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iamred-iamyellow · 9 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Dancing in the Courthouse

♥ masterlist | request rules | part of my 1k event

♥ pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

♥ synopsis: In 2021 you and oscar decided to elope due to your unpredictable schedules. now that you have more stability in your life, you were able to throw a dream wedding with the man you loved most in the world.

♥ smau + written - as always none of the pictures are mine <3

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: first fic apart of the 1k event!

-Paris, 2021-

The streets of Paris were bustling as you took a seat in your Uber. You could hear a Taylor Swift song playing faintly on the car's radio as you pulled out your phone.

You

hey osc I'm on my way back

Oscar checked the notification and panicked a little internally. He slipped the device back into his dress pants and shook his hands.

"Relax, tout ira bien," Estie assured Oscar. (translation: everything will be fine)

He sighed and turned towards the two French men, "Are you sure?"

All Pierre did was laugh.

"Call me when it's over," Pierre said with a smirk and guided Esteban out the door, into an elevator.

You were in France on a girls night out with your best friend Kika, whom you met through Formula 1. Little did the two of you know that Pierre and Esteban snuck over to your hotel room in order to help Oscar set up a surprise.

You tapped your keycard on your hotel door and called out your boyfriend's name. You set your purse down on a small marble table and kicked off your heels, making your way through the main room.

A small trail of pink rose petals guided you to the terrace causing your heartbeat to pick up.

Was this really happening?

You opened the glass doors to find more rose petals surrounding the floor and a very handsome Oscar. You strode over to him in complete shock until he grabbed your hands in his.

"Y/n you have been my best friend for as long as I can remember," he said as his thumb drew circles on one of your fingers. "You have stood by me since the beginning of my career and I could never imagine a life without you. I know we don't get to spend as much time together as we'd like to, but that is why I wanted to do this today."

He slowly got down on one knee in front of you and pulled out a black velvet box to reveal a silver ring.

"Will you marry me?"

You squatted down to his height and mumbled, "Is that even a question?"

You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him gently, "Yes of course I will."

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-July 4, 2024-

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, lilymhe, and 300,572 more

ynln london girl

📸 creds: @/oscarpiastri

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user1 lmao the oscar picture creds

oscarpiastri I risked my life for that first pic

ynln @/oscarpiastri you were on another balcony?

user3 if anyone risked their life for that picture it's Alex

user2 speaking of alex she looks SO pretty there

carlossainz55 red nails for ferrari

ynln anything for you carlitos 😽

iamrebeccad so so true and real

user4 pretties

user9 lets all manifest an oscar win for this weekend

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, hattiepiastri, and 1,481,583 more

ynpiastri oops I guess the cat is out of the bag huh! the rumors are in fact true, oscar and I are married. we have been trying to keep it a secret since our elope in 2021, but it seems as though I slipped up with a photo on my insta. at least it was the perfect timing for the reception we're throwing this summer 🥰

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nicolepiastri see you at the sequel wedding!!

ynpiastri <3

user1 ...sorry?

user8 PARDON

user12 THEY'RE ACTUALLY MARRIED

user2 POOKIE YOU CANT JUST POST A SHIRTLESS OSCAR LIKE THAT

user7 her username change I am so endeared

mclaren how many of you knew...

logansargeant I did

alexandrasaintmleux I did

charles_leclerc I did

landonorris I DIDNT?!?!

landonorris @/oscarpiastri how come charles knew before me

charles_leclerc @/landonorris he's my son???

iamrebeccad I'm so happy for you!

ynpiastri tysm becks 🥹🫶

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by pierregasly, oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, and 123,740 more

wagupdates the girlies pulling up to the belgian paddock

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user1 the color scheme 🛐

user2 PLS did they plan this for y/n’s wedding?

wagupdates @/user2 we think so!!

oscarpiastri I guess I need to step up my fashion game

charles_leclerc @/oscarpiastri I can help 😁

ynpiastri @/charles_leclerc no you cannot

user7 I love them

user4 they're GORGEOUS

francolapinto 😘

user8 ITS MR STEAL YOUR GIRL

user3 HAHAHA

user9 FRANCO Y/N IS MARRIED

charles_leclerc @/francocolapinto Te sugiero que elijas sabiamente tus próximas palabras (I suggest you choose your next words wisely)

francolapinto sorry sorry! its a joke its a joke 😅

user10 the threatening spanish 😭

carlossainz55 @/user10 I taught him that

fernandoalo_oficial @/carlossainz55 and I taught YOU that

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by pierregasly, ynpiastri, carmenmundt, and 563,885 more

francisca.cgomes rich bitch energy

tagged; @/ynpiastri @/alexandrasaintmleux

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user1 are you shopping for dresses

francisca.cgomes mayybbe

ynpiastri GORGEOUS

francisca.cgomes NO YOU 😚

aussiegrit @/nicolepiastri do i get to walk oscar down the aisle

nicolepiastri no ��

charles_leclerc that’s right because i am

user2 the family seating is gonna go crazy lol

user5 so what’s the dog situation?

landonorris bark

ynpiastri @/landonorris NO 😭

user5 I MEANT LEO AND ROSCOE 💀

ynpiastri @/user5 leo we know is definitely going to be there! 🥰

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Wedding Day-

liked by alex_albon, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55, and 1,749,053 more

ynpiastri 💍

tagged; @/francisca.cgomes

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danielricciardo 🥹

pierregasly vous êtes tous les deux magnifiques (you both look gorgeous)

user6 the fact that kika is her maid of honor

user7 IM NOT CRYING

user4 the venue is STUNNING

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

There was a salty ocean breeze on a cliff-side of Monaco, the place you and Oscar picked for the wedding.

There were dozens of familiar faces along with beautiful greenery and pastel flowers decorating the space.

You were sat at your table with your husband Oscar as the toast’s began to start.

“Hi,” someone said into the mic with a smile. “I’m Kika.”

There were a few soft laughs from the crowd. She pulled a piece of paper out of her gold-colored dress.

“When I found out you eloped without me that day in Paris my first thought was ‘fuck you’.” she said causing some more chuckles to come from the guests.

“It was only because I wouldn’t get the chance to give you the speech I had planned—but here we are today and I’m so glad I finally get to say it. Over these past couple years you have been my best friend, in and outside the paddock. I have so much love for you and I couldn’t be happier for your relationship with Oscar.”

You got up from your seat and hugged her, eliciting a few ‘aws’ from the room.

Lando stood up next with the mic, “Oscar was the guy on the grid no one could shut the up about,” Lando spoke into the mic and everyone laughed. “I didn’t get it at first, but then I met him, and I got it. And I felt the same when I met Y/n. You two are lucky to have each other. Congrats, mate.”

He raised his glass of champagne causing everyone to clink their glasses and cheer.

liked by lewishamilton, aussiegrit, nicolepiastri, and 1,937,954 more

ynpiastri wifey

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user1 this is so cunty

wagupdates we heard that y/n’s heel broke and oscar had to carry her to the car (hence the last picture) 😭

user7 she is SO pretty

patriciooward great to see you again osc!

user6 I. LOVE. THEM.

user2 omg they’re so hot

user3 y/n’s outfits today >>>

lilymhe the reception was beautiful

ynpiastri <3

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zodoods · 2 years ago

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what if miraculous characters had tumblr

🐞 ladybug Follow

i want you all to know that if anyone gets akumatized on tuesday im quitting i have three tests and a part time job go to therapy

112,000 notes

🐞 ladybug Follow

YOURE ALL GOING TO HELL

16,440 notes

🐞 ladyblogger Follow

ladybug is 25? she should have been at da club...

🐞 ladybug Follow

im literally a minor

234,777 notes

🎸 guitarhero Follow

sometimes i want to kill myself but then i remember i havent seen my friends figure out their romantic tension yet and ive gotten too invested

4,569 notes

👦🏼 adrienagresteofficial Follow

Buy the New Gabriel Perfume here!

Carefree. Dreamy. Radiant.

🐈‍⬛ catboy Follow

@ladybug excuse me???

🐞 ladybug Follow

WRONG BLOG

🐞 ladybug-is-horny-heritage-post Follow

ladybug is horny heritage post

780,998 notes

🎧 djnino Follow

i just want everyone who posts adrien velocity gif edits on here to know that he's really just some white guy

🐈‍⬛ catboy Follow

real

2,009 notes

🖕 felixcantfathom Follow

dni if you're parisian because how on earth is NO other city getting akumatized...yall need to pack up the drama queen attitude im sick of seeing you on the news

114,987 notes

🐞 ladyblogger Follow

👦🏼 adrienagresteofficial Follow

Please stop voting for my dad...

12,890 notes

🐈‍⬛ catboy Follow

my nanny/stepmother/secretary said that "women should be allowed to murder their bosses with no repurcussions" she would do numbers on here

98,700 notes

💎 chloebougie Follow

AITA for causing 80% of the akumas in paris or do you all hate women

102 notes

🐈‍⬛ catboy Follow

i keep asking ladybug to hang out with me but she keeps blowing me off do u think she's cheating on me????

