#full of rookie mistakes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cassiemaebarnes · 10 days ago

Text

I Noticed

Bucky x reader

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

Word Count: 4,779

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

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

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

Sam cracked one eye open. "Rookie mistake."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked at the items.

So did everyone else.

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

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

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

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

There was a beat of silence.

And then it hit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And somehow that only made it worse.

Or better.

Depending on who you asked.

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

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

That is, until Sam leaned forward with a grin.

"Okay, Barnes. Pop quiz."

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

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

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

"This is more fun."

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

"Caramel iced latte, extra ice."

Your jaw dropped slightly. "That’s–"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room collectively lost it.

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

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

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

You froze.

So did he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky blinked. "Seriously?"

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

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

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

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

You groaned. “Oh my god, guys–”

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

“Vanilla,” Bucky said without pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam fake-fainted onto the conference table.

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

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

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

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

You peeked up at him. “Of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinked once. “Both.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Details?”

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

Your jaw dropped a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I noticed.”

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

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

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

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

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

I noticed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky nodded, nonchalant. “Two for Indian.”

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

“Nope.”

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

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

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

Bucky shrugged. “Yep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room exploded.

“NO WAY,” Nat yelled.

“Unbelievable,” Steve said.

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

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

You froze, blinking at everyone, confused.

“Did I miss something?” you asked slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your voice caught, the word sitting there, unsaid.

Comforting.

Bucky nodded like he already knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a beat of stunned silence.

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

“Nope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, all eyes turned to you.

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

The silence was deafening.

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

Someone gasped.

“…Let’s do John Wick.”

The room erupted.

“WHAT?!”

“No way – NO WAY–”

“Check her room for bugs!”

“ARE YOU TWO SECRETLY DATING?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a beat of silence.

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

“Nope.”

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

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

“And syrup?” Steve asked, deadpan.

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

“Drink?” Sam challenged, narrowing his eyes.

“Chocolate milk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room went dead silent.

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

Still silence.

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

You turned.

The plate was already sitting on the counter.

Your chocolate milk was already in your mug.

You blinked. “Wait. Did you–”

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

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

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

And then, the room exploded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Why?” you asked, finally.

He looked up.

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

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

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

You didn’t say anything.

Couldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leaving you alone in the kitchen.

With your perfect pancakes.

And a heart that wouldn’t stop racing.

Masterlist

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

#bucky #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #marvel #avengers #avengers compound

3K notes · View notes

venusianphase · 1 year ago

Text

My gf was making fried rice while I was working and she was finishing it up when I came in the kitchen and I realized she forgot the veggies I got for it (zucchini, onion, mushrooms) so I mentioned the veggies, but then I said I'll use em in something tomorrow. Then I took the cat out for a few minutes and when I came back she had made this:

#food #she heard me say veggies and took everything out of our veggie drawer #but none of the fried rice veggies were in the veggie drawer. rookie mistake #being a recovering vegan living with a recovering carnivore is full of surprises

1 note · View note

yanderedrabbles · 3 months ago

Text

Yandere YouTuber

Short drabble request for @labodabi

I see him as a commentary YouTuber. Always on podcasts talking about the latest fashion or TV sensation. A good looking guy, always perfectly groomed and styled. Falls into that soft boy category - fluffy hair, lots of sweaters, a rescue cat that's always in the video out-takes. Approachable, comforting.

You interact for the first time when you make a video response to one of his controversial takes. You're no established youtuber, your channel doesn't even have any videos before you post about him. You don't add any fancy graphics or music. Just you and your slightly busted ring light, ranting at him for totally misrepresenting your interest.

But people are totally into it. You're passionate. You're funny. You're a breath of fresh air compared to the over produced, over budgeted videos that crowd the homepage.

He invites you on his podcast. Secretly, he expects you to back down. Be camera shy. You're just a no name with a phone camera and he's a guy who gets a million views within a day of uploading. It's got to be intimidating, right?

Nope. You're just the same in person as you were in your video. Not scared to challenge his opinions, not afraid of the lights and team of editors. When the video finally goes out, people eat it up.

User17899: OMG THE CHEMISTRY

sakura blossom: theyre so cute together im putting money on a hard launch in a week or two

YouTube Daddy 69420: he's so into them. just look at his eyes

And with such a great response, it's only natural that you get invited on again. That you start featuring in his full length videos. That he starts tagging you in every Instagram post.

You have no intention of being an influencer. But damn if the money isn't good. If the PR packages aren't sweet.

You move to the same city as him. Let him teach you the ins and outs of the biz. And he eats it up. Takes every opportunity to be your 'internet big brother.'

Yeah, right. Some sick big brother he is, going home and jerking it to pictures of you together. Shooting all over his screen just so it lands on your face. A real great guy.

It's only when you start build your own following that the toxicity really comes out. He wants you reliant on him, on his fame. Having your own channel blow up is just annoying. It gives you too much leverage - you don't need him for views anymore, you can walk away whenever you want. He can't stand it.

That's when he starts being sneaky about things. Starts hitting your videos with copyright infringement and DMCA takedowns the second you go live. Starts contesting your monetisation. Starts using bots to mass report your posts. All anonymously of course. Or through a shell company. Hey, he's been in this biz too long to make a rookie mistake.

And when you're at your wits end, when rent is due and you're broke from trying to get your videos back up, that's when he steps in. Says you guys can collab and he'll give you more than half of the sponsorship money.

Smiles all sweet and charming when he leans in and says, "There's lots of ways to pay me back, so don't worry about it."

You naive thing. He was never going to ask for money in return. No, what he wants is much harder to come by and all the sweeter for it. You think just 'cause he seems like a good guy that he's nice all the way through? That wearing nail polish and doing mud masks on cam makes him any less of a man? Any less hungry? No way baby.

And when it's time to pay up and he's pushing you to your knees, fingers practically ripping his belt buckle loose, you think he's going to stop just because you ask him to? When he has you exactly where he wants you? No matter how polite he is on the surface, he's still just a man.

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #reader insert #x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x you #Yandere youtuber #Yandere oc x reader #x y/n #yandere male #male yandere #yanderecore

2K notes · View notes

highdramas · 2 months ago

Note

ok but first or second year resident flirting with jack’s wife knowingly or unknowingly that she’s jack’s wife and jack is losing it over the whole thing and keeps giving the newbie death stares from across the room whenever the newbie is near is wife and dana sees this all go down from the nurses station and just prepares for jack to go ape if the newbie crosses a line

rookie mistake | dr. jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!attending!wife!reader

warnings: language, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), jack defends you because you are his lovely wife <3

word count: 1.8k

notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. ANON THANK YOUUUU FOR THIS REQUEST <3 i adored this one <3 this is a continuation of ring of fire set in the future, but it's not necessary to read to understand this fic. if you would like to, though, you can find that here <3 not proofread so apologies for any errors!

on monday, you resign yourself to cut the newbie some slack. i mean, alex doesn't know, and if he did, you're almost certain that he would knock that shit off immediately. but... there's a small part of you that finds it a little bit amusing. and maybe you should be good and hold your hand up and say the words that would make any wise man run far, far away: "sorry, kid. you know your attending? yeah, that's my husband."

but that would just be too easy.

tuesday, you're ultimately surprised by the gumption that he has to continue to flirt with you. he says your name like he's purring it, and you can't help but scrunch your nose up slightly, looking up at the board to see where your skills are most needed. the amusement has mostly dissipated, being followed by a certain brand of annoyance that only a twenty five year old boy can draw out of you.

you roll your head to look at your forty nine year old man, coming out of the trauma that had come in thirty minutes ago, only to find that his gaze is already on you. his cheeks are slightly red, hands on his hips, eyebrows screwed up in that way that indicate to you that he's weighing his options about what the best course of action is, here. you wave at him with your fingers, and the new resident, alex, follows your gaze. he gives a big toothy grin to your attending and it takes everything within you to keep your face as neutral as possible. "man, abbot's a cool fuckin' dude," he says under his breath with a truly earnest reverence, and it almost makes you feel bad. almost.

"he's the best of us," you say, and it's entirely truthful. you can tell that jack is still cued in on your conversation. you slide your glance back over to him and wink before you look back to alex.

"yeah." he doesn't take a beat to look back at you with that unbridled hunger that he had been throwing your way through both of the shifts you'd worked together. "so. what're you doing after all of this?"

with raised eyebrows, you shrug your shoulders. "i have an idea or two." he looks just a hair too excited, and your face drops. "not like that. you know, if you want to be a doctor, you do need to actually have an attention for detail." you raise your left hand, revealing the gold band that you wear when you're working. “less flirting. more charting. go.”

when you look over at abbot with a slight exasperation, he just raises one eyebrow at you, and offers a tentative thumbs up– almost a question.

you give him a thumbs up back.

–

the next day, alex was going around to every person that you both worked with, attempting to get intel on you, and your love life.

dana scoffs when she hears the words come out of his mouth. “i mean, he can’t be all that. there’s no way he’s better than me. i was a diver at duke! i had a full ride!” the words are said with such true arrogance that even dana has to laugh.

“oh, kid, if only you knew.” she claps him on the shoulder and points her finger at him. “i’m only gonna tell you this once, alright– after that, you’re on your own. and don’t say i didn’t warn you.” she looks at him down the bridge of his nose– a remarkable feat, considering alex is nearing 6’1. “you don’t want to try your luck. you feel me?”

“but–”

“ah– what did i just say? you don’t want to try your luck. believe me.” she claps that same shoulder again. “and if you do, i knew nothing, and had nothing to do with it.”

you lean against the counter, very obviously eavesdropping, not like you really care– when abbot slides up beside you. he looks over his shoulder at alex, who is, of course, already looking at you. when he meets abbot’s gaze, his eyes go wide and he turns right around, going back to north-11 to finish up with the norovirus patient that jack had put him on. following jack’s line of sight, you can’t help but smirk as you watch alex take in a big gulp of air, slap a mask on, and step into what you’re sure is a hell made entirely of shit and vomit.

“you know,” you say lowly, your elbow brushing jack’s. “that is just mean.”

“all interns get a noro case when they come in,” he says seamlessly, looking between the board and the patient notes that he’s trying to wrap up. “it’s textbook.”

“his first day was three days ago. you usually give it at least a couple of weeks before you start sticking them on noro or food poisoning.”

“not all interns flirt with my wife, relentlessly, in front of me.” jack puts his undivided attention on you.

“oh my god.” you’re smirking. you’re smirking, wide, at your computer. when you look over at jack, you say, “you’re not seriously jealous of the kid?”

“it’s about respect.”

“i don’t think he’s even picked up on us yet. which is hilarious, in and of itself.” you finish up with your chart and put a hand on your hip. “no one’s telling him.”

“he keeps this shit up, he’ll be hearing it from me.”

you hum and pat your hand on his chest. he catches it, his thumb rubbing at the ring you wear. “you’re sexy when you’re jealous,” you say under your breath, close enough to him that you can get away with a little workplace flirting.

“i’m not jealous.”

–

he is jealous.

he’s jealous when he watches this kid– yeah, you may only be five years older than him, but he doesn’t linger on that fact too long– blatantly flirt with you. he gets jealous when alex leans in slightly towards you during shift, just a little too close than is friendly while you review patient notes and ongoing care. but then, he watches you do your little semi-awkward shuffle to the left, and he can’t even help his smirk. and then you look over your shoulder, make this face that says, can you believe this guy? and suddenly, it’s not that he’s jealous. it’s just that he loves you.

but then, on that thursday, alex touches you.

at first, you don’t even notice what he’s done. a little piece of hair has fallen into your eyes out of the tortoiseshell clip that you love so much– the one that jack picked up for you at a cvs because he knows how much you love tortoiseshell. and it’s so faint that you barely even register it. but it doesn’t matter. because you may not have realize, but jack certainly has.

alex’s hand hasn’t even dropped from where he’s tucking that loose piece of hair behind your ear when jack surges up, dana hot on his heels. “woah, woah, woah, let’s all cool it–” dana starts, but it’s no use.

jack puts a firm hand on alex’s shoulder, squeezing tighter than necessary. certainly firm enough to drive home his point. “hey, buddy,” jack says lowly, just enough so that alex can hear him loud and clear, without causing a scene that draws the attention of the entire emergency department. he has that sort of simmering intensity that always makes something swirl in your belly. “look, i’ve tried to be cool, man. i really have. but i’m only going to tell you this one time before i pull in a favor with gloria so that you complete your residency somewhere else. keep those grubby fucking hands off of my wife.”

mortification is an understatement for what you assume alex must be feeling. his face is beet red, eyes darting between you and abbot so fast you’d want to get him in for a head CT if he kept it up any longer. “i– holy shit– i did not know.”

“i know you didn’t,” jack says with a resolute nod. “but now you do. so keep your hands to yourself and we won’t have a problem.” he pats alex’s back once, and you cover your mouth with one hand and peer over at dana with wide eyes. she, can only shrug, roll her eyes, put her readers back on, and turn back to the charge desk. “go get a sandwich from the bin and take ten minutes. go.”

alex looks at you and you feel bad, almost. you smile at him and say, “next time, if a woman says she’s not interested… take it at face value, before jack abbot has to get involved.”

“yes, ma’am. it will not happen again.” alex gives one last nod to jack, like a nervous teenage boy, before he’s off running towards the staff lounge with his tail between his legs.

jack rubs a hand over his face. you bite down on your lip, look at him, and you start to chuckle. soon, jack’s laugh begins to mix with yours, coalescing until you’re leaning against the charge desk with tears clouding your vision, his dimples fully out and on display.

“man,” he says, shaking his head. “i feel a little bad.” he says, his laughter still holding him by the sleeve, begging to tug him back under.

“you should be. you’re scary,” you say while his thumb catches one of the stray tears on your cheek.

he snorts. “i’m about as scary as a kitten.”

“i dunno. i think our friend would beg to differ.” you lean into him and squeeze his arm before you force yourself to pull away– you like to exude some semblance of professionalism at work. even if the thing you want to do is drag your husband to the on-call room and ravage him for defending your honor.

“yeah, well. guess i reserve it for special circumstances.” he crosses his broad arms over his chest and looks you, up and down. they land on your face and soften. “i love you, kid.” the way he calls you kid, versus alex, makes your chest squeeze. an old habit from your residency, a reminder of where you were and how far you've come now.

the fondness that you feel for him never gets smaller. the longer you've been with him, from that time where you were his resident, smoking weed on his living room floor and wondering if there was a world where this could all work... the thing that always remained true and steady was how much you liked jack. right down to his bones, you liked him.

how can you capture that all in a sentence?

you don't know. but you settle on, "i love you," emphasis on the most important word there is.

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #jack abbot imagine #jack abbott imagine #jack abbot #jack abbott #the pitt fanfic #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt #dr abbot x reader #my writing

2K notes · View notes

astonmartinii · 2 months ago

Text

lessons in chemistry | george russell social media au

pairing: george russell x fem teacher reader

part time formula one driver and full time student kimi antonelli wonders whether a date with his teammate is an appropriate gift for his favourite teacher

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

kimiantonelli

liked by olliebearman, georgerussell63 and 367,200 others

tagged: yourusername

kimiantonelli: break from racing :( back with miss y/ln :)))))

view all comments

user1: first 18 year old actually excited to go to school

user2: and it’s the 18 year old who is already a formula one driver and millionaire

user3: probably helps if you’re in love with your teacher

user4: who is a milf

kimiantonelli: don’t sexualise miss y/ln like that :( she is an amazing teacher and makes me excited to learn about history!

yourusername: thank you, kimi!

kimiantonelli: if there are any spelling mistakes in my most recent essays please direct all of your critcism to @georgerussell63 and @charles_leclerc they were the ones who helped me

georgerussell63: of course i might have spelt things wrong your essay had to be in ITALIAN

charles_leclerc: yeah i have no excuse i didn’t really finish school

yourusername: kimi! what have i said about using your teammates and coworkers for homework?

kimiantonelli: i was being resourceful!

yourusername: you got me there… but maybe next time ask oscar, he’s the only one with actual qualifications

oscarpiastri: she’s not wrong but please do not ask me for help on your homework

kimiantonelli: okay just say you hate miss y/ln then

oscarpiastri: i didn’t say that?

kimiantonelli: okay cool i’ll see you in suzuka because i got an essay about the cold war due after the triple header

user5: i did not realise this was the kind of chaos the rookies were going to bring this season

user6: i mean kimi antonelli is just like me i am also emotionally attached to my history teacher

user7: real bitch representation

lewishamilton: i’m glad to see you are making sure to finish school

kimiantonelli: i’m sorry we missed out on being teammates you could’ve been the one i’m going to set up with miss y/ln

yourusername: excuse me?

lewishamilton: what?

kimiantonelli: i guess she’ll have to make do with george …

georgerussell63: rude?

kimiantonelli: well i wanted to set her up with max but he has a girlfriend and a baby on the way - boring!

georgerussell63: even ruder!

maxverstappen1: lol

yourusername: do i get a say in this?

kimiantonelli: well i wanted to give you a nice gift for getting me through school and this is the best i could think of!

yourusername: i appreciate that kimi but i’ll be okay with a bottle of bubbly

kimantonelli: hmmmmm… okay!

user8: he’s defo still going to try and set her up isn’t he?

olliebearman: 100%

liked by estebanocon, dorianepin and 1,203,984 others

f1: happy international women’s day - which women in your life inspire you?

view all comments

user9: love me some susie wolff

user10: for real that’s my FIA president

user11: i know toto can’t handle all of that

estebanocon: my new race engineer laura!

user12: bearnelli this, lestappen that - these two are the best duo

user13: queens !!!

georgerussell63: shout out to doriane pin

user14: mercedes girlies sticking together

user15: will kimi say doriane as well or is he going to do the batshit crazy option …

user16: let’s be real we all know what he’s going to comment

user17: i’m willing to bet money on it

olliebearman: easiest money you’ll ever make

kimiantonelli: miss y/ln!!!

