#Killing is My Business... and Business is Good!

[cheftsunoda]

okay okay oscar sister who is exactly like oscar in personality and is also a driver and this is her rookie year or second year? but she has the biggest soft spot for ollie? and if you want to do poly maybe kimi and ollie

soft spot — ob87

smau + blurbs

ollie bearman x !piastri driver reader

oscar piastri x !sister driver reader

yn piastri is in her second year of formula 1, racing alongside her older brother — oscar. if you’ve seen him, you’ve basically seen her. same deadpan humor, same terrifying racecraft, same “please don’t talk to me unless you’re an engineer” energy. people say they’re twins born two and a half years apart. and honestly? they’re not wrong. yn piastri doesn’t smile unless she’s on pole. she doesn’t do drama. and she definitely doesn’t do feelings. or at least… that’s what everyone thought. until ollie smiled at her in the paddock — and she actually smiled back. yeah. it’s bad. oscar is horrified.

fc : f1 academy drivers + jazmyn makenna

reader is 21

(a/n) : someone recently asked if i would write 2nd person pov and i kind of suck it at but i wrote this in 2nd- lmk which y'all like better. love you bunches

—

yn_piastri

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, pierregasly and 7,100,011 others.

yn_piastri : flics from the world’s favorite piastri (hattie is catching up to me)

tagged : oscarpiastri, lando and pierregasly

—

view 347,012 other comments.

hattiepiastri : as long as it isn’t oscar idc

liked by yn_piastri and lando

↳ yn_piastri : honestly same

↳ oscarpiastri : nobody on this earth can humble me like you two

liked by yn_piastri and hattiepiastri

↳ nicolepiastri : you were given only sisters for a reason. we knew you would need humbled.

liked by yn_piastri and hattiepiastri

↳ username00 : the piastri’s are so special to me.

↳ hattiepiastri : but anyways, yn u look so good. imysm and pls send me that meme.

liked by yn_piastri

↳ yn_piastri : miss u more. check your messages.

liked by hattiepiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : what the hell does it mean to look microwaveable?

liked by yn_piastri and hattiepiastri

↳ yn_piastri : no clue but the world says you look the part.

lando : i gyatt something in my eye

liked by yn_piastri

↳ yn_piastri : i cannot stand you 😭

↳ lando : so sit on me instead

liked by yn_piastri

↳ username1 : LANDO- can’t say I blame him.

↳ oscarpiastri : I do not care that we are on the same team. I am driving you off the track.

liked by yn_piastri and lando

oscarpiastri : also why are you hanging out with lando?

↳ yn_piastri : to give you anxiety.

liked by lando

↳ oscarpiastri : it is working.

liked by lando and yn_piastri

alex_albon : microwaveable might be the best adjective anyone has ever used for oscar.

liked by yn_piastri

↳ yn_piastri : i know!! it just makes sense.

↳ oscarpiastri : no it doesn’t ???

liked by alex_albon and yn_piastri

lilyzneimer : the prettiest girl 🩷

liked by yn_piastri

↳ yn_piastri : my girllll

username005 : yn was automatically promoted to my fave piastri the second she made alpine her bitch and managed a p3 in the tractor.

liked by pierregasly, francolapinto, yn_piastri and lando

↳ yn_piastri : hey, someone had to do it.

username5 : ynierre is my fave teammate combo in recent years

liked by yn_piastri and pierregasly

↳ pierregasly : we are rather iconic. won’t lie.

liked by yn_piastri

olliebearman : you’ve been killing it recently, yn! 🤍

liked by yn_piastri

↳ yn_piastri : thanks olliebear!! ❤️

liked by olliebearman

↳ username00 : did she show- emotion?? using emojis and exclamations?? oh mr bearman has her whipped. CONFIRMED

—

It’s a few hours before qualifying, and you’re already suited up, arms crossed as you march down the paddock with one mission— annoy your brother into calling your mother before she calls you again. You find Oscar standing near the McLaren garage, quietly sipping from his water bottle and minding his own business — which, in your world, means he’s due for a sibling attack.

“Oi.”

You tap the back of his helmet with your fingers. “Call Mum.”

He barely turns his head. “Not happening.”

“She’s now threatening to tell Sky Sports that you wet the bed until you were eight.”

Oscar’s eyes narrow behind his sunglasses. “That’s defamation.”

“Is it?” you smirk. “Because I have vivid memories.”

Before he can respond, Lando appears out of nowhere like the nosy older cousin he insists on being, slinging an arm around Oscar’s shoulder with a grin.

“What are we fighting about today?” he asks. “Family secrets? Childhood trauma?”

You open your mouth to reply, but then something — someone — over by the Haas garage catches your attention. Ollie Bearman. Helmet half-on, gloves in hand, mid-conversation with a race engineer — until he sees you. His eyes light up, and he lifts a hand to wave. Soft smile. The kind you pretend not to read into. And yet, before your brain catches up, your hand lifts. You wave back. And — god forbid — you smile. Not a smirk. Not a scoff. A genuine, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile. It lasts three seconds, max. But that’s more than enough time.

Oscar is staring at you like you just declared love and Lando drops his drink.

“Wait—did you just smile?” Lando blurts, gaping. “At Ollie?”

Oscar squints at you like you’re malfunctioning. “Was that… affection?”

You blink, back in autopilot now. “Shut up.”

“You smiled,” Lando says, turning to Oscar. “She actually smiled. Like, a real one. With teeth and warmth and everything.”

You roll your eyes and walk off like nothing happened. Behind you, Oscar mutters, “I need to sit down.”

—

The second you climb out of the car and pull off your helmet, the noise hits you — cheers from the crowd, Alpine crew shouting and clapping, and somewhere behind you, someone yelling about how the ‘piastri’s have taken over the grid.’

You’re still catching your breath when you spot Oscar stepping down from the P1 board, helmet under his arm, cool as ever — but even he looks a little smug today. He makes his way over and bumps his shoulder against yours.

“P2, huh?” he says, grinning. “Not bad. For my mini-me.”

You snort. “Don’t get used to it. I’ll be in front of you before you know it.”

Before you can say more, Lando bounces over from P3 like he’s won the whole thing. “Look at this!” he beams, throwing an arm over both your shoulders. “Oscar on pole, YN right behind, and me—beautifully, somehow—in third. Honestly? Iconic.”

The three of you walk off toward the media. Oscar looks like he’s trying not to enjoy it too much. Lando looks like he very much is. You? You’re riding the high of sticking it on the front row with your brother. And then—

“P2! Let’s go!”

You turn just as Pierre comes jogging over in full celebratory mode. He’s flushed, still in his race suit, hair a mess under his cap, but he pulls you into a quick hug anyway. “I knew it was coming today,” he says, still grinning. “That last lap was beautiful.”

You grin back. “You mean yours or mine?”

He snorts. “You’re not funny. But yes, yours.”

He ruffles your helmet hair just to be annoying, then heads off to debrief. You’re about to follow Oscar and Lando inside when you hear your name again — softer this time.

“YN.”

You turn. Ollie’s standing a few feet away, helmet in one hand, gloves tucked into his side. There’s a flush on his cheeks that’s definitely from the heat. Probably. Maybe.

“P2,” he says, smiling. “You were incredible.”

It’s not just the words — it’s how he says it. Like he means it. Like he was watching your lap the whole time and still hasn’t fully recovered. And despite the sweat, the adrenaline, the pure chaos in your veins… you smile. Again.

“Thanks,” you say, a little quieter. “That means a lot.”

Ollie hesitates for a second, then adds, “If you keep qualifying like this, I might start believing in Alpine.”

You raise a brow. “Don’t get carried away.”

He grins, stepping back as someone calls his name. “No promises.”

You turn back around just in time to see Lando whispering something to Oscar — who is staring at you like he just solved a mystery he didn’t want the answer to.

“Unreal,” Lando mutters as you approach. “I’ve never seen you smile twice in one day. This is emotional.”

Oscar crosses his arms. “I give it two weeks before we lose her completely.”

You smirk, brushing past them. “Come on boys, Let’s get this over with so I can win the race tomorrow.”

—

The paddock is buzzing — engineers checking last-minute data, cameras weaving through garages, team radios chirping nonstop. You’re standing by your car in full race suit, helmet under your arm, trying to lock into that pre-race focus zone. Almost there. You’ve got this. And then—footsteps. Familiar ones.

You glance to the side just as Ollie approaches, hands tucked into his Haas fire suit, eyes scanning the garage like he’s making sure no one’s watching. Subtle. Kind of. Not really.

“You ready?” he asks, stopping just in front of you. His voice is low enough that it’s meant for you, and only you.

You nod, trying not to smile. “As I’ll ever be.”

He hesitates, then dips his head a little closer. “You’ve got pace today. Just keep your head down in the first few laps. You already know what to do.”

You blink, a little caught off guard. You’d expected a smirk, a joke, maybe a thumbs-up from a distance — not this quiet, sincere energy. Your grip tightens slightly on your helmet. “Hush. You’ll get me all emotional.”

He chuckles, glancing over his shoulder before returning his eyes to you.

“Good. Maybe it’ll slow you down.”

You roll your eyes. “You wish.”

Then he steps back, gives you one last nod — and that smile. The soft one that somehow always short-circuits your brain. And then—of course—

“Am I interrupting something?”

You jump slightly and turn to find Pierre standing a few feet away, arms crossed, the most smug expression plastered across his face.

You blinked, "No."

He raises a brow. “Because that looked a lot like a moment.”

You shoot him a warning look, but that only fuels him.

“Pierre—”

“Should I warn Oscar? Or let him find out on the broadcast?”

“Pierre.”

He grins. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep it quiet. For now. But if you out-qualify me again next weekend, I am texting the group chat.”

You shove your helmet into his chest with a dramatic sigh, and he cackles all the way back to the garage. Behind you, someone’s camera flashes, and you swear you hear your race engineer mutter, “God help us if she gets a podium today.”

—

You’re still not entirely sure how it happened. One minute, you were sitting solidly in P2, chasing Oscar down like a dog after a steak. The next, McLaren boxed both cars too early, chaos unfolded, and suddenly you were flying down the pit straight in clean air, your engineer screaming in your ear that you were leading the race. And you held it. For twelve brutal laps.

Now? You’re parked in front of the P1 board. Out of the car. Helmet off. Surrounded by chaos. Drenched in sweat and disbelief and the overwhelming roar of a crowd losing its collective mind over you. You’re half-hugged, half-dragged by your crew and Alpine engineers, someone yelling “SHE DID IT!” while someone else nearly decapitates you with the team flag. You barely register any of it — your ears are ringing, your hands are shaking, your heart’s still trying to figure out how to calm down. And then Oscar appears. He pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, both of you laughing like idiots.

“You’re joking,” he says into your ear. “P1? That’s disgusting. You’re insufferable now.”

You pull back, grinning. “I learned from the best.”

“I wasn’t that good— especially in that car.”

“You also didn’t have Pierre screaming strategy codes in French in my left ear.”

Speak of the devil—Pierre shoves through the crowd next, yelling “P1! P1!” like he wasn’t there with you the entire last stint. He nearly tackles you with a hug, helmet still on, bouncing with the kind of energy a toddler on a sugar high has.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, pushing him off playfully. “I still have to do interviews, I can’t look like I got mauled by my teammate.”

“You just won your first race,” Pierre says, beaming. “You should look like that.”

Then Lando walks past, looking miserable, soaking wet, visor down. He mutters, “I hate everything,” and you can’t help but yell “Thanks for the strategy!” after him.

Oscar high-fives you. Pierre howls with laughter. But as the madness starts to dull — as the mechanics scatter, the cameras shift, and the adrenaline begins to fade — there’s a beat. A rare, rare quiet moment. And in that sliver of silence, you feel someone step beside you. You turn, and it’s Ollie.

Helmet off, suit zipped halfway down, curls a little damp, a towel around his neck. There’s a small smile on his face, but it’s his eyes that catch you — bright, a little shy, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to be here, but came anyway.

“Hey,” he says softly.

Your heart, which had just settled from the final lap, decides to go full tilt again.

“Hey,” you echo.

He looks at the crowd, then back at you. “I didn’t want to interrupt the chaos.”

“You kind of live in it,” you tease gently.

“Yeah, but this one was yours.” He smiles, and this one is all softness. “I’m really proud of you.”

You don’t mean to blush. You also don’t mean to look away that quickly, but the combination is lethal.

“Thanks,” you mumble. “It doesn’t… it doesn’t feel real yet.”

“You made it look real.”

There’s a pause. A beat. And then, still soft, like he’s scared of startling the moment.

“Hey, um. This might not be the best time — you know, given you just beat half the grid senseless and all — but… would you maybe want to go out sometime?”

You blink. You actually blink. And then you blink again, because your brain is trying to replay the sentence in slow motion to make sure it wasn’t just a post-race hallucination.

You tilt your head. “Like… go out where?”

He gives you a sheepish, nervous laugh. “I don’t know. Like… dinner? Real clothes? A place where no one’s holding a stopwatch?”

You stare at him. Then—smile. A real one. Probably your third of the weekend, which is terrifying, if you’re being honest.

“I’d like that,” you say.

His face lights up in a way you’ve never quite seen before. You’re almost annoyed by how cute it is.

Before either of you can say more, you hear Lando from across the paddock yell, “SOMEONE CHECK HER TEMPERATURE—SHE’S SMILING AGAIN!”

Oscar, from next to him. “That is not my sister. Take the trophy away. Imposter.”

Pierre, sprinting back into the frame with a mic he stole from an interviewer.

“CONFIRMED— Piastri #2 is in love, pass it on!”

You sigh. Ollie laughs. Loudly. But even in the chaos, the roar, the teasing that’s definitely going to last until the next race weekend — he stays next to you. Close. Quiet. Soft. And for once, you don’t mind the noise at all.

—

nicolepiastri added a post to her story!

seen by oscarpiastri, yn_piastri, lilyzneimer and 1,002,002 others.

{caption : both of my children are on the podium but only one answers my calls— CONGRATULATIONS YNN! I LOVE YOU}

—

The second your boots hit the floor of the cooldown room, you finally exhale. Suit unzipped just enough to breathe again. There’s a bottle of water in your hand, a grin you still haven’t managed to shake off, and Oscar sitting on the bench beside you, towel slung around his neck and smirking like he’s the one who won. He’s been like this since parc fermé. Teasing. Poking. Looking entirely too pleased for someone who got bumped from P1 because of a McLaren meltdown.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, scrolling through your messages. The notifications are endless — texts, mentions, a dozen missed calls from your mum alone.

Oscar’s already watching you with far too much interest. “Oh good, you’re finally calling her. She’s going to yell at me and cry for you. What a reward.”

You don’t dignify him with a response. Instead, you hit FaceTime. It rings once. Then twice. And then — your mum answers with all the emotional chaos.

“Oh my GOD, YN!”

You barely get a “Hi, Mum—” out before she’s off.

“You WON a Grand Prix! I almost passed out in the living room! Hattie screamed! I was crying during the last ten laps—you didn’t even look nervous! And then the overtake after the pit stop—!”

You hold the phone out slightly so she doesn’t deafen you. Oscar leans over your shoulder and makes a dramatic shocked face into the camera.

“Hi Mum,” he says flatly. “Your second-favorite child reporting in.”

“Oh hush, Oscar. You’re still on probation for ignoring my calls last week.”

You snort.

“I CALLED YOU FIVE TIMES,” she continues. “AND DON’T THINK I DIDN’T SEE THAT SMILE, YN. Don’t even try to act like you weren’t looking at Ollie Bearman like he hung the moon.”

You nearly drop the phone.

“MUM!”

Oscar cackles. Loudly. “Knew it. I knew it. There was a look.”

You turn to him, horrified. “She saw it on the broadcast?!”

Your mum is beaming. “Oh, everyone saw it. You smiled like you were in love. It was very unlike you.”

Oscar’s already doubled over. “You’re DONE. You’re actually finished. Mum caught the soft launch before anyone. You’re slipping.”

“Both of you need to be quiet,” you hiss, gripping your water bottle like a weapon.

Your mum shakes her head fondly. “Darling, I’m happy for you. First race win and a boy you actually like? That’s a big day.”

Oscar snorts to himself “I give it two weeks before we’re picking wedding venues.”

You gave him a look and said, “I give it two minutes before I throw this at your head.”

“Do it,” Oscar dares, eyes wide with laughter. “Make it the first sibling fight broadcast live from the cooldown room.”

You sigh so hard you think your soul leaves your body. “I just wanted to say thank you and maybe get a little love from my supportive family and instead I’m being roasted alive.”

Oscar’s already taking selfies with your phone and trying to angle you both into the frame while your mum yells something about screen recording this for Hattie. Eventually, you end the call, cheeks pink, body aching from the race — and from the sheer emotional whiplash of it all. Oscar tosses you your towel. “Well, race winner. You’ve survived the podium, the press, and Mum. You’re practically unstoppable.”

You sigh, leaning back against the bench with a grin.

“God help me if she meets Ollie.”

Oscar just smirks. “Oh, she’s already planning it.”

—

yn_piastri

liked by olliebearman, nicolepiastri, pierregasly and 10,001,008 others.

yn_piastri : life as a race winner is pretty sweet

tagged : pierregasly and olliebearman

—

view 890,001 other comments.

logansargeant : we get it. you are fast and in love. so proud of you, kid!

liked by yn_piastri

↳ yn_piastri : ignoring the in love part. but LOGANNNNNNN i miss you

liked by logansargeant

hattiepiastri : text me back right this instant. i have questions. but oMG MY SISTER IS A RACE WINNER. I LOVE YOUUUUU

liked by yn_piastri

↳ yn_piastri : love you more

↳ oscarpiastri : i did NOT get this much love my first win.

↳ nicolepiastri : you also didn’t dedicate your first win to your mother and your sisters— yn did.

liked by yn_piastri and hattiepiastri

nicolepiastri : i see him yn. i need to meet him.

liked by oscarpiastri and lando

pierregasly : absolutely incredible! (you are my favorite teammate) (no one tell estie bestie)

liked by yn_piastri

alpinef1team : OUR QUEEN 🩷💙🤍🏆

liked by yn_piastri

↳ yn_piastri : you are welcome.

carlossainz55 : LET HER COOK 🗣️

liked by yn_piastri

lando : you are the only person i’d be okay with stealing this race from me

liked by yn_piastri

↳ yn_piastri : blame your team, norris.

georgerussell63 : You were absolutely insane out there! Congratulations YN!

liked by yn_piastri

lilyzneimer : YAYYYYY! Congratulations YN! You made all of us so proud:)

liked by yn_piastri

franciscagomes : I am so proud of you, YN! Restored my faith in the team 😭

liked by yn_piastri

olliebearman : You are incredible. 🩷💙

liked by yn_piastri, lando and oscarpiastri

—

You’re used to chaos — engine noise, media scrums, strategy debriefs, Oscar’s constant dry commentary. What you’re not used to? This. Silence. Comfort. A night without cameras, paddock chatter, or telemetry breakdowns. Just soft lighting, quiet music, and Ollie Bearman sitting across from you at a candlelit table, cheeks flushed and curls slightly messy from where he kept running his hand through them.

He picks nervously at the edge of his napkin and smiles at you like you’re the only person who exists in the entire world. And somehow, that doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels… right.

“I still can’t believe you said yes,” he says, breaking the silence with a sheepish little grin.

You raise an eyebrow over your wine glass. “You asked me right after I won a Grand Prix. Your timing was immaculate.”

He laughs — that full, warm, boyish laugh you’ve only ever heard from him around his engineers or when he’s completely relaxed. It settles something in your chest.

“Okay, fair,” he says. “I might’ve used the momentum to my advantage.”

You tilt your head, smiling. “Would’ve said yes anyway.”

He goes quiet for a second. Then his voice drops, just a little.

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

The words settle between you like a secret. Like something sacred. Dinner comes and goes — light food, laughter, gentle teasing. He makes fun of the way you concentrate so hard when you cut your food, and you tease him for still saying “thank you” to every single staff member like it’s his first day on Earth.

