#is it ever that serious... no... but yes...

[smutmind]

Karina for "When it doesn't fit" pleaseee!

When it Doesn't Fit ft. Karina

Idol x BBC | fluffy for a change

She shouldn’t have smiled when she read his text.

But her heart pounded.

"She called it off."

Jace.

Her Jace.

Her best friend since they were seven — and the man she’d loved quietly for years.

She typed before she could think: "Come over. I’ll cook. You shouldn’t be alone."

He looked wrecked when she opened the door.

Hood up, eyes hollow.

Before she could stop herself, she hugged him.

Hard.

And he held on — face pressed to her neck, breath shaky.

"You’re not alone tonight," she whispered. "You’ve got me."

Dinner was slow.

Wine was fast.

By the second bottle, the tight lines of his face had eased.

God, she’d missed that smile.

His voice, a little rough-edged, rumbled: "Remember when we played Truth or Dare on your trampoline?"

She laughed — warm and tipsy.

"You always dared me to kiss you."

"And you always did."

Her stomach flipped.

On impulse: "Truth or Dare?"

He blinked.

"You serious?"

"For old time’s sake."

A smirk.

"Truth."

Her heart raced.

"Ever had a crush on me?"

He hesitated too long.

"…Pass."

Heat flushed her neck.

"That’s not allowed."

"New rule." His voice cracked slightly.

She swallowed.

"Fine. Dare."

"You dare me?"

She shifted closer — bold with wine and years of longing.

"Dare me to touch your dick."

Silence.

Jace’s breath caught.

"Rina—"

"What?" She tilted her head, heart pounding. "Scared?"

His throat bobbed.

"Do it."

Her fingers slid beneath his sweats.

Thick. Hot. Heavy.

Her breath caught.

"Jesus, Jace…"

His hips twitched.

"You—" he gasped. "You can stop—"

She squeezed lightly — stroked slow.

"This? She gave this up?"

"Fuck—Rina—"

"You want me to stop?"

"No."

She dropped to her knees between his legs.

Her tee slipped off one shoulder — her big, soft tits nearly spilling out, nipples flushed and stiff.

Jace groaned.

"Rina—fuck—"

She smiled — wrapped her tits around his shaft.

"Feed you first," she whispered.

"Fuck—"

His hips jerked as she bounced her tits along his cock, precum smearing across her skin.

"My best friend’s tits," she teased. "Making you this hard?"

"You’re driving me crazy," he growled.

She licked the tip — then swallowed him deep.

"Ahhh—fuck—Karina—"

Spit dripped down her chin — throat stretching.

"Biggest cock I’ve ever sucked," she gasped.

"You keep that up—I’m gonna—"

She pulled off panting.

"Not yet."

She stood, stripping fast — tee gone, panties soaked through.

She straddled him, shaking.

"Ready?" he rasped.

She nodded.

"Stretch me."

The first inch made her sob.

"Ahhh—fuck—too big—"

"Slow, baby," he gasped — hands gripping her hips.

She forced down more — tears welling.

"Barely fits—oh god—"

"Rina—fuck—"

Her breath caught in her throat.

Her hips trembled above him, thighs visibly shaking as she took another inch — feeling the brutal stretch as her tight pussy swallowed more of his thick shaft.

She whimpered — fingers curling into his shoulders.

"Kiss me—please—need you—"

He crushed her mouth — desperate.

Their tongues tangled, breath shared, her sobs muffled against his lips.

Then — his grip tightened.

"Hold on."

"Wait—ahhh—"

Too late.

He slammed her down — full length burying inside her.

"AHHH—fuck—Jace—too deep—"

Her tits bounced wildly — big and soft, sweat-slick, nipples hard as diamonds.

Her back arched — her head tipped back as her whole body shook from the force of it.

"You’re gonna take it," he growled — dragging her up, slamming her down again.

"AHHH—hurts—hurts—yes—fuck—"

Her thighs burned, her voice broke — the brutal stretch making her cry out helplessly.

"Too big—hurts—hurts—"

"You love it," he rasped.

His hips jerked up to meet each slam — hands locked tight on her hips, using her like a toy.

"AHHH—Jace—oh god—yes—"

Her tits swung violently — the slap of skin sharp, her mouth falling open in a wrecked gasp.

"Too deep—hurts—"

But her pussy clenched tighter with every thrust — betraying her.

Then —

His mouth latched onto her nipple.

"Ahhh—yes—yes—suck—please—"

His tongue circled roughly — teeth grazing — the rough pleasure spiking as the pain blurred.

"Too deep—hurts—feels good—fuck—"

"You’re mine," he groaned — speeding up, slamming her harder.

"AHHH—Jace—can’t—legs—ahhh—"

Her thighs gave out — shaking violently.

She collapsed against his chest, sobbing, as he took over completely — slamming her down hard, forcing every inch inside.

"Cum inside—I'm safe—please—fill me—"

"Fuck—mine—"

He held her down — hips snapping up with savage force.

"AHHH—yes—yes—fill me—"

Thick heat pulsed deep — her pussy spasming hard around him, milking every drop.

Her voice wrecked:

"Yes—yes—your best friend—fill me—"

He held her there — cock twitching, her body limp and spent.

His forehead pressed to hers, both gasping.

Her thighs still quivered around him — her chest heaving, nipples slick from his mouth.

He kissed her softly, finally.

"All yours tonight," she whispered, eyes glassy.

"You’re mine," he breathed. "Now and always."

The sun was warm on his back when he woke.

The bed smelled of sweat and sex and her.

For one perfect moment, he smiled — remembering her body, her cries.

Then panic hit.

Fuck. What did I do?

He reached out — but the sheets were empty.

His heart kicked up fast.

Did she leave? Is she regretting it? Did I ruin us?

Then — the faint sound of humming.

From the kitchen.

Relief and a deeper panic flooded him.

She stood at the stove in his hoodie — bare thighs gleaming beneath it, hair a wild mess.

And God, she was beautiful.

His cock was already hard before he crossed the room.

But his chest was tight.

He slid behind her, arms wrapping tight around her waist — maybe too tight.

"Was that just… the wine?" he whispered, voice rough.

For a second, her breath caught.

He could feel it — the hesitation in her body.

Then she leaned back into him — small smile, almost sad.

And ground her ass back against his cock, slow.

"Fuck me sober," she whispered.

It shattered him.

He bent her over the counter.

"Jesus, Rina…"

She looked back — wide, bright eyes.

"Yours."

And something in him snapped.

He slammed in deep.

"AHHH—too deep—hurts—"

"You begged for it," he growled — voice hoarse.

"Ahhh—breaking me—"

Her thighs shook — tits bouncing under the hoodie.

Her nails clawed the counter helplessly as he drove into her harder, faster — hips snapping with brutal force.

Each thrust rocked her forward — her tits flattening against the cold surface, nipples aching.

"Too much—hurts—yes—yes—oh fuck—Jace—"

"You can take it," he gasped — grabbing her hips tighter, bruising grip.

"Ahhh—ahhh—yes—fuck—"

But even as her voice broke, her hips started meeting his — desperate, shaking.

"Harder—" she gasped — tears pricking her eyes.

"You want this?" he growled — slamming deeper.

"Yes—yes—fuck—"

Her breath caught — a sob broke free as her thighs trembled harder.

We can’t be friends anymore, her mind screamed — but her body didn’t care.

Her pussy clenched tighter with every brutal thrust.

"J-Jace—" she gasped. "I—"

"Say it," he groaned — bending low, teeth grazing her ear. "Say you want this. Say you’re mine now."

"I—ahhh—I—"

Her nails dragged down the counter — tears finally spilling as her hips bucked back helplessly.

"I’m yours—fuck—yes—yours—"

"That’s right—"

He grabbed her hair — yanked her head back — and kissed her.

Messy, brutal, desperate.

"Not friends anymore, baby," he growled against her mouth.

"N-not anymore—" she choked out — sobbing now, but her pussy fluttering wildly.

"You’re mine—"

"Yes—yes—fuck me—please—fuck me—"

He slammed into her harder, faster — her tits slapping the counter, her body arching helplessly.

"Gonna fill you again—"

"Yes—please—cum in me—"

She was crying openly now — not from pain, from the flood of emotion she couldn’t hold back.

And neither could he.

"Fuck—AHHH—Rina—"

"Jace—fuck—cumming—fuck—cumming—"

His cock pulsed deep — thick heat spilling inside her again as she convulsed around him.

Her sobs broke apart — gasping, moaning, trembling.

"Yes—yes—fill me—"

He held her there — both shaking.

For a long moment, neither moved.

Both breathing hard — both knowing it was over.

But it wasn’t.

He scooped her up — carried her to the bed without a word.

Laid her down, face to face.

She was still crying softly — but her arms pulled him down tight.

"Jace—"

"I know," he whispered — voice rough. "I know… we can’t stop now."

"No—" she sobbed — kissed him hard. "Don’t stop. Please—"

And he didn’t.

He pushed in slow — both of them gasping, too raw.

"Ahhh—too full—"

"Take it—"

This time, they kissed constantly — mouths hungry, desperate, needing the contact.

Her legs wrapped around him — her nails dug into his back.

"I can’t stop wanting you—" she sobbed against his lips.

"Me either—fuck—"

He fucked her deeper — faster — but never stopped kissing her.

Even as her body shook, even as she moaned and begged, they clung to each other like they were drowning.

"Please—please—Jace—fuck me—"

"Mine—only mine—"

"Yes—yours—fuck—"

Her pussy clenched tighter — her whole body arched.

"AHHH—cumming—Jace—fuck—"

"Me too—fuck—"

Their mouths locked as they shattered together — brutal, messy, too far gone.

When it was done, they lay there — trembling, spent.

He kissed her slow — softer now.

She buried her face in his neck — voice breaking.

"We can’t go back, can we?"

"No," he whispered — holding her tighter.

"Are you scared?"

"Terrified," he breathed — kissed her again. "But I’m not letting you go now."

"Good—" she whispered. "Because I can’t stop either."

[yesornopolls]

would you ever make a serious attempt on becoming vegetarian/vegan?

(for whatever reason: health, as an act of protest, just cus you wanna, etc etc)

pls add an 'already am' option

[forgottenwriter]

So, this is actually a cool jumping off point on something I've wanted to talk about for a while. This sort of opinion seems to float up fairly regularly in certain circles, and I wanted to address it a bit.

Not specifically the trans version referenced here, but the idea seems to surface in a lot of forms. I suppose it's natural. When you're the weaker party, when you're struggling just to stay together, when the whole world is against you, it's super tempting to think that your end goal is just kind of, to cut yourself off from everyone. To go off and have your own place in the world where you can be you and everyone who ever doubted, mocked, attacked or endangered you is just not allowed.

Thing is, it doesn't work. Not really. Like, I get the original post was more exaggerated than serious, but I wanted to hammer that in a bit.

What you're basically saying is ''I want to cut us off from our allies, no one is allowed in our community but us, and everyone who attacks us will be driven out.''

Okay, but who defines ''attacks''? Who gets to decide who is an enemy or not? You imagine some giant, peaceful community where everyone can just be happy, but will that actually happen or will you get a dozen different squabbling factions?

What about allies? If you cut them off, who is going to defend you? Yes, you can defend yourself, but the issue with being a minority is that there are more of them than you. Allies help balance that. Do you think people attacking you will be silent because you're isolating yourself or do you think they'll see it as a sign that they're winning and be bolder?

Suddenly, how are you going to deal with all of the new accusations - and there will be accusations - when you've cut the number of people willing to defend and help you by burning bridges to other communities? Even worse, over time, opinions of you will shift towards more negative things as positive interactions with you become less and less and people only remember the bad ones and the slander spread by people who don't like you.

Being interconnected with one another is hard, god knows, and it sucks when people who should have your back don't. There will always be issues and clashes between communities, even ones as closely related as the various trans sub-communities. But by burning bridges and cutting yourself off, you deny other communities the right to see and know the real you. You kill friendships before they form, you rob yourself of support and love you otherwise would have gotten.

You gotta mingle. Yes, it sucks. It's painful. It fucking hurts when it blows up in your face. But you can't let despair drive you into a little corner. When we come together, we can do great things, but isolated and alone, our communities are not big enough even really to survive the way we are now.

We need each other now more than ever. Think of it like this: there was a time, not even so long ago, that people would have killed to be where we are even now. There was a time when this day and age would have seemed impossibly different, and people would have wept just for the chance to stand in our shoes.

Yes, it's still far from perfect. Yes, we still have a ton of work to do. But we will continue to do that work, and we will continue to push that envelope, and we will come together even in the face of people who try to try us apart.

I promise that things are not always going to be how they are now. Just as long as we don't lose faith in one another. We're not done, and we have a long, hard road ahead.

But look behind us, yeah? The road to get here was long and hard too. And we walked it.

Hey, sepratism is bad actually let's not do this

Yes there are some transfemmes who are shitty to us, but I don't believe that's the majority by any means.

There are some transmascs that are awful to transfemmes as well. It goes both ways. I don't think it makes any sense to cut ourselves off from good people in our community because of some infighters

Let's not alienate our sisters over a few bad actors please. We need each other. Especially now

[cheftsunoda]

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

crush — gr63 + carmen

smau + blurbs

george russell x!influencer albon reader x carmen mundt

alex albon x !sister reader

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

fc : amberly yang (bbyambi on ig)

—

yn_albon

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

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

tagged : lilymhe

—

view 175,020 other comments.

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

liked by yn_albon

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

liked by lilymhe and lando

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

liked by yn_albon

↳ yn_albon : honestly i can respect the grind

liked by alex_albon

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

liked by alex_albon and lilymhe

↳ username1 : pls😭 they are so unserious

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

liked by yn_albon

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

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

liked by yn_albon and alex_albon

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

liked by yn_albon

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

liked by lilymhe

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

liked by yn_albon

↳ alex_albon : you are not helping.

liked by yn_albon

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

liked by yn_albon

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

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

liked by yn_albon

↳ yn_albon : check dm’s👉🏻👈🏻

liked by georgerussell63

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

↳ georgerussell63 : yes 😁

liked by yn_albon

carmenmmundt : pretty girl ❤️

liked by yn_albon

↳ yn_albon : says the prettiest girl ever

liked by carmenmmundt and georegrussell63

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stumbles, fully yelping, then freezes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

You lift a brow. “Fans?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lily snorts quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “You saw that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise a brow, amused. “Noted.”

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

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

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

Alex just shakes his head, laughing.

—

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

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

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

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

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

Lily smirks. “Honestly, can’t wait.”

George spots you and lights up immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If it worked, I won’t apologize.”

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

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

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

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

They both turn to you at once.

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

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

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

“Should we intervene?” she whispers.

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

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

—

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

“YN—wait.”

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

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

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

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

You blink. “For what?”

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

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

“—for a while,” George adds quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smirks. “That’s different.”

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

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

George grins. “Exactly.”

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

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

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

“That’s a yes?” George asks.

You nod. “That’s a yes.”

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

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

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

“Calculated risk,” Carmen says with a wink.

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

—

yn_albon

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

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

tagged : carmenmmundt, alex_albon and lilymhe

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view 275,134 other comments.

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

liked by yn_albon

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

liked by carlossainz55

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

liked by yn_albon

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

liked by alex_albon

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

liked by yn_albon and alex_albon

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

liked by yn_albon

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

liked by yn_albon and lilymhe

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

liked by lilymhe and alex_albon

carmenmmundt : so happy to be able to spend the day with the prettiest girl in the paddock 🤍

liked by yn_albon

↳ yn_albon : you are the best 🩷

liked by carmenmmundt

—

Carmen finds you outside the motorhome just before lights out, all white sunglasses and effortless grace, her Mercedes pass swinging around her neck like she was born with it. She grins as she approaches, and for a second, you forget the crowd around you—forget the chaos of race day, the roar of engines in the background, the crew rushing past with unreadable expressions. It’s just her.

“You ready?” she asks, nudging your arm gently with her elbow.

“I was born ready,” you say, even though your heart’s been beating at double speed since she texted, “Watch the race with me?”

You follow her to the viewing deck above the garage, where the sunlight is sharp and golden and the crowd noise blends into a distant hum. She leans on the railing next to you, arms crossed, head tilted toward the track—but her eyes keep flicking to you, like she’s more interested in your reactions than the timing screens.