user18: omg someone study this guy’s obsession with his history teacher it’s getting crazy

kimiantonelli: woah who made you the authority on what woman i can find inspiring?

kimiantonelli: CAN YOU MAKE THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION INTERESTING?

kimiantonelli: HUH?

yourusername: okay kimi let’s calm down

kimiantonelli: but you ARE inspiring

yourusername: that is very touching, kimi, thank you

kimiantonelli: no worries!!!!!!!!!!!!

yourusername: the amount of exclamation points is worrying me…

kimiantonelli: NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT HERE

georgerussell63: why have you just invited me to learn italian on duolingo

kimiantonelli: no reason…

yourusername: kimi! no meddling!

kimiantonelli: i’m not meddling!!! do you not want more people to learn the beautiful language?

yourusername: i am keeping an eye on you…

user19: i know she hates to see him coming

kimiantonelli: nuh uh i’m her favourite even though she can’t say that

yourusername: kimi please stop arguing with people in comment sections

kimiantonelli: okay! just for you miss y/ln!

georgerussell63: how did you get him to be so nice to you?

yourusername: i’m not sure, but if he’s mean to you i think that might be a skill issue

georgerussell63: this is crazy…

kimiantonelli: this is you guys flirting right?

yourusername: huh?

georgerussell63: huh?

yourusername

liked by kimiantonelli, georgerussell63 and 3,109 others

yourusername: shush don’t tell my students i’m at imola

view all comments

user20: oh i am not ready for kimi’s weird attachment to this woman to be irl rather than just instagram comments

user21: she’ll be in the paddock before she knows it

user22: does she know she’s a niche f1 star like ???

olliebearman: oh i just heard kimi’s scream from here

kimiantonelli: SHUSH

olliebearman: omg it’s like i don’t exist when she’s around… what about OUR SHIP???

kimiantonelli: let me conclude my master plan and we can go back to being vaguely fruity

olliebearman: OMG YAY

yourusername: you done?

olliebearman: what you gonna do? give me detention

yourusername: i can’t give you detention but i can give kimi detention and a little birdy told me you were going on a cycling trip…

olliebearman: I’M SORRY MISS Y/LN

user23: who is this woman and how does she have this much power

user24: one should never underestimate the power of a weird mother bond with a history teacher

user25: i miss mine so bad but it’s not socially acceptable to go see her now

georgerussell63: you just got me called into an emergency meeting because of this post

yourusername: and i should care because?

georgerussell63: because your little man is obsessed with setting us up so i would kinda want to like you before that happens

yourusername: oh so you don’t like me?

kimiantonelli: yOU DON’T THINK MISS Y/LN IS PRETTY ?

kimiantonelli: THAT’S NOT WHAT YOU SAID THE OTHER DAY ???

georgerussell63: kimi ???

yourusername: it’s fine george, i get it

georgerussell63: WHAT ?!

kimiantonelli: i can’t believe i’m doing all of this work for you george and this is how you repay me

kimiantonelli: i knew i should’ve chosen charles

charles_leclerc: why wasn’t i told i was in the running?

georgerussell63: WOAH HOLD YOUR HORSES

georgerussell63: i thought you said i was the best match for miss y/ln kimi?

kimiantonelli: i think you’d be a good match but it’s mostly for convenience because if she’s dating you i don’t have to argue for her to be in the merc garage over somewhere like ferrari

yourusername: i love how i am getting absolutely no say in this ?

kimiantonelli: have faith in me i know what i’m doing - he seems really uncool, annoying, a massive pain the ass, lanky, bitter and nosey but he gets better when you get to know him

georgerussell63: thanks? i guess?

yourusername: kimi i am more than fine to flirt and find a man for myself

kimiantonelli: but this is my gift to you!!!

georgerussell63: you can’t say no to the boy

yourusername: i guess i can’t…

user26: the most enthusiastic yes to a date

user27: kimi has george fighting for his life and i’m kind of loving it

kimiantonelli

liked by lewishamilton, maxverstappen1 and 651,094 others

tagged: yourusername & georgerussell63

kimiantonelli: i got on the podium at home and got to set up my most favourite teacher in the world and george on a date

view all comments

user28: y/n tearily filming kimi on the podium… that’s her kid actually

user29: i feel so bad for her other students omg

user30: as a student of miss y/ln we don’t have to worry - kimi is so bad at history there’s literally no way she could actually favour him lol

kimiantonelli: I TRY

user31: bro just got his first formula one podium and is arguing about school work i can’t

georgerussell63: first of all - i’m just george to you? second of all - i thought this date business was a joke?

yourusername: so i am a joke to you?

georgerussell63: i am so confused

georgerussell63: i thought this was a joke

georgerussell63: but i would love to take you for some pasta and wine if you’re interested

kimiantonelli: SHE’S INTERESTED

georgerussell63: right kimi, you’ve done enough - let the adults flirt in peace now

kimiantonelli: 🤐

yourusername: so where is this british boy taking me, an italian, for pasta

georgerussell63: well… i’ve got some recommendations from some italians

lewishamilton: I AM NOT ITALIAN, IF GEORGE FUMBLES THIS IT IS HIS FAULT AND HIS FAULT ALONE

georgerussell63: why does no one have faith in me?

yourusername: we’ll see whether they’re telling the truth won’t we

georgerussell63: oh really

kimiantonelli: SHE’S SAYING YES DUMBASS

georgerussell63: i am aware kimi

yourusername: he’s just trying to help george!

georgerussell63: as much as i want this to go well… you will always take his side won’t you?

yourusername: well one of you writes me cold war essays and one of you doesn’t

georgerussell63: i’ll write you essays !!!!

landonorris: good lord that’s embarrassing

user32: george is so pathetic i love him

user33: you’d never catch me writing an essay for a girl

georgerussell63: and that’s why you are single …

olliebearman: @lewishamilton what restaurant did you recommend?

olliebearman: for NO reason at all

maxverstappen1: we have completely innocent intentions

kimiantonelli: i don’t, i want to spy

kimiantonelli: but i will wear a fake moustache for your convenience

yourusername: that’s very kind kimi

georgerussell63: no it’s not ???

alexalbon: i also will be spying

yourusername: and what would that be for

alexalbon: well i need to sus out who YOU are

georgerussell63: finally, someone on my side

yourusername: so you think your friends won’t like me? i see…

georgerussell63: wait! no?

maxverstappen1: if this date is a couple hours of george digging a hole i will get you a life time supply of stroopwaffels kimi

kimiantonelli: i am so conflicted right now

georgerussell63

liked by alexalbon, kimiantonelli and 1,094,388 others

tagged: yourusername

georgerussell63: lessons in chemistry

view all comments

user34: the way this doesn’t acknowledge literally like half of the grid crashing the date

user35: i thought they were joking about the fake moustaches …

user36: was alex dressed as sherlock holmes?

alexalbon: there weren’t that many costumes available at the store

user37: you didn’t have to literally use the pipe

alexalbon: it’s called committing to the bit

yourusername: everyone in the restaurant had to leave early because you didn’t realise the plant on the table that you were trying to smoke was PLASTIC

alexalbon: god forbid a guy tries to get a bit goofy

kimiantonelli: @yourusername thoughts? feelings? i will slash his tyres if you didn’t like him

georgerussell63: i feel like this is a bit unfair

kimiantonelli: why? your myers briggs types say you should fall in love and get married so if you don’t it’s clearly your fault george

georgerussell63: thanks for the vote of confidence kimi

kimiantonelli: the science doesn’t lie, george

yourusername: i’m not sure that’s what it’s trying to prove kimi

kimiantonelli: ohhhhhh defending him already….

georgerussell63: i guess i just have that effect

kimiantonelli: ewwww not in front of my eyes

yourusername: i actually can’t win

user38: the fact that both kimi and y/n just go back to class on monday is killing me

user39: how is bro gonna be in the staff room with a straight face

yourusername: by the way i’m a history teacher

georgerussell63: so we don’t have chemistry

yourusername: oh! hahahahaa umm ��

landonorris: omg girl get a grip it’s only george

yourusername: well i can certainly say he’s more charming than you

landonorris: wait why am i being attacked?

kimiantonelli: miss y/ln lando doesn’t know who stalin is !!!

yourusername: excuse me ???

landonorris: i’m so joe she’s stalin taking this dick

yourusername: i’m going to fight you

landonorris: george ??? kimi ???

georgerussell63: i’m on y/n’s side

kimiantonelli: i love miss y/ln so i wouldn’t spit on you even if you were on fire

user40: this is all so confusing

user41: i’m actually kinda enjoying it

yourusername: i’m enjoying it too

kimiantonelli: is it too soon to say i told you so

yourusername: yes. give me a couple days

georgerussell63: i’m very much enjoying this

kimiantonelli: gross.

charles_leclerc: so a date with me is off the cards now?

georgerussell63: YES

yourusername: sorry charles i’ve been charmed

georgerussell63: you don’t have to be sorry

charles_leclerc: omg mr possessive already

georgerussell63: well yes!

yourusername: oh my …

yourusername

liked by kimiantonelli, olliebearman and 51,0347 others

tagged: georgerussell63

yourusername: please don’t ask me what on earth has happened in the last few weeks because i honestly don’t know but george is cute and mine now i guess? back off!

view all comments

user41: well well well

user42: what a turn around

user43: gal realised that kimi really wasn’t joking and locked the fuck in

georgerussell63: i knew you’d come around

yourusername: you’re very confident

georgerussell63: well kimi loves you so i knew he wouldn’t knowingly set you up with someone you wouldn’t like

yourusername: he knows me better than he should, i think i should be worried

georgerussell63: how did you guys end up so freakishly close anyway

yourusername: well obviously someone got scouted by toto young and has missed a lot of school and in order for him to catch up i tutored him

georgerussell63: oh that’s… actually cute

kimiantonelli: why did you doubt it was cute - i don��t just attach to any adult figure in my life?

maxverstappen1: sure jan

yourusername: well if you could tutor him in geography that would be great

maxverstappen1: this is what i get for being a flag nerd

user44: her preparing to battle the fans is the funniest thing ever, good luck babe

user45: literally works in a public school i think she can handle kids

user46: do george russell fans even tussle like that

yourusername: someone messaged me to say that they made a voodoo doll of me out of a frankenstein beanie baby and sonny angel but they promised it was just to help us create a soul bond ???

user47: the grussell sprouts are an interesting bunch

user48: love how kimi has just inadvertently fucked every student younger than him at that school

yourusername: i will not abandon my kids!

georgerussell63: the way she talks about them? she’s never leaving that school

georgerussell63: and that’s a great thing!

georgerussell63: i’m only slightly jealous…

kimiantonelli: george, be careful she’ll defo dress code you

georgerussell63: oh so she’s strict

alexalbon: HOLD UP BUDDY

landonorris: we’re getting into weird kinky territory now…

georgerussell63: i’ve seen your internet search history you cannot chat to me right now

landonorris: well i’ve also seen yours sooooo i guess you’re a happy bunny

yourusername: right well my students can actually read these so do we want to stop?

landonorris: what? you gonna spank me?

georgerussell63: LANDO?

georgerussell63: not cool

landonorris: i’ve been blocked

georgerussell63: as you should be you scoundrel

user49: i am so scared of them

georgerussell63: all jokes aside, i am very happy to have met you and can’t wait to see where this is going to go

yourusername: you’re such a gentleman, this is definitely better than the bottle of bubbly i asked for

georgerussell63: maybe i can get some champagne for you next race?

yourusername: i’ll only accept if you help kimi get some too

kimiantonelli: real

georgerussell63: i just have to accept him don’t i

yourusername: you wouldn’t have me without him so yeah you do

georgerussell63: I HAVE YOU???

georgerussell63: i mean yeah i guess he did me a solid

yourusername: you’re such a loser

georgerussell63: but your loser

yourusername: yep :P

kimiantonelli: i think that is mission accomplished

olliebearman: setting us up next when?

olliebearman: huh? who said that?

fin.

note: so we all saw that tiktok.... it put this in my brain and i had to write it! also stay tuned... a certain chapter seven is in the works

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #george russell fluff #george russel imagine #george russel x reader #george russell imagine #george russell x reader #george russell

2K notes · View notes

venmondiese · 1 year ago

Text

A Cure For A Bad Day

Summary: Aemond has one of his worst days ever, nothing seems to go right. At night, at least, he gets the company of his new wife as he bathes.

Based on Ewan Mitchell's and TGC 'Scene Reactions' when he says "When we did that scene, when he had the rain machine going in, the dye on the eyepatch... it just stained the wig"

✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader ✧Warnings: MDNI 18+, p in v sex, bath sex, breeding kink, overall very sweet, aemond discovering feelings. ✧Word Count: 5.2k ✧ Ao3 link: here ✧gifs: by myfandomprompts

Aemond is known for many things. He is fierceless, perfectionist, well trained with the sword, and bold. Those things he was proud of.

And all those things, he was not today.

He trained by morning, and Criston Cole was waiting for him. The sword felt slightly different on his hand, weird, but he just took it that he slept badly and that's why his arm felt numb.

Now, after losing his eye, he had to learn things differently. He had a considerably big blind spot, and so he learned how to keep it aware of his surroundings as training with the sword. Yet, those things do not have in mind the little rocks on the ground, which he stepped on and twisted his ankle as he tried to defend Ser Criston’s attack.

And with that, he twisted his ankle and slightly cut his hand.

He was annoyed, but he tried not to pay attention to it. A silly mistake. The rock was on his blind side, how could he notice? It was a rookie mistake, and it burned his cheeks to remember it.

By the evening, after eating, he decided to ride Vhagar. His girl liked long rides, not so fast but more calm, and prowling around the crownlands skies.

He did not anticipate the rain.

For some reason or another, Vhagar was as grumpy as him, and she did not seem to want to go over the clouds in the rain. No, she wanted full on take a bath on the rainfall.

And Aemond had to bear it. But what was worse was when he realised that his eyepatch had dyed his hair. He just picked the worst eyepatch today.

His hair was slightly silver auburn, and just in some parts. He hated it, and it made his day ten times worse as he realised the eyepatch had been too tight, and it had been suffocating his scar without him realising.

He had trouble with the sensibility on his left side of his face, and just today he put his eyepatch too tight. It made him furious.

And he decided to make it everyone’s problem.

He was laying in the bathtub, next to the fire as he had a horrible headache. He came in, demanding a bath as the servants had to rush to get him hot water.

He took his own clothes off, kicking his boots away, refusing any servants touch as he undoes his own leather jerkin, he unties his breeches, grunting and mumbling in frustration, hating each instance of this day. He thinks a bath will help him to relax even a bit. He just wanted to sleep, and end up with this horrible day.

His scar itches, and it drives insane. It was as if the itchcame from the deep parts of his cheekbones and it drove him mad. He was at the edge of peeling his own skin to scratch his damn scar.

Only in his undergarments, he ignores the chilling cold from the chamber, and he walks barefoot as the servants fill the bathtub with hot water. As hot as possible. He walks over the chimney, and throws the eyepatch in, hoping it burns in hell.

His loose hair, tinted with the dye of the eyepatch. If he only knew who was the mastermind behind it, who decided to spend coins on it; he would kill them. And they better hope this stupid dye can get off with the bath, or head will start rolling.

The water was hot, but he paid no mind. He liked boiling hot, and he sat against his as he let the attendant boy prepare scents and the oils to put on the water, and to wash him. Aemond didn’t allow him to wash him; yet. He wanted some moments of peace in the hot water, so he remained a good amount of time still.

“Bring me the ointment that Maester Orwyle prepared for my eye” Aemond’s voice is low, yet demanding as the boy gets out, not without bowing to the prince.

He waits, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that would calm his nerves, his headache. He believes it works, so he is focused on it, as he accommodates his legs on the water, trying to be relaxed.

Time is a bit dizzy, and when he hears the door open, he can hear the servants speaking hushedly, as if wanting him not to hear. Good, because he didn’t want to listen to them either.

He can hear the little taps that the shoes do as the maid leaves the oils for his hair on a near table, and takes his hair on her hands, gently. He doesn’t turn to face her; he just wants the damn dye to get off.

Hands wash his hair, and if he wants to relax, this is making it impossible. The little tugs and the awful way that scrubs his hair to take the dye off, and the weird caresses on his neck from time to time.

“You are not doing correctly" he grumbles to the servant with closed eyes as his migraine is persistent. "Learn how to wash a prince's hair" he adds, sharply.

“Apologies” The voice comes as a murmur, a bit strained if even, as the hands go to his neck, and all the way up.

“My prince” He adds sharply, he cannot believe his luck today. “When you address a royal member of the Targaryen House, you use their title. My prince” he says, patronisingly and even angry.

“Yes, my prince” a little cough at the end, he either thinks the maid is trying to hold back a laugh or embarrassment. Not that he cares, as he has his eye closed and a hand on his temple, his head resting on his hand, that caresses his forehead trying to get that awful headache away

Aemond's face was scrunched up in pain, as his eyes were closed. "Are you new at this? I swear... I am starting to believe that they are just sending me incompetent maids to attend to me..." the young prince groaned.

His body stiffens, as arms go to wrap his neck from behind, and before he can sit up properly, he feels the maid kiss his cheek lovingly as she giggles. “Apologies, my prince…”

The voice is clear as day, and if his hand was going to fetch the little dagger on the table by his side, it stops.

He turns his head to his right, seeing your wide smile as you wait for his reaction. He groans, rolling his eyes, which causes you to laugh loudly.

His new wife, she always liked to tease him and cling to him, always hugging him, taking his hand in hers or kissing him all over. He didn’t mind; he always allowed her even at court. But he won’t admit that he likes it too.

“Wife” he greets you as he sighs, and he feels your hand rubbing circles in the back of his neck.

