#Text Fic

[ksukiii]

canon bakugou texts 😜

don’t slander pls i’m new to tumblr😔

but i’m open to any suggestions 👍👍

[flxttershyz]

𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝟐𝟐: 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓

joaquín torres x f!reader

wc: about 4k words

au: ummm part one was NOT 5k words, i was half awake doin that n mixed characters with words, whoops.

 🪶 what to expect:

• soft strangers-to-something slow burn, texting-only, falcon duties vs. long distance feelings, insta thirsting (and insta spiraling), you accidentally like a 2019 post, he doesn’t tell you he’s the falcon, you find out, family grounding: scenes with your sister + baby niece, subtle heartbreak, emotional craving, messy late-night thoughts, a rushed call right before a mission (sam wilson voice cameo), pining, pauses, misunderstandings, real feelings, auntie life as soft distraction, no confession yet… but hope remains 🫶

—

⚠️ cw (content warnings):

• emotional vulnerability / crying, miscommunication + silence, one-sided crush anxiety / feelings of rejection, social media spiraling + self-esteem dips, mentions of parental stress (sister + baby), loneliness, overthinking, emotional weight, military themes / implied danger (no graphic scenes)

hope you enjoy! ^^

⟡

you don’t expect him to text again.

you’ve told yourself that.

repeated it in your head like a mantra, like a joke you don’t want to laugh at. like a spell meant to keep you from doing something stupid, like refreshing your messages every time the screen dims.

he was nice. that’s all.

nice for a stranger on a plane.

nice enough to hold your hand when the turbulence kicked up.

nice enough to let you lean on him, shoulder warm, while you dreamed of something that felt quiet and safe and just far enough away from everything else.

but nice doesn’t mean anything.

not after 3 hours and 17 minutes at 32,000 feet.

not in real life.

so when your phone buzzes a week later and it’s him—

you just stare.

joaquín:

hey

just checking in. you make it back home alright?

you don’t answer right away.

you just hold your phone, your lips twitching into something that isn’t quite a smile but isn’t not a smile either. your heart does this soft little skip, like it wasn’t expecting company.

you read it again.

then again.

then you toss your phone across your bed like it’s on fire.

(you pick it up again six seconds later.)

you:

yeah, i did

thanks for asking

and after a beat—

how about you? back on base?

he replies quicker than you expect.

yeah

already back in it lol

do you get to rest at all?

sometimes

you?

you don’t know how to answer that.

⟡

you’re not home, exactly.

your sister needed help after the baby came early. her husband’s working twelve-hour shifts. and honestly, you didn’t need much convincing. she called, exhausted, voice hoarse and desperate, so you took a flight there. you wanted to see the baby too.

so now you’re here.

on her couch. in your high school hoodie.

your niece asleep across your chest, cheeks warm against your collarbone. your phone just barely peeking out of your blanket cocoon.

your sister walks into the room with a bottle of water and a raised eyebrow.

“is that him?”

you don’t look up. “who.”

“don’t who me,” she says, sitting on the armrest. “the plane guy. from your dramatic little hallmark story.”

“it wasn’t dramatic.”

“you cried when you landed.”

“i’d never flown before.”

“you said he smelled like cedarwood and fate.”

you snort. “i never said fate.”

she grins and taps your phone screen with her knuckle.

“he text you?”

“just checking in.”

“and you’re blushing.”

you roll your eyes, hiding your grin in your baby niece’s curls.

“it’s nothing.”

“sure,” your sister says, standing. “you gonna text him back?”

“…already did.”

she gasps and disappears down the hall.

you settle into the couch cushions again, head tilted back.

your niece sighs in her sleep.

you whisper, “it’s really nothing.”

but you don’t quite believe yourself.

⟡

you only text a few times.

in the morning, sometimes. once at night. never too much. never enough.

sometimes it’s just a “hope your day’s okay.”

sometimes it’s a meme or a blurry photo of your sister’s dog trying to chew on a pacifier.

sometimes it’s nothing for a couple days.

but when he does text you, it’s never dry. never distant.

one night, you send him a selfie of the baby clinging to your hoodie string and biting it like a teether.

you:

i think i’m losing my place in the food chain around here.

he replies instantly:

joaquín:

damn. and she didn’t even ask for a fight

ruthless. no morals.

she’s a baby. you had a good run.

how’s your day?

busy

tired

but reading this makes it better

your heart squeezes.

you close your phone.

and you don’t stop smiling for a while.

