#leo messi x you

[multifandomfanfic]

you should totally do a messi x daughter fanfic. One where she is in a relationship with Kylian Mbappe’s brother, Ethan Mbappe.

I love you writing btw. it’s awesome. Keep the good work!

A/N: So about this request--seeing as Ethan Mbappe is underage, I'm uncomfortable writing something for him. I'll do the fic with Kylian Mbappe instead, but I'm sorry, I won't do Ethan seeing as he's 16 and barely even legal in France.

I also combined it with this request: "will u make a fan fiction about Messi x daughter in which the daughter is an actress and they all go to a, premiere or an award show where she is nominated (and she wins), with her. Also an after party part will be good!"

Face claim for most photos: Haley Lu Richardson

Messi x daughter!actress!reader (also Mbappe x reader)

yourusername

liked by leomessi, sydney_sweeney, dannyramirez, and 3,328,498 others

yourusername: tiempo familiar, pt. 1

monicabarbaro: this movie better be good if you dyed your hair for it 😭

yourusername: i promise its worth the wait!! chrishemsworth: I can attest to that!

leomessi: Te ves hermosa, cariño! (translated from Spanish: "You look beautiful, sweetie!")

comment liked by antonelaroccuzzo and yourusername yourusername: gracias papa🥺 antonelaroccuzzo: 💕💕💕

neymarjr: obrigado por vir ao jogo, y/n, foi bom ver você de novo! (translated from Portuguese: "thanks for coming to the match, y/n, it was good to see you again!")

yourusername: you too! ❤️ user307: 👀

fanaccount1: how is she so pretty as a blonde and brunette???? she's so lucky

user203: she's literally anto roccuzzo's daughter be fr

user892: my favorite nepo baby

yourusername added to their story

celebritygossip

liked by pierregasly, ethanmbappe, and 837,238 others

celebritygossip: The first photo was posted on @yourusername;s story yesterday morning. The second one was posted by @k.mbappe just hours afterwards. Coincidence? We think not.

user487: i'm not sold at all but i'm glad it's not (possibly) neymar. i was not for the whole age-gap, dad's best friend thing.

fanaccount2: Totally agree. user008: me three, but we really shouldn't have any opinions on who y/n dates. we don't know her. fanaccount3: no one asked you to act all high and mighty.

user918: Y/N could have any man in the world and she choses someone who looks like a teenage mutant ninja turtle.

fanaccount4: She said we'll find out eventually, maybe this is it??

user773: i don't think she meant some random gossip account 'connecting the dots.' we still have to wait

yourusername

liked by leomessi, k.mbappe, glenpowell, and 2,385,019 others

yourusername: "Figures and Strangers" has officially ended production. I would like to thank everyone who I've worked with on this project; you have made every moment of this past year special, and I will remember our time together for the rest of my life.

"Figures and Strangers" is about family, love, and perseverance in the midst of hard times. While I may not have had hard times, the other themes of this movie pertained to my life when I auditioned:

Without my family's unwavering support and direction, I would not be where I am today; seriously, without my father, I wouldn't have been tipped off about Spielberg shooting his first film in Paris, and I would not be typing this today.

A year ago, I had gone on one date with the man I now call my love. Since that day, he has been with me through thick and thin: from nights spent crying over hard-to-memorize lines, to entire weeks when I was hardly home. He saw me through my highs in lows, through enjoying life then doubting every choice I've ever made. Honestly, I believe he's more love and understanding than man. I would have never known the man my father introduced me to would be such a blessing, but I am so glad to call him mine.

And, finally, perseverance: when I heard about this movie, I was still struggling with the notion that all I would ever be was my dad's child. I love my dad with all my heart and all my soul, but seeing myself called "Lionel Messi's daughter" instead of "Y/N Messi" in headlines about my own accomplishments damaged my self-esteem (not to mention all the "nepo baby" comments--yes, I read all of those). Yet, all of this motivated me to work even harder and persevere, as my character in "Figures and Strangers" does. I am glad to say that I am happy with where I stand right now, and I have made myself proud.

Anyways, to wrap this up, I'll quote the ever so wise Winnie the Pooh by saying how lucky I am having something that makes saying goodbye so hard. I am eternally grateful for everything that has happened in the past year because of "Figures and Strangers," and how it has transformed me as a person.

Thank you all again, and I'll see you in the movies.

~ Y/N Messi

leomessi: También nos has hecho sentir orgullosas, Y/N. (translated from Spanish: "You have also made us proud, Y/N.")

yourusername: muchas gracias, papá. te amo más de lo que sabes. ("thank you very much, dad. i love you more than you know.") comment liked by leomessi and antonellaroccuzzo

zoeisabellakravitz: Best Actress nom when

evanpetes: can't wait to see it!

psg: All of us are so happy for you!

comment liked by yourusername, k.mbappe, neymarjr, and leomessi

masonmount: seriously, y/n, congrats on everything. you deserve all the awards.

yourusername: ❤️❤️❤️ fanaccount5: guys???

k.mbappe

liked by celebritygossip, yourusername, chloegmoretz, and 3,389,291 others

k.mbappe: 🖤🤍

tagged: yourusername

chrishemsworth: Had a fun premiere with you both! Here's to more success yet to come!

comment liked by anyataylorjoy, jayrellis, and k.mbappe yourusername: you too!!

antonelaroccuzzo: You look stunning, sweetie 💕

yourusername: thank you mom 🥺🥺

fanaccount6: WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH

user940: how did we NOT see this coming it makes so much sense yourusername: i told you you'd find out eventually 😉

fanaccount7: they're so perfect omg????

user038: my wife and husband

leomessi

liked by yourusername, cmpulisic, leonardodicaprio, and 7,289,064 others

leomessi: (translated from Spanish) I couldn't be more proud of my daughter tonight. I remember the little plays you used to put on with your cousins and brothers, and today I watched you walk across the Oscars' stage to accept the Best Actress award. All of your hard work and dedication has paid off, and you've truly made a name for yourself. Congratulations on everything you've done and will accomplish in the future. I love you very much.

tagged: yourusername

yourusername: i'm going to cry dad! i love you too!

antonelaroccuzzo: We're both thrilled for you, Y/N. You've exceeded our expectations and turned into an incredible young woman.

yourusername: thanks mom!

k.mbappe: proud to call you mine💕

comment liked by yourusername leomessi: Take care of her!

yourusername

liked by k.mbappe, keleighteller, antonelaroccuzzo, and 3,510,389 others

yourusername: can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you

tagged: k.mbappe

k.mbappe: mon amour ❤️

leomessi: The best daughter and son-in-law a man could ask for.

comments on this post have been limited

[hyperfixationrn]

ynmessi

Liked by pedri and 784,625 others

ynmessi forced cousin bonding or whatever (i love you davi) 🇧🇷🐢

neymarjr mariposita quien es el chico? es esa pedri?

See translation: little butterfly who is the boy? is that pedri?

neymarjr no hagas de mi hijo un fan de españa

See translation: don’t make my son a spain fan

ynmessi TIO SHHHHHH

See translation: UNCLE SHHHHHH

ynmessi VISCA BARCA ❤️💙💛

neymarjr 🤔

username not ney dragging yn rn

username PEDRI? AND YN MESSI? HE IS HIM.

leomessi Por que esta allí, Yn?

See translation: Why is he there?

ynmessi cuidado davi. claro que el esta conmigo. 😀

See translation: i’m watching davi. of course he’s with me.

leomessi 🙄 Pedri, no davi.

username LMAOOOOOOO

pedri ❤️

username BOLD

username yeah run

View all 348,997 comments

viscabarca9

ynmessi

Liked by leomessi and 474,896 others

ynmessi barca siempre 😌

See translation: barca always

username yn really went from wearing her dad’s barca jersey, to ney’s bc she was truly his biggest fan, to pedri’s… 😭😭😭

username and we love her for it

username no bc the interviews of messi laughing because she would just run around in ney’s jersey instead of his 😩😩 man was pressed

username i just KNOW neymar clowned him for that

pedri que lindo ❤️

See translation: how pretty

ynmessi te amo

See translation: i love you

username precious!!!

antonelaroccuzzo Mi hijita 🥰🥰🥰

See translation: My little girl

ynmessi ❤️❤️❤️

neymarjr pequeña yn 🫶🏽

ynmessi ❤️

username i want to be her so badly

View all 383,899 comments

barcafan11

Liked by username and 22,831 others

barcafan11 yn when she only wore her dad’s jersey, then ney’s, and now pedri’s 🫠

username she’s all grown up :)

username i simply know messi cannot stand the trio that yn, gavi, and pedri must be

username she was so tiny omg

username that video where leo’s chasing after her but she’ll only walk out with ney HAHAHA

username she’s just like me fr

ynmessi i’m in my pedri era 😎

username your lover era

View all 3,856 comments

[seedlessmuffins]

footballers as flowers i see on my nature walks pt. 18!

happy birthday to the lovely @cant-get-no-worse, ciene im sorry this is late for you but i hope i did all your favs justice and that you had an amazing bday, you deserve the world! 🫶

[yourstory-teller]

clingy bono fluff is a must

Hey bb, thank u for requesting, this was really fun to write. Hope you like it xx

Warnings: None, this is very sweet and cheesy and I love this man so much, I can not.

I wrote this in the first hours of the day and English is not my first language, so pls forgive me if there are any errors ♡

In your arms

"Babe, please." You made yet another measly attempt to move, only to find out for, at least, the hundredth time, that there was no way you could get out of there. You heard a mumbling rumble coming from behind you, muffled, probably by the pillow case.

The arm around your middle made no move to let you go, instead you felt it pulling you impossibly closer, one long, heavy leg not so gently thrown over your hip.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips and you considered just succumbing to the circumstances and letting yourself go back to sleep for as long as you were allowed to. Unfortunately for you, and presumably for the person currently wrapped around your body as well, you had some sense of responsibility.

So, after a few seconds of arduous internal debate, you tried to tilt your head back as far as you could, eyes only catching a big mess of thick black locks. "Yassine, my love, I really need to get up."

"No." He said, simply, now moving to bury his face in your hair. "You know I'd love to be in bed with you all day long, but I got things to do." You sighed, finally finding space between your boyfriend's strong arms, to turn over until you were lying face to face.

The closeness was such that you could feel his warm breath mingling with your own. It felt like getting up was becoming a progressively more difficult of a challenge.

"I'm sure they can wait a bit" He lifted one of his huge, long-fingered hands to tenderly caress your cheek, eventually moving down a bit to slide his thumb over your lower lip. "Come on, baby, stay here with me a little longer, huh?"

Now, how could you not stay? Just for a little longer. It wouldn't be just a little, of course, but he knew, and you couldn't deny that, not so deep inside, you really couldn't care any less. You loved him, and it was really a gift how absolutely adored he could make you feel, at every moment of every day. 

Yassine had always been rather sly towards you, even when you were just friends, always attached to the hip, and it only intensified when the two of you started your romantic relationship. His love language was definitely physical touch, and you enjoyed every part of it.

"It's been a hell of a day, princess, I really need your cuddles." Or "It's so cold, the covers are just not doing it" or even "It just doesn't feel quite right when I'm not holding you."

Sometimes, when he had a particularly tough season with training and had to be away for a rather long time, you almost felt like an actual part of you had gone missing.

So, no matter how late it got, or how tired you were, you always made an effort to stay awake until he arrived, and when he finally did, the big, bright smile, accompanied by that little dimple on his left cheek, made it all so much more than worth it. You'd open your arms to receive him in your embrace, head on your chest or in the crook of your neck as you gently ran your fingers through his hair. As a response, he would always snuggle up to you and whisper little pledges of love until the two of you were deeply out of it.