At one point, your feet bump under the table and you freeze — but he doesn’t pull away. Just smiles at you, like he knows how rare it is for you to let anyone close.

“You’re not what I expected, you know,” he says suddenly, once dessert is cleared. “When I first met you, I thought you hated me.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s just my face. And you were loud.”

He laughs. “Still am.”

“Still true.”

But then you glance at him — really look — and say, a little quieter, “I didn’t hate you. I just didn’t know how to be around someone who made me feel like this.”

He pauses. His smile softens. “Like what?”

You shrug, like it’s not terrifying to admit this out loud. “Like I don’t have to be on guard. Like… I can breathe.”

It hangs in the air between you. He doesn’t rush to fill it, doesn’t joke, doesn’t look away. He just reaches across the table, gentle and sure, and lets his fingers brush yours. You don’t flinch. You don’t pull away. Instead, you let your hand settle in his.

“Me too,” he says softly. “That’s how you make me feel.”

Later, when you’re outside under the soft glow of city lights, waiting for your car to arrive, he stands beside you with his hands in his pockets, the air thick with something sweet and unspoken.

He looks over at you. “Can I—?”

You beat him to it. You lean in and kiss him. It’s slow. It’s soft. It’s not fireworks or fanfare — it’s better. It’s quiet warmth. A kind of safety you didn’t know you wanted until now. When you pull back, his smile is dazed and dopey and perfect.

“Yeah,” he says, blinking. “That answers that.”

Your car pulls up. He opens the door for you.

Before you step in, you glance over your shoulder.

“Next time,” you say, “you pick the restaurant.”

“There’s gonna be a next time?” he teases.

You smirk. “If you keep smiling at me like that, yeah.”

You slide into the car, and he’s still standing there when you look back — grinning like he just won a race.

—

You should’ve known something was off the second your phone stopped buzzing. No texts from Oscar. No memes from Lando. Not even a meme. Just… silence. Peaceful. Suspicious. You’re halfway through a rerun of some terrible reality show, face scrubbed clean, hoodie three sizes too big, snacks in your lap — when it happens.  Someone’s pounding on your front door like you’re harboring state secrets. You pause. Narrow your eyes. It can’t be—You open the door. It is.

Oscar and Lando stand there like a chaotic sitcom duo, Oscar in a hoodie with a smug look on his face and Lando wearing sunglasses indoors like he is about to interrogate you.

Oscar raises a brow. “So. You had a date.”

You blink. “Hello to you too?”

Lando pushes past you like he owns the place. “You kissed him, didn’t you?”

“What—no—why would—”

Oscar follows behind, stepping over your shoes with the precision of a man on a mission. “You smiled three times in one weekend. THREE. We checked. And now you’re soft launching.”

You fold your arms. “Get out of my house.”

Lando flops dramatically onto your couch, eyes wide. “Did you let him kiss you? Did you—initiate the kiss?”

“I—”

Oscar points. “She did. She’s pausing.”

“Deny it,” Lando dares. “Say it didn’t happen. Say you didn’t fall for him.”

You open your mouth to snap back—and then the doorbell rings. The timing is cursed. You all freeze.

Oscar squints. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No,” you say slowly.

Lando’s already halfway to the door. “Oh this is good. This is cinema.”

You try to beat him there, but he swings the door open before you can even shout. And standing there — because the universe is a menace — is a delivery guy holding the most obnoxiously romantic bouquet you’ve ever seen. White peonies. Baby’s breath. Little bits of Alpine blue ribbon tied into the stems.

“Delivery for YN Piastri?” the guy says.

Behind you, Oscar lets out a strangled sound. “You’re joking.”

Lando’s cackling. Full on, no-holds-barred, bent-over laughter. “FLOWERS?! OLLIE SENT YOU FLOWERS?!”

You try to grab the bouquet, but Lando intercepts it instantly.

“He signed the card,” he says, reading aloud in his most smug voice. “‘Can’t stop thinking about last night. Hope today’s just as sweet. Ollie 🐻’ — there’s a BEAR EMOJI. I’m gonna be sick.”

“Give it to me,” you hiss, lunging for the card.

“You’re in LOVE,” Lando gasps, gripping the armrest of the couch like he’s witnessing a plot twist in a soap opera. “You’re actually in love. Our cold-blooded, deadpan ice queen is giggling over peonies.”

“I am NOT giggling—”

Oscar snaps a photo of you holding the bouquet like it’s evidence in a court case. “Mum is going to LOSE IT when she sees this.”

You nearly scream. “DO NOT SEND THAT TO MUM.”

“You’re lucky I’m not sending it to Ollie with a message that says ‘take good care of our emotionally unavailable menace,’” Lando says, grinning.

You collapse onto the couch and bury your face in your hands as the two of them spiral — Oscar dramatically pacing and reading the card out loud again, and Lando pretending to write a best man speech into your Notes app.

“You guys are unwell,” you mumble.

“And you,” Oscar says, dropping onto the armrest beside you, “are in trouble.”

“Big trouble,” Lando adds. “Because now we care. Now we’re invested. We’re emotionally attached to the Ollie situation.”

“God help him,” Oscar mutters. “He’s dating you.”

You look up, cheeks warm, bouquet in your lap. And despite the chaos, the teasing, and the complete invasion of your private life… you smile.

“Yeah,” you say. “Poor guy’s doomed.”

—

It’s late. The house is finally quiet. Oscar and Lando have been banished, the flower bouquet has been moved to the kitchen and you’re lying in bed, hoodie on, phone somewhere near your pillow. You should’ve known she’d call. When Nicole’s name flashes on your screen, you hesitate for half a second… then swipe to answer.

“Hi, Mum.”

“You got flowers.”

Her tone is calm, knowing — the exact way she used to say ‘I know what you did’ when you were seven and tried to hide chocolate under your pillow.

You sigh. “Yes. I did.”

“From Ollie Bearman.”

You groan and bury your face in your pillow. “I’m aware.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward. Just soft. Then, gently—

“Do you want to tell me about him?”

You’re quiet for a long beat. And then, maybe for the first time, you don’t dodge the question. You stare at the ceiling and let the truth slip out in a whisper. “He’s… kind.”

“Kind?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “He’s patient. And funny in this really low-key, unforced way. He doesn’t treat me like I’m difficult to figure out, he just… wants to. And he makes me feel safe. I haven’t felt that in a while.”

There’s another pause. But it’s warm. Like your mum is letting that settle in her chest. Then you hear her smile through the phone.

“I like him already.”

You exhale. “Yeah. Me too.”

“He’s going to get a proper interrogation when I see him, though.”

You groan. “Of course he is.”

Nicole laughs softly. “I’m your mum. It’s in the contract. But YN?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really proud of you. And not just for the win. For letting someone in.”

You close your eyes, heart unexpectedly full.

“…Thanks, Mum.”

You hang up a few minutes later. And for the first time that day, the silence feels calm. Not lonely. Just safe. Just sweet.

—

You should’ve known Ollie was up to something the second he picked you up on time. Hair slightly damp, curls pushed back, white linen shirt on. Waiting outside your flat in Monaco with a quiet smile and one hand behind his back.

“What’s that look for?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you stepped outside.

“I have a plan,” he said simply. “And no, you’re not allowed to make fun of it.”

Now you’re sitting in the back of a sleek car winding up the narrow streets of Monaco, your hand resting in his, the glittering lights of the coastline slipping past you like a movie. And you realize—this feels different. Intentional. Soft. Thoughtful in the way only Ollie seems capable of pulling off without it ever feeling overdone.

You glance at him. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

He grins. “Nope.”

You squint. “If it’s a boat thing, I swear—”

“It’s not a boat thing. Though I’m offended you think I’d try to drown you this early in our relationship.”

That word—relationship—hangs in the air for a second. Neither of you comment on it. But you smile. The car finally slows to a stop in front of a restaurant tucked into a quiet cliffside — all soft lighting, ocean views, and the kind of clientele that could probably buy half the grid.

You blink. “Wait… this place?”

Ollie only nods. Smug.

“You can’t get a reservation here unless you’re a royal or a Michelin inspector,” you murmur, stunned. “I’ve been trying for months.”

“I know,” he says, helping you out of the car. “I called them every day for a week. And also begged. A little. Not proud.”

You stare at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

He smirks. “Yeah. For you.”

The restaurant is perfect. It’s candlelit and quiet, with ocean air drifting in through open archways and the faint hum of a string quartet playing somewhere nearby. They seat you at a private table on a balcony overlooking the water. And Ollie? Ollie just watches you with that same soft awe he always seems to have when you’re not looking. Except now you catch him.

You tilt your head. “You’re staring.”

“Obviously,” he replies. “You look like you belong in a movie.”

You scoff. “You’re so full of it.”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes sparkling. “It’s kind of a problem.”

You eat slowly. Talk easily. About everything and nothing. He asks about your pre-race rituals. You ask about his favorite circuit to crash on in which you receive a snort. He makes fun of the way you order pasta like you’re judging the chef. You call him out for stealing bites of your dessert. But beneath it all, there’s this steady, comfortable rhythm — like the two of you are already past the awkward part of love and deep into the good stuff. The safe stuff. The quiet knowing. As the night winds down and you think it’s over, Ollie stands and holds his hand out.

“One more surprise,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re kidding.”

“Come on.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re at the top of a hill in a tucked-away indoor karting track — privately rented out. You blink at the scene in front of you. The neon lights. The empty grid. Two karts already prepped.

“You… rented a karting track?” you ask, stunned.

He shrugs, trying to look casual. “You said you haven’t been in years. Just for fun.”

“That’s because when I go, I overheat the tires and scare children.”

He grins. “Exactly. I want to see that.”

And so, somehow, your perfect Monaco date ends with the two of you in full helmets and borrowed race suits, gunning down a tight corner in fifty-kilo karts, yelling across the straightaways and laughing like you’re both fifteen again. He tries to block you once. Once. You pass him on the outside, flick the rear end just to be cocky, and when you take the checkered flag, you slow down just in time to see him dramatically pull over and fake defeat. You climb out and yank your helmet off with a grin.

“Not bad for a date night, huh?” he asks, breathless.

You roll your eyes, cheeks flushed. “I won.”

He steps closer. “Yeah,” he murmurs, reaching to brush a bit of helmet hair from your face. “But I still feel like I came out ahead.”

You bite back a smile. “That was so cheesy.”

He shrugs. “You like it.”

You do. God, you really do. And when he kisses you, right there at the edge of the track, under flickering fluorescent lights and the buzz of your post-race high, it feels like a new kind of perfect. The kind you didn’t know you deserved.

—

several weeks later…

f1gossipgirls

5,023,001 likes.

f1gossipgirls : It’s a full family affair in the paddock today! YN Piastri was spotted arriving hand in hand with Ollie Bearman — and showed up with his family. One well-timed photo even caught him kissing her on the cheek. Soft launch? Over. Meanwhile, Nicole Piastri and Lily were seen walking the paddock together like seasoned pros. And yes, the Piastri sisters were all there too — spotted repping Alpine with their father, Chris Piastri, screaming for YN during quali. Busy day for the Piastris. And we’re eating it up.

—

You don’t do the whole hand-holding thing. Not usually. Not where cameras can see. Not where half the grid is lurking behind sunglasses and PR smiles. But today? Your hand is in Ollie’s, swinging ever so slightly as you walk through the paddock, and you don’t care who sees. His mum is on his other side, his siblings somewhere behind you, and the sun’s warm, and the media pens are quiet for once. It’s good. It’s easy. Until Oscar appears like a summoned demon. He materializes in front of you, squinting like he just saw something traumatizing. Which, apparently, he has.

“Oh my God,” he says. “You’re still holding hands?”

You blink at him. “Good morning to you, too.”

Ollie lets out a soft, polite laugh that makes Oscar narrow his eyes even harder.

He turns fully to you, arms crossed. “Right. Well. Mum’s waiting.”

You pause. “Okay… for what?”

Oscar jerks his thumb toward hospitality. “To meet him.”

Ollie blinks. “Sorry—what?”

Oscar shrugs like this isn’t the most dangerous escalation of your relationship. “She saw the kiss. She saw the flowers. She’s making tea and says she’s ‘ready for the boy with the curls.’”

You stare at him. “You set me up.”

Oscar grins. “No, Mum did. I’m just the messenger.”

Beside you, Ollie squeezes your hand — just once — like he’s steadying you, even though he’s about to walk straight into the lion’s den.

“Should I be scared?” he asks, voice low near your ear.

You sigh. “Yes. But smile and she might let you live.”

Oscar’s already walking ahead of you, smug as ever. “Hurry up, lovebirds. She’s heating scones and practicing her interrogation voice.”

And just like that, the paddock peace is over — and the Piastri family trial begins.

—

You walk into Alpine hospitality holding Ollie’s hand like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded — which, to be fair, it is. He’s calm. Charming. A little flushed, but smiling, like he doesn’t realize he’s about to be thoroughly interrogated by the people who know you better than you know yourself.

“Mum will be nice,” you mutter as you walk.

“Are you saying that for me or for yourself?” he asks, quietly.

“Both.”

And then there she is — Nicole Piastri, standing just inside the hospitality suite, sipping tea from a floral mug that she definitely packed from home. Her expression is warm but calculating, and beside her— Oh God. Dad’s here too. Chris Piastri, arms folded, wearing sunglasses indoors like he’s security, and looking very serious about this meeting. You stop short.

“Hi,” you say, maybe a little too loudly.

Nicole’s smile widens. “Darling. There you are.”

Ollie steps up beside you. “Hi, Mrs. Piastri. Mr. Piastri. I’m—”

“We know who you are,” Chris says flatly.

Nicole gently nudges his arm. “Don’t be ridiculous, Chris, he’s adorable.” She turns to Ollie with a dazzling smile. “Sit down, dear. We made you tea.”

Ollie blinks. “You—what?”

“She brewed you her best tea,” you mutter under your breath. “I’ve never even been offered the best tea.”

Chris sits, still sizing Ollie up like he’s a rival team’s lead strategist. “So. You like our daughter.”

Ollie opens his mouth. Closes it again. “Uh—yes. Very much.”

Nicole hums. “He’s honest. I like that.”

“She’s emotionally unavailable,” Chris says bluntly. “You know that, right?”

Ollie, bless him, just nods. “She is. I like that too.”

You shoot him a look. He shrugs like—What? It’s true.

Nicole is delighted. “He’s charming. Chris, stop being a grump.”

Chris sighs like he’s being personally victimized. “Fine. But I reserve the right to glare at him.”

Then, like fate planned it, the doors swing open.

“Oh my GOD, is that him?!”

Hattie’s voice cuts through the air like a missile, and before you can even brace, three little hurricanes storm in.

Hattie, Edie, and Mae — your three youngest sisters, all armed with iPhones, iced coffees, and very little shame.

You immediately try to flee. “Nope. Absolutely not. Goodbye—”

But they swarm.

Hattie practically tackles you in a hug before turning to Ollie like a game show host. “So you’re the boy.”

“Nice curls,” Edie adds, squinting. “Did you style them just for her?”

Mae takes a photo from behind her phone. “This is going to be included at the wedding album.” 

“MAE.”

Ollie is visibly trying not to laugh. “I’m… honored? Terrified? A mix.”

Chris raises his mug. “Welcome to the family.”

Nicole just leans back with a satisfied smile. “I love when everyone’s here.”

”Oscar isn’t.” Mae said with a smirk. 

You look at Ollie — completely surrounded, pink in the cheeks, but grinning at your sisters like he’s having the time of his life. He catches your eye and mouths, You okay? You mouth back, You’re the one in danger. He just shrugs. Like he’d walk into the lion’s den a thousand times if it meant he got to hold your hand at the end of it. And honestly? That’s the moment you know he’s already one of them.

—

You’d done it. Again. The flag dropped, the roar erupted, and your name came through the radio— your race engineer’s voice first — “P1, YN. You’re P1.” This time, there was no shock. No disbelief. Just joy. Crashing, overwhelming joy. But nothing compared to the moment you stepped onto the top step of the podium and looked out at the sea of faces — and saw them. Your family. All of them. Nicole was standing in the front row of the Alpine viewing box, her hand covering her mouth, eyes shining. Chris stood behind her, his sunglasses off, wiping something off his cheek and pretending it was sweat. Oscar was already leaning over the rail, fists in the air, grinning like an idiot. Lily beside him, filming everything on her phone. And then there were your sisters — Hattie with her Alpine cap backwards, Edie screaming at a security guard to move, and Mae sobbing into a little handmade sign that read “LET HER COOK.”

And Ollie — in the Haas garage at first, but then suddenly appearing like magic at the edge of parc fermé, mouthing “I told you.” You barely held it together through the anthem. Through the champagne. Through the press photos. But the moment they let you go — the moment you stepped off that podium and your eyes met Oscar’s? You ran. Trophy tucked under your arm, still half in your suit, you sprinted toward the team area, dodging cameras and PR handlers, until you reached them. Oscar met you first — grabbing you and spinning you around before you could even say anything.

“Back-to-back wins?” he shouted over the noise. “You trying to make me look bad?”

You laughed, breathless. “I’m just better than you now.”

“Not wrong,” he said, grinning proudly.

Then came your mum. Nicole crushed you into a hug that smelled like floral perfume and peppermint tea and home.

“My girl,” she whispered. “You were magnificent.”

“I couldn’t hear you crying from the podium,” you teased.

“I was very discreet, thank you.”

Your dad pulled you into a quick, tight hug next, gruffly muttering, “You’ve made us so proud. But next time, don’t scare me with that overtake on Lap 42. I nearly aged ten years.”

Then the girls tackled you — all at once.

“You were FLYING!” Hattie screamed.

“You BLEW past Max like he was standing still!” Edie shouted.

“I’m not okay,” Mae sobbed. “I haven’t stopped crying since Lap 50.”

You were laughing and crying and breathless, overwhelmed and completely surrounded by love. And when you finally looked up, Ollie was standing a few feet away — waiting. Watching. Giving you space to have your moment. You stepped away from the circle of siblings and met him halfway.

“I told you,” he said again, voice soft, eyes glowing.

“I know,” you whispered, smiling. “But hearing it was different than believing it.”

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, gently, reverently. “Do you believe it now?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He didn’t kiss you. Not here. Not yet. But he squeezed your hand once, and it said everything.

—

Your family rented out a little restaurant tucked into a side street in town — your mum insisted it had to be cozy and not fussy. No press. No cameras. Just you, your family, and a table full of food and noise. Oscar sat at the head of the table like he ran the whole operation, passing bread baskets and complaining about the wine like he knew anything. Your sisters retold the race from their perspective at least six times, each version more dramatic than the last. Nicole ordered dessert for the table before anyone even got halfway through dinner.

Chris made a speech — short, emotional, voice cracking halfway through and he denied it many times. And Ollie? Ollie sat beside you, not trying to dominate the conversation, not trying to steal attention — just being there.

He listened. He laughed. He made Hattie giggle so hard she snorted lemonade through her nose. He leaned over when things got loud and asked if you were okay. He held your hand under the table when no one was looking. He fit.

By the end of the night, Nicole had slipped him an extra dessert plate and whispered, “You’re staying, aren’t you?”

And when Ollie looked to you — grinning, hopeful — you just nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “He’s staying.” The table erupted again. And this time, when they toasted? They toasted to you. To the girl who won. To the girl who loved. To the girl who let herself be known. And for once — completely, deeply, happily — you let them.

—

olliebearman

liked by yn_piastri, oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri and 7,770,001 others.

olliebearman : 2 time race winner AND MY GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!

tagged : yn_piastri

—

view 770,134 other comments.

oscarpiastri : AND MY SISTER!!!!!!! so watch yourself.

liked by olliebearman

↳ yn_piastri : no one is scared of your threats, remember, the internet thinks you look microwaveable.

liked by alex_albon and olliebearman

↳ oscarpiastri : WHAT THE FUCK DOES IT MEAN

liked by yn_piastri, alex_albon and olliebearman

lando : you have to break up now. you gave her superpowers, she cannot keep winning.

liked by olliebearman and yn_piastri

↳ yn_piastri : BOOOOOOOOO. just get better at driving.

liked by oscarpiastri, lando and olliebearman

pierregasly : this is disgusting. i am sick to my stomach. but you guys are so cute i can’t be mad. take care of my menace.

liked by yn_piastri and olliebearman

hattiepiastri : can i be maid of honor?????

liked by yn_piastri and olliebearman

↳ oscarpiastri : you are assuming he will want to marry her.