⟡

you go on stroller walks with your sister.

midday, after the baby’s fed and halfway to napping, you walk the cracked sidewalk past familiar houses, your sister sipping her iced coffee while you distract the baby with finger puppets and terrible duck noises.

one afternoon, your sister nudges your elbow.

“you’re still texting him?”

you nod, chewing on the end of your straw.

“he cute?”

“yes.”

“military?”

“air force.”

“so what’s the problem?”

you exhale. “he doesn’t live here.”

“so?”

“so i don’t wanna fall for a guy who only exists in my inbox.”

your sister shrugs, watching a squirrel dart across the street.

“you ever think maybe he’s real enough if he keeps showing up?”

you look down at your niece. she’s curled around her teething toy, sucking on the corner like it betrayed her.

“i just don’t wanna be stupid about it,” you murmur.

your sister hums.

“maybe he’s worth the risk.”

⟡

it starts to happen in little moments.

slow ones. quiet ones. the kind that sneak up on you.

you’re chopping strawberries in your sister’s kitchen when your phone buzzes on the counter. you glance at it, expecting maybe a weather alert or a sale notification from some store you don’t remember signing up for.

but it’s him.

joaquín:

you on insta?

you freeze for half a second. strawberry juice on your fingers. the knife hovering mid-slice.

you:

yeah

you?

he sends his @.

@ jxaq.torres

no hesitation. no emojis. no warning.

just a plain little link sitting in your texts like it’s not about to completely ruin your brain chemistry.

your sister walks in, eyeing the half-cut fruit.

“you good?”

you blink. “fine.”

“you’re staring at your phone like it cussed you out.”

you lock the screen.

“nope. just… he sent me his instagram.”

her eyebrows go way, way up.

“oooooh.”

you wash your hands in silence while she giggles to herself in the fridge.

you can feel her watching you, already brimming with bad decisions and worse encouragement.

“you gonna stalk him?”

you shrug.

“maybe.”

she grins. “i’ll get the popcorn.”

⟡

you don’t open it right away.

you leave it unread for two hours.

okay, one and a half.

but that’s still restraint.

you wait until the house is quiet.

baby’s asleep. sister’s passed out with her kindle on her chest. dog snoring at the foot of the bed.

you crawl into the guest bed with your phone like it’s contraband. turn the brightness down. tuck yourself under your weighted blanket like that’s gonna stop anything from happening.

you click the link.

⟡

his profile is simple.

just a blurry selfie, smiling, head slightly tilted, curls a little messy.

bio says: ✈️🫡 // nm -> ca

you don’t know why that makes your heart jump. maybe because he told you he was stationed there. maybe because it feels like a real person’s profile and not something curated. there’s something quiet about it. soft.

you scroll. carefully at first.

his top post is a photo of his mom holding a piñata, him beside her mid-laugh. another one of him crouched next to some dog with giant eyes. one in uniform, standing straight, but his smile still crooked and a little unsure.

and a few posts down—him in a big crowd, city behind him, fireworks overhead.

he’s tagged with someone. you tap it.

@ sam.wilson.

the name hits you funny.

you recognize it, but can’t place it. so you tap again.

his account is private, but his profile says it loud and clear.

you blink.

that looks just like captain america.

what?

you go back.

tap out.

go to safari. (or google… whatever search engine yall use.)

you google “sam wilson captain america.”

the page loads and your mouth goes dry.

holy shit.

oh my god.

wait.

you’re just staring.

you sit back in bed like you’ve been hit with something. like the air just dropped out of the room.

you scroll back to joaquín’s instagram.

the post with sam is from new year’s last year. caption says: “couldn’t ask for a better mentor.”

you start going backwards. further and further down his page. your heart picks up speed.

military training. base pics. some dorky photos of him with a shaved head and braces, standing with a group of other ROTC kids in matching shirts. one selfie with a bloody nose and a huge smile, captioned “first real spar, still standing.”

and then you do the one thing—

the ONE thing you told yourself you wouldn’t.

you double tap.

not a new post. not a casual, safe, oh-i-was-just-tapping-around one.

no.

it’s a post from 2019.

him. fresh out of high school. navy tee. peace sign. short fade. caption says: “back when my only job was getting to class on time lol.”

you freeze.

you see the red heart.

and you panic.

you unlike it.

but it’s too late.

⟡

you stare at your screen for a long time.

the little “liked by you” icon is gone. but if he was on his phone when it happened—if he has post notifications on—

your stomach twists.

you throw your phone facedown and press both palms to your forehead.

