“You don’t get it! She’s incredible. She’s focused, determined, elegant, funny—she laughs with her head tilted to the side, and when she’s concentrating on a match she wrinkles her nose in this way that—”

“Okay. That’s it.” Ollie throws his head back, laughing. “Kimi, for the love of God, breathe. You’re just going to show her around, and if it all goes terribly wrong, you’ll never see her again.”

“NOT HELPING!”

“But… what if it goes right?”

I freeze. What would ‘going right’ even mean? She noticing me? Laughing with me? Following me back on Instagram? Calling me ‘Kimi’ with that cute Italian-Brazilian accent?

“You should ask her out,” Ollie says.

I turn to him like he just suggested I break into the FIA president’s office.

“Are you insane?”

“Why not? You’re the same age. She’s an athlete, you’re an athlete. She’s Italian, you’re Italian. You’re both young, rich, good-looking… basically an Adidas commercial couple.”

“I won’t even be able to say ‘hi’! You want me to ask her out?”

“Get ice cream. Ask her out for ice cream.”

“I’M NOT ASKING Y/N L/N OUT FOR ICE CREAM!”

“Why not?” he crosses his arms, laughing. “You think she’ll say no? That she’ll laugh in your face?”

“Yes! No! I don’t know!”

The door opens and Gabriel walks in, energy drink in hand and looking like he was dragged out of bed.

“Good morning to you too,” he says, flopping into the chair next to me. “Everything okay? Kimi looks like he’s seen a ghost.”

“He has,” Ollie replies before I can defend myself. “Or, well, he’s about to. The love of his life.”

Gabi frowns. “Huh?”

“Kimi’s had a crush on a girl for like three years and just found out she’s gonna be here today. In the paddock. As a Mercedes guest. And he has to give her the tour.”

Gabriel blinks, processing. “For real?”

“Totally. He’s already planning his escape through the Williams garage.”

“Who is it?”

“Y/N L/N,” Ollie says.

“Y/N?”

My stomach drops.

“You know her?” I ask, trying to sound casual. (Failing completely.)

“Of course. We’ve known each other since we were twelve. Her parents are friends with my uncles. And she’s INSANE on the court. Just won the Miami Open, did you see?”

“I DID,” I answer with something close to religious fervor. “I watched the whole match. Twice.”

My world tilts.

Gabriel Bortoleto knows Y/N L/N.

GABRIEL. KNOWS. HER.

“What’s she like?” I ask before I can stop myself. “I mean, off the court. Does she like music? Movies? What’s her favorite ice cream flavor? Is she talkative? Quiet? What’s her favorite color? Has she ever dated? Does she—”

“Mate,” Gabi laughs, slow. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

Ollie laughs out loud. “Told you it was serious. He’s had a dossier on her since 2022.”

“I just want to be prepared!” I protest.

Gabi looks at me like he’s finally getting the full picture.

“Mate. You’re in love with her, even though you’ve never met?”

“Not in love in love. Just… maybe. A lot. Since forever.”

Ollie grins, the smug smile of someone enjoying someone else’s drama way too much.

“And you still think you shouldn’t ask her out?”

I sink into the chair.

“This is going to be a disaster.”

And Ollie, beside me, pats my shoulder. “Or it’s going to be the beginning of a story we’ll laugh about at your wedding.”

“Not helping.”

“But it’s true.”

And, for the first time, I let that wild thought creep into my brain.

What if… it’s not a disaster?

I’ve only been waiting for two minutes.

But it feels like forty-seven years.

The Mercedes hospitality is quieter now… or maybe it just feels that way. There are still people around. An engineer leaving a meeting room, a kitchen staff member switching trays at the buffet, a couple of marketing folks talking quietly on a corner sofa. But to me, everything seems in slow motion. Like the whole world has faded into background noise while my thoughts race faster than my W16.

I’ve done all the interviews. Talked to more journalists than I can count, answered the same questions so many times the words lost all meaning, and even smiled genuinely when asked about the race. Now there’s just one thing left…

Her. Y/N L/N.

I shift in my seat for the fifth time in two minutes. Run my hand through my hair. Zip and unzip my jacket. Try not to sweat. Fail miserably.

The PR said she’d go get her and bring her here. Told me I just need to be polite. “Natural.” As if that’s possible when I’m about to meet the girl who’s lived rent-free in 90% of my brain since I was sixteen.

I rest my elbow on the armrest, trying to look casual, but my knee’s bouncing. I force myself to breathe—and that’s when I hear it.

A laugh.

Light, crystal clear. With an accent. That kind of laugh someone gives when they’re being polite but genuinely kind.

And I know it’s her.

It’s ridiculous, but I know. The sound hits different. Like the universe has been waiting for her to show up so it could finally be in color.

I hear the PR’s voice along with hers, getting closer every second, and something inside me switches on. I straighten up. Run my hand through my hair again. Try to remember how to say ��hi.”

And then she walks in.

And nothing—absolutely nothing—could’ve prepared me for it.

She steps in beside the PR, eyes wandering curiously around the room, and my brain shuts down. Like, literally. Total blackout. Blue screen.

Y/N L/N walks through the door like the universe hit pause so she could have time to exist. The mint green dress—yes, mint green, because she once said in an interview that it’s her favorite shade of green—looks like it was made for this soft lighting. It matches her white sneakers and the dark green lanyard hanging around her neck. It brings out the warm tone of her skin, the insane green of her eyes, the waves of dark brown hair I’ve seen in so many videos—but live, it’s different. It’s better. Everything is better. Every detail.

She smiles, a bit shyly, and glances around like she’s still adjusting to the new environment.

And me? I’m frozen.

She’s… smaller than I imagined. For some reason, in pictures and videos, she looked taller. But now, standing a few steps away from me, her shoulders slightly hunched like she’s shielding herself from the attention, she looks… real. Human. Beautiful in an almost unreal way.

“Y/N, this is Kimi Antonelli. Our driver, and your official tour guide today,” says the PR, lightheartedly. “Kimi, this is Y/N L/N, who you probably already know, but just to remind everyone—she just won the Miami Open.”

But I don’t hear any of that. Or, I do, but it’s all background noise behind her image. I’m too busy… existing in a trance.

She extends her hand, smiling.

“Hi,” she says, with that adorable Italian-Brazilian accent that makes me want to write poetry. “Nice to meet you. And thank you for having me here.”

I look at her hand. Then her face. Then her hand again. Then—

Do something, Kimi.

I shake her hand like it’s made of porcelain. The touch is light, but it feels like a shock. Not the bad kind. The kind that wakes you up.

“It’s… it’s a pleasure,” I say, voice slightly higher than usual. “Like. Really. A lot. I mean—welcome.”

Y/N smiles. God help me, she smiles.

“Thank you,” she says again, with a tiny laugh that makes her nose scrunch up. Just like I love. “I’m a little nervous, to be honest. I’ve never been in a paddock before. Everything looks so… serious.”

“It’s… yeah. It is. But not always. I mean, yes. But also no. It’s fun. Sometimes.”

STOP TALKING, KIMI.

She laughs again, and by some miracle, she doesn’t seem to think I’m completely insane.

The PR chimes in, all cheerful:

“I’ll leave you two to walk around and get familiar with the place. Y/N, anything you want to know or see, Kimi can show you. He knows every corner of this paddock with his eyes closed.”

I nod. Maybe too quickly. Y/N smiles again. And for one whole second, there’s just this.

Her.

And me.

And the suicidal mission of not falling even harder.

The PR leaves us there and vanishes before I can beg her to teach me how to be a functional human being.

Y/N looks at me expectantly, a slight smile on her lips, like she’s silently asking, “So… what now?” I try to remember what the PR said. Show her around the paddock. Right. Easy. I know this place like the back of my hand. I’ve walked through here half-asleep thanks to jet lag more times than I can count. But now, with Y/N by my side, everything feels different. Bigger. Brighter. More… paralyzing.

“So… uh, welcome to the paddock,” I begin, trying to sound casual while gesturing like a school trip tour guide. “This is the Mercedes hospitality. It’s where we eat, have meetings, drink bad coffee, and try to pretend we’ve got our lives under control.”

She laughs. She laughs. And I feel like I’ve gained +10 confidence points… and -15 coordination points because I almost trip over one of the couches.

“It’s a lot calmer than I expected,” she says, looking around. “I thought it’d be, like… chaos. Loud. People running around with tires on fire.”

“Oh, that’s more outside, in the garages. In here we only lose it mentally.”

She giggles again, and I decide I could listen to that sound on loop for the rest of my life.

We start walking slowly, and I steer the tour toward the one place where I feel safer: the team garage. My territory. Maybe here I’ll seem less like a clumsy idiot.

“This is the team’s garage,” I explain, pointing like I’m showing her a sacred temple. “That’s where the cars are, over there’s the tires, back there’s the engineers’ station, and in the far back is where I pretend to understand everything Toto says when he starts throwing quantum physics terms around.”

Y/N watches everything with genuine curiosity. Not the polite kind of interest people fake just to be nice — she actually wants to understand. It’s real. And that somehow makes her even more perfect… and me even more in love.

“Wow… so this is where it all happens,” she says, almost reverently.

“Yeah. And also where it all goes wrong sometimes,” I add with a crooked smile.

“What’s the top speed again?”

“Depends on the track… but in Monza, for example, we can hit 350 km/h.”

“Three hundred and…?” She blinks, stunned. “You’re kidding.”

“I swear.”

“What’s it like?” she asks, her big green eyes—bright, locked on my very average brown ones.

The question catches me off guard — not because it’s rare, but because of the way she asks it. Like it’s magic. Like, for a second, I’m not just the Mercedes driver… but someone she truly admires. Someone she wants to understand.

“It’s…” I take a breath, searching for words that do it justice. “It’s like flying, but with the ground really close. Everything becomes instinct. You feel every movement of the car, every curve in your body. The adrenaline is insane, but at the same time… there’s a weird calm in the middle of the madness. Like time slows down for a few seconds.”

She stares at me, fascinated. A small smile forming.

“That’s… beautiful. And kinda crazy.”

I shrug, unsure what to do with the heat rising in my ears. She thinks it’s beautiful. This. Me. Help.

We keep walking, passing behind the garages. Some teams are organizing equipment, others just killing time. The sounds of tools and conversations blend into a kind of soundtrack.

At one point, we turn a corner and — of course, obviously — we run straight into them. Ollie and Gabriel, standing by the dividing wall between the Haas and Sauber garages, chatting, until their attention shifts to us.

“Look who finally showed up,” Ollie says, flashing that smug teen villain smile. “Our very own Romeo.”

Gabriel takes a bite of the sandwich he’s holding and raises his eyebrows when he sees Y/N.

“Y/N!” he says casually. “Long time! You good?”

She smiles—warmly. “Hey, Gabi! I’m good. You? Still cheating at Uno?”

Gabriel gasps in mock outrage. “I never cheated!”

Ollie laughs. “He cheats at rock-paper-scissors too, Y/N. Watch your back.”

Y/N bursts out laughing, and I smile… but there’s that tiny twist in my stomach. That annoying little reminder: they’re friends. She and Gabi have a kind of closeness I don’t have. Yet.

“Well, we don’t wanna interrupt the date,” Ollie throws out, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not a date,” I say—way too fast.

“Of course not,” Gabriel says, smiling. “But if it were, you’d be killing it.”

Y/N glances sideways at me with that knowing smirk that makes me trip over my own thoughts.

We keep walking.

“Sorry about them,” I mutter, slightly embarrassed.

“Don’t be. They’re funny.”

“They’re insufferable.”

She laughs again. And this time, it’s freer. Unrestrained. That’s when I realize: she’s relaxed. The Y/N who was tense and reserved when she got here isn’t here anymore. Now it’s just her — and me, desperately trying to look functional next to the girl of my dreams.

We reach a more open part of the paddock, with a side view of the track. The sounds of drivers rushing between interviews, photographers clicking away — it all hums in the background, a reminder that the world out there keeps spinning.

“Tired?” I ask.

“No. I’m enjoying this.” She looks ahead, then at me. “It’s cooler than I expected.”

“You seem more relaxed now.”

“I am. You made it feel… lighter.”

And that’s when the moment shifts. It turns quiet. Intense—in a good way. In a way I’ll remember forever.

We stop near a low wall. The wind plays with her hair, and she tucks a few strands behind her ear, absentmindedly.

“Sometimes I feel kind of lost,” she says softly. “Like… everything happens so fast I forget I’m still just an eighteen-year-old girl.”

I get it. More than I should.

“Yeah… I feel like that too. Like I have to be a grown-up all the time. Responsible. Flawless. Representing the team, Italy… and deep down, I just want to be playing video games. Or… having time to figure out what I feel. To fall in love. Without it feeling like weakness.”

She turns to me. Her green eyes — beautiful in a way that doesn’t feel real — lock onto mine with something careful. Something interested. Something I don’t want to name yet, because maybe it’ll hurt if it’s not real.

And that’s when it hits me: this? This walk, this moment, this smile?

It might be the only chance I get to be like this with her.

I remember what Ollie said earlier. Ask her out.

It’s crazy… but what if?

If it’s a disaster, at least I’ll have a reason to drive like a maniac on Sunday and forget this ever happened.

Y/N’s phone buzzes. She checks the screen.

“My agent. I’ve got to go shoot with Adidas.”

No. Wait. I still—

“Ice cream,” I blurt out, stumbling over the words. “I mean, like… maybe… you… get ice cream with me, I mean, go out— we could— if you want, of course…”

She blinks. Then laughs. Tilting her head slightly, just like I’ve seen her do a thousand times on my phone screen. And for a second I consider quitting F1 and becoming a stand-up comedian if it means making her laugh like that more often.

“Are you asking me out or ordering dessert?” she teases.

“Asking you out,” I manage to say, finally like a functioning human being. “With me. Ice cream. Later. Someday.”

Her smile grows. Slowly. Beautifully.

“I’d love to.”

My brain reboots. Three times.

When my soul finally stops spinning at the speed of my heartbeat, I realize Y/N is pulling a pen out of her purse—one of those permanent markers fans bring for autographs.

“You got any paper?” she asks, uncapping the pen, looking at me.

I get lost in her eyes for a second. Here, in the golden light of sunset, they look more hazel than green. Gorgeous.

“I…” I blink a few times, trying to return to the realm of functional humans, patting my jeans for paper. “No… but…”

Her phone buzzes again, and from the way she groans, I know it’s her agent texting again.

“You can write it here,” I say quickly, holding out my hand.

Y/N blinks, looking at me. I blink back, looking at her. I feel the tips of my ears burning—and I see her cheeks turn pink.

She blinks once more and smiles before stepping closer and touching my hand. The lightness of her touch is already familiar since I shook her hand earlier. And it sends the same electric shiver up my arm, straight to my heart, making it pound even faster.

I watch as Y/N writes her number on my palm with the black permanent marker. And this is one of the rare times I thank the universe for my good memory—because I know I’ll remember how the wind kept tousling her hair, how the orange sunset lit up her focused face, and how her brows furrowed slightly as she tried to make the numbers as clear as possible.

When she finishes writing, I don’t know if it’s my lovesick mind playing tricks on me, but I swear her fingers linger on mine a little longer than necessary before letting go.

“Text me,” she says, smiling and blushing again. “And don’t take forever.”

Before I can come up with a reply, she leans in and presses a quick, warm, perfect kiss to my cheek.

“I honestly thought you weren’t gonna ask me,” she whispers, like it’s a secret.

Then she turns with a soft “see you soon” and disappears down the corridor.

And I just stand there. Frozen. Dazed. Touching the spot where her kiss landed like I’m trying to save it forever.

And for the first time all day, I think:

Maybe Ollie was right.

Because this… definitely wasn’t a disaster.