↳ olliebearman : i do.

liked by yn_piastri, hattiepiastri, nicolepiastri and lando

↳ hattiepiastri : SFJRBFJASDFNOISAERDFNG OMH

↳ oscarpiastri : never speaking again.

↳ yn_piastri : aw ollie u broke both of them. i love youuu

liked by olliebearman

—

[hungrydata]

Ok so, ik I'm busy, but I can't NOT talk about the new episode. So...

SPOILER WARNING FOR EPISODE 5 OF THE AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS

I won't write an essay now, but holy gosh moly. This episode was great. And I hate that it ends with a cliffhanger. But it makes sense since Goose said that eps 5&6 were focused on both Jax & Ragatha, so they are very likely tied together (hopefully we don't have to wait another 6 months, but you also can't rush art of course)

I also don't want to break down the episode, there are people who can do that way better than me. I just wanna talk about some fun stuff.

First of all, I tried my best to figure out what everbody's saying here (Only Jax is subtitled in english, however the other two are as well in other languages, so I used them if I had difficulties with what they're saying):

everything I am not 100% sure about or was roughly translated via the different language subtitles, is written in brackets

JAX: I very much did not enjoy that one in the slightest. If we ever do anything even close to that again, I'm getting violent, and I'm going to kill Ragatha.

GANGLE: Uh... I... don't really think it [brought out the best in me], even if it [was the cause of my mask].

RAGATHA: Oh, I really do not think [I was that innocent at] that time, I [did release] (?) some things I normally never say.

I know that some of this is not accurate or something is missing, but it's really difficult to understand what Ragatha and Gangle are saying. Therefore if you know anything, help is very much appreciated!

_______________________________________________

Now I wanna talk about rather obscure stuff. Like Kinger being right handed. I never posted anything about it, but I discussed with my friend about what each circus member's dominant hand was (bc I was bored, can you blame me?) and while I still think that the animators just use whatever looks good and can bring the message across the best (like Gangle sometimes drawing with her left hand and with her right hand, based on what perspective we view her, or how basically most characters use their left and right hand for difficult tasks equally, just so that the viewers can see it better, and it's probably easier to animate as well if you don't have to think about it)

Anyways, Kinger is right handed confirmed to me. (Jax is left handed, tho I need to rewatch all episodes and shorts on Glitch's channel to get more information about that, same with the other chars, tho I'm 98% convinced that both Jax and Gangle are left handed, tho that might just be delusion idk)

Btw the Anime and Intermission section were beautiful. Now we know why it took so long, but it was definitely worth it.

Also RIBBUN AND MAID DRESS HALLELUJAH!

ngl this looks funny

I feel like the shippers are going crazy with this one, especially people who ship Funnybunny (and the Bunnydoll Nation is either in shambles or enjoy it as much as the time Ragatha got deep fried.)

As a Ribbun enjoyer, I am definitely eating the toxic crumbs up like Jax did eat Gangle. Also thank you Goose for giving us so many great catchphrases that I am going to use from now on.

Also, THE LORE. And why can I genuinely relate so much with Jax. Why. Idk how to feel about this. And he actually cares let's gooo!

And I gotta say. Love the beef between Jax and Ragatha, and I also like the friendship between Jax and Pomni that slowly but surely develops. I also like the detail that here, Pomni votes against the maid dress. I could imagine that she just thinks it's childish, but it's also a sign that she knows Jax would hate it and wouldn't want to stir chaos.

ALSO HE SAID THE LINE HE SAID THE LINE!

You detached it yourself, idiot.

Welp I'm outta pictures to post here. There's alot more like Jax having a friend that looks like a frog, and Goose mentioned in one post that the person that abstracted before Kaufmo was called Ribbit (yk, like the sound a frog makes). I thinke there's likely a connection. And considering that Pomni was supposed to be a frog first, maybe that's how Jax and Pomni also will become closer friends. Can't wait for the next episode

And knowing what Goose said, it's not gonna be a wholesome one. After all, even tho 5&6 are split between Ragatha and Jax, this was still the Ragatha episode, and the next one will be "more centered" around Jax. I'm scared.

Also as much as it pains me, I think Gangle will be the one to abstract. The fact that she didn't have an evil doppelganger and with the teaser of her symbol loading, it's too much of a coincidence to not happen. Pls don't Gangle you're my baby ;;-;;.

(so much so to "not an essay" lmao. "Not an essay" my ass)

Also. DaY 172 bc yes

[likelysobbing]

relationship w juju hcs!! plss we’re in drought:(( specially reader doesn’t play any sports lmaoo we unathletic out here

𖥻 LOOK AT ME. juju watkins x unathletic!fan!reader

reblogs + comments appreciated more than likes.

synopsis: juju dating headcanons … but the twist is that you? play absolutely no sports. you’re clueless, even… until she comes to your rescue.

notes: IF ANYONE COMES AT ME FOR HOW THE READER HERE IS CLUELESS ABOUT SPORTS + UNATHLETIC… DON’T. I GENUINELY DID NOT KNOW HOW TO PUT THE REST OF MY THOUGHTS ON THE SCREEN UNTIL I MADE READER CLUELESS ABOUT SPORTS. i just be putting readers into situations fr… i hope you guys like this situation though!! also hi nonnieee, i feel like everyones saying theres a juju drought lately 😭 i hope this satiates your cravings! i’ve always adored juju’s eyes, so i hope y’all understand why i center the fact juju wants you to look at her so much lol i would kill to look into that womans eyes

cw: reader is clueless about sports and only meets juju out of luck, jealous!juju, this goes from first meeting -> how you guys got close -> when you realized you were inlove with eachother -> the confession and how it happened -> ACTUAL dating headcanons, and there’s a bunch of scenarios sprinkled inbetween these headcanons i would say so just a little treat for my juju girls, juju is lowkey possessive

you were never really into sports. like sure, there was MAJOR eye candy, but other than that you found no other reason to be interested in the art of athletics. you respected it enough to commend it, but not to attend it. atleast that’s what you initially thought.

then, your friend told you she had extra courtside tickets to a homegame, and you— already dreaming of seeing juju watkins up close—seized the opportunity immediately. truth be told you did not know shit about basketball, all you knew was that juju was good at it and also you’d be too scared to approach her in any other situation! so why not take this chance to admire her from afar, but even closer (and still without her knowing you exist!)?

when you arrived to the game, you sat courtside with your friend, she bullied you for only agreeing to come because juju was hot and you—emboldened by the fact that juju wasn’t near to hear you say it, outright said: “okay, so i’m only here for juju—whatever! i don’t need to know how the game works to know that she’s gonna look pretty doing… whatever she does.” you trail off.

and then you looked to your right, and saw juju looking straight at you, having heard all you fucking said while you sat there like an idiot who just said it. she raised an eyebrow teasingly, while your friend just looked at you in shock, because no way you just said that infront of juju watkins? juju, meanwhile, was just minding her business.

that entire game you were cheering for juju. like to the point it was embarrassing. especially because she knew you did not know what the fuck she was doing, only that she was winning. like, obviously she appreciated you cheering, but she didn’t appreciate you being clueless—so after the win, when you came up to her, peer pressured by your friend despite knowing you were going to be quietly publicly humiliated, she had things to say.

you come to her when the crowd quiets down, and there’s only a few notable faces left.

“hi,” you say, simple yet none the less absolutely humbling. you looked up at her as she looked down at you, face unreadable as you continued—or tried to—speak. “…may i please get a photo?”

realistically speaking, juju won’t say no to you— you’re a fan. you’re right about that hunch because she smiles and poses for a photo, her pretty smile on display. what you don’t predict?

“you real bold. talking all that. coming to a basketball game just cause you think i’m pretty… doin’ whatever i do? did you know i was there?” she asked, barely holding in a laugh (one you didn’t know was well-meaning, or mean spirited), uncapping her sharpie as she took your phonecase you shyly handed over to sign. you froze. you got put on the spot and you froze. judea skies watkins… put you on the spot… and you froze.

you needed to speak right now. she is staring at you like you are a freak (not in that way, which is even worse). you need to speak, like actually, right now.

“yes, maybe you would offer to teach me.” whattheFUCKwhathefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckNONONONONOwhattheFUCKwhatthefuck—juju’s eyes widen for a split second, before she laughs it off and bids you farewell with a ‘we’ll see!’ when you know for a fact that you will NOT see because you are NEVER going to put yourself into the same room as her ever again.

#1 loser award goes to…

JKJKJK ILY GUYS. but after that i don’t think you’d be keen on seeing juju again.

so you try to move on with your life! over these next few days, you try. you really do. you even contemplate unfollowing juju.

you open her profile on your phone, your eyes land on the following button and you’re about to click— until you get a notif.

@jujubballin has requested to follow you!

you nearly fell out of your chair i’m telling you girl but you ACCEPT ANYWAY, right? okay, so you’re mutuals with the judea skies watkins… and what do you do?

absolutely fucking nothing.

you don’t text her at all. you don’t try to ask why she followed you. you just sit with the fact that she did and that at most all it would be would be something to brag about. you did not want to take more than you could—didn’t want to expect something randomly blossoming, didn’t want to expect anything.

so you did nothing.

but she? she did something.

OH NAHH WHAT IS THATTTT

juju dmed you first, and outright flirted with you. that’s how you two began. like it was literally that simple. she genuinely offered to meet up with you and teach you about basketball, and you genuinely took that invitation. you hosted her back at your dorm, and while she explained basic basketball rules to you, you did your best to listen intently without freaking out over the fact there was a famous person in your bed teaching you about what they were fucking famous for.

the first few meetings were solely basketball, until...

“yeah, that would be a foul, but most refs miss it because it’s usually so subtle and if i’m being honest… no ref ever really cares that much about their job.” juju murmured, her legs dangling on the floor of your dorm as she pointed out little details in past games of hers— you were seated, criss-cross, right next to her. thigh-to-thigh. she poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue as she scanned throughout the footage, scouring for more to point out.

you were just staring at her.

“your glasses are falling.” you pointed something out this time, a sly smile on your face as you successfully snapped her out of her trance.

“shit, they are? oh, yeah—”

“are they prescribed? or blue light?” you ask, tilting your head. juju answers, and then you bounce back and forth. continously. unintentionally.

and suddenly, juju’s laptop is closed, and you're face to face.

that’s when it fucking starts im telling you its always LIKE THAT CHAT you say something that steers the both of you away from what you said you’d both do and suddenly you find that you have more in common than you initially realized and outside of the bounds of fan and celebrity, you click. you click as friends.

she starts telling you about basketball instead of just teaching you, and you somehow learn easier that way—when she’s teaching you over brunch instead of over the bright screen of a laptop, and you both have the freedom to smile because it’s not really instructional anymore. it’s just… normal friend things.

normal friend things.

you’re learning.

you’re learning quicker than ever, over just her passionate little rambles rather than the professional type of curriculum she originally put you through trying to act like a professional coach knowing she didn’t have a future in coaching. you’re learning, and you’re using actual basketball words (as you said yourself), and you’re using them correctly. you’re aware. you can watch basketball games and know what’s going on. you cheer when she cheers without having to look at her face.

she wishes you’d look at her longer, though.

it’s a really odd feeling, whatever’s sprouting in her chest. she wants you to look at her, but she can’t look at you for long or she’ll get shy. like dead-ass, real shy.

she’s meant to be paying attention to the game you’re both watching right now, but she’s only really looking at you—“that’s a foul, isn’t it?”

her heart beats a bit faster. “what is?”

“this.” you murmur, leaning in to replay the footage. you point at two of the players, “that’s a moving screen right? you mentioned it back when we hung out that one time at... hold on, i forgot, wait–”

she looks at where you pointed, and lo-and-behold— you’re correct. that is a foul. you actually learned.

that was when she realized she liked you—when she realized you paid attention. to her, not to her accolades or her skill—just to her.

you realized you liked juju when you noticed how quiet you were about her. you didn’t gloat about how you randomly had juju follow you back, nor did you brag that you knew her at all. you admired juju quietly. you liked her so much you couldn’t speak without choking on your words.

and yet, for a good while, neither of you did anything. there were moments: brushes of your fingers against eachother, looks that lingered far too long, and hoodies she gave you because ‘you get cold too easily’. hoodies you never gave back.

you were both pining. severely. like so much that it hurt other people, RANDOM PEOPLE WHO JUST HAPPENED TO PAST BY YOU TWO ONCE, even seeing you two hovering over eachother.

yet you both didn’t do anything. you didn’t know how to bring it up without breaking what you had, and neither did juju, because you both knew the risks pursuing a relationship— juju had a fleshed out career, and you were an average college student who she, somehow, got entangled with.

so you both bottled it up— until that small little candle light turned into a raging fire. love.

until it was pure, unadulterated love.

and love? that’s not something you can bottle up for long.

she was just some girl, in like one of your classes, who just happened to be at the game. you swore. she saw you sitting alone and decided to take the spot to your left, before looking to her right—right at you. she said she knew you, struck up a conversation, and all that good stuff.

juju saw it. she even heard you guys, albeit a bit muffled—you were talking about homework—but what really bothered her was how close she was. thigh to thigh, like you two usually are. she pretends not to be alarmed.

and then you don’t even look at her before tip off, because apparently some girl is more important than her, which isn’t true, and she knows this, because she’s juju watkins. you should be looking at her, right? so why aren’t you looking at her?

you’re doing those sweet little gestures again. with her. using your hands to talk, laughing at something she said that probably wasn’t even that funny, and suddenly juju’s mind is foggy. that’s not good. especially not before a game. but it’s not foggy because of you and that stupid girl, right? obviously not. why would it be? you’re just friends. friends who look at eachother too long. friends who sit too close and don’t scooch away. just. friends.

friends.

juju looks to where you’re sat in the stands during halftime. you don’t look back. you’re too busy continuing whatever fuckass conversation you’re having with that girl.

juju should not fucking care right now.

she has so many eyes on her already, but they don’t see her like yours do.

you should be looking right at her.

but you don’t.

you come to her after the game— another win, as expected. you pat her shoulder and grin and she looks down at you. “who was she?” she asks, and you tilt your head. “that girl? oh, just some girl.”

“some girl?” she repeats. “she didn’t need your eyes all up on her then.”

she backs you up into a wall, and you blink. by now, juju’s sizzling—she’s tired, she’s mad, she’s frighteningly jealous—and you haven’t made any moves on eachother. so juju decides, fuck it, let this be the first one.

“i don’t like it,” she murmurs, “when you look at anyone else like that. like you look at me.”

and surprisingly, you laugh, less fearful than she anticipated, “juju.” you say her name so sweet, she can’t help but close her eyes and sigh in relief because that’s good— that’s great.

“juju,” you repeat, “i could look at you forever.”

the confession isn’t necessarily a confession. there is no official i love you. but there’s obviously a shift.

juju walks you to your now empty dorm (your roommate slept over at her boyfriend’s) that night. when you open the door, you turn to her. she’s staring straight at you. she doesn’t look away.

“you mine?” she asks, simple and sweet. and so, so soft.

“always been,” you respond, easily.

you don’t sleep alone that night.

OKAY THATS DONE LETS GET TO DATING HEADCANONS NOW

juju is like the cutest girlfriend ilovehersomuchshessocute

ok first things first thank the lord you bagged judea fucking watkins hello

at the start of the relationship, it’s the same old thing with just a touch more intimacy knowing that you guys are together—she touches you more, she’s more open, but she doesn’t outright go into spoiling you or treating you like a queen.

this sort of.. phase, lasts for a good few weeks as you accustom yourself to what you usually have to do when you date an renowned athlete with multiple NIL deals: which is, increase privacy.

juju would keep the relationship private out of respect for you and out of the need to preserve her career; she doesn’t want you to be upheld to the same standards she is, so she makes sure the public’s eyes don’t stray away from her.

once you get past that phase though? once you get used to that privacy?

lover girl. like im serious. this girl is DOWNNN and she does not want to get up. juju seems like the type of person to be shy but at the same time shameless in her love for you.

she’s more of an introvert, so most days are spent inside bonding over whatever and tangling your legs together. you don’t need any more entertainment other than her stories and both of yours’ laughter. half the time you lowkey die laughing, the other half you’re getting real with eachother with no judgement at all.

when i say she’s shy, she’s shy. you compliment her and suddenly she gets really soft, she gets really flustered and she even hides her face using her hoodie—burrows into the chair if your compliment gets her that much. she likes looking at you when you aren’t looking at her because the eye contact with you makes her nervous and she’s really not trying to be nervous. she wants to admire her lady in peace!

she’s not protective so to say, but she is cautious. she won’t put you on a leash but she’ll place a hand on your shoulder. she doesn’t restrict you but she does ensure that you know what you’re getting into ; she expects updates being sent to her whenever you’re gone. they don’t have to be that often, but if she texts you and you don’t respond within the day? she’s checking you.

she’s very physically affectionate. she likes having her hands on you—you’re just so, so soft! she loves laying on your stomach most of all. i feel that she’d also compare hand sizes with you. she eats the fact that you’re shorter than her UP.

“wait, wait—” juju grinned, raising her hand up. you blinked, before giving her a high five.

“no, genius! that’s not what i meant!” she laughed, taking your hand again and placing it flat against her own. by then, you realized what she was doing and you sighed.

“again, ju?”

“yes, again. look—look! i think you got smaller.”

“i did not.”

“you’ll always be shorter than me though.”

when it comes to who pays, juju doesn’t mind paying all the time but obviously you don’t let her do that. you treat her, especially when she has her off days, and she always feels a little lighter knowing you’re in her corner. juju doesn’t like saying it, but she likes to know that she has someone she can rely on.

she does spoil you though. like don’t get her wrong. it’s not designer shit, but what is designer worth if it’s not from the heart—juju’s gifts? thought over multiple times to make sure they’re perfect. she always gets you gifts she thinks hard about because she doesn’t want you just loving the gift because she gave it, she wants you loving the gift because you love it.

she’s also a complete baby—but she’s your baby so you can not be complaining. as i said, she’s very physically affectionate, and she’s a very cuddly person. whenever you have to get up she has such a visible frown on her face:( she’s like this ☹️

when it comes to endearments, juju definitely calls you “mama” or “ma” . like that is the most judea endearment i’ve ever heard. she also refers to you as ‘her woman’ to other people, but there’s also “baby,” and “babe”. when it comes to what she likes to be called, i feel like hearing her full name come from your lips always gets her— so you’d call her judea, or juju, but other than that she adores being called “love”. it makes her smile big!!

she doesn’t point at you when she scores but she does go to your side of the stands like “y’all see that? more importantly, did YOU see that?” because this girl does not want to deal with the embarrassment of pointing at you and MISSING

your relationship is private. it’s secret. literally only the fans who dig know about it—but to juju’s teammates? to anyone close to her? juju isn’t vocal about it, but they know how much you’ve softened her. juju doesn’t need to speak to show people she loves you, not when the fact she greets you with such a wild smile is already enough.

it’s you two. it’s always going to be you two, no matter what the world says. the fact that juju is confident in this, is confident in you— is already enough.

@likelysobbing.

[just-your-average-cryptid]

The White Rabbit was a joke. That's what everyone thought - some rando in a cheap mask and an impeccable suit doing corporate sabotage for kicks. Sure, they left a trail of explosions in their wake (or fried servers, or pockets of space where physics had taken a bribe and a day off), but they didn't kill people. They couldn't be that strong.

Not like Knifepoint.

The guy was as unsubtle as his name suggested, and equally deadly. He'd kidnapped 10 people as his opening number, leaving an obscure trail of clues to their supposed location. Some of the best people on the Hero Force roster had spent harrowing weeks tracking him down, praying they would get to the victims before he did.