🐞 ladybug Follow

WE'RE NOT DATING STOP TELLING PEOPLE THAT IM CHEATING ON YOU

234,777 notes

do u guys want a part two i have sm of these kdjshgjhdsg

#dashboard simulator #miraculous ladybug #text #i need a new tag for shitposts i do it more than i post art

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thebearme · 4 months ago

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Hopefully this will be a good masterpost for Dogman's parents-

Joe is to the right, the brown and black shepherd. While Maggie is to the left, the mountain dog with the furry flopping ears- Remember that now!

They work with their owner Moe in his retirement home for restless sheep. Where sheep can live it rough outside in the mountains without the worry of getting eaten ... or overheating in their coats.

There was a routine, Wooly eye Moe will feed and shave the sheeps. Maggie will walk and watch them around the hills in the day, while Joe gets the night shift. It was a pretty steady routine that they followed...

Until they become parents-

They were okay with the pups until the responsibly of rising these pups began to show a negligence in caring for the sheep. So this later led to putting them for adoption,

Funny enough, that was the day Chief's mom drove him and Knight to the ranch. She came there for the extra wooly yarn that Moe was selling but Knight and Chief had different plans!

Once they made it to the back where they found the puppie adopt. And no worries, they aren't just 'giving em away' but YOU will be evaluated by the pups to see if they would to go with you. Then Maggie vibe checks you and then you need a parent's permission, luckily Knight made it past all the steps- with alil help from Chief's mom. But for some reason it seems like Greg and Knight were connected to each other in first sight, like long lost brothers.

And start that day the became inseparable.

Now let me quickly get into the siblings-

Donut! (one anon named him that and i kept it) He's the silly brother and was about by Dippy. No a surprise his name is Donut now huh?

Coco is pretty normal, she was adopted by a farmer so she is still pretty country. But TRYS to pretend that she's not and that she actually came from a long trip in paris but she's not fooling anyone... except maybe Lil Petey. But you can't blame him, he doesn't even know what the Eiffel Tower looks like.

Swoopy, if you thought Dogman was mute then you don't know Swoopy. He's silent always, and he doesn't even sign to communicate to anyone. He just stands there... but somehow he always gets his points across. But sometimes he's abit of a silent menace.

To answer the BURNING QUESTION yes, they do love and support Dogman. Explaining the situation to all of them was scary for Dogman but fortunately he was swarm with unconditional love from his siblings.

No matter their differences and how long it's been since they've seen each other, they're still family. Not because their blood dictates that but because they CHOOSE too.

#dogman #dog man #dogman oc #lil petey #bonus thing- Lil Petey is sooo hyped he got a auntie and uncles #the siblings raised a eyebrow that dogman is with a cat but they're happy he 'bagged a smart talker'#and that was the day dogman had to unteach them about the stereotype they have for cats #but yes- petey is a smart cat #all the while on this visit petey had to practically deal with three more dogmans- help him

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theonottsbxtch · 1 month ago

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PARADISE | LANDOSCAR

an: i felt things i shouldn't have felt writing this, this was based off of that monaco video mclaren posted as if those aren't two husbands on their honeymoon bro

summary: monaco, 1984. summer drips gold. lando wears linen and legacy, oscar smells like cigarettes and cash, and their lover? soft-spoken, sun-drenched, dangerously adored. they sip champagne on balconies and ruin each other in bed sheets. it’s love, but it tastes like lust and salt and something that can’t last past september.

wc: 4k

IN THE SUMMER OF 1984, Monaco shimmered with a kind of wealth that didn’t need to shout. It whispered, behind the smoked glass windows of Lamborghinis crawling through narrow streets. It flashed discreetly on wrists and collarbones in casino salons, and it echoed between the walls of penthouse suites high above the Mediterranean. It was a decade that believed in indulgence without apology, and for Lando and Oscar, indulgence had become something of a religion.

Lando had grown up with money. English money. The kind that came with decaying country houses, Savile Row tailors, and inherited attitudes. His wealth was old, but Lando wasn’t. He was young enough to charm, rich enough to own, and clever enough to keep the world guessing. He’d made his first fortune in commodities, his second in art, and his third in what the people never spoke of. Something that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Lando knew how to spend money in a way that made other men feel poor.

Oscar, by contrast, was noise to Lando’s hush. An Australian with the easy magnetism of someone who’d never known cold winters or self doubt, he spoke with the unbothered confidence of a man who had made himself. No old estates in Surrey for him, Oscar’s wealth was fresh, minted in the fast, wild corners of the oil trade and tech before anyone else saw it coming. He’d turned his first million into a billion almost by accident, and then, for sport, bought a vineyard in Marlborough he never visited.

The two of them together made a kind of sense that didn’t need explaining. They were opposites, and exactly the same. Competitive but loyal. Brilliant but restless. And then, there was the girl, the third point in their quietly scandalous triangle. She was younger, though not foolish, and unlike the men, she’d arrived in Monte Carlo not with a bang but with grace. Monegasque by birth, though rarely by presence, she moved like someone who’d never been told no, and didn’t care for the world anyway.

She was never introduced to high society. Not to strangers, not properly. The locals pretended not to gossip, the expats didn’t bother pretending. But all of them watched when she walked into the room, between Lando’s English elegance and Oscar’s Australian charm, a question mark dressed in diamonds.

They weren’t secretive, the three of them, but they weren’t careless either. They lived like royalty on the fringes of a very public world. Champagne breakfasts on the deck of their yacht moored in Port Hercule, sun-drenched afternoons in villas hidden in the cliffs, nights that blurred into each other between the Casio de Monte-Carlo and the back rooms of Hotel de Paris.

It wasn’t just money. It was romance. It was lust. It was a kind of closeness that didn’t fit into polite society’s definitions. They were, in every sense, theirs.

They didn’t worship at altars, unless you counted the marble vanity in the villa’s marble bath, where her lipstick stained the rim of a half-drunk coupe and Lando’s cufflinks glinted like relics in the low morning light. Still, there was something devotional in the way they moved around each other. As if each touch was a kind of prayer, every sigh a hymn half-remembered from some more honest, more ancient faith.

Desire, for them, wasn’t messy. It was choreographed. Sacred. And not because they were restrained, God, no. But because they understood the weight of leisure when it was shared without shame. She had a way of pressing her hand against Oscar’s chest, fingers splayed just so, like she was checking for a heartbeat, or maybe proving to herself that he still had one. And when Lando bent to kiss the inside of her wrist, it wasn’t casual. It was ritual, like anointing a relic.

Their bed, one of several, had seen things that could damn them in three languages. But there was no guilt here. Only indulgence, and something else. Reverence. The kind that only exists when love and lust refuse to stand apart. In another century, someone might have painted them onto a cathedral ceiling: Oscar, the brute angel with wine-dark eyes; Lando, a fallen saint dressed in silk; and her, always her, the holy centre of their orbit, both Madonna and Magdalene, untouchable and entirely touched.

Sometimes, they barely spoke. Monaco outside their window glittered and blinked like a blessing, but inside the villa, it was silence and breath and skin. She’d stretch like a cat in the morning sun, the sheet falling low, and Oscar, always the more impulsive, would murmur something obscene in that thick, drawling voice that made even sin sound charming. Lando, slower, more deliberate, would light a cigarette and watch them, eyes narrowed like he was trying to remember if he believed in heaven after all.

If he did, it was here. Not beyond. Not above. But here, in this villa, in this bed, in this unorthodox trinity that answered to no god but their own appetites.

By day, they played their roles. Lando in his linen suits and watchmaker’s smile. Oscar, loose-limbed and sunburnt, grinning at strangers like he wasn’t scandal in human form. She, the quiet storm between them, never trying to belong, because she didn’t have to. They belonged to her.

No one dared ask how it worked. Not really. People speculated, of course, they always do, when they’re too afraid to admit their own wants. But the truth was simpler than scandal allowed: it worked because it was true. Because the world outside might’ve been ruled by money and manners, but theirs was ruled by touch, trust, and a kind of love that didn’t need translation.

Morning didn’t come loudly in their villa above the port. It slipped in, soft and unapologetic, curling between linen curtains and dappling across skin like a whispered confession. The light touched her first. It always did. She lay half on Oscar’s chest, half draped over the scattered remains of last night, a silk camisole, a pair of cuffed trousers, the unmistakable scent of something rich and forbidden.

Oscar stirred beneath her, not with a groan but with a breath, the kind that pulled from the bottoms of the sea. One arm looped lazily around her waist, the other reaching back to tug at Lando, who’d turned in sleep, one leg tangled in the sheet, lips parted as if in prayer or defiance. He blinked awake slowly, the way someone might rise from a dream they weren’t ready to leave.

No one spoke. They never did, not straight away. It would have broken something sacred, this first, suspended moment, where bodies remembered each other before words had the chance to cheapen it.

She shifted, deliberately, her thigh brushing Oscar’s. A small sound escaped him, half laugh, half groan. Lando’s gaze, hazel-green and heavy lidded, slid from her to Oscar, then back. He sat up, slow as sin, and reached for the cigarette case on the nightstand, pausing only to drag the backs of his fingers across her spine. Goosebumps bloomed like flowers after rain.