“I know, I do not know how to wash hair. You’ve made it completely clear”

“I thought you were a servant” he says, looking at her. “You are a highborn lady, you don’t need to know how to.”

“True…” you say, moving some of the wet hair out of his face, and squeezing it so it isn’t dripping. “I heard that my prince had a horrible day, and he was in a bad mood. Servants do talk, you know…” you say looking at him with a smile “Wanna tell me about it?”

Aemond sighs and looks at you, as you take the sponge to wash his body. He sighs as you pour some of the water in his chest and start scrubbing softly.

“"A terrible day... I stepped on a rock, and twisted my ankle and cut my arm in the process... Then i wanted to relax with a ride on Vhagar, but it started to rain, the fucking dye of the eyepatch got all over my hair and eye.. I have the worst migraine now..." his voice is rough, and he seems annoyed at the memory of it. “And I haven’t seen you as much as I’d like”

It wasn’t the worst day he has ever lived. Maybe. When he lost his eye it could be the top one. He won Vhagar, at the cost of his eye. It was an amazing thing, traded for the worst thing that has ever happened to him. He was still living the consequences of it today, as his scar stinged on his skin.

“Not your best day, I see” you say softly, scrubbing his chest. He enjoys it, as he looks at you, leaning back in the bath as you scrub his chest. “I’m sorry to hear it”

“I don’t need pity”

You chuckle “It is not pity” you say softly, looking at your husband. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

Aemond stays silent. He is not used to someone caring about him like this. Sure, his mother cared for him, and so did Helaena But not like this.

“Be by my side”

The silence is a bit comforting, as you wash his body. He looks at you deeply, and he cannot help but think how stunning you are. You didn’t find any discomfort in washing him, in caring and tending to him. You never once seem disgusted by his lack of eye, by his empty eye socket, or his ugly scar. Never once you discarded him.

It was more than often that you placed the ointment prepared by maester Orwyle on his eye, his scar, where his nerves were permanently damaged and they brought discomfort to him. You never once complain.

“You look different” he says, looking at you in the dim lights of the room.

“Different how?” you ask, as you finish brushing his hair, making sure the dye is almost completely getting off his wet hair. He has little curls, which makes you smile like an idiot.

“I do not know. Shining. Radiant. Lovely.” He murmurs, moving one of his wet hands to tickle a strand of hair on your ear. “Different”

“So I usually do not look radiant or lovely…”

“Not what I meant” he groans and you chuckle softly. “You were sick. Now you look much better in… spirits.”

“You look different too” You say looking at him with a smile. Your eyes fall to his chest, and you smile. He notices how you get flustered at the sight of his nakedness.

“More wounded” he says ironically, leaning back with a sigh.

“Stronger” you correct him smiling. “More… mhm. I’d say more… Hot”

“You think I am hotter when I'm wounded?”

“Not what I meant” you say chuckling under your breath, “I meant… I like seeing you like this... Leaning back is so... manly, and hot…"

“Oh, do you?” he asks slightly amused, leaning back still as he looks at you, nodding and smiling. Aemond frowns a bit, and he hisses then you accidentally hit his new wound on his wrist.

“Sorry, love” you say, kissing his hand, and smiling. “You know, when I was little they cured my wounds like this. With a kiss”

“Did they?” He asks, trying to remain interested even with his headache.

“Yes. Like this” She says kissing near his wound, a very feather-like kiss. “See? Does it feel better?”

You look at him with an adorable expression, as if you truly think that this would make him feel better. Aemond blinks, as he looks at you.

It ticks him the wrong way that you care about him. Why would you? Perhaps it is a womanly thing. He wasn’t so sure. Perhaps as his wife, it is your burden, having to make a maimed man feel better.

The prettiest maiden in court, chained to a maimed man, deformed and always wounded, stuck in the pain of his eye to see beyond. Wasting your best years with him.

And he cannot decipher why.

“Aemond?” You ask as he trails off.

“Yeah” he clears his throat, awkwardly, and he moves his legs a bit. “I guess so”

“Where else does it hurt?” You ask sweetly.

He sometimes hates how kind you can be, he doesn’t know what your upper intentions are, but after all, you are his wife even if he can’t decipher you.

“Well, my eye, obviously…” he says a bit embarrassed “And… my left foot, I guess. And my arm, because I slept on it… and…”

You nod, looking at him as he speaks. He is intimidated, he realises. You make sure to hear all of what he has to say, with your sweet eyes.

You move to the end of the bathtub, and move to kiss his ankle softly, no complaints, no hesitation. Nothing… odd, about it. Only out of tenderness. You kiss his shoulder, and his left cheekbone, softly, to make sure it doesn’t burn on his skin. He just lets you, because it makes you happy, thinking that it helps.

And he doesn’t realise that it actually helps him, in a way. The smile on your face makes him smile too, and he sighs.

“Better?”

“Mhm” he hums in agreement, looking at your face. “Better when you're with me, yes”

He is utterly head over heels for you, even if he isn’t good with feelings. He loves you, even when he seems slightly annoyed by you.

“And you?”

“And me?” You ask curiously.

“You were sick. Coughing like crazy, and all your body ached.” he says softly, “in confinement, away from me… Do you truly feel better?”

“I am better. Lady Westerling got all of us sick” you say with a slight smirk. “my body still aches a bit, but it’s…” you hesitate a bit, slightly nervous.

“Then join me” he interrupts, moving to try and get you in the bathtub with him. "The hot water will do good to you..."

"It will burn my skin, I hate how hot you take these baths..." you protests, moving his hands off your waist as he tries to pull you in.

"The Blood of the Dragon, wife" he says smugly, smirking. "It is cold, anyways. It is barely warm"

"You like it boiling hot" You say smiling to him, and he presses a kiss on your jaw.

"I do, indeed." He admits "Come on, get in with me"

“Aemond, my nightgown…” you protest, and he rolls his good eye.

“You have others, let it get wet” You seem to give in, as he helps you get in, holding your hand as you enter the bathtub. “It will do good to your aches.” He insists, taking your waist in his hands to place you on his lap.

“I think it is an excuse” you say, blushing a bit as you accomodate on his lap.

“A good one, you must admit” he says looking at you, and he passes his hands all the way up to your back. “But an innocent one, I must admit” he says, and you tilt your head as if asking him to elaborate “I don’t think I am up for anything, I am too tired for it”

You hum, his still wet hair made him look almost cute. His little curls...

“The dye came off” you say, as he leans to kiss your neck a bit. “I can go to the tailor and ask them to make another eyepatch one for you. More fancy. With real leather. Maybe add some fancy dragon scales in it”

“Hm. Fine” he says looking up at you, smiling at how delicious you were. He places a kiss on your hand, and he smiles. “What is bothering you?”

You stay still, blinking a bit. “Court. Ladies… at court. They don't seem to like me much. I mean, they like me but I always feel excluded. Like I am doing too much for them to like me”

Aemond looks at you, a bit surprised by it. He places his hands on your waist, and he certainly was thinking about how to comfort you. He wasn’t a court charmer either, so he hummed.

“I thought you had friends.”

“I do… I guess. They just never seem to think of me when doing things. They do not hate me, no… I am the new one…, and so they just…. Don’t include me”

“I’ll include you” he states nodding. “I’ll bring you with me everywhere. Training, riding Vhagar, in the library, all of it.” He proposes softly.

“Hm. It would be pleasant.”

You smile softly, your hands, now wet and in the water, move from his abdomen all the way up to his chest.

Your husband was well fit. A prince of the realm, training with the sword since he was little. He practised almost every day, and was very detail-oriented in his field. And that paid off, as he was lean; yet muscular.

You two were still newlyweds. Maybe three months since you two married, and things were a bit awkward still. You tried to decipher his odd behaviour and he tried the same with yours, starting to know each other personally, yet there was a bond, a silent affection you both shared for the other.

His body felt warm. He had stayed at the bathtub for Gods know how many hours, and he was all wet and shiny. You hand caressed his muscles, going up from his abdomen to where his wispy chest hair were.

“What is in your mind?”

You hum, and smile “How handsome my husband is” you murmur “How good he is to me…” you add “How much I truly like you…”

Aemond raises his eyebrows, and he looks at you as your hand caress his torso up and down, slowly, as if you were tempting him.

“Oh?”

You nod softly, and even if he doesn’t know you too well; he knows this face.

You move to kiss his neck, your arms wrapped around his torso as you leave little kisses all over his skin. He chuckles a bit, at your little desperation for the demonstration of love, you were such a physical person for him.

“Darling, what are you-”

“I just missed you” You say, and he can see in his head the pout you would form if you weren’t so eagerly kissing his neck.

He chuckles as his hand holds your waist firmly on his lap, and he leans his head back, facing the ceiling as you two spoke. “Very eagerly, I see”

“You are tired. But let me…”

Your arms wrapped around him, holding him as you press gentle kisses there, and he smiles, starting to feel the boiling arousal in his abdomen, looking at the ceiling as if it could distract his mind.

“Very well”

His arms went to the edges of the bathtub, as he felt the fabric of the nightgown against his chest, and he certainly was starting to enjoy the constant nibbling and wetness of your kisses.

Aemond lets out a quiet groan, enjoying the gentle bites at his neck, as he feels his neck a little warmer. “You little minx- Did you just give me a hickey?”

Your giggle tells him all, as you move your lips to the start of his clavicle. His good eye closes as he enjoys the way your mouth feels against his sensitive skin.

“You are simply… delicious” you murmur, your kisses going lower to his chest, before stopping a moment.

“Do not tell me you want to leave a hickey there…” He says, moving his head down to look at you.

As he imagined before, your mouth turns into a pout as you frown; most adorably he must add.

“Oh, please! Let me try” You ask him “It is a way to show you that I missed you” You add, trying to convince him as he chuckles, making a mocking sound.

Aemond rolls his eyes as he feels your eager mouth sucking the skin of his chest, as if he was some kind of… not even he knew. It felt strange. Worshiped and feral. That’s how it felt, at least for him.

Once you separate, you look at your work, your thumb moving along the bruised skin with a satisfied smirk.

“Looks so good on you” you swear, as if it was a matter to be known.

“If it makes you happy” he says, accommodating on his seat, the water moving along with him. “My turn, then?”

You shake your head with a giggle “You always make it a mess!”

That he did, and he smiles a bit, seeing the lack of lovemarks of your neck.

It is you who eagerly kiss him, and press your body to his, as if needing him. He isn’t one to complain, as he feels your eager lips pressing against his and your tongue invading his mouth. Rather bold, to his taste. But he likes it.

Your hands on his shoulder make their slow way down, passing temptingly slow from his chest, to his abdomen. He gasps in the kiss, as if he was some kind of maiden, when he feels your hands underwater on his crotch and touching his cock.

He frowns a bit as he separates, trying to demand an answer. “Wha-” he tries to ask before you shut him up with a kiss, not even letting him speak.

Rather eager, aren’t we… He thinks, but he isn’t one to complain, as your touch is like magic to his dick. In the water is odd, he has to admit, but his member thinks otherwise as he gets aroused from your eagerness.

You smooch him with kisses, and he feels… intimidated, in a good way. You don’t even allow him to breathe without going for another kiss, desperate. Feral.

He has a feral wife, it seems.

“Darling, what are you…” he asks amused as you break the kiss, just to move your wet skirts all the way up, but he can’t see much of your pussy in the water, which he dislikes a lot.

“I missed you” you repeat “A lot.”

“It isn’t as if you were confined in a tower for years. It was barely two days. And I visited you-”

“I need you, husband” you state impatiently, as your knees move to the sides of his hips. “so, if you are tired, I’ll do it”

He blinks, surprised and taken aback. He is rather amused and aroused, at his bold wife.

“Alright” he says, looking at you as you can do the work alone.

He isn’t tired for sex, not at all. He can certainly get the energy, maybe not perform as usual, but he’ll do it if you ask. You didn’t even need to ask for it. But seeing you in control is better than that.

You rode him once, for later to admit that it wasn’t your favourite position, because you grew tired quickly. He didn’t mind, but now he thinks he’ll have you riding him at least once a week.

The way your dick enters your body is slow, as you slowly lower yourself on it. He can see your face contoured with pleasure, how you shut your eyes, and your hands grip on his shoulders as you whimper on it, you open your mouth and he leans to kiss your neck a bit, as if wanting to give back the affection you give him.

More than bounce on it, you find it more practical to grind on it. Your hands, that move between his waist and his shoulders, as if you didn’t know where to hold him to help you grind against his cock.

“That’s so good…” you whimper as you grind on his cock.

The water moves around, the harder you grind, the harder it moves on the bathtub. He is even sure that some of it has overflowed the bathtub, as he looks at your pretty face, as you moan needily. His hand moved to pull down your nightgown, just enough to expose both of your tits in the firm fabric. He pulls it down to expose your shoulders a bit, and it is a sight that only arouses him more.

“It’s so good, baby?” He asks looking up to you, and he leans his head to kiss your nipple, gently.

He knows you missed him. You are not rough, or a mess on his cock. You are doing it so prettily, so sweetly, he knows that you truly have missed him and his touch.

“Yeah, so-so good.” You babber a bit, nodding as he kisses your other breast softly. He does not hold you, he has his hand on the back, trying to keep him firm as you ride him.

His right hand holds your waist, as he notices. Your arms are on his shoulders as you whimper and moan, grinding him, not even minding the water around.

He has to admit, in the bathtub isn’t as comfortable as outside of it. The water doesn’t help to be smoother, if anything, he has the impression it does the contrary. It may be just him, as you don’t say anything against it.

“So eager, baby…” he says amazed, and now he feels like the one worshipping you. He just adores you, he realises, as he sweetly talks you through it “You just needed me, this badly?” He asks, kissing your jaw.

The little nods you give him are enough to get him moving his hips slowly up to meet your little grinds and bounces.

He kisses your breast again, and the other, and the other. He adores you, how the little mewls from your mouth are so arousing for him as you clench your pussy around him.

“Aemond…” you whine. “Feels.. amazing, so good...” you repeat, as if you couldn't think of anything else, as he looks up to you.

He is just surprised you have gotten this far without begging him to take control. They way he’d take your waist and flip you around, to make you hold the other edge of the bathroom, just to take you from behind, again, and again, and again. The water would overflow the bathtub completely, and his seed would be securely in your womb.

But you don’t ask him, and he doesn’t do it. He likes the sweetness of it. He likes how you look at him needily for both of your lips to meet on a kiss, passionate as your bounces and grind are slightly weaker.

“My special girl…” he murmurs, kissing you again and again, not minding if they are pecks or if he has the opportunity for his tongue to play with yours. “I love you”

You nod, whimpering and whining as you say it back. I love you, I love you, I love you. Again and again, as if it was some prayer.

“Aemond” you moan into his mouth,

“I know. Can you feel how good you take me?” He asks softly, kissing your chin, as he holds your waist to help you bounce on his cock. The splash of the water amuses and arouses him, and he groans at the sight of your nightgown fully soaked, glued to your figure.

“Mhm. Yes, yes, Gods, yes” you said, probably numb and already cockdrunk, just enjoying the feeling of his cock so deep inside.

“You want me to fill you, hm? To make you round with my seed, baby?” He asks, looking at you, moving to kiss your neck.

He is also rambling at this point, as you squeeze him in the perfect way, asking to be filled with cum. He ignores how the water splashes his chest and back, how it is practically soaking the carpet under the bath, and making a mess. He has to remember how wet it might be so you two don’t slide on the floor.

“Aemond, I… oh, Gods, Aemond!”

You little moans are music to his ears, as he holds your waist to move you down to his cock, to his taste. Not as rough as usual, but certainly desperate enough to want to cum.

“Will you cum for me, darling?” He asks, as he feels your hips grinding more desperately on him, and he throws his head back on the edge as he feels his balls tighten as well. You did wonders on him. “Cum for me and I’ll fill you up as you so much like” he promises, almost feral for you to cum.

Your release made him moan, loudly, as he held you tight on his cock as he cums as well. He looks lazily at you, panting and whimpering still, which only serves to fuel the last remains of arousal on his abdomen, filling your womb with his cum. He hopes it takes root and to see you grow pregnant as moons pass by.

“Thank you” you say, breathless against his chest, kissing his cheek sweetly.

He smiles a bit, by how pleasure drunk you obviously were. He moves you slightly, to pull out from you and accommodate you on his chest, which you take comfort in. “Nothing to be thankful for. I thank you. Having sex is rather… good for when one had a bad day” he says smiling.

You smile, and look at him, caressing his chest as you remain in this position, calmly breathing as he tries to stop panting.

“Have I made it better?” You ask, softly, looking up to him.

He chuckles softly, almost amused by how ridiculous the question was.

“Just by having a sight of you, you make my day better” he says.

Even if he was new to this whole marriage thing, even if sometimes he didn’t know you that well as your ladies-in-waiting and sometimes just allowed you to be even if it bothered him. He didn’t understand you most of the time, but he certainly adored you, very dearly.

“I can make it even better” you say almost proudly, and he raises his eyebrow, looking at you laying on his chest. The water wasn’t even hot anymore, but more cold than he could bear.

“Oh, how so?” He asks amused. “Did you claim a dragon? Only that can top the amazing moment that we just-”

“I am with child” you say simply, looking at him with a smile.

He stops on his tracks, and looks at you as he takes in what you said. He blinks, looking at you, and you smile awkwardly at him. Was he happy? The prospect always puts him in a good mood. But maybe it wasn’t as you thought? One thing was words, and other actions.

You watch his eye as he seems to have hundreds of thought per second, his face slight confused as he frowns a bit, before his lips turn into smile full of disbelief.

“Are you joking?”