Every time something happens—an overtake, a near miss, Alex making a brilliant move into Turn 1—Carmen taps your arm or gasps quietly or leans in just enough that you catch the faint scent of her perfume. At one point, she offers you a pair of headphones, only to lean closer and say, “But if you wear them, I can’t make dumb commentary in your ear the whole time.”

You don’t put them on.

Instead, you laugh and let her narrate the race in a running whisper that’s more gossip than strategy. And through it all—there’s this buzz. This something.

The way she rests her hand casually on your lower back when she leans over the rail. The way your shoulders brush, again and again, and neither of you pull away. The little inside jokes that start forming before lap twenty.

At one point, you’re both cheering wildly for Alex’s overtake, and you throw your arms up without thinking. Carmen grabs your hand and spins you dramatically, like you’re dancing in the middle of a champagne shower. You both burst out laughing, flushed from the sun and the shared joy, and she doesn’t let go of your hand right away.

“Best race day I’ve had in a while,” she says quietly, eyes locked on yours as the cheers from below echo around you.

“Same,” you reply, and your voice comes out softer than you expect.

For the rest of the race, she stands just a little closer. Says your name just a little more often. And by the time the checkered flag waves, you’re both already making plans for future races.

—

The restaurant is quiet, tucked away on a rooftop overlooking the city, warm lights casting a soft gold glow across the terrace. It’s not flashy, not the kind of place drivers usually get dragged to by sponsors or brands. It’s intimate, quiet, chosen with intention. You knew something was different the moment you stepped out of the car.

George was already waiting, shirt slightly unbuttoned, hands in his pockets, eyes lighting up when he saw you. Carmen had arrived with him, slipping her hand into yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Now, the three of you sit at a small round table under string lights, the city glittering behind you like someone scattered stars too close to earth. Dinner has come and gone, wine glasses nearly empty, dessert barely touched. It’s the silence that tips you off. Not awkward—comfortable. Full. George is watching you with the softest smile, like he’s memorizing the curve of your cheek. Carmen’s hand is resting just slightly over yours on the table, her thumb tracing gentle patterns along your skin.

You glance between them and raise a brow. “What?” you say, laughing lightly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

George leans forward, voice low and sure. “Because we’ve been waiting all night to say something.”

Carmen straightens slightly, her fingers curling more securely around yours. “We didn’t want to rush. We didn’t want to make it a thing until we were sure you felt it too.”

You blink, heart stuttering. “Felt what?”

George takes a breath. “This. Us. Whatever this has been—between the stolen glances and competing to make you laugh and the way you make it feel like everything slows down when you walk into a room. We’ve talked about it, a lot. And we just—”

“—we like you,” Carmen finishes, eyes bright and unwavering. “Together. As… us. Not just one of us. Not competing. Just us.”

Your breath catches. They’re both so open. So sure. Carmen reaches across the table with her free hand, taking George’s. “We don’t want to confuse you or pressure you. But if there’s even a part of you that wants this too… we’d really like to be yours. If you’d be ours.”

There’s no big speech. No drama. Just honesty. Just two people you’ve somehow fallen into orbit with—who’ve made you laugh and blush and feel more seen than you’ve felt in a long, long time. You look at George. At Carmen. At the way they’re already sharing something so strong and steady between them—and yet still made room for you. Your voice is quiet, but sure.

“I do feel it. I’ve been feeling it since… Monaco, probably. And I didn’t know what to do with it. Because this felt impossible.” You laugh, breathless. “But now it feels kind of perfect.”

George exhales, smiling so wide it looks like relief. Carmen brings your hand to her lips and kisses your knuckles. “So… is that a yes?”

You nod, eyes glassy, voice thick with something you didn’t expect to feel tonight. “Yeah. It’s a yes.”

George stands first, pulling your chair out with one hand and helping you up with the other, his touch lingering, reverent. Carmen slips an arm around your waist, and George’s hand finds the small of your back as they guide you to the edge of the terrace. The city stretches out in front of you. The stars are closer now.

And when they lean in—first Carmen pressing her lips to your cheek, then George brushing his nose against yours before placing a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth—it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels like something beginning.

—

several weeks later…

Your birthday doesn’t feel like your birthday. There’s no cake, no chaos, no Alex yelling off-key from the other room while Lily throws glitter at your head. No extra- tight hugs from George. No light forehead kisses from Carmen. There’s just… work.

You’re in New York, stuck in meetings and content shoots for a brand launch you should be excited about. But the apartment they’ve put you in is cold in that expensive, too-white way. You’ve got cupcakes from a PR box and flowers from people you’ve never met, and your phone has dozens of “Happy Birthday!!!” texts that make your screen light up and still leave you feeling completely alone.

You curl up on the couch in your pajamas that night, bare-faced and tired, a blanket around your shoulders as the skyline blinks outside the window. You sent Alex a photo earlier—of your sad little cupcake and a candle that refused to stay lit—but he didn’t answer. Neither did Lily.

You figured Carmen and George would call. Maybe FaceTime you together and make you laugh until your stomach hurt. But it’s almost midnight, and all you’ve got is silence. Until— knock knock knock. You frown.

No one knows you’re here. Not the building. Not the brand team. Not even your manager. You rise slowly, wrapping the blanket around yourself tighter as you cross to the door. You peek through the peephole.

And immediately stumble back, because—

“OPEN THE DOOR,” someone whispers through the wood.

You fling it open. Alex is standing there in a ridiculous party hat, grinning, arms wide open.

“Surprise!” he shouts.

“WHAT—” you start, eyes wide, but then Lily appears from behind him, holding a tray of homemade cookies and a box with your actual baby photo printed on it.

And then Carmen steps out from behind them, looking criminally good in sweatpants and a crop top, holding a tote bag with confetti spilling out.

And George—George—pokes his head in last, holding a bouquet that’s bigger than his torso.

Your breath leaves your lungs in one big, stunned exhale. “You’re all—here?”

“Happy birthday, loser,” Alex says, pulling you into the biggest hug, practically lifting you off the ground.

Lily hugs you second, tighter, whispering, “You didn’t think we’d let you spend today alone, did you?”

You’re already crying when Carmen cups your face. “I know you said you were okay, but you didn’t sound okay. And we weren’t going to let this pass without showing up.”

George presses a kiss to your forehead as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Plus, I missed you. Also, I really needed an excuse to eat cake.”

They come inside like they’ve always belonged there. Alex sets up music from his phone while Lily lays out snacks from a suitcase like she packed an entire party. Carmen pulls a birthday crown from her bag and puts it directly on your head, and George pops open a bottle of something bubbly while asking, “Did we miss dinner, or are we ordering five pizzas?”

Within ten minutes, your apartment feels like home. There’s laughter bouncing off the walls, confetti in the air, candles finally staying lit, and the people you love most in the world—all here. For you. At one point, you’re sitting on the couch with Carmen curled into your side, George stretched out with his head on your lap, Lily painting Alex’s nails while he argues about color choices—and it hits you. This is everything.

Not the flowers from brands or the influencer trips or the shiny gifts you’ll probably forget about in a month. Just this. The people who show up. You smile through your happy tears, and Carmen tilts her head to look up at you.

“What are you thinking?” she asks softly.

“That I might cry again,” you admit, voice cracking.

George shifts to press a kiss to your knee. “Good. We were going for tears.”

Alex raises his bottle. “To YN. The best sister, the most chaotic human being, and now—officially—another year older.”

You all clink glasses. And in that moment, surrounded by love, laughter, and far too much frosting—you feel exactly how you should on your birthday. Not alone. Not forgotten. So, so loved.

—

The next morning, you’re woken by someone aggressively playing the Spider-Man 2 theme song through a portable speaker. You sit up in bed, bleary-eyed and half-asleep, only to find Alex standing in the middle of your apartment with a bagel in one hand and a foam Statue of Liberty crown already on his head.

“Rise and shine, birthday brat,” he declares. “It’s your New York day. And I am your guide.”

“You’ve been here once, Carmen says, sipping coffee in a silk robe from your kitchen. “And you got lost in Central Park.”

George walks in from the balcony, wearing sunglasses and holding a laminated tour map. “Ladies and gentlemen, the group itinerary.”

“Absolutely not,” you groan, pulling the covers over your face.

“Absolutely yes,” Lily says sweetly, throwing a pair of “I ❤️ NY” socks at your head. “You��ve been working nonstop. Today is pure chaos. We’re being annoying. We’re being tourists. We’re buying matching shirts.”

—

You start the day in Central Park because, apparently, Alex woke up with the unshakable conviction that ‘bike rides = wholesome bonding.’ He’s already at the rental kiosk when the rest of you catch up, dramatically arguing with the attendant about whether he can get one with a basket.

Carmen and George are dressed like they’re shooting a Vogue travel spread—she in oversized sunnies and a windbreaker you know she stole from George’s closet; he in perfectly tailored shorts and the exact amount of smug. You, in contrast, are in leggings and a hoodie with a coffee in one hand and a deep mistrust of physical activity in the other.

“Ready to race?” George asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Lily raises an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m above humiliation?”

She takes off like a shot before anyone can answer. George yells “CHEATER!” and tears after her, nearly taking out a toddler and an elderly pug in the process.

You and Carmen opt for the scenic route. You pedal slowly through tree-lined paths while she keeps one hand on the handlebars and the other on your arm whenever she wants to point something out. She tells you stories from her first visit to New York with her uni friends, and you tell her how surreal it feels to be here now, like this—with them.

Halfway through the ride, Alex crashes dramatically into a bush, claiming he was “distracted by nature.” You’re crying from laughing so hard, and George has the audacity to pull out his phone and snap a picture.

Carmen kisses your cheek at a stoplight and whispers, “This already feels like the best day.”

The next stop you begged them not to go. Alex insisted. George supported him purely out of chaos.

It’s exactly what you expected—overstimulating, overpacked, and full of things you don’t want to touch without washing your hands. Carmen wraps a scarf around your head like a disguise while Lily buys hot dogs that may or may not be edible.

Alex immediately takes photos with every off-brand costumed character: a saggy Elmo, a sun-faded Batman, a Hello Kitty with glowing red eyes. “It’s for culture,” he says. “You can’t fight me on this. I was born here spiritually.”

George, meanwhile, ends up cornered by someone selling knockoff sunglasses. He nearly buys three before Carmen drags him away by the collar.

You finally agree to take one touristy group selfie. It takes eight tries because Alex keeps blinking, Carmen keeps kissing your cheek, and George keeps trying to photobomb his own photo.

When you check your camera roll later, one of the blurry pics is your favorite—you, surrounded by all of them, laughing mid-moment, chaos frozen in time.

George announces this stop with the gravity of an F1 team principal revealing new car upgrades.

“There are three key stops. First, Joe’s. Second, Prince Street. Third, the little place in Brooklyn I won’t name because it’s my spot.”

You make it through the first location with only mild cheese-induced burns. George insists on rating every slice like it’s Michelin-tier, even writing notes in his phone. 

Lily walks past him and mutters, “You sound like a guy describing his ex.”

At the second stop, Alex tries to eat an entire slice in one bite and ends up with sauce in his nose. Carmen refuses to share hers. George offers you a bite of his, only to “accidentally” brush your nose with sauce so he can wipe it off with a napkin and an absurd amount of smugness. Carmen retaliates by handing you her last bite and dramatically saying, “Because I actually care about your well-being.” By the third stop, you’re full, a little greasy, and completely, blissfully happy.

 The next stop starts off tame. You wander the galleries, the lighting cool and soft, the mood respectful. It lasts ten minutes.

Alex reads the name of every piece in a fake posh accent. 

George gets stopped by a group of teen art students who ask if he’s that “guy from TikTok,” and he leans in with a totally serious, “Only if you don’t tell my team principal I’m here instead of doing sim work.”

Lily attempts to interpret a Jackson Pollock painting as “Alex’s emotional state after Quali,” and honestly? It fits.

Carmen lingers behind with you in the more abstract galleries. She slips her fingers between yours and murmurs, “I think you are more beautiful than any of this art.” 

You blink at her. “Are you flirting in a museum?”

She smirks. “Can’t help it. You look good under gallery lighting.”

You’re still blushing when a security guard walks by and clears his throat, clearly done with your group’s nonsense.

—

By the time you reach the bridge, the sun is low, painting the skyline in gold and rose and streaks of violet. Carmen hands you an iced drink she somehow smuggled from the last café. George is already halfway up the incline with Alex, both loudly arguing over “who’s more photogenic in silhouettes.”

You walk slower. Lily’s taking photos behind you, catching little moments—you laughing with Carmen, George adjusting your scarf because the wind caught it, Alex mid-jump trying to be ��cinematic.”

It’s calm in that surreal, glowing way New York sometimes is. Carmen wraps an arm around you, chin on your shoulder. George loops his arm over both of yours from behind, resting his chin on Carmen.

“I want this forever,” he says softly.

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to. They feel your answer in the way your hand finds theirs, in the way your eyes shine in the light.

—

They sneak you upstairs, Carmen covering your eyes with her hands while George hums Happy Birthday off-key. When they pull their hands away, there’s cake, string lights, paper crowns, and a banner that definitely says “YN IS A MENACE” in Alex’s handwriting.

Lily cues up music. Alex opens champagne like he’s won a Grand Prix. George tries to light sparklers and nearly sets his sleeve on fire. Carmen gets frosting on her cheek and doesn’t wipe it off until you lean in and do it for her.

There’s dancing. Loud, stupid, no-one’s-watching dancing. There’s a slow song that none of you can name, but Carmen tugs you into a sway, and George wraps his arms around both of you.

They sing Happy Birthday again. Off-key. Too loud. Perfectly you. And later, much later, as you sit barefoot on the rooftop with your legs in Carmen’s lap and George tracing circles on your knee, you close your eyes and think— This is the best birthday you’ve ever had. Not because of the city or the food or the sights. Because of them. Your people. Your chaos. Your heart.

—

yn_albon

liked by alex_albon, lilymhe, carmenmmundt and 9,010,107 others.

yn_albon : best birthday ever because i spent it with all my favorite ppl 🩷 love you all so much.

tagged : georgerussell63, carmenmmundt, lilymhe and alex_albon

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view 345,007 other comments.

lando : happy birthday yn!

liked by yn_albon

alex_albon : happiest of birthdays to my favorite menace! love you!

liked by yn_albon

lilymhe : love you my sweet girl! hope it was the best birthday ever❤️

liked by yn_albon

carmenmmundt : our pretty girl!! love you so much

liked by yn_albon

georgerussell63 : id say alex and i were very stellar tour guides 🤣 happy birthday beautiful! love you forever

liked by yn_albon

—

f1gossipgirls

3,012,002 likes.

f1gossipgirls : George Russell was caught kissing not longtime girlfriend Carmen Mundt, but her very close friend YN Albon—yes, Alex Albon’s sister and mega influencer. The steamy moment was snapped outside a SoHo café, and naturally, fans are spiraling. Last we checked, George and Carmen were still very much together—so is this a cheating scandal? An open relationship? Or something even messier? And before you say it—yes, Carmen was spotted in New York earlier this week. Yes, with YN. Yes, they were holding hands. No, we don’t know what’s going on either.

—

The photo is everywhere. You wake up to it—your phone vibrating endlessly on the nightstand, screen flooded with texts and notifications. It takes one swipe and a blurry blink to register what’s happening. Splashed across every F1 gossip account, tabloids, Twitter threads, Reddit forums already three theories deep. The angle is unforgiving—paparazzi-level candid, your hand curled into his hoodie, George smiling against your lips like you’re his entire world. Your stomach flips—not from guilt, but from the timing. Because the world doesn’t know the truth. Not yet. Not about you and George. Not about Carmen, either. You scroll down. The headlines are brutal.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until a FaceTime call blares across the screen. It’s Carmen. You freeze. Heart in your throat. She speaks before you can even say hello.

“Have you seen it?” she asks, voice low, hair still wet from her morning shower.

“Yeah,” you croak.

There’s a pause—heavy but not cold. Then she exhales, soft and steady. “George is already pacing the kitchen. He’s on his third coffee. I think he’s trying to rewrite time.”

You let out a small, surprised laugh. Then, more quietly, “Are you okay?”

She smiles gently. “I’m not mad, if that’s what you’re asking. Just tired of pretending. Tired of people thinking we’re lying, or worse—hurting each other.”