[cheftsunoda]

George x albon!reader x Carmen? Alex’s sister that comes to the paddock?

crush — gr63 + carmen

smau + blurbs

george russell x!influencer albon reader x carmen mundt

alex albon x !sister reader

carmen had never met yn albon in person, but from the glimpses she’d seen on social media—effortless beauty, sharp humor, and just the right amount of chaos—she was already smitten. so when yn finally walks into the paddock one sunny afternoon, turning heads like it’s second nature, carmen isn’t surprised that her heart skips a beat. what she is surprised by? the way george starts stammering and grinning like a schoolboy with a crush. oh, this was going to be fun.

fc : amberly yang (bbyambi on ig)

—

yn_albon

liked by alex_albon, lilymhe, lando & 5,010,889 others.

yn_albon : on a brand trip, playing roblox and being lily’s wag all at the same time. (i can multitask unlike alex) (he thinks just bc he is busy driving a car in circles that he is excused from wag duties) (i got you my lily)

tagged : lilymhe

—

view 175,020 other comments.

username00 : the fact that both the albon sibs are so chronically online that they always have memes of each other in their photo dumps makes me the happiest.

liked by yn_albon

↳ yn_albon : part of my job is to be chronically online…idfk what he is doing

liked by lilymhe and lando

alex_albon : im fighting for my life on the track to make more robux for when they unban me

liked by yn_albon

↳ yn_albon : honestly i can respect the grind

liked by alex_albon

↳ yn_albon : @/roblox can u pls unban my brother? we want to play dti together. 🙏🏻🙏🏻

liked by alex_albon and lilymhe

↳ username1 : pls😭 they are so unserious

lilymhe : the bestest wag (sorry alex) love you to the moon and back😇

liked by yn_albon

↳ alex_albon : the internet quite literally argues that i am the best wag

↳ lilymhe : yeah but the internet hasn’t seen yn in her wag era. she greeted me with matcha and braided my hair before the tournament:)

liked by yn_albon and alex_albon

↳ alex_albon : yn stop making me look bad infront of my girlfriend and the internet

liked by yn_albon

↳ yn_albon : if you don’t marry her soon i will😈

liked by lilymhe

lando : just give her alex’s seat while we’re at it, she’s already doing everything else

liked by yn_albon

↳ alex_albon : you are not helping.

liked by yn_albon

yourbff : i genuinely cannot keep up with your ass anymore. in 3 different countries and 4 different roblox servers at once

liked by yn_albon

↳ yn_albon : im just good like that. call you when lilz and i land

georgerussell63 : okay but share your username…for scientific purposes 😎

liked by yn_albon

↳ yn_albon : check dm’s👉🏻👈🏻

liked by georgerussell63

↳ alex_albon : really?? you wouldn’t get on last night but you will willingly play roblox with my sister.

↳ georgerussell63 : yes 😁

liked by yn_albon

carmenmmundt : pretty girl ❤️

liked by yn_albon

↳ yn_albon : says the prettiest girl ever

liked by carmenmmundt and georegrussell63

—

The jet smells like leather seats and expensive champagne. Lily tosses her golf cap onto the nearest empty seat and sinks into the plush cushion across from you, her hair still slightly damp from the post-tournament shower. Her phone’s buzzing nonstop—congratulatory texts, press notifications, probably three new swing analysis videos from her coach—but she ignores it all in favor of kicking off her sneakers and grinning at you like you’ve both just pulled off a heist.

“You think he’s going to freak out?” she asks, tucking her legs up as the jet begins taxiing.

You grin back. “You just placed 3rd in a tournament in another country and now we’re flying to ambush him in the paddock. If he doesn’t cry, I want a refund on him. A new brother for me and a new boyfriend for you.”

Lily laughs, reaching for a mini water bottle but never breaking eye contact. “Also, if he doesn’t hug me before he hugs you, I’m breaking up with him.”

“That’s fair,” you say, mock-serious. “I’ll even do it for you.”

The plane begins to climb, and the world below disappears in a blur of clouds. You sink deeper into your seat, blanket tucked around your legs, as Lily slides across to sit beside you. She rests her head on your shoulder without asking—like always—and pulls out her iPad, but doesn’t unlock it. You both sit there in the silence for a moment, the kind that only comes from a long day and a shared secret.

“You think he has any clue?” she finally asks.

You shake your head. “None. He thinks I’m still in New York on a campaign shoot and that you’ve gone radio silent for your post-tourny ‘recovery era.’ He literally said, ‘See you in like… two weeks maybe?’ this morning.”

Lily smiles, slow and dangerous. “Perfect. I love ruining his sense of control.”

You glance over at her and laugh. “I love when we’re unhinged together.”

She raises her water bottle in a toast. “To chaos. And to your brother, who’s about to have a very emotional Friday.”

You clink your bottle to hers and let the hum of the engines rock you both into quiet anticipation. Because if there’s one thing you and Lily have mastered, it’s multitasking—and surprising the hell out of your brother is the next on the list.

—

The paddock is its usual buzz—team radios chirping, camera crews weaving between garages, PR reps speed-walking like their lives depend on it. You’re tucked under a cap and oversized sunglasses, walking just a half-step behind Lily as she confidently leads the way through security. She’s already flashed her pass like three times, her glow giving her a kind of untouchable aura that’s working in your favor. No one’s looked too closely at you yet, and that’s exactly how you want it. Because Alex has no idea you’re here.

The last time you saw him in person was three months ago. Between your insane travel schedule, influencer events, his race calendar, and general Albon family chaos, you’ve both been surviving on chaotic FaceTime calls, blurry selfies, and the occasional meme exchange at 3AM. You missed him more than you realized—until now, walking into the paddock where he’s just around the corner.

Lily slows as you approach the Williams hospitality suite, tilting her head and smirking. “Okay, how are we doing this? Dramatic walk-in? Surprise hug? Fake press ambush?”

You grin. “I was thinking of yelling and just launching myself at him.”

She laughs and nods. “Classic. I support it.”

Before either of you can fully plan the ambush, you spot him. Alex, standing near the motorhome entrance, in full race kit, laughing at something his engineer just said, completely unaware of the storm about to hit him. And just like that, your feet move without your permission. You break into a jog—hair bouncing under your cap, sunglasses sliding slightly down your nose—and before anyone can stop you, you’re barreling into him from behind.

“HI, LOSER!” you shout, flinging your arms around him.

He stumbles, fully yelping, then freezes.

“WHAT THE—” His voice cracks. He twists around so fast you nearly fall backward, and then the sunglasses come off and your cap flips back, and he finally sees your face.

“YN???” His voice is way too loud. “NO. NO. YOU’RE—WHAT???”

He grabs your face like you’re a hallucination, blinking hard. “You’re here? You’re actually—wait—how?”

You’re laughing, almost in tears from how shocked he looks. “Surprise, idiot!”

And then he’s pulling you into the tightest hug, one arm locked around your shoulders, the other cradling the back of your head like he’s scared you’ll vanish again.

“I haven’t seen you in months,” he mumbles into your hair. “I thought you were in New York?”

“Diversion,” you whisper dramatically. “I lied. Lily helped.”

As if on cue, Lily strolls up behind you, completely unbothered and smug. “Hi babe,” she says sweetly, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Alex pulls away from your hug just enough to look at her, still wide-eyed. “Did you both just—plan an ambush on me?”

“Obviously,” you and Lily say at the same time.

He laughs, almost breathless. “You two are terrorists. I’m calling mum.”

“I already did yesterday,” you reply, smirking. “She knew. She said, and I quote, ‘Don’t give him a heart attack, please.’”

Alex groans, burying his face in your shoulder again. “I’m gonna cry. No seriously, I might cry.”

You pat his back. “You’re allowed. But only if it’s ugly crying. We need the full drama.”

Lily pulls out her phone. “I’m recording just in case.”

He flips her off without looking. In the distance, you can hear someone yell “IS THAT YN??” followed by Lando loudly going “I told you she was hotter in person!”

You’ll deal with that chaos later. For now, it’s just you, your brother, and your best friend. And the first real moment in months where it feels like everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be.

—

You’re still tucked under Alex’s arm, half-leaning into the pit wall inside the Williams garage, laughing over some chaotic memory involving one of your childhood hamster funerals, when you feel Lily tap your leg.

“Don’t look now,” she mutters under her breath, “but your fans are approaching.”

You lift a brow. “Fans?”

She tilts her head toward the open paddock walkway. And there they are. George Russell and Carmen Mundt.

Not even subtle about it—walking suspiciously slow past the garage entrance, sunglasses on, heads angled just enough to catch a glimpse inside. George does a double take, then triple take. Carmen nearly walks into a catering cart because she’s so focused on not being obvious about looking. She is very obvious. Alex glances over and smirks.

“Oh my God,” he mutters. “What are they—are they circling the garage?”

“Like sharks,” Lily says. “Sharks that have a crush on your sister.”

“Should we wave?” you ask, already raising your hand.

“No,” Alex says, far too pleased with himself.

Before you can protest, Alex strides to the edge of the garage and calls out, very loudly, “GEORGE! CARMEN! You looking for someone or just lost?”

George freezes. Carmen tries to act casual but ends up bumping into George’s shoulder.

Alex waves them over. “Come say hi, you creeps.”

You try not to laugh as they walk over—George slightly flushed, Carmen attempting nonchalance with all the grace of someone who definitely spent the last ten minutes plotting this.

Alex leans casually against the wall and wraps an arm around your shoulders like he’s presenting a championship trophy. “You two know my very cool, smart, and famous little sister, YN, yeah?”

George’s eyes practically sparkle. “Oh, we’ve heard of her.”

Carmen grins, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head. “Followed her for years, actually.”

Lily snorts quietly.

“YN,” Alex continues, tone smug as hell, “meet George—who enjoys listening to Taylor Swift before races and Carmen, who once almost tackled a PR intern because she thought they were taking her snacks.”

“That’s a lie,” Carmen says, blushing. “He was trying to steal the last brownie.”

“Fair,” you say, sticking your hand out. “I respect snack based violence.”

Carmen beams as she shakes your hand, maybe holding on a little longer than necessary. “Your posts from Morocco last month? Life-changing. You basically made me book a ticket.”

“Yeah, and that photo dump with the glitter robe?” George adds quickly. “Iconic. No notes.”

You blink. “You saw that?”

“I saw all of that,” George says, too fast, then freezes. “I mean—I just—you know. It was in the explore tab.”

Alex is grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “George, you okay? Bit red in the face, mate.”

George clears his throat. “No, yeah. All good. Just warm in here.”

“We’re in the shade,” Lily says dryly, sipping from her water bottle.

Carmen ignores all of them, eyes still on you. “I love that you’re here this weekend. Maybe we’ll see you around the paddock?”

“Oh, she’ll be around,” Alex says, way too cheerfully. “Attached to my side and/or sabotaging the team radios.”

“She’s welcome to sabotage mine anytime,” George mutters, then straightens up. “Not sabotage. I meant—guest commentary. You know. Enthusiastic support.”

You raise a brow, amused. “Noted.”

Carmen tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to look casual. “If you’re not doing anything later, you should come find us. There’s a little driver dinner after quali.”

Lily’s already smiling. “She’s free. We’re both free.”

George nods eagerly. “Perfect. Yeah. Great.”

Alex just shakes his head, laughing.

—

The restaurant is candlelit and fancy enough that Alex’s shirt has actual buttons. The long, private table is tucked onto a quiet terrace with a view of the paddock lights still glowing in the distance. Drivers are trickling in slowly—Max, Carlos, Lando, a few team personnel—and you’re tucked between Lily and Alex near the middle, your dress a little too pretty for the chaos you’ve been surrounded by all day. You spot them before they spot you.

George, all charm and cologne and crisp white shirt, walking alongside Carmen, who’s glowing in a silk dress.

“Oh no,” Alex mutters around a bite of bread. “The dynamic duo.”

“Be nice,” you hum, dabbing your mouth with a napkin.

“I’m being nice,” he says. “I’m also preparing myself to watch my best friend and his girlfriend flirt with my sister.”

Lily smirks. “Honestly, can’t wait.”

George spots you and lights up immediately.

“YN! You made it,” he says as he slides into the seat across from you—conveniently vacating the original place card.

Carmen swoops in a second later, gracefully sliding into the seat next to you, leaning in close with a conspiratorial grin. “I almost changed my outfit three times tonight. Now I’m glad I didn’t.”

You blink. “You look incredible. You could’ve come in a garbage bag and still won.”

“Oh, stop,” she says, smiling in that way that makes it hard to look away.

Across the table, George clears his throat and leans forward. “She’s right, though. You look amazing.”

“Me or Carmen?” you ask, feigning confusion.

“Yes,” George says, like it’s the most natural answer in the world.

You laugh, and Alex visibly clenches his jaw. “I need a drink.”

“I’ll get you one,” Carmen offers—already rising from her seat.

“I’ll come too,” George says, getting up at the exact same time.

They both stop and look at each other, frozen mid-step.

Lily sips her wine and whispers, “This is amazing.”

Carmen smiles, somehow angelic and savage. “You can grab the drinks, George. I’ll keep YN company.”

George narrows his eyes. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

You turn to Carmen, who leans on her elbow, close enough that her perfume mixes with the scent of the wine. “So,” she says, “are you always this good at crashing dinners and making half the grid fall in love with you?”

You raise a brow. “Half? That’s underestimating me.”

She laughs, and it’s soft and real, and you find yourself relaxing more than you have in days.

George returns moments later with a drink he clearly put effort into—sparkling, colorful, garnished with citrus and possibly some sort of effort-induced love potion. He sets it down in front of you and looks smug.

“Special request,” he says. “Told the bartender it had to be beautiful. Like you.”

Alex chokes on his water. Carlos, from three seats away, just whispers, “wow.”

“George,” you say, blinking at the drink, “did you just riz me with a mocktail?”

“If it worked, I won’t apologize.”

Carmen gives him a look. “Desperate times, huh?”

“You’re the one who changed seats to be closer to her,” he fires back.

“And you’re the one who literally sprinted to make her a drink.”

You glance between the two of them, holding back a smile. “You know I can hear both of you, right?”

They both turn to you at once.

“Just making sure you feel welcome,” Carmen says sweetly.

“Just making sure you don’t waste time with bad company,” George says, with a look that is not subtle.

Lily leans into Alex, who looks like he’s rethinking every life decision he’s ever made.

“Should we intervene?” she whispers.

Alex sighs. “No. Let them tire themselves out. She’ll pick the one who offers snacks first. That’s always the move.”

You smile, sipping the mocktail George brought you, while Carmen casually rests her hand on your chair, her fingers brushing the back of your shoulder like it means nothing. It’s going to be a long dinner. But you’re definitely not bored.

—

The dinner has long since faded into candle stubs and half empty wine glasses, drivers breaking off in pairs to catch early nights, debriefs, or one last drink. You step out into the cool night air, your heels clicking softly on the cobblestone path leading down the hotel driveway, Lily and Alex already ahead of you, arm in arm and lost in some shared joke. You’re about to call after them when you hear your name.

“YN—wait.”

You turn. Carmen, heels in hand now, jogging slightly to catch up. George is right behind her, loosened collar and flushed cheeks, the kind that say he’s had one drink too many or just been nervous all night.

“Escaping without saying goodbye?” Carmen asks, falling into step beside you.

“I was giving you a moment to catch up,” you say with a grin.

George shoves his hands in his pockets. “More like giving us a chance to psych ourselves up.”

You blink. “For what?”

The two of them exchange a glance—quick, nervous, familiar. It hits you then—how in sync they are. And how out of sync they’ve been all evening whenever you’re around. It’s like their rhythm shifts whenever you’re in orbit.

Carmen inhales, then exhales slowly. “Okay. So, this might be insane, but we’ve kind of been talking—”

“—for a while,” George adds quickly.

“And we were wondering,” she continues, stepping slightly in front of him now, “if you’d maybe… let us take you out?”

You raise a brow, heart skipping. “Both of you?”

George shrugs, sheepish but genuine. “We’re not exactly subtle, are we?”

You laugh, mostly because no, they’re not. The lingering glances, the drink wars, the not-so-quiet seat swapping at dinner—it’s all been loud in the most ridiculous, oddly sweet way.