“No... Maester Orwyle informed me this morning” you say softly. “He says that probably our wedding night was fruitful. I don't know. I don't look that pregnant, after these months. We have to figure it out in these days, so we can see when the birth is due... It's funny, because at first we thought it was from the sickness, that I got the worst part… but I just happened to be sick and pregnant”

That's why Maester Orwyle looked at him with a slight smirk as he helped desinfect his arm after training. You probably asked him to keep the secret so you could tell him.

That's why there was something off about you. He couldn't get exactly what, but something was off. It made sense, how nervous you were and how you tried to tell him before, but he was a fool to not notice it.

“Oh, my love…” he says, as he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly to him. “Oh… I don’t… I... What can I even say to that?”

He is surprised, and he can’t believe it. You were pregnant. You actually were. His little offspring, growing in your womb right at this moment. Your stomach was not firm by any mean, he couldn't decipher it even if he liked so.

“That is… That is the best thing anyone has ever told me” he admits, chuckling a bit in surprise. “You are going to be a mother. And you are going to make me a father”

"We are, indeed" You say smiling to him. "In some months, it will be me, you and a weeping babe"

He can feel his nose burn as he smiles, the image on his head as he forces himself not to cry of happiness, a weird chuckle comes out of his mouth.

"You are right" he says looking at you. "So, you are definitely moving to my chambers now, aren't you? No more personal chambers, no more confinement when sick. You are not leaving my side, not you or our little dragon" He states nodding, not for discussion. He can't have you just wandering around without him near to protect both of you.

He smiles, as you giggle. His day certainly got better, all thanks to you. His hands caress your back soothingly, as he is just... happy. He forgets about his horrible day, how his ankle still hurts or how his scar stings on his cheek and forehead as he smiles. What is that compared to the joy of knowing that he will be a father? A father to your children as well?

“Now, how come Lady Westerling got my pregnant wife sick?” he teases you as you roll your eyes. “She is in so much trouble, who does she think she is? Both my wife and my sweet baby? Oh, she is not going to see sunlight ever again-”

“Aemond!” you giggle, but he smooches your cheek with kisses that only makes your giggles grow louder.

#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond modern au #house of the dragon #aemond smut #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #aemondtargaryen #aemond targaryen #ewan nation #aemond the kinslayer #hotd #prince aemond #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #ewan mitchell

6K notes · View notes

p1astr81 · 4 days ago

Note

Hiiiii, love your work! If you’re not too busy or anything could you please make one where you’re mad at Oscar but his love language is physical touch so when he wants to hold your hand, yiu keep your fingers tense and try to wiggle free so he clasps them down and tapes his and your hand together??

if anyone has that one pic of Oscar (from 2023 I think) where he’s in the cockpit and he’s looking up w those bottom eyes… send it my way pls🙏

He ate your leftovers.

Rookie mistake.

You’d been giving him the silent treatment for eighteen hours and sixteen minutes—yes, he was keeping count.

You went so far as to put a pillow barrier between the two of you last night. When he protested, you typed into your notes:

don’t even try to cross it or else I’ll go sleep in the guest room.

So today, while you were sat on the sofa sipping a tea and watching some reality television show, he came and sat next to you. His thigh brushed yours. You got up, and sat on the other end of the sofa.

“Baby, come on I said I was sorry.” He reached out for you, but you twisted away from his hand. “And I bought you more. What more do you want from me?” He was pouting now. That was the only way to explain it. He got close enough to you where he knew you wouldn’t move away. “Please. I miss you. I miss your kisses and your cuddles.” He huffed. “You can be mad at me and give me the silent treatment, just please let me hold you.”

It was taking everything in you to continue being stubborn. You felt bad for him—only a little. But you had to teach him a lesson to be sure that he wouldn’t do it again. You clenched your jaw to stop from smiling, and gave him a nasty side eye.

He called your name, drawing out the last part of it dramatically. When you didn’t respond, he reached out, placing a hand on your thigh. You quickly batted it away, but he caught your wrist in his other hand. His days training for formula one made him way stronger than you, so your efforts to try and pull your hand back were useless. He took his free hand and laced his fingers between yours, gripping onto your stiff hand.

You continued to try to wiggle free. Alas, it was no use.

Oscar’s kisses started on the back of your hand, then trailed up your arm. He reached your upper arm before you gave his head a small shove. He got the hint and pulled back, but not without looking up at you with an exaggerated pout.

Your resolve was crumbling quickly under his gaze. “You can’t look at me like that when I’m mad at you. It’s cheating.” You protest, still trying to wiggle your hand free.

Oscar didn’t care. Because you had finally spoken to him. Eighteen hours without the beautiful sound of your voice had come to an end. He was smiling like a damn fool. “You spoke to me.” He pointed out, his voice soft and full of love.

You glared at him, but it didn’t hold up for long. You laughed, fingers relaxing to hold his hand properly. “Fine. Fine. I forgive you.” You gave in, but not without a roll of your eyes.

He took that as permission, not wasting a second longer to connect your lips. It was impatient, but so familiar. You could feel him smiling into it. His hands found your sides and he pulled you into his lap. His fingers dug into your sides like he was afraid you’d run away otherwise. He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m never making that mistake again.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #f1 x you #op81 #f1 angst #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x female oc #oscar piastri blurb

679 notes · View notes

januaryembrs · 1 year ago

Text

YOU'RE TOO SWEET FOR ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: @avis-writeshq says -

HELLO HELLO jumping on your 2k celebration reqs because 2K OMG SO DESERVED ‼️🫶

may i perhaps request a spencer reid x fem!reader fic please 🥹 maybe him post prison w new reader and she follows him around everywhere because she’s just instantly enamoured to him 🤭

thank you so so much lovely and congrats again !!!

Description: thirteen years in the fbi and ten weeks in prison does a number on Spencer, only when he arrives back in the office he meets the sunshine rookie that seems rather taken with him.

word length: 2.6k (this really ran away from me)

warnings: post-prison Reid, slightest age gap, Spencer dealing with coming home from prison, gun shooting?

authors note: hozier’s new song 'Too Sweet' + post-prison reid is a need, not a want.

He smelled her french vanilla perfume before he even knew she was there. But then again, it was all he could smell the minute she waltzed into the office with a tray of coffee, like someone had stuck a sweet dessert in the oven and baked it on full.

“Good morning!” She chirped, winding an arm over his shoulder and setting down a take out cup and a little chocolate donut on his desk, “Pen said you like chocolate, and I mean who doesn’t like chocolate, right?”

She was potent when she was so close to him, and in one single breath he caught a whiff of her shampoo, before she had flitted over to her side of the desk that sat opposite his, where Morgan once sat. Noticing his hesitance, mistaking it for discontent she paused, almost spilling her own beverage over the potted plant she kept by her keyboard, scrambling to set it on the surface.

“Y-you do like chocolate right? I mean they had strawberry too, I can switch yours with JJ’s, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind-” She splurged, and her face was much too worried considering it was a matter of a donut, particularly considering he was already eying up the way the thick chocolate was melting in the pastry bag.

“Chocolate is great, I love…” He held up the bag to read the label with squinting hazel hues, “Cocoa Caramel delight,”

He had never heard of it.

He had never even seen this brand, but he wanted to quell her nerves even in the slightest. The BAU didn’t have the funds for a new keyboard, let alone time to send her to the ER if she ended up spilling her coffee over her hand.

She seemed convinced, and he offered her a small smile, not exactly his most enthusiastic, but then again he hadn’t been much of a morning person since he’d come out of prison. He liked quiet, he liked a moment to himself before Penelope called them into the round table for briefing. But she was sweet, too sweet perhaps for the dark nature of their job.

He could already see it chewing up her perky disposition and spitting her right back out within a year. It happened to the best of them.

But she smiled back at him, a million watt grin that made him think maybe he was being a little cruel. She was still brand new, still trying to make friends and he remembered how hard he tried when it had been his first few weeks on the team. He turned his gaze away from her in shame, reading the way she’d written his name on the cup in a pink sharpie, framing it with two doodle hearts.

She all but skipped away, sensing he didn’t feel like talking much anymore, and he heard Emily exclaiming she was ‘A caffeine angel sent from the heavens,’ as she handed her the drink. He watched her braided hair disappear down the hall as she bounced over to Penelope’s lair.

He picked at the cocoa caramel delight with a kind of self loathing he was familiar with, the french vanilla still a saccharine sugar in his nose.

She caught him again; though this time he felt her bristle past his arm, watching the bullets pierce the target paper with an accuracy that only came from fourteen years of practice.

“Do you reckon you could teach me how to do that?” Her cadence was light and airy, and he had to stop himself from jumping, from slamming the butt of the gun into her nose on reaction, because he knew she meant well, even though she had no idea how damaged he was.

He was still out of sorts from having to look over his shoulder at every second of the day, and he was surprised he was holding it together so far. He supposed shooting the shit out of a target helped.

Because it was just her, looking at him with soft eyes and a smile that could start wars, and he knew she had no idea the effect she had on the walls he’d tried so hard to build in prison.

She must have mistook his look for annoyance, because she was quick to fumble with her own loaded gun, taking a step back in retreat, worried that she crossed some line she didn’t know he’d drawn.

“Or I could get Luke to show me, I didn’t mean to bother you, I just am really a shit shot and I know that’s pretty useless in the field-” It wasn’t until he flicked the safety on and took a step to follow her did she look at him again hopefully.

“No, I’d be more than happy to show you,” He cleared his throat, setting his pistol in its holster and stepping behind her as she lined herself up for the fake body meant to resemble an unsub, “We all have to start somewhere. Show me your form,”

She raised her arms up in front of her, aiming for a few seconds for the spot in the centre of the chest cavity, her finger reaching up for the trigger.

She shot once, her face hardened for the first time he’d ever seen, and they both watched the paper rip about half a foot down the unsub’s leg.

“See, in my head it’s hitting dead centre and then by the time I shoot it’s wiggling all over the place,” She explained, scratching her neck and frowning at the paper body, “I don’t suppose unsubs are willing to stand still and wait while the rookie figures out her shot,”

“Your hips are perfect, wide stance means you get more stability against the ricochet,” She tried not to simper at his words, or the way he sidled up behind her, his hands coming up to her shoulders as if he’d known her for years, as if JJ hadn’t told her how much he hated other people’s germs, “It’s in your shoulders you’re losing balance, try relaxing a little,”

But she couldn’t not when he was breathing down her neck, rubbing those long fingers over her shoulder blades trying to get her to straighten out her posture, hoping he couldn’t feel the way her chest rattled with nerves.

“Relax,” He reminded, trying not to chuckle when he felt her shake her arms out as a means of hiding the way her skin had warmed under his rough touch, “You know, my unit chief taught me how to shoot. I wasn’t at all good at it when I first started,”

“Oh really?” She asked, her breaths feather light as he reached around her and adjusted her grip on the gun, “H-he must have been a good teacher,”

“He was the best,” Spencer agreed, brushing off the fact she was all but putty beneath his hands, “Three steps for the perfect shot; front sight, trigger press, follow through. Always keep your head forward, always keep your dominant finger ready, and wait until you’ve shot to drop your stance,”

She looked up at him in admiration, and her soft smile was back as his own musk of laundry detergent and chamomile soap encompassed her as his arms did.

He brought one of those big hands to the back of her head, moving her with gentle ease to look back at the target, a slight chuckle in his voice as he spoke: “Focus, what’s step number one?”

“Front sight,” She echoed him, fixing her shoulders with determination as he dropped his hands and stepped away from her. Taking a deep breath, she murmured to herself under her breath the next step as her forefinger rested over the trigger. She pulled it after a moment of courage, and froze in spot as she watched it hit where the stomach would sit.

Not a perfect shot, but certainly a lot better than she had been doing.

Her eyes widened behind the thick protective glasses, and her hands became fists above her head as she squealed in delight.

“Did you see that- did you see!” She yelled over the sound proof ear muffs they both wore, and he was quick to grab the gun out of her swinging arms, clicking the safety on for her before she could end up blowing a hole in the ceiling.

“Very good, give it a few months you’ll be a natural,” He complimented with a smile as she clapped her hands in glee, buzzing on the spot as if she’d chugged five energy drinks or doubled up on her coffee for the day.

He tried ignoring the way his chest warmed seeing her so happy because of him, especially when she looked at him like that.

“You said you needed those files, Dr Reid,” She’d appeared again, like she always did, and he had barely enough time to glance up from the paper he was already inspecting before he was hit by the perfume again, and he looked up to see two bright eyes watching him hopefully. Her arms were piled high with easily a box full of folders he had asked Anderson to find for him, and he saw the way she strained slightly to keep them held tight.

“Jesus! Let me help you,” She prayed he couldn’t feel the way her heart thumping against the manilla folders as he leaned over to take them out of her grasp, the way her eyes fell to his light smattering of facial hair as his lips were little more than a few inches from hers. Even when his hands brushed hers, and he seemed to realise she was staring, watching her scramble to look somewhere else other than his amused eyes, embarrassed he’d caught her, “Thankyou. And just call me Spencer,”

“Thankyou,” She echoed, shaking her head with a girlish smile on her face, her cheeks warm with humiliation, “I mean you’re welcome, any time,”

For the sake of her self preservation he waited until she turned around to smile to himself, pretending he didn’t see the way she muttered under her breath, or that she almost walked straight into the filing cabinet on her hasty exit out of the office.

“Seems like you have a shadow,” Emily’s voice met him as he heard her heeled footsteps approach, and they both watched their newest team mate almost bump right into JJ as she kept her head down, stroking her hair nervously, “She was super excited to meet you when you were away, said she went to one of your guest lectures you did with Hotch a couple years ago,”

His brows shot into his hairline, something warm flourishing in his chest when he saw her peek back to see the two of them watching her, and she immediately darted for her seat for an excuse to turn her back to them.

Spencer smiled again, running a hand through his curled locks as if he was trying to think of something else other than the joy that had over come his features.

She certainly was charming, in an incredibly girlish way, and he wasn’t the only one who thought it. He hadn’t heard Penelope giggling so much since Morgan had left, nor did he miss the way Rossi and Emily watched her darting around in the field, chasing after her as if she needed one of those leashes people had for toddlers.

Or the way Luke had had to talk her out of bringing a stray cat back to the BAU just two days ago because ‘it looked sad and lonely’.

She was only eight years his junior, and yet he felt like the job had made him too hard, too mature, too tough against a softness like hers.

Girls had never really been interested in him, at least not for him as Spencer Reid, not as SSA Dr Reid. He had the occasional fling, even Maeve in the grand scheme of things had been a budding romance at best, and just the thought of Cat Adams viper-like eyes had him shuddering.

He barely wanted anything to do with women at the moment, at least that was what he’d told himself every night he’d been fighting for his damn life in prison.

But it was almost too easy to feel this way about her, like he couldn’t drink in her sweet smell or even sweeter voice fast enough, or bathe in her gaze that melted like rich chocolate when he took a glance her way.

He didn’t bring it up with her until they were the last few people filing out of the office.

“I can drive you,” She chirped, almost dropping the contents of her bag everywhere as she rooted for her car keys, and before he could protest, because it was like all he could see now was how eager to be around him she was and he wasn’t too sure he could keep himself from opening pandora’s box, she jingled her keys, that of course had crochet bluebells hanging from them and all but danced past him into the elevator. “Come on, you can have shotgun,”

“I’ll be the only passenger, doesn’t that mean I automatically have shotgun?” He asked, following behind her as she stood in the elevator with a beaming smile, her finger clicking the ground floor button a bunch of times even though it made no difference how fast the doors closed.

“Well, yeah, but it’s going to be the best shotgun you’ve ever had. I’m talking you can be Miss Daisy and I’ll be your Morgan Freeman,” And as if her spirit was infectious, he shook his head with a hidden chuckle.

There was a minute of silence between the two as she played with a loose thread on her cardigan, and it was then he took the chance to ask her the question that had been burning on his lips all day.

“You didn’t by any chance go to University of Pennsylvania, did you?” Spencer asked, noting the way her eyes fell to the floor and how she licked her lips nervously.

“Yeah,” She replied cautiously, fingers clenched tightly around her keyring, “I know it’s not Caltech, but it was pretty good-”

“Didn't you see my lecture with Hotch?” He asked, and his smile widened tenfold when her hands slapped over her cheeks that burned with horror, moving quickly up to cover her eyes, “Little birdy told me you were quite excited to meet me-”

“Oh, Emily,” She groaned, burying her face in her palms, avoiding his teasing expression like the plague, “I knew, I knew she was going to tell you, I’m surprised she didn’t tell JJ first, unless she did and our whole team know I was some crazy girl who liked the FBI agents so much she switched her major,”

“You switched your major for me?” He asked incredulously and he only laughed harder, one of the first times since he’d come home, when she groaned louder, turning away from him entirely.

“Shut up, I did not swap my major for you,” She bit back, and she finally met his gaze, her expression an embarrassed wince, “I just… liked the material. You were very compelling,”

“Did you have a poster of us?” Spencer wanted to stop teasing, knew he was being a little cruel, but how could he resist when she shrieked in between laughter, shoving his shoulder with mortification.

“No,”

“Did you kiss Hotch’s picture before bed like an obsessive fangirl?”

She gestured to him vulgarly as they left the elevator and headed for the car park, and it made a huge difference to the usual adoration she watched him with, but maybe, he thought, it made him like her even more.

“No more shotgun for you, you’re going in the trunk like an old rug,” She snapped, though he could tell she was still horrified by the way she avoided his delighted hazelnut gaze.

“Like an old rug?” He feigned hurt, but when they sat in her car, she finally looked over at him with something vulnerable and yet affectionate, like he’d seen her for all she was worth. He reached over the console to squeeze her hand gently, not missing the way her palm clammed beneath his and she struggled for words, so he continued for her, “That’s really no way to talk to your idol, you know,”

Spencer swore his chest felt lighter than it had in months watching her laugh like that.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

5K notes · View notes

dontbesoweirdkira · 7 months ago

Text

Just thinking about how both platonic! yan! Dick and Jason have a habit of laying on top of their batsis and crushing her.

just look at how guilty they are....