Oscar rolled onto his side, fingers skating down the curve of her hip. “You’re dangerous in the daylight,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and sex.

She tilted her head, smiling without showing teeth. “You always say that.” Lando lit his cigarette, exhaled the smoke through his nose, and gave her a look that was part adoration, part warning. “That’s because it’s always true.”

There were no boundaries, not really. Oscar leaned in, catching her mouth with his, and it was unhurried, open-mouthed, full of that quiet, aching hunger that didn’t fade with sleep. Lando, still watching, reached out, his hand curling in her hair, guiding her mouth away from Oscar’s and toward his own. There was no jealousy here, only rhythm. Repetition. Worship.

She moved between them like she was born to it. A shared indulgence. A private ritual. It was never rushed. Desire had space to stretch out in their bed, to breathe, to build itself slowly into something that didn’t need naming. Fingers traced the same paths they'd taken the night before, mouths mapped new ones. There were gasps and half-formed words, hands knotted in sheets, a body arched against another, and somewhere between Lando’s whisper and Oscar’s growl, the morning folded in on itself.

Eventually, they collapsed back into each other like a cathedral ceiling falling gently inward.

They didn’t dress right away. There was no need. Monaco could wait. The world always did.

Breakfast was served on the terrace, as it always was, white linen tablecloth, chilled citrus in crystal glasses, a basket of croissants that no one touched until at least the second espresso. The sea below glittered like a promise someone might actually keep, and from this height, the principality looked like a toy version of itself.

Lando wore a dressing gown that hadn’t been fastened properly in years. Oscar had pulled on yesterday’s shirt, left open, sleeves rolled, like some Mediterranean sailor lounging between conquests. She sat between them in nothing but a man’s shirt, whose, no one ever bothered to check, legs tucked beneath her, sunglasses pushing her hair back like a crown.

They didn’t speak much. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was companionable, indulgent. A silence full of everything that had already been said without words.

Oscar topped up her glass. Lando buttered her toast. She laughed at something neither of them had quite said, and in that moment, as the breeze from the sea stirred the corners of the tablecloth and the sun warmed their bare knees, the whole world felt like it belonged to them.

And for now, it did.

The rest of the morning drifted by like a silk scarf caught in the breeze. The villa had its own rhythm, a kind of hush reserved for the very rich and the very loved, where time bowed politely out of the room and left them to it.

They moved slowly, as though afraid to disturb the spell. She wandered barefoot through the hallways, the marble cool beneath her feet, one of the boy’s shirts brushing her thighs. The scent of vetiver and orange blossom lingered in the air like memory. Oscar followed, eventually, buttoning his shirt for no one in particular, his hair still damp from a half-hearted rinse in the en-suite. He didn’t speak, just watched her, his mouth curled in that half-smile he wore when he was thinking something filthy and poetic all at once.

Lando, meanwhile, lingered on the terrace, cigarette balanced between his fingers, eyes hidden behind tortoiseshell sunglasses. He looked like he’d stepped off a Riviera film set, all limbs and indifference, the sea behind him like a painted backdrop. There was something of the priest about him in moments like these, the high priest of pleasure, maybe, or of decadence. He didn’t move quickly, he never raised his voice, but when he turned his head and said her name, just once, low and slow, it was enough to stop her where she stood.

She came to him without needing to be told. Oscar followed, wordlessly, until the three of them stood together in the dappled light, the scent of coffee and salt air wrapping around them like silk. Lando kissed her then, not urgently, but reverently, as though she were something sacred and rare. Oscar kissed the back of her neck at the same time, his hands warm against her bare thighs, and it was all choreographed without choreography, like something they’d rehearsed in a dream.

There was no rush to their afternoons. Nothing to prepare for. They were the main event. The world outside their villa didn’t intrude; it waited, like an obedient understudy. She lay stretched across a velvet chaise while Oscar read aloud from a novel he'd only half-finished, his voice laced with mockery and charm. Lando poured another round of champagne, the bottle sweating in its bucket like it had been running late.

They touched each other constantly, not always to provoke, sometimes just to remind. A hand on the small of the back, a kiss to the shoulder, a thumb drawn lazily over a pulse

point. Every moment was a small ceremony, a quiet act of possession and tenderness.

At dusk, the light shifted, turning the villa gold, then rose, then blue. She dressed slowly, if at all, and always with an audience. Lando might help with a zip, Oscar with a clasp, but neither of them ever hurried the process. Watching her was half the point. It was theatre, and they were its most devoted congregation.

They didn’t go out that evening. Monaco could keep its baccarat and its grand foyers. The villa had everything they needed: music on vinyl, a clawfoot tub drawn too hot, and the kind of curtains that only ever stayed half-closed. She danced in the living room with bare feet and a glass in hand, the hem of her slip catching the light like a whisper. Lando played records, Oscar lit candles, and everything smelt faintly of citrus and bodies.

It wasn’t perfection, what they had. It was too sensual for that, too lived-in. But it was decadent. It was rich. It was everything those old Hollywood pictures had promised and never quite delivered, except here, it was real.

By half past nine, the villa had exhaled into its evening shape. Lamplight low, shadows long, and Ella Fitzgerald pouring softly from the walnut cabinet radio in the corner of the lounge. The windows were open just enough to let in the sea air, salted and warm, carrying with it the faintest sound of the engines down in the port, like distant applause.

She sat curled in one corner of the oversized velvet sofa, one leg tucked beneath her, a glass of Bourgogne in her hand. Lando was stretched beside her, shirt undone to the sternum, watching her with that same unreadable expression he wore in art galleries and auction houses, part admiration, part calculation. Oscar had taken the floor, leaning back against the sofa’s base, his wine balanced on the parquet behind him, head tilted back into her thigh like it belonged there. It did.

Their dynamic wasn’t written down anywhere. It didn’t need to. It was understood in looks, in pauses, in the slow burn of shared breath. She had softness, yes, but it wasn’t fragility. It was control wrapped in velvet. When she moved, they noticed. When she spoke, they listened. And when she lapsed into French, low, careless, lazy as a cat stretching in the sun, it was a kind of spell.

“C’est une soirée pour ne rien faire, sauf être regardée,” she said, eyes half lidded, looking nowhere in particular.

Oscar let out a breath that was almost a laugh, mouthing the words back without understanding them, then nuzzling into her leg like a man prepared to worship his way into fluency. Lando, on the other hand, understood perfectly. Of course he did, he wasn’t raised in the Surrey countryside without a French tutor.

“She says it’s a night for doing nothing,” he murmured, without taking his eyes off her, “except being watched.”

She smiled, slow and secretive. “Exactement.”

Oscar turned his face, kissing the inside of her knee. “You’re impossible,” he whispered.

“Inévitable,” she corrected, and tilted her glass.

The wine was deep red, slow and full bodied, like everything else in the room. Lando leaned forward and took the glass from her hand, raising it to his lips without asking. When he passed it to Oscar, he did it without looking, already busy with the buttons of her shirt.

She didn’t stop him.

There was something theatrical about it, but not rehearsed. They weren’t putting on a show. It was simply how they were, this slow, unfolding ceremony of lust and love and laziness, every moment a continuation of the last.

Oscar moved first, pressing his mouth higher, chasing the trail of Lando’s fingers left behind. She arched just enough to let him, her hand slipping through Lando’s hair, tugging, not harsh but firm. Commanding.

It was always like this. Lando with his deliberateness, Oscar with his heat and her somewhere between the two, orchestrating without lifting more than a finger. A single word from her, a hum, even silence, it was enough to draw them in like tide to moon.

She slid lower on the sofa, the shirt parting easily, the curve of her thigh catching the light. Oscar was already halfway between her knees, murmuring things into her skin that had no meaning and every meaning. Lando kissed her collarbone, slow and reverent, like a man tasting communion.

There was no need to rush. They never did. Their intimacy was fluent, learned, full of in-jokes and remembered moments: the way she always gasped, softly, when teeth grazed her hipbone; how Oscar would close his eyes, almost in pain, when she whispered something filthy in French. Lando rarely spoke in these moments, he simply watched, kissed, touched, directed with the smallest shifts of hand and gaze.

Oscar then turned his face up toward Lando, mouth glistening slightly from where he'd kissed the inside of her thigh, his chest rising and falling with a rhythm that had nothing to do with breath. Lando, still perched above her, one hand tangled lazily in her hair, looked down at him with that maddening stillness he wore like cologne.

And then, without flourish, without warning, he leaned in and kissed him.

It was unhurried, indulgent. The kind of kiss you gave to someone you knew by scent alone. Their mouths met with a familiarity that was both soft and scorching, as though they'd been doing this forever and would continue doing it long after the wine had dried and the silk had creased. Oscar made a sound, low in his throat, and brought a hand up to the back of Lando’s neck, fingers tightening, pulling him closer.

She watched from beneath half-lowered lashes, her lips parted, hair slipping across her shoulder. The candlelight caught the sheen of her skin, the curve of one breast exposed beneath the fallen edge of her shirt. She shifted, slow and feline, and reached for the camera on the table, the old Leica, silver and black, worn leather strap coiled beside the ashtray.