They were good people, she thought. Good people that deserved better than what he did to them - to that poor kid, barely out of high school and already being sent on a case like this.

Someone had to do something. Someone he couldn't pull apart like a tiger with a pumpkin full of meat, toying with their food before sinking their teeth in. Someone he wouldn't expect.

Then again, when had anyone expected what the White Rabbit would do next?

The old slaughterhouse was a bit on the nose. Plenty of tools for his torture routines, but not very creative. For a guy who could come up with killing methods out of other people's nightmares, she expected more than the red lighting and excessive hooks that seemed straight out of a budget shlock horror flick. Glancing up, she could see a maze of catwalks above the work floor. They would be useful in a moment.

"Little rabbits shouldn't be in a place like this..."

"Oh dear, you must think I'm here by accident. I assure you—" she said, yanking him by the collar through the darkness, "—I know who I'm dealing with."

"Do you?" he rasped, grinning with bloodstained teeth. The knife was already in his hand, swinging to her side. He collapsed when it should have connected, and she was gone.

"Yes. A little child who thinks making himself big and scary will frighten the other children, so he can tell them what to do. A dog who's been surrounded by foxes so long, he's forgotten what a real wolf looks like."

An overhead light chnnked on, the White Rabbit sitting casually on the cone above it. The building had been disconnected from the grid for decades, but that was nothing. Things never quite worked the way they should around her.

"A wolf in rabbit's skin, eh? Why don't I peel it off and see what kind of teeth I find?"

She laughed from two feet to his right. "You can certainly try."

He lunged, stabbing in the direction of her voice only to knock into a pillar. Clutching his head in frustration, he threw the knife to the ground and watched it bounce and jiggle like a rubber toy.

"Awww, is someone feeling upset? Do you need a time-out?" The world lurched to the side and over as he scrabbled at the concrete, tumbling to the ceiling-floor. She waited for him to notice her, sitting cross-legged with a tiny mug. "Tea?"

He scrambled on all fours, leaping as the world tossed again before comfortably settling right-side-down. He plummeted into the dark and never hit the floor.

The White Rabbit strolled up beside him, just out of reach as he continued to tumble endlessly. There were no walls, no floor, nothing in all directions but the endless dark. He would keep "falling," as much as one could call this suspended descent falling, until she decided he wasn't.

"They always say it's the stop that kills you. 'Course, that's assuming you will stop. I do wonder, if you and I stayed here for a brief eternity, if you'd keep falling forever. Nothin' to eat, no way to drink, but nowhere to fall to. Normal is a distant dream here - you're not really breathing, either, did you notice that? Probably not. You're too busy believing you can kill me if you reach just a little further." She watched him strain towards her, sipping her tea. Perfectly warm, a hint of lavender, as always. Quite pleasant. "Could just leave ya here. Finish my tea and be on my merry way. But that's too boring, you know?"

He landed upright, somehow (she imagined that "upright" was starting to feel less stable, now), breathing hard despite not really doing much for the last few second-hours of this dance. Granted, all time was now and forever for her. Maybe eternity really was that long for someone like him.

"What... the hell... are you?" he rasped, hand to his throat as he gulped in air like a man in the desert gulps down an oasis.

She loomed over him, red lights flickering and blinking out around them. "What shall I leave you with?" Her hand pushed through his chest, felt the electric tingle of nerves pulsing against her fingertips. "What's it feel like, to have all your alarms going off at once? Pain and heat and cold and hunger, clawing and writhing under your skin?" Knifepoint shuddered as she wrenched her arm back. "You want to cut people open, see how they tick, poke and prod them like lab rats. Why bother? I can show you everything there is inside you - every blood cell running through your veins, every breath of air in your lungs, every point of light pinging your eyes." He fell to his knees, convulsing, scratching at his arms and neck. A flick of her hand and it stopped.

She crouched in front of him, a smile creeping across her face from behind the rabbit mask. Few every saw it from this close; it was far more ornate than it appeared, but more importantly, it had holes instead of eyes. The swirling cyan glow his gaze eventually met was her own.

"You asked what I am. Let me teach you."

Knifepoint was found in his hideout after an anonymous tip, though Deputy Martinez had seen enough "anonymous" packages to know this was their work. The White Rabbit, as usual, was nowhere to be seen, and had left surprisingly little evidence of their presence. The extract team had come heavily armed after what happened to Owlet, but he was just... sitting there, on the floor, muttering to himself on loop. One of his knives was found several feet away, seemingly altered by the Rabbit's powers into a floppy mockery of the weapon that had terrorized the city for weeks.

"Report in."

"Knifepoint's bagged, though you won't get much out of him. Looks like he finally snapped - the rest of him, at least."

"Any sign of the White Rabbit?"

"Not a one. No explosions today."

"Is he still conscious?"

"We're not sure. Eyes are open, body moves normally, everything works like it does when you're awake - but he's not responding to anything. Extract carried him out and it's like he didn't even notice, just keep repeating the same phrase."

"Well... what was he sayin'?"

"Everything is nothing is now is forever is nothing is everything is now is forever is everything is nothing is now is forever... on and on with hardly a breath."

"The hell does that mean?"

Martinez glanced up at the roof. For a moment, she thought she'd seen someone up there. She'd been having a lot of those moments since she started this chase. "I don't know, but... if they could do this to him now..."

"You think it's an escalation?"

"I think it's a warning."

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At worst, you annoy the local supers but your crimes never hurt anyone. All fun and games until things change when a truly sadistic super villain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

[salspitstop]

LANDO NORRIS SMAU

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ lando norris x sainz!reader

yourinstagram

liked by carlossainz55, lando and 1,432 others

yourinstagram life is good lately

yourbestfriend omg marry me

→ yourinstagram 💍💍💍

lilymhe gorgeous girl

→ yourinstagram all you x

carlossainz55 bonita

carlossainz55 who’s getting you flowers?

→ yourinstagram 🫢

lando 👍🏻

→ yourinstagram thanks bro

user36 yn sainz not single anymore??

lando

liked by yourinstagram, alex_albon and 456,876 others

lando had a good and relaxing summer break ☀️ now off to hungary 🇭🇺

alex_albon is..is that a girl? 😨

→ lando 😉

→georgerussell63 how much did you pay her?

user526 ho is this a soft launch???

user76 no more lando norizz

maxfewtrell who could that be?

→ lando 🤫🤫

carlossainz55 congrats mate

→ lando thanks mate

yourinstagram very aesthetic

→ lando had some help choosing the pics 🙃

yourinstagram

liked by carlossainz55, lando and 3,155 others

yourinstagram my brother drove into the top 5!! 🩵 so proud of you and congrats on P1 Lando!!

carlossainz55 thank you hermanita ❤️

carlossainz55 you always choose such flattering pics of me 😂

→ yourinstagram there are just no good pics of you

lando thanks yn 😉

→ yourinstagram you‘re welcome landito

→ user76 is anyone else seeing this???

→ user80 are they flirting???

→ user16 no they‘re both dating people

lilymhe pretty girl

→ yourinstagram no you

lando

liked by oscarpiastri, yourinstagram and 734,891 others

lando Monza you were good to me ❤️🇮🇹

maxfewtrell nice drive mate 💪🏻

oscarpiastri good one!

carlossainz congrats man 👍🏻

yourinstagram let‘s go lando

→ lando thank you yn

→ user35 the way he only responds to yn‘s comment and not his mates???

→ user67 they‘re both taken let it go

yourinstagram

liked by carlossainz55, lando and 2,563 others

yourinstagram 💐

alexandrasaintmleux prettiest

→ yourinstagram mwah 💋

carlossainz55 who is this guy??

→ yourinstagram none of your business

→ carlossainz55 i‘m your brother??

→ yourinstagram exactly the reason why it‘s none of your business

user14 hear me out: what if it‘s a driver

→ user65 my money‘s on lando

→ user43 oh i‘m hearing you out

→ user33 i‘m a yn x franco truther

lando

liked by alex_albon, georgerussell63 and 967,540 others

lando 📸

maxfewtrell oh you‘re dead mate 💀

carlossainz55 YOU????

carlossainz55 THAT‘S MY BABY SISTER YOU MUPPET

yourinstagram LANDO!

→ lando IT WAS AN ACCIDENT BABY I SWEAR

user65 told you all

user13 so they were flirting

user54 ynlando nation rise

yourinstagram

liked by lando, lilymhe and 10,643 others

yourinstagram secret‘s out i guess x

lando my girl

lando i love you

→ yourinstagram i love u too

→ user65 argh they‘re so cute

→ user72 sleeping on the highway tonight

carlossainz55 i‘m gonna drive him into the wall

→ yourinstagram no u won‘t 🤗

maxfewtrell keeping this a secret was such a pain

→ yourinstagram sorry maximilian

pietra.pilao linda 💞

→ yourinstagram all you 🤍

lando

liked by yourinstagram, maxfewtrell and 521,324 others

lando can finally post my pretty girl 🤍

yourinstagram BABY

yourinstagram i‘m gonna kiss you

→ lando yes please

yourinstagram i loooove you

→ lando i love you more

→ user64 my parents

carlossainz55 OI MOVE YOUR HAND BITCH

→ lando sorry 😔

carlossainz55 count your days

carlossainz55 corrupting my baby sister

maxfewtrell surprised you took so long to fuck up tbh

user64 lando is down bad

yourinstagram posted to their story

1: [he didn‘t kill him 🤭]

2: [my man 🤍]

[thetrasha]

Hello! I was wondering if i could get Ace, Marco, and Rayleigh, (maybe shanks, beckman and hongo if youre able to!) On their favorite thing they love about you!

Sure thing! I modified the request very slightly (just so I'm able to spin this into a short scenario with a catchy title🫡💕[you guys know I love my titles lol]), hope that's okay with you!! Thank you so much for such a diverse cast LOL I'm sorry I didn't include Hongo - it's just that I never heard him talk and saw him basically once in my life 😭But I included Kid and Mihawk instead just to balance it out (I was randomly inspired to choose these two), it's like a 2 for 1 deal so I hope it's not too bad (✿◡‿◡)

PS. German-speaking op fans...? My people 🤝

He Can’t Resist You…!

feat. ACE, MARCO, RAYLEIGH, SHANKS, BENN BECKMAN, KID, MIHAWK

ACE …when you listen to his troubles and comfort him!

Ace is often pretty hard on himself. He cannot count how many insults and beatings he had to take just because someone else thought the idea of the son of Roger existing was either a fabricated lie or that said child should have been killed on sight. That’s how Ace learnt to fight, took on much bigger and stronger opponents as the years went by, which eventually made him who he was. He earned his spot as one of Whitebeard’s commanders and has accepted this new family, but that doesn’t mean that rejection isn’t hard-coded into his brain. He fears not being enough and firmly believes that if he didn’t push himself so much, he’d be a disgraced pirate, terrible son and worse brother. But… he’s forgotten how to be kind to himself – he has plenty kindness for everyone around him, but Ace is a master at punishing himself for things that do not matter. It’s gotten better, though.

You’re suddenly there – and you care very much… about everyone, but mostly about him. This presence next to him that cannot be swayed is a great source of comfort for him. The first time he opened up to reveal some things about his upbringing, you were so upset that you were close to tears. How sweet… he hasn’t cried about these things in years, too intimately familiar with the pain to cope with its sorrow, but you decided to share his grief and pile it onto your own out of the pure goodness of your heart and love for him. Ace thinks it’s one of the greatest gifts he’s ever been given.

MARCO

…when you help him out!

Marco is a pretty busy man who’s always needed somewhere. Quiet days actually unsettle him; it’s like the universe is just out to get him and will decide to hand him a freshly infected open fracture if he can enjoy his morning coffee in peace… The crew is made up of excellent fighters and these men and women are just dying to test their strength time and time again, protecting their dad who’s very much capable of taking care of himself in a fight despite the chronic issues he’s dealing with. Marco has never lost his kind spirit though, meaning he’s willing to help anyone who needs it. Having you helping the man who’s vehemently trying to aid all the others is thus the best part of the day. You’re always there, even if you’re not physically present… you often leave him little snacks that remind him to eat, there’s always a pot of coffee waiting for him in the med bay, and – the best thing, honestly – at the end of the day, you come into his room just to make up for the time that you’ve lost throughout the maddening daytime. You talk, laugh and just exist together. It’s domestic bliss for Marco, who finally feels like he can wind down and relax with you curled up in his arms, chatting about your day and how you can’t look at Vista ever again because he shaved and he looks so weird and-

He listens to everything, but rarely offers his own commentary. He’s just happy you’re there with him.

RAYLEIGH

…when you look at him like he’s your hero!

Silvers Rayleigh – a name that strikes the fear of God in most people. His infamous image is that of a terrifyingly strong man who served as Gold Roger’s right-hand man; he’s amongst the few lucky men who conquered the Grandline and lived to tell the tale… at the same time, to most naive rookies on Sabaody, he’s a senile old man who keeps “escaping from” his handlers and ending up in the same auction house over and over and over again. You happen to know that strange man, though. “Dark King” Rayleigh… being in the same room as someone like him… what an honour! You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, alerting him of your presence immediately. At first, he thought you were looking for a fight. He’s seen your bounty poster near the port and wow, your picture doesn’t do you justice, sweetheart and wait a minute… oh, those eyes aren’t hostile at all. He flashes you a smile, noting how nervously you shifted around all of the sudden, looking at your crew to subtly celebrate this moment.

Well, Rayleigh cannot help but love an opportunity to show off in front of a pretty face, so… he just offers to teach you some tricks. That’s how you got to know him in the first place, having long realised that he’s just some man who know a thing or two about piracy… but every single time you come back to him, you look at him with the same look of reverence. It’s very flattering to know that he’s still got it… and he’s got the confidence and shamelessness to make a move on you. That hand on the small of your back? Oh, sorry, love, must’ve been lost in thought… You still give him the look and bashfully chew on your lip, though. Nothing’s changed. Hm… maybe the hearts in your eyes did become bigger… heh.

What a lucky man he is indeed.

SHANKS

…when you care for him like he needs it!

Shanks is just as much of a living legend who cannot go anywhere where people of a certain calibre won’t cower in fear before him. How ironic that a man like him just loves when you have to fight him just to go to bed before the daylight greets him, he absolutely adores when you repeatedly push your index finger against his bare chest to tell him that he cannot keep drinking like this if he wants to find the One Piece and he is so weak for you who berates him whenever you have the chance to do so. He could sigh like a lovesick fool at your stern eyes and firm words, knowing that your love for him runs so deep… that you’d be willing to not just take on your captain in protest, you’d take on Shanks.

He is free to be just… himself around you; he needs it more than he needs air. You respect him as a man but you don’t respect him for his status at all, you push him around more than he does his crew for God’s sake!

He loves it.

And whenever he cannot keep up the facade anymore, when flirtatiously telling you to drop it and let him keep his bad habits, you’re right there with him in his private quarters, letting his head rest on your lap as you play with his deep red locks. And you let this lovesick, drunken fool rant about his problems like he isn’t Shanks – like he doesn’t have to save the world all by himself.

BENN BECKMAN

…when you engage in deep conversations that stimulate the mind!

He’s far more dangerous than his broad frame would suggest since he’s both pure brawn and brain. His intellect is one of his greatest assets, but with such a crew… It’s honestly a trait that makes rather lonesome. Benn is extremely laid-back despite being such a serious guy – that’s many because he has never been challenged properly. Nothing is mentally stimulating enough for him to fully lock in. You’re different… Shanks, of course, didn’t recruit you because of your intelligence, that’s a skill much better suited for the city rather than the sea, but you happen to have both brawn and brain as well. Benn noticed that immediately, you’re just as resigned as he is and nothing can quite satiate that natural curiosity in you for all the sea offers are battles and fever dreams… Still, you chose this life for a reason and thus, Benn Beckman himself starts following you around. It’s weird to watch your vice captain hunt you down like you’re the enemy when you’re just trying to mind your business aboard the Red Force, but he cannot help but ask you what you’re up to. Your suspicion only ever goes away after a few times, after you noticed that he’s just… trying to talk.

His opinions are fascinating. He takes you stargazing and casually asks you what you think about the passage of time, what it means to be alive, what you hoped to become – he’s throwing all these deeply profound questions at you and instead of stammering through them like a silly child, you answer them with just as much seriousness as he hoped you would. You understand the gravitas of his words, process them quickly and you never say things without meaning them. You’ve become his happy place – a place where he can express himself.

KID …when you talk back!

Kid expects everyone to just fall in line with what he says�� no matter how stupid his “suggestions” actually are. If he has a plan, he wants to see it executed. Someone else might offer up a better plan down the line, but Kid would be so bitter about not having the same thought first that he’d double down on his initial idea and make the crew work even harder just to prove a point. Everybody knows that he’s a complete and utter hypocrite, but they put up with him – they believe in his ability to lead and they all want to see him become King of the Pirates since he’s offered something very few captains could: Unconditional freedom. Regardless of how unconventional and socially unacceptable someone was, they’d have a place on the Victoria Punk as long as they managed to prove themselves worthy of being there and didn’t belittle anybody else’s aspirations.

…But you knew that Kid just couldn’t help dunking on people left and right due to his explosive anger. Once he feels slighted in any way, he’s making it everyone’s problem. So – after the captain called everyone on deck to rant about his loyal crew just minutes after reading that Straw Hat Luffy has acquired a new bounty in the Newscoo newspaper, you couldn’t help yourself either. As soon as the captain got to you, your unimpressed glance turned vitriolic – you went off on your captain, telling him that everyone here chose to follow him because he’s the best option, because they want to be around him and that he has absolutely no business being this upset over someone else’s bounty when he believes that he can conquer the Grandline first. He should suck it up and prove his frenemy wrong! You screamed at him, your passionate speech getting drowned out by the deafening silence of… Captain Kid…

Honestly, Killer and Heat thought you were toast.

But nobody anticipated that, with ruby red cheeks, Kid suddenly dismissed everyone on deck and gave all of you tasks that… didn’t make any damn sense!

MIHAWK

…when you trust him first!

Mihawk is the apex predator – lethal, efficient and an unprecedented danger. People instinctively know to keep their guard up around him… as does he. He would claim that he prefers it that way, but you happen to, after literal years of knowing each other, let him in, slowly but surely. Even if he can go no-contact for months on end, even if you have your own life to worry about, you both find yourselves returning to each other and maintaining a weird… friendship (?), if you could call it that. Mihawk isn’t one for talking to random strangers, but you’re no nobody. You’re capable of handling yourself and he’s seen your strength, secretly thinks you’re quite impressive even, but you’re certainly no match for him… Still, you seem to trust him to keep your secrets safe, to keep you, by extension, safe. You firmly believe that he wouldn’t abandon you.

And he wouldn’t. Trust doesn’t come naturally to someone like him. He distrusts the world and doesn’t tell anybody anything, but he does appreciate it when he isn’t viewed like a cold-blooded killer whose only goal is to maintain a reputation that came with a title.

You want to see him for who he is, you roll over and show him your belly; you basically gave him an opening to kill you – all voluntarily. You’re so vulnerable when you talk about your burdens, but you also look like confiding in… a friend (?) heals all those wounds.

Somehow, he’s determined to prove himself to you now. It’s a slow puncture wound, but your trust will eventually pierce his heart.

[opashoo]

The Rain World Undergrowth AU cast lineup! (which is basically just everyone)

I tried doing one of these way back in 2024 and never finished, which is probably a good thing because some of these designs have changed a decent bit since then. (Those who've seen the old, incomplete lineup know that my original Rivulet was a cis guy, and Watcher didn't even have a design yet.) With this, I'm hoping to start up the askblog soon-ish.

Anyway, Undergrowth synopsis and lore, as well as some alternate outfits under the cut:

Undergrowth is an anthro AU that takes place during the time of the Endless Winter. The blizzards of Saint's timeline have come sooner and deadlier, forcing most slugcats and scavengers to settle in underground geothermal pockets or adopt lifestyles suited adapted to the cold. All the game's events and timelines are compressed so that everything happens in quicker succession.