“We figured if we waited any longer, someone else on the grid would try to beat us to it,” Carmen says, voice softer now. “And I don’t share well.”

“Unless it’s with me,” George adds, nudging her shoulder.

She smirks. “That’s different.”

The quiet settles between the three of you. It’s not awkward, though. It’s a little charged, a little hopeful, and very real.

You fold your arms and tilt your head, teasing. “So, let me get this straight. You’re asking if I want to go on a date—with both of you—after the race weekend, when you’re either wildly celebrating or emotionally spiraling?”

George grins. “Exactly.”

“We promise to be charming either way,” Carmen says, her fingers brushing your forearm.

You pause, pretend to think. “Only if it involves another one of George’s mocktails.”

They both lean in slightly, twin expressions of relief and excitement blooming across their faces.

“That’s a yes?” George asks.

You nod. “That’s a yes.”

Carmen’s smile turns a little dangerous, a little thrilled. “Good. Because I already had the outfits picked.”

“And I already booked the restaurant,” George admits.

You roll your eyes fondly. “So this wasn’t spontaneous at all.”

“Calculated risk,” Carmen says with a wink.

And as you fall into step with them—George on your left, Carmen on your right—you think maybe a little risk isn’t such a bad thing after all.

—

yn_albon

liked by lilymhe, alex_albon, georgerussell63 and 7,001,100 others.

yn_albon : idk what to caption this but i saw carlos sainz flirting with james vowles today.

tagged : carmenmmundt, alex_albon and lilymhe

—

view 275,134 other comments.

carlossainz55 : i was not flirting…james is just…very charismatic 🧍🏻‍♂️

liked by yn_albon

↳ yn_albon : it’s okay to be in love with ur boss carlos. i won’t tell

liked by carlossainz55

alex_albon : go weeyums!!!! (they do that all the time)

liked by yn_albon

↳ yn_albon : the longing looks r something else. felt like i was in a soap opera.

liked by alex_albon

williamsracing : we plead the fifth. GO WEEYUMS!!!!

liked by yn_albon and alex_albon

lilymhe : i was too busy staring at you. you are too hot.

liked by yn_albon

↳ alex_albon : was anyone actually watching me today???

liked by yn_albon and lilymhe

↳ yn_albon : not everything is about you alex. it’s called a team for a reason.

liked by lilymhe and alex_albon

carmenmmundt : so happy to be able to spend the day with the prettiest girl in the paddock 🤍

liked by yn_albon

↳ yn_albon : you are the best 🩷

liked by carmenmmundt

—

Carmen finds you outside the motorhome just before lights out, all white sunglasses and effortless grace, her Mercedes pass swinging around her neck like she was born with it. She grins as she approaches, and for a second, you forget the crowd around you—forget the chaos of race day, the roar of engines in the background, the crew rushing past with unreadable expressions. It’s just her.

“You ready?” she asks, nudging your arm gently with her elbow.

“I was born ready,” you say, even though your heart’s been beating at double speed since she texted, “Watch the race with me?”

You follow her to the viewing deck above the garage, where the sunlight is sharp and golden and the crowd noise blends into a distant hum. She leans on the railing next to you, arms crossed, head tilted toward the track—but her eyes keep flicking to you, like she’s more interested in your reactions than the timing screens.

Every time something happens—an overtake, a near miss, Alex making a brilliant move into Turn 1—Carmen taps your arm or gasps quietly or leans in just enough that you catch the faint scent of her perfume. At one point, she offers you a pair of headphones, only to lean closer and say, “But if you wear them, I can’t make dumb commentary in your ear the whole time.”

You don’t put them on.

Instead, you laugh and let her narrate the race in a running whisper that’s more gossip than strategy. And through it all—there’s this buzz. This something.

The way she rests her hand casually on your lower back when she leans over the rail. The way your shoulders brush, again and again, and neither of you pull away. The little inside jokes that start forming before lap twenty.

At one point, you’re both cheering wildly for Alex’s overtake, and you throw your arms up without thinking. Carmen grabs your hand and spins you dramatically, like you’re dancing in the middle of a champagne shower. You both burst out laughing, flushed from the sun and the shared joy, and she doesn’t let go of your hand right away.

“Best race day I’ve had in a while,” she says quietly, eyes locked on yours as the cheers from below echo around you.

“Same,” you reply, and your voice comes out softer than you expect.

For the rest of the race, she stands just a little closer. Says your name just a little more often. And by the time the checkered flag waves, you’re both already making plans for future races.

—

The restaurant is quiet, tucked away on a rooftop overlooking the city, warm lights casting a soft gold glow across the terrace. It’s not flashy, not the kind of place drivers usually get dragged to by sponsors or brands. It’s intimate, quiet, chosen with intention. You knew something was different the moment you stepped out of the car.

George was already waiting, shirt slightly unbuttoned, hands in his pockets, eyes lighting up when he saw you. Carmen had arrived with him, slipping her hand into yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Now, the three of you sit at a small round table under string lights, the city glittering behind you like someone scattered stars too close to earth. Dinner has come and gone, wine glasses nearly empty, dessert barely touched. It’s the silence that tips you off. Not awkward—comfortable. Full. George is watching you with the softest smile, like he’s memorizing the curve of your cheek. Carmen’s hand is resting just slightly over yours on the table, her thumb tracing gentle patterns along your skin.

You glance between them and raise a brow. “What?” you say, laughing lightly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

George leans forward, voice low and sure. “Because we’ve been waiting all night to say something.”

Carmen straightens slightly, her fingers curling more securely around yours. “We didn’t want to rush. We didn’t want to make it a thing until we were sure you felt it too.”

You blink, heart stuttering. “Felt what?”

George takes a breath. “This. Us. Whatever this has been—between the stolen glances and competing to make you laugh and the way you make it feel like everything slows down when you walk into a room. We’ve talked about it, a lot. And we just—”

“—we like you,” Carmen finishes, eyes bright and unwavering. “Together. As… us. Not just one of us. Not competing. Just us.”

Your breath catches. They’re both so open. So sure. Carmen reaches across the table with her free hand, taking George’s. “We don’t want to confuse you or pressure you. But if there’s even a part of you that wants this too… we’d really like to be yours. If you’d be ours.”

There’s no big speech. No drama. Just honesty. Just two people you’ve somehow fallen into orbit with—who’ve made you laugh and blush and feel more seen than you’ve felt in a long, long time. You look at George. At Carmen. At the way they’re already sharing something so strong and steady between them—and yet still made room for you. Your voice is quiet, but sure.

“I do feel it. I’ve been feeling it since… Monaco, probably. And I didn’t know what to do with it. Because this felt impossible.” You laugh, breathless. “But now it feels kind of perfect.”

George exhales, smiling so wide it looks like relief. Carmen brings your hand to her lips and kisses your knuckles. “So… is that a yes?”

You nod, eyes glassy, voice thick with something you didn’t expect to feel tonight. “Yeah. It’s a yes.”

George stands first, pulling your chair out with one hand and helping you up with the other, his touch lingering, reverent. Carmen slips an arm around your waist, and George’s hand finds the small of your back as they guide you to the edge of the terrace. The city stretches out in front of you. The stars are closer now.

And when they lean in—first Carmen pressing her lips to your cheek, then George brushing his nose against yours before placing a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth—it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels like something beginning.

—

several weeks later…

Your birthday doesn’t feel like your birthday. There’s no cake, no chaos, no Alex yelling off-key from the other room while Lily throws glitter at your head. No extra- tight hugs from George. No light forehead kisses from Carmen. There’s just… work.

You’re in New York, stuck in meetings and content shoots for a brand launch you should be excited about. But the apartment they’ve put you in is cold in that expensive, too-white way. You’ve got cupcakes from a PR box and flowers from people you’ve never met, and your phone has dozens of “Happy Birthday!!!” texts that make your screen light up and still leave you feeling completely alone.

You curl up on the couch in your pajamas that night, bare-faced and tired, a blanket around your shoulders as the skyline blinks outside the window. You sent Alex a photo earlier—of your sad little cupcake and a candle that refused to stay lit—but he didn’t answer. Neither did Lily.

You figured Carmen and George would call. Maybe FaceTime you together and make you laugh until your stomach hurt. But it’s almost midnight, and all you’ve got is silence. Until— knock knock knock. You frown.

No one knows you’re here. Not the building. Not the brand team. Not even your manager. You rise slowly, wrapping the blanket around yourself tighter as you cross to the door. You peek through the peephole.

And immediately stumble back, because—

“OPEN THE DOOR,” someone whispers through the wood.

You fling it open. Alex is standing there in a ridiculous party hat, grinning, arms wide open.

“Surprise!” he shouts.

“WHAT—” you start, eyes wide, but then Lily appears from behind him, holding a tray of homemade cookies and a box with your actual baby photo printed on it.

And then Carmen steps out from behind them, looking criminally good in sweatpants and a crop top, holding a tote bag with confetti spilling out.

And George—George—pokes his head in last, holding a bouquet that’s bigger than his torso.

Your breath leaves your lungs in one big, stunned exhale. “You’re all—here?”

“Happy birthday, loser,” Alex says, pulling you into the biggest hug, practically lifting you off the ground.

Lily hugs you second, tighter, whispering, “You didn’t think we’d let you spend today alone, did you?”

You’re already crying when Carmen cups your face. “I know you said you were okay, but you didn’t sound okay. And we weren’t going to let this pass without showing up.”

George presses a kiss to your forehead as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Plus, I missed you. Also, I really needed an excuse to eat cake.”

They come inside like they’ve always belonged there. Alex sets up music from his phone while Lily lays out snacks from a suitcase like she packed an entire party. Carmen pulls a birthday crown from her bag and puts it directly on your head, and George pops open a bottle of something bubbly while asking, “Did we miss dinner, or are we ordering five pizzas?”

Within ten minutes, your apartment feels like home. There’s laughter bouncing off the walls, confetti in the air, candles finally staying lit, and the people you love most in the world—all here. For you. At one point, you’re sitting on the couch with Carmen curled into your side, George stretched out with his head on your lap, Lily painting Alex’s nails while he argues about color choices—and it hits you. This is everything.

Not the flowers from brands or the influencer trips or the shiny gifts you’ll probably forget about in a month. Just this. The people who show up. You smile through your happy tears, and Carmen tilts her head to look up at you.

“What are you thinking?” she asks softly.

“That I might cry again,” you admit, voice cracking.

George shifts to press a kiss to your knee. “Good. We were going for tears.”

Alex raises his bottle. “To YN. The best sister, the most chaotic human being, and now—officially—another year older.”

You all clink glasses. And in that moment, surrounded by love, laughter, and far too much frosting—you feel exactly how you should on your birthday. Not alone. Not forgotten. So, so loved.

—

The next morning, you’re woken by someone aggressively playing the Spider-Man 2 theme song through a portable speaker. You sit up in bed, bleary-eyed and half-asleep, only to find Alex standing in the middle of your apartment with a bagel in one hand and a foam Statue of Liberty crown already on his head.

“Rise and shine, birthday brat,” he declares. “It’s your New York day. And I am your guide.”

“You’ve been here once, Carmen says, sipping coffee in a silk robe from your kitchen. “And you got lost in Central Park.”

George walks in from the balcony, wearing sunglasses and holding a laminated tour map. “Ladies and gentlemen, the group itinerary.”

“Absolutely not,” you groan, pulling the covers over your face.

“Absolutely yes,” Lily says sweetly, throwing a pair of “I ❤️ NY” socks at your head. “You’ve been working nonstop. Today is pure chaos. We’re being annoying. We’re being tourists. We’re buying matching shirts.”

—

You start the day in Central Park because, apparently, Alex woke up with the unshakable conviction that ‘bike rides = wholesome bonding.’ He’s already at the rental kiosk when the rest of you catch up, dramatically arguing with the attendant about whether he can get one with a basket.

Carmen and George are dressed like they’re shooting a Vogue travel spread—she in oversized sunnies and a windbreaker you know she stole from George’s closet; he in perfectly tailored shorts and the exact amount of smug. You, in contrast, are in leggings and a hoodie with a coffee in one hand and a deep mistrust of physical activity in the other.

“Ready to race?” George asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Lily raises an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m above humiliation?”

She takes off like a shot before anyone can answer. George yells “CHEATER!” and tears after her, nearly taking out a toddler and an elderly pug in the process.

You and Carmen opt for the scenic route. You pedal slowly through tree-lined paths while she keeps one hand on the handlebars and the other on your arm whenever she wants to point something out. She tells you stories from her first visit to New York with her uni friends, and you tell her how surreal it feels to be here now, like this—with them.

Halfway through the ride, Alex crashes dramatically into a bush, claiming he was “distracted by nature.” You’re crying from laughing so hard, and George has the audacity to pull out his phone and snap a picture.

Carmen kisses your cheek at a stoplight and whispers, “This already feels like the best day.”

The next stop you begged them not to go. Alex insisted. George supported him purely out of chaos.

It’s exactly what you expected—overstimulating, overpacked, and full of things you don’t want to touch without washing your hands. Carmen wraps a scarf around your head like a disguise while Lily buys hot dogs that may or may not be edible.

Alex immediately takes photos with every off-brand costumed character: a saggy Elmo, a sun-faded Batman, a Hello Kitty with glowing red eyes. “It’s for culture,” he says. “You can’t fight me on this. I was born here spiritually.”

George, meanwhile, ends up cornered by someone selling knockoff sunglasses. He nearly buys three before Carmen drags him away by the collar.

You finally agree to take one touristy group selfie. It takes eight tries because Alex keeps blinking, Carmen keeps kissing your cheek, and George keeps trying to photobomb his own photo.

When you check your camera roll later, one of the blurry pics is your favorite—you, surrounded by all of them, laughing mid-moment, chaos frozen in time.

George announces this stop with the gravity of an F1 team principal revealing new car upgrades.

“There are three key stops. First, Joe’s. Second, Prince Street. Third, the little place in Brooklyn I won’t name because it’s my spot.”

You make it through the first location with only mild cheese-induced burns. George insists on rating every slice like it’s Michelin-tier, even writing notes in his phone. 

Lily walks past him and mutters, “You sound like a guy describing his ex.”

At the second stop, Alex tries to eat an entire slice in one bite and ends up with sauce in his nose. Carmen refuses to share hers. George offers you a bite of his, only to “accidentally” brush your nose with sauce so he can wipe it off with a napkin and an absurd amount of smugness. Carmen retaliates by handing you her last bite and dramatically saying, “Because I actually care about your well-being.” By the third stop, you’re full, a little greasy, and completely, blissfully happy.

 The next stop starts off tame. You wander the galleries, the lighting cool and soft, the mood respectful. It lasts ten minutes.

Alex reads the name of every piece in a fake posh accent. 

George gets stopped by a group of teen art students who ask if he’s that “guy from TikTok,” and he leans in with a totally serious, “Only if you don’t tell my team principal I’m here instead of doing sim work.”

Lily attempts to interpret a Jackson Pollock painting as “Alex’s emotional state after Quali,” and honestly? It fits.

Carmen lingers behind with you in the more abstract galleries. She slips her fingers between yours and murmurs, “I think you are more beautiful than any of this art.” 

You blink at her. “Are you flirting in a museum?”

She smirks. “Can’t help it. You look good under gallery lighting.”

You’re still blushing when a security guard walks by and clears his throat, clearly done with your group’s nonsense.

—

By the time you reach the bridge, the sun is low, painting the skyline in gold and rose and streaks of violet. Carmen hands you an iced drink she somehow smuggled from the last café. George is already halfway up the incline with Alex, both loudly arguing over “who’s more photogenic in silhouettes.”

You walk slower. Lily’s taking photos behind you, catching little moments—you laughing with Carmen, George adjusting your scarf because the wind caught it, Alex mid-jump trying to be “cinematic.”

It’s calm in that surreal, glowing way New York sometimes is. Carmen wraps an arm around you, chin on your shoulder. George loops his arm over both of yours from behind, resting his chin on Carmen.

“I want this forever,” he says softly.