Masterlist

Requests: open

Dick is a menace. He's a full sized golden retriever who thinks he's still a puppy. When he jumps or lays on you to try to be all affectionate...he forgets that he weighs close to if not over two hundred pounds.

No matter how often you tell him he's way too big to do this, he doesn't care.

He just loves engulfing you in these full body hugs and cannot help himself. It's cute though, if you try not to think about your lungs collapsing on itself. He acts innocent by nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck,,,,but it's a ploy to then attack you with tickles which leads to play fighting.

I mean it's his brotherly duty to be as annoying as possible. Sometimes he just likes the fact hes stronger than you and can hold you down this easily. Rookie mistake to announce you need to use the bathroom or get ready for something when you're chilling on the couch. He will trap you until the last possible second.

As much as you complain and cry, don't mind it too much. It's nice to be apart of a real family like this and Dick is trying to show his love by playing.

Jason on the other hand is just kind of clueless about the fact he's crushing you. You're sitting on the couch and Jason comes home after a long night and sees a perfect napping spot..

You don't really want to tell him that he's wayyy too big to just plop down on you like that because it's nice that he's feeling safe enough to just do these things now.

He also is like a big dog. He does that big huff and occasional twitching in his sleep. lol

Sometimes you'll also fall asleep right with him because he's basically a human weighted blanket. You'll eventually wake to him looking up at you. It's subtle but there's a soft smile there. He's happy you feel safe too.

I like to think he desperately wants to be held sometimes but he doesn't know that he needs it or even how to ask so he just does it. You naturally wrap your arms around and rest them on him anyways. He's like a little kid when he does this. It heals something inside of him. His cold un-dead body, finally feeling an ounce of fuzzy warmth.

Do you think sometimes Jason will pull a snack or something out of his pocket. Like he lays on you but then pulls out a jolly rancher as an offering. lol. One moment he's sleeping and the next you can feel him munching on something crunchy.

2K notes · View notes

astrstqr · 3 months ago

Text

FAME         𓏲          THINGS TO             ! SCRIPT

yoncé speaks: more scripting ideas !! and there’s a lot too lol

and this is part 1

✶　im not underestimated for my talents and abilities

✶　people don't think im "boring"

✶　i don't get overly tired during long performances

✶　always have the best concepts

✶　my performances are considered 100% worth it to go to because i am one of the best performers the industry as seen

✶　i’m always in sync

✶　people become mesmerized by my uniqueness

✶　i have amazing stage presence and facial expressions

✶　no rookie mistakes (bumping into into other dancers, singing other lines etc. etc.)

✶　i learn choreography and lyrics fast

✶　i have my own style musically, dance, and clothing that is hard to copy but easy to recognize

✶　fans never get tired of my music

✶　people love and support me even if they're not a fan of me

✶　never mess up during interviews

✶　no one mispronounces my name

✶　everyone thinks i deserve my fame

✶　i can come up with songs and beats easily

✶　my teasers are good and don’t spoil too much

✶　poses come naturally during photo shoots

✶　all my stage outfits are iconic

✶　no scandals i get in are serious (e.g., accusations, bullying etc. etc.)

✶　all my songs sound good in any language

✶　my voice sounds the same from the studio version to the live version

✶　despite my immense success, i remain down-to-earthand approacable, endering myself to fans through genunie humility

✶　nothing ruins my reputation

✶　my fan cams are always good and in 4k

✶　i have time to breathe after each lyric/line

✶　my outfits are always unique

✶　i win every award i’m nominated for

✶　i never have ugly stage outfits

✶　never gets a black ocean

✶　i can sing, rap, and dance stable on stage even with hard choreography

✶　my stylist knows how style me

✶　i never strain my voice

✶　i can belt effortlessly

✶　i don't get infection / damage to my vocal cords

✶　i have a connected head voice

✶　i can support a large range of notes

✶　i sound good when singing high and low registers

✶　switching pitches isn't hard for me

✶　my high notes aren't strained

✶　can't hear my breathing / huffing through my mics when singing

✶　i have smooth runs

✶　my voice fit every style/ theme

✶　i know have to hit whistle notes

✶　i can hit any note with ease

✶　my voice is never boring to listen to

✶　my voice is supported / resonated

✶　my vocal cords are healthy

✶　singing isn’t hard for me but the opposite

✶　doesn’t take long to finish vocal warm up, because of how controlled my voice already is

✶　i have good stamina and breath control while singing and dancing

✶　i don’t nastily when we sing

✶　my words rhyme easily

✶　i write and produce my own music

✶　my pronunciation when rapping is easy to understand

✶　my raps aren’t weird

✶　i am allowed to cuss in my songs

✶　i don’t slip on our words

✶　my rap lines fit very well in my songs

✶　i have perfect word play

✶　i’m good at freestyle rapping

✶　i can rap in any genre and tone

✶　i have natural raw rapping talent

✶　i have a captivating and distinctive voice full of energy, emphasis and swag

✶　i have incredible flow, speed, and delivery

✶　rapping, singing, and dancing comes easily

✶　i can rap without break for a long time

✶　i can do every singing, rapping, and dance style

✶　my lyrics aren’t cringe

✶　i never stutter

✶　my dancing is satisfying to watch because our moves are smooth, sharp, and fluid

✶　i’m not stiff when dancing

✶　i’m good at dance breakdancing

✶　i don’t feel pressured

✶　i’m comfortable with talking to crowds etc.

✶　i always look gorgeous while dancing and after dancing

✶　i have good footwork

✶　i have good coordination

✶　i never look sloppy when preforming

✶　i have perfect body control

✶　i’m confident when i dance, rap, sing, and preform

✶　i can dance in any clothes and shoes

✶　freestyle dancing come easy to me

✶　i have perfect balance

✶　i’m are never off beat

✶　i don’t have sickled feet

✶　i never hurt myself while dancing

✶　my choreo is always unique

✶　my music videos are always enjoyable, and people love to watch them

✶　my music videos never look cheap, and have great quality

✶　my nerves never get to me

✶　im truly admired as an idol , and its not just a label - theres a genuine reason behind it. among idols, i stand out as someone who geuinely deserves the title

yoncé speaks 2: also sorry for late night post lol, i be bored

#yonce ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏★#my dr things 𓈒 𑁯 ⁀ ִ ۫#things to script #dr scripting #scripting ideas #shifting script #shiftblr #reality shifting #shifting community #shifting #shifters #desired reality #shifting motivation #kpop shifting #fame dr

997 notes · View notes

dreamauri · 2 months ago

Note

Sub Oscar but he needs a break from aus and he relaxes by getting so many orgasms??? He deserves it tbh

♪ — 𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬 𝗠𝗢𝗗𝗘 sub!oscar piastri x girlfriend!reader ( smut ) fic summary . . . after a tough home race, oscar piastre needs your help to get his mind of his race results (1.4k words)

( my master list | more of oscar piastri ) ( requests )

CONTENT WARNING — ( +18 MDNI, smut with a little plot, blow job (m receiving), overstim, sad oscar)

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Oscar slumped into the plush couch of his driver’s room, his body heavy with the weight of disappointment. His face was still flushed from the race, and though the adrenaline had faded, the frustration lingered. He had started P2, full of hope, only to finish P9—far below where he felt he should have been. The spin, the lost positions to a Sauber, Stroll, Leclerc . . . It all weighed on him.

The door clicked softly behind you, and he didn’t need to look up to know it was you. The gentle sound of your footsteps on the floor told him you were coming over to him. You didn’t need to speak; you never did when it was like this. Oscar rested his head on your shoulder as you sat next to him, his arms naturally finding their way around you.

“I fucked up,” he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. You wrapped you arms around him in return, stroking your fingers through his weat damp hair.

You let him vent, listening to every word, his self-blame unraveling in the form of a disjointed rant.

"I had it. I fucking had it," Oscar muttered, his voice tight with frustration. "P2. I started P2, Yn." He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head against your shoulder. "And then I just—what? I lose it like a fucking rookie? One mistake, and suddenly I’m in ninth, watching a Sauber fly past me like I don’t belong here."

His grip on you tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. You just held him closer, rubbing his back in slow, steady circles.

"You do belong here, Os."

"Then why does it feel like I don’t?" He exhaled sharply, shifting slightly. "Lando's on the podium, Max is Max, and I’m here, talking about how I got overtaken by Stroll like an idiot." His voice cracked slightly on the last word, the frustration melting into something more fragile. "I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve defended better. But I panicked, and I—I let it slip away."

You cupped the back of his head, running your fingers through his hair, grounding him. "It wasn’t just you, Oscar. Strategy wasn’t perfect. Tires were shit. It’s not all on you."

"It feels like it is." His breath stuttered, his shoulders rising and falling unevenly. "I hate this. I hate feeling like I disappointed everyone. The team, the fans—myself."

"You didn’t disappoint me." Your voice was soft but firm, and he finally looked up, eyes searching yours, flickering with something vulnerable.

Oscar exhaled shakily, the tension still thick in the air. He leaned his forehead against yours for a brief moment before looking at you, his brown eyes wide, a mix of vulnerability and yearning behind them.

"I just . . . I want to forget today," he whispered the last part like a confession, barely audible over the sound of his own ragged breathing.

You blinked, the request catching you off guard. Your hands, which had been rubbing soothing circles into his back, stilled.

"Now?" you asked softly, searching his face.

He nodded, a little shy but resolute.

You hesitated. "Oscar . . ." Your fingers grazed his jaw as you tried to find the right words. "I don’t want you to just bury this. You had a bad race, but avoiding it like this—it won’t make it go away."

His lips parted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable flashing in his eyes. "I know that," he said, voice strained. "I know tomorrow I’ll still be thinking about it, I know I’ll go over every mistake a hundred times in my head—but right now, I just need—" He swallowed, voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. "You."

Your heart clenched at the way he said it, so raw, so desperate. Then he gave you this look—this quiet, pained, pleading look, like if you said no, the weight of today might just crush him entirely.

And just like that, your resistance melted.

You sighed softly, fingers tracing the curve of his cheek before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips—a question, an invitation, and an answer all at once.

When you pulled back, his eyes searched yours, still uncertain, still a little lost.

You gave him a small, knowing smile, your voice gentle but firm. "Okay, Os. Let me take care of you."

He nodded shyly, not saying anything more, but you could feel the weight behind his request. Without saying anything else, you pressed a kiss to his lips—a gentle, lingering kiss that was both a question and an invitation. When you pulled back, you gave him a small, smile, and you could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

Slowly, you slid down to your knees in front of him, your hands resting on his thighs as you looked up at him, making sure he was comfortable with what was happening. Oscar’s breath caught in his throat, his hands shaking a little as he helped you unbuckle his race suit. You took your time, pulling it down carefully, ensuring he felt at ease with the situation.

When his pants finally came off, you reached up to gently touch his chest, calming him further. His eyes were closed now, his breathing shallow. You leaned in, your lips brushing over his skin, your fingers tracing the edges of his muscles, comforting him in ways that words couldn’t.

Oscar was no longer tense, his body slowly unraveling beneath your touch. The tightness in his shoulders, the stiffness in his jaw—all of it began to fade as you worked him over with slow, deliberate care. You kissed your way down his body, mapping each inch of his skin with reverence, pressing your lips to the places where tension lingered, coaxing him into relaxation with every deliberate movement.

His breath hitched as your mouth found its way lower, and you could feel the slightest tremor roll through him, his body caught between pleasure and relief. His fireproofs clung to his skin, the heat of the race still lingering on him, but none of that mattered now. His muscles, once tight with frustration, melted under your attention, each kiss, each touch dissolving the weight of the race he had carried with him.

Every time you drew another shudder from him, you noticed the way his body reacted—the way his fingers twitched at his sides before curling into the couch, the way his thighs tensed beneath your palms only to relax moments later. His breath grew uneven, small gasps slipping past his lips despite his attempts to hold them back. When you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, he squeezed back instantly, grounding himself in your touch.

The intimacy wasn’t lost on either of you.

You kept your movements steady, pulling him back from the downward spiral of self-doubt, replacing his frustration with something else entirely. This was about more than just pleasure—it was about comfort, about giving him an escape, a moment where nothing else existed but the warmth of your touch and the way you made him feel.

Oscar’s gasps grew heavier, his body trembling beneath you, each moment unraveling the last bit of tension he had been holding onto. He wasn’t thinking about the race anymore, wasn’t thinking about the positions lost, the mistakes made—there was only this, only you. His grip on your hand tightened as he gave in completely, his body shaking with the intensity of his release, the last remnants of frustration dissolving in the aftermath.

He was panting now, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven movements, his fingers still tangled with yours. His head lolled back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut, completely undone in the best way possible. You pressed one last kiss to his thigh before pulling yourself up beside him, running your fingers through his hair.

For the first time since he stepped out of the car, Oscar looked at peace.

You stayed close, keeping him grounded in the moment, ensuring he felt cared for, wanted, and supported. After everything, it was the only thing that mattered—being there for each other when the world felt a little too heavy.

Oscar leaned back, his eyes half-lidded, a small, content smile playing on his lips. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. You smiled softly, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand.

“You deserve to be taken care of,” you replied, your words soothing his lingering frustrations.

Voice notes 🔊 . . . ( i wrote this at midnight I don't know what I'm doing, sorry if it's not well written enough )

571 notes · View notes

cutehoons02 · 26 days ago

Text

We don’t pray for love,we just pray for cars!

Fast Hearts: Hyung Line F1 series

*pairing: Park Sunghoon F1 Red Bull driver x sports Journalist

*trope: Enemies to lovers/Forbbiden love

*driver: Park Sunghoon=Max Verstappen

*synopsis: Sunghoon is the synthesis of the journalist hater. He respects their work but when a young girl without fears and a little cheeky enters the world of F1 and Sunghoon for him is a disaster. This journalist loves to tease him, sometimes ask inappropriate questions just to make fun of him and drive him crazy. Sunghoon every time he sees her would like to put it in his place because he hates her but at the same time is attracted by her but the problem is that he should not be distracted by anything because he is fighting for the world championship for his first time with Red Bull.

*tags: At first they can’t stand each other, Hoon is really asshole with her (at first) but she also teases him always, kisses, 2 sex scenes (doogy style-normal sex) unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) fingerings, masturbation (f.m) sucking, the list of races is random (there are not all races of a season of F1) pet names (baby doll) (hoon,hoonie)

11.8k (💙) *English is not my native language

You were in your final year of sports journalism, and with your top grades and a way with words that had already made more than one professor uneasy, you were lucky enough to be selected for an exclusive internship with F1 TV. Not just any TV, but the official platform of Formula 1: young, viral, fast-paced. Interviews, exclusive content, and, most importantly, social media. It was the first race of the season in Bahrain, and you were already at the center of your first post-race conference.

Jin – the undisputed king of Mercedes – had just won. Again. The seventh time in a row, and no one even raised an eyebrow anymore. But your attention wasn’t on him.

To his right, in second place, Park Sunghoon seemed like a shadow just about to explode. His dark eyes fixed on the Red Bull can in his hands. A hard face, clenched jaw, raven-black hair slightly tousled. He was gritting his teeth with elegance.

From what you knew, he had been with Red Bull since he was 17. A prodigy, a winner, stubborn. He’d come close to winning the championship the previous year. This year... he wasn’t accepting any compromises. He had to win. And today, a single mistake at the start had cost him everything.

It was at that moment that you raised your hand with the microphone between your fingers. Everyone turned to look at you, including the content creator beside you who was filming for social media channels. Your voice, clear and calm, was the one that made him raise his eyes.

“Park Sunghoon, the car this year seems more balanced, more aggressive in the corners. So, if you don’t win the championship… can we say that maybe it was never the car’s fault, but yours?”

Silence.

A brief, icy silence.

Jin gave a small smile and lowered his face. Jay, third on the podium, made a soft “oh” with his lips.

But it was Sunghoon’s gaze that took your breath away for a second. He looked you up and down slowly, with surgical precision. Narrowed, dark eyes, full of contained disdain. You felt them slide from your hair down to your legs, where they lingered just a bit longer than necessary.

He slowly ran a hand through his silver hair, then responded.

“You’re new, aren’t you?”

His voice was low and sharp, like a thin blade.

“You see, in your line of work, asking smart questions is the first step to staying in it for the long haul. Next time, try harder.”

You bit your smile.

“Oh, so if you lose, we can say the car wasn’t the issue and you made a rookie mistake at the start? Or should I ‘ask better questions’ even to the telemetry data?”

The crowd let out a small “ooooh.” Jin coughed to hide a chuckle.

Sunghoon clenched his jaw. He gave you a long, penetrating look, then stood up with a swift movement of the chair, leaving Jin and Jay still seated.

Without saying anything else, he walked off.

You watched him go, your lips slightly curved in a smile.

Welcome to Formula 1.

The Red Bull plane had landed a couple of hours ago, and as was customary before every race weekend, Sunghoon had decided to cycle along the entire track. It was one of his rituals: silence, asphalt, and a visual analysis of the circuit before the data and telemetry took over. He was accompanied by Jake and Jay. The three of them were known in the paddock as the 02z: all born in 2002, growing up together on karting circuits, adolescent victories, fierce rivalries, and shared dreams. Now they were professionals, but their friendship – though rough and competitive – was still alive.

Jake, the McLaren driver, was the kind of guy who smiled too much, even when he lost. He loved afterparties, Twitter memes, making TikTok videos, and his dog Layla, who followed him everywhere. He always had a joke ready, but he was also a fierce driver when it came to racing.

Jay, on the other hand, was the "rockstar driver." He played guitar before races, had a philosophical air about him, and had a cover-worthy smile, but when in the car, he was as determined as few others. He was supposed to be Sunghoon's teammate at Red Bull, but he had chosen Mercedes, aiming for a long-term plan. He was balanced but stubborn. Once he made a decision, no one could change his mind.