The click of the shutter was soft but final. A delicate punctuation.

They broke apart at the sound, not startled, but aware. Oscar looked up at her, grinning like sin itself, breath unsteady. Lando didn’t move, just turned his head a fraction, his eyes finding hers, slow as smoke curling from a match just struck.

“What are you doing with that, darling?” he asked, voice low and rough around the edges.

She held the camera up again, one knee drawn beneath her, the shirt slipping further down her shoulder. “Capturing something beautiful,” she said, almost a whisper. “Quelque chose de sacré.”

Something sacred.

Oscar tilted his head. “You gonna keep that one to yourself?”

She smirked. “Maybe.”

“Cheeky.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

Lando reached for her then, hand sliding along her thigh, over the back of her knee, the weight of it grounding. “Let her keep it,” he murmured, eyes still on her. “She sees what the rest of the world doesn’t.”

The camera dangled from her fingers now, forgotten for the moment. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to Oscar’s jaw, then up to Lando’s cheekbone, a line of reverence drawn in lips and heat. The three of them folded in again, arms, hands, skin. A tangle of limbs and desire, lacquered in lamplight.

Somewhere, the jazz track changed. The bass deepened. A saxophone sighed.

And in their villa above the sea, kissed golden by the Riviera night, they became timeless, three parts of a whole, worshipping each other with mouths, with memory, with every quiet, exquisite inch of skin.

The years went on.

Not with fanfare, not with the suddenness that age sometimes brings, but with the long, slow glide of a yacht across calm water. They didn’t rush. Why would they? They had everything they ever wanted.

Money, of course, stayed the same. It always did. In bank vaults and shell companies and discreet portfolios, money sat like a silent fourth in the room, always watching, never needing to be mentioned.

But they changed. Subtly, then not so subtly. Lando’s curls silvered at the temples first, though the tan never faded. Oscar’s frame filled out, more muscle, more gravity, more presence. And she, always slightly younger, slightly unknowable, remained their soft centre. Unchanged in spirit if not in skin. Still their girl, still their flame, still the hand that stirred the glass.

They didn’t settle like the others did. There were no dinner parties with matching crockery, no school runs or shared mortgages with friends who wore linen and said things like we’ve bought in the country. The villa was sold on a sun-washed afternoon, the kind of day where the sea looked painted. They didn’t cry. They packed slowly, kissed each room goodbye, and moved into a terrace flat in the old part of town, slightly crooked floors, a balcony only just wide enough for three chairs and a bottle of wine.

They liked it better that way. Less space, more closeness.

The sensuality never left. It aged with them, like good scotch and secrets. Their touch softened, deepened, became more certain. There was no game, no chase. Just ritual. Just return. Oscar still kissed like he needed to be forgiven. Lando still touched her like he was handling something priceless. And she remained at the centre, still part-muse, part-madonna, part-devil in silk.

They were known, eventually. Not famous exactly, but recognisable in those circles where wealth meets art and no one asks too many questions. They were spoken about in murmurs at parties. You know, the three of them. Still together, apparently. And always followed by a pause. A look. A flicker of envy or desire.

They celebrated the year 2000 on a yacht in the Adriatic. Champagne, stars, a thousand-dollar bottle of something none of them could name. Midnight came in with fireworks over the water, distant cheers from other boats.

And below deck, hot, breathless, skin to skin, she was caught between them again. Oscar above her, his hands braced against the wall as she wrapped her legs around his hips. Lando behind her, mouth pressed to the nape of her neck, then her teeth in Oscar’s shoulder to keep the moan from rising too loud.

“Merde,” Oscar gasped, eyes fluttering. “They’ll hear.”

“They’ll envy,” Lando muttered, voice hoarse.

She just smiled, head thrown back, lit by moonlight and sin.

They visited their respective homes. Oscar’s family in Australia, all wind and green hills and cousins who watched her like she was carved from another world. Lando’s mother in the Cotswolds, in a cottage filled with roses and old jazz records. She brought the wine and wore no bra under her coat. Neither of them apologised for her.

And always, they returned to each other. To the terrace flat, to the chair legs that scraped the tiles, to late breakfasts with no clothes and the clink of cutlery over laughter. The sex became slower. Not softer, never that. But richer, more deliberate, like a song that knew every note didn’t need to be played to be felt.

Their photos filled boxes and books. That old Leica still worked, still clicked in her hands. She never showed the world the ones of the three of them. They weren’t for the world. They were for memory. For quiet nights when the windows steamed, and Oscar’s fingers found her under the tablecloth, and Lando read poetry aloud, pausing only to run his tongue behind her ear.

Time passed. They grew older. The lust remained. Not in spite of the years, but because of them.

And in every room they ever lived in, every bed, every corner of every place they touched each other, there lingered the unmistakable scent of them.

Love. Money. Lust. Still sacred. Still theirs. Always.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132@mercurymaxine

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jetlaggingbehind · 2 years ago

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thinking about wallace wells. thinking about going through hook ups like tissue paper, never believing anybody will stick around besides scott, who's here only because he has nowhere else to go, and you let him stay anyway even though he doesnt pay the rent. one of the only consistent people in your life, someone you might've actually genuinely liked straight up dying and leaving you with a sudden void of an empty apartment and a cold spot in a futon. thinking about immediately getting wasted and bringing a guy home, someone whose name you won't remember but it's okay because youre only in it for the sex— you dont believe in sparks, after all. believing that scott's conception of his one true girl was a joke because you just don't think you'll ever love anyone like that. kissing someone on a movie set because it's something to do, because he's dressed in the costume of somebody you cared for, because it's all manufactured, false realities and layers of separation deep enough for you to brush off his pleas for connection. thinking about going to paris after everything, the city of love, as tacky as that is, saying you're only there to spend money. but despite the insistence on irony you meet a guy— a fellow canadian, actually, twin foreigners in an unfamiliar place. someone who actually wants to stick around, who follows you through the city to see the sights and seems to genuinely like you. it can't be genuine, though— can't possibly be a reason to stay beyond a few hookups. so you stop at the river and you kiss him to get it over with...

but instead you see sparks.

#im very normal if u couldn't tell #scott pilgrim #scott pilgrim vs the world #wallace wells #scott pilgrim takes off #mobillace #scott pilgrim the anime #spto #spto spoilers #spvtw #spvstw #meta #scott pilgram vs the world #mobile spvstw #mobile #scott pilgram takes off #character analysis #juni speaks #high flyers

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finelythreadedsky · 2 years ago

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6th century bce archaic greece dashboard simulator

📜 oracles-onomakritos Follow

guys you have GOT to stop sticking in extra aristeias for your faves, the iliad is getting TOO LONG

⚔️ argivehero1184 Follow

nope lmao check out my guy diomedes he stabbed aphrodite!!!

📜 oracles-onomakritos Follow

look do you want anyone to even be able to perform this whole thing bc i know rhapsodes are impressive but their memories can only go so far

#parahomerica #i spend so much time on this and is anyone remotely grateful?

76 notes

🌠 thalesmilesios Follow

it’s going to be so crazy next month when it gets dark in the middle of the day, the medes are going to have no idea what hit them

🏛️ anaxagoraintheagora Follow

lol like that would ever happen! you’d have to piss off apollo even more than agamemnon did

🏛️ anaxagoraintheagora Follow

i stand corrected.

#ok headed down to didyma to make some offerings now #ngl this has me pretty freaked out

7,264 notes

🌸 iokolpos Follow

poem for atthis 💔

like a hyacinth on the mountains the shepherds tread upon her underfoot and on the ground a purple flower

Keep reading

💐 poikilothronanaktoria Follow

sappho dm me please i won't leave you like she did

247,383 notes

💩 iambicpharmakos Follow

wealth is such a dick, he never comes to my place to go hey hipponax here’s thirty minas of silver, and some extra too! what, is he scared?

11 notes

🏺 exekias-epoiese Follow

sneak peek of my new work! process video will be up soon, and remember I am currently open for commissions!

#ajax 😭😭😭#wanted to challenge myself with the hands and i think they turned out ok #the armor was much more fun though #art tag

693,554 notes

👹 assemblerofchoruses Follow

when you think about it... maybe helen's right when she blames herself for the trojan war? she chose to run away with paris and then so many people died because of it, she even says herself that she was a shameless dog

👹 assemblerofchoruses Follow

helen if your reading this i didmt meanit im so sorry

#i cant see anythignwhat is going on

187 notes

🍃 nikostratethepythagorean Follow

that hippokleides guy is such an icon. siege of tyre? hippokleides don't care! persian invasion? hippokleides don't care! fall of babylon? hippokleides don't care! peisistratus back in athens? hippokleides don't care!

#trying to bring this energy to the new olympiad #niko speaks

326 notes

🫒 notthatmegacles Follow

and don't just automatically vote for your tribe!

💐 poikilothronanaktoria Follow

um who even are any of these guys

🫒 notthatmegacles Follow

dude they're the patron heroes for the ten new tribes, have you been living under a rock????