He was especially clingy during free days. Most of the time was spent by the two of you with cuddling on the couch while watching some new movie you found on the catalog, or going out with your friends. Eventually, though, you did have some work to do. After all, it was very rare for you two to be able to take a recess at the same time.

You would be sitting at the large table placed in the living room, notebook open in front of you, a few sheets strewn across the surface, along with an abnormally large cup of coffee, completely focused on whatever you were working on at that moment, when he would appear.

First, he would be walking back and forth inside the house, sometimes going into the kitchen to get a glass of water, or sitting on the sofa to go through all the channels for a few minutes, not really watching anything.

Then he would start making little comments, clearly not wanting to disturb you, but still needing to know that you at least had noticed him. Maybe something about the weather, or how the team seems to be doing worse and worse with each practice. Usually you would respond with a few short comments on the topic, just enough to let him know that you heard.

Not long after, the discreet but always very fluttering compliments would come.

It could range from talking about his admiration for your vigor with your work, to how you look even more beautiful when you're focused. You would then look at him and be greeted with, you could swear, the biggest, most cruelly irresistible puppy eyes in the entire universe.

"You haven't kissed me today" He said, a rather childish pout plastered to his lips.

You giggled under your breath, but got up anyway, and walked over to the too big of a baby that your boyfriend was, intending to return to your previous task soon as possible. You then rested your hands on his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles there flex under your touch, and leaned in slightly to bring your mouth to his in a chaste kiss.

By the time your lips met, however, Yassine was grabbing your hips and pressing you so hard against him, you could feel his heart beating fast against your own. Needless to say, you were instantly smitten, melting like butter in his arms, the writings saved to the computer screen, long forgotten.

After that, you would end up spending what was left of the day doing little activities together, just because you couldn't stand the feeling of being so unproductive.

Cooking was usually the solution. Together in the relatively spacious kitchen, looking for some quick and easy dessert recipe, which somehow always resulted in a huge unexplained mess. You put whatever calorie bomb you'd made this time in the oven, or in the fridge, and while you waited, yassine would pull you close, once again, hugging you from behind, his chin resting on top of your head.

And for the next few minutes, the two of you would just stand there, holding each other, slightly rocking from side to side, talking and laughing like two idiots in love. Because that's exactly what you were.

[it-explains-why-youre-special]

We all want to die like movie stars, you said.

-

Extended image & WIP photos under the cut !

Reference Shot:

+ The drafts & reference I used for the background & positioning! Shoutout Medibang ✌️

[blueballsracing]

the multiverse of tiktok holy cow

[cruwuisal]

"You appear just like a dream to me" - neymessi

[pucksandpower]

Welcome to Miami

Lando Norris x Messi!Reader

Summary: a crazy weekend in Miami leaves Lando with his first Formula 1 win, one very pissed off football legend, and a baby-shaped surprise set to arrive in just about nine months

Warnings: 18+ content and unplanned pregnancy

Note: based on a request by @glitterquadricorn that I may have ended up going a little overboard with

You wake up with a pounding headache, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming through the hotel room window. As you blink your eyes into focus, you realize you’re not in your own bed. The sheets are unfamiliar, the decor is generic and impersonal.

Panic starts to set in as you try to reconstruct the previous night’s events.

The space next to you is still warm, indented from where someone else was recently lying. You glance down at your lack of clothes and tousled hair. Yep, definitely had a one-night stand.

Wracking your brain, you vaguely recall meeting a charming stranger at the club, letting him buy you drinks until everything became a blur of flirtatious banter and wandering hands.

Your phone is on the nightstand and you grab it, hoping for some clues. A new contact catches your eye: “Lando 🍆”. You snort at the stupid name and obvious (if cringey) innuendo. At least he has a sense of humor.

You wonder what kind of guy calls himself Lando these days.

As you get dressed and leave the hotel, already trying to put the awkward walk of shame behind you, fragments of the night come back in flashes. Lando’s warm blue-green eyes crinkling at the corners when he laughed. His skilled hands roaming over your body. The way he whispered filthy praises in your ear between searing kisses.

You shiver, feeling an unexpected pang of disappointment that you’ll never see him again. But a one-night stand is just that — one night. No need to dwell on the best sex you’ve had in … well, maybe ever.

When you arrive home in the early afternoon, your dad greets you at the door with a knowing smirk.

“Have a good night, mija?” Leo teases, taking in your mussed appearance.

You roll your eyes, not wanting to give him any details. “It was fine.”

He chuckles. “If you say so. I’m just glad you’re home safe.”

Over the next few weeks, you put Lando out of your mind completely. Your life goes on as normal — training with the University of Miami’s football team, doing promotional appearances, and spending time with family and friends.

But then one morning about a month later, you wake up feeling nauseous. You brush it off as a stomach bug at first.

When the queasiness persists for several days along with strange cravings and bouts of fatigue, a nagging suspicion forms in your mind. You dig through your bathroom cabinets until you find an old pregnancy test leftover from a scare last year.

Your hands are shaking as you wait for the result. This can’t be happening. You were so careful with Lando, you’re almost certain … but maybe not careful enough.

The little plastic wand displays two solid pink lines. Positive.

“Oh shit,” you whisper, feeling like the ground has dropped out from underneath you.

How could you have been so stupid? Getting knocked up from a drunken one-night stand with a guy you can’t even remember properly. What are you going to do? How will you tell your parents? What about your athletic career?

A million thoughts race through your panic-stricken mind as you try to process this massive, life-altering situation. You want to call your best friend and cry, but you’re almost too overwhelmed to formulate words.

Part of you wants to be furious at Lando, that reckless idiot who came inside you so carelessly. But you know you’re just as much to blame. You obviously consented, you just can’t recollect the exact circumstances.

God, why did you let yourself get so sloppy drunk and make such terrible decisions?

You take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm yourself. Okay, first things first — you need to confirm this with a visit to the doctor. And if it’s still positive, you’ll have to figure out your next steps. Tell your family, decide whether to keep the baby or not. That’s still your choice, at least.

Your mind keeps drifting back to Lando, wishing you knew more about him than just a stupid contact name. Was that even his real name? What did he do for a living? Where was he from? Was he ready for the responsibility of being a father? Not that it mattered — you barely knew him. For all you knew, he could be married or secretly twisted.

No, you reason with yourself, trying to shut down that line of thinking, he seemed like a good guy. At least in the moment. Even through your tequila-soaked haze, you got a feeling of genuine warmth and kindness from him. Maybe you’re both just a couple of random people who made a reckless mistake after having too much fun together.

You take another breath and stand up, your mind made up. First, you’ll go to the doctor and get an official test. Then you’ll deal with everything else from there. There’s no use panicking until you confirm this is actually happening.

But deep down, you know this cheap little test is accurate. You’re pregnant with a virtual stranger’s baby. And in that moment, feeling so lost and overwhelmed and terrified, you can’t help but wonder — who the hell is Lando?

***

You sit on the couch, hands trembling as you clutch the results of your blood test. Tears stream down your face as the weight of the situation crushes down on you.

How could you have been so reckless? So stupid? You’re supposed to be a role model, setting an example for young girls. And now you’re pregnant from a one-night stand with some random guy.

The shame and fear swirl inside you until you can barely breathe. You need to tell your dad. He’ll be so disappointed in you. But you can’t keep this a secret, it will only get harder as your belly grows.

You hear the front door open and your dad’s familiar footsteps. Bracing yourself, you call out in a shaky voice, “Papa? Can you come here please?”

Leo wanders into the living room, his expression turning to immediate concern when he sees your tear-stained face. “Mija, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, bottom lip trembling as you try to find the words. “I … I’m pregnant,” you finally choke out.

His eyes go wide with shock. “Pregnant? How …” Realization dawns on his face. “Was this from that night you came home ...” He doesn’t need to finish the question.

You nod miserably, a fresh wave of tears falling. “I’m so sorry, Papa. I was drunk and stupid and … and I don’t even know who the father is, not really.” The words tumble out in a rush. “Just some guy I met at a club, his name was Lando or something. I barely remember anything!”

To your surprise, your dad’s expression softens into something like sympathy instead of the anger or disappointment you expected. He moves to sit beside you, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders.

“Shh, it’s alright mija. I’m not happy about this situation, but I’m not angry at you either. We all make mistakes.” He pauses, seeming to think something over. “This Lando guy … was it around the time of the Miami Grand Prix in early May?”

You nod again, not understanding the connection. “I think so, why?”

A look of recognition crosses your dad’s face. “There’s a young driver in Formula 1. I’m a bit of a fan actually, been following his career when I have the chance. It’s not the most common name.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the pieces fall into place. The drunk recollections of warm color-changing eyes and a charming smile. The weird name followed by that stupid eggplant emoji in your contacts.

It all fits.

“Oh my god … you think the father is Lando Norris? Like, the Formula 1 driver?” Part of you wants to dismiss the idea as ridiculous, but another part feels an undeniable certainty that your dad has hit the nail on the head.

Leo nods firmly. “I think it’s highly likely. He was in Miami for the race that weekend. Reckless kid probably went out partying after finally managing to win.”

There’s a hard edge to your dad’s voice at that last part. You can’t really blame his protectiveness — finding out your daughter is pregnant from a one-night stand, especially with a relative celebrity, can’t be easy for any father.

“What am I going to do?” You whisper, scared all over again at the massive upheaval your life is facing.

But your dad just pulls you into a tighter hug, his touch reassuring and strong. “We’ll figure it out together, mija. Don’t worry. If this Lando character is the father, he’ll damn well take responsibility. I’ll make sure of it.”

You let out a shaky breath, letting your dad’s words soothe you. He’s right — you’re not in this alone. And if Lando Norris really is the father, well, he signed up for this whether he knew it or not.

“Thank you, Papa. I was so scared to tell you, but I shouldn’t have been. I’m lucky to have you.” You hug him fiercely, fresh tears spilling but this time born of reassurance instead of fear.

Leo just holds you close, his embrace full of fatherly love and protection. “Always, mija. I’ve got your back, no matter what. We’ll get through this together.”

After a few moments, he pulls back, his expression turning more stern. “And as for this Lando kid, he better step up and be a man about this situation. Because if he tries to abandon you or this baby ...” He lets the implied threat hang in the air.

You can’t help but give a watery laugh. “I have a feeling he won’t want to mess with you. Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

Your dad allows a small smile at that. “Smart boy. Now, do you have a way to contact him? I’m sure someone can get us his information if not.”

You think for a moment, then remember — your phone contacts. You grab your cell and pull up the fateful entry.

“Here, just this number with the stupid eggplant emoji.” Your cheeks flush a little as you say it.

Leo arches an eyebrow at that but doesn’t comment. Instead, he takes out his own phone and dials the number, his expression hardening with determination.

“Right, listen up, Lando Norris ...” he begins, leaving no room for argument.

You take a steadying breath as your dad starts laying down the law to the man who knocked up his precious daughter. For the first time since staring at those two pink lines, you feel a tiny kernel of hope taking root.

No matter what happens, you’re not alone in this. Your dad has your back, and Lando — well, Lando better prepare himself. Because when Leo Messi demands you take responsibility for your actions, you don’t dare say no.

***

Lando jolts awake to the harsh buzz of his phone vibrating against the nightstand. He blinks blearily at the harsh red numbers of the alarm clock — 2:51 am. Who the hell is calling at this ungodly hour?