And then there was Sunghoon. Cold, calculating, focused. He lived only for F1. The only one who skipped F2, catapulted directly into Formula 1 thanks to the Red Bull Academy. The previous year he had come second. This year… everything revolved around the championship. The rest was noise. The sun was setting behind the Jeddah skyscrapers, painting the track in orange and pink hues. They cycled in single file and then in parallel. No one spoke for a few minutes until Jay broke the silence.

-You know, I’m still recovering from that press conference.- Jay said, his tone amused, sharp, and cheeky. Jake chuckled and said, 'That stuff is already in the best moments of the year. I mean, it has meme potential for sure.' Sunghoon didn’t respond, but his jaw muscles tightened slightly. -The scene: you shutting up a newly hired intern… and her schooling you in front of Jin.- Jay said, and Jake chuckled, looking at Sunghoon, repeating the words you had said a week before: 'Can we say it was your fault, not the car’s?” Boom. Mic drop.' Jake mimicked the gesture with his hand, pretending to throw a microphone. “It was a stupid question,” Sunghoon said, annoyed. -It was the truth, said in a bold way. Maybe that’s why it hurt you so much.- Jay said, staring at Sunghoon, who gripped his bike handlebars tighter. 'And anyway… she’s cute. I looked her up afterward. There are clips everywhere, even in Layla’s profile reels.' He laughed at his joke, while Sunghoon slammed on the brakes and stared at him with the coldest look he could muster. “Don’t start with this too,” Sunghoon said with an icy stare. Jake raised his hands and laughed, 'I’m just saying the pictures turned out well, and she seems like a nice girl…' “I don’t want to hear that name in my presence again. Got it?” Sunghoon said, his voice firm, sharp as a blade. -Damn, you’re more sensitive than a diva at the Met Gala,- Jay said. 'Admit it, she made an impression on you.' Jake laughed. “No.” -Mhm. I’ve known you since you used to steal new tires at karting. If you say no with that voice, it’s a brutal yes disguised as an excuse.-Jay replied with an arched eyebrow. Sunghoon began cycling again, faster. But the two easily caught up with him. 'I can’t wait for you to interview me. I promise I’ll answer with 'Yes, miss,' but only if you say it.' Jake responded, glancing at Jay. 'Come on, Hoonie, maybe she’s exactly the type you need. You need someone to break your facade now and then. You know, someone human. With emotions.' Sunghoon didn’t speak, but his hands were gripping the handlebars as if he wanted to break them. His gaze was fixed on the asphalt in front of him, but the images of the press room were still in his mind: full lips, nerdy glasses that couldn’t hide the cheeky attitude, the voice that didn’t shake in front of him. The voice of someone who didn’t kneel. Not even in front of someone like him. Jay (whispering to Jake) -Do you think he’s already thought about it while taking a cold shower?- Jake (laughing) 'Yeah. But he says it’s hatred. Some lies he tells himself really well.' Sunghoon slammed the brakes abruptly. He turned to them with a fiery look. “Whoever talks about her again… will walk the track on foot. On an empty stomach.” He shouted, annoyed by the bickering behind him. -Shit. Sorry, boss.- Jay replied, laughing, but under the threat, Jay and Jake were laughing. They were laughing hard because their cold, cynical, icy friend… was finally distracted. And that could be far more dangerous than any rival on the grid.

Qualifying had been like dancing on the edge of a knife. In Jeddah, to set a good time, you had to brush against the wall. Literally. Not centimeters. Millimeters. And Sunghoon had done it. Not a scratch, not a smudge. But the clock had spoken clearly: P2. Jin, once again, was faster than him. That evening, in his motorhome, Hoon had consumed himself with the data, the telemetry, every line of the racing line. His engineer knew him well: when he was like this, it was best to leave him alone. No music, no chatter. Just Jin, Red Bull, and obsession. Sunday – Race Red light. Three. Four. Five. Go. Perfect start. Millisecond reaction time. Jin kept the lead, but Hoon was glued to him. Less than 0.3 seconds for twenty laps. At Turn 22, he got so close he could see the carbon fiber on the Mercedes quivering under the pressure. Then, at the end of the straight after the second DRS zone, he did it. He dove in. Fake left, entered right. Jin closed too late. Contact? Almost. But he made it. P1. The pit crew exploded. His heart was pounding in his chest like a tribal drum. But Jin wasn’t the type to back down. After six laps, he was back. Right behind him. 0.4. 0.2. 0.1, and then it happened. In the second sector, amidst the chaos of walls and blind corners, Sunghoon suddenly lifted his foot. He braked. For just a moment. That was enough. Jin launched at full speed, and couldn’t react.

BANG.

The Mercedes hit the diffuser of the Red Bull. A piece of carbon wing flew onto the track. Screams on the radio.

Jin (via radio): “Is he f*cking insane?!”

Sunghoon (via radio): “What the hell was he doing?! I was letting him through! He knew that!”

It was a dirty move. A trick. A provocation. Soon after, Jin passed him again. He still had enough pace, despite the damage, to close P1. Sunghoon, P2. Again. But this time, with the taste of blood between his teeth.

Post-race – Parc fermé He got out of the car as if he were stepping on broken glass. His helmet still on, his fists clenched. The crowd cheered, but he heard nothing. Just anger. Frustration. And shame. Jin approached him immediately. Taking off his gloves, visibly agitated. 'Are you crazy? What was that?' Jin said, disappointed. “If you wanted to pass, you could’ve. I left you space.” Sunghoon said coldly. 'You braked suddenly. In the middle of the track. This isn’t karting, Hoon. If you want to win a championship… do it like a man. Do it clean.' Jin said, staring at him with those severe, veteran eyes. He was in his eighth championship. You didn’t play games like this. Not like this. Cameras were everywhere. Microphones even more so. But no one dared to interrupt them. That’s when he saw you. Dressed in a long paddock outfit, beige sand, soft and light like the wind blowing from the Gulf. Big sunglasses, a little smile on your lips. The F1TV microphone in your hand, but no question. Just a fixed gaze on him, in silence. A mute challenge. A reminder. He hated you. And yet… he just wanted to rip that outfit off you. Sunghoon via radio, entering the pit box: “Tell the press office I’m not going.” PR (via radio): “Hoon, there’s the mandatory press conference.” Sunghoon (cutting): “I’m not going into that room. If needed, fine me. I won’t talk to anyone. Especially not her.” The Red Bull garage door slammed shut with a thud.

The press room was cold. But the adrenaline from the race still burned on the skin, like the Saudi sun. Jin was sitting composed, his gaze focused yet relaxed. Next to him was Heeseung, but the second-place seat was empty. Sunghoon hadn't shown up. No statements, no comments. Just silence and the usual arrogance. You, with the microphone in hand and your heart still racing from the race, asked the routine questions. Precise, professional. But inside, you were seething. That guy was getting under your skin. And beneath your surface.

With your team, you'd just closed a piece that you knew would explode like a bomb in the paddock. Headline:

“Park Sunghoon: pure talent or just ego in a helmet?”

Subtitle:

“Today’s move on Jin was a gamble on the edge of safety. When ego surpasses adrenaline, risk turns into a threat. And Sunghoon is playing with fire.”

The article ended with:

“Respect is earned by acknowledging your mistakes. But perhaps that kind of respect doesn’t interest Sunghoon. Not for now.”

The sky was turning pink, the Arabian sunset descending like velvet over the team tents. You were walking near the Red Bull motorhome, ready to wrap up the weekend… when you saw him. Sunghoon. Leaning against the back of his motorhome. His eyes are down on a tablet. Your article opened in front of him. He had his hair pulled back with a band, a Red Bull in hand, and his jumpsuit pants slung low on his hips. He had that lone wolf look. Or maybe, a hunted animal. You stopped. “Are you out of your mind?” you snapped. “That move… You both could’ve been out. What the hell were you thinking?” He slowly lifted his eyes. Started at you with that dark, sharp look. “I don’t need a babysitter. And certainly not a nosy journalist who gets excited writing about me.” He raised the tablet. “What’s this? Now you’re pretending to be a moral judge?” “You risked someone’s life.” “My life, and mine only.” He chuckled. Cold. Cynical. “That piece of yours is crap.” And that was when your vein popped. Without thinking, you shoved your hands into his chest and pushed him against the wall. He didn’t move an inch. He just blocked you with one hand on your side, hard. Too hard for just a defense. His fingers dug into the lightweight fabric of your dress.

“Christ. But this… this drives me crazy. The way she challenges me. The way she touches me. I want to shut her up, not with words. But with mine. And I shouldn’t. I’ve got a damn championship to win. And yet I’m thinking about what she looks like under that dress.” Hoon thought as he shot you a glance.

He looked at you with pupils slightly dilated. A flash crossed his gaze. “Watch out,” he hissed, inches away from you. “You’re not important enough yet to use those words.” But you didn’t back down. “No?” you whispered, your heart in your throat. “But enough to get a reaction from you. Mentally… and physically.” He slowly released your side, but he did so with deliberate slowness. He turned to leave, but muttered something through clenched teeth: “Next time… choose your words better. Or you might find yourself having to swallow them.” And disappeared into the motorhome, but you knew that wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning.

The Australian sun had just set, but Albert Park still shimmered with the glow of victory. Sunghoon Park had finally won. First win of the season. First time ahead of Jin. He had driven like a demon straight out of hell. Surgical precision, aggressive yet clean overtakes. The Red Bull was flawless—but he was more than that. You’d followed him all weekend, like always. But this time, the story had changed. And you knew it. So, with your heart pounding in your throat and your brain lit up like an engine pushed to its limits, you wrote an article. For him.

Title:

"Sunghoon Park: Fueled by Hate. And Finally, a Win That Burns."

He drove like he had fire under his wheels. Like every corner was an answer to every word written, every look given, every laugh behind his back. Did he finally show a human side? No. Thankfully, no. Sunghoon Park is as cruel to himself as he is to others. But tonight, Melbourne trembled for him. Because when he wins... it hits you. Like a wound that burns. And damn, it leaves a mark.

Well done, Park. Keep going. Maybe, in the end, someone will love you for this, too.

Click. Published.

And you knew he was reading it. You felt it, under your skin.

That evening, you wore a knee-length black dress with a modest neckline but sensual style. Your hair was down in soft waves, and you wore a floral perfume with warm undertones.

You weren’t looking for him. But you weren’t avoiding him either.

You rode up to the eleventh floor alone. But when the elevator stopped at the sixth, he stepped in.

Black shirt, collar open, eyes cast down but fully aware. You turned your head to speak.

"Just wanted to say... nice job today. You finally woke up."

He didn’t answer right away. Closed his eyes for a second, then slowly turned to you.

"Your piece. I read it. Poison in the shape of praise.

You’re good with words. Almost as good as you are at playing with me," he said, voice hoarse.

"And you’re good at reacting when I mess with you. We work."

He took a step closer. Too close. The elevator kept rising, but time stopped.

"You provoke me. Always. You wanna know the truth?" He brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers, speaking just inches from your lips.

"It turns me on like hell." And he said it with a smirk that promised nothing good—then he kissed you. It wasn’t sweet. It was violent. Fiery. An implosion.

His lips were hot, and hungry. His hands grabbed your waist and the back of your neck. Your body hit the elevator wall with a dull thud—but you didn’t complain.

You couldn’t. You were too far gone.

Sunghoon’s tongue pushed into your mouth with force, weeks of restraint pouring out in one breathless moment. His kisses were rough, and dirty. He bit your lower lip too hard, then moved to your ear.

"I can't take it anymore. Pretending. Ignoring you. You drive me crazy and I don't know if I want to kiss you... or shut you up with your hands tied behind your back."

he whispered, panting.

He bit your ear—first gently, then harder—while lifting you slightly against the wall, fingers digging into your sides like he wanted to leave a mark. You scratched his shoulder blade. He chuckled. A low, wicked laugh. Bastard. And god, so sexy.

"I thought you needed focus, Park," you said, moaning.

"Apparently, you are my focus," he murmured, trailing his hand along your thigh—and your whole body shivered.

DING. Floor 11.

He pulled away. His eyes were glazed, but clear.

"This isn’t over," he said darkly.

"It hasn’t even started," you whispered as you stepped past him, legs shaking—but the fire? That was just beginning.

Barcelona.

The circuit where it had all begun.

Where Park Sunghoon, just seventeen years old, had won his very first F1 race as a rookie—blowing away every prediction, every doubt, every insult hurled at him online.

That day, the world had dubbed him the Ice Prince. Unshakable. Precise. Ruthless.

But this time… this time, he hadn’t won.

He’d finished fourth. A wrong strategy, an unstable car after the second pit stop, and far too many thoughts clouding his head.

He’d been leading the championship for weeks. Max had dropped out of the top spots. Jin was only a few points behind and yet, something… something was slipping through his fingers.

Jake and Jay noticed it too.

On their days off in Monaco, when they went running along the coast in the morning or locked themselves in the gym, they saw how Hoon trained harder than necessary. How he sometimes drove one of his vintage cars for hours—just to outrun his thoughts. How he studied telemetry in silence, even on rest days.

Jake—with his loud laugh and Layla the puppy always in his arms—tried to make him smile.

Jay, more observant, said nothing. But he watched and now and then, during quiet moments, the two exchanged knowing glances and smiled.

Because they knew something Hoon would never admit:

There was a journalist—with too much light in her eyes—who was getting under his skin.

Barcelona. Post-race.

In the Red Bull garage, the air was tense.

Mechanics worked in silence. No one dared speak to him.

The team principal had simply nodded and said:

"Today wasn’t your race. But the season is long."

But Sunghoon wasn’t listening. He had taken off his race suit, changed clothes, and now sat outside the motorhome, hidden in the shade.

The sun was setting slowly, and the roar of the engines had faded into the distance and that’s where you found him.

In a corner of the paddock you knew by heart. Your heart saw him first—before your eyes did. He was sitting there, the Ice Prince. Only that night, the ice was starting to melt.

You walked over—this time with no microphone. Just your voice.

“You didn’t run away this time,” you said softly.

He looked up slowly. Tired eyes. Angry eyes.

“And you’re still not tired of chasing me,” he replied, voice low and laced with venom. You stopped just a few steps away. Silence. There was no challenge in your stance—only honesty.

You looked him in the eye. He didn’t look away.

“I saw you make mistakes today. For the first time… you looked human.”

His jaw tensed. He gave a small nod. A silent admission.

“It’s not easy, trying to be perfect… is it?” Silence again. Only the distant hum of generators and the pounding in your chest.

Then, he spoke.

“I don’t want to be perfect.…I want to win. I want to deserve the seat I’ve been given and every time I screw up, every time I lose, it feels like I’m spitting in the face of those who believed in me.”

He looked down.

For one fleeting moment, he seemed fragile.

“And me… in all of this… am I just a distraction?” You didn’t ask out of pity. Nor to provoke him. You asked because you wanted to know.

He inhaled deeply. Didn’t look at you. But his voice wavered—barely.

“There’s no room for you. There shouldn’t be room for anything. But you… you’re there. Always. Because you provoke me every damn weekend, and I think about you, I see you—when I drive, when I lose, when I lock myself in the gym, when I race along the Côte d’Azur, even then. And I wish I could rip you out of my head forever. But you’re there. In my thoughts. And you drive me insane.”

His fingers moved—slowly. He took your hand. A gesture that wasn’t like him. A crack. A surrender. A silent confession.

His skin was warm. His grip firm, but not rough. He looked down—like he hated himself for it.

“And that… is the problem.” You didn’t reply right away.

Then, slowly, you knelt beside him—still holding his hand.

“Maybe… you’re not the problem. Maybe the problem is that, for the first time… you’ve found something you can’t control.”

He looked at you. Eyes not full of tears—but of storm.

“If I let you in, I won’t be able to focus. And if I keep you out…I won’t be able to breathe.”

Silence.

“Then choose what scares you more: losing… or feeling something.”

He didn’t answer. He let go of your hand but he didn’t stand. Didn’t walk away he stayed. With you and in the silence of the Catalan night,

for the very first time, it wasn’t the sound of an engine keeping him company—but you.

The sky above Silverstone seemed to barely hold the weight of the tensions built up on track, it had been an explosive Grand Prix. Sunghoon started second, Jin third. Everyone’s eyes were on them. No one was talking about anything else. The battle between them had become the main storyline of the season. And when, on lap 37, Jin attempted the inside pass, Hoon didn’t back down. The two brushed against each other, their tires touched, and the Mercedes flew off into the gravel, ending the race. Sunghoon continued, but the damage to the floor of the Red Bull sent him sliding to fourth place. Zero points for Jin. Just twelve for him. A disaster for both and a perfect explosion for the media.

After the race, the air in the paddock was as tense as a rubber band about to snap. Sunghoon got out of the car with his suit unbuttoned to his chest, sweat on his skin, his face burning. He threw his gloves onto the wall and ignored anyone who tried to speak to him.

But you were waiting for him.

Microphone in hand, posture impeccable, eyes determined.

You had watched the replay several times: the move had been risky, borderline. And you wanted his version but you also wanted to provoke him. You wanted to break through his ice. You intercepted him just as he was about to enter the garage, with two PRs on his heels.

“Park, got a second?”

He turned, saw you, and stopped. His black eyes immediately narrowed.

“What is it now, you want to ask if I tried to kill Jin?”

“No. But if you want to talk about it, we can add it to the interview.”

Silence. The cameramen were already there. The microphone was on.

You took a deep breath, then pressed on.

“You’ve been complaining all season about how Jin is treated like a deity. But today, when you had control, you chose to push him off. Is this the champion mentality you’re trying to show the world?”

Sunghoon stared at you. His eyes turned to stone.