“I didn’t mean for it to—”

“I know,” she interrupts. “God, YN, it’s us. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just…” She sighs. “Do you think it’s time?”

Before you can answer, George joins the call, sliding into frame with a frown that melts the second he sees you. He’s still in sweatpants, hair messy, worry written across every feature.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts. “I wasn’t thinking. I should’ve checked who was around—”

“George,” Carmen cuts in gently. “We’re not mad. We’re just… tired of hiding.”

He nods slowly. “I didn’t like watching people call me a cheater when all I was doing was kissing someone I love.”

That word hangs in the air—love. You feel your chest tighten. Carmen notices. Of course she does.

“We all love each other,” she says quietly. “We’re in this together, yeah?”

You nod, throat thick. “Yeah. Together.”

“So we tell them?” George asks. “Everything? The three of us? No secrets, no damage control?”

Carmen looks at you. “Do you want this to be real in the open? Because I do. I want to hold your hand in the paddock. I want to stop pretending you’re just Alex’s little sister. I want people to know that you’re mine— ours.”

Your eyes sting. You don’t even hesitate. “I want that too.”

George exhales like he’s been holding the words in since the post dropped. “Okay. We do it. Together.”

He reaches for Carmen’s hand offscreen. Carmen looks straight into the camera and says, “Let’s write the truth before someone else tries to write it for us.”

You smile. And for the first time that morning, your hands stop shaking.

—

georgerussell63

liked by yn_albon, lilymhe, carmenmmundt and 7,010,001 others.

georgerussell63 : love looks a little different on us. but it’s real. and it’s ours. 💙

tagged : yn_albon and carmenmmundt

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

Your Meta AI prompts are in a live, public feed

I'm in the home stretch of my 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PDX TOMORROW (June 20) at BARNES AND NOBLE with BUNNIE HUANG and at the TUALATIN public library on SUNDAY (June 22). After that, it's LONDON (July 1) with TRASHFUTURE'S RILEY QUINN and then a big finish in MANCHESTER on July 2.

Back in 2006, AOL tried something incredibly bold and even more incredibly stupid: they dumped a data-set of 20,000,000 "anonymized" search queries from 650,000 users (yes, AOL had a search engine – there used to be lots of search engines!):

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AOL_search_log_release

The AOL dump was a catastrophe. In an eyeblink, many of the users in the dataset were de-anonymized. The dump revealed personal, intimate and compromising facts about the lives of AOL search users. The AOL dump is notable for many reasons, not least because it jumpstarted the academic and technical discourse about the limits of "de-identifying" datasets by stripping out personally identifying information prior to releasing them for use by business partners, researchers, or the general public.

It turns out that de-identification is fucking hard. Just a couple of datapoints associated with an "anonymous" identifier can be sufficent to de-anonymize the user in question:

https://www.pnas.org/doi/full/10.1073/pnas.1508081113

But firms stubbornly refuse to learn this lesson. They would love it if they could "safely" sell the data they suck up from our everyday activities, so they declare that they can safely do so, and sell giant data-sets, and then bam, the next thing you know, a federal judge's porn-browsing habits are published for all the world to see:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2017/aug/01/data-browsing-habits-brokers

Indeed, it appears that there may be no way to truly de-identify a data-set:

https://pursuit.unimelb.edu.au/articles/understanding-the-maths-is-crucial-for-protecting-privacy

Which is a serious bummer, given the potential insights to be gleaned from, say, population-scale health records:

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/23/health/data-privacy-protection.html

It's clear that de-identification is not fit for purpose when it comes to these data-sets:

https://www.cs.princeton.edu/~arvindn/publications/precautionary.pdf

But that doesn't mean there's no safe way to data-mine large data-sets. "Trusted research environments" (TREs) can allow researchers to run queries against multiple sensitive databases without ever seeing a copy of the data, and good procedural vetting as to the research questions processed by TREs can protect the privacy of the people in the data:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/01/the-palantir-will-see-you-now/#public-private-partnership

But companies are perennially willing to trade your privacy for a glitzy new product launch. Amazingly, the people who run these companies and design their products seem to have no clue as to how their users use those products. Take Strava, a fitness app that dumped maps of where its users went for runs and revealed a bunch of secret military bases:

https://gizmodo.com/fitness-apps-anonymized-data-dump-accidentally-reveals-1822506098

Or Venmo, which, by default, let anyone see what payments you've sent and received (researchers have a field day just filtering the Venmo firehose for emojis associated with drug buys like "pills" and "little trees"):

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/09/technology/personaltech/venmo-privacy-oversharing.html

Then there was the time that Etsy decided that it would publish a feed of everything you bought, never once considering that maybe the users buying gigantic handmade dildos shaped like lovecraftian tentacles might not want to advertise their purchase history:

https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2011/03/etsy-users-irked-after-buyers-purchases-exposed-to-the-world/

But the most persistent, egregious and consequential sinner here is Facebook (naturally). In 2007, Facebook opted its 20,000,000 users into a new system called "Beacon" that published a public feed of every page you looked at on sites that partnered with Facebook:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Facebook_Beacon

Facebook didn't just publish this – they also lied about it. Then they admitted it and promised to stop, but that was also a lie. They ended up paying $9.5m to settle a lawsuit brought by some of their users, and created a "Digital Trust Foundation" which they funded with another $6.5m. Mark Zuckerberg published a solemn apology and promised that he'd learned his lesson.

Apparently, Zuck is a slow learner.

Depending on which "submit" button you click, Meta's AI chatbot publishes a feed of all the prompts you feed it:

https://techcrunch.com/2025/06/12/the-meta-ai-app-is-a-privacy-disaster/

Users are clearly hitting this button without understanding that this means that their intimate, compromising queries are being published in a public feed. Techcrunch's Amanda Silberling trawled the feed and found:

"An audio recording of a man in a Southern accent asking, 'Hey, Meta, why do some farts stink more than other farts?'"

"people ask[ing] for help with tax evasion"

"[whether family members would be arrested for their proximity to white-collar crimes"

"how to write a character reference letter for an employee facing legal troubles, with that person’s first and last name included."

While the security researcher Rachel Tobac found "people’s home addresses and sensitive court details, among other private information":

https://twitter.com/racheltobac/status/1933006223109959820

There's no warning about the privacy settings for your AI prompts, and if you use Meta's AI to log in to Meta services like Instagram, it publishes your Instagram search queries as well, including "big booty women."

As Silberling writes, the only saving grace here is that almost no one is using Meta's AI app. The company has only racked up a paltry 6.5m downloads, across its ~3 billion users, after spending tens of billions of dollars developing the app and its underlying technology.

The AI bubble is overdue for a pop:

https://www.wheresyoured.at/measures/

When it does, it will leave behind some kind of residue – cheaper, spin-out, standalone models that will perform many useful functions:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

Those standalone models were released as toys by the companies pumping tens of billions into the unsustainable "foundation models," who bet that – despite the worst unit economics of any technology in living memory – these tools would someday become economically viable, capturing a winner-take-all market with trillions of upside. That bet remains a longshot, but the littler "toy" models are beating everyone's expectations by wide margins, with no end in sight:

https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-025-00259-0

I can easily believe that one enduring use-case for chatbots is as a kind of enhanced diary-cum-therapist. Journalling is a well-regarded therapeutic tactic:

https://www.charliehealth.com/post/cbt-journaling

And the invention of chatbots was instantly followed by ardent fans who found that the benefits of writing out their thoughts were magnified by even primitive responses:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ELIZA_effect

Which shouldn't surprise us. After all, divination tools, from the I Ching to tarot to Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt's Oblique Strategies deck have been with us for thousands of years: even random responses can make us better thinkers:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oblique_Strategies

I make daily, extensive use of my own weird form of random divination:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/31/divination/

The use of chatbots as therapists is not without its risks. Chatbots can – and do – lead vulnerable people into extensive, dangerous, delusional, life-destroying ratholes:

https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-features/ai-spiritual-delusions-destroying-human-relationships-1235330175/

But that's a (disturbing and tragic) minority. A journal that responds to your thoughts with bland, probing prompts would doubtless help many people with their own private reflections. The keyword here, though, is private. Zuckerberg's insatiable, all-annihilating drive to expose our private activities as an attention-harvesting spectacle is poisoning the well, and he's far from alone. The entire AI chatbot sector is so surveillance-crazed that anyone who uses an AI chatbot as a therapist needs their head examined:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/01/doctor-robo-blabbermouth/#fool-me-once-etc-etc

AI bosses are the latest and worst offenders in a long and bloody lineage of privacy-hating tech bros. No one should ever, ever, ever trust them with any private or sensitive information. Take Sam Altman, a man whose products routinely barf up the most ghastly privacy invasions imaginable, a completely foreseeable consequence of his totally indiscriminate scraping for training data.

Altman has proposed that conversations with chatbots should be protected with a new kind of "privilege" akin to attorney-client privilege and related forms, such as doctor-patient and confessor-penitent privilege:

https://venturebeat.com/ai/sam-altman-calls-for-ai-privilege-as-openai-clarifies-court-order-to-retain-temporary-and-deleted-chatgpt-sessions/

I'm all for adding new privacy protections for the things we key or speak into information-retrieval services of all types. But Altman is (deliberately) omitting a key aspect of all forms of privilege: they immediately vanish the instant a third party is brought into the conversation. The things you tell your lawyer are priviiliged, unless you discuss them with anyone else, in which case, the privilege disappears.

And of course, all of Altman's products harvest all of our information. Altman is the untrusted third party in every conversation everyone has with one of his chatbots. He is the eternal Carol, forever eavesdropping on Alice and Bob:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alice_and_Bob

Altman isn't proposing that chatbots acquire a privilege, in other words – he's proposing that he should acquire this privilege. That he (and he alone) should be able to mine your queries for new training data and other surveillance bounties.

This is like when Zuckerberg directed his lawyers to destroy NYU's "Ad Observer" project, which scraped Facebook to track the spread of paid political misinformation. Zuckerberg denied that this was being done to evade accountability, insisting (with a miraculously straight face) that it was in service to protecting Facebook users' (nonexistent) privacy:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/05/comprehensive-sex-ed/#quis-custodiet-ipsos-zuck

We get it, Sam and Zuck – you love privacy.

We just wish you'd share.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/06/19/privacy-invasion-by-design#bringing-home-the-beacon

[sqgeism]

yearner anaxa. i mean anaxa being an absolute LOSER i need him on his knees pls this man is plaguing my thoughts IM SUFFERING FROM ANAXA SYNDROME SEND HEEEELPPPP

𓎟𓎟 sweet request from a yearning anonnie 𝄞 a love letter signed with anaxagoras' initials 𓂃𓈒

ℒ.ove mail ┈ 🍒 ꫂ love me a blasphemous genius on his knees and begging! who said that ((ﾟ□ﾟ;)). vyn ritcher is lowk anaxagoras guys (im crazy)

aeon forbid anaxagoras asks for a little less in this overwhelming life of his.

less stress, less paperwork, less idiocracy from those who bother him with senseless nagging.

..less clothes currently on his spouse .

now he's no animal, he won't be so crude to tear through such important clothing to you. but he certainly does wish you'll be a little improper. lift that shirt up a little higher, wearing shorts instead of pants today. he understands the appeal of sweatpants (no, he won't wear them for you), but come on, he's tried insinuating his.. need. he's kissed you twice in one minute, is that not enough of a sign, does he need to squeeze your waist tighter?

"anaxagoras—" thank the stars. "—do you think they'll finally get together after the third book?" he's going to rip that novel from your hands and burn it. (he won't, it's his copy)

"dove." "yes?"

in one swift movement, the ever so stern anaxagoras had shifted to fall off the couch, lifting one of your legs to rest on his shoulder. "does a man truly have to grovel at your feet to get you to look at him?"

he relishes in the gasp that escapes you as his hand slowly lifts the cuff of your sweatpants, revealing the skin he has oh so missed. methodically, intimately, he presses delicate kisses as he sighs. "i've missed you, i'm rarely home—work eats up the both of us, and you'd rather let the novel take your attention rather than me? gods, sometimes i do wish illiteracy was more prominent. maybe then i wouldn't have to beg."

your speechlessness makes him smirk, leaning his head against your calf. "what? your attention also comes in silence? it was amusing at first, but i'm serious."

he slowly moves closer until one hand rests on your thigh and his head on the other, sighing in complete content, brows slightly furrowed yet somehow is expression is in peace. "..and yet not a word—not a single ounce of you. had i done some sort of wrongdoing? what is making you so ignorant to my advances?"

his grip on your thigh tightening makes you gasp. "finally, you've found your voice."

"i.. it's all just so sudden." ohh.. the slight hitch in your voice is just so perfect.

"you don't have to do anything. just acknowledge me and i'll give you the world."

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[alinathinkstoomuch]

CLOSET FULL OF NERVES

pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader summary: meeting your FBI boyfriend’s team? cue the outfit crisis, a bad blouse, and a mild spiral. good thing aaron knows exactly how to talk you down and remind you that being yourself is more than enough, based on this requesst. warnings: fluffff, brief porno discussion lol, aaron being sweet and protective word count: 1.1k

✧ masterlist | ✧ alina's 1k bar

Meeting Hotch’s—Aaron’s, now—team shouldn’t have filled you with this much anxiety and yet here you were, engulfed by nerves, knee-deep in a closet implosion, and currently debating whether the sacred casual but cute look was code for jeans or a dress or a possible a tailored meltdown. Your people-pleasing radar was at its absolute peak. You’d changed outfits six times, debated redoing your hair twice, and spent far too long practicing a casual ‘hi’ in the mirror.

When Aaron mentioned drinks with the team at the start of the week, it had sounded breezy enough. Being around a bunch of slightly tipsy profilers (aka human lie detectors) couldn’t be that bad…right?

Well. You were now strongly reconsidering your earlier optimism. 

You’d pieced together a mental scrapbook of them from the sidelines through Aaron’s end-of-day stories, Jack’s offhand dinner-table commentary, and the one time JJ had picked up Henry from a playdate and waved at you like she already knew your SAT scores.

But dating Aaron? That changed the math. This wasn’t idle curiosity anymore. This was entering the orbit of people who could, with startling ease, determine your attachment style and also what you were like in sixth grade. Especially now, since you weren’t just the nanny anymore—you were his person. And walking into a room full of highly perceptive people who loved him like family suddenly felt like the pressure had tripled.

You were still standing in front of the mirror, scrutinising your earrings when you heard your phone buzz. 

Aaron: Leaving now. Should be there in 10.

You: Are we sure this is a good idea? I’m totally fine skipping this one. No pressure, no potential for public humiliation. Everyone wins.

Aaron: You’ll be fine, don’t stress. They’re going to like you. 

You: But will they like-like me?

You wait. Longer than is reasonable for a man who never uses more than ten words per text. 

Aaron: I like-like you.

It was unfair, really, how casually he could undo you with four words and a hyphen. You blinked at your reflection. Your hair was doing something vaguely hopeful and the earrings suddenly didn’t seem like they mattered all that much.

You hearted the text and figured you’d let him actually reverse out of the parking lot and into yours before you started catastrophizing again. You just needed to get through the evening. Smile. Make polite conversation. Don’t say anything that reveals your deeply repressed childhood fears or the fact that you still Google words you pretend to know.

After exactly ten minutes you heard a knock on your door.

You were, naturally, mid-blouse change, tangled in something with too many buttons and not enough leniency. So you grabbed your phone, thumbed out a quick It’s open, and tossed it onto the bed, which now looked like a fabric massacre had occurred.

From downstairs, his voice travelled up to your bedroom. “Please tell me you didn’t leave the door unlocked again.”

You groaned, loudly. “Hello to you too!”

“I’m serious,” Aaron called back. “You live alone, what if someone had walked in?”

You stepped into the hallway, barefoot and still adjusting your sleeves. “What if it was the tooth fairy? You ever consider that? Maybe I was hoping to get my rent covered.”

He appeared at the bottom of the stairs then, that furrow between his brows activated in full-blown dad mode. “You live alone in a house with multiple windows and no security system.”

“Yes, but I have a very scary FBI boyfriend who never smiles. All the nonexistent threats in this neighborhood know better than to mess with me.”

You flicked the bedroom light off, grabbed your phone and made your way downstairs, one hand on the railing, the other trying to discreetly tug your blouse into behaving. You narrowed your eyes at your allegedly serious, stoic boyfriend, who, for someone denying the existence of his own smile, was very clearly suppressing one right now.