The AU takes place in Moon and Pebbles' retaining wall and centers around Saint after the events of their campaign, who has taken to the teachings of Rhinestones Beneath Shattered Glass and started a garden in Undergrowth. Here they have gathered all the other slugcats to live in safety. The other slugcats see Saint as a mysterious benefactor who knows more than they should, rescued each of them from certain death for unknown reasons, and has given them shelter from the blizzards, but for Saint, it's all part of a comfortable routine formed from countless lifetimes of repetition.

In their most recent lifetime, however, things have started to change. Things aren't where they should be. People aren't where they should be when they should be. Events that have always fallen on consistent times and dates simply don't. Saint starts getting dream visits from someone they've never met before in all their past lifetimes, one who brings ominous warnings about the future.

The Characters Survivor / ommuy aka omi One who persists most of all cis male - he/him

Monk / sahini mayabi aka maya One of the peaceful way cis female - she/her

Gourmand / makikanae aka maki One who knows food Yongasabi 3rd gender - they/them

Saint / sapinae aka saen One who suffers; saint agender transfem - they/them/any

Spearmaster / masinabi aka nabi Messenger nonbinary trans man - they/he

Hunter / hanitae aka hanta Hunter trans female - she/her

Artificer / sattokubi aka satto Arsonist cis female - she/her

Rivulet / yanginaeja lamlan aka lani Wandering stream afab demigirl - she/they

Watcher / banolnak yopwa aka banno Atop the watchtower unstable genderfluid - she/he

Enot (???) N/A - it/its

Survivor, Monk, and Gourmand are from a colony that has historically lived outside the retaining wall, but got lost and were separated inside the retaining wall before Saint found each of them and brought them back to the shelter.

Saint is from a retaining wall far away, built atop one of the few true mountains in this world. They were born and raised in a monastery, trained for a grand purpose that they have long since abandoned.

Spearmaster and Hunter were in the retaining wall on business before the blizzards outside kicked up and the land outside became impassable while Hunter's supply of medicine dwindled. With Hunter bedridden and cut off from NSH, Spearmaster had no choice but to take her underground and follow the stranger who promised treatment in their garden.

Artificer was taken in and trained by a corrupt scavenger clan who saw her grief and rage as a tool to be shaped and used; first, to exact revenge on the scavengers who killed her children, then to demolish the clans who had apparently enabled such a corrupt system. When she overstepped her station and terrorized Metropolis, she was deemed an outlaw and enemy to all scavs. Saint found her buried in the snow on the edge of death.

Rivulet comes from a far off retaining wall, given the mission of delivering Five Pebbles' rarefaction cell to Moon by whatever means necessary. She had no idea that removing it would have accelerated 5P's collapse so immensely. She would have met her end at a toll full of scared and suspicious scavengers had Saint not arrived just in time to defuse the situation.

Watcher has been plagued since childhood by visions, a sense of lacking identity, and a spiritual burden spanning thousands of generations. After exhausting all other leads, she hears a promising rumor: There is a former member of a religious order, sheltered away in a garden deep underground, who may have the answers he seeks.

Enot (???) kohga ota gimok juhei ha giga naka. shou kolgi cho yoshouja ihoga palakkida. kagihei nakani deila sin pagsada.

[kuronarnze]

hihiii its mee!! can i be known as 🪭 anon? btw, can i request bllk boys with esports reader+bad eyesight? where readers loves games and competes in championships as a famous esports player in valorant or any game actually. where theyre pretty much a gamer with bad eyesight who likes games like tlou, lis, wroef etcetc !

a/n: Hihiiii!! OFCOURSEEE welcome 🪭 ANONN !! omg I used to looooove gaming, so my eyesight is kinda bad so my parents would scold me for not protecting my eyesight AHAHAHHA, I used to be a valorant addict and I miss playing valorant but like uhm I'm busy with academics nowww, so I mostly write for my hobby, and thank you sm for requesting and enjoy!!

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

BLLK boys x esports reader with bad eyesight who’s a famous gamer & loves gaming

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

Isagi Yoichi

- When you told him you were ranked and competing in big Valorant tournaments??

→ STARSTRUCK.

- “WHAAAT?! Babe!! You’re cracked??”

- Watches your streams RELIGIOUSLY. Total fanboy.

- Lowkey impressed how good you are even with your bad eyesight—he always catches you squinting at the screen.

- “...Do you really not wear your glasses while playing?”

- You: “Nah, too annoying! I’m used to it!”

- He worries but you’re so used to it you still land headshots.

- During TLOU or WoRoeF marathons:

- “Babe… you’re crying again… come here…” wraps you in a blanket while you game

- TOTAL SUPPORT BOYFRIEND. Even flexes to his teammates:

- “Yeah my S/O’s a pro gamer. Crazy good even with bad vision.”

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

Itoshi Sae

- At first?

- “...You seriously play for championships? That’s cool.”

- When he watches you play—

→ Actually impressed as hell.

- Even more shocked when he sees you take off your glasses and still land perfect flicks:

- “...You’re winning like this?”

- Lowkey worried but won’t admit it. Will lean over and mutter:

- “...Put them on sometimes, idiot.”

- Acts cool but secretly likes hearing you rant about your games.

- Sits beside you watching your entire Life is Strange run:

- “Tch… this story’s depressing.”

- But then won’t leave until you finish.

- Softly proud. Brags to Rin later:

- “My S/O’s famous in their scene. Better than you at any game.”

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

Itoshi Rin

- THIS BOY UNDERSTANDS the gaming life. (CAUSE HE LOVES PLAYING HORROR GAMES??)

- At first: “...Valorant? What rank?”

- When he finds out you’re HIGH RANKED + play tournaments??

→ Eyes wide, gets competitive.

- Watches you intensely when you game, fascinated.

- Gets slightly grumpy seeing you squinting too much:

- “...You’re going to strain your eyes. At least wear contacts.”

- Gets super into TLOU with you. Won’t admit he gets emotional when you play sad games but… secretly holds your hand during the worst scenes.

- If you’re ever in a championship, he’ll absolutely stay up all night watching the livestream:

- “You better win. I’ll kill anyone who streamsnipe you.”

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

Shidou Ryusei

- CRAZY impressed that you’re an esports player.

- “WHAAAT? That’s SICK, babe!!”

- Insane hype man. Watches your streams, spams the chat, posts your wins on his SNS.

- When he finds out you play without glasses/with bad eyesight:

- “You’re such a lil’ final boss~ can’t even see half the time and still KILLIN’ it~!”

- Loves watching you rage at hard games like WoRoeF. Laughs when you throw your controller:

- “Babe!! C’mon, ya got this! Show that game who’s boss!”

- Definitely makes you “teach” him FPS games. Bad at them but LOVES watching you.

- Will 100% buy you fancy gaming glasses and be like:

- “Wear these next match! Gotta protect my babe’s eyes!!”

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

Michael Kaiser

- At first? Cocky smirk:

- “Hah. Gamer? Bet I could beat you.”

- Watches you DESTROY a Valorant match with half-blurry vision:

- “…Okay. Nevermind. You’re scary.”

- Becomes your #1 fan.

- Secretly loves watching you play story-heavy games like TLOU or Life is Strange. Leans in while you’re crying:

- “...You’re so cute when you get emotional. Keep going, I’m watching.”

- Will 100% spoil you with the BEST gaming setup: chair, keyboard, monitors—ANYTHING you want.

- “A queen like you deserves the best… even if you play half-blind.”

- Lowkey jealous of your gaming fans but will brag:

- “Yeah. That’s MY S/O. None of you can touch them.”

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

Mikage Reo

- SO SUPPORTIVE.

- “Babe!! You’re so COOL!! Competing in tournaments??!”

- Watches your streams while at practice, shows Nagi:

- “Look!! My S/O’s playing right now!!”

- Gets worried when he sees you gaming without glasses tho:

- “...Sweetheart… you’re squinting again… please use your glasses, I’ll buy you cute ones!”

- Loves gaming with you—Valorant duo queue KING.

- Also obsessed with story games like TLOU / LIS with you.

- Buys matching gaming setups for couple gaming nights!!

- “Let’s play all weekend! no one else, just us.”

- Would totally try to help manage your sponsorships cause he’s a business boy.

- “You need a better agent babe… I’ll take care of it.”

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

THANK YOU SM FOR READINGGGG ! Have a nice day 🫶

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

after reading your kravencest mpreg post I really got stuck thinking "but surely he would baby trap kraven by getting kraven himself pregnant?!" and now I am trying to lure a roommate with an edible to watch kraven with me and see the vibes myself (my friends who are into incest refuse to watch it with me because the plot looks boring and the brothers aren't hot enough). you truly are THE kraven influencer.

okay so my thinking is that like. assuming this is a post-movie baby entrappening. as much as Kraven is his brother's protective dog he also has like a Moral Compass that Dmitri very much lacks because he's a spineless and petty little milksop who's just achieving agency for the first time at the tender age of like 30-something and is immediately going to be 100% corrupted by it. and Kraven hates that shit, like haaaates that shit, he's not really a Good Guy but man he loves killing Corrupt Business Guys and uh oh girlies, Dmtri's corrupting at warp speed! so my thinking is that he (Dmitri) would come to the obvious ("obvious") conclusion that the best way to keep his brother on his side is to get pregnant with a Baby Kraven because what, Kraven's seriously going to knock up his own brother and then abandon him? he'd never. like I said, full Gone Girl shit.

anyway sorry I kravefluenced that's genuinely awful. I hope your roommate see the light and learn to take an interest in incest between men they don't think are hot. they are right that the plot is boring though I'm afraid.

[it-came-autumnally]

obsessed with how he keeps specifying that part of his roommate dream is to be poor together LOL

[writtencrone]

Captain, oh my Captain.

Oc x male reader or, Scary-General-Who-Is-Actually-Kind-Of-ALoser-Top-OC x Power-Bottom-esque-kind-of-go-with-the-flow-or-are-you-dissasociating-reader In an alternate future, were aliens and humans walk the same planet and Earth is under the rule of a benevolent Emperor... When your family falls into dire straights you attempt to auction off your body for a quick cash grab. Instead, a retired General and left-hand of the Emperor is enamoured by your body heat. You end up signing a year long contract to be his personal heat patch for the twelve-hour of the nights.

Or, when a seemingly cold and serious general is actually a loser and you bear witness to his full goofiness in all the best (and worst) ways.

Includes - mentions of derealisation, dubious consent at first tbh, jerking off (both of you!!! eventually...), propaganda, allusions to war, genetic programming, allusions to trauma, also expressive top oc . He does... grab your dick and squeeze ? Not in the pleasurable way, in like, turn up the thermostat way. Brief mentions of killing people. English is nawt really my first language, so have some mercy! Comment to be added to a taglist for future works - or just pt 2!

w/c 5.2 k

 Humanity had made contact with aliens two-thousand years ago. History had never been your strong suit, but you know that Earth lives in the Emperor's heart as a safe-zone, and for it urbanisation had boomed to accommodate the different species feeling from the outer edges of the warring universe.

That's why you chose architecture – born and raised in a city where buildings towered to the sky, you had a love for simple architecture.

“Good teeth,” the Appraiser observed. “Could use some flossing - but all intact.”

That felt oddly targeted, so you try to stifle your malcontent feelings. You've succeeded in stifling every other part of you so far – the feeling of the Appraiser's thumb lifting your lip, his nails grazing against your gums through the thin latex.

 The harsh lights of the exam rooms, the metal edges of the doctor's seat digging into your thighs and the cold seeping through the light blue scrubs.  Somewhere in the distance, a thin beeping noise was taking account of someone's heartbeat and a holoscreen silently broadcasted the latest news from across the galaxy.

What you can't ignore is why you're doing this. Your brother had a problem. Growing up, you were both big nerds. In some ways, you felt strangely responsible for introducing him to gacha games. By the time you even knew about the obsession he had harboured, it was too late. He owed a little over a hundred thousand to some shady credit card businesses.

So, paying back that and the interest - coupled with the cost of sending your brother to some counselling for his addiction - left you in dire straits. Your brother had begged you not to tell your parents, and even if you did they would only be in the same position as you.

So you, an intern at an Architects office, who's thankful just for being paid at all, decided to sell your body.

There were plenty of human fetishists out there - especially since there was a general desire for people who looked 100% human, no modifications, no alien features. There was something to be said in this about the concept of purity, but you had someone's thumb in your mouth so you had nothing to say at all. Other than you wanted the starting bid to commence at 150,000, and see how it climbs. 

“Your history cleared out as well,” The Appraiser beamed from three of its mouths. “Although your diet is immensely paltry.”

Ah, good old surveillance state. You lay back down the seat, the thin paper crinkling beneath your back. 

“So, when will I get paid?”

The Appraiser took off his latex gloves with a snap and binned it with a gleeful hum.

“We take our cut right out of the check, then it’s deposited right into your account.”

Then it will be scattered to lenders and doctors offices and to your parents. You’ll never really have it. This whole experience felt so distinctly unreal, but under the fluorescent light you could see everything starkly.

Then you’re taken backstage, right before it’s your turn. You watch the Auctioneer sell off a vapor-mined jewel for just under 800,000 and you realise — this is happening. It’s going to be you out there in a minute. Then, before you can come to grips with that someone has you by the arm and is shoving you forward into your uncertain future.

You thought that the auction would be something out of a bad wattpad novel. That you’d be carted onto stage in a cage, weighed down by chains, and a spotlight gleam onto you. Below in the audience, and above in the pulpits, shadowy figures wearing masks and five piece suits would appraise you whilst synchronising their champagne sips.

The stage wasn’t as high as you thought it would be, and you have to be yourself to walk out. You’re wearing the same scrubs you were before. People are wearing masks, but the place isn’t as dimly lit as you thought it would be – although, there are a few shadows with legs sticking out. Premium seats. The Auctioneer is some strange flamingo-alien fusion with a gaudy top-hat.

“And, here’s Lot 384. A Human Male’s virginity! Foreplay sold separately. “ The crowd chortled, and you felt your face flush more from shame than any actual embarrassment. “Bidding commences at 120. Do I see a 130?”

Then the Auctioneer peeled off, speaking so quickly you only caught on when the price capped at 180.

“185? Do I hear 185?”

You pick at a piece of lint on your cuff, and wonder what you’ll have for breakfast when this is all over. You sort of almost wish they had chained you, or cuffed you, added to the ambience of all of this. 

“Ohoho, a venerable guest wishes to sample the product?” You jolted, looking up. From one of the shadows, a slender hand rose above everyone's heads. “Ordinarily we do not allow for this, but as a venerable guest we—”

Your blood rushes to your ear. What exactly does sampling mean here? Voyeurism wasn’t on the table here — what was off the table? You’re wishing now that you hadn’t stayed so quiet, that you had laid out more rules, that you had thought this through.

A figure rose from the darkness, only he wasn’t wearing a typical suit. He was dressed in full military regalia, bright blue against the aliens' greying skin. Probably alien-human, if the fact he had two legs, two arms, and a head all of human proportion told you anything. Granted, then you noticed the tail. The man was tall, this dawned on you with every step, and you don’t — you —

He’s here already, and you’re hugging yourself. His shoes click against the wooden stairs, and the temperature dips. Goosebumps stand to attention when this man approaches - and you’re half sure that if you don’t run your goosebumps will take off down the stage and through the doors. 

The man looms over you, and takes your face in his hands. It’s not a sexy thing when he pinches your chin between his thumb and index finger, raising your face to meet him — no. He puts both of his calloused hands on each side of your face and smushes it together. It feels cold, rough, and impractical. Then he claps his hands around your shoulders, and stares you down.

The man has blue eyes and black hair that's pulled back. His features are measured, evenly spaced, and betray nothing about what he’s thinking of. It’s his skin that alienates him (plus the tail, that swishes side to side now like an erratic pendulum).His eyes were blown wide – like addicts in shows or movies.

“Good,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly smooth. There’s a scar peeking out from under his straight collar. “200.”

“Wuh!” The Auctioneer sputtered.

“220,” the General continued, and someone in the crowd laughed. “Subject to amendments.”

Your eyes dart over to the Auctioneer – what does that mean?

“Sold? To the good General.”

He never told you his name. In the end, he moved and began to walk off the stage. When he was halfway down the aisle, he turned, and raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Sir, ordinarily, we wait until after the auction—”

“250 and he leaves with me now.”

You hurry after him before the Auctioneer can say anything. You feel the hall's attention turn to you, and you shudder. Somehow, you still feel the generals cold hands on you.. He stops only to gather his coat from an usher, folding it over his arm. He doesn’t look at you again, not until you’ve walked out through an exit you didn’t know existed into a dingy alleyway and slides into the back. You shuffle in afterwards, the night was warm.

“From now on, until next year this date, you will sleep with me. You will meet all my needs, and you will stay the night.”

You blinked. “What?”

Yeah, he had paid off your immediate debts and probably your college debt. It was maddening. 

“Sex, every night?” You asked, to clarify. The car was moving, and the city lights were a blur outside the tinted windows.

The General looked at you as if you were a creature of lower intelligence, his pupils shrunk. 

“Who said anything about sex?”

-

The General was a strange man. For starters, he was large. Tall, muscular, handsome. He seemed genetically engineered to be both the ideal man and soldier. The only signs of inhumanity stemmed from his desaturated skin, his blue-ish tones. 

His house was also surprisingly simple, although you were getting the rising suspicion that he was a bit more important than you had first assumed. 

The first night was weird. You didn’t have pyjamas, but he wordlessly offered you a set of your own – plaid – all in his size so it drapes off of you. You showered, and decided that although you were fine going topless you weren’t sure that the General. Well, you didn’t even know what the Good General wanted with you.

You laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling above. It’s a kingsized, the thread count probably belonged to a tax bracket miles above yours. Everything about the room was anonymous yet dark – the bed was beige and slightly elevated compared to the rest of the room. Below (by a few inches) there was a taupe rug and the floors were hard wood – oh, and there was a whole armchair, sofa and coffee table set.

The General walked in just as you began to appreciate the nice mullioned windows. He said nothing, looked down, undressed, and crawled into bed where he laid down like he was imitating a pole. Then he commanded.

“Warm me.”

You sat up, staring down at this intimidating man, and – gleaning from what facts you had – put a hand on his shoulder and sincerely asked. 

“Hey, what do you want me to do?”

At first you assumed ‘no sex’ meant nothing penetrative which at first was fine, but there were a lot of less savoury ways to have sex without any actual insertion – so now all you could do was ask. 

“Warm me,” he said. Then, he grabbed your arm with a steel-clad grip and dragged you into his side. “Wrap your arms around me. Warm me. For  this night, and the next three-hundred and fifty-five.”

His skin was cold, almost clammy. You shiver around him. “So—”

“No more questions,” He mumbled. “Sleep. Now.”

You didn’t sleep. You lay awake in the dark as the General’s tense muscles softened and he dozed off . 220,00 divided by 365… meant somewhere between 5-6 thousand a night. It’s more than you made at your job in months – oh, your job. There were so many details that needed to be worked out, but that’s for tomorrow. Now your brain is eaten by the soft white noise, and sometime after 3 you dozed off. 

You wake up at six to see the General’s great figure getting dressed – it’s a little six, if the clock on the bedside table tells you anything. 

“I will have the kitchen make you breakfast, you can eat with the servants. Be in bed for seven tonight,” He says, and you’re just now realising that this is real. Then, after selling your body, you’d go to work. 

Your feet met the cold hardwood panels, and you patted the space where the General had been before. Cold. As if he had never been there. 

“Okay,” you say, because you forget that there’s anything else to say, and drag yourself to your shower. You’ll loop back to your apartment to pick up your clothes, but until then you wore the General’s plaid pyjama set.

You stopped at the doorway. “Thanks…? Hey, what’s your—”

Before you can say name, he had stepped out of the room with the click of his shiny shoes.

Technically, you hadn’t done anything shameful but that doesn’t make the walk downstairs any less — awkward. You have to ask one of the whispering maids – some wasp-manatee-esque alien– for the directions to the kitchen. You go from tall ceilings and wide rooms to the cramped single-file halls of the servant quarters.