He fumbles for the phone, squinting at the unknown number with a +1 country code. Probably a spam call from across the pond. He’s tempted to just silence it, but something makes him swipe to answer with a groggy “Hello?”

“Lando Norris?” The deep voice on the other end is vaguely familiar, but Lando can’t quite place it in his sleep-addled state.

“Yeah, this is him. Who’s this?” He tries and fails to smoother a huge yawn.

“This is Lionel Messi.”

Lando’s eyes shoot wide open, any lingering drowsiness evaporating like he’s been doused with ice water. Leo freaking Messi is on the phone with him? His brain scrambles to comprehend what’s happening.

“I … uh … Mr. Messi, sir. This is … I mean … wow. What an honor!” He cringes at his own stammering, feeling very much like a star-struck fanboy rather than a fellow professional athlete.

Messi’s voice remains calm but firm. “I’ll get right to the point. Do you remember a young woman you slept with recently? The night of the Miami Grand Prix a few months ago?”

Lando feels his stomach drop out. Suddenly this phone call is taking on a very different context than just a casual chat with a sports legend. He racks his brain, trying to recall the handful of women he’d casually hooked up with around that time.

There was that petite blonde from the club after sprint qualifying … no, she was just a make-out in the back alley behind the valet. The pair of Brazilian bombshell twins he’d brought back to his hotel room on Saturday … no, they made him get tested after that escapade just to be safe.

Then it clicks into place — the gorgeous young woman with a killer smile that he’d met at the LIV Nightclub afterparty. They had danced and drank together all night until everything descended into a sweaty, semi-public grope fest in one of the VIP booths before he convinced her to come back to his suite.

He remembers her gasping and whimpering his name as he pounded into her from behind. Remembers the way her nails raked down his back when he made her come apart with his tongue. Remembers being too drunk and worked up to put on a condom before sinking back into her tight, wet heat and ...

Oh shit.

“I … yes, sir. I think I know who you’re referring to,” Lando forces out, his mouth incredibly dry.

“Good. Then you’ll remember getting my daughter pregnant that night as well.”

Lando actually feels the blood drain from his face, a rushing sound filling his ears. He must have misheard, right? There’s no way Leo freaking Messi just said Lando got his daughter pregnant!

“I … I’m sorry … your what?” He sputters out dumbly.

Messi’s tone takes on a steely edge. “My daughter. The young woman you slept with, she’s my daughter. And now she’s pregnant with your child.”

The room starts to spin. Lando tries to force air into his lungs, feeling like he might actually pass out. “Oh my god, I … I had no idea! We were both so drunk, I never would have … oh fuck, I’m so sorry, sir!”

“Sorry doesn’t really fix this, does it?” Messi’s voice is like sharpened steel. “You got my little girl pregnant from some drunken fling and now she has to deal with all of this.”

“I … yes, you’re right. Completely right.” Lando presses trembling fingers to his throbbing temples. This can’t actually be happening, right? “What … what do you want me to do? I’ll do anything, whatever you need!”

There’s a weighted pause on the line before Messi speaks again, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“First, you’re going to meet with me and my daughter in person so we can discuss this situation. Then you’re going to take responsibility and be a part of this child’s life, understood? Step up and be a man about it.”

“Yes! Yes, absolutely, of course!” Lando is nearly shouting into the phone, desperation and panic clawing at his throat. “Whatever you want, sir. I’ll be there. Just tell me when and where.”

“Good. I’ll have my people set it up and send the details to your team.” There’s a hint of grudging approval in Messi’s voice now, like he’s satisfied Lando appears to be taking this seriously. “I suggest you get some sleep, you’re going to need it.”

The line goes dead before Lando can respond. He stares dumbly at the silent phone in his hand for several long moments, trying to process everything.

Leo Messi’s daughter.

Pregnant.

With his baby.

Holy shit, what has he done? What is he going to do? How did one reckless, drunken night blow up into such a massive catastrophe?

His head is spinning and he can feel his overtaxed body starting to shut down from the shock and stress of the harrowing phone call. He tries to take a deep breath, pushing away the panic and leaning back against the pillows.

Sleep. Right. He needs sleep if he has any hope of dealing with … with all of this. But how can he possibly rest now?

Lando’s eyes start to drift closed despite his whirling thoughts. His body has other plans, sucking him under into blessed unconsciousness as he slumps fully back onto the mattress.

The last thing he’s dimly aware of is his phone slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor, followed by his own body going entirely limp.

When Lando finally does manage to sleep, it’s to the terrifying vision of Leo Messi’s furious face snarling “you got my daughter pregnant” over and over again behind his closed eyelids.

***

The flight from Nice to Miami feels like it takes an eternity, but also happens in a terrifying blur. Lando can barely remember booking the first available ticket, throwing some clothes into an overnight bag, or making his way to the airport in a daze. He runs on autopilot, his mind spinning in frantic circles.

He got Leo Messi’s daughter pregnant. How is this his life?

A private chauffeur is waiting at the baggage claim when Lando deplanes in Miami, holding up a printed sign with his name. Of course Messi would have people to handle something like this.

Lando swallows hard and approaches the stern-faced driver. “I’m Lando Norris. Uh, Mr. Messi is expecting me?”

The chauffeur gives him an appraising look but doesn’t respond beyond a curt nod. He turns on his heel, expecting Lando to follow.

The drive to the Messis’ palatial Miami mansion is silent and tense. Lando fights the urge to fidget anxiously, his knee bouncing until he forces himself still.

Get it together, man. This is it.

All too soon, they’re pulling through an immaculate gate onto perfectly manicured grounds surrounding the huge home. Lando takes a steadying breath as the driver gets his bag from the trunk.

Then the front door is swinging open and there’s Leo Messi himself, looking as intimidating as Lando has ever seen the football icon. His expression is stony, jaw clenched tight as he measures Lando up.

Before Lando can even open his mouth, Messi beats him to it, tone leaving no room for argument.

“I don’t like you.”

The words are like a kick to the gut. Lando forces himself to hold the steely gaze, giving a small nod.

“I understand, sir. I’ve made a terrible mistake and you have every right to be angry with me. I’ll accept whatever consequences I have to.” His voice is strong, despite the way his heart is jack-hammering in his chest.

Messi holds the intense eye contact a moment more before giving a short nod of what might be begrudging respect. He turns and heads inside, clearly expecting Lando to follow.

The foyer opens into an elegant living room where a familiar woman is sitting on one of the plush couches.

You.

Lando’s breath catches in his throat as memories from that hazy night come rushing back. Your skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat as you moved rhythmically to the music. Your throaty laugh and sparkling eyes as you flirted shamelessly over your fourth … no fifth … mojito. The velvet silk of your hair brushing his face as you ground down against his lap.

He swallows hard, trying not to stare. The situation is awkward enough without dwelling on the admittedly incredible sex that caused this whole mess. Though he can’t deny the sharp spike of pure physical want that hits his gut at the sight of you.

Your eyes are wide and nervous as you take him in. “Um … hi.”

“Hi,” he replies simply, feeling incredibly self-conscious under the weighty stare of your legendary father.

An agonizing beat of silence stretches between the three of you.

“Well?” Leo prompts impatiently, making you both jump. “You got my daughter pregnant. What do you plan to do about it?”

The blunt words make Lando’s face flush hot, but he forces himself to meet your father’s stern gaze head-on.

“Whatever I need to do, sir. I’ll take full responsibility. Financially, emotionally, being there for the child … anything you need from me.” He pauses, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck. “That is … if the mother wants me to be involved as well?”

He looks at you then, trying to convey his sincerity. Despite the casual nature of your hook-up, he meant what he said — he will step up and do the right thing for this kid.

His kid.

You seem to consider his words for a long moment before giving a small nod. “Yes … yes, I’d like you to be involved if you’re willing. This is as much my responsibility as yours. We … we can figure this out. Together?”

The uncertain note in your voice tugs at something in Lando’s chest. For all your father’s bluster, you just sound like a young woman in a scary, overwhelming situation. Just like him.

“Together,” he agrees firmly, returning your nod. “We’ll, ah, we’ll be good co-parents. For the baby.”

The words feel strange leaving his lips, but also fill him with a sense of resolve and determination.

Leo watches the exchange between you both like a hawk, his expression unreadable. When he speaks again, his words are measured but dismissive.

“Get it sorted out then. Find a way to make this work. I don’t care about the details as long as you two take care of my grandchild properly.”

With that, he gives a curt nod and turns to exit the room, leaving you and Lando to your own devices. The sudden lack of his intimidating presence seems to deflate the tension somewhat.

You let out a long, shaky breath, shooting Lando a wry look. “He’s … taking this about as well as could be expected, all things considered.”

Lando can’t help but huff out a surprised laugh at that, some of the nervous knot in his stomach loosening slightly. “Yeah, I’ll say. Your dad is legitimately terrifying, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” you say with a small smile.

An odd sense of camaraderie falls over you both then — two young people bonding over how Lando quite literally knocked you up. It’s almost enough for him to relax a bit.

Then you glance down at your still-flat stomach and all humor drains away. “So … co-parents, huh? You really want to do this?”

Lando doesn’t even have to think about it. “Of course. It’s my kid too, yeah? My responsibility, like I said.” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s not exactly how I pictured becoming a father, but … I’m in this all the way. For the little one’s sake.”

Something in your expression softens at his words and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Thank you, Lando. That … that really means a lot to hear.”

Before he can think better of it, Lando closes the distance between you and pulls you into an impulsive hug. You stiffen for just a moment before relaxing against him.

“Hey, we’re gonna be okay, you and me,” he murmurs as he holds you close. “We’ve got this, baby mama.”

You stiffen again and pull back sharply at the words, a look of mortification on your face. Lando frowns in confusion until a familiar gravelly voice cuts through the room.

“Lando Norris, I swear if you ever call my daughter that again, they’ll never find your body.”

Leo Messi is back, leveling Lando with a look that would liquefy steel. The driver nearly swallows his tongue, flushing scarlet.

“Y-yes, sir! Of course, sir! It, ah, it won’t happen again!” He stammers out, mentally making a note to permanently delete those words from his vocabulary.

Messi just grunts in response, apparently satisfied, before retreating from the room once more.

You’re staring at Lando with wide eyes and badly-suppressed laughter. He groans, dropping his face into his hands.

“Why did I say that? God, I’m an idiot.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, that smile breaking free. “This is just … all a bit surreal, isn’t it?”

Lando peeks through his fingers to meet your gaze, unable to stop the rueful grin that spreads across his own face.

“Just a bit, yeah.” He drops his hands with a defeated chuckle. “But your dad’s right — we’ve got to take this seriously for the little one.”

You nod, smile fading into a look of grim determination. “We do. Which means you can’t call me baby mama if you actually want to stay alive to see your child.”

“Deal,” Lando agrees readily, feeling lighter than he has since your father first called to drop that bomb on him.

Maybe co-parenting won’t be easy, but somehow he gets the sense you two just might be able to figure it out. And with the entire weight of Leo freaking Messi’s protective rage motivating him, Lando is damn sure going to try his best.

***

Ten Months Later

The vibrant Miami sun beams down on you as you carefully lift Maia out of her stroller, cradling the bundle of joy in your arms. Your daughter’s wide, curious eyes dart around, taking in all the sights and sounds of the paddock for the first time.

“There they are! My two favorite girls,” Lando’s voice rings out as he jogs over, already wearing his team gear in preparation for the drivers parade. He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek before turning his attention to Maia. “And how’s my little princess doing today?”