“Is something funny?” 

He shook his head, far too quickly. “No. Not at all. You just look... different.”

You stopped at the last step. “Different how?”

“Just…”

“Spit it out, Hotchner, or I swear I’ll continue leaving my doors unlocked.” Blackmail. It never lets you down.

“You don’t look very you. You look like…we’re going to a job interview.”

“Aaron!” you shrieked, giving his chest a shove. 

He took it in stride, both hands raised in surrender, that damn half-smile still flirting with the corner of his mouth. “Honey, I know how you dress. And I would bet actual money that this blouse still has the tags on from when you panic-bought it today.”

“I wanted to make a good impression,” you groaned, tipping your head back. “Figured if I dressed normal enough, it might smooth over the whole ‘Hi, I’m slutting it up with your boss who also happens to be my boss because I’m his nanny’ thing. Which, if we’re being honest, sounds like the plot of a really bad porno.”

Aaron raised a brow. “Oh yeah? What do you know about pornos?”

You squinted at him, suspicious. “Is this a trap?”

“Just curious. You seemed oddly fluent in the premise.”

​​“I—okay, I was making a point. A colourful, exaggerated point.”

“That you’re in a porno.”

You sighed, ready to launch into a defensive monologue but Aaron stepped forward and caught your hands. Both of them. Like he’d done it a hundred times before and would keep doing it until your brain finally agreed you were safe.

“All jokes aside, I want you to be comfortable. And I want you to be you—the great, wonderful, endlessly patient, charming woman I fell in love with. Not some version you think will be more appealing to everyone else.”

You let a breath out. 

“Now,” he continued, “if this blouse makes you feel confident and happy, then wear it. But what I don’t want—what I won’t let happen—is you walking in there thinking any of this is inappropriate, or scandalous, or something to be ashamed of.”

The inside of your cheek caught between your teeth. Not because you didn’t believe him, but because it was easier to chew on skin than emotion.

“Yes,” he added, “it was a little complicated at the start. We knew that. But I’d go through all of it again if it meant ending up here with you.”

There was something a little terrifying and kind of wonderful about being seen that clearly by someone who refused to look away. Your heart did this weird fluttery thing, like affection had turned into a full-body cramp.

“I hate this blouse,” you mumbled.

Aaron’s mouth twitched. “I suspected.”

“Do I have time to change?”

He checked his watch, then looked back at you. “Only if you tell me what pornos you’ve been watching in your spare time.”

You laughed, a chesty thing that felt borderline suffocating inside the godforsaken polyester trap that passed for a blouse on the receipt. “That’s blackmail.”

“Hm,” he hummed casually,  “wonder where I got the idea from.”

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[crazy-pages]

For context, Honda (yes the car company) just decided to get into the space race in 2021. They launched their first rocket ever just recently, and it was a self-landing rocket, and it worked. Their timeline for first suborbital flight is 2029, because it turns out it is in fact possible to take a steady and reasoned approach to spaceflight testing and have it work out.

What SpaceX is doing is sheer bloody minded incompetence.

You know what I know I'm usually pretty silent but I need you all to understand the horrible impact SpaceX and Starship has had on South Texas.

Yes, fuck those ugly ass cyber trucks but FUCK that Space Center.

Starship genuine danger to the people who live here. It's to the point many of the people here when they heard the explosion joked that it was probably another one of Elon's rockets.

This is a horrifying pattern we are becoming numb to, we hear about a planned test launch and brace ourselves for more debris.

Several of Musk's attempts at rockets, especially after the deregulation, have resulted in catastrophic explosions. Want the list? Here are a few!!

December 9th, 2020- Starship serial No. 8, or SN8. Exploded upon landing.

February 2, 2021- Starship SN9. Exploded upon landing.

March 3rd. 2021- Starship SN10. Landed in one piece. Fire at the skirt caused an explosion.

April 20, 2023- Starship. Exploded once more. Debris scattered in Port Isabell.

March 6, 2025- Flight 8. Spun out of control and exploded in a mass of fireballs. Planes had to be grounded due to the mass explosion and the debris are stills scattered in the ocean.

And now we have the most recent and the worse one yet.

June 18-19, 2025- Starship 36 during a GROUND test caused a mass explosion, the looming mushroom cloud causing locals in Cameron to believed they had been bombed.

The loser describes this it as a "rapid unscheduled disassembly" instead of what they are: fiery failures locals have to deal with as a result.

Pretty much everyone locally knows Elon Musk and his negative impact on our home, people who have had the unfortunate curse to have worked with him and the center call it Cultish, 8 members of his staff who spoke out against his behavior and sexual harassment were all fired.

Its a well known fact he hates the people here, and he goes out of his way to find employees who are not from this area and move them down here.

Musk has tried to encourage even more white people to come down to South Texas and live in his "Starship City". An attempt to gentrify and push out local citizens.

Rebekah Hinojosa, a local Activist with Another Gulf Is Possible, even had her home unlawfully entered by police after an alleged graffiti on a mural he commisioned (which didn't even obscure the mural).

This article is a good read on everything Musk has done to South Texas

I am TIRED of this going unnoticed and unheard of the People of The Valley. I need you to stop laughing and start taking this seriously.

If you want to read more on all the insane shit this man has done to South Texas here are a few more Articles I would Recommend

South Texas groups sue Texas for letting Elon Musk's SpaceX dump wastewater without permit, SpaceX's Starship explodes in space, which Musk calls a 'minor setback', What Is Starbase? Elon Musk Builds a SpaceX City With Shops, Worker Housing and Its Own Mayor — But Texas Locals Aren't Happy

[bluewxrld07]

Stained Glass (Pt. 3)

Lando Norris X Artist!Reader

Summary: It's been a couple of weeks since Y/N's gala night, and the night she left Lando standing there alone in the middle of the gallery. After some serious thought and being separated from one another, Y/N was dragged out to the Spanish GP by her friends. A lot can happen in one weekend, just as quick as the tension rises.

Warning(s): she is an angsty one, yelling, drinks being thrown, jealousy

Y/N groans as she hears someone banging on her apartment door for fifth time that morning.

It was way too early for her to want to answer, and the sun had not even risen yet. This was driving her absolutely insane. The banging on the door stopped, and it was finally quieter and longer than it usually had been in between knocks. Her thought was that whoever was at her door had finally given up.

Until they began banging on her door fast and loud, not letting up with the fast repetitive knocks.

"Oh my fucking-"

She groans as she rips her covers off of herself, stomping and huffing the entire way to her door as she yelled out 'fucks sake I'm coming'. The person still didn't stop knocking, and not until she unlocked the door to whip it open with a glare on her face.

"You better have the greatest reason ever to be trying to put a hole through my door with your fucking knocking," she snaps, the person walking in as she shut the door behind them and crossing her arms.

"Pack your bags!" Max says, holding a finger up as he scurries into her bedroom.

"What? Why? Max it's fucking-"

She turns to the clock on her wall, a slight curse leaving her lips as she proceeds to follow the man. "Maxwell it is 2:30 in the damn morning!! I am not going anywhere, what are you doing?" she exasperates, watching as he sets one of her duffels onto her bed.

"We," he starts while putting his hands on his hips, and turning to her. "Are going to Barcelona. Flight leaves in two hours, we have a half an hour to pack."

She squitns at him.

"Why're we going to Barcelona?" she asks slowly, arms crossed while inching closer to him. Knowing the look he was trying to hide was saying something.

Then it clicks, Max watching the gears work in her head. Her eyes went from a glare, to confusion, to absolute saucers of shock.

"Max no," she shook her head. "I'm not going."

He groans. "Y/N!" he whines, putting his hands together to beg her. She glares at him while shaking her head. "Come on, please? I already told Alex and Charles you're going!"

"That sounds like a you issue then. I never said yes."

He rolls his eyes as he lets out a huff. "We miss you, we all do."

She sighs, uncrossing her arms. "I miss you all too, but it's not my world as much anymore. I've been working nonstop to really even focus on anything else."

"So your boss saying you had the last race playing while you were working in the studio was a lie then?"

Her face pales as she stays silent. He gives her a smug look, knowing he just caught her.

"I'm still not going."

"Y/N!"

"Max, no."

"P is coming, you'd have her and Alex. You know they wouldn't let anything bad happen."

"Max."

"Come on, if anything, you need the break from working. You're in that studio all day every day," he says, making her brows furrow. "Even your boss says you need a breather."

Her mouth drops. "You spoke to my-"

"Yes, yes, I did. As a concerned best friend, I absolutely did," he says while nodding. "She also said she's giving you the week off. And that she even thinks you should go."

"Max Fewtrell!"

He guards his face in case she is ready to smack him, but then puts his hands up in surrender. "Just," he sighs. "Please come. I think it'd be good for you. Maybe even inspire some upcoming pieces."

She stays silent for a second, taking in his idea of that.

"He doesn't even know you're coming, if that has anything to do with your decision-"

"It doesn't."

"So then come with! We need our best girl with our group."

Y/N looks at him with a knowing look, letting out a defeated sigh as her arms go to her hips. "Fine. Give me like fifteen minutes to pack up some stuff."

He lets out a little hoot with a nod, squeezing her shoulders. "I promise you won't regret it!"

She walks over to her dresser to start picking out things to pack.

"I'm so going to regret this."

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Y/N took a deep breath as she walked over to the mirror, straightening out the dress she wore. Making sure it didn't look like it was too much, her hair was slicked back into a ponytail that accented her facial features.

"Stop stressing," Alex's voice peers in behind her, Y/N looking back at her in the mirror. Alex was giving her a sad smile. "You always look gorgeous, mon ami."

Y/N gives her a small grin, nodding at her words as she inhales a deep breath.

"How're you feeling?" she asks, but gives her a knowing look. "Really feeling?"

Y/N lets out a dry laugh. "I really didn't want to come."

Alex nods slowly in understanding. Y/N shrugs. "I hate to say it, though, Max was right. I have missed you all. So I'm not really all that upset about coming," she admits, watching her friend's face light up slightly.

"I'm glad you decided to come," she assures. "I know it's hard, but you deserve a bit of a vacation, too. Don't let Lando be the reason you can't come see or support your friends."

Y/N just shakes her head. "I just can't believe him. He just has to make my event turn into something about him. Buying one of my pieces? Really?"

Alex nods knowingly before walking up to her. "Let's not stress about him, yeah? Instead, let's make him realize how much of a moron he is for letting you go."

Y/N laughs slightly before nodding at her words, Alex chuckling lightly as well.

"Besides," Alex trails off. "I know someone who is quite interested in getting to know you."

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. "Please, that's the absolute last thing I want right now."

She nods. "Oh, I know," she agrees. "Just saying for a night of no strings. Then never have to see them again."

Alex's words hit hard, something in her chest not sitting right. She could feel the thoughts slowly melting in as they began to make her think about if Lando had been doing the same. Getting over her by getting under someone else.

It wasn't out of the norm for him, as she knew, being one of his good friends before they dated.

Y/N grabbed her clutch not too long after, following Alex out the door and onto the streets of Barcelona. It was filled with locals, live music, and small markets in the alleyways. The girls were happily talking and conversing as they walked down the streets, heels clicking on the concrete.

They were headed to a dinner that the drivers usually had together the evening before the race, Y/N already knowing she would be attending. She didn't really pay any mind to the fact that Lando would be there, only remembering the fact that she was coming for her friends and her friends only. At least that's what she was telling herself.

Once they had reached the restaurant, the security guards had led them inside and up the elevator to the rooftop where most of the guys had been sitting.

Charles was the first to give her a huge bear hug, saying how happy he was to see her, and he couldn't wait for her to cheer him on the next day. She then greeted the rest of the guys in the group, part of her mind noticing Lando had yet to show up.

She had taken a seat next to Pietra, with Max sitting on the opposite side. He leaned back in his chair and peered over at Y/N with a knowing look.

"You alright?" he asked softly, she nodded with a grin.

"All good."

He nods before leaning back up to engage in a conversation with some of the other racers on his side. Y/N had happily started a conversation with Pietra and Max's girl who sat directly across from them, instantly feeling at ease as they talked.

Y/n had managed to get a few drinks into her system, enough to let her nerves loosen up as her conversations began to flow easily.

"Well, if it isn't the man of the hour himself!" Pierre jokes, clapping as he laughs loudly. The boys are all cheering in amusement as the familiar head of curls approaches the table in a rush. He dapped up the boys as he passed by them, making his way towards the opposite end of the table from where Y/N had sat.

Pietra didn't fail to notice the way Y/N froze mid-sentence as the sound of his voice and laugh from across the table. Instantly grabbing her hand to help calm her nerves.

"Just keep your attention over here, yeah? Don't turn and look," Pietra assures. Y/N showed no emotion, just a completely blank expression.

Her gaze fell from Pietra to Max, who gave her a slight nod to assure her she was okay. "I'm going to go say hello," he says. Y/n nods back before continuing back to her conversation with Pietra and Kelly, her voice showing no signs of anxiety as she spoke.

Y/N noticed how Pietra kept looking over Y/N shoulder, an uneasy look in her eyes as she tried to keep some focus on her friend in front of her.

Y/N sighs before rubbing a hand over her forehead. She looks at Pietra, whose eyes look back at her before she gives her a smile.

"He's looking," Y/N says with a slightly amused smile as her friend tries to not show any sign of nervousness. She gives Pietra a knowing look.

The girl sighs. "Yeah. He hasn't stopped staring."

Y/N swats at the comment, not trying to show how much it was bugging her. How much it was bugging her mainly to just turn around and look at him.

The part of her that missed him wanted to turn and look at him, but the other part that was so against him was stronger. Telling her to keep her back turned, and show him no lick of her attention.

"You okay?" Kelly asks her slowly, Y/N turning over to her with a nod and a fake smile.

"Of course," she chuckles dryly before motioning to her. "Tell me how Penelope is doing with Lily!" she assures, quickly changing the subject. Kelly gives her a smile before nodding and spilling all the newest details of the two girls.

Y/N happily listened in, Pietra squeezing her friend's hand every so often to make sure she was doing alright as she would receive a squeeze back to signal she was doing alright.

It was a little later into the dinner when Max returns, food finally making its ways to the table.

Y/N happily smiled, thanking the waiter who stared a little too long at her as he asked her if she needed anything else. Once she shook her head, he gave her another smirk before walking off, Y/N unaware of his niceness being a way of hitting on her.

Her also becoming unaware of the glare being sent towards the waiter from across that table.

Lando couldn't lie to himself, seeing how she would happily interact with everyone at the table like he didn't exist. It made his heart pound, and his chest tighten.

As soon as Max came over, he could tell something was off. Max was his best friend. It had become almost too easy to figure out his telltale signs. So when Max had finally caved, saying she was there, his eyes couldn't stop looking at the other end of the table where she sat.

"Don't even think about it," Max says, snapping him out of his thoughts. Lando looked at him with a confused look. "Don't, mate."

"Don't what?"

Max nods over to her as he crosses his arms. "Don't even think about going to talk to her," he orders. "She doesn't need that right now."

Lando scoffs. "I wasn't going-"

"Mate, I'm not as thick as you think I am. Your eyes were showing it."

Lando snaps his head to him in shock. Charles laughs before nodding and pointing at Max. "He's right. Your expressions are too easy to read."

Lando rubs a hand over his face with a groan. Max nods towards her again. "It already took me long enough to get her to come out here. Let her enjoy this time with her friends."

Lando sighs, looking down at his lap, then looking back at her with a look of desperation.

He missed her.

He missed her so much it fucking hurt.

Every time he looked at the painting he had gotten from her gala, it made him realize how bad he truly messed up. Made him think abck to all of the hardwork she put in just make a name for herself.

He knew he had made it worse by getting a painting from her.

"Mate, what's going on in that mind? I can see the gears turning." Max says.

Lando just shakes his head, taking a sip of his drink first.

"I think I fucked up by getting one of her pieces," he admits. "I only did it to have something of hers. Not to make her feel like a charity case."

Alexandra frowns at his statement.

"Wait," she starts before pointing at him. "You bought one of her paintings?" she asks, watching the boy nod. Alexandra rolls her eyes.

"No wonder she looked like she was going to kill someone that night," she sighs before cursing under her breath in French. Charles looks at the boy with shock.

"Lando," he sighs in shock, watching as his hands went up in surrender.