You sit in the kitchen, at a small wooden bench, and spoon at some porridge. It has a thin consistency, and you’re regretting coming down here. Everyone is working, yes, but they look at you with some intrigue and distrust. This must have been the position of nannies, not quite gentry and not quite – uhm. Employed. What you and the General had was more of a freelance thing. 

No one approaches you, until the Bodyguard does. Or, really, Lapdog is better. He has the face of a very angry beagle despite being human with some modification. His teeth are sharper, his eyes are bright yet grey, his arm is metal and those steel metacarpals are curled around the hilt of his sword. He looks like he would very much like to strike you down.

“You…” He snarled. 

“... Morning?” 

He slams his hand down on the table, and the cutlery shakes. “You don’t deserve to share a bed with the General! The General is so great, so revered! Blablahblahblha…” for five whole minutes until you get up, deposit your dishes in the sink, and stroll out.

“I’m not done with you! You!! How dare you – imbecile, normy!”

What’s his problem…

It’s all a bit surreal, but somehow you manage. You always do.

–

The General was so large that you could lay on him like a mattress, and sometimes he'd let you do that. Other times, he would simply wrap his arms around you and doze off whilst resting his head against your shoulder or your stomach.

 Once, he hadn't touched you at all. He simply lay with his back to you. When you did nothing he turned around with a fierce glare then turned again. 

Unsure, but scared, you wrapped your arms around him from the back. Your body pressed against his. 

If you didn't know better, you could say that the General wanted to be spooned. You, however, had a contract and a nagging security guard that informed you - insistently - that this was not the case. That the General merely wanted a heating patch. Still, you wrapped your arms around his wide chest, fingers barely meeting in the middle, and fitted your body into the crooks and dents of his.

The one consistent string through this was this: he was gone by seven in the morning.

These days you brought an overnight bag with your office clothes so you could be out by morning, and you don’t avoid the Lapdog’s barking anymore. 

Few words are spoken, and the General is a man of fewer still. When life at work encroaches on your second job, you’re left sitting up at bed and typing away.

Tak tak tak 

The blue light of the screen is a lighthouse in the dimness of the room. The curtains are already drawn across the windows, but light from the dimming sky filtered in.

The general stepped out of the shower wearing only his black underwear that you were sure was somehow military issued. He tried to go to sleep, somehow, by lying beside you and wrapping his arms around your side, burying his head into your hip. 

Tak tak tak

“What are you doing?” He grumbles.

He’s never home at seven - not usually. When he is, he’s not in bed by nine. Those two hours of laying in bed are just for you to get the sheets toasty - like pre warming an oven.

“Work,” you mumble. “Ah, my seniors are bastards. Evil. Even the juniors. It’s a small office, so they just load everything onto the intern. I need it to, if I want to be taken on in a full-time basis. Ah, I hate this. Why can’t the weekend come sooner…”

Your eyes flick down to meet the scrutiny of his gaze.

“Sorry, I’ll try to finish up soon.”

“Where do you work?” He asked, and you realised that this is probably the first conversation you’re having with him since this all began.

“Just a small firm called [ insert organisation name ]. It’s a firm of architects, I hope to qualify in the coming years,” you hesitate. “What about you?”

“I work for the Ministry of State Affairs. We handle festival planning and internal security.”

“Oh, wow,” You say. “Must be busy. What did you do before… this?”

He shifted now, furrowing his head into the pillows. “I was a soldier, then I worked up to become a General.”

“Sounds tough.”

Tak tak tak

“It’s what I was made for.”

“That’s what dreams are about, I suppose,” You say under your breath, but you feel him stiff beside you.

“No. I was literally made to be a soldier. I was programmed as a fetus to be the best specimen for the Emperor, and raised to be his loyal soldier. Also, I don’t dream. They took that part out of me.”

Your typing stops. With all the borderline crazy around here, you really shouldn’t be surprised by the prospect of genetically augmented soldiers. Instead, you’re just sort of disappointed that the world let it get to this point.

“How old are you then?”

“Classified.”

You baulk. “Okay, yeah.”

He seems to be compelled to speak more freely now, his hands drawing circles just above your hip. Your flesh goosebumps, and you shudder.

“I started to fight in his wars when I was sixteen, in earthen years. I befriended him for a little while, back when he used to do the press tours. Where he’d visit us. I was so loved in those moments, it almost made everything worth it…”

You listen to him trail off, unsure of what to say. This was light years out of your ballpark, and sometimes people just need to talk.

“Now there are no more wars, no more enemies — none for me, at least. And I’m abandoned to office work and to assign guard rotas.”

He scoffs, and you feel his cool breath amongst your leg.

“I’m sorry,” you say, because there’s nothing else to say.

“Don’t be,” Is his only response. “Just stay still, and stay warm.”

You go back to your work, to your brief, with this sudden sense that you understand a little bit more now. Those things are a little bit easier to understand or digest. The General curls into your side. 

Then your laptop beeps and you tut. “Do you have a laptop charger?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In my study,” he remarks, then he looks up at you. “I didn’t say you could use it. Only that I had one.”

Maybe not. Maybe it’s for the best that the General is a silent beast, otherwise he’s just a beast. You click your tongue, save your work twice over, and close the laptop.

“You know, that’s a bit rude.”

The General had the audacity to look a little offended – the summer sun had set, so the sky was still a profound blue and darkening. 

“It’s my charger, I think I can decide who uses it and who doesn’t.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still rude,” you point out, and make as much effort to elaborate as he does to ask — which is to say none. You slide into bed, irritated, and drift off.

When you wake up earlier than you intended, the General is still curled against your body. This time he’s hugging your arm, his weight numbing it. Even on the weekends, the General normally woke up earlier. Yet, the clock to your side told you it was six and he was still asleep.

You try to close your eyes, reconciling the facts that Saturdays were no longer a part of your “you” time – coupled with the fact you couldn’t stay up into the wee hours of the dawn partaking in debauchery. You couldn’t stay up necessarily – at all —

Well, you hadn’t tried to. Maybe if you got one of those light filters, the hulking figures beside you wouldn’t be so opposed to it. Idly, you shifted and tried to regain some function in your arm when — 

You felt something cold and hard rub against your hip.

It was bound to happen, too, presumably, men with penises ™ , sleeping next to one another. Mother nature would call, morning wood would rise. You just wish he was awake to politely excuse himself and deal with it in his own time.

Granted, he is a bit clueless for a guy who had supposedly killed people. 

Had he killed people? You watch him slowly wake up, and maybe the question is a bit heavy for a first thing in the morning situation. There was already one heavy thing against your thigh. He was a General, but before that a soldier. You try not to think about it too hard, closing your eyes, but not before you ask.

“What are you? Like, species wise.”

The general shifted, his length was on you now but he was off your arm. 

“I told you, I was genetically engineered to be a soldier. Specifically, I specialised in Arctic climate special operations until I was appointed General.”

You were sure that just the existence of Arctic special Operations was in violation of some galactic treaty, but you didn’t care.

“Are you going to deal with your raging hard on, or?” 

“It goes away on its own,” the General murmured, pulling you close. 

You crack your eyes open just a little and ask, tentatively. “I can handle it for you.”

Why you were offering to jerk off someone you were previously considering to have killed people is something beyond you – but you’re not sleeping, and honestly this might just pay off. The General gives you a blank look, before shrugging and saying.

“Yeah, sure.”

His length was cold and heavy in your palm. It was also quite…honestly. Not that bad. You’re on your knees, in between his legs and his underwear dangled somewhere down by his ankles.

The tip was flushed blue and almost pointy, the slit strange and long across the top. Gentle, you rub your thumb over the long slit, coaxing precum out. You hear a loud, lascivious moan from above — and honestly you would have sooner believed that some high deity had made that noise than the General had your eyes not flicked upwards and seen the look on his face. 

Words cannot describe the utter ecstasy on the general's face. Slowly, you bring your head closer to the member and lick across the side - testing, and his eyes roll back into his head. He lets out a shaky whimper, his hands coming up to his face.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your breath ghosting along his length. The General’s leg jolts under your hand. “Let me see, please.”

You think for a moment that he will deny you. He is, after all, a man who has led armies into a raging battlefield. A man who has crawled home victorious each and every time. Instead, he lowers his hands and fists at the bed sheets.

Oh. Oh. This is going to be good. You move your hands to cover his length, one jerks him off whilst the other plays with his tip. You have half a mind to reach for his balls, but you think he’s not quite ready.

Those moans —- those moans! They pour from his mouth like the gentle stream of water, and you see his back arch deliciously. Every noise, movement, twitch, spurs you on further. He was falling apart in your hands. He whines, and you hear him sob something along the lines of “don’t stop” mixed with “it’s so so soo much—”. 

It takes about a minute for him to start moving his hips in rhythm with your hands, chasing after the release. The thing is you’re not even doing anything special, but he’s drooling and you’re sort of ecstatic about this — you’re definitely hard. Now you see why people get off on this stuff. 

It takes about two minutes for him to start letting out keening whines about feeling something coming, and just as his moans crescendo your bob down and put his tip in your mouth. You thought the moans pouring out before were lewd – the sound the General made then was positively porn. It was nearly a scream. 

His cum is normal. If Normal meant transparent and tasting like something that came out of a hospital IV drip. You gag at the copious amounts of it. It dribbled and fell to the floor, fell onto your shirt, and you’re glad you didn’t do this on the bed. You’re forced to swallow and you take his softening cock out of your mouth with no small amount of gratification. You look up at the General, who’s freaky blue eyes stare you down – pupils blown wide, just like the night he first saw you, and you lick your lips.

– 

The next night you have your phone with you and you’re reading some semi-obscure 90 chapter manhwa when the General, resting his head in the crook of your neck, asks. 

“What is that?”

“It’s a comic,” you say, trying to sound casual.

“No it’s not, this scrolls,” He murmurs, his lips against your exposed skin. “Comics take full pages, and — the art is different.”

“Okay, so—” And that’s how you spend roughly ten minutes explaining what manhwa was and the transmigration genre to the General.

“Would you do it?” the General asks, he’s sitting up now and looming over your shoulder. “If you had the chance — stay in some fictional world rather than come home.”

The way he says it rubs you the wrong way. To some extent, this nightlife of yours was a fantasy life something you slipped into without the help of some lazy truck driver. On the other hand, the General spoke very compassionately. As if this was your home, not merely his house.

It would be best to clear things up. Instead, you say.

“I don’t know. Depends on the world. Have you ever killed people?”

“Yes,” he says a little bit too quickly.

“Ah,” you say. Because, what else is there to say? “What’s your name?”

He doesn’t answer you this time, instead he slips down back into the bed. You assume that’s the end, and continue reading your little story for a solid half an hour until the General stirred beside you.

“You're not warm enough,” He muttered, his voice gravelly with sleep. 

Then he reached down and squeezed your length through your pyjamas. Or, rather, he tried to decapitate your penis. You screamed and flailed from the shock of the pain.

“Oh my— LET GO OF ME YOU MANIAC!!!” You shrieked, turned and slapped his body and arms a few times in your panic. 

“My dick isn't a thermostat – stop it!!” You sobbed, then you howled something better not repeated. 

The sheer ache radiating from your nether regions was not pleasurable. His grip lessened, then went slap, his fingers grazed against your thigh. You rolled away from him, putting as much distance as the bed allowed, and he made a strange keening sound. 

“Don't you know how to jerk yourself off? Apply the same principles – also, ask before you do that!” You bellowed. 

You were half sure the house had heard you, and you could picture the stares you would receive the next morning. Right now, you were curled around your family jewels and wondering if you would ever live a pain free life again. The General loomed from behind.

“I don’t.”

“I think you broke my penis,” you groaned. “I’ll need to buy a new one. Also, what do you mean?”

“I don’t know how to pleasure myself,” He said, and you’re sure you hear something like pride in his voice.

Your shock defeated your pain, so you rolled over to stare at him. 

“So, when you get hard you just…?”

“A shower and reciting the national anthem calms it down.”

You choke on a laugh, until you look at his blue eyes and remember that the General never tells jokes. 

“No, you jerk it to the national anthem?” You baulk. “You’re insane.”

“I do not ‘jerk’ it. I overcome it.”

You snort. “Haha, cum. Wait, so, what did you think --- happened, the other day. When I jerked you off?" "I thought that was sex." You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed. "Well, I guess it's a form of sex. But it's not, like, sex in the conventional way. I'll tell you more about that later -- you have to fix this." By this you meant your penis, by fix you didn't exactly imagine the two of you facing each other whilst sat upright and getting your penises out. Time and time again, life takes you down dangerous routes.

This all somehow spirals to you tugging down your trousers, and he his. Your cocks were flush against each other – and honestly? Alien dick gives people self-esteem issues. Not you, though. This guy was grown in a lab, so someone in that lab thought ‘ah, yes, big dick genes, hmm…’ and no one asked them if they had anything better to do with their life.

You lean back on your hands, suddenly flush. The General had turned on the bedside lamp, so you could see eachother and the shadows threw themselves across his sharp features. He’s pretty, you realise, not just handsome. It’s something about the slant of his cheekbones, or the length of his lashes as they flutter. As he slowly gyrated his hips against yours. You moan quietly.

His hand is as callous as the first time you met him, and you find yourself playing instructor. 

“Try to wrap your hand around both of us – use both if it’s easier. Probably is. Damn, we could use some lube – maybe baby oil – mmph – see that precum building at the tip of your — yeah – oh, just smear some of that – yeah, like that. You’re getting the hang of it, keep going.”

You threw your head back as pleasure began to ebb from below. It came in rolling waves, from his hands touching your length to yours rubbing against his. You let out a whimper – there’s something especially exciting about doing this ordinarily solitary act with someone else. To have someone else devoted to your pleasure, even if he’s clumsy with it. You breath shakily, small sounds making way for fuller moans making way for whines for more – more more—

When you come your eyes flutter shut, so you miss the slight movement of the General looming over you. You were only just coming down from your high, when you were pulled into his embrace. The cum was cooling and sticky between you both, and you whined as your exposed length made contact against his.

“My name is Valentine,” he whispered, pressing you against his chest. “Valentine Adonus Soaring Through the Blue Moons.”

Alien names. You know you should be a bit more concerned about these bedsheets, but your eyes flutter shut and you humm, content.

“Change the sheets, then let’s go to sleep.” 

-- kya thank you for reading to the end !! If you want to be tagged for ch 2 then comment below!! Next chapter, you will meet the emperor, explore your emotional connection with the General and wonder if he feels the same, and maybe be manhandled who knows..who knowss Also reader may try to gain more sentience and understanding of their own agency?

[lilacprincess7]

Fluff/angst: 4

Hi! This is my first request so I hope I'm doing it right (I'm too old for this and English isn’t my mother tongue).

I'd really like to read a Pedri/reader story where they're just friends who secretly have a crush on each other. Pedri gets jealous and he becomes rude at times, which causes them to drift apart.

Eventually he decides to talk to the reader and says something like: "Please, don't let this be the end"

And then the feelings come to the surface.

Thank you for your earlier works and have a good day!

Jealousy Jealousy

summary: what the req said

prompt: 'Please don't let this be the end'

a/n: thank u for your support and nobody is ever too old for fanfics💕

The plan for the night was to have a fun dinner with your friends in a nice restaurant to celebrate your birthday and the go to a quite bar, have a couple of drinks and go home.

That plan fell through like it was the Titanic. Count your friend Pedri as the iceberg. He was being such an asshole out of the blue. Like right now, with Joao's hand on the back of your seat while the latter whispered in your ear about a prank he wanted to pull on Gavi with Fermin's help.

Both of you could feel Pedri staring. Scratch that. This wasn't just a stare. If looks could kill Joao would be long dead by now, six feet under in a casket. You really didn't understand where this behaviour of his came from. Pedri was such a sweetheart 90% of the time that you forgot there still was a 10% where he was a bitch.

That little part came out to play mostly on the pitch and that's why you didn't experience it often first-hand. Lately though, your friend had been constantly like that. Especially around you. And you had no clue why.

The 'calm' of the moment was interrupted by your phone. Saved by the 'bell' you could say. Your mom was calling you. You excused yourself from the table to pick it up in a more quiet space.

"Guys, gimme a sec, I have to answer this real quick.." you said as you stood from your chair, Pedri's eyes made you feel a burn in the back of your neck as you walked towards the exit to take the call.

The talk with your mom went as usual. Even though she had also called in the morning for happy birthday, she wanted to make sure the celebrations so far had gone alright and that you were having fun.

While you talked to your mom, you failed to notice your crush/friend watching over you like a hawk. You only saw him when you ended the call and for a split second you thought a dark expression crossed his beautiful face.

"Your boyfriend called?" he asked, his voice not all that teasing. It had an edge to it you weren't used to.

"I don't have a boyfriend and you know it Pedri." you told him in earnest.

"Hm, that's why you flirt with Joao?" his jealousy shining through. Why was he jealous though was beyond you.

"It wasn't flirting. We were just talking. Not that it's any of your business but whatever." you replied bitterly in an idgaf tone, wanting to see his reaction.

"It's all of my fucking business. Especially when you flirt with Joao and then pick up a call from another guy. Like choose one already!" his frustration obvious.

You felt so judged in that moment. How could he think something like this about you? You weren't some kind of whore that needed the constant attention or generally a person that was seeking it, so what was he on about anyway?

"For the last time I wasn't flirting with Joao! And if you really have to know, it wasn't a guy I was talking with on the phone. If you had paid closer attention you would have realized I was talking with my mom cabron. But no, you decided that you need to snoop and investigate and then come up with invalid conclussions." you replied, getting more pissed of and sad by the minute.

You returned to the table where the rest of your friends were sat at quietly.

"Hm guys... is it okay if we don't hit the bar today? I feel kinda exhausted.." you trailed off

"Nah, it's fine. Besides better if we don't have a morning training the day after." Hector responded calmly

"We can rearrange it when we are all a bit less stressed with work and schedule problems." Gavi suggested.

"Okay, bet. I'm gonna go pay so we can leave in a bit." you informed them and did just that.

A moment later, your friend group, minus Pedri who didn't come back after your little chat, was exchanging hugs at the entrance. Everyone headed home after wishing you happy birthday one last time and you too went home.

You just got home from a get together with your friends. And guess who messed everything up. Again. None other than Pedro Gonzalez Lopez. Who decided that the only male you could talk to was him. Like literally.

The two of you fought because you were speaking with Frenkie. He thought you were flirting with Frenkie of all people. Like he wasn't just a good friend and also A MARRIED MAN. You wanted to skin Pedri alive for saying such shit. Instead, somehow, you managed to say goodbye to the rest of your friends through gritted teeth and return home, where you felt peace and quiet, without HIM suggesting you are some kind of slut.

The rage you felt was something else. And you had every right to not want to talk to him again. So you did just that. You ignored him. His calls were left unanswered. His texts were left unread. You found yourself on the edge of blocking him on multiple social media but something told you not to do it just yet. To wait in case he pulled his head out of his ass and apollogized for his mistakes.

Even if he did though, you wouldn't forgive him that easily. He had to understand that you weren't some kind of toy he could pick apart and put back together whenever he felt like it. He also needed to realize that he didn't hold any kind of claim on you, you weren't in any kind of romantic relationship for him to even feel jealous. He had no such rights!

That's how Pedri found himself outside your front door, ready to knock. You had ignored him for nearly a week and he was feeling like shit for everything he had said, as he should really.

Not long after he knocked you opened the door and saw him. He looked tired. Not physically, but emotionally. Like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, ran over by a truck, shattered like glass and put back in his chest somehow still working. Barely working.

His hair was a mess compared to his well-maintained and put together past looks with the use of gel. It was fluffy and untamed. When you lowered your gaze you saw his eyes. He didn't look at you but you could see the dark circles, the puffyness and redness on them, like he had been crying for hours just before he came here.

His outfit was random too. Gone was the thought out outfits you were used to seeing. In front of you stood a boy and not a man, barely holding on. And you were left confused. Why was he liked this? What even had happened for him to be like this?