💐 poikilothronanaktoria Follow

believe it or not i’m one of the dozens of people worldwide that live in a polis that’s not athens

#smh #lesbian problems

28,724 notes

#mine #tagamemnon #transliteration consistency? i dont know her

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natalicss · 5 months ago

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Like We Were In Paris

kwon ji-yong x american pop star!reader

part two

summary: you and ji-yong have been dating for a couple years, keeping it under the radar the entire time. you’re both invited to the gala de pièces juanes 2025, and it’s the first time you get to see him perform live

warnings: not proofread at all, celeb!reader, implied age gap (reader is like…mid twenties?), whole lot of fluff, basically ji-yong being a simp, taeyang & rosé being captains of the ship, use of y/n, i don’t use tumblr so bare with me while i figure this out. i tried to keep descriptions of the readers outfit vague so you could imagine it to your liking!

word count: 4.1K

nat’s notes: hey y’all! i was convinced into writing a g-dragon fic (by like 3 people). i’m kinda obsessed with this. i had so many ideas while writing it & so im kind of tempted to write more of these two, but i don’t know!! this is my first like… irl person x reader (ive only written one other fic on here lmao) & i am new to g-dragon, bigbang, all that so i kept it pretty current. to me these two are very dancing with our hands tied by taylor swift coded (or just reputation coded), i cant explain why it just makes sense. the divider right below is from enchanthings here on tumblr, and the other one later on….idk its for my wattpad LMAO. anyways i hope you enjoy, and im sorry in advance if you hate it. toodles!

You still remember the first time you met Ji-yong.

You were in need of some inspiration. Working on your fourth album, the intense gaze of your record label, your management, your fans, and your musically gifted peers was crushing you. It seemed to do more harm than good. For weeks, you stared at notebooks and computers and instruments. Your manager tried to get you with various song writers. Nothing worked. So, after some persuasion from your best friend (who knew you better than anyone, having been your best friend since you were kids), you decided to do a vacation. Just you and some required security (per compromise with your team). You decided to go to Seoul, having loved it in the few times you’ve passed through on a tour. The fans there were great; always warm and welcoming and always one of your loudest shows. The culture was breathtaking. It felt like the perfect opportunity.

Your team had found a studio for you to work in. You were only there for a few weeks, but they wanted some hope that you’d come back to America with something. It was week two when you met him. You were walking towards your studio, he was walking out of his. The two of you made eye contact, and you were instantly swarmed with warmth. You didn’t believe in love at first sight (neither did he, to be fair), but you started to question it as you walked past him.

From then on, each of you seemed nosy about the other. He asked his friends who the girl was in the other studio. “Oh! The American! That’s Y/N,” He recognized your name, and now your face. He hadn’t seen you outside of a red carpet or a concert venue photo, so he didn’t recognize you with little-to-no makeup and comfortable clothes. But once it clicked, it clicked. You had asked someone working at the studio about him. They mentioned his name, Kwon Ji-Yong, and you googled him that night in your rental house.

You knew about G-Dragon, the impact he had on K-Pop and the music industry. You had heard a song here and there, but you had never seen him. Not til that day in the studio.

It was a few days until you saw him again. Your schedules just missing each other. Then, one day, your producer was running freakishly late to your meeting time, and Ji-yong was walking out of his own studio. You stood there, more like paced there, tapping wildly on your phone trying to get in contact with your producer, whispering to yourself in frustration.

Ji-yong had the courage to speak up, say hello, and the rest is history. Stories for another time, maybe.

Your friendship eventually blossomed into a relationship, defying all cliches of long distance and the terrors that often comes with it. It helped that he was on hiatus and you had became a professional of staying out of the public eye. You both wanted to keep what you had to yourself. Your teams did, too, but they got less strict as two months eventually became two years. It was on your terms now, when you'd let everyone know about your status, but neither of you had felt ready to let the world in on something so…yours. So peaceful, so effortless, so pure. It was easy, the two of you traveling between South Korea and America to spend time together, or going on vacations together, or just taking quiet retreats into each others homes.

Nobody ever thought of it, either. There was no reason to. Unless they’d been in the studio that day, the media had no way to expect any crossover of America’s Princess and the King of K-Pop. The media would rather gossip about you in relationships with the usual Hollywood celebrities, some of whom were just friends, some you’d never met. Neither of you mind rumors, it kept the media out of your relationship and sometimes they were hilariously ridiculous. So, you let the press talk their talk. You and Ji-yong kept to yourselves, careful on your information you’d share with friends (it was easy for things to be leaked, these days).

When Ji-yong told you he was officially making his comeback to the industry, you were ecstatic for him. You knew how much he loved making music and performing. You also knew, though he’d never admit it, sometimes when he’d sneak to join you on tour, he got a bit jealous watching you sing and dance on stage. He’d watched you collab with numerous artists, tasting just about every genre you could before eventually finding your new sound. It made him sad, some nights, missing that glow you often had instead. But most nights? Most nights he was beaming from behind the stage, watching you do what you loved most. Most people sink in this world, but you? You swam, no, you effortlessly floated in the sea of fame. And it was obvious to anyone around you. Part of what he loved most about you was your creative drive, something he shared. It inspired him, more than you’d ever know.

Ji-yong's comeback had been more than successful, as expected. Throughout your relationship, the two of you had fumbled with varying songs and styles for each other. Oftentimes more playful than not. You guys fueled each other in the best ways. You released your newest album in 2024, and you were about to start your world tour in the early months of 2025. Ji-yong would follow suit, his first solo album in years coming out soon and then starting his own tour.

Both of you were wracked with nerves, spending days in rehearsals, wardrobe tests, photo shoots, traveling all over for various projects. It had been weeks since you’d seen each other. After the holidays you were swimming in press for your new tour. He had been equally busy, filming his show, performing at various shows. You both loved it. You loved your jobs and you loved each others jobs. But even you two would struggle on the days where it’d been long, exhausting, and mentally draining; wanting nothing more than each other’s warmth.

The Gala des Pièces Jaunes, a show that helps collect donations for charity in Paris, had invited both of you to perform, along with other various stars. Little did they know, they had invited the world's most popular secret couple. You had been ecstatic. Not only did you love the message the event had, but you loved the idea of sharing the stage with so many extremely talented artists. Including, your boyfriend.

The night before the show, you had inconspicuously snuck your way towards Ji-yong’s room. You had wanted to get a hotel room together, but knew that you had to be careful with the amount of eyes on both of you this weekend. Still, that didn’t stop you from wondering around until you ended up at his door. With your special knock– each knock a syllable in your names –you waited patiently for him to open up the door to you. His eyes were sparkly, even in the shitty lighting. They always seemed to do that with you.

“Finally,” He breathed, pulling you into the room quickly. You giggled as he used your body to shut the door, his arms around you tightly. You had seen each other, earlier in the day during rehearsals. Pretending like it was your first time meeting him and Taeyang was hell. Pretending you didn’t know their names, pretending Ji-yong didn’t pick out your outfit on FaceTime, and pretending you didn’t want to latch on to him and never let go.

The only people who knew about you two were Young-bae, of course. He and Daesung had known about you for a while now, teasing their friend and bandmate for not telling them right away. The other person was Rosé, who’d been your friend for years and one of your closest friends in the celebrity world, both of you having blown up in popularity around the same time. Both of them seemed equally amused, watching you and Ji-yong try to act nonchalant around the other. Young-bae chuckling as Ji-yong watched your rehearsals in a stunned silence. He knew every song of yours by heart (even the ones from before he met you), and even when trying to act like he didn’t he could feel himself mouthing the words as he watched you and your dancers on the stage. Rosé would wink at you when she’d walk past you, and everytime you almost missed it cause you were too busy watching Ji-yong talking with his team.

But now, the two of you didn’t have to act. You couldn’t stop laughing in awe, Ji-yong smothering your face in feather-light kisses. You held on to him, your face turning pink as he continued his full-blown kiss attack. “I missed you, jagiya, so much.” He muttered against your skin. Finally, he pulled back to look over your face, pressing another kiss to your lips. You melted into his arms, your mind momentarily fuzzy. There was nothing else but him. His hands on your waist, his shirt clutched in your hands, his scent that had became your favorite. Him. Him. Him. It was always him.

“I missed you more,” You whispered, running your fingers through his minty-colored hair. He closed his eyes softly, as if soaking in your touch. Your heart swelled, as it always seemed to do with him. You had never felt this way, not in any of your previous relationships. You had been positive for a while now, Ji-yong was it for you. “Are you excited?” You asked him, tilting your head in curiosity.

He slowly opened his eyes, meeting your soft expression. He loved how you looked at him. It was something you couldn’t hide, not even at rehearsals. He sighed, pulling you by your hand further into the hotel room. “Yes. Nervous, too.” He added. You nod in understanding, he had only performed a few times since the comeback. He loved it after, always, but the nerves had been hard to shake off, even still.

“I’m excited to see you,” You beam, still keeping your fingers interlocked. You hadn’t seen him live, not yet. You had been back in America finishing up your album and starting a press tour at the time, but you always called him right before he went on to give him a final good luck, and you always snuck onto a live stream to watch.

He rolled his eyes shyly, leaning his head into your neck. “Young-bae is going to make so much fun of me.”