“i’m fine,” you say to no one.

“i’m fine. it’s fine. i’m just a creepy little weirdo with a crush and wandering thumbs.”

⟡

your niece starts crying at 3am.

you rock her on your hip, hair messy, shoulders sore. your sister stumbles out of her room in leggings and mismatched socks.

“what happened?”

“she’s teething,” you murmur. “she bit her own hand and got mad about it.”

your sister groans, takes her, and you shuffle back to bed like a zombie with too many feelings.

you curl up with your phone. you open your texts.

he hasn’t messaged you since sending his profile.

you think about typing something.

hey

sorry for liking your post from 8 years ago

i was stalking you in the dark while eating saltines and pretending not to be attached

you don’t send it.

you just lie there, warm under the covers, hands pressed to your face.

and your heart beats way too loud for someone who barely knows this man.

⟡

you don’t text him again for a while.

it’s not dramatic.

you don’t block him. you don’t send a passive aggressive meme. you don’t spiral on main.

you just… pause.

because maybe that’s what he’s doing too.

maybe the double tap was too much.

well. 

it was on accident for a reason.

was it?

maybe it made you look like you care.

and maybe you do.

but you don’t want to care first.

so you let the silence happen.

⟡

you hold your niece on the floor of your sister’s nursery and let her slap your face with both hands like you’re her favorite toy.

she squeals. laughs when you make a sound like a dying duck.

drools on your hoodie. pulls your earring. giggles again.

you let her.

because being with her is easier than being in your head.

you haven’t heard from him in four days.

your sister brings in a clean laundry basket and a soft “you okay?”

you shrug.

she sits beside you, the baby in your lap now gnawing on your phone case.

“you still thinking about him?”

“…he’s busy.”

“so are you.”

you don’t say anything.

just watch your niece discover her own foot like it’s a miracle.

“you’re allowed to miss someone,” your sister says gently, “even if you don’t fully know them yet.”

you nod.

not because you believe it.

but because you want to.

⟡

you watch a movie with your sister that night.

well, she watches. you scroll.

your phone brightness is all the way down.

your fingers hover over his name in your messages more than once.

and then—

your tiktok algorithm betrays you.

a grainy clip. crowd noise.

a phone camera aimed upward, shaky but clear enough to make out a man with wings landing hard in a field.

the caption says:

yo that’s the new falcon??

he FINEEEE

you blink.

pause. rewind.

your sister’s voice behind you: “what is it?”

you don’t answer.

because you’re frozen.

you watch it again.

the wings fold.

his face tilts toward the camera.

and it’s him.

joaquín.

you say nothing.

your breath catches.

he’s not just military.

he’s not just stationed somewhere.

he’s—he’s flying?

he’s out here saving people?

he’s—

“oh,” you whisper.

“what?” your sister asks.

you show her the clip.

she blinks. “is that—?”

“that’s him.”

“holy shit.”

you don’t say anything.

your heart is loud. everything inside you feels like it’s tightening.

why didn’t he tell you?

⟡

you try to be chill about it.

you don’t text him.

you don’t like any more photos.

you don’t even check his story for three whole days.

but on the fourth night, you crack.

you send:

you:

hey

you okay?

he doesn’t answer.

⟡

you stay up late that night, your niece curled against you, asleep with her hand tucked under her chin.

you stare at the ceiling.

not because you’re angry.

but because you feel stupid.

maybe this is what happens when you get attached to a maybe.

he was a stranger.

a kind one.

a gentle one.

but you never asked for more than that.

you just… hoped.

⟡

he replies two days later.

joaquín:

yeah

sorry. just got back.

you reread it six times.

just got back?

from what?

a war zone? a hostage situation? outer space?

you want to ask.

you don’t.

instead, you send:

glad you’re safe

and then put your phone face down.

⟡

your sister can tell something’s wrong.

you’ve never been great at hiding it.

even as a kid, you wore everything across your face. your joy. your heartbreak. your whole heart was always too close to the surface.

and she’s known you long enough to recognize the shape of your silence.

“you okay?” she asks, leaning on the doorframe while you bounce your niece on your lap.

“fine.”

“you’ve said fine four times today.”

you press your cheek to the baby’s soft curls.

“i just feel dumb.”

your sister steps in, sits on the edge of the play mat, lets your niece crawl into her lap and tug at her necklace.

“for what?”