"Can-can I come in please? I-I need to talk to you..." his voice hoarse

"Sure..." you replied as you opened the door wider for him to come inside.

The two of you sat down in the living room and he began to talk in a rushed, almost paniced tone.

"Look, I-I know I've been an asshole. I'm so sorry for all the shit I said to you throughout the past month. I really am. And I know an apology is never going to be enough to show you just how much I regret everything I said but I hope someday, you will forgive me. I understand if you don't want to even see my face right now. or ever again" he said ashe made a move towards the door, but your hand stopped him.

"You are right. An apology doesn't fix things. It barely makes them dull. Can you explain to me though what happened? Why did you act like this? What did I even do?" you asked, actually waiting for an answer

"Since I'm such a shit friend and have lost any kind of relationship with you, as it seems, I might as well just tell you the reason. I like you, that's why. That's why I was so jealous whenever you talked with another guy. That's why I got so pissed that night at the restaurant and that's why I called you out about talking with Frenkie..." he admitted

His little speech made you lose your tongue. He liked you. The friend you had had a crush on since forever acted like a bitch towards you because he had feelings for you. What kind of rom-com was this?

"So let me get this straight. Instead of talking to me about liking me, straight up like an adult, you decided to act like a teen and say shit because you couldn't deal with yourself liking me."

"Pretty-y much, yea-ah" he replied, shrinking into himself.

"What am I gonna do with you?" you asked affectionately, moving towards him calmly and hugging him. He got surprised by your reaction, your arms around him sent a shiver down his spine and you felt him sob a bit.

"Just please, don't let this be the end.." he sobbed with his head in the crook of your neck.

"There is not going to be somekind of end here love, just a beggining..." you trailed of as you run your fingers through his hair.

"Wha-at do-o you mea-an?" he asked, his breathing irregural as he raised his head to look into your eyes with his own teary ones.

"I like you too Pedri, and even though you hurt me with this whole charade I can see that it hurt you too and that you care. I want to try being with you..." you trailed off as you held his cheek with your hand, caressing his soft skin and looked into his big brown eyes.

"Rea-ally?" he asked, looking like a puppy

"Really"

He didn't reply, he just buried his head on the crook of your neck again and breathed softly while hugging you tighter. Both of you knew that you had a long way to go before you finally healed from this whole ordeal. You both vowed to help each other heal though, so everything was going to be alright. You were sure you would have a happy ending with him, and you were right..

[huggywuggysuppy]

Watched the HCs9 blood in the clock tower from Gem’s perspective and I think the hermits should find even more excuses to play social deduction games. Took notes on game 2

Gem and then Impulse are the first two ghosts. Pretty cute, since he made himself a target by nominating on her behalf. Soup group vouch is in every game <3

Hypno role reveals day 0 to Gem, confirming them both as innocents, and she uses that info as social credit to get several other people to trust her. Despite outing his business, she’s also able to convince him to go against Keralis, along with Joe and False. (And in fairness, Hypno knows she's innocent, so serving as her pawn only helps the winning side. Fun that he doesn't complain though)

Gem brings a “I don’t believe any of you” vibe to every conversation and she’s usually right

The three most vocal players, Ren Keralis and BDubs, all avoid Gem during the talking phase. This comes back to bite them, as she’s able to commune with the quiet good guys and decide votes before they even happen

^ Crazy sequence where Keralis and Ren try to execute BDubs, but are the only two to vote. Five minutes ago, Gem had spread her theory that those two were evil. Ren is then executed unanimously

Pearl gets Hotguy’d in the background, and then a few minutes later she gets revenge on Scar. This isn’t relevant I just like it

Gem uses her one single ghost vote early to kill Ren, who False vouched for as not the imp. I’m not entirely convinced it wasn’t just to silence Ren. Either way, Ren was an evil servant, so a win nontheless. Her passive perception is too high

Continuing their dynamic in every situation, Gem clocks False’s sus game immediately and doesn’t let her fade into the background. False of course is playing several layers of identities, but Gem forces her to unravel her conspiracy and reveal her true (innocent) role. Amazing

In contrast, Gem implicitly trusts Xisuma “because he’s just like that.” He was the Drunk, aka his role was fake, feeding him only incorrect info. Poor X

Honorable mention to BDubs playing his first match in session 2 and getting publicly targeted by the evil side

Joe, Gem, and False, are playing on an entirely separate level than everyone else, but with distinctly different tones. Joe understands group dynamics and swaying the group opinion, Gem is a single warlord directing everyone’s swords, and False is an enigma uncovering information while revealing none herself. They are terrifying and I need them to work together to save the world or something

The recent 3D Among Us was also fun <3 Gem "I like winning through my words, not murder" she's so cool.

[myluckyluv]

Level Up: Game of Desire

CW: dom/sub relationship , oral sex (F receiving) & Unprotected sex

If any of these themes are uncomfortable or triggering for you, please scroll past. 18+ only / MDNI.

“Hey babe, I’m back!” Yuji called out, voice bright with enthusiasm as he kicked off his shoes and made his way toward the bedroom. He stepped inside to find you completely immersed in your game, your back to the door and headphones resting loosely around your neck.

“You look way too focused right now,” he said, amusement lacing his voice as he came up behind you. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of your neck and whispering close to your ear.

“Yeah… this level’s killing me,” you muttered, not taking your eyes off the screen. You tilted your head briefly to give him a quick kiss on the lips, then immediately returned your attention to the controller in your hands.

Yuji crouched down beside your chair, resting his chin on the arm and giving you his most dramatic puppy-dog eyes. “I was hoping we could cuddle. I had a really shitty day, baby.”

“Aww… I’m sorry, love,” you murmured without looking down. “But I can’t pause here. I’m literally mid-boss battle.”

Yuji stared at you for a moment, then a mischievous grin tugged at his lips. “Alright,” he said casually, as if accepting defeat. But you knew that look. That Yuji look. He was definitely up to something.

Without warning, Yuji slipped underneath your desk, his hands gliding up your legs slowly, fingers teasing at the tops of your thighs where your tights clung snug. “Yuji—what are you doing?” you gasped, body stiffening at the sudden contact.

“Helping myself out since you’re so busy,” he said cheekily, voice muffled beneath the desk. “Don’t stop playing, though. Just pretend I’m not even here.”

You tried to protest, but the words caught in your throat when he tugged at the fabric between your legs, his fingers dancing over the damp spot at your center. “Yuji, stop— I can’t focus if you—“.

“You’ll manage,” he said with a grin you could practically feel. His warm breath fanned over your core as he slowly peeled your tights and panties aside. “Besides, I think this will help me feel better, for hurting my feelings baby.”

Your controller slipped slightly in your grip as his tongue made the first bold stroke, making your hips twitch. “Ah—Yuji!” you whimpered, trying not to drop the controller altogether.

“Keep going,” he murmured, pausing just long enough to look up at you through half-lidded eyes. “That’s the game plan, isn’t it? You play… and I play.”

Each flick of his tongue sent a jolt through your body, making your fingers falter on the controls. You bit your lip hard, trying to suppress the sounds threatening to escape as he found your most sensitive spots with ridiculous ease.

“You’re so wet already,” he whispered smugly between licks. “Is this game really that exciting… or is it me?”

You could barely breathe, let alone answer. His tongue moved in lazy, torturous circles, while one hand gripped your thigh firmly, keeping you from pulling away—even though your legs were trembling now, toes curling in your slippers.

When he started to suck gently, teasing you with soft moans like he was enjoying the taste of you, your head tilted back involuntarily. You were seconds from tossing the controller when he chuckled softly and said, “Game over yet?”

“N-not even close,” you panted.

“Good,” he smirked against you. “Because I’m just getting started.

Yuji wasn’t letting up. His tongue worked you over with maddening precision, every flick, suck, and swirl pushing you closer to the edge. The game you were once so focused on was now a distant blur on the screen, the buttons in your hand barely making sense anymore.

Your legs tensed as his hands gripped your thighs harder, holding you open for him as he devoured you with shameless hunger. “God—Yuji…” you moaned, the controller slipping from your fingers and hitting the floor with a dull thud.

He grinned against your heat, clearly satisfied. “Finally gave up, huh?” he said, pulling back just enough to speak. “I was wondering how long it would take before you dropped that game and paid attention to me.”

“I-I can’t think straight,” you breathed, eyes hazy, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow movements. “Please…”

Yuji stood up slowly, towering over you now, his eyes dark with want. “Then tell me what you want, baby,” he murmured, lifting your chin gently so you had no choice but to look at him. “You want me to stop teasing and just fuck you?”

You nodded desperately, heart pounding as you stood on shaking legs. “Yes, Yuji—please. I need you. Right now.”

That was all he needed to hear. In one swift motion, he had you pinned against the desk, your tights discarded, the game long forgotten.

His mouth met yours in a hungry kiss, tasting of everything he’d just done to you. You tangled your hands in his hair, tugging him closer, needing more—needing him.

His kisses trailed from your lips to your neck, then lower — each one sending shivers racing down your spine. “You feel so good,” he muttered between kisses, voice rough and low. “I’ve been thinking about this all damn day.”

Your fingers clawed at the fabric of his shirt, breathless and aching. “Then don’t make me wait anymore,” you whispered, eyes half-lidded, voice thick with need. “I want you, Yuji. Now.”

That was all it took. In the next breath, he thrusted into you. You cried out his name as he moved with a rhythm that was both fierce and tender — every thrust, every moan, every kiss tangled in something deeper than just lust. This wasn’t just about release anymore. This was about you and him, completely consumed by each other.

As Yuji slowed his pace, his breaths heavy and uneven, your own moans filled the quiet room. Every sigh seemed to echo the deep connection pulsing between you two—electric, raw, and utterly consuming.

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear with a teasing whisper, “You sound way too good when you moan like that, babe. Think you’re trying to distract me?” His fingers trailed lightly along your sides, tickling just enough to make you shiver and laugh breathlessly.

“You wish,” you teased back, arching your body up to meet his touch. “I’m not the one who couldn’t keep his hands off me the moment he walks in.” Your voice dropped to a sultry murmur as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer for a heated kiss.

Yuji chuckled, his mouth ghosting over yours with tender affection. “Well, maybe I should keep being selfish then,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Because this… you… it’s everything I needed after the worst day.”

Wrapped in each other’s arms, moans fading into contented sighs, you both knew this night was more than just a release—it was a reminder. Of love, desire, and the unspoken promise that no matter what happened outside that door, here, you were home.

[punknsxc]

c o f f e e .

warnings - fingering

you and hamzah had been friends for as long as you can remember. well, at least since freshman year of highschool. it had been years since then and you would still talk all the time, he was always at your house, falling asleep in your bed, eating your food.

three knocks at the door. “hello?” you ask, a bit nervous. “its me!” you recognize his voice immediately. hamzah. you run to the door, spilling a but of your coffee on the couch next to you. you open to door to see a very happy hamzah holding a movie and a big bag of chips.

he walks in like he owns the place. “whats this?” he asks as you sit back down, pointing at the brownish splotch on the couch. “shit!” you grab your cup of coffee and set it on the kitchen counter before running back. “fuck, my mom is gonna kill me”. you sit back down next to the stain. without missing a beat, hamzah walks to a closet in the hallway.

he walks back out holding a rag and two green and yellow spray bottles, kneeling down beside you and immediately getting to work on the stain. his eyebrows furrowed, concentrating. “is it coming out?” you ask. “uhh yeah” he responds, busy.

a few minutes pass and he puts his hand on your knee, smiling up at you and snapping you out of your trance. “you should be all good” he says almost professionally, like you expect him to grab his stuff and walk out. he sits down on the couch next to you, close.

a large blanket covers the two of you, your left leg slung over his right. his hand crept over your thigh, holding on as if it were his own. you couldnt help but feel heat pooling in your center just by his hand being this near. you shifted slightly, so did he, his hand moving up an inch or so.

as the movie played, you turned ever so slightly to look at him, hoping he wouldnt notice, but he did. he always does. your faces mere inches apart, he leans in just barely, almost waiting for your approval. you lean in and before you could initiate anything, he slowly takes your lips against his, moving barely. you twist your head, getting a better angle.

this kiss does nothing to fix the mess you’ve made in your panties at this point, until you feel a finger brush against your clothed core. the pressure is nowhere near enough, so you shift closer, and he pulls you on top of him.

the coil in your stomach tightens as you straddle him, his fingers continuing to work away between your legs. you moan softly into his mouth. “can i take em off?” he asks, whispering. you nod your head desperately and lift off of him so he cant help you pull down your shorts, then your panties. as you lower yourself back down you’re met with his two fingers prodding at your entrance.

you sink down onto them, rocking back and forth, breaking the kiss to lean your head back. a choked whimper escapes your lips as you near your orgasm. “you close?” he asks before attaching his lips to your neck. you nod barely, blushing furiously. you lean your head into the crook of his neck, starting to get louder. “hamzah” you beg “faster”. and with that, he fingers you at a pace and pressure like heaven. you cum around his fingers and after riding out your high, you sag back onto the couch. he looks at you, his face red, almost as red as yours.

“we good?” he asks nervously. “yeah.” you respond “were cool”.

[sweetenerobert]

helping a neighbor out

tommy miller x male reader

summary: two neighbors helping relief stress, that’s all that it is

warnings: MDNI 18+, strong language bros being bros, straight to gay, mentions of cheating, cheating, oral (m!giving) rimjob (m!receiving), friends to lovers, no mention of age, but keep in mind reader has a teenage daughter and can drink, no description of reader, protected p in a, light internalized homophobia, pet names,

note(s): dividers by @saradika-graphics, thank you @sofmoth for beta-reading

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Tommy almost cursed out whoever knocked on his door. He and Joel had a long and exhausting day of work, and all Tommy wanted to do was relax. Maria and Benji were out for the weekend, visiting his mother, and Tommy promised to visit the next day. So the once rowdy house was basked in something he hadn’t heard in a long time – silence.

So the sound of someone knocking on his door as he was resting his eyes made the Texan see red for a split second. Tommy exhaled deeply through his nose as he pushed himself off the couch and made his way towards the front door.

Opening it to see his neighbor on the other side didn’t immediately set off Tommy – thank goodness it wasn’t a Jehovah’s witness. You were neighbors of Tommy and his family ever since his son was born, you and your family were good people, your wife offered to drive Maria to her appointments, your oldest daughter offered to watch Benji for some spare cash, while you and Tommy always traded good times with each other. So seeing you didn’t piss off, Tommy, just frustrated him more than usual.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” Tommy did his best to sound casual as he leaned against the door frame. “Are you busy?” You question.

“Uh–” Tommy started as he craned his neck looking behind him, seeing the TV in his living room play one of his favorite movies so he could fall asleep too. “Not entirely, what’s going on?”

Tommy watched as you swallowed the buildup in your throat. “My friend and I were supposed to drink tonight, and he cancelled on me at the last minute, so I was wondering if you wanted to?” The idea of drinking did sound enticing to him, but Tommy wasn’t in the mood to leave his house. “As fun as that sounds, I’m not in the mood to leave the house –”

“I get that,” You reassured as you held a six-pack. “I already bought the beers, but I can go.” You turn on your heel and begin to walk down Tommy’s porch. “Wait,” Tommy raised his hand, and snapped his eyes shut. He knew he was going to regret drinking; he was a wink away from sleeping, but he knew that he could have one beer. Opening his eyes, Tommy noticed the intrigued look on your face as he slid his hand into his jean pocket. “One beer won’t kill me, right?”

A smirk – the first one Tommy has seen from you, the whole first few seconds you’ve been standing on his porch. “I hope it won’t. We’ll have a couple.”

You had two beers, and Tommy had two, not too much and not too little. Tommy’s eyes felt heavier than when he first came home, but he couldn’t get to sleep. His neighbor was next to him, and Tommy didn’t know if he could have the decency to kick out the few good people in his neighborhood.

The movie Tommy had on was ending, but you were watching every second of it, like it was a distraction you needed. He couldn’t help but wonder what was on your mind. Tommy knew you for your happy attitude and smiles, but seeing you at his door like an awkward boy picking up his prom date made his stomach twist in ways he didn’t think were possible, thinking of his neighbor.

Readjusting his position so his back was resting against the loveseat—his belt pinching his stomach—a light wince exited his teeth. Tommy stared at his neighbor before he opened his mouth to speak. “S’going on with you, man? I’ve never seen you this down before.”

You pushed your lips into a trill as you raised your hands and slapped them against your thighs. “Just wanting to drink with a good friend, nothing else going on.” You fixed your position so that you were shoulder to shoulder with Tommy. “Do you want another beer? I’m getting another beer.” You spoke as you bent down to grab another can of beer for the pack, but Tommy was faster as he snatched the remaining cans out of your grasp. “Gimmie that back, Tommy.” You tried to reach for the cans, but Tommy moved his hand farther away.

“Not until y’give me a straight answer.” Tommy’s tone was affirmative and commanding – it sent chills down your spine as you sat back in your spot. You exhaled, and you avoided eye contact with Tommy. “My best friend was having an affair with my wife, and my daughter hates me because we’re splitting up.” You bit your lip as you confessed something you haven’t come to terms with yet.

Tommy was taken aback as he retained the information you said. “You can’t be serious, there’s no way, your daughter hates you.”

You sputter a chuckle as you couldn’t believe what you heard. “Oh, trust me. She blames me.”

“That can’t be –”

“She said, and I quote, ‘If only you were home more, this wouldn’t have happened’.” You wiped your hand on your forehead as a small snicker escaped your mouth. “I can still see the smile on her face when our own daughter told me that. It was like she won something,” You shrugged.

“I should’ve just gone back to my motel room. I don’t know why I came here; this was stupid.”

You began to stand up, but then you felt a tug on your long-sleeved shirt, forcing you to sit back down. “Y’not going anywhere–not in the state you’re in.”

“I can take a cab, Tommy. I don’t want to bother you with my bullshit.”

“It ain’t bullshit,” Tommy commented. “Stay your ass here before I have to tie you down.”

You didn’t have the energy to fight with Tommy anymore, so you rested your head against the back of the couch, your head hitting the wall lightly. “Ow,” You muttered as you pinched your nose. Tommy couldn’t hold the chuckle as he heard your head connect with the wall. “Y’allright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You wave off.

Tommy still had a slight smile as he glided his hand atop his head, feeling the man bun on the back of his head. He couldn’t help but feel bad for the man next to him – Tommy could see the man had been in distress for god knows how long, and he came to see him as a friend. Tommy wanted to make the man forget about what he wanted to bury. “Want to know something that might make you laugh?”

“What?” You asked as you didn’t move from your position, your hand still pinching your nose. “Maria and I haven’t had sex since Benji was born.”

Tommy could hear a snicker as he stared at his hands, and as he looked towards you, he could see a hint of a smile. “That’s not funny,” You started as you placed your hand over your eyes – your smile still visible. “It’s ok, laugh, it’s funny.” Tommy waved his hand as if the news wasn’t that big of a deal. “No, it is not!” You rebutted.

“You’re still laughin’!” You hear Tommy point out. “Ignore me, I’m drunk.”

“You had two beers, lightweight!”

“So what?”

You and Tommy were having a laughing fit that, in all honesty, both of you needed more than ever. The laughs you and Tommy were sharing were reminiscent of the times when you and he would hang together, no work, no stress, just two neighbors sharing beers and laughs.

Both of you stop laughing as you rest your eyes shut. You snap your eyes open when the sudden realization hits you. “Isn’t Benji four?” You ask as you raise your head. Tommy nodded.

“How are you alive, man?”

Tommy raised his hands in defense as he shook his head. “One day at a time, don’t get me wrong, man, it hurts so much sometimes,” Tommy spoke as he adjusted his hips, his hands landing on his thigh. “And I’m guessing jerking off isn’t doing as much as it did.”

“It can only help with so much,” Tommy shrugged. “I just need a hole to fuck again. I’ve been so fuckin’ horny. I’ll fuck the next pair of legs that walks through that door.” The man points towards the door. “Is that fucked up?” You questioned.

“Most likely, but as long as I don’t act on it, I’ll be fine.”