"To be fair," he starts. "I told them I'd only get the piece if my money went towards the local art schools. Not towards her."

This made Alex freeze, Charles choke on his chicken, Pierre drop his fork, and Max cover his mouth as his drink spat out from his mouth.

"You did what?" Alex asked, her mouth dropping.

He shrugged while playing with an anxiety ring on his right finger. One he specifically had been gifted from the girl across the table.

"The man kept asking me to buy one of the pieces because of how infatuated I was by it. So I said I would," he admits, taking a bite of his food. "If all the profit went to the local art schools. I said i know the artist would appreciate that."

They all looked so shocked by his answer, he looked completely unfazed.

"What?" he asks. "All she would ever talk about was how she didn't want to take every dime she makes from her pieces. She wanted to dedicate most of it to the art schools to inspire local artists." he explains, making it sound as if it wasnothing crazy.

This made everyone just stare at him.

"Does she know this?" Max asked.

He shook his head. "I didn't want her to think it was something I was only doing to win her back," he admits. "I didn't sleep that night she left. I spent all my time studying anything art-related. I wanted to understand her life, as she has spent so much time understanding my own,"

"Fuckin' shit, Lando," Max scoffs in shock while shaking his head. "I know you said you bought one, but mate. How much?"

Lando just shrugs once again, picking at his food before his eyes find her figure again. She was laughing at something Kelly said, Lando feeling his pulse quicken at the smile he was so infatuated by.

"What can I say?" he scoffs, his eyes never leaving her figure as she moves. "She was the one, Max. She is the one. I had a ring and everything."

"You what?" Pierre interrupts, his face nothing but shock. Max frowned.

"Mate, what? Why didn't I even know this?" he bombards, hands up in shock. Alex and Charles covered their mouths in awe. Lando sighs with a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

"Because I didn't want to speak about it just yet," he admits. "Pietra even came to help pick it out," he finishes, earning a scoff from Max.

"Then why did you say that shit about her? You really broke her, Lando," Alexandra speaks out, shaking her head.

"Because I was jealous and envious, okay?" he admits. He huffed as they all looked at him with confusion on their faces. "I never got to see her as much because she was so into her work. I was busy traveling for work, too, and we just never saw one another. When I was home, she was at the studio. When I was away, she was at home or at galas. I felt like she and I were becoming distanced," he explains. "Even when I'd be at the studio, she just felt so far away. I know how hard she works. I just felt left out, I guess."

"No excuses, mate. You still said it," Charles tuts, Lando nodding with an ashamed look in his eyes.

"Yeah, I know," he accepts, downing the rest of his drink.

They all look at him with pity and guilt, but also knowing he walked himself into this situation.

Yet they could all see and read how much the two missed one another. Things were just all sorts of messed up. Alex could especially see it on both sides. She would always take Y/N's side, never a doubt in that.

After hearing what Lando had just revealed, she knew that Lando truly wanted nobody but her.

"Just don't tell her, okay? She's going to think I did all of this just to get her back. That's not why I did it," he says, giving them all genuine looks as he spoke.

"Can we move on, please? I'd rather not sulk the day before the race."

They all agreed before Charles slowly brought up his plans for the offseason, everyone trying their best to listen in. Max stood up before patting Lando's shoulder reassuringly.

He gives his best friend a look of sorrow and pity. Lando nodded with a pursed smile and nodded in acceptance. Max nods back before walking back over to join his girlfriend and other friends.

Y/N could tell something was off when Max had sat down quietly, his food slowly being picked at as he tried his best to listen in on Max's story. She decided not to push it as it didn't seem like the right time to do such a thing.

As the night dragged on, Y/N felt a bit lighter as the drinks hit her system. Not enough to get her drunk, just enough to keep her feeling at bay with the tension on that rooftop.

What was bugging her at that point was the fact that the waiter kept making moves on her when she had shown clear signs of being uninterested. Max had even spoken up for her a few times, happily sticking up for her when she felt uncomfy.

"Mate, she's good, seriously," Max says, a more serious tone playing as he gives him a small smile.

The waiter shrugs before turning his attention to Y/N, a small smirk on his face. "If she's good I'd love to hear it come from her pretty mouth," he says, making her almost choke on her drink.

She nods before clearing her throat. "He's right, I'm good. I'll pass," she says sternly, not matching the smile he is givng her.

He nods at her. "I'm sure if he didn't say that, you'd happily be down to give me a chance."

"Um no, I actually am fine-"

"I doubt that. Do you always have the men speak for you? iI can happily obey that."

Y/N looks at him with shock on her face. "No I don't, actually. Who do you think you are?"

"Whatever you want me to be," he chuckles, his smile irritating her more. She shook her head.

"If that's what you're saying, then I want you to be gone," she snaps, watching his smile fade lightly only to return way wider.

"I knew you wanted me," he says before laying his hand onto her shoulder which caused her to snap away from his touch.

"Oh come on, I know you do-"

"For fucks sake mate, leave her the fuck alone yeah? She's not interested!

Everyone's heads turned towards the other end of the table, shock and confusion all over each person's face. Lando sat there in his chair, glaring harshly at the waiter, his legs spread, one elbow sitting on his knee while the other was holding his drink to his lips. Not missing the fact that his jaw twitched every so often as his eyes never left the waiter ahead of him.

Y/N looked at Lando with a frown at his tone, mouth agape as she looked at him.

The waiter timidly made his journey away from the table without another word, his posture showing signs of embarrassment. Lando couldn't have given a fuck less. Would've laughed if the guy left crying, in all honesty.

"There was no need for that," Y/N snapped at him across the table, her gaze was harsh. Lando's eyes slowly trailed to her, raising his eyebrows in surprise at her tone.

"Sweetheart, he was basically humping your leg. I did you a favor," he says before clearing his throat.

Y/N shook her head before standing from her spot, throwing the cloth from her lap onto her empty plate. "Excuse me," she grumbles before leaving the table.

Alex and Pietra didn't hesitate to follow in her direction as their friend walked hurriedly into the restaurant.

The rest of their table kept looking back at Lando, who showed no remorse for his actions, and took another sip of the cocktail in his hand. Charles laughed bitterly at the guy next to him. "Oi mate, you've got some shit to figure out." he mutters while shaking his head.

Lando looked over at Max, who shook his head and mumbling a 'don't' to his best mate.

Lando took a deep breath, turning into a huff, before he began to dig back into the food on his plate. His chest tightened at the thought of him hurting her feelings more than he already had.

He just couldn't take the fact that some other guy couldn't keep his hands or words off the girl he loves. Even if she never looked his way again. Even if she was handling the waiter in front of her, he couldn't help but step in. It was a habit.

Y/N had walked into the bathroom at that point, trying to run some cool water along her arms to cool down her system. She took a breath, snapping her head as she heard the door slam open with her two best friends scurrying into the room. The clicks of their heels echoing through the empty bathroom.

"Are you okay?" Alex asked as they got to her side. She nods, her attention back on her arms as she began to pat them dry with the towels.

"He's just infuriating," she mutters while tossing the paper towels away and crossing her arms.

"He had no right to do that," Pietra says with a shake of her head. "Max was supposed to tell him to be on his best behavior."

Y/N shook her head. "It shouldn't be left to Max to babysit his best mate. Lando needs to figure his shit out."

Pietra nods. "I agree. I'm so sorry. He really can't just let you be."

Alex looks at her with a questionable look in her eye, then back at Y/N. Then, not being able to control what comes out of her mouth next, it all comes sputtering out. "Lando didn't buy one of your paintings!"

Y/N frowns at her. "What?"

Alex closes her eyes, rubbing her forehead witha huff.

"I mean," she starts, then locking eyes with Y/N. "He did buy one, yes. But he didn't exactly make sure you got the money from it."

"Alex, what are you saying? He stole a piece?" Y/N freaks, not knowing what to think. Only to not freak yet as Alex starts to stop her from thinking the worst, throwing her hands up in a shaking motion.

"No, no, no, not like that! He paid for it, yes," she stutters, huffing out a loud and frustrated groan. Her head tilts back to the ceiling. "Oh, he is so going to kill me for saying this," she mutters to herself, bringing her head back to look at Y/N.

"He bought the piece. But he only bought it, saying he wants all of his profits to go straight towards the local art schools," she admits, making both girls look at her with both shock and confusion.

Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. "Wait, what? How did-"

"He said he knows. How much would you've wanted that money to go to them more. That you always put most of your profits towards the schools. So he made sure all of his would make it to the other art schools." Alex says quickly, not stopping to breathe at any moment.

She watches as her friend's face contorts from shock, to confusion, to awe, to guilt, to anger.

"How much?"

Alex opens her mouth, but is stopped not too long after. "How much, Alex? I know you would've figured out how much."

Alex shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know off the top of my head," she admits. "I can see if I have the anonymous buyer info for that piece. He was the only anonymous buyer you had."

"Can you look then, please?"

"Why does that matter?" Pietra asked wit her brows furrowed.

"Because if it's what I think it is, I am going to throw him off of the balcony."

The silence began to rise as the girls waited for Alex, who pulled up the files from the gala. Y/N had her arms crossed, standing there agonizingly patient as her mind began to run a thousand times a minute.

Y/N had only one anonymous bidder. They bought one of the most personal pieces she had spent most of her time working on, as she had to redo it over and over again to make sure it was right. That it was what she needed to outdo everyone else's pieces. It was the one piece that brought every single one of her artwork together.

She knew it was worth a pretty penny, as both Alex, her boss and the seller had told her before the gala.

So if it was the piece she thought it was, Lando was going to have to do more than hide from her.

It was when Alex froze from her scrolling and quick skimming through her phone, slowly letting her eyes trail up to Y/N in front of her.

"Y/N,"

That's when Y/N knew.

She gives the girls a knowing nod, excusing herself past them as they tried to stop her.

Her heels clicked on the marble floors, people buzzing around them as she was on her mission. Ignoring her friends' pleas and calls of her name as her pace quickened.

She didn't hesitate to grab a glass of whatever was on the serving platter a waiter held, holding it in her hand as she walked.

Once she had reached outside where their table was, Max was the first to spot her. Almost shitting himself as he watched the girl with murder in her eyes, he nearly fell out of his chair as he watched the girls almost running to grab her.

"Shit, Y/N," he calls out trying to grab her. Y/N didn't miss the way Lando's calm gaze left Charles, turning to look up at her in confusion. Before he could open his mouth, everything happened so fast.

Before he could react, or before anyone could stop her, the drink in her hands was dumped all over Lando.

Gasps were heard all across the table. Lando just sat there frozen, unfazed by her reaction. He kept his gaze down. He knew she was fuming.

"You donated 2 million dollars to the local art schools? Are you fucking serious?" she snaps at him, her voice hard and stern. He just sat there silently, letting her take it out on him. He deserved a lot more than her yelling. And a drink being poured on him.

Y/N knew his silence said it all.

"Two million? Lando, are you joking, mate? You said it wasn't that much," Max exasperates. Y/N snaps her head back at Max, a frown on her face.

"You knew?" her voice muttered, watching as Max huffed and let his chest fall as he nodded. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. Yeah, I knew. I didn't think it would've been as much as that."

Y/N scoffs and shakes her head. She points at Max. "We will talk about that later," she hisses, turning her attention back to Lando. He was running a hand threw his alcohol-covered hair, then rubbing the same hand over his jaw before clenching it. He sat there silently.

"You're so fucking selfish," she snaps, shaking her head. He scoffs back, eyes finally actually looking into hers for the first time that night.

If they weren't in such a predicament in that moment, he would've happily folded right then and there.

"I didn't do it to win you back," he admits. "I did it because you gave me a rude awakening. I wanted to do something to help inspire and encourage upcoming artists."

"You just couldn't let me have one night. One fucking night for the hardwork I did? You just had to make it about you doing charity?"

He shook his head. "I did it because I thought it was the right thing! Not to take the spotlight from you!"

She scoffed and shook her head. "You don't get it, Lando."

"What? What don't I get, Y/N?"

"This was my moment! My moment to finally show my talent. My moment to finally make a name for myself. My moment to finally let my hard work pay off," she explains, her tone becoming shaky. "But of course you had to throw your money to prove a point-"

"How?"

"By showing you could surpass me! That you're more successful than I am!" Her voice was loud, making most of the fellow racers at the table flinch. None of them having ever seen her this angry and upset.

Lando immediately feels his blood simmer, his chest tighten as his eyes fell. Tears began to glaze over her eyes. Her hands dropped from the air, completely defeated.

"You just had to prove you'll always have more than I do," she sniffles. "You don't see the messages. The comments. You don't hear the words people say. Or the snide remarks people leave when they saw me with you."

Lando listened to her talk, taking in every word.

"Then what you said made it all come true. Like you confirmed it," she admits. "I know you work hard. You all do, and you deserve everything you get," she explains to the table, then turns back to the table. "But just because I see potential in my career field, doesn't mean my hard work is any less than yours, Lando."

His lips part, guilt immeditaely building in his stomach.

"So what if I just scribble on a piece of fabric?" she chuckles bitterly. "I inspire others to show that what I do can go a long way. No matter how many sleepless nights I've had with painter's block, I can get somewhere," she admits, tears falling freely. "Then you going and doing what you did? Just shows and proves to people that I can't be successful without you feeling guilty or pity for me and putting your money in because you felt like you needed to. All because you messed up."

Y/N wipes her eyes before remaining silent for a few moments. "So no, Lando, you don't get it. You just throw money at things to make yourself or the situation better."

Lando felt speechless in that moment. He wanted to say that was far from true. It was not what he intended to do. It was never something he was doing to make light on it.

Yet, in that moment, he knew it was better to stay silent than to argue with her. So he let her stab him with her words, let her get it out.

She sniffles once more before looking back at the entire table, putting her hands up in surrender. "I'm so sorry, guys. I really did not mean to ruin the night. It's a big race tomorrow, I'm sorry," she laughs dryly, each person at the table knowing she never meant for that to happen. All of them feeling bad for her, not a single ounce of anger or devastation was felt towards her in that moment.

"I'm going to go," she nods. "Enjoy the rest of the night, yeah? Goodluck tomorrow."

With that, she leaves quietly. The fading of her heels was heard as she disappeared into the night. It was silent for a few moments, before Max was the first to speak up.

"Lando you fucked up. Majorly," he starts. "I don't know how you're going to fix this one."

Lando just nods, his gaze suddenly very entranced by the napkin in front of him. The drink dripping from his face that was once poured all over him.

Lando knew if he spoke in that moment, he would end up just sobbing. He felt so lost. He never meant for it to turn out this way. Never did he do it to gain attention for himself. It's why he wanted to keep it strictly confidential and anonymous. He wanted this to be focused on her, and only her.

"I do," Charles spoke up with pursed lips. "Know how to fix it, that is."

Lando snapped his eyes over at Charles, his eyes red and squinting from how much they hurt.

"But are you willing to cost yourself a race over it?"

Lando didn't care about anything else in that moment if he was being so real. He just wanted Y/N. He just wanted her.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N: don't hate me lol, I SWEAR WE'RE COOKING OK. I had to make you hurt a bit and hate Lando just a tad. JUST HEAR ME OUT

(lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist!)

taglist:

@nickie-amore , @tylerstacobell , @piceous21 , @ariesandwolves , @lifeonawhim , @formulawhore , @asterooidsblog , @staple-your-mouth , @sinfully-yoursss , @smileyshaven , @midnightsaugust , @astrlape , @relijanka , @jooooooooo-cycycy16 , @cherryhazee , @nina481 , @lighttsoutlewis , @suns3treading , @areej003 , @dramallama9 , @putherup , @green--beanie , @footyball , @callsign-mirage

[imtaashu]

Click📸

(Teaching Him to Use Polaroid Camera 📷 )

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You try to teach Bucky how to use your Polaroid camera. He ends up more interested in taking pictures of you than anything else. One kiss. One photo. That’s all he wants… or so he says.

Genre: Soft Fluff, Domestic Vibes, Clingy!Bucky, Hurt-Your-Teeth Cute

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: None, unless you count excessive pouting and unrelenting affection

💌Author Notes: This one’s pure mush. Like sticky marshmallow fluff on a warm day. Clingy, pouty Bucky, armed with a Polaroid and zero chill, is here to ruin your day in the sweetest way possible. Inspired by the idea of him just wanting something to hold onto when you’re not home. 😭

🩷 Please enjoy — and yes, he will ask for another photo in the middle of the night.