“getting attached.”

your sister doesn’t say anything right away.

just lets you breathe.

lets you sit with it.

then, softly, “he made you feel safe. that’s not dumb.”

you shake your head. “i let my imagination run too far.”

“you’re a person,” she says gently. “not a robot. and you met someone kind, and you wanted to believe it could mean something. that’s normal.”

you swallow.

your eyes sting.

“you’re allowed to want things,” she whispers, rubbing your shoulder. “even if they don’t pan out. it doesn’t make you pathetic.”

you press your lips together.

“just makes you human.”

⟡

you try to keep busy.

you deep clean your sister’s bathroom.

you reorganize the diaper caddy.

you bake banana bread you don’t eat.

you try not to check his page.

but you do.

he hasn’t posted anything new.

his last story was a meme about protein powder.

you laugh. bitter.

of course he’s fine.

⟡

you get coffee with an old friend that week.

they ask about school (because we are smart enough to be in college duhh). you fake a smile.

they ask if you’re seeing anyone.

you say “no, not really.”

because what else can you say?

that you met a boy on a plane, and you’ve been texting like strangers who don’t know how to ask for more? that you thought he liked you, and now he’s vanished into some winged hero role you didn’t know he had?

you just stir your drink. smile again.

you don’t even notice the heart emoji they add to your name in their phone.

you’re too busy wondering what joaquín’s doing.

⟡

that night, your niece refuses to sleep unless she’s on your chest.

you lie in bed with her warm against your sternum, your hoodie rumpled, your heart aching.

your phone buzzes once.

joaquín:

how’s the baby doing?

you pause.

stare at it.

not “how are you.”

not “i’ve missed you.”

you:

teething

so we’re both feral rn

you get a laugh emoji back.

no follow up.

you bite your lip.

delete three drafted messages.

say nothing else.

⟡

it’s not that you expect him to be perfect.

you know he’s busy.

you know he’s not yours.

but something still stings.

because now you know who he is.

and he knows you know.

and he’s acting like nothing’s changed.

which means either:

a) he doesn’t care

or

b) he never planned to tell you

and you were always just temporary

(red pill blue pill ahh.)

⟡

your niece pulls your glasses off the next morning and tries to eat them.

you let her.

mostly because you don’t feel like fighting.

your sister walks in with two coffees and a sigh.

“he text you again?”

you shake your head.

“did you tell him you know?”

“no.”

“do you want to?”

“…no.”

she sits beside you on the couch, passing you your coffee.

“what do you want?”

you breathe.

you don’t say “i want to matter.”

you don’t say “i want him to ask me what i need.”

you just say:

“i want him to want me back.”

⟡

you don’t cry over him until a tuesday.

it’s stupid.

it’s small.

your sister’s at the store. your niece is finally asleep. and you’re folding laundry with a glass of water and one of those soft lo-fi playlists playing from your phone speaker. everything’s fine.

until it’s not.

until you fold one of your own shirts—one you wore on the plane.

you still remember the exact way he looked at you.

the way he laughed when you made a dumb joke about in-flight pretzels.

the way he said, “i’m glad you’re sitting next to me.”

and now he’s just—

now he’s gone.

now he’s wings and news clips and silence.

and you’re holding a t-shirt, like it’s a ghost.

you cry.

quietly.

slowly.

into your own hands.

⟡

you don’t want to tell your sister.

but she knows.

she walks into the kitchen and sees your puffy face and your untouched tea and your niece gnawing on your slipper, and she just sighs.

“you text him again?”

you shake your head.

“then what happened?”

“…nothing.”

she softens.

wraps her arms around you.

“sometimes,” she whispers, “that hurts more.”

⟡

that night, you do the thing.

you text him.

you:

are you gonna tell me?

a minute passes.

two.

joaquín:

tell you what?

that you’re the falcon now

that you work with sam

that you’ve been doing things i only see in headlines

read.

no reply.

⟡

you toss your phone across the bed.

press both hands to your face.

your niece is asleep in the bassinet. your sister’s asleep on the couch. the house is so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat.

you whisper to the dark:

“he doesn’t owe you anything.”

but god, it would’ve been nice.

⟡

he replies at 2:43am.

joaquín:

i didn’t know how to say it

and then i got caught up

and it never felt like the right time

you see the typing bubble.

it disappears.

you:

okay

i’m sorry

i didn’t mean to lie

i just didn’t want you to look at me different

i don’t

i just wish you told me

instead of letting me find out like that

it made me feel like i don’t matter

read.

no reply.