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to. They feel your answer in the way your hand finds theirs, in the way your eyes shine in the light.

—

They sneak you upstairs, Carmen covering your eyes with her hands while George hums Happy Birthday off-key. When they pull their hands away, there’s cake, string lights, paper crowns, and a banner that definitely says “YN IS A MENACE” in Alex’s handwriting.

Lily cues up music. Alex opens champagne like he’s won a Grand Prix. George tries to light sparklers and nearly sets his sleeve on fire. Carmen gets frosting on her cheek and doesn’t wipe it off until you lean in and do it for her.

There’s dancing. Loud, stupid, no-one’s-watching dancing. There’s a slow song that none of you can name, but Carmen tugs you into a sway, and George wraps his arms around both of you.

They sing Happy Birthday again. Off-key. Too loud. Perfectly you. And later, much later, as you sit barefoot on the rooftop with your legs in Carmen’s lap and George tracing circles on your knee, you close your eyes and think— This is the best birthday you’ve ever had. Not because of the city or the food or the sights. Because of them. Your people. Your chaos. Your heart.

—

yn_albon

liked by alex_albon, lilymhe, carmenmmundt and 9,010,107 others.

yn_albon : best birthday ever because i spent it with all my favorite ppl 🩷 love you all so much.

tagged : georgerussell63, carmenmmundt, lilymhe and alex_albon

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view 345,007 other comments.

lando : happy birthday yn!

liked by yn_albon

alex_albon : happiest of birthdays to my favorite menace! love you!

liked by yn_albon

lilymhe : love you my sweet girl! hope it was the best birthday ever❤️

liked by yn_albon

carmenmmundt : our pretty girl!! love you so much

liked by yn_albon

georgerussell63 : id say alex and i were very stellar tour guides 🤣 happy birthday beautiful! love you forever

liked by yn_albon

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f1gossipgirls

3,012,002 likes.

f1gossipgirls : George Russell was caught kissing not longtime girlfriend Carmen Mundt, but her very close friend YN Albon—yes, Alex Albon’s sister and mega influencer. The steamy moment was snapped outside a SoHo café, and naturally, fans are spiraling. Last we checked, George and Carmen were still very much together—so is this a cheating scandal? An open relationship? Or something even messier? And before you say it—yes, Carmen was spotted in New York earlier this week. Yes, with YN. Yes, they were holding hands. No, we don’t know what’s going on either.

—

The photo is everywhere. You wake up to it—your phone vibrating endlessly on the nightstand, screen flooded with texts and notifications. It takes one swipe and a blurry blink to register what’s happening. Splashed across every F1 gossip account, tabloids, Twitter threads, Reddit forums already three theories deep. The angle is unforgiving—paparazzi-level candid, your hand curled into his hoodie, George smiling against your lips like you’re his entire world. Your stomach flips—not from guilt, but from the timing. Because the world doesn’t know the truth. Not yet. Not about you and George. Not about Carmen, either. You scroll down. The headlines are brutal.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until a FaceTime call blares across the screen. It’s Carmen. You freeze. Heart in your throat. She speaks before you can even say hello.

“Have you seen it?” she asks, voice low, hair still wet from her morning shower.

“Yeah,” you croak.

There’s a pause—heavy but not cold. Then she exhales, soft and steady. “George is already pacing the kitchen. He’s on his third coffee. I think he’s trying to rewrite time.”

You let out a small, surprised laugh. Then, more quietly, “Are you okay?”

She smiles gently. “I’m not mad, if that’s what you’re asking. Just tired of pretending. Tired of people thinking we’re lying, or worse—hurting each other.”

“I didn’t mean for it to—”

“I know,” she interrupts. “God, YN, it’s us. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just…” She sighs. “Do you think it’s time?”

Before you can answer, George joins the call, sliding into frame with a frown that melts the second he sees you. He’s still in sweatpants, hair messy, worry written across every feature.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts. “I wasn’t thinking. I should’ve checked who was around—”

“George,” Carmen cuts in gently. “We’re not mad. We’re just… tired of hiding.”

He nods slowly. “I didn’t like watching people call me a cheater when all I was doing was kissing someone I love.”

That word hangs in the air—love. You feel your chest tighten. Carmen notices. Of course she does.

“We all love each other,” she says quietly. “We’re in this together, yeah?”

You nod, throat thick. “Yeah. Together.”

“So we tell them?” George asks. “Everything? The three of us? No secrets, no damage control?”

Carmen looks at you. “Do you want this to be real in the open? Because I do. I want to hold your hand in the paddock. I want to stop pretending you’re just Alex’s little sister. I want people to know that you’re mine— ours.”

Your eyes sting. You don’t even hesitate. “I want that too.”

George exhales like he’s been holding the words in since the post dropped. “Okay. We do it. Together.”

He reaches for Carmen’s hand offscreen. Carmen looks straight into the camera and says, “Let’s write the truth before someone else tries to write it for us.”

You smile. And for the first time that morning, your hands stop shaking.

—

georgerussell63

liked by yn_albon, lilymhe, carmenmmundt and 7,010,001 others.

georgerussell63 : love looks a little different on us. but it’s real. and it’s ours. 💙

tagged : yn_albon and carmenmmundt

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—

[leeechin]

☆ he got that in him

shy bf jungwon ! (18+) 🪽 🦢 ☀️ 🫧

a/n: i feel like this isn't rlly jungwon :( !! but it's all just fiction 🙄 and i just love this man sooo much. please do let me know if there are typos! i do go over before i publish but i sometimes miss it 😢 reqs are open !! don't be afraid to ask :)

✧ pairing: idol!jungwon x influencer!reader + warnings: smut with plot YAYYY. dom!jungwon x subfem!reader, unprotected sex (don't do that), jungwon hits it from the back lol, riding, ass slapping, degradation (use of the words whore, slut, etc), pet names (baby, won, wonnie, etc), size kink, orgasm denial (so mean jungwon), rough sex, jungwon is such a shy guy wrapped around your finger in public, but is such a freak in bed it’s insane.

word count: [2.8K]

♡ enha m.list | post queue | navigation

you quite literally needed jungwon every second in your life. your attachment to him was so strong it was sometimes concerning.

"are you sure you don't want to just go with me in my car?" your boyfriend asks, walking out of your bathroom with a towel wrapped around his lower waist.

you didn't respond but instead stared at the muscles on his stomach, watching how his lower abdomen sucked in a little bit and you were so entranced by the sight infront of you, mouth watering slightly. your whole world stopped for a bit to just simply admire yang jungwon.

you're finishing up some assignments for class. you decided that you're joining jungwon at his group's house gathering an hour or two later than the time he's arriving. you didn't have to worry about missing out too much, the gathering will be going on for a while.

it was jake who decided to throw a mini gathering, including all of the members, and a few other people including you. the gathering including your favorite, an outdoor barbecue and bonfire.

"yeah won." you frown, "have to finish this thesis or else professor jeong will not give me the end of it." scoffing at the mention of your professor. you turn around and your eyes nearly pop out of your socket at what you see. "actually.. are you sure we even have to go..?" you tease, now standing infront of your boyfriend and teasing the sides of the towel that could be down with one small tug, wanting to pull it off your boyfriend.

"quit it perv!" jungwon jokes, "you'll get what's under this towel later tonight." he winks, wrapping a hand around your waist to give you a kiss, you whined when he pulled his soft lips away. "now be a good girl and finish your assignments, i'll see you there in couple hours." patting the back off your ass playfully. going to the closet and picking out an outfit.

you curiously watch your boyfriend style his hair, focus completely shifted from the work you had left with school. "don't you have some assignments to finish?" eyebrows raising at your eyes not blinking once.

"yeahyeah your right." you respond a little flustered, a slight tint flowing on your cheeks. jungwon walks over to your desk, placing a kiss on the top of your head. "see you later baby." then he walked out of your room.

you sigh, already missing the presence of your jungwon. it takes another hour and a half before you're finished with all of your assignments for the week. closing your laptop aggressively, victory filling in your head as you don't have to worry about completing your work this weekend.

you're quick to change out of jungwon's t-shirt, putting on a pair of dark green cargo shorts that hugged your thighs perfectly, and a simple white baby tee with the brands cute logo on the back. grabbing your keys on the counter by the door, dashing out the door, to your car. you had a feeling that you wouldn't be returning home tonight, instead staying over at enhypen's house.

"what's that look on your face jungwon? missing y/n huh?" jake teases him. "she's got him wrapped around her finger! see how she always initiates everything!" jay adds on. "she probably controls ALL the shit that goes on in bed!" someone else says.

"i am NOT talking to you guys about my bed activities." the members laughing at jungwon's quick defense. knowing they're right, atleast they think so.

arriving at the house, you might've underestimated the weather, feeling a little bit cold as you welcomed yourself in, kicking your shoes off at the entrance, carrying them with you to the backyard to put them on again.

"look who's here! we were just talking about you!" ni-ki greets you. "nothing bad i hope." you respond, "don't worry it wasn't anything bad! just talked about how you've practically got jungwon wrapped around your finger." sunoo says, maybe he ran his mouth a little too much, sunghoon glaring at him as sunoo placed both of his hands over his mouth.

you laugh in response to that, "jungwon's just such a loving boyfriend. i really hit the jackpot with this one." beaming at jungwon, you were being held with one arm around your waist. jay started the barbecue and the rest of the members went to help with setting up everything.

jungwon noticed your body slightly shivering. "are you cold sweetheart?" "mm, just a little bit" murmuring that as a reply. your boyfriend taking off his sweatshirt that he was wearing and putting it on you. "i'm not that cold anyways. gotta go help set up stuff, karina's by the pool chairs." he gives you a kiss on your cheek.

"nice arms" you tease, moving one of your hands to squeeze his now bare biceps. you were definitely going to thank heesung later for urging jungwon to frequent the gym more. that white t-shirt was hugging all the right parts of jungwon's upper half.

"not right now baby." he speaks in a low voice to you, "can't help it you look so hot right now." whining and looking up to your boyfriend. jungwon leans down to give you a quick kiss on your lips. karina's waving over to you as you walk towards the poolside, giving a quick turn to see your boyfriend immediately jump in to help with setting up the table.

"girl you have been oogling and staring at your boyfriend for the past five minutes now, without saying anything!" karina says, waving her hand in front of you, making you finally blink again for the first time in a few minutes. "seriously thank your brother for me. he's been taking jungwon to the gym more often." your best friend just scoffs at you in amusement.

"dude, y/n has not looked one second away from you." sunghoon points out, nudging jungwon with his elbow. the members snicker at jungwon's flustered reaction, going back to setting up the table.

"jungwon!" you call out, jungwon jumps at the sudden sound of your voice. "yeah babe what's up!" he exclaims, nearly stuttering at every word. "were you guys bullying my boyfriend." you frown at his fellow members, "because he only gets like this when someone's been teasing him."

"no definitely did NOT!"

"sure, sure." you roll your eyes jokingly, turning to jungwon with a mischievous glint. now he knew that you were up to something.

"won, i think i left something in your room when i was staying with you a few days ago, can i go look for it?" "yeah i'll help you find it pretty." the other members not noticing you and jungwon disappearing, too focused on the food grilling on the barbecue and setting up the table.

walking into the house, your eyes are set on the entrance of jungwon's room, looking behind you and throwing a smirk at jungwon, quickening your pace to his room door. but you felt yourself being tugged into the bathroom.

"do you enjoy teasing me infront of everybody?" he growls, using a hand to hold both your cheeks and turn you to face the bathroom mirror infront of the counter, his other hand gripping your asscheek. you don't respond, eager for jungwon to bend you over the counter and just fuck the shit out of you.

"i asked you a question baby." jungwon says, staring directly at you on the mirror. hand gripping your asscheek a little tighter. you whine and push your hips back, feeling his bulge rub against your clothed ass, shorts rising up and you continued your movements. "need you so bad wonnie please." your boyfriend laughs at your neediness. using both of his hands to grip your waist and hold you in place.

"i don't know sweetheart. you've been teasing the fuck out of me since you've got here." jungwon murmurs, unbuttoning your cargos shorts, sliding your panties down to your knees and moving two of his digits to collect your wetness. "please jungwon! i can't help it that you feel so good everytime!" you babble attempting to wiggle your hips side to side. jungwon finds you so desperate for him to be so amusing.

"you enjoy being a needy whore for me don't you? the way you're dripping around my fingers show me that you do." humiliation tints on your face as you look at yourself on the mirror. it's thrown away when you feel two of jungwon's digits enter you all of a sudden.

you let out a gasp at the intrusion, the stretch of his two fingers hitting you so deep as jungwon already sets a relentless pace, his other hand moving up to push your hair to the side, trailing soft kisses on your exposed collarbone.

"oh shit wonnie, feels so good!" you moan, shutting your eyes as you revel in the feeling of jungwon's fingers working wonders deep inside your cunt. your small noises spurring jungwon to add a third finger.

the feeling of him scissoring and hitting your g spot repeatedly made the pleasure feel so overwhelming. "you gonna close baby?" jungwon noticing the way your pussy tighten and swirled around his fingers. in response, you nodded.

feeling jungwon's pace fasten, your pussy clenches around his digits so tightly, you felt that knot in your stomach about to be undone, but wait… that feeling fades when jungwon pulls his fingers out abruptly, laughing at your pathetic attempt to grind back against him.

"two more hours until i fuck the absolute shit out of you." your eyes widen as you whine at your boyfriend's words. jungwon helped you pull your panties back up, along with your cargo shorts. he gives your ass a playful smack, making you turn around and throw a pout at him.

"you're so mean." your lips curl into a frown looking at the way jungwon has no remorse.

. ✦ · .

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀˚ ⊹ ˚

⠀⠀ ⊹

the sounds of your and jungwon's lips smacking against each other filled the room. everyone else being long asleep, as it was pretty late in the night and the gathering ending a couple hours ago.

all that was left on your was your bra, thin material barely holding together your tits that jungwon adored and worshipped so much. the straps slid off your shoulders, being pulled down and showing your lucious tits. with your bra not even being properly off, jungwon's hands grabbing at your boobs, nipples in between his fingers as he twisted and fondled at them.

you let out low sighs of pleasure, feeling like jelly from your standing position, you would've fell down if it wasn't for jungwon's tight hold. "fuck baby, i would have you blow me right now but i need to fuck that sweet pussy of yours." your boyfriend manhandles you onto your front, onto the bed.

"arch that back for me pretty." jungwon says cursing at the slight of your slick dripping out of your spent pussy, down your legs. if only his fellow members knew he had you wrapped around his finger like this. the way you begged for him to fill you up with his thick cock that sent you into an overdrive of pleasure, fat tears streaming down your face as you go thru an intense orgasm.

and you didn't care to conceal or cover your sounds. jungwon completely forgot about that.. only focused on ruining you tonight.

but before all of this, he gave you a prior orgasm by eating you out. the sight of your needy hole throbbing, practically looking like it was ready to pull his cock in made jungwon let out a long groan.

loosing all of his patience to tease you any further. jungwon's hands are on the side of your hips guiding you to the position. you turn your head, tears slightly fogging your vision, seeing how jungwon slid off his boxers and gave his cock a few harsh strokes, you admired the veins that were decorated along his length, his pre-cum oozing out of his mushroom tip. you were entranced by the sight, mouth watering as you watch jungwon align his tip with your entrance.

circling his tip around your wetness, collecting it on his tip to use as lube. he pushes into you, one hand on your hip, and the other pushing your face into the pillow to try to suppress your loud shrieks and moans of his name. it didn't really help much because the walls were quite thin.. and the sounds of his hips smacking against the the soft plush skin of your ass echoing around the room.

you really tried to contain your sounds, hips pushing back to feel more of jungwon's cock stuffed deep into you. a hard smack lands on your left ass cheek. "naughty girl, is this not enough for you?" you mouth shapes into an 'o' as you felt jungwon increase his pace, relentless strokes hitting all parts of your body so so good.