✦ feel free to request more fluffy Bucky things ✦

Based on ✦ this ✦ request.. thank you @buckyismysafehaven 🫶🏻

───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────

“you know this isn’t a weapon, right?” you ask softly, raising a brow at bucky, who’s holding the pastel blue polaroid camera like it might explode.

“are you sure?” he replies, squinting suspiciously at it “feels like it’s got a mind of its own.”

you giggle, gently pushing his arms down “babe. it’s literally made of plastic.”

“so are landmines in cartoons.”

“okay, soldier,” you tease, taking it from his hands and showing him, slowly “this is the lens. this is the shutter. this button here—”

he cuts in, voice low and all heart-eyed “you’re really hot when you go all teacher mode, y’know that?”

“bucky.”

“sorry.” (not sorry at all.)

⸻

ten minutes later, he’s already used half the film.

not one photo of furniture like you suggested.

just you.

you tying your hair up.

you reaching for the remote.

you laughing with your head thrown back, nose scrunching just right.

“you were supposed to practice with objects, not your emotionally-unavailable girlfriend,” you say, flopping dramatically onto the couch.

he hums, carefully tucking the latest photo into his wallet “the couch doesn’t smell like vanilla and steal my hoodies.”

you peek over. “what are you doing with that one?”

“backup.”

“backup??”

“yeah. in case you go to the grocery store without me again and i spiral.”

⸻

click. you blink. “did you just take one without asking?”

he smiles, slow and sleepy, cradling the photo like it’s treasure.

“you looked real soft just now. had to keep it.”

“you can’t just collect pictures of me like—like trading cards.”

“why not?”

“because i probably look weird in half of them!”

he walks over, lifts your chin with gentle fingers “you’ve never looked weird. not to me.”

twenty minutes later, you’re wrapped in a hoodie that almost eats you alive, legs tangled in a blanket on the couch.

“don’t even think about it,” you mumble, not even opening your eyes.

“i didn’t say anything!”

“you don’t have to. i can feel it. you’re staring at me like i’m a sunrise.”

caught. he pauses, camera halfway to his face “okay, but hear me out: the angle? god-tier. the light? holy. your face? illegal.”

you groan into the pillow “you’re ridiculous.”

“you’re breathtaking.”

“that’s not gonna get you another picture.”

“…worked seventeen times already.”

eventually, he curls up beside you, cheek smushed against your shoulder, arms tucked around your waist.

he’s quiet for a while—just tracing little patterns on your skin then, he whispers, shy “can i take one of you kissing me?”

you blink. “like… a photo?”

he props himself up “yeah. just one.”

you hide under the blanket “nooo, that’s so embarrassing!”

“what? why!”

“i don’t look cute when i kiss. i squint weird.”

he gasps like it’s the most offensive thing he’s ever heard “your kissing face is my favorite face!”

“bucky—”

“i’m serious! that’s the face that says you love me.”

You stay quiet.

he softens, leaning down with a pout so genuine it borders on tragic.

“baby.”

no response.

“baby please.”

silence.

“you don’t love me.”

you peek out. “bucky.”

“you don’t. that’s why you won’t let me have a picture. my heart is broken. i might cry. this is the end of bucky barnes as we know him.”

you start laughing.

he immediately flops into your lap with a dramatic groan.

“just one photo of my girl loving me. is that so much to ask?”

“you’re a menace.”

“i’m your menace.”

finally, you give in. one kiss. one photo.

he sits up straighter than a soldier, camera ready, eyes wide and sparkling like he’s about to meet santa.

you lean in. kiss him softly.

click. his lashes flutter. His hands tremble slightly as he gently fans the developing photo, like it’s sacred.

and when the image comes in?

he just whispers, barely audible “…wow.”

later that night, while he’s asleep, you find the photo tucked into his wallet next to his dog tags.

you trace your thumb over it and smile.

he stirs, catches you looking.

“needed something to hold onto when you’re not home,” he murmurs.

“bucky, i was gone for ten minutes today.”

“and they were the longest ten minutes of my life.”

next morning, there’s a new polaroid stuck to the bathroom mirror.

you, fast asleep, curled into his chest on the back, in his boyish handwriting

“this is what peace looks like.”

and when you roll your eyes and tell him he’s obsessed?

he grins without missing a beat

“with you? yeah. obviously.”

-end

[dollyfiles]

single!dad!rafe helping sweetheart!reader out of her dress after a date night

sweetheart!reader mlist

cw: fluff filled with tension, sensual touches, kissing, rafe being the sweetest of sweethearts, sexual insinuation

the door to rafe’s apartment fell shut in the back, soft and muffled beneath your laughter. it was the kind of giddy and too loud laughter that only came after too many shared glances and just enough wine to make everything feel a little blurry.

you were glowing, cheeks flushed from both alcohol and adoration, your hand still caught in his as the two of you stumbled through the hallway. “watch the shoe!” you yelped, laughing as one heel nearly twisted off the welcome mat.

rafe steadied you with one arm around your waist, eyes warm and hungry all at once. “i got you, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “i always got you.” his apartment was dim and quiet, the soft city glow seeping in through the windows.

and the moment you crossed the threshold of his bedroom, it shifted, from playful to something heavier. rafe sat down on the edge of the bed, loose-limbed and gorgeous, his dress shirt still tucked in, suit jacket open, tie a little crooked. he spread his legs casually, confidence pouring off him in waves, and looked up at you all dreamily.

you lingered in the middle of the room, swaying slightly, your little black dress hugging you in all the right places and just enough shimmer on your skin from your favorite body oil, and your lipstick still smudged faintly from the kiss you two shared in the cab. but under his gaze, your breath hitched just a bit, fingers fluttering against your hip.

rafe noticed, of course. his eyes tracked every little movement like he was memorizing you. “you look…” he shook his head a little, jaw flexing. “goddamn, y/n. you look like every good dream i’ve ever had.” you flushed, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, suddenly very aware of the heat creeping over your skin. “that’s the wine talkin’.”

“no,” he said, a little more serious now, “that’s the ‘i’ve-been-thinkin’-about-you-since-the-moment-i-saw-you-in-that-dress’ talkin’.” your eyes fluttered shut for half a second at the weight of his voice, letting out a soft breath. “well, as much as i appreciate that,” you said, tugging at the side seam of the dress, “i gotta get out of this thing before it leaves a permanent dent in my ribs.”

rafe tilted his head, one eyebrow rising, lips tugging into that slow, devilish smirk you’d already learned to love and fear in equal measure.“need some help?” he asked, pretending to be all polite about it, but his voice dipped a little deeper. a little more wicked. you knew, but still turned around, facing away from him and lifting your hair from your neck. “yes, please.”

rafe let out a low whistle as his eyes traced the back of the dress and how it cinched at the waist, laced delicately with soft, black ribbons like some kind of priceless trophy. and his fingers were on you a moment later, warm and steady, “jesus,” he murmured under his breath as he tugged the first ribbon loose, voice thick. “you’re like a fuckin’ present.”

you glanced back at him over your shoulder, “are you gonna unwrap me, or just stare all night?”, laughter bubbling up in your throat. “oh, i’m unwrappin’ you, don’t worry.” he moved slowly, the action smooth and deliberate, his fingertips grazing the small of your back just slightly.

ribbon by ribbon, he worked his way down the line of your back, teasingly slow, like he was savoring every inch of skin that was revealed. your breathing hitched the closer he got, tension humming between you two.

when the last ribbon came undone, he paused. “done?” you asked over your shoulder, a little breathless. “mm..almost,” he said, voice gravelly. rafe placed his hands on your hips and gently pulled you back toward him.

you stepped in, the undone dress slipping slightly off your shoulders, and rafe leaned in, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to the small of your bare back. you exhaled a soft, shaky sound you couldn’t contain, your fingers curling slightly at your sides.

“god, you’re unreal,” he whispered against your soft skin. you turned slowly in his arms, the dress now held up only by gravity and a little modesty. your eyes met his, wide and shining, a mix of nerves and desire swirling between you two.

“rafe…” you whispered as he reached up to pull at the last piece of fabric that attached the dress to your body, and off your shoulder. the dress slipped, sliding down your sides, the soft sound of fabric pooling at your feet. you let it fall, standing in the glow of the city light, bare but for your red lingerie. they were thin and lacy, the kind of thing made to be appreciated up close.

and rafe? he looked like he was trying not to forget how to breathe. his gaze roamed slowly from your legs up to the curve of your waist, then lingered at your chest before rising to meet your doe-eyes. his mouth parted, but no words came right away. just that reverent, slightly stunned look of a man who never thought he’d be lucky enough to have this in front of him.

your hands found his shoulders, smoothing gently over them, the heat of your skin igniting his like a fuse. you smiled, sweet and sultry all at once, thumb grazing along the line of his collarbone. he stayed close but didn’t touch you, not yet. his voice was husky, patient. “you’re more than i ever knew i wanted.” your cheeks turned pink, “and you’re all i ever wanted, rafe.”

that did it.

he let out a low sound, something between a groan and a sigh, and reached up, his hands sliding around your hips with firm, unhesitating urgency. he pulled you toward him, guiding you effortlessly into his lap. you straddled him with a little laugh, arms looping around his neck, and he looked up at you like you were made out of his deepest needs.

“i’m not gonna make it through the night if you keep talkin’ like that,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours, your foreheads nearly touching. “then we should stop talking,” you whispered before your lips crashed onto each other, full of desperate need and desire.

tags: @inbred-eater @dearapril @isasweetie @rafessecret @littlelamy @bradshawed @cherrygirlfriend @trusweethrt @inspiredangel @bluemerakis @nemesyaaa @rafekisser @deansbeer @ditzyrafe @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lacyydollette @drewsephrry @angvl3tears @rotapathetic @raahosh

[hyunles]

Overtime | H. HJ.

pairing: ceo!hyunjin x fem!reader word count: 3,7k genre: smut. +18, MDNI cw: no proofread, explicit wording, boss x employee relationship, kissing, couch sex, oral (f.), fingering, creampie, breast sucking, penetration, unprotected sex (pls don't), brief dirty talk, male whimpering, a lot of moaning. Let me know if I missed something! notes: hyunjin in suit always makes me go feral godddd, he's so handsome as always, english is not my first language, pls consider on giving feedback (in the kindest way possible) taglist and requests are open, feel free to ask! have a nice reading <3

It was time for you to fulfill another of your New Year's resolutions: Get a new job.

As a recent graduate, it was a little difficult for you since everyone asked for a twenty-year-old with thirty years of experience, but you always did your best at job interviews.

Today you were supposed to go to a job interview at a law firm. Your position? Nothing fancy, just the CEO assistant.

Naturally, you were nervous. He was the one interviewing you, so you really hoped to not embarrass yourself.

As you made your way to the entrance of the big building, you could feel your heart rate start to rise. No. You had to calm down.

Taking a deep breath, you got onto the elevator and pressed the needed button. Eight floor.

You reviewed your resume, which wasn't that impressive. You also reviewed a few lines your mother had said would help you a long time ago, when you were in middle school, but they could work now.

The elevator came to a stop and you got out, walking until you reached the office. His office.

You could hear people arguing inside, that made your brows furrow, but you decided to knock either way since it was already the time you were called.

The words stopped and a male voice said something inaudible before a guy about your age walked out, fuming in anger.

"Come in." The same male voice called you.

Your boss. Hwang Hyunjin.

You nodded and walked inside. "Good evening. I'm the applicant for the assistant position." You said and immediately handed him your resume.

He hummed, reading quickly but carefully. "Take a seat." He nodded to the chair across his desk, where you sat a few seconds later.

"A chef at a sushi restaurant and a barista at a cafe? How did you end up here?" Hyunjin said without tearing his eyes away from the paper.

"Everyone is asking for years of experience that are impossible for someone my age. And in your ad, you were asking for an assistant between 25 and 30 years old." You explained calmly, hoping he couldn't notice your nervousness.

"Okay, a 25 year old… Are you organized? Can you handle stress?"

You immediately nodded. "Yes sir, I can, totally. I'm very good at it."

"Good."

Silence again, just the sound of the CEO flipping through the few pages of your resume.

"I want you in my team. If you're interested, you start tomorrow." He said with his serious voice.

Your eyes widened a bit as you smiled ever so slightly. "Thanks sir, that really means a lot."

"It is full time. Monday to Friday from nine to five, an hour of lunch at two, I'd maybe need you to stay overtime but I always notify you in advance." He started. "You have social security and a month of paid vacation when you choose it, and a small bonus at the end of the year. Is that okay with you?"

You were immediately surprised. Was that really true?

"Definitely! More than I expected, actually."

"Good. You can start tomorrow morning. See you tomorrow." He nodded and stood up. "I'll take you to the door."

You’ve been working there for a few months now, and everything had been going smoothly. The office was well-organized, and you had made friends with some of the employees.

You've heard rumours about how Hyunjin had a reputation for being strict, cold, and downright intimidating when angry. And he definitely was like that with everyone. Everyone but you for some reason.

Of course, he was still firm, but there was something softer beneath his gaze when he looked your way, a glint of interest that left you wondering. He’d often call you to his office, offering a thousand excuses —small, irrelevant things that could have been handled over email.

Today started off as an average day in the office, any given Friday. You found yourself in the office kitchen, making coffee, when suddenly your phone buzzed. It was Hyunjin.

"I need you in my office. Now."

With a quiet sigh, you put your coffee down, feeling a slight tremor of nerves dance in your stomach. You knew it was never just a simple request with him. And you always were a bit nervous because of all the rumours even when he was softer with you.

As you entered his office, the air felt heavy. Hyunjin was seated behind his desk, his sharp eyes locking onto you the moment you stepped inside. The look on his face was one of irritation, though you weren’t sure if it was because of something you did or something else

“What took you so long? I asked you to bring me an important file yesterday." He said with the severe voice you've grown accustomed to.

"The files on Mr. Kim's trial? I left them on your desk and texted you at nine." You replied calmly but firmly as you always did. Careful.

He frowned, rummaging through the numerous files he had on his desk —or pretending to—, and quickly finding the folder.

You started to think he just called because he wanted to see you. But you immediately shook those thoughts aside.

"Right… Well, now that you're here, I have to ask you something." He said, gesturing you to sit on the chair across his desk.

"The lawyers' dinner is on your agenda, right?" He didn't even wait for you to answer. "I need you to go with me and take notes."

You frowned slightly in confusion but nodded anyway. "But it's tonight."

"Do you have something to do?" He immediately asked, leaning against his desk with a serious expression.

"Not really but you should've-"

"I want you there at six in the fanciest clothes you have." He said firmly, not leaving room for discussion.

You sighed quietly and nodded, standing up. "I'll be there."

He didn't say anything.

You stepped back.

"If you don't have anything else to say to me, I'll go." You waited until he nodded and walked out of the office.

It was going to be a hell of a night.

17:20

Of course you were ready. You needed to leave now if you wanted to make it on time.

The outfit wasn't very impressive. Just a black dress with short sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, knee-length. Also, some low heels and black, thin tights.

Nothing very revealing but not simple either. The few jewels giving it a plus.

You walked out of your house, where your taxi was already waiting. You got in and indicated the driver the address.

After a few minutes, you texted Hyunjin. Just a small message.

"I'm on my way. See you there."

A simple and concise message.

You started to organize your small notebook, getting ready for whatever notes you had to take as Hyunjin said.

That ruined the Friday night —that just implied drinking coffee as you stayed up late drawing or talking with some friends— you had planned.

Either way, you no longer had reason to complain if you were on your way to dinner. A luxurious meal at a 3-star Michelin restaurant. You always thought they were exaggerating too much.

After a few minutes, you arrived at your destiny. You paid and got out of the taxi, walking inside and asking in reception for the table, a big one in a private room.

You were the first, as always. It was 17:50 now, and you had to wait.

You started scheduling the tasks for Monday, both yours and his, killing time.

Suddenly, the door opened. There he was, looking neat as always, you dare to think he looks even better.

White button-up shirt, a black tie, black pants with the usual belt he loved —the one that camouflaged perfectly but also had a subtle golden buckle—, and the glasses he rarely wore and made him look even more professional. His black, short hair was also slicked back, some strands loose, falling perfectly on his forehead.

Hot, you thought. But you immediately shook your head slightly.