You snickered as you thought of an outlandish idea. “You said any pair of legs, even a guy's leg, isn’t that gay?”

Tommy thought about it a lot longer than he should have if he admitted it. “Nah, it’s helping a bro out, doesn’t mean anything.” Tommy turned to look at you to explain more, “It’s like I would help you out, you help me out. We were just doin’ each other favors.” Tommy explained. You pressed your lips in a line and nodded your head as Tommy’s explanation made some sense to you. “Huh, never thought about it like that.”

“That’s because you never had a bro help you out before.” Tommy poked your shoulder.

“Have you?” You asked,

Tommy pressed his lips together as he shook his head. “Nah, that’s gay.”

“Didn’t you just say it wasn’t?” You comment.

“Well, I don’t know, I’ve never fucked a guy before!” Tommy’s tone sounded like he had been accused of a crime. “I’m not saying you did!” You raise your hands in defense.

Tommy slid his hands down his face in frustration. “I assume that it isn’t gay to some extent.”

“Like, there are ground rules?” You question.

“Exactly,” Tommy agreed. “Like no kissing, or staring in each other’s eyes.”

“No, enjoying it?”

“Mhm.”

“These rules are confusing.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Tommy spoke, fixing the growing tent in his jeans.

“You okay?”

“Huh?” Tommy snapped out of his thoughts and stared at you. You nod your head towards where his hand is placed over his crotch. “Yeah, I guess all this talk about fuckin’ got me all pent up.”

A laugh escapes your lip as you watch Tommy fondling his cock. “Enjoying yourself there, mister?”

A gruff laugh escapes Tommy’s lips, one that sends chills down your spine. “Yeah, I am.” Tommy doesn’t stare at you as he continues rubbing his hand against the bulge growing in his jeans. Each digit in his hand is on a mission to pleasure himself. You watch as the man next to you acts like you don’t exist anymore. Licking his lips, Tommy’s actions persists as he groans a ‘Fuck it’ from under his breath and starts to unbuckle his belt. “You don’t mind if I take care of this, right?”

You shook your head and turned your head towards the far wall. You could hear the shuffling of a belt and jeans, and an exhale from Tommy. “You ain’t gotta look away, I’m fine with you lookin’.” You nodded your head and continued to look towards anything else; you didn’t want to look towards Tommy.

“Cmon, buddy. I ain’t gonna kill you.” Tommy’s hand wrapped around your shoulder, trapping you in his hold, causing you to look towards the man. You looked into his eyes as he stared at you with a smile on his face. A smile that had pleasure drooling from it, but in the corner of your eye, that’s when you see it.

You did your best to not be shocked by the size of Tommy’s cock, you’ve never seen another guys dick – and you’ve never thought about it before. But you were impressed by the look of Tommy’s cock. Veins traveled up the shaft of his cock, stopping at the mushroom tip of his cock. You watched as Tommy stroked his cock, the sheer enjoyment in his face as you could hear the raspy breaths escape his throat. “Fuck, man. Thanks for lettin’ me do this.”

A hint of a smile came across your lips as you shook your head. “No problem, man.” You held your view on anything but Tommy’s cock. His open flannel, his tank top, his beard, his hair – hell even the TV playing a random show seemed better to stare at than Tommy’s cock.

As Tommy continued to stroke his cock, you could feel your cock growing agaisnt your pants. You exhale a hiss as you feel your toes curl in your shoes. Tommy stares at you as he hears your breath. “You getting hard, huh?” You shook your head before ultimately agreeing. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Whip it out, it’s not like anyone can stop us.” Tommy’s voice was brought to a low octave as he pressed his voice against your ear. His voice sent a wave of euphoria to your cock that without argument, you started to unbuckle your jeans and slip your pants and underwear down to your calves – letting gravity let your pants rest at your ankles.

That sensation of your hand gripping your cock sent a ripple of waves soar through your body. Tommy chuckled as he could see the pleasure escape. “Feels nice, don’t it?” You nod your head, answering Tommy.

The sudden grip on your shoulder was getting tighter as you could see that the chuckles Tommy was once producing were now coming out as shaky breaths. Tommy wasn’t getting close, their was no way, he had just started stroking his cock not that long ago. “You okay?” You asked.

“Mhm,” Tommy nodded. “I’m doin’ this thing where I’m teasing the head of my cock, and it feels nice – almost feels like a tongue is on it.”

Your curiosity got the better of you as your eyes trail down to the head of his cock. You watched as the pad of his thumb rub against the slit of cock with each stroke. With each stroke, you didn’t need a magnifying glass to see the pleasure throughout the man’s body. “You should try it, see what I mean.” Tommy rolled his head back, and his eyes snapped closed as he moaned. Your thumb slipped over your already precum leaking cock and you understood the feeling Tommy mentioned.

It made the tip of your cock more sensitive as if someone glided their tongue against the head of your cock. Your body involuntarily jerked itself with each pass your thumb slid across your slit. You bit your lip as you groaned in pleasure, your eyes shut, and your head resting against the back of the couch. “Feels good, don’t it?” You could hear Tommy question.

“Hell yes,” You groaned, biting your lip.

“D’ya wanna suck my cock?” Tommy questioned.

Shock riddled your face as you stared at Tommy. “W-what?”

To say the situation had gone too far was an understatement, you had just been asked to suck another guys cock – by another guy. You’d never looked forward to a situation like this before, and you were tipsy, so any common sense started to falter away.

“C’mon. I won’t say nothin’, I just need to feel good, right now, and I know a nice warm mouth is just what I need.” Tommy was in euphoria as he was stroking his cock, he knew asking his neighbor for a feeling he’d been grasping onto from his wife was the definition of grasping at straws, but Tommy couldn’t help himself. The grip on your shoulder was intense as Tommy rested his forehead against yours. You weren’t against it, you were just surprised by it.

“Please help me out here, friend. I can even show you how.”

As you stared into Tommy’s eyes, you licked your lips as you’re eyes averted from his onto him holding the base of his cock – his hand barely wrapping around the girth and length of his cock. You stared right back into his eyes. “Ok,” You nodded.

Tommy removed his hand from your shoulder as you removed your hand from your cock. “Get your knees on the couch and face me.” You did as you were told, as you put your knees bent on the couch, as your body faced Tommy. “C’mere,” Tommy reached his hand around and placed your hand on the back of your head. You feel him lightly push your face down towards his member. Your lips parted as you felt the head of his cock press against your lips, opening your mouth wider, Tommy’s dick slips around your lips. The groans the Texan man let out were those of pure bliss.

The feeling of your warm mouth wrapped around his cock, caused Tommy’s toes to grip the leather in his boots. He missed this sensation, the sense of his body going into overdrive, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as he lolled his head, biting his lip to fight the groan that was close to escaping as well. When you felt the tip of Tommy’s cock hit the back of your throat, you felt like your air supply was limited. You begin to push yourself up, but the man’s grip on your head is firm, stopping you from lifting your head. “Don’t fuckin’ move,” Tommy growled. The tip of his cock was throbbing against the back of your thoat.

The man could feel your throat constrict around the length of his cock, a sharp breath escaped Tommy’s lips as he could feel your throat wrap around his dick. His hand found its way to your cheek, lightly slapping your cheek as a toothy grin from the man. “Fuck, look at that. You can take m’cock so well,” The man breathed as his grip in your hair raised your head. A harsh exhale left your mouth as you coughed, and you wiped the sides of your mouth as you gained the ability to breathe again. “Damn,” You chuckled. Tommy moved his hand from your hair and onto your chin, staring at you with an intense longing for more. “Y’allright?” The man asked. You nodded.

“Good,” Tommy started, his thumb trailing your bottom lip. “I’m just warnin’ you now, things might get a little intense, rules might be broken, I need to know if you’re ok with that.”

“Yeah, I am.” As much as there was a part of you that wanted to fix your pants, leave the house, and never return to this neighborhood again, you decided to live life on the edge. Tommy shook his head at you as if he were disagreeing with you… or himself. You push your head forward and back leisurely, as you could feel each vein on Tommy’s cock. The man adjusted his position as the pace on your mouth on his cock was going faster, as you swirled your tongue around the slit of his dick as he was moaning with pleasure, you took his size in your mouth, as you jerked your hand around his length.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby!” The man cried out. “You’re so fuckin” good at that.”

Tommy moved your hand as he couldn’t take it anymore, his pelvic bone had a mind of its own, thrusting his cock into your mouth, gags exiting your mouth as his length kept hitting the back of your throat. Tommy was in bliss as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He couldn’t get enough of your mouth. “My little fuckin’ cock sucker, can’t get enough of my cock, huh?”

“Nuh uh,” You moaned around his cock. “ The vibration of your throat caused Tommy to moan once more. Tommy’s free hand slid down from your head to the curve of your back to under your pants and underwear. You could feel his rough and calloused hands on your ass. You moan on Tommy’s cock as you feel his hand palm your ass. You began to find pleasure in his actions.

With one last grunt, Tommy held your head before he let go of your head. In a rebuttal, you picked your head up and drastically took air in your lungs. A grip on the back of your head, the man looked at you with intense need.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” He grumbled as he smashed his lips against yours, not caring about the saliva on your lips. A sigh escaped Tommy as if he were in relief with the choice he made. Your hand reached for the back of his head, and your hand rested there, enjoying the moment. Tommy was hungry as with each kiss, the man had his other hand gripping your waist, almost planting you to stay in your position.

Without realizing it, you slipped your shoes off and managed to maneuver your jeans and underwear off as you threw them off the couch and onto the floor. The growl that left Tommy had his body starting to gravitate towards you. You felt your body move backwards as the man was moving towards you, a gasp left your mouth, causing Tommy’s tongue to slip in. Your back resting against the couch, Tommy’s hand from your waist moved towards the bend of your knee, hitching your leg to wrap around his waist. Tommy’s pelvic bone was grinding up against yours, the man moaned into your mouth as he could feel his cock tease your hole.

Tommy was desperate, almost yearning for you, more than he should. The friction of your body and his cock almost sent him into that feeling of overdrive – a sensation he hadn’t felt in four years. This decision he knew would wreck him when he was in a more concentrated state, but right now, he was ready to risk it all for you. Breaking the kiss, the man let his boots, jeans, and underwear fall on the floor, looking at you, placing one of his hands on the sliver of couch your head didn’t occupy, his other hand gripping the couch. Tommy dipped his head closer to you once again, but this time resting his forehead against yours.

The both of you were heavy breathing, bottomless, and overly horny. This felt like bliss to you and Tommy. The man above you snapped his eyes shut and took the moment all in. Seeing a neighbor and close friend under him, this moment felt too surreal. “You have no idea how much I needed this,” Tommy’s southern drawl caused your stomach to do flips. “Me too.” Your hands on his head slid down to his cheeks, angling his head towards your mouth. Tommy’s lips matched yours like a puzzle – a piece he thought he lost, but found later on.

“Fuck, baby,” Tommy let the pet name slip. “This feels so wrong,” He grumbled through each smooth you both gave each other. “But, why does it feel right?”

He was more or less for him, not expecting a response from you. His lips moved from your mouth and onto your jaw as he bit the flesh of your neck. You groaned in pleasure as this sensation felt new to you. Your hand found its way to rest atop the one Tommy was using to grip the couch. In one motion, his hand flipped yours and held your hand above your head. “Fuck, Tommy.” You moaned. “These pretty bruises on you.” His other hand trailed on your neck. “Need everyone to see who you belong to.” Tommy can’t recall if he’s ever said that to Maria, but to you, it felt natural. You didn’t comment on his statement as he smiled and softly kissed your lips once more before staring into your eyes. “D’you know how hard my cock is throbbin’?” Tommy’s voice came out as a guttural whisper – You look between your body and the man above you, to say Tommy’s cock was angry, would be to nice. His cock looked furious. The veins around his cock, looked if it were holding a scream it, the tip of his cock was red, and you could see a line of precum from your stomach to Tommy’s cock. “It’s yearnin’ for a hole to fuck.”

Backing away from you, letting his bare knees hit the floor, Tommy lifted your leg and rested it on your shoulder. Tommy slides his head down deeper between your thighs. Kitten licks against your aching hole; you arch your back as this feeling was new to you completely, and you weren’t sure you didn’t want it to end. Your body began to reel as your toes curled, and you saw Tommy staring at you. “Fuck, babe.” A smile escaped the man as his voice went down an octave. “I could eat you whole.” If Tommy were to explain what was going on in his head as he was eating you out, he would describe it as if he were trying to get the last bit of ice cream out of the bowl.

The small groans of pleasure as Tommy went down on you caused your body to jerk ever so slightly. “Fuck,” You cry out as you slipped you hand on his head. The man grunted as a response. Your fingers dug into his hair, ruining the man’s bun, but you didn’t care. Tommy’s tongue was working overtime against your hole, and you didn’t want him to stop. You feel your thigh being pushed up as Tommy’s mouth was hungry for you, each lick and suck brought you closer to edge, your cock feeling like a rocket going to expalin. “Fuck, Tommy. I’m close.” Your teeth grit as you arch your back once more. The grip on your thighs gets tighter as Tommy hums in answer, his tongue working faster. He couldn’t think about the outside world any longer, Tommy only had one thought in mind – making you cum.

As each second passes, your orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave. Ropes of cum connecting with your shirt and your cheek. The grip on Tommy’s head turns tighter as your body becomes a languid state. Pleasure zinged through you with each breath that escaped through you, and you felt like the moment was gone. That was until you saw a smirk on Tommy’s face as he placed a hand above your head. “Never felt somethin’ like that, huh?” Tommy questioned as wiped the cum off your cheek and sucked the white substance off his fingers. “Mhmm, you taste even better than I can ever imagine.”

“Shut up,” You chuckled. Tommy chuckled as if you had said the funniest joke in the world. The man pushed himself off the couch – his cock still hard and throbbing, Tommy begain to walk away, your eyebrows furrowed towards him. You’re eyes stared at him as he walked away in the hallway, you bit your lip as you were ready for more. Your head rested on the cushion below, as a shaky breath and collected your thoughts. Not thirty seconds longer, Tommy came back with a condom, wrapped around his angry length – how was his cock still hard? With his shirt and flannel off, he showed off his built body.

Your gaze at his cock – throbbing and threathing to stretch you out. “Look what you did,” the Texan spoke, causing your skin to grow cold. “Y’think you can handle all that, sweetheart?” You nodded in response to his answer. “Use your words, baby.”

“I can handle it.” Tommy took that as an opportunity to hover over you, hands back in familiar places, as his lips find yours once again. A smile came from him as he tasted you again. “I can’t lie, baby. I love these lips of yours.”

“That so, neighbor?” You ask against his lips. “Mhm,” The man groaned against your mouth, his nose brushing against yours. You gasped against his lips as his hips drove into you, sending shivers down your spine. You shuddered physically as Tommy's cock went on grinding against your sensitive tip, giving you the sensation that your cock was about to erupt. “I can’t wait to stretch my friend out,” The man growled against you, breaking the kiss to stare into your eyes. “You ready for my cock, baby?”

“Yep,” You nodded.

Tommy’s length slowly stretched you out as you gasped at the hard, insistent press of him. “This feels okay, baby?”

“Yeah,” you pant. “I’ve just never been fucked before.”

The man nodded his head, a hint of a smirk had made its way across his face, he shook it off before you could spot it. In the back of Tommy’s mind, he was smiling as he was the first guy to fuck you, and in some twisted way, he wanted it only to be him. The man above slowly ruts his hips towards you, and your body takes a minute to get used to the length and thickness of him. Tommy shifted his position as he pushed himself up and straightened his back out, with your ankles wrapped around his hands. His eyes drift down to where you both are joined and growl a low curse. “Fuck, baby. You wrap around me so well, it’s like I was made for you.”

As Tommy's cock continued to strike your G-spot, you felt his tempo quicken; you bit into your balled fist and groaned with delight. You met Tommy at the base of his cock as a result of his powerful cock pump. Your walls gradually grew to accommodate Tommy's massive cock as it pumped inside you once more. As Tommy's cock continued to pump into you, his length was stretching you out and making each push more enjoyable than the last. This sensation, you didn't know if you wanted more of it or this to be the end of it. But, you knew one thing: Tommy would make your first and last time with another man enjoyable and memorable.

Tommy bared his teeth and began fucking you without any reason. Pinning both of your hands over your head while they are interlocked. The tiny alteration causes his cock to rub more deeply inside of you. You tighten the grip of your hands on Tommy’s as your already hardened cock started to feel like it was going to burst. “Fuck!” You cry out. “I’m gonna cum again!” You cry out as another orgasm rips through you. Tommy’s mouth claims yours. “That sweet music your mouth makes belongs to me, and me only – no one else.” It was a statement that etched its way into your mind, and you weren’t sure that it was going to leave it. The way your body twitched from the aftershocks of your second orgasm, Tommy’s cock was striking you more and more. “Let my hands go.” The command Tommy growled made it easy for you to let him go, he slid his cock out of you and rested in a seated position. The TV screen showed the evidence of sweat on his chest, as cum from your second orgasm on his tummy. “C’mere,” Tommy waved his hand toward himself, then undoing his hair, letting the once-tied-up hair rest on his shoulder. You found a way to sit, you threw your shirt over your head, and straddled Tommy’s lap.

Your lips mangle their way onto Tommy’s as his arms wrap around your lower back, and the mixture of sex and sweat is on both of your stomachs. The way Tommy held you felt as if you were in the honeymoon stage. Your hand made its way to his stubbled cheek, the curls interlocking with the digits of your fingers. “Fuck, I can’t get enough of you.” You moan against his mouth. “Me neither,” His southern drawl escaping his mouth.

His arms moved from around your back, and onto your waist as you felt a slight push from his cock sliding inside you once more. A guttural cry left your lips, and you moved Tommy’s head against your chest, holding both of you closer together. Backing his head up, Tommy stared at you with his hand on your cheek. “Hey, hey, you got this, baby. Deep breaths,” His voice was low as you nodded in response. Tommy's lips let out a howl as you gripped the base of his cock, Tommy found a pace he knew, you could handle. His lips trap yours in a fiery and passionate kiss, “Fuck, baby. I’m close. You?” One final time you feel your cock grow hard against the friction of you and Tommy. “I’m getting there.” You grit your teeth. His hands hook under your arms, and the man adjusted his position and his cock kept pressing against your spot, the man could feel his cock being put into overdrive.

"Fuck, here it comes." Tommy pointed out, clenching his jaw.

With one final thrust, you feel Tommy's cock twitch inside you as the condom that is wrapped around him felt heavier, and your sperm dribbles out of your cock. The man fixed his arms to embrace you tightly, trembling slightly against you. You begin to slowly slip off his cock; Tommy's condom was filled with come and drooped to the side. You let out a breath of relief and lay down beside Tommy, resting your head on his shoulder. You were both wearing out, and your adrenaline was starting to wear off, so you were both breathing heavily. That feeling of bliss was still there, but was something else there; relief. The relief you both needed, to stop thinking of the grievances in your life – this was something both of you needed

Tommy slipped the condom off, careful not drop the cum from the condom. “I’m gonna start the shower, you want first round?”

You nod your head in response to his question. “Yeah, that’s fine.” Tommy grabs your hand and picks you up from the couch. As you make your way to the bathroom, the walk feels treacherous to you compared to Tommy. The man deposits you and him into the stream of hot water, as the man waited for you outside the door, discarding the used condom, he couldn’t stop thinking about how you sounded, and how you folded in his hand like putty. Tommy mumbled a ‘fuck it’ and made his way to his bedroom to grab another one and made his way to you. You were shocked to see Tommy stand behind you, a condom in his hand as he stared at you. “I don’t think things will ever be the same way again,” Tommy admitted before he stood closer to you, wrapping his arms around you, engulfing your mouth with his. He half expected you to push him away, but you didn’t. You kissed Tommy back, and the man smirked as he knew it was a lust-filled night ahead of him. “Fuck, I gotta taste you again.” Tommy broke the kiss as he bent on his knees, lifted your leg, and began to eat you out.

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