“Why?”

“Cause I’m more nervous for you to see my performance than I was at MAMA.”

You laughed at that, bringing his face into your hands and looking at him. “You’re going to be amazing. More than amazing. You’re going to be perfect.” You reassure him, leaning in to kiss his lips softly. “And I am not afraid to bully Young-bae,” He laughed at this, throwing his head back slightly. He knew it was true, your friendship with Taeyang almost too sibling-like, to the point you two teased each other about everything.

“Are you nervous at all?” He asks you, looking over your expression, as if he’s trying to find your answer in your gaze. He did this a lot, knowing you for so long he began to pick up on things, even before you did.

“I am, but only a little,” You decide finally. It was a short set, only a few songs to perform. You had picked your most popular hits and your newest single for the setlist. And your outfit was your favorite part, matching your dancers whilst still making sure you stood out and felt confident. “Oh! I have to tell you about this thing I saw.” You pulled out of his arms, suddenly distracted by something you wanted to tell him about when you were in your room.

Ji-yong watched you quietly. His eyes filled with a lightness and admiration. He listened to you talk as you grabbed a water, waving your arms wildly to dramatize the story. He smiled, leaning against the couch in his room as he thought about how much he loved you. He loved everything about you. From the way you talked about your passions to the way you scrunched your face when you ate something you didn’t like. He loved the way you danced in the car when your favorite song came on. He loved the way you loved the people around you. He loved the way you waltzed into his heart like it was your home, and wrapped your arms around him like you were his home. You are his home, he’s sure of that. Even now, as you ramble into near nonsense about something he has no understanding of. He still watched you like you had been the most beautiful work of art he’d discovered. He was certain that was true.

Le Gala des Pièces was in full swing. Everything was going well, perfect, all of it. And you were backstage, getting your makeup touched up as you saw someone walk past your open door. You recognized him instantly, you always did. And part of you couldn’t let him go on stage without a final goodbye. “I’ll be right back!” You pushed yourself out of your chair, rushing after him. You could see him walking through the hall, too busy with his own thoughts to notice you coming to grab his wrist.

Ji-yong felt your touch, his head moving so fast he swore he heard a crack. His eyes met yours instantly, then looked you over in surprise. He hadn’t seen your outfit yet. It complimented his, something he wasn’t sure if you had done on purpose or not. A black and red outfit, the red the exact same shade as his tie. As he looked you over, you could see the different emotions flicker on his face. Admiration, lust, maybe hunger, and love. He looked up at your face again, smiling, “Hi, Y/N,” His name feels unfamiliar on his tongue, now. Over the years, nicknames had become your normal. Another thing to add to the list of things you hated about pretending you didn’t know him.

Your mouth hung open for a moment as you looked at him. You hadn’t been sure if you’d see him before he went on, so you hadn’t exactly planned your choice of words. “I wanted to wish you luck,” You stuttered out, suddenly aware of how many eyes could be on the two of you.

Ji-yong’s eyes were laced with amusement, seeing your cheeks turned pink. “I have to grab something to drink, come with me?” He asked, playing it as cool and casual as humanly possible. You itched to reach for his hand, but kept to yourself as you followed him.

As soon as you were in a dark corner, away from prying eyes, he was on you. The two of you pressed your lips together like perfect puzzle pieces. Your hands roamed his chest as his roamed your waist. You hummed happily, wishing this moment with him would never end. Adrenaline, nerves, excitement all were running high. From the show, from being around each other, from sneaking around. You felt his hands squeeze your hips, the two of you forcing yourselves to pull away. You smiled up at him, almost dizzy from him simply being in front of you. “Good luck,” You beamed.

“Is that how you wish everybody good luck?” He asks playfully. You rolled your eyes, smacking his chest as you adjusted yourselves. “I’ll see you as soon as I’m done,” He leans to kiss you again, “I love you,”

“I love you more,” You winked as he sauntered off towards where his team was waiting for him. You stayed back a moment, blushing wildly and hopping in place happily before rushing back to your own people.

You watched from backstage, wrapping yourself in a black robe to hide yourself as much as you could from the crew around you. You had passed Taeyang, who gave you a subtle handshake as he passed by for his cue. You watched in awe, seeing Ji-yong, no, G-Dragon on that stage. Seeing him do it all in person…it was ethereal. The way he moved through the stage and carried himself with this aura. He was almost mesmerizing, distracting you from the chaos backstage and your own nerves. It didn’t shock you, you’d known forever how talented he was. You’d seen videos of him from before you met, you’d seen him work for hours upon hours in studios, and you’d seen him on set for his music videos. But this was different. This was really him. This was what he was born to do, if destiny and fate were real. This was exactly that.

“Hey, pretty,” You turned your head to Rosé, Rosie, who only smiled knowingly. She linked her arm with yours, leaning into you. “You happy?”

“Happiest,” You answered, “He’s so good.”

“He is.” Rosie agreed. She giggled at your face. The two of you had met years ago, you had blown up in the music scene shortly after Blackpink. The two of you crossed paths at an event, not knowing anyone else there, and you two stuck by each others sides much like you were now. You two had been closest friends. When you told her about your first date with Ji-yong, she was ecstatic. She knew Ji-yong, and she knew that he’d be good to you. She wanted you to be happy, and that's what you were. Always when it came to Ji-yong, you were the happiest person she'd seen.

You watched the rest of his set. You smiled giddily as he and Taeyang performed together. You bit your thumb nail as you watched him move around the stage in the second outfit with the sparkling black jacket. Rosie nudging you every time she noticed you blush.

When he was off the stage, he had found you waiting for him amidst the crowd of people. He smiled happily, reaching you without much thought about anyone else. His arms swooped you in, hugging you tightly. You laughed, hugging him back. “That was amazing!” You beamed. For a moment, the two of you forgot where you were. Forgetting the curious eyes who thought you barely knew each other. When your senses kicked in, he was quick to put you back at a friendly distance. Your gaze moved to Taeyang, “You guys are phenomenal!” You hugged Young-bae too, hoping that if you acted friendly with everyone it wouldn’t cause more suspicion. “Thank you,” Ji-yong muttered, suddenly shy again. He bowed quickly at you, trying to play it off. In moments, you were hearing your name called, and his own team was surrounding him. You smiled warmly, disappearing in the crowd of crew and stars.

Ji-yong wanted to keep close to you. He wanted to wrap you up in his arms until the very moment you were on stage, but that was impossible. You were back in your greenroom, getting makeup and hair touched up, and then you were taking photos with crew members and doing more vocal warm ups. You were being whisked around every which way. He and Young-bae were staying close together, feeling the most comfortable with each other as they simply watched the show continue.

Young-bae was smiling to himself. He had been so happy for Ji-yong when he introduced you to him and Daesung. It was blatantly obvious to see how happy you made him. You made Ji-yong smile at every moment, you'd giggle at his jokes (even if Young-bae didn't think they were that funny), you would help him if you noticed his hesitation. You encouraged him. You built him up. You even started secretly learning Korean, calling Young-bae for help every now and again. The next time you visited Ji-yong, you had managed to say your first sentence in Korean, and it was actually good. You were this ray of sunshine. Anyone who knew the two of you knew that. He was honored to be in on your guys’s little secret. Otherwise, he’d feel cheated out of watching two people he cared about falling in love.

Unfortunately, Ji-yong didn’t get a chance to see you before you were whisked away under the stage to make your entrance. Still, he watched quietly from backstage. He clasped his hands together, watching the crowd scream with anticipation as your intro started. Fog began to cover the stage, the lights flashing every which way with the music. Your dancers surrounded the area you’d rise from. Once you did, you immediately went into the first song, dancing on every note. The crowd was wild. Ji-yong smiled proudly. On stage you were someone else entirely. You were confident, you moved with ease and exact precision. Your body moved with your dancers, most you’ve known for years. Their hands grazing your hips as you all moved together in sync. Ji-yong never got jealous, knowing how these things worked. He was no stranger to any of it.

He’d seen you perform, maybe a hundred times now, and yet it never got old. As the song transitioned to another popular track, the crowd somehow getting even louder, he thought about how you might’ve looked earlier. Standing in the same spot, only a short time ago. He could only assume you looked much like he did now. Body swaying to the familiar music, mouthing the words, eyes sparkling at him like he had hung the moon and the stars only for you. He wasn’t sure what he did to get so lucky.

He clapped as the crowd did. You were at the far end of the stage now, dancing with another male dancer to the third song. The song had been written for him, though not many people knew that other than you and him. A romantically charged song. It was one of his favorites. He remembered the day you showed it to him, all shy and quiet, which was unusual for you. You had told him you had a song to show him, wanting to release it as a single in the future. When you played it, you only stared at his face while he stared at the computer screen. He considered marrying you right there.

As you performed your fourth and final song, he found his way to where you’d end up off stage. He played with his sleeves, smiling shyly as people greeted him as they passed by. He wanted to see you. No, he needed to see you.

And he did. You came off the stage, glistening from glitter and sweat. You hugged your dancers and thanked them, high-fiving other members of your crew. As your eyes met his, he could see them light up. But you stayed put, not wanting to make another scene. He winked at you, moving in the direction of your greenroom.