“You know what the problem with this generation of journalists is? You all think the track is a reality show. This isn’t Netflix. This isn’t ‘Drive to Survive.’ It’s Formula 1. And I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

“Then why do you seem so obsessed with what we write? Why do you read every single line that concerns you?”

The shot hit its mark. You knew it a muscle twitched on his jaw.

Then, without saying another word, he turned and disappeared into the garage but the look he gave you… was a promise.

The call came less than thirty minutes later. From his PR.

“Mr. Park would like you to come to his office. Room 813. He says he ‘wants to discuss your journalistic skills.’”

You didn’t respond, you just went, you opened the door without knocking.

The room was bright, modern, with large windows looking out onto the now-empty track. Sunghoon was standing there, hands in his black pants pockets, a tight t-shirt that hugged his chest.

As soon as he saw you, he lifted his chin.

“Took you less time than expected. Ready to apologize?”

You closed the door slowly behind you. The blood was pounding in your temples.

“Apologize? For asking a question any journalist would ask? You called me here to hear applause or to confirm that you have thin skin when it comes to criticism?”

He stepped toward you, slowly, like a predator.

“I called you here because what you did was personal. It wasn’t a question—it was an attack. And you know what? You like it. You like to poke me. You like to make me lose control.”

You clenched your jaw.

“Because you’re arrogant. Because you think the world owes you something just because you drive faster than the rest. But you know what I saw today? Panic. Haste. A kid who feels threatened by someone who’s won more than him.”

He stopped just two steps away from you. Looked down at you.

“You’re just a brat. A nuisance. A background noise. And you’re playing with fire.”

You moved closer. Anger, excitement, tension—it was all mixed together.

“And you’re a walking ego with an inferiority complex. But hey, at least one of us has the balls to admit it.”

His gaze burned. He took a step forward. Then another. Now he was too close. You could feel his breath.

“Kneel.”

The word hit like a whip you didn’t back down. Your eyes locked onto his.

“Fuck you.”

He smiled. Cold. Obscene. Dangerous.

“I’m asking you to choose. Either you run like everyone else who can’t handle me…Or you show me that your mouth serves for something useful.”

Time stopped.

There was no noise—only the beating of your heart.

His hands had closed on either side of your hips, not touching you, but surrounding you with the tension of the gesture.

It was then, in that suspended moment between hate and desire, that you realized neither of you would give in first.

Sunghoon looks at you like you're a mistake. But the noticeable swelling in his pants screams the opposite. "What is it, champ?" you say bending your head to the side. "Are you afraid of a journalist who asks uncomfortable questions even with her mouth full?" He doesn't laugh. He never does. But his eyes shine with repressed desire, burning anger. "You talk too much." growl. "And you don't know when to shut up." You laugh, provocative. "Perhaps. But I bet I could teach you to moan my name before you can silence me." At that moment he snaps. He grabs you by the back of his head and pushes you against the wall, his forehead a breath away from his. "Don't tempt me, little viper. I'll break you."

"Promises, promises…" you whisper, biting your lip. Slowly, you kneel before him. Look at his belt, then go back to his eyes. "Can I open the gift?" Silence. Then a dry: "Do it. But no scenes." You unlock it with slow fingers, and you already feel the heat growing between you. When you unbutton his pants and lower them, his black by Supreme "Really Supreme?" raise your eyebrows. "Did you want to impress someone?" "Shut your mouth… or use it well." You laugh slowly, and then you light up. "Oh, don't worry. She'll be busy for a while." Lower the bigboxer, tense, throbbing. You bite your lips. Feel the water rise. "Christ, Hoon … below you are a champion even without a helmet." He looks at you as if he wants to pierce you, but the beating that pulsates on his toe betrays his self-control. You stroke it with slow fingers, going up and down. With your other hand, you stroke his side hard, feeling his muscles contract under your skin. "Let me guess…" whisper, as your tongue grazes its tip. "That's the weakness you didn't want me to find out." "Silent," he grunts. "Suck, now." You look at him, provocatively, and say: "I'm not as good as you think." His hand grabs your hair, squeezing it at the root, forcing you to open your mouth. "Then learn. I just want to hear my moans and the sound of your throat as you swallow me."

You take him between your lips slowly, while he sighs a " Fuck…” that sends a shiver down your spine. Feel his warm skin on the tongue, the tip smooth against the palate. You begin to move, lips tightened around him, tongue working in slow circles. He groans quietly but does not give up control. He guides you with his grip on his hair, and moves you as he wants. "Look how good you are when you stop talking…" he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "Maybe I should keep you like that more often." You cast a glance at him, while your mouth is full of him, and slightly tighten your grip around his left testicle, to challenge him. Sunghoon moans, a growl that becomes a crude groan. He pulls your hair with more force. "You're playing with fire, bitch." With one blow, he pushes it deeper into you. Your hands are clasped, one against his belly, the other pumping him with alternating rhythm to your mouth. You are moving as if you are enjoying a delicious dessert, sucking and licking with ravenous attention. You're destroying it, and you know it. He looks at you like he can't believe how well you're doing. Or how crazy you're driving him. "God, I can't stand you…" he moans. "But I swear you will never find another who fucks you like that." Lift your mouth for a moment, your lips shiny. "Who talked about fucking? I'm here to do a thorough investigation…" "Head down. Mouth open." And push, this time decisively. His hips move, and he penetrates you deeper, while his sighs turn into broken grunts. The salty taste of his skin, his smell, the tension in his voice that's all. He's coming, and you know it. "Take it all, bitch. You owe me." And with one last hoarse groan, you hear it explode in your mouth. His seed invades your palate, salty and bitter, while his hands hold you firm against him. You watch him calmly swallow it, never taking your eyes off his. When it ends, you're still there, satisfied, your mouth licking your lips slowly. "I would say that this …" you whisper, standing up," … deserves an adult-only article." He grabs you by the waist, holds you tightly against himself, and in a low, hungry voice says: "I hope you're not done. I certainly don't."

He lifts you off the ground with one hand behind the nape of your neck and the other on your hip. His body is hot, still tense from the pleasure you just gave him. "Anyone who stands against me… " growls against your neck, in a deep and dangerous voice, "…you have to accept the consequences!" You try to mask the excited trembling in your voice. "I just did my job as a journalist…" Sunghoon pushes you to the desk. Red Bull sheets are scattered everywhere. Strategies, telemetry. And also … your printed article. "This?" he says, grabbing the paper. "Your version of "work"?" You take it and read it aloud, with a cheeky chuckle:

“Has he finally shown the human side? Nope. And fortunately. Sunghoon Park is as cruel to himself as he is to others. But tonight, Melbourne shook for him.”

He looks at you with those sharp eyes and whispers, "You're not as important as you think. But fuck, how crazy you make me…" He folds you firmly on the desk. Paper rustles under your skin. Feel the cold wood on your bare thighs. Lift your skirt up, slowly. "Always in these good girl skirts…" he spits with sharp contempt. "You're a bitch, especially with me." He hits you with a slap on the butt. Strong. It makes you gasp and moan almost reflexively. The pain stings you but immediately mixes with a jolt of pleasure that leaves you breathless. "Oh, Christ…" you sigh. "You like it, huh?" murmur against your back. "Do you want another one?" You don't answer. He moves your panties to the side. And when he looks, he remains silent for a second that seems eternal. "You're already so wet." His voice is lowered, almost fierce. "And I didn't even touch you." With two fingers he opens you, and caresses your clitoris with the precision of those who want to punish and reward at the same time. A groan escapes you, raw, primitive. "Look how you tremble." He sticks a finger in you slowly, then a second. The obscene sound of your wet body makes him smile. "So soaked. For me. Just for me." Then he lowers his pants again. His cock, hard and shiny, leans against your entrance. "Tell me you want it." he orders you. "Fuck me, Park." whispered. With a strong push, he gets into you. It's chunky, hot, and fills you with an impact that leaves you gasping, fingernails sinking into the edge of the desk. "So tight…" he moans. "As if no one had ever taken you properly."

Every shot is deep, and brutal but rhythmic. The desk moves under you, sheets sliding to the ground. One is you. One is him. One is your sharp tongue, and the other is his fierce response. His hands grab your hips. Then they slide up, one to the neck, the other to the breast. He pulls you back against himself as he continues to push in. "Yell at me how much you hate me." "I hate you…" he whispers through his teeth, trembling. "…but fuck, continue." And he does. It takes you stronger, deeper, until your thoughts are no longer words, but moans, cries, broken requests. He fucks you like it's the only way to silence the war between you. When you feel that you are about to come, he whispers in your ear: "Let me feel how a journalist who can no longer use words trembles."

His cock pushes back into you with a force that takes your breath away. A scream escapes from your throat as you feel the pressure inside grows like a wave about to overwhelm you. "I want to come …" moans, the voice broken. "Please let me come…" Sunghoon does not slow down. But he bends over you, his mouth warm against your ear. "And why would I do that? For a bitch who writes articles just for the pleasure of teasing me?" You stutter, confused by pleasure, almost unable to think. "I… I … it was just … part of my job…" He grabs your chin from behind, forcing you to turn your head slightly towards him. His eyes are cold, and hungry, yet full of something darker. "Then pray." he orders you, pushing even harder inside you.

"Fuck you." you spit with a trembling voice, looking for a shred of control. But he looks at you with a sharp grin. "That's exactly what I'm doing, baby doll." Then it almost completely comes out of you, leaving you empty, about to go crazy. You feel the emptiness, you feel the absence, and your body moans in despair. "No … no, please…" he whispers, his voice broken. He smiles, satisfied. "Good girl." He caresses your clit with two fast, precise fingers, and a moment later you come with a choked cry, your moods dripping down her still pulsating shaft, which fills you all the way again with a deep thrust. Your moans mix with his. Every stroke sends you another spasm of pleasure. Feel the orgasm explode inside you like a slow and devastating bomb. "Where… where do you want to come?" he groans, his breath panting. "I'll take the pill…" you gasps. "I'm clean… and you?" "Me too. Regular tests. No girl in months." "Then fill-fill me. In. I want to hear you come inside me." With two final thrusts, you hear it explode. His hot seed invades you, you feel it squirt deep, and then overflow. The threads of his pleasure begin to trickle out of you along your thighs, while he stays there, inside you, panting, his forehead resting on your sweaty back. You both tremble. You both groan. Both of you, for an instant, are alive only in that wild, dirty, sincere bond. He stays inside you a little longer, his hand holding you steady against him. His breath caresses your nape. Then he slowly walks away, and you feel the heat dripping from you as he gently turns you around this time. Rest your head against his bare chest, sweaty, still shaken with pleasure. And he, unexpectedly, slips a thumb on your cheek, calmly stroking.

"You are a damned temptation." he murmurs in a hoarse voice. You look up and, with a weary but cheeky smile, whisper: "You'll see what I write this time. The title will be:

"Pilot under pressure: unexpected explosion".

He snorts, but he has a half-smile. "Don't think too much about me during the summer break." he tells you, the voice returned harder. "And if you even try to date some poor idiot, remember that only I … can take you like that. Only I can make you feel alive." He bends down to pick up his pants and looks at you once again. Then with a silent gesture of the chin, he points you to the door. "Now go. Before I change my mind and fuck you against the window again."

The summer holidays in Formula 1 were the only time of year when you could finally escape. No circuits, no hospitality, no press conferences with arrogant drivers and eyes like ice.

Just your home, the salt on your skin, and your feet in the warm sand of the Mediterranean.

You spent the days with your hands buried in bowls of cold pasta and grilled fish, the evenings filled with ice cream, slow conversations, and light dresses. Yet every time you closed your eyes… there were no seashells or waves to lull you to sleep.

There were his hands.

His pushes.

His killer gaze that seemed to say, “Never try to forget me.” And it worked. Because you couldn’t.

Some guys had asked you out. One with the gentle smile of your father’s pharmacist, another was a Danish surfer you met at a beach party. All nice, available, perfect for a summer fling.

But your body didn’t react. Your mind went blank the moment you thought about kissing anyone else. Sunghoon had branded you.

Not with sweetness, but with that cold fire only someone who never gives anything can make burn and you hated him for that.

Because he didn’t even give you a reason to stop thinking about him.

No paparazzi shots.

No compromising photos.

No mysterious girl appearing in his stories.

He had spent a week in Korea, you had found out by accident from a fanpage post that had spotted a picture of him at Incheon airport. But then he had returned to his kingdom: Montecarlo.

Jake, Heeseung, and Jay were posting stories on luxury boats, laughing with glasses of white wine between their fingers, and evenings by the Côte d’Azur. But not him.

He was like a shadow behind them. He showed up occasionally, with an expression too serious for a man on vacation.

Training.

Silence.

Balanced meals.

Zero clubs. Zero Oisha. Zero Twiga. A championship driver a war monk.

Sunghoon Park seemed to live in selective chastity, as if sex—even the wild kind with you—was a distraction only allowed in the heat of an impulse. Then? Nothing.

Yet you still felt his skin on yours, like a scent that wouldn’t go away.

The way he had taken you, teased you, humiliated you, and made you come at the same time.

The way he had looked at you in the end, while saying in that raspy voice:

“Only I can make you feel alive.”

He had kept his promise.

But now? He had left you to manage that emptiness. And you hated getting lost in emptiness. Maybe that was what hurt you the most: no longer even having the chance to truly hate him.

Sunghoon Park never smiled at Monza. He didn’t answer questions with enthusiasm, he didn’t sign caps, and he didn’t shake hands more than necessary. He had returned from vacation with the same sharp discipline he had left with: trained, focused, unreachable. No gossip, no distractions, no women. The only thing that mattered to him was winning and Monza was his. He could feel it. Every turn, every meter, every gear change seemed to align with his blood. But there was one problem. You. You, with your fluttering skirt and the media badge, wore like a summer bracelet. You, laughing too loudly in the press room, asked questions that drove him mad with frustration and desire. You, who never bent to him and perhaps, for this reason, you had become impossible to ignore.

The sun was beating down on the Monza paddock.

You were talking to two colleagues when one—a British journalist in a too-tight tie and oversized ego—got a little too close.

He laughed at his own jokes, brushed your elbow too often, and then, with a winning smirk, he said:

'Are you sure you’d rather interview those Korean robots than go out with a real man?'

His hand brushed your back, lower than was professional. Before you had time to respond with your usual sharp sarcasm, a cold voice interrupted the scene.

“Get your hands off her.” The tone was so low and sharp that the air seemed to freeze.

You turned.

Sunghoon was there. His suit was half-open, dark hair slightly tousled, sweat on his skin, eyes darker than usual.

The journalist looked at him, trying to laugh it off. 'Relax, champ. We were just talking.'

“I don’t care. You’re two seconds away from ruining your career.” Hoon’s voice was flat. Serious. Lethal.

The colleague made a ridiculous apologetic gesture and disappeared into the crowd. You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. What a knight.”

Sunghoon didn’t laugh. But he didn’t walk away either.

He was staring at you. Eyes locked with yours. As if he were looking for something. As if he wanted to make sure you were okay.

“I don’t need a bodyguard, you know? I can handle myself.” Your tone was provocative but sweet. He tilted his head slightly.

“It’s not for you. It’s to avoid breaking his nose and ending up in the headlines.”

You burst out laughing and that was when you saw it. The corner of his mouth curled. A half-smile and then, for just a second, his gaze drifted down to your bare legs, to your throat as you laughed, to the fingers holding your notebook.

Then it returned to your eyes.

He had been looking when he shouldn’t have.

The moment was interrupted by the roar of engines. The race was about to start.

After the race – Podium

He had won. Sunghoon Park had won Monza in front of the sea of red, the screaming fans, the delirious engineers but when he raised the trophy, his eyes only searched for one thing.

You and there you were. Radiant smile, hair tousled by the wind, eyes sparkling from the sun… or perhaps from something more.

You approached later, at the back of the paddock.

“Congrats, champ.” You said it with a strange tone. Affectionate. Almost tender. Sunghoon slowly turned around. He looked at you and for the first time, he didn’t respond with sarcasm.

He didn’t call you “annoying.” He didn’t roll his eyes.

“Thank you.” Just that. One sincere word. Calm. Real and then, quieter still:

“I missed you.”

You stayed there, suspended between the smell of gasoline and the setting sun and the mask he had always worn… seemed to have cracked just a little.

The humidity in Singapore clung to your skin like a wet dress. Even at midnight.

You’d spent the whole weekend feeling hot, restless, and confused: – restless from the heat, – restless because of the race, – restless because, ever since Monza… things between you two were no longer clear.

Sunghoon had changed. But he wouldn’t admit it. He was still quiet, but now he searched for you with his eyes. He was still cold, but his gaze softened when he spoke to you.

And today, when Jay won with his new team and Hoon came in second… he smiled. A real smile.

You’d asked him, microphone in hand: “First time I’ve seen you happy about not winning.”

He’d run a hand through his sweaty hair, shrugging. “My two best friends were on the podium with me. Doesn’t happen often.”

Then, a quick glance sideways. “And Jay earned it. He pulled off the lap of his life. I respect that.”

It was the longest sentence he’d ever said to you. And maybe the most honest.

That night, the Fullerton hotel was dressed in gold. From the top floor, the track looked like a constellation of artificial stars.

You’d had two rum-and-pineapple cocktails, with something else in them that made you feel both weightless and burning hot.

Wearing a short black silk dress, hair loosely curled, you smiled like a girl who knew she was playing with fire.

Then you saw him. Sunghoon. Suit unzipped, a half-buttoned shirt, collar open, hair slicked back with his fingers. Beautiful. Untouchable.

But your body remembered him too well and your mind hated him for it. You walked up with a little smirk and said: “You know, I thought you were going to kiss Jay on the podium today. You looked so… happy.”

He stared at you for a second. “Are you drunk?”

You pouted. “Just a little… just enough to find you even sexier than usual.” Sunghoon clenched his jaw. A moment later, he grabbed your wrist.