⟡

the next morning, your niece wakes you up by crawling onto your chest and laughing at her own burp.

you want to laugh with her.

but all you can do is blink through the ache.

⟡

your sister makes pancakes and plays sza. (bc i love her!)

she opens all the windows. tries to lift the mood.

but you’re quiet.

folded into your own body on the couch. phone face down beside you.

“he hasn’t texted again?” she asks.

you shake your head.

she passes you a cup of coffee with extra whipped cream.

“you want me to beat him up?”

you smile, weak.

“no.”

“you sure? i can bring the baby for dramatic effect.”

you huff. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you’re sad.”

you nod.

you sip your coffee.

your niece claps her hands like she’s cheering you on.

you let yourself cry again. just a little.

and then you wipe your face and whisper, “i’m okay.”

⟡

your phone rings way later that night.

not buzzes.

not dings.

not another quiet little text at an odd hour.

no—this is ringing.

you blink at the screen like it’s foreign.

like you’ve forgotten what calls even look like.

joaquín.

calling.

you don’t answer at first.

you just sit there in your sister’s kitchen, hand hovering over the accept button, wondering if this is a good idea. if this is smart. if you can handle hearing his voice and not falling apart.

but then it goes to voicemail.

and your heart sinks.

he calls again ten seconds later.

you pick up on the third ring.

“hello?”

his voice is fast.

breathless.

“hey. hi. sorry. i just—I don’t have long, and I didn’t wanna leave this like that.”

you blink. “what?”

and then—

you hear it.

a familiar voice in the background.

“you got sixty seconds, torres. let’s go.”

sam wilson.

you recognize it from interviews. from videos.

from the news.

and now he’s in your ear.

and so is joaquín.

“i messed up,” joaquín says, louder now. “i messed up bad and i know i did.”

you don’t say anything.

“i should’ve told you who i was. what i do. you deserved that.”

his voice softens.

“you still do.”

you swallow.

your voice is smaller than you want it to be. “why didn’t you?”

he exhales hard.

you hear the rush of wind. boots scuffing concrete.

“because it was real with you.”

a pause.

“and i liked having something real that didn’t come with all the rest of this shit. that wasn’t about the wings or the uniform or whatever the hell they put in headlines.”

you close your eyes.

“i liked being the guy next to you on the plane. the guy you joked about pretzels with.”

you whisper, “me too.”

another pause.

a longer one.

“listen, i don’t know if i deserve another shot. or if you even want that. but i needed you to know that i’m not gone. and i think about you more than i should.”

you blink hard.

tears threatening.

“torres!” sam yells. “now or never!”

“shit—okay—” he huffs. “i gotta go. i just—i’ll call you when i get back.”

“okay,” you say, quiet.

“take care of that baby,” he adds, softer.

and then—

click.

call ended.

⟡

you stand in your sister’s kitchen for a long time after that.

phone clutched to your chest.

knees shaky.

your sister finds you like that.

“did he call?”

you nod.

eyes glassy.

“was it good?”

you shrug.

“i don’t know.”

she pulls you into a hug.

your niece babbles in the background.

a cartoon plays on low volume.

you don’t know if you’re in love.

but you know it’s not nothing.

you know you’ll answer when he calls again.

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

⟡ made by @flxttershyz , please do not copy or repost without consent!!⟡

thank you for reading! leave any suggestions in comments or dms! im still trying to get this whole thing together. ^^

[cuntphoric]

you pretend to be mad & they offer themselves as a peace offering. you win.

features; gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna

a/n; first time making an smau kinda nervous

[verstappensrealwife]

The morning after - F1 TEXT AU

[f1 masterlist / f1 text au masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... driver accidentally texted their hookup (reader) instead of their friend the next morning…

ʚɞ containing: ln4, aka12, fa14, cl16, ls18, mv33, lh44, cs55, op81

ʚɞ warnings: nsfw , use of she/her pronouns ,

ʚɞ a/n: sorry I replaced franco with kimi !!