It took you a couple minutes to get your micpack off and head towards your dressing room to change. Once you did, you smiled wide at the man waiting inside. “We did it!” You beamed as you jumped at him. He caught you easily, swinging you loosely in his arms as you pressed your lips against his. It wasn’t rushed or adrenaline-filled like before. This was softer, still full of energy, but only relief, love, and pure joy. “We fucking nailed it, baby,” You said as you looked up at him. He swore he might die from the way you love him.

“You were beautiful,” He hummed, leaning into your hair. He hummed, squeezing you tighter. “I love you. So fucking much.”

You closed your eyes, taking in the moment as best as you could. There was no place on this planet you loved more than being in his embrace. You could be anywhere, at any time, anything could be happening, and all you’d want is him. That’s all you’d ever need, The lazy mornings in your LA home where you’d surprise him with breakfast in bed. The romantic nights in Seoul where he’d take you out to dinner at your favorite place. The bustling mornings when one of you had a meeting to get to. One of you having a mouth full of toast trying to run out the door, only to scramble back to give the other a kiss. Late nights in studios, falling asleep in random spots as you tried to come up with new lyrics and beats. Your favorites were the quiet nights, the two of you tangled in bed sheets as he stared at each other, talking about whatever came to mind as one of you played with the others hair, or traced shapes on bare skin. Gentle kisses passed back and forth. Life was perfect, and he was perfect.

“I love you, Ji,” You whispered, kissing him again. He hummed into it, smiling. You looked him over appreciatively, fiddling with his outfit. “I need to change, wanna pick my outfit out for me?” You asked, raising a brow. His eyes flicked with mischief as he looked back at the rack of clothes you had. He looked back at you, pulling you back into him again.

#kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #kwon jiyong #gdragon #bigbang x reader #gdragon fanfic #kwon jiyong fanfic #fanfic #x reader #kpop fluff

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lordprettyflackotara · 9 months ago

Text

danger || masky & eyeless jack

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ tw: threesome! congrats you take a trip to paris! exhibitionism, breeding, slight size kink, rough sex, degrading, face fucking

Masky did not consider himself a selfish man.

If anything he thought of himself to be reasonable.

So when it came to meeting you by mistake, a stereotypical robbery he was performing going wrong, he didn’t consider himself selfish for not killing you.

If anyone knew the proxies golden rule of never being able to be traced it was him. But maybe he was selfish when it came to you. You were a little small town receptionist in a town he frequented. Not necessarily for missions, but he passed through frequently. If anyone knew of your existence you’d be terminated on the spot. You knew Masky lived a fast and unpredictable life, but he made sure to keep you in the shadows as to why or how. He figured you just accepted that he was in a gang or the mafia or something. It would be the most logical assumption, especially with the mask glued to his face and off putting name. Still though, Masky found himself going to see you every chance he got. As time went on he began accepting and asking for more solo missions, using the extra tasks as an excuse to see you.

He thought he had done a damn good job of keeping you safe from his terrifying life, until you had followed him into the forest as he trudged home.

It was nothing but morbid curiosity that led you to nip at Masky’s heels as you followed him. You were surprised he hadn’t heard you, your lover stopping at the forest line. Your eyes widened at the sight of a large seemingly unoccupied mansion that sat in the middle of a well trimmed field. Many questions ran through your mind, the most important one being: why would Masky willingly live here? It wasn’t necessarily out of character but it wasn’t the most flattering choice. Your boyfriend was ominous and mysterious, purposefully keeping you in the dark about his life. At first it was intriguing, but the longer he kept the affair going, the more curious you became. Despite the relationship revolving around sex, you wanted to discuss taking things to the next level. Maybe instead of raw dogging in your car you could try a movie instead. You couldn’t think of a better way than showing him you were serious by showing your dedication.

Most people wouldn’t follow their possible mafia boyfriend into a patch of secluded woods, but nevertheless you did so. You thought maybe he realized you were there, inhaling his cigarette as he stood at the forest line. “Hey there,” You greeted excitedly. Masky jumped at the sound of your voice, realizing he was too lost in his own thoughts to hear you follow him. “Princess? What the fuck are you doing here?” He snapped, becoming increasingly panicked. There were many horrific scenarios that could occur with you being here. It was a miracle The Rake hadn’t heard your heart beating or smelled you. The next terrifying scenario was Smile Dog smelling you, but he remembered Jeff took him and Nina on a late night killing spree. They called themselves ‘the triple threat’, which until now Masky thought was incredibly stupid. He now was suddenly thankful for Jeff and his inflated ego.

Next was The Operator, who could most likely read your thoughts. If he suspected an unwelcome guest was on the property he would know to search. Otherwise unless he physically ran into you, Masky doubted that would be a problem. His eyes widened as he realized the last scenario, was undoubtedly the most realistic and the least preventable. “I followed you. I think it’s time to take things to the next level and-” You began, Masky roughly grabbing your arm and cutting you off. He yanked you into the clearing, bee lining straight for the house. “Ow! Masky what the hell?!” You hissed, The brunette angrily threw his cigarette on the lawn, stomping on it and trudging closer to the mansion. You began to try to pull away when he didn’t answer, this only angering him further. In a fit of rage he turned around, glaring down at you. “Do you have any idea what kind of danger you’re in by being here?” He seethed.

“Relax no one knows i’m here, it’s not like they can smell me,” You argued. Masky pulled you further, clenching his jaw. “Actually princess, they can,” He barked. He threw open the back kitchen door, looking around before dragging you inside. “You need to stay quiet, just stay behind me,” Masky whispered. He loosened his grip on your arm, slithering it down to your hand. You intertwined your fingers with his, allowing him to lead you further into the unsettling mansion. Masky peaked around the corner, Ben passed out on the living room couch with an open bag of doritos on his chest. “Who is that-” You began to whisper, Masky hissing at you to shush. You zipped your lips, trailing behind him as he led you up the stairs. Masky was acutely aware of how intense the situation was, his heart racing. Any creep could come home at any time, which would result in your untimely demise. You followed him down the seemingly endless hallway, looking around and noting the countless doors that lined each wall.

Masky yanked open his bedroom door, throwing you inside and shutting it quickly. He fiddled with the lock, dead bolting it before turning to you. “You need to listen to me very carefully, you are in grave danger being here,” Masky said as calmly as he could muster. You sarcastically chuckled, crossing your arms. “Oh cmon, what could your mafia friends possibly do to me?” You asked naively. Masky turned on his bedside lamp, illuminating the serious expression on his face as he took off his mask. “I am not in the goddamn mafia. I live amongst immortal serial killers that would tear your organs out if they knew you were here,” He rambled. He ran his fingers through his hair, his brain racking itself for a solution. “Masky if you don’t want us to be anything more than fuck buddies just say so don’t make up some elaborate lie,” You argued flatly. Masky turned to you, gripping your forearms. “Elaborate lie??? Are you fucking listening to me?” He hissed.

It was a loud knock on Masky’s door that interrupted your argument, the two of you looking over at the door in horror. “You weren’t lying were you?” You whispered. If Masky didn’t know who was at the door he would’ve rolled his eyes. “No I wasn’t now hide,” He whispered aggressively. You threw yourself around his bed, crawling underneath it. Dust buddies danced around your body as you tried to hold your breath, Masky opening the door. He wasn’t surprised to see Eyeless Jack standing outside. His mask hid his facial expression, making his presence ominous. “EJ!” Masky greeted, trying to not visibly sweat bullets. Jack didn’t move, standing completely still. “Masky,” He replied flatly. You itched your nose, the dust buddies violating your nostrils as you hid under the bed. You couldn’t see the horrific monster that was Eyeless Jack, hiding under the bed only allowing you to see his large boots. “What uh, what brings you here?” Masky asked as calmly as possible. Jack tilted his head to the side, his ears twitching. “I think we both know why i’m here Masky,” He said coldly.

Masky threw his hands up sarcastically, leaning on the bedroom door. “No not at all would you like to elaborate?” Masky asked. You cringed as you tried to itch your nose, the dust causing you to awkwardly try to put your sleeve over your face. It was then you couldn’t hold it back anymore. You sneezed, Masky trying his hardest not to turn around. “Did your bed just sneeze?” Jack asked. Masky grabbed Jack by his sleeve, dragging him inside of his bedroom. He shut the door. You awkwardly took it as you cue to crawl out from under the bed, meeting the assertive gazes of Jack and Masky. Jack extended his hand for you to take, helping you rise to your feet. You stared up at him in awe, visibly gawking at his overbearing height. “Do I want to ask?” Jack questioned. Masky awkwardly shuffled his weight on each leg. “Jack this is my girlfriend….” Masky said, his voice trailing off. With wide eyes you waved, Jack’s eye sockets narrowing under his mask.

“Bringing another human here with a loud ass heartbeat like that wasn’t the brightest idea,” Jack said. Masky ran his fingers through his hair anxiously, before digging in his pockets for a cigarette. “He can hear my heartbeat?” You whispered to Masky, who side eyed you before returning his attention to Jack. He sighed, finally finding a cigarette in his pocket. “Jack you do so much for me I need you to do me one final solid and help me transport her out of here alive,” Masky said. You looked back and forth between the two.