Maia lets out a delighted squeal and you can’t help but smile at the pure adoration on Lando’s face as he gently brushes a finger over her chubby cheek. “She’s been an angel all morning. I think she knows this is a big day for her first race.”

“That’s my girl,” Lando grins. “Going to be a little racer before we know it.”

“Lando! There you are, mate.” The Aussie accent cuts through the paddock as Lando’s teammate bounds over. “I’ve been looking everywhere for … oh wow, is that her?”

Oscar’s eyes go wide as they land on Maia, taking in her tiny features with an almost comical look of awe. “She’s … she’s so small,” he says dumbly.

“What did you expect, she’s a baby,” Lando scoffs with a roll of his eyes, though his tone is good-natured. “Do you want to hold her?”

“Can I?” Oscar asks eagerly, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an overexcited puppy.

You laugh and carefully transfer Maia into Oscar’s waiting arms, guiding his hands to properly support her head. “Just watch the grabby hands. She’s got a pretty strong grip these days.”

Oscar nods rapidly, looking a bit intimidated as he gingerly cradles Maia against his chest. But the instant she lets out a little gurgling coo, his face splits into the biggest, most boyish grin you’ve ever seen.

“Hey there, little Norris,” he murmurs softly, instantly transfixed. “I’m your favorite Uncle Oscar.”

“Oi, who said you get to be the favorite uncle?” Another voice cuts in as Carlos saunters over, immediately zeroing in on the form in Oscar’s arms. “Is that her? Dios mio, she’s gorgeous!”

Without hesitation, Carlos plucks Maia right out of Oscar’s hold, completely ignoring the other driver’s sputtering. “Well hello there, princesa. Don’t worry, your Tío Carlos has got you.”

Maia blinks up at the new face peering down at her, tiny fists waving as if to grab at the Spaniard’s perfectly coiffed hair. Carlos simply grins and nuzzles his nose against her cheek, seemingly not caring one bit about any damage the squirming infant in his arms can do.

“Are you seeing this?” Lando mock-whispers to you, looping an arm around your waist and leaning in conspiratorially. “How are we supposed to get her back now?”

You stifle a giggle behind your hand, watching in amusement as Carlos and Oscar descend into bickering over who Maia’s favorite uncle will be — only to be interrupted as another figure appears beside them.

“What do we have here?” Daniel Ricciardo pipes up with a wide grin, hands shoved casually in his pockets. “Don’t tell me you two are fighting over babysitting duties already?”

“Something like that, mate,” Lando chuckles, reaching out to clap Daniel on the shoulder in greeting. “Up for putting your name in the hat too?”

“You know it!” Daniel agrees easily, quickly sidestepping Carlos to peer down at Maia with a wide smile. “Hey there, little monkey. Look at you all bright-eyed and curious.”

Amazingly, Maia seems entirely unperturbed by all the fussing going on around her. She simply blinks placidly up at each new face, soaking it all in like a tiny sponge. At one point, she even lets out a delighted squeal and flails her arms — prompting a fresh round of cooing from the three drivers clustered around her.

“Aw, I think she likes me best already,” Daniel declares with a wink, gently booping Maia’s button nose and making her giggle.

You shake your head in fond exasperation even as Lando tugs you tighter against his side, completely content to bask in the scene. That is, until Daniel’s next words nearly make you choke.

“So just how old is this little angel?” He asks idly, eyes still trained on Maia’s sweet face. “Four months now?”

“Three months and one week,” Lando answers automatically — only to tense a split second later, mouth falling open in realization. “Oh. Oh.”

The smug grin that slowly spreads across Daniel’s face is borderline devlish as it clicks into place for everyone exactly when Maia would have been … well, conceived. A heavy silence falls over the group, disturbed only by Maia’s happy gurgling as she remains oblivious to the sudden shift.

“Well, well, well,” Daniel drawls, dark eyes dancing with mirth as he bounces Maia playfully in his arms. “I think someone got a little overexcited celebrating his win last year, didn’t he?”

The only response is a strangled squawk from Lando as his face flushes bright red — no doubt remembering exactly how the two of you celebrated his first time on top of the Formula 1 podium. Meanwhile, Carlos and Oscar openly gape at the revelation, eyes nearly bugging out of their skulls.

“Don’t you dare,” Lando manages to choke out, stabbing an accusatory finger in Daniel’s direction. “We are not having this conversation here.”

“Why not?” Daniel shrugs blithely, gently jostling Maia to the crook of his elbow in a way that has her giggling. “It’s a perfectly natural thing, nothing to be ashamed about. That must’ve been one hell of a victory lap!”

The innuendo hangs heavily in the air, made all the more mortifying by the lecherous waggle of Daniel’s eyebrows. Lando, meanwhile, looks like he’s two seconds away from spontaneously combusting on the spot.

“I’m going to kill you,” he mutters through gritted teeth, dragging a hand over his rapidly reddening face.

Before Daniel can respond with another quip, however, you quickly step in — scooping Maia out of his arms with a stern glare. “That’s enough of that, I think.”

Daniel wisely snaps his mouth shut at the warning in your tone, offering a cheeky salute instead. “I’ll lay off … for now.”

With a wink and a last jaunty grin towards a still-sputtering Lando, he bids the group farewell and heads off to prepare for the race. Oscar, seemingly remembering you’re all congregating in a very public place, manages to pick his jaw up off the ground long enough to clear his throat awkwardly.

“Right, well … I need to go, you know, do driver things,” he mumbles before beating a hasty retreat, stumbling over his own feet in his haste.

Carlos, for his part, has the audacity to start outright cackling the second Oscar is out of earshot.

“You never fail to entertain,” he manages between wheezing gasps, wiping away mirthful tears from the corners of his eyes.

Lando flushes even deeper, if possible, and shoots you a helpless look. You simply raise an eyebrow, letting him squirm for a moment before taking pity.

“Alright, that’s enough out of you,” you chide Carlos lightly, shifting Maia higher on your hip. “Unless you want to be the one explaining the birds and the bees to her when the time comes?”

That seems to sober Carlos up somewhat, his laughter trailing off into a few more chuckles as he waves a hand dismissively. “You wound me, amiga. As if I would corrupt the ears of such an innocent little one.”

You give him a pointed look and he holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m done.”

With a roguish wink, Carlos reaches out to gently pinch Maia’s cheek — earning a bright smile from the bubbly infant.

“You’ll learn soon enough that your papá can be un poco loco sometimes, princesa.”

“She really doesn’t need to learn that at all, thanks,” Lando grumbles, shooting his friend an exasperated glare.

You can’t help but shake your head fondly at the pair of them, even as Lando tucks you snugly against his side. For all their bickering, it’s abundantly clear just how enamored all the drivers are with Maia already.

The tender moment is interrupted, however, by a voice calling out for your boyfriend from across the paddock.

“Lando, we need you over in the garage. The parade will be starting any minute now,” a press officer arrives to herd him away.

Lando exhales a put-upon sigh, dropping a kiss to the top of Maia’s head before meeting your gaze apologetically. “Duty calls, I suppose. You’ll be okay here with my littlest fan club?”

You wave him off with a warm smile. “We’ll be fine. Just focus on having a good race, yeah? Maia and I will be cheering you on.”

The brilliant grin Lando flashes you is enough to make your heart flutter. “How could I do anything else with my two favorite cheerleaders?”

With one last lingering kiss, he tears himself away — offering a half-hearted wave to Carlos before disappearing through the paddock. An oddly serene quiet falls in his absence, the crowd breaking up to get settled before the race.

Carlos seems to sense your pensive mood, stepping up beside you to gently bump his shoulder against yours.

“You know, he really has changed since becoming a papá,” the older driver muses, casting a fond look down at Maia. “Far as I can tell, it’s done wonders for him.”

You smile softly, bouncing Maia gently as you watch Lando’s retreating back weave through the controlled chaos of the paddock. “He’s been … amazing. And he loves Maia more than life itself. My father complains that he has run out of things to threaten Lando over, which is the biggest compliment coming from him.”

Your daughter simply blinks at the two of you for a long moment before that sunny smile you’ve grown to adore stretches across her face, little fists waving happily in the air. You can’t help but chuckle at her antics, brushing a knuckle over her soft cheek.

As the bright Miami sun shines down and anticipation slowly builds in the background, you feel a surge of nearly overwhelming contentment. No matter what twists and turns life throws your way from here, you decide, you’ll always be able to find your way back to moments like this.

So much has changed in the course of a year, but you truly wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even if Lando still can’t quite look your father in the eye.

[scuderiahoney]

Color Theory

Oscar Piastri x artist!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Oscar’s an old friend of yours. This time when he comes home to visit, things get messy. Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: alcohol, mild drug use, sexual content 18+ MDNI, overuse of color descriptions

It’s summer in Australia, your favorite time of year despite the overbearing sun and the overwhelming heat. Sweat spikes on your brow, but the sunlight that pours through the windows makes you happy. The door to the back garden is open, the smell of wildflowers blowing in with the breeze. You can hear your roommates chattering in the other room. You hold a paint palette in one hand, a brush in the other. There’s something just slightly off about this piece, some part of the light you’re not capturing quite right. You step back from the painting, trying to get a better view of the whole picture.

Someone calls your name from inside. You ignore them. By the third time you hear your name, you give in, setting the palette and brush down and heading inside. You’re still wearing your apron, covered in paint marks.

Lizzy, one of your roommates, smiles at you. “How’s it going?”

You sigh heavily. “Can’t get the light right.”

She nods in understanding. “We’re ordering pizza. Oscar’s on his way. Thought I’d give you a heads up in case you decide to try painting in your underwear again.”

You laugh. “It was one time,” you say defensively. “It was hot out and I was trying to become-“

“-one with the art, I know, I know,” she teases. “Just giving you a warning!”

You lean on the counter and let out a long breath. “It’s gonna be weird, isn’t it? Him being here?”

Oscar’s an old friend of yours, and your roommates, too. Old, like preteens old. He left for the UK so long ago that you’d probably barely remember what he looked like if it weren’t for video calls and social media and now, his face being plastered everywhere. You’ve kept up, have stayed friends through it all. But it’s the first time you’ll be seeing him in person in over a year, the first time he’s ever going to visit your shared house, the first time since… since he became Oscar Piastri and not just Oscar.

Lizzy shrugs. “Only weird if we make it weird, right?”

She’s right, to a certain extent. Your other roommate, Leo, shows up with Oscar in tow, and you do your best to not be weird about it, and you think it works. He greets you and Lizzy with long hugs. He smells like sea salt and something warm. His body’s much more firm and filled out than he was the last time you saw him, which makes sense, you suppose. He still smiles like golden yellow sunshine, though, crinkled eyes and round cheeks and that near permanent blush on his face.

The pizza arrives shortly after he does, and you all settle into the living room to catch up. Oscar tells stories about racing, about his first year in F1, about his teammate and his competitors. You’ve been keeping up with the races more than you ever did before- Leo always wanted to watch but you hadn’t cared that much before it was Oscar, before the guy in the orange car was the same kid who used to finger paint with you in the backyard, your mother worried about the mess. Now you sit glued to the TV most Sundays.

In turn, you, Lizzy, and Leo update Oscar on what he’s missed. All about your family lives, your jobs, your other friends he’s lost touch with. He listens intently to each story, the way he always has.

“What are you doing for work?” He asks, nudging your knee.

You sigh dejectedly. “Nothing fun.”

He pouts. Leo elbows you and speaks up, though.