"You're early." He stated, taking a seat next to you.

"I like to arrive early. Arriving 10 or 15 minutes early is just in time for me." You explained as you kept writing.

"I like how punctual you are."

You blinked slightly, even stopped writing for a second, but you quickly recomposed.

"I lied to you. I didn't want you to come take notes. I just wanted you here." He said as if it was nothing.

It was definitely anything but nothing.

"Oh…" You mumbled.

"You make me feel more… in control. You help me so much." He continued. "I like it. You keep me grounded with that seriousness of yours. You need to loosen up a bit." He chuckled, leaning closer.

"I'm fine." You simply said, turning your face away just a bit.

He let out a quiet sigh and sat straight again. "Do you even drink?" Hyunjin asked like you were friends.

"I don't like the taste of alcohol." You kept writing.

He snatched your notebook away, smirking. "Leave this. This dinner is supposed to be a… party, so to speak."

"No."

"Come on, you can't be this boring." He teased.

You sighed, looking at your notebook in his hands. He had pretty hands, you've thought that since you met him.

When he was about to make a snarky remark, the chatter of people on the hallway could be heard, he looked at the door.

At least 20 people walked inside, laughing and smiling as they greeted the two of you.

You just smiled slightly and greeted back, memorizing everyone and remembering their last names in case you needed it.

Hyunjin joined the talk soon, his eyes going around the big table before the waiter started taking orders.

The evening reached its peak, everyone was already a bit tipsy, just a few were drunk. People kept coming, you even had to give up your seat to one of the lawyers because he said he was having knee problems.

There were at least 40 people cramped in that medium room. Unexpected guests, people walking around… A total mess.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, was having a blast. He talked and talked about the stupid cases he got and won. Obviously, he was slightly tipsy, but he was very composed.

You sighed quietly and excused yourself, walking out of the room, already exhausted and feeling overwhelmed.

You sat down on one of the benches in the small garden outside. You felt calmer, You sat down on one of the benches in the small garden outside. You felt calmer, ready to go back.

But Hyunjin appeared again. It was like he had some magic trick to just pop up wherever you were.

"I'm leaving now. I'm tired. Do you want me to take you home?" He said, smiling. Weird sight, that really gave away the fact that he was tipsy, drunk even.

"You're not driving in this state. I'll take you home." You said, leaving no room for argument.

Hyunjin chuckled. "You noticed?"

"Obviously, you're all red, smiling, and even laughing."

"So you know me…" He whispered as you walked towards the parking lot.

You ignored that comment, shaking your head slightly. Focus.

"This is my car." He said as he grabbed his keys, opening it.

You walked towards the driver's door and extended your hand. He placed the keys on your palm and walked towards the passenger seat.

The drive was quiet, calm. He was very awake, looking out the window.

You were driving calmly, but your mind was going at an outrageous speed.

Thoughts like hot, or he's cute didn't leave your head, you were already stressed.

And his voice didn't help.

"I think I need to wear my glasses daily. My head isn't hurting."

"Funny because you're drunk." You smiled slightly.

He looked at you. "Hey… You're smiling."

That made your eyes go slightly wide. "Wait, you think I never smile?"

"Well…"

"I'm offended." You chuckled, driving calmly.

Hyunjin sighed and leaned his head against the headrest of the seat. Silence returning, slightly tense now.

"You loosen up when I'm drunk." He said.

It caught you off guard.

"You feel more human this way." You murmured.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You always look like a robot. Just work, work, work. I even have to remind you when it's lunch time."

He looked at you with a silly smile. "I need to keep everything in check."

"Not alone. That's why you have me and the other lawyers, the litigation team, everyone. It's not just your job. It's a team effort."

That shut him up, leaving him thinking.

"Text me that please, I want to remember that every day."

You rolled your eyes playfully, pulling over his house. "We're here. Can you walk for yourself?"

"I'm not drunk, just slightly tipsy. I just feel like chuckling."

"Okay." You murmured, getting off the car.

You walked him to his front foor, waiting for him to get inside.

But instead, he opened and leaned against the doorframe.

"How are you going home?"

"I'll take a taxi."

"No."

He didn't even ask when he pulled you inside.

You tried to protest but he quickly shot the door behind you and took off his shoes.

"You're staying with me tonight."

You frowned, taking off your shoes. You knew he wasn't letting you go.

"Where?"

"The guest room. It's spacious."

You nodded as you walked inside, looking around. The house was big, giant for just one person.

"Do you live alone?" You asked, sitting on one of the couches.

"Yes. I used to live with someone but she left. That was 6 years ago anyway." He felt the need to clarify. Why?

"I see."

You started to reorganize your schedule for tomorrow since it'd be difficult to return home in the morning in less than 30 minutes.

He noticed and sat next to you, taking your phone and placing it on the coffee table. "You need to sleep."

"I could say that to you."

"I'm fine."

"You're drunk."

A moment of silence before he looked at you with slight curiosity. "Are you single?" He blurted out.

Your eyes widened as you looked at him. "Why?"

"Just answer."

It took you a moment, but you nodded. "Yeah."

That seemed to please him, making him scoot closer.

Maybe it was the alcohol on his system or the liking he took for her these past months, but he felt bold enough to move his hands towards your waist.

"Hyunjin…" You started but he shushed you quickly.

"You're really pretty." He murmured, making your breath catch. Why was he doing this right now, when he looked so good?

He smiled slightly and cupped your face in his hands, getting closer. So close your breaths mingled together and you could feel the warmness of his body.

"Sir, we shouldn't do this." You murmured, but you didn't move.

"Push me away." He whispered. "Tell me to stop."

You couldn't.

He got closer, noses now brushing.

"I want you. Not just for tonight, but forever. You've made me feel things I never felt…" He murmured, a bit of vulnerability in his voice.

You didn't know what to say, it was like your brain just short-circuited right there and then.

So he took the opportunity and brushed his lips against yours, barely, softly.

"Can I?" Hyunjin whispered.

You nodded.

And that was all the confirmation he needed before kissing you. It was a soft but hungry kiss. You could notice he'd been thinking about it for weeks, months even.

His fingers tangled around your hair as you pulled him closer by the tie. He groaned and pressed himself against you, making you lay down.

Eventually, you broke the kiss in need of air. Quiet gasps and a slight chuckle escaped his mouth. "You're a better kisser than I imagined." He mumbled.

You smiled as your filter and your moral flew away. "Hyun…"

"A nickname? Where's the serious you?" Hyunjin chuckled quietly, kissing down your jawline and neck.

You shivered, tilting your head back as your hands undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

He groaned and helped you with his shirt and pants, already desperate.

"I want you so much…" He whispered, you sighed.

Finally, he started taking off your dress, very gently for his desperation. He was almost admiring you.

"You're so gorgeous…" He whispered, throwing your dress to the floor, kissing down your chest, feeling the texture of your bra with his fingertips.

You could just sigh and move your hands to the back of his head, pulling him closer.

He smiled and unclipped your bra, immediately taking one of your breasts on his mouth, grinding against you.

You couldn't take it and it was just starting. You arched your body, seeking more contact.

He grabbed your hips and played with the edges of your underwear. You sighed desperately. "Just take them off…"

He chuckled, kissing down your abdomen while pulling your panties down. You were already wet, drenched even.

You squirmed slightly when he kissed your thighs.

"God, so wet for me?" He whispered before licking once, his tongue flattening against your entrance. You moaned, gripping the couch.

He started to lick desperately, almost animalistic. He was so needy for you, like a starved man eating you out. And you could just moan and whimper, keeping his head in place.

He kept his ministrations, now moving his lips towards your clit, sucking gently and licking. You moaned his name like a prayer and buckled your hips up, seeking more contact.

Hyuniin decided to make this more interesting and delicious, since both of you were desperate.

He introduced his middle finger on your entrance, slowly at first, lubricating it. You moaned and moved your hips, begging for him.

"Hyunjin… G-God…" You could just say, it was like all thoughts just disappeared from your brain and the only reasonable thing was him, his fingers on you, his tongue on you.

He started moving his finger until it hit that gummy spot, making you let out a yelp, closing your eyes. The pleasure you were feeling was indescribable.

Hyuniin introduced his ring finger, moving both quickly, out and inside, curling them, making it messy.

His lips and chin were glistening with your arousal, and the sight turned you on even more if that was possible.

"Come on… Good girl…" He whispered as he moved his hand faster. The wet sounds making him groan.

"Fuck… You're so good for me…" He whispered, his other hand moving to his boxers, taking them off. His length was so hard it started to hurt, and he had to pump up a bit to relieve himself before aligning it with your wet pussy. "Can you take me?" He murmured, eyes filled with lust.

You nodded.

He pushed inside, stretching you slowly.

"Goodness…!" You moaned loudly, closing your eyes and throwing your head back.

He whimpered quietly, filling you up so good. His hips finally made contact with yours and he stayed still for a second, waiting until you grew accustomed to the feeling, the stretch.

"Please… Move…" You could barely whisper. Your mind was clouded with pleasure and your thoughts were only on how good he felt inside you.

His big length twitched, and he started moving, slowly out and suddenly in, that was his pace, making you moan loudly and stealing whimpers from himself.

You'd never expected him to be the loud type, but you weren't complaining.

"Please… Oh God… Please…" He whimpered, moving faster, causing wet sounds. You moaned, loving how he sounded. "Finally… I can have you…" He wasn't even thinking what he was saying, he got so carried away that he no longer thought straight.

With every thrust, you moaned and he whimpered, saying his pleading again and again, hitting that stop repeatedly, making your sight go white.

In a few more thrusts, his hips stuttered. He was close, and so were you.

"I'm gonna…" You whispered.

"Yes baby, come for me. Come with me…" He mumbled, letting out a soft moan. His head falling on your shoulder, kissing there softly.

And finally, you felt it forming more persistently down in your stomach. You were about to cum. Your moans were unstoppable, with absolutely no filter.

He bit your shoulder, moaning quietly but loud enough for you to hear and take you over the edge.

With that, you came, and seconds later, you felt his release filling you up.

Your legs trembled, your body felt weak.

That was the best sex you had in your life, and you were probably going to regret it in the morning. But who cares when your boss just gave you the best orgasm in your entire life, right?

You were panting, cleaning your sweat away. He stayed inside you for a second before sliding out carefully, he didn't want to overstimulate you.

"You're so good at everything, I'm impressed…" He murmured, kissing you again, gently now, lovingly.

You broke the kiss reluctantly. "You won't regret it?"

"No. Never."

You smiled, kissing him softly.

"Let's take a bath." He murmured against your lips.

Two months had already passed since that messy night. You two kept your professional facades but, outside of the building, you two went on dates, getting to know each other.

Obviously you never wanted a one-night-stand, and neither did he. He was an absolute romantic, lover of cheesy things. You could've never guessed since he always kept his serious facade, but you were happy that you were the one who got to see that side of him.

Today you were answering mails as always when you got a message from Hyunjin.

"Are you free today?"

"For you always ;)"

"Good. I need to see you at the park after work. 6:30, without delays."

"Okay, Mr. Mistery."

With that, you left your phone on your desk again, now a bit more nervous.

But you knew, whatever it was, whatever he wanted to talk about, it was going to be something good. You knew him better now, and you knew he was planning something romantic. He's been weird for days, not calling you after work, nothing, but acting like a highschooler in love.

You knew, whatever it was, you loved him, flaws and all. He was the perfect person for you.

And you were the perfect person for him.

ᝰ.ᐟ Reblogs and likes are very appreciated. If you liked this, please consider them!

Thanks for reading!

── 2025, hyunles ⋆ No translations, rewrites, or reposts allowed.

[mooningningg]

"ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ꜰᴀᴋᴇ."

In which you send a picture of your new nails (and engagement ring) to your best friends — but instead of congratulations, they zoom in, analyze, and immediately inform you that the ring is fake.

Suguru, Gojo, Sukuna, Toji, and Choso.

Genre, fluff? Notes, This was requested by @totallygyomeiswife and i love itttt.

SUGURU GETO

You send him the pic with a “nail day 💅 + surprise 💍💖!!!” caption. He doesn’t even respond for a full minute. Then:

“Is this the surprise?”

You: “Yes?" Him: “...You sure?”

He zoomed in. Brightness adjusted. Screenshot sent to Gojo. Reverse image searched. He’s already texting you again.

“Y/N. That ring is plated. I can see the tarnish near the prongs.” “Do you want me to send you articles? Because I will.”

Then softens. Slightly.

“You deserve more than a man who shops on Etsy and lies about it.”

“I know what kind of woman you are. That ring doesn’t even deserve your hand.”

GOJO SATORU

The second he opens your story, he nearly drops his phone. Then double-taps it and texts you with:

“Not you getting engaged with a fucking cereal box ring.”

You: “Satoru—” Him: “No. I’m zooming in. That’s plastic, babe. I’ve seen better rings in claw machines.”

He’s livid. But hides it under sass. Because if he lets himself feel it? He might go feral.

“Tell that man to meet me in the parking lot at 3PM. And bring his receipt.”

“You deserve diamonds that shine brighter than my ego. That shit looks like a jellybean.”

Then later:

“For real, though… If you ever want a second opinion before saying yes to someone, maybe ask someone who knows what you’re actually worth.”

SUKUNA

You send the photo. He replies in .5 seconds with:

“You’re kidding. That’s not the fucking ring, right?” “RIGHT???”

You: “What do you mean 😅” Him: “That cheap-ass tin foil around your finger. That’s what I fuckin’ mean.”

Now he’s typing furiously.

“I know I talk shit a lot but this time I’m dead fucking serious. That rat bastard gave you costume jewelry and expects a lifetime???”

“I swear to god, Y/N, I’ll break his jaw and pawn that ring for spare change.”

And then, quieter:

“You ever decide you want someone who doesn’t insult you with bullshit like that, I’m right here. With the real thing.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

You show him the ring in person. His eyes track it once, then he hums. Coldly.

“That’s what he gave you?”

You: “Yeah... do you think it’s nice?”

He leans back on the couch, arm thrown over the backrest, jaw ticking.

“Nice?”

“Y/N, I’ve stolen shinier things off drunk salarymen. That ring couldn’t scratch glass if it tried.”

You gape. He just shrugs.

“You deserve better. He should know that.”

“If he really loved you, he wouldn’t put a fake rock on your hand and call it forever.”

Then quieter:

“When you’re ready to stop settling, let me know.”

CHOSO KAMO

You text the group chat. He doesn’t say anything right away. Then he private messages you:

“That’s not real, is it?” “Like, it’s not real real… right?”

You: “What do you mean 😟” Choso: “Y/N… that’s cubic zirconia. I’d bet my life on it. It’s giving vending machine energy.”

You get a second message after that.

“Sorry. You know I love you. But you deserve something that lasts.”

Then, he sends a photo of a ring he found online.

“If it were me… this is what I’d pick for you. Just saying.”

[hearts4hughes]

would it be weird to request reader with acne… i’ve had it since i was like 14 and it makes me soo insecure😭😭 like i broke up with my last bf cos i didn’t want him to see me so i was wondering if u could write something like that with rafe

you don’t look at him when you say it—you can’t. not with the overhead light catching every scar, every inflamed patch along your jaw. not with your skin pulsing under the weight of it, hot and embarrassed and miserable. not when you feel like this—like something no one in their right mind would want to hold.

“i think we should stop,” you say quietly, avoiding his eyes like the plague. there’s silence. then a sharp, disbelieving scoff. you flinch.

“stop what?” rafe asks, like you’ve just offered to sell his organs on craigslist. his voice is low, that dangerous kind of quiet he uses when he’s holding something back. “us?”

you nod, eyes on the carpet. “yeah. i just…” you swallow. your nails dig into your palms. “it’s not working.”

he laughs. laughs like it’s a joke. like you’re the joke. “right,” he says. “and that’s why you’re not looking at me?” your jaw clenches but you don’t answer. he crosses the room in three strides. crowding you without touching. heat pouring off him like a furnace. “you’re not serious.”

you shrug. “i am.”

“you’re lying.”

“i’m not.”