༻❁༺

Tags: @hales-in-universe @beforethestation @blakebearsblog @4481sworld @miahgonzalez16 @pear-1206 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @anamiad00msday @armystay89 @whore4fictionalman @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3

Like comment and subscribe 😝

[mywritersmind]

WRONG NUMBER

↳ ln4, op81, ka12, ih6

✦࿔‧ ۪۪۫ . 𐦍 . ۪۪۫ ‧࿔ ✦

In which… they think they’re texting their friend when they’re really texting you.

my first text fic! hope you enjoy <3

oscar piastri

isack hadjar

kimi antonelli

lando norris

[aestherin]

— I CAN SEE YOU ⊹₊⟡⋆

scaramouche x f!reader social media au

SUMMARY — you’ve been stanning scaramouche, a soloist, since before you can even remember. with the thinking that “he is out of your reach” and “we live in different worlds” already ingrained on your mind, just what are the odds that he already happens to be one of your stan account mutuals?

status: on-going | taglist: closed

genres: social media au, celebrity au, modern au, crack, fluff, a sprinkle of angst (?), hidden identities

extras: playlist — [click here] 🤍 (still a wip tho hehe)

author's notes:

3rd smau hello???

privacy (my ayato smau) spinoff !! scara will finally have his own story after 2? 3? years ToT

updates may be inconsistent, i don't have a posting schedule :>

again, idk what i'm doing haha

english is not my first language so expect grammatical and typographical errors (bear with me please :"D)

will contain swearing

ılıılıılıılıılı FEATURED ARTISTS. ---- sky.

----- scara.

TRACKLIST. ılıılıılıılıılı

intro (prologue): being a scara stan

track 01: him again ▸ track 02: make me track 03: not in public ▸ track 04: three months track 05: late ▸ track 06: our little secret track 07: nda ▸ track 08: we need progress track 09: have you listened to my songs? ▸ track 10: like them track 11: lost and life ▸ track 12: new neighbor track 13: skyshi ▸ track 14: tba track 15: tba ▸ track 16: tba track 17: tba ▸ track 18: tba track 19: tba ▸ track 20: tba track 21: tba ▸ track 22 tba track 23: tba ▸ track 24: tba

outro (epilogue): tba

TAGLIST I (closed; 50/50) @kararisa @aries-afk @aetherialcrafter @jamieexistss @lordbugs @aerisellesuchi @adres-tia @luvlockettt @kinichval @miiltrix @suzueuieeeee @automaticpatroltragedy @ahirusstuff @kyuki07 @kunikuni1819 @hungryreadingaddict @deariroha @rosieyama @slayzzz @tired-jaz @mellowberrie @kyouzki @riabriyn @ravenbc @lalalaloveallmydays @moonlitreveri3 @skyoverkill1 @xiaomainlmao @phoenix-eclipses @yomishen @anemosmybeloved @iaraluvs @kunikuzushiit @lockandkeys @yoursockstinks @idkwhattoputasmyusernme @d1gital-data @shyentsmissingink @liuaneee @najaemism @mywillt0live @aswiftiechildofapollo @toekissers @meigalaxy @nishiriks @executeher @verafunny @gl00muraaii @lily-isalittlegirl @just-a-hopeless-romantic

TAGLIST II (closed; 50/50) (can't mention bc tumblr limits 50 mentions per post :'( but rest assured you guys are added ^^)

@franaby @shrimplyasleep @scaraenthusiast1 @kyon-cherri @kunikissr @withnners @audristarzz @heusalettle @mayarisan @eternallykira-143 @cindywasneverhere @meowrenapurrdo @itsjustmillie @flowzel @ohmyfinggod @zuhahearts @scarasbaby @euphoraia @yotraumainthebuilding @pinkismyfavcolor @dazqa @jym-jazzily @usagiarchive @ddivilove @jinjjjia @axquella @qt-yhuji @jayzioxx @nishislcve @neuviloved @sayayy @ttalgi @crucnhice @vi0let-writes @ilovwfurina @meiudoll @theblueblub @featuredtofu @samyayaya @xianamin @aubriellamarie @b-bbytears @cl0udii-m00n @potteraep @dreamyy @cutiecupiid @liyahbug @atlatcaheart @akarisuzuk1 @saechiro

TAGLIST III (closed; 50/50)

@pglt19 @mochipls @3cst4syy @yuukigyatgyat @anqelkoz @fuyuscafe @knuiui @lun4rchive @reivelmin @amurotoorudesu @chiesnupi @karma-gisa @nomnom21 @sammybeefangirls @ddurandals @hotgirlshit5 @jenlickedem @lunavixia @dksfl920 @angelkazusstuff @eonsadr1ft @scaraswifeey @unhinged-atrocities @xxrexx @tiedsuccubus @enrions @pinxeajin @thegalaxyisunfolding @rvoulte @magica-ren @siasseltzers @deffenferofjustice @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @idexmids @viannasthings @dreamayy @mellowmochi030 @meowmewow7 @eternal-dokja @wrzloyd @iloveescara @axkushvii @ayayaaayyiire @lxkeeeee @shutingstar @jiminscarmex @help-whatdoimakemyusername @kangyeonie @liyan2u @a1-ic3

[nanamistie]

"He lied to you about seeing his ex"

This is my second post, so I hope you like it! Reblogs are appreciated. Please don't repost my work anywhere else.