“She’s still painting, though,” he says brightly. “You should see the sunroom.”

Oscar’s face lights up. “Is that your studio? You always said you wanted a sunroom.”

He’s always been one of your biggest supporters when it comes to your art. He’s the one who’d join you in the art room at lunchtime in school, eating his lunch at one of the counters while you worked on your latest piece, unable to put the paintbrush down. He’d attended all your art shows, had bought you paints and brushes and sketchbooks for birthdays and Christmases, and had even posed for a portrait you’d been required to paint for class. He’d had a hard time sitting still for that long without falling asleep.

You nod with a smile growing on your face. “Living the dream with that one.”

The night slips away from all of you, caught up in conversations about everything under the sun. You find yourself feeling sad when Oscar goes to leave. He does it with hugs and a promise to be back in a few days. When he leaves through the front door, you feel that emptiness again, that hole that’s never healed quite right after he left.

Lizzy sees it on your face and squeezes your shoulder. “He’ll be back.”

Two days later, you’re deep in painting mode, eyes beginning to ache as you stare at the canvas in front of you, when there’s a noise from the sunroom doorway. You turn and find Oscar standing there, eyes wide, brows raised. He chews on his lip sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he says, quietly. You hold back a laugh. “Leo said to come over and just let myself in, and I heard a noise, and- sorry-“

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, tilting your head and smiling. “Leo should’ve told you, he ran to the store for drinks.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, and his shoulders drop. “Right.”

“You’re welcome to hang out, though,” you say, nodding at the chair off to the side in the sunroom. “Don’t want you getting bored all by yourself.”

He hesitated. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

He never would have questioned it before. He would’ve already been sitting, would’ve already known what you were painting, would’ve helped you get your palette set up. It’s different now. He’s been gone a while.

You jut your chin towards the chair again and wave a paintbrush in that direction. “Please. You’ve never been a bother.”

He was always the only one of your friends that you allowed to watch you paint. He knew when to stay quiet, and when you needed the background noise of his voice, without ever having to ask. He shuffles over to the chair and sits down. Oscar’s gaze dances through the room with wide eyes, and when you turn back to the canvas, you can feel him watching intently.

“What do you think?” You ask, just to break the silence. You gesture at the paintings lined up around the room. “Have my skills improved?”

He lets out a slow breath. “They’re amazing,” he says, and your heart twists in your chest. “I’m so glad you kept up on it. That you didn’t lose your… you know. Passion. Sounds cheesy, but I mean it.”

You nod. Most of your friends and family had spent your teenage years trying to convince you to learn any skill other than art. You’d continued pouring yourself into the paintings. Oscar had been one of your only cheerleaders through it all.

“It’s not easy,” you admit. “Bills and shit, you know? Real adult stuff. But I’ve been trying to get into some galleries recently. I don’t know if it’ll ever be something I can make a living off of, but I’ve gotta try.”

Oscar nods in understanding. “How about when I win my first championship, I’ll make good on my promise?”

You laugh. There’d been a night just before he’d left for the UK where the two of you had stayed up late, out far past curfew at the local park. You’d laid under a tree next to him, giddy on the high of breaking the rules and the late hour. He’d told you all about his big dreams. About F1 and championships and how he was going to make it big. And when you’d asked if he’d remember you, he’d smiled and turned his head towards you, eyes wide in the pale moonlight, nose nearly touching yours.

“I’ll use my money and open a gallery,” he’d promised. “And I’ll fill it with all of your paintings.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “Even the bad ones?”

He’d nodded, so seriously. “Especially the bad ones.”

Now he sits next to you in your makeshift studio, so close to reaching his dreams. You can only hope you’ll get there, too, someday.

There’s a party at your house that night. There’ll be more people there than usual, wanting to talk with Oscar and taking up his time. But for now there’s just you and him in the studio you’ve always wanted, the one you talked about under the tree in the park. You’ll take what you can get.

Oscar finds you later at the party, in the back corner of the backyard. The sun is nearly gone, the last bits of daylight slipping away. When he walks up, you’re leaning back in an outdoor armchair, and you smile hazily up at him and hold out the joint you’d been smoking.

He shakes his head. You pout.

“I get drug tested,” he says, and you suppose that’s understandable. “And I think my trainer would kill me over the lung damage.”

“It’s just once,” you friend says next to you, “can’t do that much damage.”

“Oscar’s a high performance athlete,” you tease.

Someone finishes the infamous Daniel Ricciardo quote for you, complete with the sound effects. You’re not really listening, more focused on how Oscar rolls his eyes as he sits down on the arm of the chair. You tilt your head to look up at him.

The late sun is hitting the bridge of his nose, a bright orange band against his freckled skin. He blinks at you with thick lashes, and you wonder how you’d capture the look on his face with paint- the softness of his cheeks, the care that sits heavy on his browbone, the restlessness in the curve of his mouth. You don’t like to do portraits- Oscar’s one of few people you’ve painted, but it was years ago. He was a skinny kid with a bad haircut. Now his jawline is chiseled and sharp, and his hair falls over his forehead in a soft swoop. He's pretty.

He cocks his head at you. You’ve been staring too long. You force a giggle and nudge his knee. He laughs right back.

You’re not sure how he ends up squished into the chair with you, his arm over your shoulder, his bare thigh pressed to yours. You think maybe it was your doing- you grabbed his arm, pulled him until he sunk in next to you. The sun is gone, now, the evening chill taking over, and it’s nice to have him next to you, keeping you warm. His cheek is pressed to the top of your head.

“You can go, you know,” you say quietly. Most of your friends have abandoned the corner you’re in, moving to the lit back deck, or the firepit area. You and Oscar have stayed put, though.

“D’you want me to go?” He asks.

You shake your head. He laughs. “I just don’t wanna take up all your time,” you say with a shrug.

His fingers play with the ends of your hair. “I’m right where I want to be.”

You curl in closer to him. You’re right where you want to be, too.

Eventually, the two of you rejoin the group. He stays glued to your side most of the night, though. His shoulder presses against yours, and in turn, you lean against him. He grows quieter as the night goes on. That’s when you remember that his time spent with you while you were painting wasn’t just for your benefit. He’d been a quiet kid- popular, but easily exhausted by socializing. He’d liked the solitude and comfort of the art room nearly as much as you had.

In the backyard full of your old friends, he seems content to stay stuck on you. When he shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, you wiggle one of yours in alongside his, hoping you’re not crossing a line. Or maybe, really, you’re hoping it’s a line he wants you to cross. When he knits your fingers together, you sigh happily.

People leave one by one, with hugs for Oscar and promises to watch the next season. He says goodbye to them and then returns quickly to your side. Soon enough, Lizzy shuffles off to bed, and then Leo stretches and does the same, and it’s just you and Oscar. You hide a yawn. You don’t want to go to bed, not yet.

He squeezes your shoulder, his arm around your back, now. He has his cheek pressed against your temple. For a moment, you wonder if you could stay stuck to him long enough to keep him here. If eventually, the two of you would fuse together. That’s probably just your wavering high speaking. He mumbles something into the side of your head. You break from your staring at the coals and make a noise of confusion.

“Missed you,” he says. “Sorry I haven’t…”

This feels like too heavy a conversation to have now, when things have felt so good and warm all night. You know it’s coming at some point, but you’ll avoid it all costs. You turn further into him and wrap an arm around his middle, and let your eyes fall closed.

“I missed you too,” you say, rubbing your thumb against his rib cage through his sweatshirt.

The two of you sit quietly for a few moments. Then, you say, “you know, I still have that portrait I did of you. How many races d’you think you need to win before I can make some money off that?”

He laughs into your hair. His hand has fallen to your side now, and he squeezes- you nearly gasp at the feeling. “I was a scrawny baby in that painting. Nobody wants to buy that.”

You giggle against him. “You were a cute scrawny baby, though.”

It’s not something you would have said all those years ago. You’d have never been caught dead admitting that you thought he was cute. But now… in the safety of the backyard, in the darkness, pressed against his side…

“You’re cuter now, though,” you say.

“Yeah?” He asks.

You nod confidently. He slips his other hand from his pocket. It comes up to hold your jaw, gently. You hold your breath. He tilts your face up towards his.

“You’re prettier than ever,” he says, softly. “And I thought you reached the limit a long time ago.”

His lips are on yours within seconds, then. It’s not the first time he’s kissed you. By now, you know it probably won’t be the last. You let it happen, opening up for him. You slip your tongue past the warmth of his lips. His hand cups the side of your face as that warm feeling melts across your skin, the one that only he brings. You’ve been searching for a replacement since the last time this happened. Nothing comes close.

He uses the arm around you to pull you into his lap. You reach up and thread your fingers into his shirt, something to anchor you in the swirling feeling of him on and around and against you again. His hands fall to your hips, trying to do the same. He kisses like Australian summers, hot and long and sunny and bright orange. His touch leaves sparks behind everywhere he goes.

When you finally break away for air, his hair is a mess, and your lips feel puffy. He grins sheepishly at you. You chew on your lower lip as he brushes a finger over the arch of your cheek.

“Sorry,” he says. Always apologizing. You know he’s not sorry for kissing you. He’s sorry for how this will eventually end.

“Don’t be,” you say, quietly. “Please. Let’s just…”

He nods, then swallows before he says, “okay.”

Then he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your temple. You giggle at the feeling and let your fingertips dance against his face and neck. He muffles another laugh into your skin.

“Missed you,” you say again.

“I missed you too,” he says.

He walks you inside. You think about inviting him to stay the night, but you think that might be a bad idea. Instead, you give him a hug and watch him walk out the front door, into the only black and blue night.

…..

You meet up with him and a few other friends at a bar a couple nights later. You walk over from your house with Lizzy, who either doesn’t notice your nervous energy, or is nice enough to just not mention it. You shouldn’t be nervous. It’s the people you’ve known for years, and it’s just Oscar. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Except for the still fading hickey he left on your neck, covered by strategically placed hair, and the way you feel his lips on your every time you close your eyes. Yeah. There’s that, sure.

The bar is crowded even before all of your friends arrive. Oscar comes in with Leo, having been out all day while you and Lizzy had to work. There are at least five people there who are acting like they haven’t seen Oscar in years, even though they were all at the party a few nights ago. You try your best to hide your jealousy. He has other friends. He probably likes them way more than he likes you, anyways.

He finds you later, standing at the bar, waiting to order a drink. He’s just- there, all of the sudden, warm shoulder pressed to yours, elbows on the countertop. He smiles softly at you when you turn to him, and he leans into you.

“Hi,” he says. “I was looking for you.”

You want to laugh, because surely he wasn’t, but- there’s something so serious in his eyes. You lean into him in response, just to watch him raise his brows and smile wider. There’s a little mole on the swell of his cheek. You want to reach out and touch it. You refrain.

“I’m here,” you finally say, nodding towards your crowd of friends in the corner. “You’ve been a busy man tonight.”

He sighs, heavily, like it’s been difficult for him. It probably has been. He’s a quiet person in general. Not one to really like being the center of attention. You wonder if he’s exhausted as easily by it now as he was before, or if his years of podium celebrations have dulled the sensation a bit. Wonder how much of your Oscar is still left, under the facade.

He chews on his lower lip lightly, and you smile softly. That’s an old habit. That’s one you recognize. You also think of the night by the firepit, how you’d pulled that same lip between your own teeth, and the noise he’d made in response. Your face grows warm.