"oh shit." you groan, eyes rolling head spinning at the sensation. it was nearly impossible with the speed jungwon's cock kept sliding in and out of you. "such a fucking pretty cockslut for me." jungwon groans, the feeling of your walls tightening around him from his words. he moves his hands to spread your asscheeks to see the way your tight walls you envelop his dick over and over again.

you let out a particularly loud moan when you feel your orgasm approaching, jungwon stopping his movements briefly to pull your head up, "shush baby, you don't want everyone hearing you like the cockwhore you are do you?"

"ngh no! too good wonnie i'm close pleaseplease?" you beg, attempting to move your hips back, jungwon's grip was too tight, just simply laughing at your state. he goes back to his moment, one hand pushing your face into the pillows, but the sounds were still quite loud, your muffled moans only spurred jungwon on more.

you lift your face up from the pillow telling jungwon that you're close, he knows by the way your body is tensing up, cunt clenching around his length so impossibly tight.

his fingers moving to your clit and rubbing your pearl as your release approaches, the coil in your stomach finally snapping around jungwon as you drop your body back onto the mattress, arms giving out and just leaving your whole upper body to rest on the sheets.

a laugh falls out of jungwon's mouth as he look at the state of you, slowing down his pace as he finishes inside of you, pulling out and seeing his cum dripping down the insides of your thighs. patting your ass softly, jungwon leans over you mumbling against your ear, "just one more pretty. i want you to ride me."

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀˚ ⊹ ˚

"oh shit" you moan as jungwon finally bottoms out in you, your walls flutter around his walls causing him to throw his head back and groan at the feeling of you. hands placed on both of your hips in a tight grip, moving you up and down on his cock. another moan escapes your lips when one of his hands move to slap one of your ass cheeks, his hand easing the sight pain afterwards. "ride me like you mean it pretty."

jungwon's hands leaving your hips and rests behind his head, enjoying the sight in front of you, your eyebrows furrowed as you try to find a good pace, soft moans of his name repeating like a prayer over and over, it was all just too good.

finally finding a good pace, you feel tired as your pace slows, jungwon groans at the feeling of his cock practically splitting you open. finally giving you some help and moving his hands back to your hips as he moves you up and down.

"mmph jungwon! m' close!" your hands find placement on both sides of his shoulders, velvety walls tightening around his length again.

"come for me y/n." was all it took for you as your eyes rolled back, nails digging into his shoulder as jungwon finishes at the same time as you, stilling his movements and painting your walls white.

⠀⠀ ⊹

your body is sprawled on the sheets, eyes half lidded as your boyfriend brings you up to help you redress yourself in a new set of clothes.

"you're insane." you sigh, knowing the next morning that your legs will be limp. jungwon laughs at you, giving you a small kiss and lays himself beside you.

as the morning comes, jungwon greets the other members a good morning, but an awkward silence is met. jungwon raises and eyebrow at the silence and the way his fellow members looked at him.

"holy shit jungwon! we didn't know you got that in you!"

[fadedtoneverland]

d&g’s prince | c.sn

❤︎ synopsis — your boyfriend is away at milan for another fashion show. you’re lowkey (highkey) missing him very much, until he facetimes you to check in on you… wearing something a little too sexy

pairing: choi san x fem!reader

theme: fluff ✿ , suggestive ❤︎, slight crack ✦ (if you squint)

a/n: seeing the clips of him circling around online in this outfit …. i went a lil’ too crazy … i didn’t want to post another smut fanfic of san, so i just went for the suggestive route

cw: reader makes lots of sex jokes cuz they’re feral. implied sex at the ending. mostly teasing and shi

you never knew true boredom and desperation.

well, at least not ‘till this week.

your absolutely stunning, gorgeous, panty-dropping enigma of a man, choi san, had left your poor self all alone in your apartment. not intentionally, of course. being a hot idol that’s constantly in the spotlight, was a busy lifestyle that you completely understood.

and san just so happened to get invited to one of dolce & gabbana’s latest fashion week shows, a brand that san has modeled for numerous times.

he was over the moon, absolutely beaming about going to milan again. you were happy for him too. only problem is, he couldn’t take you with him. san being san, wouldn’t stop whining about how he couldn’t take his “absolute unit of a partner” with him, but you reassured him everything would be fine back home in seoul, and you’d regularly text.

even then, sending off san with kisses and goodbyes at the airport didn’t stop you from missing him. because, he’s choi san. who wouldn’t miss their boyfriend if he was choi san.

so now here you were, curled up in your plush, king sized bed underneath the duvet. a jellycat goose tucked underneath your chin while you scrolled through your texts with san.

sannie <3 [12:03am]: baby

sannie <3 [12:03am]: are u up ??

sannie <3 [12:03am]: just finished a pop live

sannie <3 [12:04am]: come facetime me i wanna say hiiii :33

sannie <3 [12:05am]: do it >:((

you couldn’t hold back your smile. oh san, that lovable little dork. despite being the hottest person to literally grace god’s green earth, he was still a clingy goofball of a man.

your fingers glides across your screen as you typed back

y/n [12:07am]: omg i will

y/n [12:08am]: so needy, ur lucky ur cute

sannie <3 [12:10am]: ik i am <3

sannie <3 [12:11am]: open ur laptop, baby. i’ll be on soon

and you did as you were told, getting comfy underneath your duvet while pulling out your sticker-infested laptop. snuggled in san’s favorite hoodie that had a faint scent of his sandalwood cologne, you eagerly opened the screen and clicked on the bright green facetime icon, waiting for him to call you up.

you were incredibly giddy too, trying to act like you weren’t delusional and the most sane person on planet earth. and well- you weren’t really being delusional, considering that you were dating the choi san himself.

the incoming call icon popped up on your screen, and you quickly shifted to sit up while hovering your cursor over the green button, clicking it, and watching as the screen expanded to reveal your stunning boyfriend.

“hi, baby!” san called out, waving to you. his voice smooth as honey. ugh, you could listen to him forever, especially when he sounds so happy.

“my man,” you sighed dreamily while giving him a little finger wave, resting your cheek on your palm. “i seriously felt like i was gonna die if i went another day without hearing your voice.”

san laughed, the sound light and teasing. “oh, really? and you’re calling me needy? can’t even go a week without hearing my angelic voice, y/n.”

“yeah? well—“ you were about to retort wittily to his teasing, but the grainy web camera on san’s end cleared up a bit more, showing off a bit more details of the black outfit he was wearing. the sight made you effectively stop talking, which san took notice of.

“baby?” san called out, smirk faltering a bit from concern. “you alright—?”

“stand up.” you suddenly said.

your boyfriend blinked.

“i- wha—“

“i said stand up, choi san,” you interrupted firmly. “show me what kind of slutty fit you have on.”

san blinked once. then twice. he did a little head shake before chuckling, slowly standing up from his swivel chair and adhering to your hasty demands.

“whatever you want, angel.” san sang teasingly, pushing the chair away from his desk and stepping back to give you a tantalizing view of the outfit. the camera cut out his face, and the desk cropped up to his thighs, not showing you the full body, but showing just enough details to make you go feral.

san always looked good in black, made his features pop more, and just dripped him out in sin and scandal. but your eyes roved hungrily over the expanse of his muscles that were very much defined by his shirt.

his top, thin cotton fabric in the form of the sexiest blouse you’ve seen him wear. the middle part dipped down just enough to reveal a flirty little chest window for your lucky eyes. some black stringed ribbon was tied together nearly at the front of his shirt, creating a more sinful feel, knowing he can just untie those strings and flash you with his glorious tits at any given moment.

and the jeans? tight, leather, and fucking whorish. even when he did a little spin in front of the web cam to give you the whole galore of his outfit, you couldn’t stop thinking about how those jeans fitted perfectly along his hips and curve of his ass.

you were destroyed completely, reduced to nothing but a horny little dog who felt like they were gonna howl at the moon any second. and san seemed to notice, due to your lack of speaking after he showed off his stripper fit.

“uhh… y/n?” san called out while leaning down so his face was in view of the webcam. “are you okay?”

a beat of silence. one breath. then two.

and…

“you little shit.” you suddenly blurted out.

san was baffled. “… huh???”

“who told you that you could dress up like a hooker??”

silence.

then san shook his head, blinking furiously. “i— w-what?!”

your devastatingly hot boyfriend practically lurched himself back in the rolling chair, completely bewildered by your bold, yet astronomically down bad statement for him. meanwhile, you just stared at the camera, completely serious.

“babe, this is so unfair. you can’t dress up looking like a full-course meal and not expect me to go feral,” you said, practically whining with how devastated you were. “and you’re in milan too? ugh, even worse. who’s gonna suck your dick ‘till the skin falls off now??”

san choked on his own saliva. “until the skin falls off—?! baby- it’s just a shirt!!”

“yeah, a shirt that’s making my pussy way too wet. there’s a whole damn tsunami down there.”

“princess—“

“if i was a man i’d be popping the biggest boner right now, i’m just saying.”

san was crying with laughter. laughter from both disbelief and amusement. he’s heard you say all sorts of diabolical stuff regarding many things, but never to this level of down bad. maybe this was your glorious way of reminding him who gives him the best blowjobs while he’s gone.

“baby— honey—“ san laughed, rubbing the tears of joy out of his eyes. “you- you can’t just say stuff like that! it hasn’t even been that long since i left korea.”

you scoffed, and turned your head dramatically away from the virtual image of your boyfriend. “yeah, but it’s been long enough since i last saw you, and you have the audacity to come on here and flash me??”

san blinked. again.

“flash you???”

“uh, yeah? i’m getting the whole front row view of your twelve inch dick through those slutty pants, babe.”

“i— twelve inches!?”

“god created men and sent you as an apology, baby. you’re the whole package and i’m about to unwrap your boxers like one. i’ve gone too long without your glorious presence.”

san’s jaw was practically on the floor with that one, and you looked unfazed. composed, cool, collected, despite the sheer diabolical-ness of your filthy words.

remind him why you were his girlfriend again?

“okay, okay. if you really want to come see me, you can catch the closest flight to milan,” san said, leaning closer to the screen, flashing those cheeky dimples, “but it won’t be any cake walk trying to get alone time with me, baby.”

“fine by me,” you declared, smirking back at him. “i can be stealthy.”

san raised an eyebrow, amused. “i doubt it.”

“are you saying you don’t trust me?” you retort teasingly.

“no~ im just stating the facts, the fact that your chances of sneaking past all the guards and paparazzi and staff to be with yours truly is slim.”

“slim but never zero, baby. come on, i’ve done this plenty of times during tours. i can do it again for fashion week~”

and you just had to pull out those sparkly, mischievous eyes that you know san loves so much. god, he was a weak man when it came to you. but who could blame him? he was also dying to have you near him soon, especially with how busy the d&g fashion week as gotten him.

“i better see you here soon then, baby,” san said, grinning ear-to-ear while leaning back. “and wear an outfit that’s easy to rip off.”

you smiled devilishly, knowing you’ve won.

“already looking for tickets to milan, prince.”

▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆

fadedtoneverland © 2025 | do not steal, modify or repost ANY of my work.

[bvrnesher]

Hiii! Hope your day is going well, could you please do jealous!Leo or Jealous!Percy headcanons. Either NSFW or SFW please?

❝ Jealous headcanons ! ❞ ― percy jackson !

tap here for chb masterlist ! here for reqs info

warnings: nsfw/sfw content.

— ✦ pairing: percy jackson ! reader.

a/n: couldn’t decide between sfw or nsfw, so i did both, hehe. + i just did jealous!leo headcanons, so I chose percy for this req <3 | you'll find the post here !

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

— ୨ৎㅤ˳ NSFW

He tries to be chill. Sees someone flirting with you and he laughs, arm draping over your shoulders, lips brushing your ear like it’s casual—but his fingers are tight on your waist, and when he kisses your temple, it’s all teeth. Later, alone, his voice is low, rough: “They made you laugh. You never laugh like that for me.”

Jealous Percy gets rough. He grabs you by the hips and fucks the insecurity out of himself. Fast, deep, unforgiving. His hands are everywhere—one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your ass like he’s trying to brand you. He groans, “You’re mine. Say it. Let the whole damn ocean hear it.”

He marks you up. Not on purpose at first, but when you gasp at the feel of his teeth on your neck? He does it again. And again. Hickeys trailing from your collarbone to your inner thighs. When someone at camp comments, he just smirks, throws an arm around you, and says “Yeah, they’re taken.”

He gets desperate when he's jealous. It’s not just anger—it’s fear. That he’s not enough. That he’s too messed up. That you’ll find someone who doesn’t carry the weight of the gods. So when he eats you out, it’s like he’s trying to prove he can be everything. Tongue deep, fingers curling just right, his eyes locked on yours like please stay, please want me.

He fucks you with his whole body. None of that half-assed shit. You’re pinned beneath him, legs over his shoulders, his forehead pressed to yours as he thrusts slow and deep. His voice breaks on every moan. “I need you. I need you so bad, baby—fuck—don’t want anyone else even looking at you.”

He’s silent when he’s really mad. Not cold—stormy. You can feel it rolling off him, the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes follow your every move. Then he finally pulls you into a dark hallway, pushes you against the wall, kisses you hard. “You’re gonna sit on my cock and not think about anyone else. Got it?”

Water bends around your bodies during sex. It lifts you onto the counter. Soaks the sheets when he’s frantic. A cool mist clings to your skin after—like the sea wants to keep you his. It’s not a power move. It’s instinct. The ocean mirrors his jealousy, his need to claim you.

He loves fucking you face down. Hand on your lower back, cock buried deep, your body trembling underneath him. It’s about control. About keeping you where he needs you—right here, right now, with your pretty little whimpers and your soaked thighs and his name punched out like a prayer. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

Aftercare with Percy is clutching you like a lifeline. He’s so quiet after, arms locked around your waist, his face buried in your neck. He kisses the bruises he left. He tells you he’s sorry for getting like that. But when you whisper “I like it when you get possessive,” he just groans, hard again, and flips you back onto the bed.

He gets feral when you wear something revealing. He acts fine when you leave the cabin—waves you off with a smile, kisses your cheek. But when you come back hours later? Door slams. Words low and breathless: “Walking around camp like that? Baby, are you trying to drive me insane?” He fucks you against the wall, panties pushed aside, hand over your mouth so no one hears the way you scream for him.

He ruts when he’s too jealous to speak. Like literally grinds into you, cock rock-hard, breath ragged, lips barely brushing your shoulder as he pants, “Say you don’t want them. Say I’m the only one who gets to make you feel like this.” And when you do? He growls your name like a curse and fucks you like he’s trying to etch it into your bones.

Percy pouts when he’s not allowed to act on his jealousy. Maybe you were in public. Maybe Chiron gave him The Look. But later? He’s whining into your neck while grinding against your ass, cock heavy and leaking through his boxers. “C’mon, baby, you know how bad I wanted you earlier. Just let me taste you. Please.”

He nibbles your jealousy spots. The soft part of your neck where you’re sensitive. The inside of your thigh. The spot behind your knee that makes you twitch. He leaves tiny teeth marks, kisses them better, and says “Mine,” between each one. You tease him and he’ll just push you down and show you exactly how serious he is.

When he’s insecure jealous, he needs to wreck you. It’s not about anger—it’s about fear. That you’ll realize someone else could give you more. So he eats you out like he has to. Fingers curling, tongue insistent, thighs pinned open. You try to close your legs and he growls. “You don’t hide from me, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere—and neither are you.”

He fucks you in the shower when he’s pissed. Hair slicked back, steam everywhere, water hitting the tile in a constant roar—but you barely hear it over the sound of skin on skin. One arm around your waist, hand between your legs, breath hot against your ear: “Do they make you feel like this? Huh? Didn’t think so.”

He has a praise kink—but it’s twisted by jealousy. He wants you to beg for him. Tell him he’s the only one. Tell him no one else makes you feel like this. Every time you moan his name, his rhythm stutters—hips jerk forward, hand fisting the sheets, a broken “Gods, I love you” slipping out like a confession.