“Uh Mask that sounds just a little bit traffick-y if you know what I mean-”

The death glare he delivered demanded that you be quiet, but the two of you were awaiting Jack’s response. “What’s in it for me?” The demon asked, his large hands leaving his hoodie pockets. You couldn’t help but notice the dark ash color that seemed to be his skin tone, your heart pounding even faster. “Whatever you want Jack, seriously, i’m in your debt,” Masky rambled. Being in debt and/or owing a favor to anyone in the mansion was practically a death sentence, but he’d do anything for you. Jack looked over at you, causing you to stand more awkwardly. His gaze went up and down, scanning your body. Masky immediately picked up on what he was doing, clenching his jaw. “Nuh uh no way EJ, burn in hell,” He growled. He fumbled to find a lighter, finally locating one in his coat. “My seasonal heat is only a few days away. If I release appropriate steam beforehand perhaps I won’t accidentally terrorize Jane this year,” Jack fully proposed. Your mind swirled at the phrase ‘heat’, instantly trying to dissect the meaning. “So what? You want a threesome?” Masky questioned through gritted teeth. Jack sighed, watching the proxy scramble to light his cigarette. “Of course not, i’d expect you to watch. I don’t think you could keep up with my pacing,” Jack denied.

The realization of what was happening made your eyes widen, a chill running down your spine as you watched the two bicker. You loved Masky endlessly, but the sight of a giant demon requesting to have sex with you so formally was turning you on. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, you found yourself terrified but also aroused as to what such an unpredictable monster could do to you. Masky was rambling at this point, before Jack stopped him.

“She wants me.”

“What? EJ you’ve lost your goddamn mind-”

“I can smell her.”

The silence in the room was heavy as Masky’s gaze fell on you. “Really princess?” He asked. You watched him inhale his cigarette like he always did, something different crossing his eyes. Nodding, Masky then sighed. “Alright fine, whatever it takes to keep her alive. I’ll be in the corner watching though. Gotta make sure you won’t eat her,” Masky agreed. You watched him grab a wooden chair, pulling it and sitting on it in the corner of the room. His legs were spread as he slid his mask back on, hiding his facial expression as he watched you face Jack. “Uh hi,” You greeted awkwardly. Jack had a sinister grin curling up his lips under his mask as he looked down at you. “I’m not much of a talker, just let me know if things are too much for you, alright?” The demon asked. You nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. Jack crawled on top of you, guiding you to lay on your back. Anxiously you closed your eyes, feeling him lift his mask to kiss your neck. He could feel the blood pumping through your veins, with each kiss, his own heart beginning to race.

Jack couldn’t recall the last time he had a mate during his heats and he planned on taking full advantage of the situation. And with you being a small human girl, he knew his plans would go very smoothly. It was easy to please a woman, he thought. He sucked and nipped at your skin, his razor sharp teeth grazing your skin. “If I see blood i’ll have your head EJ,” Masky interrupted, his voice cold and dripping with venom. Jack brought his large hands to your breast, ignoring Masky’s comment. He could smell your arousal becoming more apparent, the demon almost sure your panties were soaked by now. He palmed at your nipples through your shirt, quite frankly finding himself becoming impatient. Unfortunately though due to the size difference you’d need prep work. It was taking Jack everything in him to not bend you over in front of the proxy and fuck you senseless. He kissed down your stomach, relishing in the sight of your hips bucking upwards eagerly. “You can be loud you know, won’t bother me at all,” Jack hummed. You were sure your face was red, the embarrassment of his words and Masky’s endless stare humiliating you. “R-Right of course,” You swallowed, the demon’s long fingers looping through the hoops of your jeans.

In a swift motion he pulled them down, exposing your lacey pink panties. “How cute is this, did you wear these just for Masky?” Jack asked, his mischievous smile allowing you to see his rows of razor sharp teeth. You babbled an agreement, your hips bucking upwards with desperation. Goosebumps trailed across your skin as he began to pull your panties downwards with his teeth, the pointy ends tearing at the fabric. By the time it reached your ankles it was a pile of scraps, one Jack threw at Masky before nuzzling back in between your thighs. He ran two fingers up and down your slick, collecting your arousal before shoving it back inside of you. Jack’s fingers were much longer than your lovers, your back arching off of the bed once he curled them. “There we go, why don’t you relax and loosen up for me?” Jack purred. The feeling of your walls clinging to his digits were only making his cock harder, your thighs attempting to close as Jack unexpectedly began to ruthlessly finger fuck you. He didn’t bother going slow, knowing you were beyond eager to have him ruin you as a show for your pretty human boyfriend. Masky had already finished his first cigarette, going for a second one as his cock grew harder in his jeans. His pride refused to let him admit seeing you melt for a demon aroused him.

His fingers abused your g spot, his other large hand prying your thighs open and forcing you to take what he was giving you. You were seeing stars, your sinful moans surely loud enough for the mansions other residents to hear. “Awe, doesn’t that feel good human? So impossibly good?” Jack chuckled darkly, watching your thighs begin to tremble. You grabbed onto his wrist in an attempt to slow him down, unable to control your body from chasing its first orgasm. “Wow would you look at that. About to cum already? That must be some sort of world record, don’t you agree Masky?” Jack asked sarcastically, grinning as he pinned one of your thighs down onto the bed. Masky clenched his jaw, inhaling his cigarette as reached your first climax. Jack’s motions were not only rough but ruthless, finger fucking you through your orgasm as your vision turned white. You were palming at the sheets, Jack quick to rearrange you once you had rode out your high. You could barely process it as Jack put you on all fours, grabbing your ass and guiding it against his cock. Masky narrowed his eyes as you eagerly tried to wiggle your ass against Jack, desperate for him to get on with it.

Jack gripped at the mounds of your ass, spreading them open and examining your holes. “You sure did pick a pretty one Masky,” He complimented, your face flushing as you heard him unzip his pants. The demon teased you with the tip of his cock, your body stiffening. You had never seen nevertheless felt such a large cock, your anxiety rising as he collected your slick. “Arch your back human, give Masky a proper show,” Jack encouraged, pushing himself inside of you. Surprisingly it didn’t take long for the impossible stretch to become feasible, your walls milking Jack’s cock as he sank deeper into you. Along with this satisfaction came your moans, the demons name finally falling off of your tongue. The sound of that pushed Masky to the limit, the proxy flicking his cigarette to the side and rising from his chair. Angrily he grabbed a fistful of your hair, unzipping his jeans. “This wasn’t apart of the agreement,” Jack hummed, his cock buried inside of your cunt. He hadn’t moved yet, curious to see what the proxy would do. “I don’t give a shit. No girl of mine is gonna be moaning your name,” Masky huffed, shoving down his jeans and boxers.

The sight of your aching boyfriend’s cock made you roll out your tongue, your mouth practically watering at the sight of it. Masky was quick to stuff your mouth with his shaft, causing you to choke as he pushed you down further onto him. Jack took this as his cue to begin fucking you, his slender fingers digging into your ass as he snapped his hips into yours. You braced yourself as best as you could, Masky groaning as he shoved himself down your throat. “Dirty fuckin whore, gettin’ off to me and a demon ruining you? Pathetic,” Masky snarled. It infuriated him to see you enjoying Jack’s cock as much as you were, your body shaking with ecstasy as you were squished between both men. But something about the humiliation of seeing you enjoy it so much did something for the proxy, whether or not he wanted to admit it. He shoved himself further down your throat, watching you gag on his cock. Saliva dripped down the sides of your mouth, tears flooding your waterline. “You picked a fine mate. Is very easy to breed it seems,” Jack added, noting your walls fluttering around him as he spoke the statement. “Fuckin slut,” Masky growled, yanking forcefully at your hair and making you gag on his cock. Your moans were nothing but extra vibrations for Masky to enjoy, your ability to breathe delightfully restricted in the best way.

Jack’s thrust were merciless, the urge to breed you forever clouding his mind as he focused on the task at hand. Masky wanted nothing more than to see you suffer for his own pleasure, face fucking you as roughly as he possibly could. “You’re such a fuckin slut you’re gonna let a demon cum in you? Really? Stupid bitch,” Masky rambled, feeling his own high coming on. Jack’s fingers were leaving indented bruises on your ass, his cock abusing your cervix with each thrust as he pushed you further and further towards your boyfriend’s cock. You were on a mind numbing high, your body convulsing as you unexpectedly came again. You were too dazed to think, allowing your body to go slack and expecting both men to keep you upright. It wasn’t long before both men filled both of your holes. “Dont swallow my cum slut, stick out your tongue,” Masky barked. You did as instructed, smudged mascara and lipstick down your face. You could feel Jack’s warm cum fill up your womb, so much so extra semen was dripping down your cunt. The demon rounded the bed, joining Masky’s side as they stared at you. You were humiliated as their cum dropped down your tongue and abused cunt.

“What a filthy fuckin cum dump.”

“You seem to be right on that.”

“What’d you say we fill her up some more? She still has another hole to fill after all.”

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