CW: nothing but angst. Maybe cheating? Cursing.

Part 2 is here part 3 is here

[luvismenu]

. motive — jeon jungkook (series) completed

m.list , navi , no series taglist

pairing: bbsf / tattoo artist jk x oc

genre:

smau + written

brother's best friend , e2l , childhood friends

summary: jungkook is your brother’s best friend, someone you’ve grown up with. the two of you have a knack for clashing, always throwing attitude and finding ways to piss each other off. yet, there’s a connection neither of you can ignore.

warnings: grumpy/rude jungkook and oc, they are lowkey toxic, implied + actual smut , lots of crazy banter and sexual tension, and jealous moments ofc. edit: crazy drama, slow burn-ish, stubborn brother drama, vminkook drama, broken friendships, past relationships,

index:

pt.1 , pt.2 , pt.3 , pt.4 , pt.5 , pt.6 , pt.7 , pt.8 , pt.9 , pt.10 , pt.11 , pt.12 , pt.13 , pt.14 , pt.15 , pt.16 , pt.17 , pt.18 , pt.19 (1/2) — (2/2) , pt.20 end .

extras / requests:

manifest it — nsfw

© 2025 luvi. All rights reserved.

[thejujvtsupost]

Pregnancy Symptoms II: Cravings

💗Established relationship, fluff and pregnancy. As always pls ignore typos 🙂‍↕️ I’m terrible at proofreading💗

Part 1 Part 3

smau masterlist • Taglist open!

🏷️: @pixelcafe-network @guacam011y @starlightanyaaa @parasite-b

[robinminustherichard]

[UNKNOWN NUMBER] 1 NEW MESSAGE: Hi Tommy. This is Ravi.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER] 1 NEW MESSAGE: Panikkar.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER] 1 NEW MESSAGE: Like from the bar.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER] 1 NEW MESSAGE: Or from the 118. Buck's Co-Worker.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER] 1 NEW MESSAGE: Sorry, Evan's Co-Worker.

[TOMMY KINARD]: I do know his nickname is Buck. I also do remember you, I promise. What can I do for you?

[UNKNOWN NUMBER] 1 NEW MESSAGE: Right, of course. So I really do not want to be in Buck's business but like, everyone is kind of being a bad friend to him? And every day he looks more sad and it's kind of killing me.

[TOMMY KINARD]: Uh, okay? That's tough bud.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER] 1 NEW MESSAGE: Come on dude don't make me spell it out. Can you come do your weird Tommy magic again please and fix him? He's threatening to transfer houses. I've tried getting the others to notice but it's not really going well. I took him out to a bar tonight and he's just kind of stared at a TV playing a basketball game the whole time. He didn't even notice me putting his phone back after stealing your number from it while he was in the bathroom.

[TOMMY KINARD]: I don't know who you've been talking to but I don't think I have any magic there. Evan is an adult, and we broke up. Like at least twice I think.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER] 1 NEW MESSAGE: Damn whenever people talked about the Great Tommy Kinard they didn’t say he was a quitter.

[TOMMY KINARD]: Okay first of all, that was rude.

[TOMMY KINARD]: Second of all, I am a quitter and I am proud of it.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER] 1 NEW MESSAGE: Dude.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER] 1 NEW MESSAGE: What if I told you that he baked a triple chocolate cake at 2 AM in the station the other night and no one even said thank you while they ate it and he looks like he hasn't slept in weeks.

[TOMMY KINARD]: I agree that isn't great. But it's not my place to talk to him or anything right now, Ravi. I'm sorry but that's the reality of it.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER] 1 NEW MESSAGE: And what if I told you that Eddie announced he was coming back to L.A. and gave Buck 72 hours notice to find a new place to live or risk sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future? He's drinking a White Claw right now Tommy. A White Claw.

[TOMMY KINARD]: Okay that is

[TOMMY KINARD]: Well

[TOMMY KINARD]: Fuck it.