He’ll tie your hands if you tease him too much. Bandana. Belt. Seaweed, once—when you were near the beach and being particularly bratty. He wraps your wrists, kisses your knuckles sweetly, and fucks you slow. Every thrust is maddening. His mouth brushes yours. “Next time? You don’t flirt with anyone. Or I’ll keep you like this all day.”

He can’t stop touching you after. His fingers tracing over your hip bones. Arms locked around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. Lips pressed to your spine, your shoulder, your fingers. His voice is barely a whisper: “You’re it for me, you know that? You’re everything.”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

— ୨ৎㅤ˳ SFW ㅤ

He’s surprisingly quiet when he’s jealous. Percy’s first instinct when feeling jealous isn’t to shout or lash out. Instead, he becomes quiet, focusing on the person who’s making him uncomfortable, or just generally pulling back from the situation. He won’t make a scene—but his eyes are locked on whatever is making him uneasy.

His inner monologue goes into overdrive. Percy’s always questioning himself. When someone flirts with you or gives you too much attention, he’s immediately comparing himself to them—“Why would they want someone like me when they could have someone like that?” He doesn’t show it on the outside, but internally, there’s a whirlwind of doubt.

He starts acting a little distant. Percy’s a big emotional guy, and when he feels jealous, he often retreats inside himself. He’ll try to distract himself with something—whether it’s training, hanging out with Annabeth, or even staring out at the water—but he’s really just giving you space. He’s scared that pushing you away will make you choose someone else.

He becomes hyperprotective without realizing it. You might notice him getting closer when you’re talking to someone else. He might stand a little bit too close, his arm brushing against yours just a bit more than usual, or his hand resting on your back when you’re walking. It’s subtle, but he’s making sure you know where he is.

He hides it with humor. Percy’s defense mechanism is often humor. If someone gets a little too friendly with you, he’ll crack a joke or tease you, trying to make light of the situation. “Oh, wow, looks like I’m losing my competition to a guy who still thinks he can flirt with me standing right here.” The humor makes it seem like he’s unaffected, but really, it’s his way of coping.

He’ll go a little too far out of his way to impress you. When Percy’s jealous, he often overcompensates by trying to be the “cool guy.” He’ll dive into dangerous situations headfirst just to get your attention. It’s not about the attention from anyone else—he just needs to remind you he’s the one who’s worth noticing. Whether it’s cracking a witty line or doing something crazy heroic, he’s trying to prove his worth to you, though he might not even know that’s what he’s doing.

He avoids talking about it. If you try to bring up his jealousy, he’ll shut down. “What? I’m not jealous. Why would I be? It’s fine.” Percy’s the type of person who tries to ignore his feelings rather than confronting them directly. He doesn’t know how to talk about it, and he doesn’t want to burden you with it, even though his actions might show how affected he is.

He gets protective of you in small ways. Percy doesn’t let people cross certain boundaries. If someone’s making you uncomfortable—if they’re too handsy or crossing a line—he’s the first one to step in, even if it’s just a little bit. He’ll make a point of cutting the conversation short or pulling you to the side with a distracted, “Hey, I think it’s time to go.”

He acts a little off. Percy doesn’t wear his jealousy openly, but you’ll notice it in small ways. He might fidget more, rub the back of his neck nervously, or pace around. It’s like his body can’t handle the uncomfortable emotions, so he channels that nervous energy into something physical.

He craves reassurance from you. Once the jealousy is out in the open (or at least, in a way that Percy can’t ignore it anymore), he’ll need to hear you tell him that you’re his. A quick kiss on the cheek or a quiet “You’re the one I want, Percy” is all it takes to melt his worries away. He needs that reminder because it pulls him out of his head and back to what’s real.

[temiizpalace]

☆┊DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND..

SUMMARY: little things he does that remind you you’re going to marry him someday.

CHARACTERS: all dorms (-ortho)

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: none

reader gender is not mentioned, reader is not mentioned to be yuu

MAKING YOU MEALS

he makes sure you eat RIGHT. no more skipping meals throughout the day on his watch. every lunch he’ll make you a cute little bento box so you don’t have to wait in line. and when i say cute, i mean cute. it doesn’t matter what gender you are your rice balls will have cat ears. dinner? come over to his dorm and he’ll make something for you. don’t feel like it? he’s going to your place and cooking there. breakfast? he makes something quick yet delicious for you. he’s like your own private chef, and you can only imagine what it’d be like to see a ring on his finger someday.

trey, ruggie, azul, jamil, lilia (good luck), silver

CLEANING YOUR ROOM (and everything else)

it doesn’t matter if your room is messy, tidy, or anything in between, every month he’ll make sure it is SPOTLESS. is there dust on your shelves? nuh uh. are there random stains on your floor that you thought were impossible to get out? he’s rushing to your rescue and somehow got the stain out. did you not want to go through your homework? everything is suddenly organized in its respective subject, going from A-Z. you’ve never seen your room so tidy before, it was like an epiphany. please just marry him on the spot, he’s begging.

riddle, deuce, jade, jamil, vil, sebek

LEAVING LITTLE POST-IT NOTES ON YOUR BELONGINGS

without fail, you’ll find a cute little sticky-note on your almost all of your belongings. sure, it gets annoying once in awhile, but reading the sweet message on it changes your mind almost instantly. “you’re going to do great today! stay strong. :)” “don’t forget to drink water! love you ���” “can we go out soon? my treat. text me when u see this!” it’s almost frightening to see how much yellow papers you keep inside your desk every time you opening it, but can anyone really blame you? you’re going to keep these til the day you die, and that grand total might be at the very least over 100,000.

ace, deuce, cater, jack, floyd, kalim, epel, rook

RANDOM GIFTS

expect to see a neatly wrapped gift on your doorstep almost every week. seriously. it’s like a delivery service except the company is literally your boyfriend. “dear, did you get me this?” you ask as you enter the room. he looks up from his phone as he looks at the expensive name brand sweatshirt in your hands. “yeah.” he answered so nonchalantly!! like sir!!! this sweater was 1000000 thaumarks!! what!! while you do appreciate the gesture, you feel bad he’s spending so much money on you. he doesn’t care though!! he’ll spoil you rotten til your very last breath.

leona, azul, floyd, kalim, vil, idia, malleus

PREPPING YOU SNACKS

depending on who this is, he may not be some gordon ramsay level chef, but he’s definitely more than happy to cut you a some apple slices while you study. sometimes he’ll come into your room with a backpack full of your favorite snacks just left at the side of your desk so you can reach down and grab the one you want to eat that day. sometimes all you need is an energy boost and he’s more than happy to make some coffee or tea for you if you’re busy. he’ll press a kiss or two on your forehead before placing the plate of beautifully cut fruit down and continuing on with his day and going back to his thoughts. now, what will the theme of your wedding be?

ace, deuce, trey, jade, jack, jamil, epel, malleus

A/N: notice how jamil and deuce are in almost every category. (sorry this one was kinda rushed 😭😭)

date published: 7/30/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[syntheticsymp]

Soap’s period obsession

TW: MDNI, pervert!soap, period sex implied, blood, panty-stealing. (yes, I wrote this because I started my period)

No thoughts, just imagining roommate!reader fresh out of the shower, two days into her period, unable to find the brand new box of pads she had bought in the bathroom. Surely, Johnny wouldn’t have moved them. He rarely cleaned his own dishes, there was no way he’d do a random sweep of the bathroom.

You didn’t want to have to run down the hall to your bedroom in only a towel, but that seemed to be the only option. Cleaning bloodstains out of underwear was a nightmare. It was so much of a hassle that when Johnny offered to clean them last month, you said yes without hesitation. He had sisters, and had a very bloody job, he knew what he was doing, he assured you of it. Though, come to think of it, you never got those panties back.

Holding your breath, you made a run down the hall. Only for Johnny to appear out of nowhere and catch you by the hips.

“Ah, in a hurry, Bonnie?” He teased, not seeming to mind the fact that he literally swept you off you feet

Touches like this were slowly becoming more common. From the times he would pretend to fall asleep during movie night to rest his head in you lap, to a brush on your ass that he swears you were just imagining.

“Yeah,” you answered while squirming in his arms, too embarrassed to admit why you was running. It was just Johnny. You didn’t need to be scared. “Can you let me down, please?”

“Come on, you won’t let your roommate carry you to your room? You’re so uptight,” he said with a shit-eating grin and pinched your cheek.

You pushed his hand away. “I’m really not in the mood for this, put me down- what the hell!”

Johnny had lifted up the towel and swiped his forefinger up your slit. It was sopping wet with blood, coating his skin, the red dripping so brilliantly. Unlike the blood on the battlefield, this was something beautiful, to be cherished. It was every bit as mesmerizing as he knew it would be.

You clamped your thighs together. He didn’t stop you. Instead, his grin turned sinister. Something in his mind snapped at the sight of blood. You could chalk it up to memories of the military, the PTSD, if it weren’t for the way his pants grew too tight.

Spinning on his heels, he made his way to his bedroom, instead of yours. You kicked out your legs, but he had no trouble restraining you. He had held down much rowdier hostages.

“Don’t be like that, Bonnie,” he hummed as he locked his door behind him. The dark room and messy piles of clothes were nothing new. “Let me help you feel better. I’m your roommate, after all.”

He tossed you onto his bed, throwing the messy blankets onto the floor. You scooted back until you couldn’t anymore. “Johnny-“

“Please, let me help you feel better. It’ll be so good. The best you ever had,” he pleaded, his eyes wide and shining in the dim lights as he crawled toward you. Something about the blood had driven his mind. “Please, Bonnie. Just once. Let me help with the cramps. I’ll fuck you any way you want- make you cum as many times as you need. And I’ll make sure to clean up afterward and everything.”

That last part was a lie, but seeing the man beg like that was disheartening. In the position you were in, it was difficult to just say ‘no.’

Slowly, you nodded.

Johnny wasted no time after your confirmation, immediately getting to work.

Oh, how lovely fate was to give him a pretty little roommate like you. The nights he had spent restlessly fisting his cock at the thought of you like this. Of finally getting to have you. And the fact that you were on your period? Even better. He’d get the chance to paint you with both his cum and your blood. He probably won’t even let you leave the house all week. It was simply too delicious to have you beneath him after all this time.

Of course, you had no idea your missing box of pads was shoved under the very bed your dear roommate Johnny laid you down on. If you did, you’d probably try to run away. And he couldn’t have that happen, now could he?

[jamminvroomvroom]

everything.

ln x fem!reader

in which you’re his best friend until you’re something more

hi! here you go lmao. probs the fluffiest thing i’ve ever written and i am obsessed with the concept! thank you for being here and baring with me - i loved writing this one and i’d love to hear what you think! huge shoutout to my girlies @mcmuppet and @lavenderlando ily both!

songs that set the mood: pink and white by frank ocean, daylight by harry styles, angel by finneas, enchanted by taylor swift, hate to be lame by lizzy mcalpine

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, language, friends to lovers brain rot, slight corruption kink, readers first time, qatar angst

6.4k words

“do you wanna talk about it?” you whispered softly, your hand resting on lando’s sagged shoulder.

your eyes were fixed on the third place plaque on his table in front of you, his very much fixed on the floor.

“no.” his reply was short and sweet, his tone conveying exactly how deflated he was.

you’d only flown in to qatar this morning, the october sun hitting you hard as you walked into the paddock, drastically different to the london climate you’d grown accustomed to. lando had all but begged you to come, your evening before spent on the phone, and you knew that he needed a friend, otherwise he never would have asked you to fly halfway around the world.

friends. that’s what you were.

you’d hugged him tight and told him that the weekend had to get better, and then his teammate put it on pole and got his first win. so, yeah, maybe it wasn’t going to get better and not even the podium could cheer him up.

his radio messages had hurt your heart, your chest aching as he self deprecated in the cockpit. he owned his mistakes, sure, but he’d taken it a step too far and you knew you had a job to do. you’d do anything, quite literally anything, to cheer him up.

you’d always found a way to be there for eachother, your friendship spanning five long years after you’d knocked a coffee over a guy you quickly recognised as the new mclaren driver. both nineteen and awkward as hell, you’d um-ed and er-ed and danced around one another in the busy pret in central london, chucking tissues at him, attempting to mop up the frothy mess all over his white sweatshirt.

eventually you’d just burst into laughter, lando immediately following suit. your cheeks were hurting from smiling at the curly haired stranger, intrigued by the very way his faced moved when he laughed, and he’d looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, not like someone that had just destroyed a brand new hoodie.

and just like that, a connection was born.

you’d gotten used to having a friend for only half the year, but he never let you feel the distance. paddock passes often fell through your letter box and you could usually be located in the background of his streams when he was home long enough to do them, the amount of times you’d been wrongfully accused of being his girlfriend a list as long as your arm. even in those moments of awkwardness, friendship prevailed and you both managed to crack up together about the conspiracy that you were more than friends.

and what an intriguing conspiracy it was.

“we should get you back to the hotel, you need to get some rest.” you told him, standing from the sofa and offering him your hand.

lando grabbed it, squeezing, his own special way of telling you he was grateful for your presence, and let you pull him up. as he tried to walk towards the door, you stopped him, hands on his shoulders. you wanted to shake him, tell him how fucking great he was. you didn’t think he’d appreciate that after an intense session in the car.

“hey, look at me. you got this, okay?” you smiled reassuringly, managing to get the smallest crack back from him, his lips upturning ever so slightly. something in his eyes told you that you’d succeeded, a small glimmer of an emotion that you didn’t know how to unpack.

friends.

that’s what you were.

-

you tried to ignore how touchy lando was being. you figured he just needed some comfort, physical touch not out of bounds in your friendship, but a new level had been reached.

on the entire walk through the paddock to his car, his hand sat comfortably on the small of your back, despite the endless amount of cameras pointed at you. his hand skimmed your thigh in the car, accidentally, you told yourself, and you had to avert your eyes when his hand graced your headrest as he reversed out of the parking space. knowing that he needed you in qatar so desperately that he’d flown you out was one thing, the way he was treating you once you got there was something else.

he’d opened your door when you pulled up at the hotel valet, helping you out of the car, his hand tucked in yours for a second longer than necessary. once again, his hand seemed to be glued to your lower back the whole way to the elevator.

the ding of the lift had you both shuffling out onto your floor, trailing towards your rooms in a heavy silence, something more left unsaid in the air.

you reached your door first, coming to a stop and shuffling around in your bag for your keycard.

“um, i need to be at the track early tomorrow. breakfast?” lando asked.

you turned to look at him, nodding your head profusely.

“of course, just drop me a message and i’ll come down and meet you.” you affirmed, your fingers finally grasping the piece of plastic that had, of course, fallen to the very bottom of your tardis of a tote bag.

you expected him to leave, but he lingered, as if there was something else on his mind.

“you okay?” you raised an eyebrow, unlocking your door. lando seemed to snap out of it then, awkwardly running a hand through his curls that had taken a brutal hit from the humidity. you liked the look on him, nonetheless.

“yeah, i- yeah, i think i just need some sleep.”

“okay, well, goodnight. let me know if you need anything.” you disappeared through the door then, the tension getting the better of you. you slumped against the shut door, wondering what he so clearly wanted to say.

-

the clock read 1:32am on your bedside.

a faint tapping had woken you up, and you groggily scanned the room, trying to find the source of the noise. you deduced that it was coming from your door, letting out a groan as you threw the cosy comforter off and trudged towards the disturbance.

you cracked it open, peeking through the gap and coming face to face with your best friend.

“lando?” you croaked, opening the door further.

“i’m sorry, can’t sleep. can i come in? it’s okay if not, i just didn’t know what to do.” he sounded so shy, something you didn’t recognise in the man stood before you, and you quickly swung the door open, ushering him inside.