“then look at me.” you freeze. “look at me, and say it again.” your eyes flick up, just for a second, and it’s the worst mistake because his gaze is brutal. furious, yes, but worse…it’s soft underneath. already mourning something he hasn’t even lost yet.

your voice cracks. “i don’t want you to see me like this.” your hands signal to your inflamed skin. you look up the ceiling, an attempt to keep the tears from spilling over.

rafe stares at you. he doesn’t blink nor breathe. then, quietly, he murmurs, “you think that matters to me?” your throat closes at his words. “you think i care if your skin’s red or broken out or not fucking airbrushed like-” he cuts himself off, eyes flickering over your face, angry and desperate and so present it physically hurts. “you think you can push me away and i’ll just disappear? you think i’m some fucking high school boyfriend who’s gonna ghost because you had a breakout?”

you wrap your arms around yourself. “you don’t get it.” you bury your face into your knees. shame washes over you like a scolding shower.

he laughs again, but it’s bitter this time. “yeah, no. apparently i don’t. because i thought you trusted me. i thought you knew-“

“i can’t even look at myself!” you snap, voice rising, cracking open. “i can’t stand mirrors. i cancel plans. i cried in a sephora once because the foundation wouldn’t cover this. and you—you’re you, rafe.”

he goes still. just for a beat. “what the fuck does that mean?” he says, deadly quiet.

you swallow. “you’re perfect.”

rafe blinks, slow and disbelieving. then he mutters, like it physically pains him, “you’re so fucking blind.” you look at him, finally, and his jaw’s tight. there’s a twitch in his temple. his eyes are wet but furious. “you think i’m with you for your skin?” he leans in, close enough that you feel the words on your lips. “i’m with you because you’re the first thing in my life that feels real. and i don’t care if you’re broken out. i’m not leaving.”

your whole body stills and he sees it. he sees the way you flinch like his love is the real punchline. his voice softens. “you don’t have to be perfect. you just have to let me stay.”

you bite the inside of your cheek. your vision blurs. and finally, you let yourself collapse into his arms. he catches you without hesitation. like he knew you would. like he never doubted for a second.

his fingers tangle in your hair, press against your back. you bury your face into his shirt, skin burning, tears sticking in your lashes. “hey,” he murmurs. “i’ve got you.”

and you won’t ever doubt him again.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove

[joyswonderland1108]

Omg not a SIGHTING!!! call the FBI!!!

LMAO some of you ARMYs — and let me say it louder for the Jikook police in the back — are starting to give “emotionally unavailable 1950s toxic husband who forbids his wife from showing her ankles in public” energy. Like?? Please untighten your corsets. People saw Jikook in NYC. They tweeted about it. TEXT TWEETS. No pictures. No videos. Not a drone shot. Just good old “hey I just passed them!” excitement. AND SOME OF Y’ALL LOST IT.

“Delete this.” “Don’t share this.” “Protect their privacy.” Protect their—??? THEY WERE OUTSIDE. In New York City. Public streets. With other humans. Not on a military base, not in the Bermuda Triangle, not hiding in Yoongi’s underground studio eating shadow soup. Just… OUTSIDE.

And suddenly you act like you’re Joan of Arc being burned at the stake for BTS’s sins. Miss me with the fake morals, please. Why didn’t you cry “don’t share!” BEFORE you found out what exactly was going on? Hmm? Why wait till after you've gotten the tea, then hop on Twitter acting like the Virgin Mary of Privacy Laws? Y’all wanna consume but then pretend you’re too holy to participate. Hypocrisy in 4K.

Someone said “some of y’all Jikookers will out them for a hit tweet.” Girl be serious. Unless they’re caught in 4K making out inside the Vatican during Sunday mass, a SIGHTING on the sidewalk ain’t “outing” them. It’s not that deep. And what’s even funnier is: if Jikook did come out officially, some of y’all would STILL be on Twitter like “pls stop spreading it 🥺 respect their privacy 😔” WHEN THEY THEMSELVES TOLD YOU. It’s giving delulu gatekeeper with control issues.

And believe me — if we’re talking about “outing” (which we’re not, because this ain’t that), it’s not gonna be some random incel on Twitter with 3 followers and a Jungkook pfp who lives 10,000km away. Let’s be serious for one second. If anyone had the material to actually out them, it would’ve already happened. Dispatch, the nosiest gossip overlords in South Korea, literally built their brand on blowing up celeb couples and STILL haven’t touched Jikook. So here we are.

The only people who could ever truly “out” Jikook are:

Jikook themselves,

Jikook via their company,

or Jikook through a coordinated media scoop because the stars aligned and it was part of some galaxy-brained PR move.

A tweet that says “I think I saw them near Central Park” isn’t that. Be serious.

Oh but wait — WHERE were your moral compasses when the members showed up to J-Hope’s concert? That wasn’t officially announced either, but y’all had ZERO problems with pictures and videos of them in the crowd floating around Twitter before they were even showed on the big screen. I didn’t see y’all crying “privacy!!” then. Funny how suddenly public sightings are sacred and must be protected like state secrets… unless it’s convenient for your hype. The hypocrisy is glowing in the dark.

Let’s break it down for the people in the back with bad Wi-Fi:

Leaked schedules / private photos / sasaeng trash? Yes. Bad. Burn it.

“I saw BTS at a Starbucks in Manhattan”? Regular celebrity shit. Normal. Not a felony.

But go ahead. Keep acting like public sightings are national security threats and that anyone sharing them is personally violating the Geneva Convention. Meanwhile you were RT’ing videos of them at Hobi’s concert like CNN breaking news.

Y’all are not morally superior for turning fandom into a toxic power trip. You’re just exhausting. Let people have fun. Let people be excited. Let people BREATHE.

Please. Touch grass. Drink water. Unclench.

[headdinthewall]

TWENTY ONE?! ── c. dixon ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : in which chris’ friends are a little sceptical of your age gap, causing you to feel out of place and slightly insecure. a/n : my first request post! thank u to the anon who suggested it!💞 also you guys tysm for 465 followers! really appreciate all the love and support on my stories🫶🏼🫶🏼 content : established relationship ,, angst&comfort ,, implied sexual content at the end ,, reader is 7 years younger than chris ,, talks of reader being shorter than chris (5’2–5’4)

─────── THE TWO MONTHS that you’d had with Chris so far with absolutely perfect. After meeting him on a Sidemen Tinder IRL shoot, he’d caught up to you at the end and offered to take you out for coffee at some point. You’d accepted — of course, and since then everything was blissful. He’d asked you out after three months of consistently pleasurable dates and you now had been together for two months.

He was the biggest sweetheart, showing up to your apartment three times a week in the morning with a coffee and a toastie, he’d watch the football on his phone so you could watch your crappy reality tv shows on the tv.

You didn’t have anything to complain about — except one thing; publicity.

None of his friends knew you were dating, his viewers didn’t know you were dating, and you were nearly 90% sure that some part of him was a little embarrassed that he was dating … well, you.

It wasn’t because you were unattractive, or boring, or unfunny, or lacking in character, it was simply because you were seven years younger than him.

When you laid in bed at night thinking about it, it really wasn’t that serious. Most people tend to draw the line at 10+ years, so what was so wrong with you two being together?

His parents were oddly supportive — not that you perceived them to be arseholes — but some parents are likely to be weirded out when their son’s girlfriend is younger than their youngest child.

His mum was a little hesitant at first, asking what you do for a living, if you’re in university, and what you do in your spare time. But, after discovering that you were fairly well-rounded and quite relaxed compared to most girls your age, she seemed to grow a likeness towards you.

His sister — Kelly — adored you. She called you at least once a week, showing you an item she was really contemplating buying, or complaining about Chris and telling you to ‘sort your dwarf out’. She was never really concerned about your age, though she was shocked when he first told her how old you were.

As of right now, you were curled up on your couch, scrolling through Instagram as Chris bustled around your apartment, claiming he’d left a shirt here a couple nights ago. Him and the rest of the UK youtubers were having a barbecue at a rented air bnb to celebrate some sort of milestone for one of the creators.

“Check the washing basket.” You hummed, “I did a load last night.”

“Cheers, love.” He said, going into your room.

You pursed your lips, wondering if now was a good time to express how down you’d been feeling about your lack of exposure to his friends.

“Chris?” You called out.

“Hello.” He poked his head around the door frame.

“Can I come with you?”

“To the barbecue?”

“No, to the toilet.” You deadpanned, “Yes, to the barbecue. I just … I feel like I’m really disconnected from … your world. You only ever come to my apartment, you don’t let me come to yours, your friends don’t know about me, you maintain this ‘single loser’ persona online—“

“Hey!”

“You do, Chris. You know you do.” You sighed, “All I want is … I just want a bit of … y’know? Not care, because I know you care about me, it just feels like you’re a bit … ashamed, is all. Maybe it’s because sin younger, I dunno—“

You frowned, sitting down beside you on the couch and staring you dead in the eyes.

“Reader, you’ve never been more wrong about anything in your life.” He stated, “I’m not ashamed to be with you, I don’t care if I’m older than you. I chose you. You chose me. I don’t care what my friends have to say about it, I’m just trying to protect you from … public scrutiny, I guess. People are horrible, especially when your fanbase is mainly boys, and I don’t want to subject you to any hate. But … if you really want to come to the barbecue, I’ll gladly walk in there hand-in-hand.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, a shy smile stretching on your face at his wholesome words.

─────── THE BARBECUE HAD been taking place for about thirty minutes now. The minute you arrived, Chris' hand tightened around yours, yet his grin never faltered as he introduced you to all of his mates with the utmost enthusiasm.

"This is reader, we've been together for ... two? Months now."

"Hi, it's nice to meet you." You'd heard about a hundred times over, but you were still grateful for everyone being so accepting and not butt hurt and uptight about the fact that you'd kept your relationship hidden.

"Oh, shit, you were in our shoot!" JJ exclaimed out of shock when he'd finally recognised your face.

"Glad I made such a good impression." You quipped sarcastically, making Simon laugh beside him.

"Wait, aren't you like ... 21?"

You pursed your lips taking an awkward sip from your drink and nodding. His eyes widened and he laughed slightly. Though he probably didn't mean anything by it, his reaction sent a pang to your chest, feeling a slight gaze of judgement.

"21?!" Arthur Frederick exclaimed, jaw hanging low. "Fucking hell, Chris!"

"Oh, shut up, mate, it's not that deep." Chris scoffed, thumb rubbing back and forth over your hip.

"Finally someone my age! All these gimps are a different generation." Alfie chimed in, making you feel a little lighter and better about having most of the eyes on you.

"It would make more sense for you two to date." The other Arthur said in a complaining tone, and though you knew it was all part of his jokey attitude, it still made you feel a little self conscious.

Was it really that deep that you were 7 years younger? It's not like it was illegal, or even controversially that young.

"Wow, Josh is a whole decade older than you." Ethan commented, "So you're ..."

"2003." You confirmed, nodding, "Makes it sound a bit worse when you put it like that." You laugh off the awkwardness, and it seemed to work as a handful of others joined in laughter at your joke.

"Well, you've been more fun in half an hour than Chris has been in his entire life, so you can stay, pal." Chip clapped you on the shoulder.

“Smells better than him too.” Ginge added.

"Yep, cheers mate." Chris muttered and you chuckled, feeling more comfortable and lightweight as people were beginning to forget about your age and focus more on the fact that you had a genuine, nice presence about you and obviously made Chris look like the happiest man on the Earth.

Seriously, he hadn't cracked a mean joke at anyone this evening (or, less jokes than he usually did) and every time he looked over at you to make sure that you're alright, his smile only broadened upon seeing you get along with the girls, causing his friends to tease him and take the mick slightly.

"So, did the age not bother you?" Arthur asked, a sense of genuine interest in his tone.

"It would bother me, personally." Danny shared his thoughts.

"Good thing no one asked you, then." George snorted, causing everyone to chuckle.

"No, but, like, bro, c'mon. It's a bit odd." JJ agreed with Danny

"J, what's the age gap between your parents?" Tobi pointed out.

"Yeah, most parents have a 5 year age gap." Josh added.

"No, yeah, but they're parents."

"So if Chris and reader were to have kids it would make it better?" Simon questioned, making JJ rub his chin in thought.

"No offence, don't really care what you think, not your relationship." Chris said fleetingly, s if defending you was a second-nature to him. An instinct. "I was ... iffy about it at first, not because it made her less attractive, but because I thought it made me seem weird. But, it doesn't matter to us now, it's not like it's a significant gap. It's a few years, not a whole generation."

"Yes, Chris it is." Arthur laughed, "Gen Z starts at '97."

"Oh my God! Nonce, nonce!" George joked, pointing at Chris.

"Yeah, keep it coming." Your boyfriend sighed, taking a sip of beer.

"It's a good thing that she's shorter than you too, otherwise there'd be two red flags in your relationship."

The boys broke out into laughter.

"No, but she seems lovely. Really sweet girl." Arthur said once they'd calmed down.

"Nah, you're happy and that's what matters." Will agreed, "She’s a nice lass."

Chris thanked them for their compliments and turned his head to spot you but couldn't see you in the garden anywhere. He frowned slightly, really craning his neck in every direction to hopefully catch a glimpse of you. But all he saw was Liv approaching.

"Which one of you has said something?" She asked, taking her spot naturally beside Isaac.

"What do you mean?"

"About reader, she's really upset. Went inside."

Chris sighed, putting his Corona down and going off to find you.

You were stood in the bathroom, thumb in your mouth as yo anxiously chewed on your nails, little tears slithering down your cheeks.

Unfortunately, you hadn't caught the end of the conversation between the boys, only hearing the slight dig about your age being a 'red flag'. While the girls seemed to be very accepting and warming towards you, questioning you on everything but your age, the boys took the opposite approach.

You didn't know what was more awkward: The boys asking you about it to your face or them talking about it behind your back and making sly comments.

Maybe you were overreacting, but you really didn't like how they were all acting like yours and Chris' age gap was the biggest scandal or controversy to happen on the UK youtube scene.

"Reader? You up here, love?" You heard Chris' voice call out from the other side of the door.

His knuckles tapped on the wood.

"One second." You croaked out, sniffling and using tissue to blot under your eyes.

"Can you let me in?"

You cleared your throat and undid the lock, allowing him to slip inside and close the door behind him.

He sighed when he saw you trying to fix your makeup and pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you clutched onto his waist, burying your face in his neck.

Chris pressed light kisses to your temple and forehead, whispering soft phrases into your ear in hopes of soothing your emotions.

"What did you hear? Because I guarantee it was a misunderstanding."

"I heard George say something about me being a red flag or something along those lines." You whispered.

"No, that's not what happened." Chris shook his head, pulling away slightly (but still keeping his arms around you) so he could look down at you. "He made a joke about our age gap being a red flag, not about you personally."

"Yeah, but so what if I'm seven years younger than you?" You huffed, feeling more agitation now, "Like, what is the big fucking deal? They act like I'm a twelve year old or some shit."

"None of them have said anything rude, I promise you. They've all been jokes or little comments—“

"Sorry, Chris, I understand that's their humour, but I don't find jokes funny when they're at the expense of someone else's feelings and emotions." You scoffed shaking your head.

"The only person out there who made a genuine, disrespectful comment was JJ and Danny, and I told them that it wasn't any of their business. Reader, this relationship," Chris gestured between the two of you, "Is none of anyone's business except ours. What happens here, the circumstances here, the situations we get ourselves in, are no one else's concern except for ours. Okay? I don't care what they think, and you shouldn't either, because it's me and you, babe. Okay?"

You nodded, still resting your cheek on his chest just for the comfort of being close to him.

"I love you." He dropped.

You blinked, staring up at him, "You do?"

"Yeah. If you think I'm moving too fast and you want me to back off, I will, but ... I need you to know that I love you, and their opinions and comments won't change that."

"I love you too." You smiled, kissing him chastely.

"Is that all? I just dropped 'I love you' and all I get is a little peck?" Chris feigned offence.

"What else do you want?" You smirked playfully.

He rolled his eyes at your attitude and leant forwards, kissing you deeply.

His tongue slid against yours and his hands cupped the back of your head.

"Don't you think we should go back out?" You asked, voice hoarse.

"Uhm, let me think about that one ... No." Chris said, "I'd much prefer my head between your legs right now."

Your eyes widened, "Chris!"

"What? I've gotta make up for my friends shitty comments, don't I?" He laid kisses down your neck, hands moving to the hem of your skirt, slowly pushing it up inch by inch.

A cheeky grin spread across his face as he gently lowered himself to his knees, glancing up at you as you peered down at him — he wholeheartedly believed that when you gave him that look, he immediately got hard.