“Come with me.”

“Hey!” you protested, laughing. “I just want to have fun. Can’t you play along?”

He turned to you, eyes low, voice rough. “You will have fun. Just not the kind you’re thinking of.”

With a bold spark, you whispered against his ear: “Are you… my fun, Hoon?”

He placed a hand over your mouth. Not hard—just enough to shut you up. You looked up at him, your tongue lightly grazing his palm.

He pulled it back instantly. “You’re impossible.”

The hotel room was cool with air conditioning, but your body... was burning. The night’s humidity had seeped into your skin. And the tequila into your blood. You were still laughing as you leaned back against the closed door, your bare shoulders brushing the wood.

he black silk dress clung to you like a second skin, slipping lower with each heavier breath.

“Didn’t think you were the type to rescue drunk damsels at the post-race party.”

Your voice was light, tipsy, teasing. But your eyes... wanted him, Sunghoon shrugged off his blazer and left it on the chair.

White shirt unbuttoned to the chest, elegant black trousers eyes down, jaw clenched.

“I didn’t rescue you.”

“No? Then why bring me here?”

He stepped closer. Slow. Controlled. He smelled of aftershave and warm skin. “Because you were one step away from real trouble.”

“Maybe that was the idea…” A smirk played on your lips. You knew you were provoking him. And you loved it. He didn’t answer. He leaned in, took your chin between two fingers.

“You like playing games, don’t you?”

“With you? Always.”

And then he kissed you. Hard. Certain. Without mercy. His tongue claimed your mouth, and you moaned against his lips, grabbing at his shirt.

His hands moved to your hips, then lower, gripping you with force.

“You’re drunk. And too turned on.”

“That’s on you.”

You rested your forehead against his chest.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since Silverstone. And I hate that.”

Sunghoon lifted your face with both hands.

“Then hate me better.”

The kiss that followed was slower. Deeper. Then he guided you gently to the bed and knelt in front of you.

“Spread your legs.”

You looked at him with glassy eyes.

“Yes, champ.”

“Don’t say it like that. You know what it does to me.”

His voice was low, nearly a growl as your thighs parted, he slowly lifted the silk, revealing the delicate black underwear already damp.

He looked up at you.

“Always this ready for me, huh?”

“Only for you. But don’t get used to it.”

He gave a dry, sarcastic laugh.

“I don’t want to get used to it. I want to ruin it.”

His fingers brushed against the fabric you gasped right away. Then he moved under it. Slow. Precise. He was learning your body like he studied a track—curve by curve.

“God, you’re soaked already.”

“Stop talking to me like that...”

“Why? Sounds like even my voice gets you off.”

His fingers started moving in earnest. First slow. Then faster. One, then two. Then his thumb joined in, finding your most sensitive spot.

You were about to lose control. Legs shaking. Sweat trailing down your temples.

“Hoon... I’m gonna...”

“No. Not yet.”

He stood, eased you back onto the bed, and came over you. Your clothes still on, but desire naked. Blazing. His kisses trailed down your neck. Your shoulders. Between your breasts.

“You’re a constant temptation,” he murmured, lips hot against your skin.

“And a problem. One I’m not sure I want to fix... or destroy.”

You grabbed the back of his neck.

“Then destroy me.”

He pressed against you—hard, hot, exactly where you needed him. You moaned so real, it made him shut his eyes like it hurt. Then he looked at you—lips wet, eyes dark.

“This is the last time.”

“Are we sure about that?”

You bit his lip. He sighed—but didn’t pull away. In fact, his hand returned to you, deeper, faster. You came for him—shaking, breathless, undone. He held you close, gently kissing your forehead. Then he pulled back and looked at you and you, curled into his chest, whispered:

“You’re not as cold as you pretend to be.”

He turned, gave the faintest smile.

“And you’re not as a good girl as you pretend to be.”

Sunghoon felt at home. It wasn’t Seoul—no—but Suzuka reminded him why he’d started all this. The Japanese asphalt under his tires had a different sound. Almost intimate and this… this was the turning point.

The title was just within reach.

Jin, his most relentless rival, was only a few points ahead. One mistake… or a bit more courage. That’s all it would take.

You, on the other hand, arrived in Suzuka feeling strange.

Too quiet. Too alert. Something gnawed at your stomach—a mix between a warning and fear. It wasn’t jet lag. It wasn’t the heat. It was him.

You saw him from a distance, in the garage.

That blue-and-black race suit clung to his body like a gladiator’s armor. Head down, focused—but you could read beyond the surface.

You approached under the guise of work, your press badge clenched in your fingers.

“Here to confess you already miss me?”

His voice, sharp as always—but his eyes… searched for yours.

“No.” You bit your lip and handed him a canned coffee.

“I came to tell you to be careful at the start.”

“I’ve been racing since I was four.” He laughed quietly.

“I know what I’m doing.”

“I know. But I…”

You hesitated. Then stood on your toes and kissed him—briefly—just below the mole by his eye.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just looked at you. But inside—inside, something cracked.

“Why did she do that? Why now? Why like this? It was a useless kiss, short…but it left me more exposed than a thousand words.”

You turned quickly and walked away. He stayed there, too still for too long.

The race start was clean then came lap three. The fight was on—Sunghoon and Jin, wheel to wheel through the fast section before Turn 9.

Your voice in the mic had just begun to rise when—CRASH.

Jin tried the inside, Sunghoon closed too late. The contact was sharp.

Hoon’s car slammed into the barriers—hard, direct a front wheel flew off. Carbon brakes burst into smoke. Global broadcast switched to instant replays, you didn’t scream, you didn’t speak, you let the mic fall.

-Where are you going?!- yelled the cameraman behind you.

But you didn’t stop. You tore through the media area, ran through the Red Bull hospitality corridors.

Two hours. Two endless hours then a doctor emerged from the medical room.

“Who are you?”

“His girlfriend.” The words came out without thinking a lie? Maybe but it felt like the only thing true.When you opened the door—he was there.

Laid out. Neck brace. Bandage on his brow.

Alive. You didn’t say a word.

You leapt into his arms—gently—and he pulled you in with one free hand.

Then he kissed you. In front of everyone. Without a second thought and something shifted. It wasn’t just tension anymore. It wasn’t just a game. It was truth.

You pulled back slightly, hands cupping his cheeks.

“You scared me to death.”

“I thought you only fell for the thrill.”

“No.”

You looked him straight in the eye.“You’re not just a problem anymore.”

He smiled. Slowly. Then closed his eyes and whispered against your forehead: “You’re my only distraction.”

The lights of Abu Dhabi didn’t just shine on the track. They lit up an entire season—racing hearts, stolen glances in the paddock, fingers intertwined in the shadows, and words never spoken out loud. The world was watching. And you… you couldn’t stop watching him.

The weekend had started with a tension that felt electric. Sunghoon started P2. Jin was on pole. Everyone knew it: everything would be decided here. The world title was balanced between two frozen flames. But you—deep down—you always felt it. That Red Bull helmet, number 02, would be the first to cross the finish line.

In the final laps, the air was so thick it could’ve been cut with a heartbeat. Lap 53. A crash. Safety car. Sunghoon’s radio crackled.

— “Box, now.” — “Are you sure?” — “Trust us. This is your moment.”

Fresh tires changed everything. Jin stayed out. And you held your breath. The last two laps became the cleanest, fiercest battle of the season.

And when he—at the penultimate corner—found that tiny window, that perfect braking point, when he slipped through like a scalpel and overtook Jin at Turn 9… The world flipped upside down.

Then, over the radio: “Let me hear her voice.”

It was the engineer—he turned to you, handed you the mic.

— “Copy, Park Sunghoon. Go claim your destiny.”

He laughed. He groaned something into the radio. And then he pushed. Pushed like the entire year was packed into those last two kilometers.

Checkered flag. P1. World Champion.

“You’re world champion!” you screamed, voice breaking, tears rolling down your cheeks. You heard him sob. Sunghoon Park. The ice prince. The robot. The boy without a heart. He was crying.

He parked the car like it was a ritual. Jumped out, and before removing his helmet, kissed the car. Then the tires—like he was thanking a partner. Then, the crowd. He threw himself into them, as if needing proof that it was all real.

On the podium, he was unrecognizable. Laughing, crying, shouting in Korean. He sang the anthem with a broken voice and champagne in his eyes. Jake and Jin sprayed him like kids, and for once, he just looked… alive.

And then he saw you.

You were there for work, still wearing your badge, mic in hand. But he didn’t care. He grabbed your wrist, ignoring cameramen, PR, the whole world.

“Sunghoon! I have an interview to—”

“Not now. You’re mine.”

He pulled you through the motorhome, down the still-warm hallways of the garage. Opened the door to his room. Closed it behind him.

Then he looked at you. And the silence hit.

“I can’t play this game with you anymore.” “Me neither,” you whispered. “I thought you’d just be an annoyance. A distraction. But instead…”

He stepped closer. His breath still ragged from the race. The smell of asphalt and sweat, of victory and desire, wrapped around you like heat.

Sunghoon's lips smelled of champagne and victory. And you … you were hungry. Of him, of his body, of his ego that smelled of warm skin and sweet sweat. He held you to himself with almost desperate force, as if he feared that you might vanish, escape, dissolve in the air of the suite. The noise of the party downstairs was just a distant echo. He moaned softly when you sank your fingers into his damp hair. “I can't take it anymore… " he whispered, his voice hoarse, tense. You smiled at him, cheeky. "Poor champion … so impatient.” Slowly, almost to punish him, you let him down the Red Bull suit, then the thermal jersey, revealing that body polished by fatigue and glory. The strained, sculpted muscles smelled of adrenaline. You stooped, sinking your lips to his candid, salty skin, sowing bites and hickeys like a signature. "They'll all see them," you whispered between bites. "Everyone will know that you are mine.” He grabbed your butt hard, barely growling. "Stop it," he admonished you, but the voice was shaken. You answered only with another slow lick on the line of hairs below the navel. You pulled his suit down altogether,and he stayed in bo bo His gaze burned. You rubbed against him, shamelessly, like a cat in heat. He snapped, grabbing you by the hips. “Christ. Look…” His hands, big, calloused, slipped under your sand-colored dress, mercilessly lifting it. "Raise your arms.” You did it, slowly, looking him straight in the eye. "Who the fuck are you dressed up for?” he growled, his gaze lost between your sand thong and the transparent bra. “For you, " you replied, almost chanting. "Just for you.” You rubbed against his erection, and he snorted a sharp laugh. "Keep it up and get on your knees before I get to touch you as you deserve.” He pushed you to the bed, decided, and when his teeth sank into one of your bare buds, your breath broke.

"Oh … Hoon …" you stammered, your voice broken with pleasure, as you tried to get your legs between his. "Do you see it? You're all mine already” he hissed at your skin. He sucked you, tasted you, explored you as if entitled to every inch. Then he stopped suddenly, and in a hoarse, rough voice whispered in your ear: “I wanted to fuck your breasts until you forget your name. But now … now I just want to sink into you.”

He slipped your panties with an almost sadistic slowness, the light fabric surrendering between his strong and impatient fingers. His dark eyes, shiny with desire, rested on your damp center, and the smile that folded his lips was typical of a man who knew he had won. "Look how reduced you are," he whispered, biting his lower lip softly. “All wet just because I'm looking at you. You've always been an arrogant little bitch, but underneath it all… two fingers of mine are enough to make you tremble.” His words made you groan. But it was the tone that broke you: low, rough, loaded with malice. "And now shut up," he added, as his lips glided slowly over your thighs. He began to suck your skin, to brand you with moist kisses and light bites, climbing up, approaching, barely touching you where you wanted to feel it most. You writhed under him, and the words came out to you in sobs, cheeky. "Come on, Hoonie…don't drive me crazy like that … ” "Shut up, baby doll," he hissed. "Dolls don't talk, they get used.” Then he looked you straight in the eye and let his tongue slide against you, with a decisive, expert gesture. The scream exploded in your throat, but he plugged your mouth with one hand, eyes fixed on yours. "You want them to hear you scream my name, bitch?” You nod, moaning under his grasp, and he growls a: “So you ruin me… and I like you crazy.”

His tongue moved in slow and deep circles, then quick and cheeky, while his breathing mingled with yours. When he stuck two fingers inside you, your body rose from the bed, arched like a stretched bow. "Say my name," he ordered. "Hoon… Hoonie, yeah…oh my God … ” "Stop coming without permission," he admonished you, clasping your hips tightly. ”I can't… please…I can't…" He added another, slow, torturing you, making you moan his name like a broken prayer. “You're taking everything so well, " he hissed. “I can't wait to replace these fingers with my cock, baby doll.” Those words sent you further. A warm, overwhelming wave shook you, and you came against his fingers and mouth. He drank it all, slowly, with a hungry and satisfied expression. "He knows about you and victory. Better than champagne.” Then he pulled up, his voice hoarse and his chest rising. "I hate you, bitch. But you're my drug.” And you, panting, with your legs still trembling, smiled at him with a cheeky air. “I know. And that's what fucks you.”

He kept you under him as if you were his all along, and maybe, in a way, you were. His hands clasped your hips with a force that left its mark, while his warm breath crashed against your neck. He was on top of you, hard, tense, ravenous. But he wasn't moving yet. Only the tip of him grazed the entrance to your pleasure, torturing you. "Hoonie…" you groaned, scratching his arms. "Not yet," he admonished you with a hoarse whisper, a threat stifled by desire. “You really are the greatest asshole I've ever known, " he snorted, his lips swollen with desire and his heart pounding. "And you the most unbearable little bitch in the whole paddock," he retorted, the fierce smile opening between his teeth. “But look how you shrink as soon as I touch you.” He bent down and brushed your lobe with his teeth. “Who would have said… the brilliant journalist, always with the answer ready… all wet for me.” “I'm just studying for an in-depth piece, " you muttered, your eyes ajar. "Behind the wheel: the ego of champions.” He laughed quietly, without humor. “You're about to find out how long the ego is.” Then he rotated the pelvis, causing you to tremble under him. You clenched his biceps with force, teeth sunk into the lower lip. "Fuck me, Hoon. Move. Now.” His gaze became more gloomy, hungry. “You're not the one giving orders, baby doll.” And with a sharp, deep blow, he pushed himself into you. A single, devastating lunge that made you scream. "Oh my God … yes … Hoonie, so…” He paused for a moment, just to look at you as you trembled beneath him.

When you felt his body stretch over yours, his breath breaking into a low growl, you knew he was getting there. Her hands clasped your hips tightly, and with a deeper push, you felt full, warm, completely overwhelmed. "Oh f-Hoon…" you moaned, hands scratching his sweaty back. He did not stop, he pushed again, marking you, as his hot seed poured into you in waves, making you gasp for the fullness that made you tremble. "Good little doll…" he muttered in a low, deep tone. “You took it all, like a real girl of mine.” That phrase got under your skin more than his last push, the one in which he sank you again with a muffled groan as if he needed to brand you for real. When he came out, slowly, a warm trail dripped down your inner thigh. He looked at you with satisfaction, then bent down and kissed your forehead with a sweetness you did not expect. You sank your head against his rib cage, still shaken, still sweaty. You hugged him, tight, and for a moment it was all silence. Then your fingers began to play through her damp hair. He relaxed immediately under that touch. You knew him enough to know he was giving up. To you. “That thing from before… " you muttered, your voice tumbled. “That stuff that I'm your girlfriend… was it a stupid joke or are you serious, Hoonie?” He lifted his face, resting on your chest. His eyes looked for you, and when you fixed that wayward tuft on his forehead, he threw you one of those crooked, arrogant smirks that you knew all too well by now. “When I speak, I never do it in vain, little doll, " he said in a hoarse voice. “Even though I hated you, over time you got into me. In the head, in the skin. Every time I saw you walking around the paddock in those provocative clothes and that naughty mouth, I just wanted to take you away. And yes … I like you. And yes … you're my girlfriend.” You giggled a subtle, cheeky sound. “But you didn't even ask me, champ. A little obvious, right?” He rolled his eyes, theatrical, then poked his face against your neck and whispered softly, his voice scratched with desire and tenderness. "You want to be my girlfriend, little dool?” You barely budged, with a defiant smirk. “Depend. Are you going to act like a model boyfriend or do you just want to fuck me until you take my breath away?” He laughed slowly, his chest vibrated against yours. “Both, if you let me.” "All right," you whispered. “I want to be your girlfriend.” And you kissed him. Long. Deep. Slowly, as if it was the first time really. "Ok, but now shower," you muttered, brushing her sticky, hot skin. He sighed. “You're right, but… I don't want to let you go.” You clasped to him once again, fingers tracing circles on his back. "Come on, champ. You won this race too. But it's my turn to drive now.”

taglist series: @stwrlightt @deobitifull @nithxhoon @hollxe1 @wonnienyang @allthingsfandomme @7789995323567322 @donttellmymomlol20 @roslayy @dearestdreamies @heeknow @firstclassjaylee @weyukinluv @diameuww2 @jvjsssnaa @matchacake2 @chxrlz-mxr @blockbusterhee

normal taglist: @stwrlightt @hearts4cheol @lovenha7 @in-somnias-world @heeseungxo @luvyeni @jayjw16enxp @jvngwni @jooniesbears-blog @gguk-n @cloudykim @enhaverse713586 @stormy1408 @jakesw82 @misssparklyprincess @bamguetismee @jaylajakey @arclviie @strxwbloody @steddie-steddie @jungwoosbaey @laurenmia65 @tasnemluvs @lovellydisaster @simj4k3 @numnommz @sspidermanss @vixialuvs @smlbch @xylatox @ikeulove @nishikio

Rebblog and comments are appreciated

#enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen fanfic #enhypen drabbles #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon smut #park sunghoon imagines #park sunghoon #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen headcanons #enhypen hyung line #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader

625 notes · View notes