“come, sit.” you waved for him to follow you across the room to the foot of your bed. he sat down beside you, the mattress dipping.

you patted your lap and he instantly knew what to do, laying down with his head in your lap. it’s something he did quite frequently when you were sprawled on his sofa at home, watching a shitty movie that neither of you were really paying attention to. you’d often be looking at him, praying he didn’t notice, and he’d be playing with your fingers, tracing the palm of your hand.

you couldn’t help yourself, running your hand through his curls. you didn’t mean to, stomach instantly twisting with embarrassment, but it was quickly twisting with something else. his eyes fluttered shut, a low groan falling from the back of his throat. it made your thighs clench, and he must have noticed, the tiniest smirk on his face.

“you okay?” lando asked, his eyes still shut, a look of relaxation finally on his face.

you coughed awkwardly.

“yeah, sorry. are you comfy?” you said teasingly, trying to cut the growing tension in the room.

“i am now, could fall asleep here.”

“you can, you know.” you whispered. his eyes flew open. your heart was hammering in your chest. this was new territory and you were worried you’d fucked up. sleepovers were also a norm, but one of you usually retired to a guest room, not the other side of eachothers beds.

“you want me to stay?” his voice rose in surprise.

“well, i mean, you can if you want, like, there’s space and-“ you rambled.

“do you want me to stay?” he repeated.

“is it gonna help?” you questioned cautiously.

“yes.” the confidence in which he replied did something to you.

“then stay.”

you crawled up the mattress, falling back into the place you’d so comfortably occupied just minutes before. you laid so still, watching with quiet curiosity as he slipped his hoodie off. his shirt came with it ever so slightly, riding up over his back, and you had to pry your eyes away, the ache between your thighs still ever present.

what on earth were you doing, allowing your best friend to crawl into bed with you? emotions were running so high, but it felt like a switch had been flipped ever since you hit the tarmac in qatar. every look, every touch was fuelled by something different to what it had been before and you weren’t sure if it was a good thing or not.

lando turned towards you, making his way back over to the bed. he looked apprehensive, as if he was thinking the same thoughts as you, wondering if there was any logic in what was about to happen. he seemed to come to the conclusion that this was, in fact, happening, crawling into bed beside you.

“is this okay?” lando breathed into the darkness of the room, his hand brushing yours. you were both as still as planks, mere centimetres separating you, the only light coming from the lamp beside the bed.

“yeah,” you took a deep breath, preparing for the words that were about to come tumbling out. “i’ve just never done this before.” you spoke quickly, sucking in another breath as you finished.

“you’ve never…”

“i’ve never shared a bed… like this.”

“like what?”

“with a… a guy?” your anxiety riddled words came out more like a question than an answer.

“oh. oh.” it seemed to dawn on lando then. “so, you’ve never… oh. i mean i can go if you’re uncomfortable.”

“lando, no, i just wanted you to know. i’m always comfortable with you.” you said, quietly baring your soul to him.

you weren’t sure why you’d basically told him you were a virgin. it held no relevance, he was just here to sleep, for some friendly comfort. he was not here for any other reason. and yet here you were, spilling the beans, all over the bed you found yourself sharing.

“i didn’t come here to, you know. i just needed you.”

you tried to ignore the pang in your chest and the annoying, minuscule butterfly springing to life in your belly.

“god, yeah i know! i didn’t think that you wanted to, well i mean not with me because why would you want me like that anyway, i get why you’re here, lando.” you rambled into the empty air. you heard yourself, groaning in embarrassment and dragging the cover over your face. lando laughed, pulling it back so he could see you again.

he was leaning over you, perched on his side, resting on his elbow.

“trust me, i’m more than happy with any part of yourself that you wanna give me.”

“don’t tease me, lando.” you scoffed. he was joking, right? right?

“i’m not! i promise, this is the one place i want to be.”

“why? why with me? i mean you could’ve called max. all he does is stream when you’re not home, think he misses you.” you were half joking, half deadly serious.

“come on, it’s you. it’s just… its been so hard this year, being away from you so much more. and then you came all the way here…” lando trailed off, averting eye contact.

you turned on your side to face him, placing your hand over his affectionately.

“you needed me.”

“exactly. i needed you. you.”

he gave you a look, one that you didn’t recognise, but you understood what it meant. it said more than anything had done since this confusingly beautiful interaction began. you got it, then, why you were here.

“lando-“

“i know that i shouldn’t tell you this and i can’t just spring this on you in the middle of the night, but i-“

“lando!”

“what?”

“kiss me.”

and god, he kissed you. the air was sucked out of your lungs, dragged out of you by the way he put his hands on your body, so urgent.

you sunk back into the mattress, his body over yours, a hand cupping your cheek while the other rested on your waist, stroking the skin there, exposed from your ridden up top. your hands were in his curls, and you revelled in the way that you could shamelessly touch them now.

he paused for a second, nose brushing yours, breathless and grinning down at you, a knowing smile that was so beautiful that it rendered you speechless.

“you have no idea how long i’ve waited for this.” lando breathed, scanning your face as if he was trying to take it all in. you, panting beneath him, coy smile, cheeks flushed. you’d never looked so gorgeous to him.

you leaned in to kiss him again, slower this time, relishing in the moment. you were lost in him, thinking back to the very first time you’d locked eyes and how you never thought it would come to this. this, the way he was holding you, was the best surprise.

lando pulled away, peppering your flushed cheeks with kisses, a dazed giggle passing your swollen lips.

he flopped onto his side, grinning at the ceiling mindlessly. you hadn’t seen him smile that big all weekend.

“are you tired?” you whispered, lips brushing his cheek, his light stubble rough against you. you wondered how it would feel elsewhere, scratching over your bare skin.

“no.”

“then why did you stop?” you asked, the words falling off your tongue slowly, sinking all over him like honey. you felt the way he tensed up, the suggestion that laced the seemingly innocent question making you tingle.

“i didn’t come here for that.” he reiterated.

“and i didn’t let you in for that. but here we are.” you weren’t ashamed of what you were asking, the moment was right, the one, and you knew it.

“it’s too soon.” lando was apprehensive. he was always overly protective of you, previously as his friend, but this, god, this was an entirely different ball park and he was proceeding with caution, against every natural instinct in his body screaming at him.

“says who?”

“it’s your first. it needs to be special.”

“everything about this is better than i could have ever imagined.”

“are you sure you want it to be me?” there it was again, those unrecognisable nerves that made everything inside of you flutter.

“lando, there is no one else i could ever want to do this with more than i want to do it with you. i want it to be you.”

“but… now? are you sure? i don’t want you to regret this.”

“the only thing i regret is that this didn’t happen sooner.”

“one last time. i just need to hear it one last time.”

“i want you, lando.”

and with that, the air changed, charged with a different kind of tension. lando pulled you on top of him, hands firm on your body, the action itself gentle. you steadied yourself, hands on his shoulders, his resting on your waist.

“can i take this off?” he tugged at the hem of your shirt. you nodded profusely. “words, sweetheart. i need you to use your words.” lando cupped your jaw as he said it, squeezing ever so slightly, enough to turn you into putty in his hands.

“please. yes.” you said shakily.

he smiled softly, slowly peeling the material off of your body, up over your head and tossed carelessly onto the floor. he kept his eyes on yours, despite the fact you were now left bare, aside from the white cotton panties that separated you both. he pawed at your sides, kneading gently at your soft hips.

“we’re gonna start slow, okay? gonna take my time with you.” he muttered, eyes on yours before they trailed slowly down, across your face, neck, collarbone, further and further until he was taking all of you in. he began to stroke the underside of your breast with his thumb, watching the way your body tensed under his feather-like touch.

“okay.” you choked out, head tipping back as he placed a kiss to the base of your throat.

his kiss trailed further down your body, peppered in the valley of your breasts, and then you stopped breathing, the air caught in your throat because he was looking at you, really, truly looking at you, as his tongue found your nipple. you couldn’t take your eyes off of him, not when he was looking at you like that, not when he was making you feel this good already.

lando pulled away, just for a second, just so that he could shift you from his lap onto his thigh. he was still fully clothed beneath you, totally in control, and you craved him in a way you didn’t know was humanly possible, so much so that you didn’t need the encouragement he was giving you to start rolling your hips, pussy grinding down on his covered thighs, the friction of your underwear driving you insane.

“oh, baby. you want me so badly, don’t you? should’ve asked me sooner. m’gonna make you feel so good.” his hands were on your hips, guiding you backwards and forwards on him.

“it feels so- oh, god.” you whimpered, fingers tangling in his curls, back arching further into him as your thighs clenched around his. he licked over your collarbone oh so slowly, a shiver running down your taut spine.

and then he was kissing you again, tongue slow over yours, his fingertips surely leaving marks where he was controlling your pace. the kiss was filthy, untameable, and you found yourself dragging against him slower, harder.

“i need you.” you panted, forehead falling on his shoulder as you pulled away from his lips, goosebumps pricking your sweat slicked skin. you were so close to an orgasm, desperate to feel him everywhere.

“i want you to come for me like this first, okay? can you do that for me, baby?” he cooed, bouncing his leg ever so slightly. “look at me.” and you did, somehow mustering the strength to pull yourself back up and find his darkened eyes.

you were a mess of curses when you let go, your body convulsing, collapsing into him as you came. you were throbbing on his thigh, one glance down at where you were grinding against him displaying your slick. his arms went around your body, flipping you onto your back so that you were resting against the mattress.

“you did so well, baby.” lando crooned, resting over you on his forearms. you stared up at him in awe, blinking away the haze. “do you want more?”

“i want everything.” you breathed, pulling him against you. you smoothed your hands over his shirt until you reached the hem, dragging it up over his back. he helped you take it off, and then it was lost to the room. you grabbed at his shoulder blades, smooth, muscular planes of bronzed skin so warm under your touch. you felt insatiable, like nothing was enough, totally intoxicated by him and everything he was managing to make you feel.

lando’s hand slid down your body, searching for the band of your underwear. when he reached his destination, he toyed with the lacy edges, letting them snap against the pudge of your belly, teasing you. you bucked your hips, frustrated, and he used the opportunity to cup your pussy, feeling where you’d soaked through the cotton. the groan he let out was carnal, animalistic, almost needy. he could feel all of you, how you ached and dripped, how you needed the everything that you’d requested.

“you’re so fucking good for me, god.” lando almost slurred his words, voice lower than you’d ever heard it. you keened at the sound, pushing your hips further into him.

lando didn’t give you much time to dwell on it, mouth latching onto your underwear where it met the crease of your thigh. he was so close, so tantalising close to where you were aching for him and you were just about levitating off the bed when his teeth grazed your inner thigh. you couldn’t see him looking at you, losing it, inhibitions out the window. your eyes were already squeezed shut when he began mouthing over your cloth-covered pussy, spit further ruining the sodden material.

“take them off.” you cried out, tugging hard at his curls that you hadn’t even realised you were clutching for dear life. and lando was a good listener, because he complied immediately, tearing the lace down your legs like a starved man.

his tongue was on you then, everywhere all at once, running through your folds and over your clit. you didn’t know if you were dead or alive, a different kind of pleasure than anything you’d ever experienced coursing hot through your veins. lando switched between long, slow licks, his tongue flat against you, and rapid kitten licks, burying his face in your cunt.

everything was moving in slow motion, your hands grasping frantically at anything you could reach; his curls, the sheets, his shoulders. you could barely make out what he was saying, his words muffled, lost to the soft flesh between your legs. it seemed to echo, every lick, stroke, word. you snapped out of it, finally, when he pulled away.

“more? you want my fingers, baby? gonna get you nice and ready for me.” you just nodded, voice lost to the air of the room.

one arm locked around your thigh, pinning you still, and the other snaked up your leg until he reached the mess between your thighs. he took a moment to take it in, how wet you were, how fucked out you looked, knowing full well he must have looked the same, unhinged as he gave into your shared desire that he’d tried his best to keep hidden. he’d never felt more stupid in his life for holding back, as he took in the ethereal delight sprawled under his touch.

when lando slid the first finger in, your stomach twisted deliciously. he watched you carefully, searching for discomfort but all he could find was sheer bliss, written all over your face as clear as daylight. he worked the digit in and out, nice and slow, curling against your walls. he could feel how tight you were, clamping around just one finger and he thought his head was gonna explode. he added another finger, watching the way you took him in, twisting his fingers.

“are you gonna let go for me again, sweetheart?” lando punctuated his words by putting his mouth back on you, teeth grazing your clit as he sucked.

you were thrashing, a silent scream building from the fire in your belly. you could just about make out the way he was spurring you on, his mouth running as you spilled over the edge, covering his fingers. you saw white, maybe god, ears ringing, and when you finally mustered the energy to look at him, you could have come for a third time. lando looked feral, lips red and coated in everything you had to offer him. his eyes were glazed over, a hazy grey that sent a jolt through your body, the aftershocks of the orgasm setting in.

“christ.” was all you could sigh out. a lazy smile painted your face, your eyes blown out, everything a little blurry. everything except him.

you could feel him scaling up your body, crawling over you until he was level with your face. he placed a kiss to your throat, your jaw and finally your lips; when he pulled away all that was left was shared giddy smile, both of you suddenly shy. you couldn’t stop the roaming of your hands, exploring all the parts of him that you could reach. when you found the waist band of his joggers, your hand grazing his abs as you did, he sucked all of the air out of the room, a sharp inhalation making him tense up.

“you still want all of me?” he breathed, his shaky breath fanning your face. lando was obsessed with hearing you say it, obsessed with how you wanted him as much as he needed you.

“all of you. lando, this is… you’re perfect.” you admitted, lips brushing his. your hands pushed the material down his hips, nails raking over him as you did. he couldn’t seem to wait any longer, kicking them off the rest of the way, his boxers quickly following suit.

you couldn’t help but stare, all of him bare against all of you. your nipples brushed his chest, his hands holding you close, your hands threaded through his curls. it was like you were sussing each other out, eyes watching lips and hands getting lost. you stayed like that for a moment, pressed together, closer and closer, until he was slotted between your legs like he was coming home. lando searched your face one last time, hunting for a smidge of discomfort.

“are you ready for me?” he whispered.

“yes.”

the initial stretch burned, but he slid into you smoothly, his cock slipping through your folds with ease. he felt you clamp down on him, his head thrown back as far as it could go, thick neck exposed to you. you bit down on his shoulder, where it met the base of his throat, trying to mask the gasp of pleasure that sent your eyes rolling back in your head. he grunted at the sensation, enjoying the sting.

“oh, fuck.” he was shuddering, trying to keep himself in check.

“don’t, oh god,” you started, meeting the roll of his hips. “don’t hold back.”

“we gotta go easy.”

“i don’t want easy.” you tightened around him then, and he saw stars.

“you’re so fucking good.” lando groaned, an edge of excitement in his voice, and then he unleashed everything that he’d held back. how much he wanted you, and a bittersweet weekend of frustration versus success came crashing down and he couldn’t do anything except give himself to you exactly how you wanted.

lando was a delicious weight on top of you, the drag of his hips slow, meeting yours hard. the pressure made you lightheaded, his body moving against yours like the thick drip of honey, smooth and sweet. you couldn’t make sense of it, of how fucking good he felt, grinding deeper and deeper into you like he’d found buried treasure. the overstimulation had your third orgasm building nice and quick, waves of pleasure making you dizzy.

“you like it like this? like when i fuck you nice and hard?” yes you did. “don’t think i can go without this now, you know that? such a good fucking girl.” you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, just let his words wash over you. “so beautiful, taking me so well.”

you couldn’t process that this was your best friend lando. this was a different person, it had to be. yet, somehow, it made sense that the man you knew, the one who spoke his mind, mischievous and troublesome, would be like this, a god above you as he fucked deeper into you with every thrust. he was filthy and gentle, brutal and sweet. it didn’t make sense, but it also just did.

“are you gonna come for me? one more time, baby. need to feel that perfect fucking pussy.” well, his wish was your command, because then you were gushing. the one thing you could feel was him, none of your other senses worked, you couldn’t see past the tears that fell, couldn’t get any words past your lips. maybe you screamed, you weren’t exactly sure.

lando was kissing you everywhere. each hip bone was met with his lips, your stomach, over your ribs, breasts, clavicle, neck. your face was covered in kisses next, your cheeks, forehead, a dainty peck to your nose.