The bartender finally turns to you. Oscar orders for both of you, because of course he knows what you’re drinking. Then you follow him back to the crowd of your friends. When he grabs your hand to pull you along, you don’t complain. You just squeeze his fingers in response.

You stumble out of the bar with him, hand in hand, hours later. He’s insistent on walking you and Lizzy home, claiming that Leo won’t be enough to keep an eye on the both of you. You’re just happy to have his fingers locked with yours, to have his shoulder brushing against you as you both sway down the sidewalk. It’s comfortably warm outside, and you hum to yourself as you walk, listening to Lizzy and Leo arguing about nothing important.

Your journey home is stopped by Oscar, who stops in his tracks suddenly. You turn back to look at him. He’s staring across the street, where there’s a neon sign lit up in the window, the word Pizza flashing like a beacon. You laugh as he tugs on your hand.

“No, come on, we’re going home,” Lizzy calls out.

“I want pizza,” Oscar says in response, deadpan.

You turn to your roommates and shrug. “He wants pizza.”

Lizzy sighs. “I want to go home.”

“You guys go,” Oscar says with a dismissive wave. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

Less than ten minutes later, your legs are stuck to the vinyl of the pizza parlor booth, knee bumping Oscar’s underneath the table. There’s a pepperoni pizza between the two of you, far too much for you to actually finish.

“Yknow,” he says, waving a piece of pizza around in the air. “Logan dips his pizza in ranch.”

You laugh at the disgusted look on Oscar’s face, at the way he says ranch. You take a sip of the soda he insisted on buying for you, along with the food.

“Bet it’s good,” you admit, shrugging.

Oscar wrinkles his nose. “I’m not a picky eater, but… isn’t pizza good enough on its own?”

You shrug, pretending to think deeply about it. Except that Oscar knows you well enough to know you’re pretending, so he starts laughing. And then you follow suit, doubled over in the booth, grease from the pizza on your fingertips.

As his laughter fades, he presses his knee against yours. It feels deliberate.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he says.

Something twists in your chest. “Missed you, too, Osc.”

Your friendship goes through cycles. When he’s here, it’s almost like nothing has changed. But when he’s gone… the two of you aren’t good at long distance friendship. Or maybe, really, you’re better at it than most. You can go months without talking and pick up like nothing has changed. The tough part comes when he’s here, within reach, and then he leaves. That’s the moment you dread, the part you don’t handle well. It would probably be easier if you stopped kissing him every time he came home. But you look across the table, and his lips are soft and cherry pink and slightly shiny from the pizza, and you know that would be impossible.

“I’ve missed you too,” you say, because you know he needs to hear it even if he already knows it. “I was worried that maybe now that you’re in F1, you’d gotten too important for… us.”

You really mean me, but it feels a bit too much to say out loud. You think he knows, anyways. He reaches a hand across the table, lays it over top of yours. There’s a sad smile on his face.

“I could never,” he says, eyes drilling right into yours. “Promise.”

He walks you home, hand in hand. The front porch light is on, probably Lizzie’s doing. He insists on coming all the way up to the front door, which is sweet and does absolutely awful things to your brain. Because he’s right there, his hand in yours, and you’re fumbling for your house key in your purse, but really you’re thinking about kissing him. When his fingers squeeze yours, you give up on the key and turn to him.

He knows it’s coming, you think. When you cup his face in your hand, he’s already leaning in.

The kiss is softer, messier, than the other night. You’re both still a little tipsy. But it’s less frantic, more comfortable. His other hand falls to your hip, and you lean back against the front door to your house and melt into him. He presses against you, warm, firm muscle against every curve of your body. You don’t want this to end. You want to wrap your arms around his neck and beg him to stay right here, to never leave, to come back to you.

He pulls away first. You try to kiss him again, hands tugging at his hips as he pants through reddened lips.

“You’re drunk,” he mumbles.

You shake your head no. “Not that drunk.”

He leans in close and kisses your cheek. “This is a bad idea.”

That makes your gut twist, makes your chest hurt. You roll your eyes and turn away so he won’t see the way your tears well up. He’s right, you know, but it hurts to hear it.

“I care about you. A lot,” he says, quietly. “And I… if things were different…”

“I know,” you say, because you do know. “Yeah. Bad idea. You should go.”

You leave him standing on the porch and disappear inside the house. When you lay down in bed, you lay awake for hours, swirls of color dancing behind your eyelids.

…..

The next night, you find yourself in your studio, alone. There’s paint on the canvas in front of you- not the good stuff you’d normally use, but the cheap kind you keep on hand for moments like these. Children’s finger paint, runny and thin and non-toxic. It’s running down the palette and dripping down your wrist. You’re in a pair of shorts and a sports bra, and frankly, you’d probably be wearing less if you didn’t know your roommates were due home eventually.

Oscar’s leaving tomorrow morning. At this point, the last you’ll see of him for a while will be when you left him on the porch. You swipe a bit of blue on the canvas. You’re not really painting anything, just trying to put color to the feelings. He’s leaving and he’ll be gone for a while again, and things are weird again, because he kissed you and then you kissed him and now he has to leave. You add a swipe of orange. Papaya, you think, gritting your teeth.

You wonder if things really would’ve been different. If he’d stayed, would you be together? Would he love you the way you want him to? Maybe. Or maybe, no matter the universe, this is how it ends. Maybe there’s always a bigger dream waiting. Maybe you’re not enough for him.

There’s a knock on the door. There’s red paint on your fingertips.

“Busy,” you call out.

Someone sighs. You freeze, hand halfway to the canvas. It doesn’t sound like Lizzy or Leo.

“It’s me,” Oscar says. “Can I come in?”

You huff. “Sure.”

He opens the door and blinks owlishly at the sight of you. You know you probably look crazy. He steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. The silence is deafening. Paint runs off the palette and onto your leg.

“Rough day?” He asks, because he knows.

You laugh bitterly. “You could say that, yeah.”

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize,” you say with a sigh. “I’m not sorry.”

“No?”

“No,” you say. “I’m just… frustrated.”

Frustrated that he gets to live out his dream while you wither away in the hot Australian sun, waiting for your chance. Frustrated that every time he comes back it sends you into a tailspin. Frustrated that he’s leaving again. Frustrated with yourself for kissing him, frustrated that you want to do it again.

He crosses the room and stands next to you. You watch his shaky fingers drag through the mess on the palette. Then he reaches out and drags them through the mess on the canvas. He’s the only one you’d let do that, the only one who’d be brave enough to even try.

You follow suit, dip a finger in the yellow and smear it in a line over the canvas. Oscar’s finger falls to your wrist, scoops the bright blue from your skin and draws a squiggle with it. Cadmium Yellow and Phthalo Blue mix on the canvas and turn into envy green. Oscar dips his hand into the Cobalt Violet and draws a line of it up your arm like a bruise. You laugh and pick up the Ultramarine Blue to match the empty feeling in your chest. It leaves behind rivers on his cheeks when you hold his face in your hand and kiss him. Gently, first, and then with all the color you can muster up. You drop the palette on the floor. It splatters everywhere.

You wonder how you’d go about painting this. Red for the brush of his tongue, the bite of his teeth against your neck. Blue for the way his fingers dig into your hips. Bright pink for the way he moans into your mouth, breathy and broken and oh-so-lovely. The way you drop to your knees is lavender purple. The feeling of him heavy on your tongue, the way he sighs over it, is sunflower yellow.

He gets paint in your hair when he pulls you off of him, and then he sinks to his knees with you. You think about suggesting the couch, but then he’s pulling you all the way down onto the floor and you can’t bring yourself to protest. He cleans the paint from his hands first, always a gentleman. Then his fingers slip into you in a rush of an orangey-yellow feeling, one that turns more and more pink with each press of his hand, each swipe of his thumb against your clit. And when he finally presses his cock into you, it’s the brightest burst of sky blue behind your eyelids.

The colors melt together in your mind. You’d never be able to put this onto a canvas- not the way he breathes so heavy in your ear, the way his fingers drag against your skin, the way you shake as you clench around him and he spills himself inside of you. There’s no way you’d get the color right.

You drag him upstairs afterwards, both of you giggling, and you gasp when you hear the front door open just as you pull him into your bedroom. You head for the attached bathroom first, drag him under the hot spray of water and watch the rainbow mix into brown and wash away down the drain. There’s paint crusted in his hair and yours- you do your best to scrub it out as he leans heavily against you.

You don’t even bother asking if he wants to stay. You just drag him to the bed and toss him a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants you think are Leo’s. He doesn’t question it. You can hear your roommates downstairs talking. You wonder if they know.

Oscar flops onto the bed and reaches for you, tugging at the hem of the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing. You go easily, willingly, eagerly. He wraps you up in his arms and presses his face into your neck.

“I…” he starts, then cuts himself off.

“I know,” you murmur, because you do. “Me too.”

I love you. I wish it was different. I would stay if I could. I’ll miss you.

You wake up in the morning to his lips against your cheek. You drag yourself out of bed to walk him to the door. Your chest aches, and the feeling is a color that you can’t quite put your finger on. Someone’s there to pick him up and take him to the airport, take him far away for a long time.

He kisses you on the forehead and squeezes your shoulder. “I’ll see you soon,” he promises.

You nod and lean up to kiss his cheek. “Yeah. See you soon.”

The ache he leaves behind is a muddy mix of all your favorite colors.

…..

Six months later, you stand in an art gallery full of people. Your paintings hang on the wall nearby. You sip your drink and try to pretend like you’re not waiting and watching their every little reaction. Like you’re not searching for validation in the faces of strangers.

It’s strange to have these paintings hung up for everyone to see. When others look at them, they see pretty landscapes or flowers or a simple still life. They don’t know the meaning of it all.

You step away to grab another drink, something to quell the anxiety rising in your chest. When you come back, the one person who might just see through the facade is standing there, staring, wide eyed.

You swallow tightly and walk up next to him, and let your shoulder bump into his. “You made it.”

Oscar’s eyes stay trained on the paintings, but he leans into you. “Of course I made it.”

You want to tell him that there’s no of course here, that you’d invited him without really expecting him to show up. You keep your mouth shut though. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that he is here.

“What do you think?” You ask, quietly.

The truth is, of all the people in the gallery, his opinion is the one that matters most. You wonder what he sees when he looks at the canvases. Does he see the rays of sunlight on a table for what they truly are- a poor recreation of the sun on his skin? Does he realize that the deep purple of the plums in the still life matches the bruise on your knee that lasted for weeks after that night in the studio, the one you’d press your thumb into when your heart ached? There’s the painting of the orange lilies, color matched to the papaya of his car and race suit. There’s a painting of an empty table setting, a painting of a wide open blue sky over the backyard, and most telling of all, there’s the fabric study of his t-shirt, left behind, draped over the chair in the studio.

The collection is the closest thing to a portrait that you’ve done in years, even though there are no people in it. It’s the closest thing to a self portrait that you’ve ever done. Does he know?

His hand brushes against your elbow. He points at the empty plate on the empty table. “That’s how leaving felt for me, too, you know.”

You could cry, just knowing he understands. Instead, you nod and lean into him. You have people to talk to, art critics to impress and studio owners to try to convince, but the truth is that Oscar will always be the only one who truly understands. You stay with him for just a moment longer.

He stays the whole time, even as people begin to leave and the catering staff starts clearing the tables of food and drinks. You find him after you’ve had the last of your conversations with the important people. He’s standing near the door, looking only slightly out of place, scrolling on his phone.

“You didn’t have to stay the whole time,” you say.

He shrugs and smiles. “I know. I wanted to. There’s a pub down the street, it’s one of my favorites. D’you have time for a drink?”