[TOMMY KINARD]: What bar?

[RAVI PANIKKAR] 1 NEW MESSAGE: The same one, dude. I was hopeful, but, well.

[TOMMY KINARD]: When this blows up again it's on you. Be there in 30.

[RAVI PANIKKAR] 1 NEW MESSAGE: Sick thanks man see you soon!!!!!!

"Who are you texting?" Buck asks, breaking out of his fog for a moment, "pretty big grin you've got there."

Buck is trying, clearly, but the smile he tries for doesn't quite get there.

"Eh, just a friend. Needed a favor."

"Oh, uh, are you good? I can--"

"Nah, Buck, it's all good. He already said yes. Plus it's honestly kind of more for him than me. Kind of guy that doesn't see what's right in front of him, you know?"

"Oh," Buck says, looking a little lost, "y-yeah, I get that."

"So, that last rescue. Kind of crazy, right? I think I could have swung the weight a little better--"

"What?" Buck says, a spark of something finally breaking through as he pushes the White Claw aside and leans forward, "No way, that was great work, Ravi! The way you--"

Ravi lets him go on, hoping that the topic change will keep him distracted enough that he won't shut down again before Tommy gets there.

[jngwonu]

bf ni-ki texts!

GENRE: ni-ki x fem!reader

WARNINGS: friends2lovers, fluff, swearing.

a/n guys im still tryna get the hang of this pls dont attack me i suck at writing💔😓

THANK YOU FOR READING!

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

visit my masterlist here

[bnnysweets]

—˚ ﹒𝜗𝜚 texts between ellie x fem!reader part. 3

♡ ྀི pt. 1 & 2

author’s note: english is not my first language. reader is latina! (unfortunately not brazilian☹️mas pras gatinhas brasileiras tô fazendo um smut em pt com a ellie! vcs gostam?). again sorry for being inactive :(( i love yall thanks for all the support! <33

warnings: flufff!! suggestive at the end if you squint.

[motorsportbarbie13]

"You Are Insane, but I Still Love You"

bothering your boyfriend is one of your favorite things to do AKA texting him the most unhinged questions to get his reactions.

featuring: lando norris, max verstappen, charles leclerc, liam lawson, oscar piastri, george russell, and ollie bearman.

My Master List Have a Request?

[formulaonecrumbs]

can’t have his kids

(texts)

summary: established relationship. you told Lando you found out you were infertile and he didn’t know how to process that information and left. this is the aftermath of that.

pairings: Lando (i’ll work on creating ones for others but this is my first time so bear with me)

warnings: kind of angsty, kind of fluffy, Lando low-key doesn’t know how to communicate, language i guess, and slight talk of infertility (hope that’s not too triggering for some of you)

A/N: HI MY BABIES! this is my first time ever posting something like this. well, posting in general but still. it kinda sucks but eh i’m having fun with it. i’m terrible at texting like Lando (or anyone for that matter) but i’m trying. hope this isn’t too terrible and feeds y’all’s delusions. LOVE U :3 (OH! also his name is ‘f1 driver lando norris’ cause i think it’s funny that reader meets Lando, names him that so he doesn’t get lost in their contacts and when the two start dating, reader doesn’t change it. lando’s butthurt about it but finds it funny. just some odd lore for you guys 🤗)

[verstappensrealwife]

You’re jealous… Of a baby? - F1 TEXT AU

[f1 masterlist / f1 text au masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... driver is jealous of the attention reader is giving to her nephew.

ʚɞ containing: ln4, fa14, cl16, ls18, mv33, fc43, lh44, cs55, op81

ʚɞ warnings: some illusions of sex but nothing weird.

Click here to be tagged in my works.

Tags: @fadingcloudballoon-blog @carlossainzapologist @nina-or-anna-or-nora @hales-in-universe @ricciardosheart @ethereal0810 @sturmatt @elieanana @nichmeddar @lexy9716 @sarakay-gvf @random-fanfiction @maymustdie @i-wish-this-was-me @uhhvictoria @pear-1206 @Canyonmoon-2 @Jnicole_44_4 @Lilypat

[mywritersmind]

ARE YOU AWAKE?

↳ ka12, ln4, op81, fc43

✦࿔‧ ۪۪۫ . 𐦍 . ۪۪۫ ‧࿔ ✦

Getting a text at one in the morning from a formula one driver…

warnings : insinuation of 18+ things

lando norris

oscar piastri

kimi antonelli

franco colapinto