“can you look at me?”

your eyes cracked open slowly, the exhaustion hitting as you came back to reality.

“was that okay?” there he was again, this shy version of lando that you couldn’t get used to.

“okay? lando that was…” you shook your head in awe. “that meant everything to me.”

he smiled then, that gorgeous, gorgeous smile, the one with the crinkles by his eyes and his teeth on full display. you melted.

“me too. you’re fucking beautiful. so, so fucking beautiful. should’ve told you sooner.” he murmured.

his words made you think, way too hard for your current state. what happened next? lando had said some things, some pretty big things that you didn’t know how to comprehend. it was crazy, how scared you were to bring it back up to him, considering he’d just been inside of you.

“sooner?” you whispered, hardly audible. lando was midway through tucking you both into bed, pulling your flushed, naked body into his own under the duvet.

“yes. a lot sooner.” he replied, not a trace of doubt in his voice.

‘how much sooner?’ you thought to yourself, unable to stay awake any longer to agonise over it, your dreams haunted by the way he touched you so well. it was magnificent to fall asleep in his arms, and you couldn’t help yourself from wondering when it would happen again.

-

you woke up tangled with him, fingers stroking your cheek, smoothing your hair out of your eyes.

lando was always so warm, but now his tanned skin radiated sunshine, a beacon of light in your bed. you smiled, eyes still shut, shielding yourself from the streaks of light casting over the room from the crack in the curtains.

“what time is it?” you croaked, bringing a hand to your eyes to rub away the sleep.

“gone eleven. i need to go, baby.”

baby.

you hadn’t gotten a chance to take my notice of the things he’d called you last night, too caught up in the way he played with your body. now that you heard it, in the calm after the storm, it made you swoon.

“already?” you tried to hide your disappointment, not quite ready to detangle yourself from him.

“need to get to the track. i think i’m already late. i just wanted to be here when you woke up.” lando sounded so soft, not as groggy as you, and you wondered how long he’d been awake, watching the soft rise and fall of your chest.

“thank you.” you knew that you’d have spiralled waking up alone, and you were immensely grateful that he’d stayed.

lando began to get up, wincing at your whine of protest.

“i’m sorry. i’ll have someone pick you up later, okay? i’ll see you soon, i promise.”

you knew he had to work hard today, knew how much analysis he needed to do before the race. he was starting further back than anyone would have liked, and he had something to prove as well, oscar starting too close to the front for lando’s liking. there were places to make up and hard work to be done to get back to the front.

“don’t apologise. i hope it goes smoothly today.” you smiled at him, watching him collect his long forgotten clothes. you were entranced by the way his body moved, the lines and shapes that tensed and rippled as he dressed himself.

“i’ll message you.” he promised, creeping back over to the bed. you weren’t sure what to expect, but the soft kiss to your lips, almost apprehensive on his part, could have killed you off, your heart pounding.

your grinned like a fool when the door shut behind him.

-

the shower was burning hot, loosening up your muscles. you cleaned yourself slowly, examining your body, the same one that you’d given to lando. he’d taken you apart, piece by piece, and put you back together, the traces of him that he’d left behind delectably apparent.

you followed the trail of marks he’d left, starting with the love bite below your right breast that you couldn’t even remember him leaving, making your way to the litter of fingerprints that were tattooed into your hips. your fingertips ghosted over your swollen lips, the kiss that he’d left at the junction between your neck and your shoulder, reminiscing the evening. you seemed to ache everywhere, the dull pain setting into your bones so nicely.

you prayed it would happen again. you felt like it would, everything between you had changed now, changed from any possible return to the norm. you wanted it to change, you couldn’t fathom the idea of staying friends when the lines had blurred like this, when he’d kissed you so deeply, touched you so intimately.

the shower was much needed, refreshing your body that was now tainted by him in the best way. you tried to keep a clear head while you got yourself ready, taking your time to make yourself presentable to the paddock. the time of your departure was looming, the pink and white sunset outside your window indicating that the race was only a few hours away. the air had cooled slightly, and you knew you needed to make your way to the lobby.

your phone dinged in your hand as you were packing your essentials into your bag. you glanced down at the device, unruly smile gracing your face.

see you soon, the text read, an orange love heart punctuating the short but sweet text. it was safe to say that the butterflies in your belly were well and truly alive.

-

the screen beeped as you scanned your paddock pass, and you slipped through the gate, making your way into the paddock. it was beautiful in qatar, they’d outdone themselves with this structure, the glass ceilings and jungle of greenery an expression of wealth and elegance.

you made a beeline for the mclaren garage, greeting lando’s pr officer who smiled warmly at you. you recognised oscar smirking as you appeared in the garage, and as you got closer you realised why.

“nice to see you. looking for lando?” his monotonous voice held an amused twang.

“hey oscar, great job last night!” you said, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “yeah, is he around here somewhere?”

“yeah he’s just doing press i think. extra spring in his step today.” oscar gave you a knowing look, one that made you blush.

“what do you know?” you deadpanned, fighting back laughter.

“i know that this was a long time coming.” he smiled, and then he was gone, lost to the bustle of the garage.

you stood there, probably in the way, lost in thought about what oscar had just said. he was right, this was a long time coming.

you jumped a bit when a hand landed on your waist, relaxing instantly into lando’s body when he pressed himself against you, head on your shoulder.

“i’m so glad you’re here.” he whispered, pressing a secret kiss under your ear, and then he, too, was gone, before you could even react.

your nerves were shot, ushered to the back of the garage where you found a headset. you chewed your nails, anxious about it all. the race, the changes that you were surely coming. you wanted it, wanted everything from him that he’d give you, willing to commit to all of it, to him. the distance, borrowed time, chaos of his world. last night had changed everything and you couldn’t have asked for more.

eventually the lights went out and the fight was underway. you found your hands clasped together, sweating in the dry heat and the anxiety. you clapped every time he made an overtake, storming through the field. when he made it into p3, picking the pace up on oscar, the nerves resurged and you prayed for a clean end to this race.

lando’s radio messages flooded your ears, and your leg bounced uncontrollably, your shoe slapping against the floor.

“be sensible, lando.” you muttered under your breath, resting your chin on your tightly clasped hands. he would be on the podium, but you knew it wasn’t enough for him, it never was. would you be enough for him?

eventually he agreed to hold position, thank fuck, and you could breathe again. he’d driven a beautiful recovery drive, bringing the car onto the podium, and you rushed out with the team to congratulate him. you lingered at the back of the pack behind the metal barriers, watching in quiet admiration as he jumped out of the car. he slapped oscar on the back, hugging his younger teammate before bounding towards the team. his head was darting around as if he was looking for something, but you couldn’t make it out with his helmet still on. and then the helmet came off and it became clear.

he was looking for you.

lando pulled away from a hug with a mechanic, leaning over the barrier right in front of you. you gravitated towards him, somehow moving through the swarm of team members until you were pressed against the metal too. he was beaming, eyes brighter than they had been all working weekend, and then his hands were on you. the hug he pulled you into was tight and you clung to one another for a moment, unbothered by his damp race suit, or the tickle of his sweat slicked curls.

the kiss he pressed to your cheek was far less secret than the one in the garage, so was the one he pressed to your forehead, but the one he pressed to your lips, as quick as it may have been, was the one that really took the cake. you were blushing when he pulled back, a mischievous grin on his face. you shook your head in disbelief at his boldness, unable to tame your bewildered smile.

“what are you doing for dinner, baby?” he called out to you as he walked away. the podium high had clearly set in.

nothing, you mouthed back, not quite confident enough to shout across parc ferme.

“good, we’re going on a date.” lando winked and then he was gone, pulled into the chaos of post race duties.

tears pricked your eyes when he stood on the podium, a much happier man than the one you found when you’d arrived. you couldn’t put it into words, how one night had changed everything, giving you everything you didn’t realise you wanted.

then again, lando was always good at beating expectations.

-

hehe the end

-

taglist

had to remove some tags that aren’t working! let me know if you wanna be added or removed xo

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[glossoholicc]

Gotta regret em' all!

(read bellow for more insight/comments about these!!)

Ouuggghh my GOD the universe did not want me to create these. I started Folly darkrai, then got sick with a nasty cold that I am still recovering from. THEN I get the most painful ear infection ever. The last image was made while I was in physical agony. I cried real tears.

Regardlessss... I really love Pokemon and Regretevator. My brain has been hardwired since the ripe ol' age of 4 to be obsessed with Pokemon. Every fandom I touch I think about trainer AUs or what Pokemon characters would be. So... this was inevitable. Everything I touch becomes Pokemon.

For those only following me for Regretevator, Roblox fandoms yanked me out of my Pokemon branding for everything. Which was good, i think. I used to represent myself with my fave mon, Maractus. Now I am my Roblox avatar. Ripe ol' age of 20 and all I do is roblock. amen.

I wanted to also write an extensive explanation for why EVERY character here is the Pokemon they are. Mostly because I know there will be people disagreeing with me (which is fine), but the goblin in my brain says "nooo people need to understand you 100% all the time". Sooo, here is a horrendously long essay about why I am objectively correct and you should trust me with all Pokemon related content ever (slash silly?). Does a lil' jigggggg.

(Basic Pokemon knowledge may be required to understand these things btw)

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

Folly Darkrai

- Obvious reason Folly would be a darkrai is that darkrai represents nightmares. It can cause those its near to have terrible dreams, and its signature move is Dark Void which puts enemies to sleep. Pair this with its ability, Bad Dreams, any opponent on the field that is asleep will take continuous damage.

- Darkrai is also illusive, and feared. It holds a similar energy to Folly. That energy being big bad scary oooo ahh scary.

- Literally the exact same color scheme as Folly. Similar shape language as well (big claws, jagged black bits, big evil eyeball, and a collar)

- Darkrai are interpreted as evil by characters within Pokemon media, but it is canon that they cannot control the nightmare giving aura they have. They can give others nightmares unintentionally, and aren't blood thirsting or villainous by nature. I feel this is a good nod towards Folly being in a similar boat. She can't help the situation she is in, and wasn't born evil.

Design Notes:

- I LOOOVE DARKRAI AND I LOOOVE FOLLY. she needed to be a pokemon I adore.

- The sweater was awkward to add onto her... because darkrai's body is already supposed to be like. a scary cloth. and they are so bulky. but I think I did okay?

- The hat looks awkward but I didn't include it that would have been messed up.

- nothing cool to say about dreamer she is just cutesy and rounder shapes.

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

Great One Xerneas

- Xerneas is a legendary Pokemon which represents life. It creates forests with its powers, and it can go into a "dormant" form where it is literally a white tree. Xerneas, and its counterpart, Yveltal, are not represented as inherently "good" or "evil". The whole deal with them is that life and death are a delicate balance that should be respected. I feel this was fitting because Great One is also a god, gave life to Folly, and became corrupt from jealously. Yeah I think that would disturb the natural balance of shit if the god of life got messed up.

- It is literally a big tree deer idk man.

Design Notes:

- I am sooo proud of this design... I think I cooked! Not much to say besides my friend said it looked like a old pokemon creepypasta and that is true.

- Xerneas is so fun to draw but antlers. suck. ewie.

- The drawing on the far right is inspired by that one screenshot.

- Hard to see but on the far right drawing I included the stomach wound. Didn't do it on the other fullbodies though because I forgot oops.

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

MR Minior

- Minior is a meteor pokemon which has two forms. In its ability "Shields Down", where it has a rocky, outer shell that protects it until it's HP gets too low. Once it is weakened, it will change into its "Core Form". Which is basically a cute little guy. But MR Minior is trapped in its "Meteor Form". Meteors relate to MR because of the Happy Home Party floor where MR summons meteors yay.

- Minior are very pathetic pokemon, they fall from the stratosphere only to die on earth. I feel this is similar to MR in the way like. MR is dead and pathetic in its currently state. Compared to what it previously was anyways.

- Minior literally descends from the heavens. Something something word play MR dead god blagh blah.

Design Notes:

- Minior already had eye holes on its design, but I used the cracks throughout its body to make the forehead hole and mouth. I think it was done decently well!

- If MR did go into "Core Form" I imagine it would just be whatever Regretevator devs intend MR's living form to be.

- Minior is so cute and round. I think MR is kinda cute in a round plushie squishmallow kind of way.

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

Pest Lokix

- Okay this one is purely based off of aesthetic but HEAR ME OUT.

- Lokix is a locust/grasshopper pokemon inspired by Kamen Rider, a japanese superhero franchise. Multiple characters in Kamen Rider have grasshopper/bug motifs. Pest is Japanese and also a bug. Ive connected the dots so good.

- Lokix is the first ever bug/dark type, and Pest would definitely being this typo combo.

- Idk guys just trust me okay

Design Notes:

- LOOOOK I KNOWWW. Pest is a beetle. Heracross is right there. BUT Heracross doesn't give PEST. Heracross is a round little blue guy and Pest is a weird little freak. Heracross doesn't hold the same intimidating aura as Lokix. And the other beetle pokemon, Rellor and Rabsca, are even further off the mark.

- I thought I was so clever having the antennae form mandible shapes.

- I love Lokix so much. Pest gets to be one of my faves as a treat.

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

Poob Pikachu

- Pikachu is the mascot for Pokemon, and Poob is the mascot for Regretevator! In a way, Poob is in a lot of promotional regretevator material.

- Very similar color pallet and vibes. The vibes being "little guy".

- Something could be said for pikachu being an electric type. In the pokemon franchise, electric types are typically associated with being "wild" and "fun". Poob is electric! Personality wise. And Poob would totally hook themselves up to shit they shouldn't.

- Social butterfly, Poob gets their energy from parties. Just like how Pikachu is shown to be able to absorb electricity and shit.

- Just cute. Thats it. Cute marketable guy.

Design Notes:

- I really like what I did with the ears on this. I like them being droopy... because of the hat.

- Poob's goofy little face looks natural on a Pikachus face, I think. Awesome sauce.

- I made the tail tip a half star shape because A: Poob genderless B: Party hat has stars. For those who dont know, pikachu have different tail tip shapes based on gender. Poobs gender is party!

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

Pilby Caterpie

- Guys do I need to explain this one.

- Caterpie is a caterpillar. A green one! Pilby is also a green caterpillar.

- Pilby and caterpie have eyes meant to cry. That one clip from the anime where caterpie has watery wet eyes is Pilby.

- Caterpie is a small little thing and Pilby is also a small little thang.

Design Notes:

- I made the little horn in the front the color of their hair because I didn't want to add even more clutter to the face.

- Headcanon that happy Pilby sways/wags their tail when happy. So caterpie pilby gets to wiggle their tail in happiness too.

- hungry hungry caterpillar.

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

Mach Tinkaton

- Tinktaton is a pokemon that wields a massive hammer, and beats others to death with it. Its hammer weighs over 200 lbs in canon, and Mach would totally be able to lift that weight. If not more.

- Tinkaton is also an exclusively female pokemon. Mach is a woman. Shrugs.

- Not much to say!!!! Big woman big hammer.

Design Notes:

- I think I made her look UGLY. I don't know what I like about my design. I guess the pose on the fullbody is sick af.

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

Infected Cubchoo

- I quite literally only did this for the aesthetic of the snot droplet. Thats it.

Design Notes:

- For some reason the regretevator wiki doesn't have a close up of the left side of Infecteds hat, only the right side. This made it difficult for me to draw the blue bunny.

- I contemplated adding hair at all. I decided to do so because Infected is one of the rare few haired characters. You can keep your hair. For now.

- I was contemplating Grafaiai as well, but I decided going the snot droplet route was better. But Grafaiai still works really well for Infected IMO.

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

Bive Absol

- Absols can uhmm.. ughh. Predict future events such as Natural disasters with their powers. So I think she would do this but her future predicting shit sucks. And she is paranoid from Absol related intuition.

- That's basically the only reason I thought of, but Bive is a simple character in concept so thats okay.

Design Notes:

- Freak woman Bive I love you.

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

That's all ty for reading I'm so tired goodnight