You nod and pout. “Maybe some food too? M’starving.”

He nods eagerly in agreement. He leads you out of the gallery, holds the door for you and everything. The cool London night air hits you like a blast as you step outside.

Right. You’re not in Australia.

It’s a strange feeling, being here with Oscar- his chosen home for all these years, and yet it’s the first time you’re seeing it with him. He reaches for your hand on the sidewalk and tucks it into his jacket pocket, right alongside his. The pub isn’t far- when you get there, it’s crowded and warm, and he helps you slip your jacket off your shoulders. You smile at him in thanks. When he smiles back, your heart skips a beat.

Ten minutes later, you’re at the bar, beers in front of each of you and a pile of chips between the two of you. Your knee is pressed against his under the countertop. He’s smiling at you, his face lit up golden yellow in the inky gray light of the bar.

“So. What did you really think?” You ask, leaning towards him.

He shakes his head, almost disbelievingly. “The same thing I always think. Your paintings are amazing. It was like I could feel it, you know? Like I’m staring at, I dunno, fucking plums, but feeling something completely different.”

You nod, chest feeling tight. You’re unsure of what to even say. How to explain to him that maybe he’s the only one who feels that, because all the paintings are about him. You think of the portrait you did all those years ago, sitting in your storage, and how it doesn’t even begin to do him justice.

“How much?” He asks, and you blink widely. “I wanna buy them. I want- yeah.” He has this dreamy, hazy look on his face. “Can I buy them? Or even just one-“

“Osc,” you murmur. You reach out and press your hand over his on the countertop. “You don’t have to do that.”

He tilts his head at you, and when he speaks, his voice is almost raw. “I meant what I said, you know. The plate. That’s how I’ve felt. All of the art, it’s… you know.”

“I know,” you say. “But they’re not for sale.”

He deflates. You squeeze his hand and try not to grin too widely. “Right,” he says. “No, of course, sorry. Just thought it might be cool to have some of them in my apartment. We could get prints made, right?”

“Sure. “ you pause and take a deep breath. “The gallery wants to extend them,” you say, and his face lights up again. “The curator spoke to me after the show. She wants to keep them up for a few months.”

“That’s amazing,” he gushes, leaning over and pulling you into a hug so tight it almost topples you off the barstool. “Oh, wow, baby, that’s- and I could go see them, then, even when you’re gone?”

You laugh against his chest. “Yeah. Sure. Or, um…”

He freezes, the hand that had been sweeping up your back stuck in place. He’s holding his breath. You might be too.

“They offered me an artist’s residency,” you blurt out. “They want me to come stay for six months, maybe longer if it goes well. Work out of their studio, show art, teach some classes.”

Oscar’s voice is breathy and high pitched when he says, “here?”

You nod against his chest. “I mean. I’d have to find an apartment. And move all my stuff. And probably break Leo and Lizzy’s hearts.”

“But you’d be here,” he says. “Here, like… it took me twenty minutes to get here tonight. And you’d- this is what you’ve dreamed of, isn’t it?”

You nod, eyes burning with tears. “Would that be okay?”

Oscar laughs- you feel it more than hear it, in the shake of his shoulders and the rumble in his chest. “Yeah. I could live with that, I think.”

He kisses you in the bar, nearly pulls you off the stool with the force of it. You kiss him right back, bracing your hand on the countertop, not a care in the world who sees it. Fireworks light up behind your eyes like splashes of paint.

…..

There’s not a sunroom you can turn into a studio in your new apartment in London. It’s a smaller space, and you end up doing most of your painting at the main studio anyways. But Oscar is there, perched on the edge of a table watching you paint whenever he can. And in the entryway of your new place, you hang up the old portrait of him, right next to a photo of the two of you taken just after you moved to London.

In the photo, his arm is around your shoulders, his lips against your temple. He’d asked you to be his girlfriend officially seconds after it was taken, but there’s a light in both of your eyes that tells you it was inevitable, really. It’s something in the way he’s smiling, in the way his cheeks burn red and his lips are pink and the way you smile at him, too. Like you’ve both known it all along. That the two of you have always been complementary colors, just waiting for the right moment.

a/n: been working on this one for a while finally got it! hope you enjoyed thanks for reading!

Taglist: @4-mula1 @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @ggaslyp1

[k-hotchoisan]

touch and sketch

<jongho x fem!reader>

stuck with an artist’s block, Jongho’s friend introduces you to be his model for his project, which ends up introducing a whole whirlwind of problems, especially when you're modelling nude for him, and he realises how pent up he is on top realising how attracted he is to you.

Genres/warnings: smut, pwp, artist jongho (bc he’s the only who can actually draw 😭), nude modeling for art, perverted! Jongho who’s actually pent up, unprotected sex, sexual tension, kinda fluff?, oral (m receive), tit/nipple licking, masturbation, blowjob, cumming on garment, cream pie, Wooyoung is lowkey a wingman, bathrobe is a paid actor

taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @sanhwajjong @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee

🩷stay perverted: the masterlist

The back of Jongho's wooden pencil taps against his sketch book. The page has faint lines of messy sketches, erased over and over again. Eraser dust is scattered all over his desk, especially around his notebook. Jongho sighs, dropping his pencil, where it rolls into the crook of the notebook before he gets up to grab his third cup of coffee. Artist's block is a common occurrence, but this came at the wrong fucking time. Not when he has deadlines to meet.

He glances over at the large blank canvas propped up on the easel. It doesn’t help that his model bailed last minute because something came up. Now he’s left uninspired, without a model, and a shit ton of piling works to submit before the month ends. Sure, two and a half weeks sounded long, but for an artist? It’s almost a death sentence with the amount of work sketches he needs to come up with, let alone the large glaring canvas serving a reminder that his final piece is due altogether.

Knocking from the studio door echoes in the room, snapping Jongho out of his thoughts and worries, at least for the time being. There is a pause before the door pushes open, Wooyoung’s head peeping from the door.

“Hyung”, Jongho greets, settling his mug onto the table, rubbing his hands on the fabric of his trousers. Wooyoung’s eyes are bright, and he looks like he has something to tell Jongho, and he hopes that it’s good news.

“I’ve got good news for you, buddy”, Wooyoung says, dragging a stool to sit beside his junior. “I found a replacement model.”

Jongho’s tired eyes suddenly lighten up. Fuck, there’s hope. Maybe he can wing this shit especially when one of his worries has been elevated by a whole ton.

“How?” Jongho asks, his fingers idly twirling the pencil.

“I’ve got my ways. You owe me dinner, bro”, Wooyoung smiles, patting Jongho’s back gently. “But you can do that when you’re done with your submissions.”

Jongho has never felt relief this large like the ocean, washing over him over and over again. He feels like he can breathe once more. He looks up at Wooyoung, his eyes reflecting a glint of hope of completely escaping his hell.

“Thank you, Hyung. I really am eternally grateful for you”, Jongho sighs, dropping the pencil back to the desk as Wooyoung snatches his phone to enter the model’s number into Jongho’s phone.

Wooyoung dons his signature smile before he heads for the door. He pauses for a moment before he turns to Jongho.

“She’ll come in tomorrow. Don’t scare her off okay?”

Jongho scoffs at Wooyoung’s words, but he nods before he waves Wooyoung off, then going back to his empty sketch book, attempting to drown in his work once more, hopefully with an ounce of progress this time at least.

You glance down at the message from the number Wooyooung passed to you the day before. He told you he had a friend who needed a model for his art finals, and that he was pretty desperate because his previous model cancelled on him. You didn’t think much of it, considering that you did help a couple of your close friends to model for their art finals too, and accepted without much thought.

“He’s a polite guy, but he’s a little shy. Don’t bite him okay?” Wooyoung reminded you, receiving a soft smack to his arm from you in response.

You look up at the art studio, double checking the signage before knocking on the door.

There’s silence. You furrow your eyebrows and knock again after a few seconds.

Shuffling could be heard from the other side of the door before the door pulls open to reveal a boy with glasses that sit loosely on the bridge of his nose. His cheeks are chubby, and his whole demeanour reminds you of a…bear? Something about him looks so cuddly. But he looks like a mess—his brunette hair tousled, his eye bags are slightly prominent, and it makes you wonder how much this poor dude has been slaving away for his work.

You force a smile. “Hey! I’m y/n. You’re Choi Jongho right?”

Jongho blinks before it seems like a lightbulb has gone off in his head. His eyes slightly brightens up, and he shifts a little to let you into his studio.

“Nice to meet you, y/n. Thank you for accepting such a last minute thing. I’ll compensate you once I’m done”, Jongho greets, shutting the door behind him.

You take a step into the studio, taking in the small and cluttered space. Canvases and easels stands take up space on the floors and corners, different types of papers, pens, brushes and palettes covering the desk. There is a couch in the middle of the room, probably for the model, dusted clean, with a large piece of fabric hastily draped over the piece of furniture.

He plants himself on the roller chair before he turns to you, gesturing to you to sit on the couch, and you take the offer, trying to relax against the fabric beneath you.

“So”, Jongho begins, flipping a smaller notebook open, scanning through the bullet points he wrote. “I need you to come in quite often for the next two weeks, at least until I’m done with this, so I’ll have to trouble you a bit.” You shake your head reassuringly.

“No worries, I’m done with my finals, so I’ve got time to spare.”

Jongho nods, and he starts with briefing you on the details of the schedule, and he pauses at the final bit. He seems hesitant.

“…And for this piece, I need you to model nude”, he finally says. Then he looks up. “Are you okay with that?” You see pink tint dusted at the tips of his ears, but his expression remains firm. But he continues, his gaze switching back to his moleskin-esque looking notebook, “this one is gonna take the longest because as you can see”, his hands gestures to the large, blank canvas that sat in the middle of the studio, “it’s definitely going to take awhile.” He’s done, and you see his fingers fidgeting with the dangling ribbon of his notebook.

“Sure. Do we get started now? We should right?”, you respond, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips, watching hints of relief flood Jongho’s expression as he relaxes slightly. “I’ll compensate you well, I promise”, the male artist sighs in relief.

Of course, he doesn’t have you model nude immediately. He doesn’t want to scare you off, not when he knows how fucking difficult it is to get a model, let alone someone to model nude for him. But he has you do simple poses, poses that he manages to transfer into gorgeous sketches in his sketch book that he feels relief in seeing filled up. It’s amazing to see Jongho at work—how he’s concentrated at fixing your poses at the smallest angles and movements, and how he’s able to replicate real life into drawings. It was almost like magic.

You take a small sip of coffee that Jongho made for you as you watch the pencil in his fingers make rough, yet confident strokes on the paper, all of it coming together.

You observe that he’s rather quiet for the most part, or maybe he’s just absorbed in his own works. So from time to time, you would talk to him, sometimes making coffee for him in between sessions, which Jongho is definitely grateful for. Undoubtedly, he slowly starts to open up, on top of making progress on his assignments. If anything, you thought it was nothing short of attractive Jongho looked when he was fully focused onto his crafts.

The sixth day is when he gives you a head’s up to start modelling for him in nude. By then, the both of you were more comfortable with each other, especially spending quite a bit of time in close proximity, not to mention, despite his seemingly cool demeanour, Jongho was a very easy person to get along with.

“Have you done this before?” Jongho asks, as he sifts through large canvases, looking for the one that is perfect. “Yeah, a couple of times”, you reply, squeezing the bathrobe in your arms.

“I’ve drawn the curtains and locked the door. You can remove your clothes behind the folding screen there”, he points over before going back to setting up his charcoals onto the easel.

It doesn’t take you long to walk out from behind the folding screens in a bathrobe, and Jongho is still setting up his canvas. He looks over when he hears your footsteps growing closer, then gestures to the couch, now with a large piece of white silk fabric draped over. “You can get ready over there”, he instructs.

You drop the robe, letting it hang over the couch as you get yourself comfortable on the furniture. You shiver slightly at the cold breeze from the ceiling fan, and well, also because you were currently naked.

When Jongho is finally done with setting up, his attention turns to you, and he’s rooted to the ground for a good few seconds as his eyes wander all over your body and your pretty little features, and for a moment, his breath is caught in his throat.

Here’s the thing, Jongho has had models model nude for him—both men and women. He’s not phased, because that’s just part of what he needs to do—capture anatomy at it’s rawest form and sketch them onto his papers. But then, here’s the thing—he suddenly cannot seem to focus when his eyes are on you.

“So, how should I pose, Mr Artist?” You ask with a small smile on your face, snapping him out of his little thoughts. Jongho looks pretty flushed—you notice the tips of his ears are growing slightly red, but he walks over where you are.

“If you don’t mind”, he asks, and you shake your head, holding your breath when you feel his warm touch against your bare skin as he gently positions you.

“Lie down for me and face the canvas. I’ll position your arms and legs for you”, Jongho says. You let yourself rest on the plush couch, and you feel Jongho’s hands all over you once more, resting under your ams as he positions it on the couch. Your eyes follow his movements, noticing how he would glance past your chest, but then pause when he has to touch your lower body. The red at the tip of his ears is starting to flush his entire ear by now. His fingers brush against your thighs, and you try not to fidget too much, and hope he doesn’t feel the goosebumps he’s giving you. Jongho manages to position your legs the way he wants them to look before he hastily gets up and scurries back to the canvas.

“I might need you to stay like that, at least until I’m finished with the rough sketch. Could you hold on for me until then?” He asks, his eyes slowly trailing down your whole body, trying to keep the image in his head.

“I’ll try my best”, you reply with a smile.

Jongho tries his best to keep his thoughts at bay, at least, until he finishes the sketches. He lets his hands do the magic, the graphite pressing against the canvas as the quick strokes begin taking shape.

The process definitely took awhile, and you were grateful that Jongho positioned you in a pose where it was relatively comfortable, at least. The both of you would have small conversations in between, and it definitely helped ease the tension. When Jongho’s head would peek out from the side of the canvas, you would internally giggle to yourself, thinking how much he looks like a little bear looking for food.

Although the first day of the nude modelling went well, for some reason, Jongho can’t seem to get you out of his head, well your body, specifically. The touch of your skin still burns on his, and he barely is able to shake off the growing tension in his body. He slaps his cheeks.

Few more days, Jongho. Just a few more days.

The following days go by, not with their own problems—not with the art piece though, thankfully, but with you. The more he stares at you, the more he can’t seem to get his mind out of the gutter. Each passing day he thought he would grow more used to looking at your bare body, but apparently not, because his cheeks would heat up whenever he’s shading or blending, especially nearing your chest and thighs, when he has to look over, his gaze lingering a little too long, at the same time, thinking about how ridiculous he feels about this. Jongho mentally slaps himself, and forces his attention back to the canvas, his shading already halfway done.

But as his glances continue to stay longer on you, the sudden thought of his fantasies bubble up right at that moment—the way you’re writhing underneath him, taking his thick cock inch by inch on the couch that you were supposed to be modelling on, his bare skin against yours. His mind begins to float at the expressions you would make, the things you would say, and his grip on his charcoal tightens.

Jongho pauses there, his mind swimming in the depths of sin, his charcoal paused in mid air. His erection is pressing against his cargo pants. He internally curses, thankful that the canvas is big enough to hide whatever embarrassment he’s holding right now.

As the drawing slowly blooms on the canvas, you could take more frequent breaks in between sessions. At first, you’d wear the bathrobe fully, but as you slowly become more comfortable, you wouldn’t even tie the bathrobe, letting your nipples peek through the large opening, and boy, did that sometimes send Jongho’s head spinning when you’re teasing him like that.

Everything seems to almost snap during another one of your breaks, you quietly walk over to Jongho’s side, your bathrobe only draping over your shoulders watching him blend out the charcoal. The smell of your body soap hits him and floods all of his senses, and Jongho stills, his mind completely surrounded by you.

And that’s when realises his cock is rock hard, and that you are standing just over his shoulder, barely covered.

“I really like your art style”, you compliment, your eyes tracing the lines. You lean in forward, and your hand presses against his shoulders to balance yourself, followed by your body weight. All Jongho can do is force a smile while his heart is beating a hundred miles an hour.

When you leave few hours later, Jongho stays behind to finish and clean up. He doesn’t know how he was able to pull through the rest of the session with an erection just pressing painfully against his pants, but the moment he goes to the couch to collect the bathrobe, he cracks. The smell of you lingers on the piece of garment and Jongho feels like he’s about to fucking burst. He slides his bottoms off, including his underwear, letting his wet cock sit heavily against his abdomen with a relieved sigh.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this.

Lifting the garment to his nose, your smell completely engulfs him, and his hand is on his cock, giving it a couple of pumps, soft groans leaving his lips. His hips buck into his hand, desperate to speed up while day dreaming about you between his legs, taking his cock into your mouth, bobbing your head, looking up at him with fluttered lashes, then slowly pulling out, agonisingly slow that it drives Jongho crazy, before you pump him and let him cum all over your bare tits.

Jongho’s hips jerk, accompanied by a whine at that imagery. He fucking swears you look ethereal bare like that, but his cum on you? He thinks you’ll look like the perfect masterpiece. The bathrobe falls slightly, and drapes over his cock, and Jongho decides to fuck his hand over the garment, while still letting himself go drunk over your smell.

“Y/n, fuck. Deeper. Oh gods”, His mind slowly growing more hazy at the thought of you doing things to him. Before he knows it, a pleasured whimper slips past his lips, his eyes rolling back, the lewd sounds of his cock being fucked by his hand grow louder, more faster and more wetter, as his orgasm bubbles over, warm and thick all over the bathrobe.

He’s fucked.

The next day, Jongho is completely in a blur, but he’s almost done, much to both his relief and dismay, mostly because he wants to see you more often. The sinful act he committed lingers freshly in his mind, and the slight of you wearing the bathrobe, loose over your body, when he just cummed on it the night before (although he still washed it), has his cock jump in his pants again. He internally prays for the session to go quickly, or smoothly at least, because he doesn’t know how much more he can take.

On your break, you stand behind him again, watching him skilfully use his fingers to blend out the charcoal, his movements growing slower at your scent once more.

“Oh, that means you’re almost done, aren’t you?” You ask, your sides leaning onto him, only separately by the useless garment hugging you loosely.

“Yeah. It’s just a little more blending and we can wrap up”, Jongho manages to reply. He doesn’t catch you taking one of the charcoal. He doesn’t catch you with that playful stare while you slightly stain your hands with it. And he definitely doesn’t catch your playful intentions when you smudge your fingers against his face, a stroke of charcoal that streaked down his cheek while he blinks in utter shock. He glances up at you with a pout before hastily getting off his chair.

A wide smile spreads over your face before you giggle and run away, with Jongho giving chase after you.

“Come back here!”, he yells playfully, chasing you around the studio, which only makes you giggle even more. “That was rude as hell, y/n!”

His hands manage to grab your wrists, and you’re pinned onto the couch, the bathrobe sliding off your shoulders, all the way down your arm. Jongho is just inches above you, panting slightly from chasing you.

“Caught ya”, he presses his hands on your face, streaking a charcoal stain down your cheek as well, for payback, reflecting your smile before it completely disappears. You stare back at him breathlessly, your eyes lowering to his lips before shifting back to his eyes.

He slowly lets go of your wrists, his hands sliding to your jaw. Your arms hug his neck, and before you realise it, Jongho’s lips are soft and wet against yours, parting your lips to let his tongue swipe your bottom lip. A soft groan is pulled from you as he tugs gently against your bottom lip, feeling slick slowly puddling from the arousal. Jongho’s hands slide down to your thighs, pushing them open while his lips keep yours occupied, his mind slowly blanking out.

When the both of you pull back, you can’t help but relish at the way Jongho still looks so fucking good even after that steamy make out session. He looks starved, and so pent up, even more evident when you feel the hardness of his cock just pressing onto your thigh through his pants.

You press your bare leg against his erection, and Jongho lets out a whimper.

“Let me help you with that”, you offer, shifting so that it was Jongho on the couch. You tug at the waistband of his shorts, and his cock comes into view, as heavy as it was the night before, transparent fluids coating the tip of his length.

His breathing grows more ragged, because he can’t believe that this is happening.

“So fucking pretty”, you smile, before sticking your tongue out, giving licks from the base to the top, sending Jongho’s mind into a complete frenzy. “How long have you been pent up like this, babe?”

Babe. Jongho’s breath is caught in his throat. “Awhile”, is all he manages to answer, his abdomen flexing from the way you’re stroking him with your hands.

You don’t give him any warning before pushing your head down, letting your mouth cover the entirety of his cock, letting it hit the back of your throat. Jongho’s knuckles are growing white from how hard he’s gripping the silk fabric on the couch, his other hand tugging at your scalp.

“F-fuck. Don’t stop. Please. It feels so fucking good”, he whimpers, slowly turning into a sob, his hips fucking into your mouth. You pull back slowly, letting him watch his cock emerge from your mouth, wet and sticky with a coy smile.

“Feels better than in your little fantasies, doesn’t it?”

Jongho’s eyes widen, and he swallows hard. Fuck.

You don’t even give him a chance to respond, taking his full cock into your mouth once more, this time, bobbing your head, feeling him fill up your mouth whenever you take him in once more. Jongho’s mind is completely gone, his head is resting against the backing of the couch, eyes rolled back in complete bliss.

He barely comes back to reality when you finally slow down and pull back, thick fluids of his precum and your spit link your mouth to his cock before you lick them away. You give his pretty cock a couple more pumps before you sit up to straddle his thighs, letting Jongho undress you completely (although there wasn’t much to undress anyway), leaving the bathrobe somewhere on the couch.

You inch forward, capturing his lips with yours once more, taking his hands to roam around your bare skin, letting his warm touch linger. Jongho lifts your hips, barely hovering over his cock, and he pushes you down slowly, his eyes locked onto you—eating up your fucked out expression as you’re spilt open by him from below as his cock pushes past your hole. He swallows hard again when his cock is seated warmly in your cunt, taking your breast to his mouth, his tongue swirling gentle circles over and over to distract himself from cumming too early. Drool seeps past the corner of his lips, his mind dizzy at how you’re so warm and just squeezing him so fucking perfectly. He switches to your other breast, giving it the same treatment, absolutely drunk on the way you’re moaning his name, your hips lifting slightly before he’s seated in you to the hilt.

“So fucking deep babe”, you sigh, keeping your eyes locked onto Jongho, who only pulls you into another deep kiss before he says, “we can go deeper.”

You blink at him, and this time, it’s his turn to stop you from responding when his hands roam to your ass, pulling your cheeks apart, letting your cunt swallow his cock even more, before making you bounce on his cock while you hug him.

“That’s it. All the way, baby”, he encourages right into your ears, ignoring the profanities spewing out of your mouth.

The sounds of wet skin only echoes louder in the closed studio, you only pray that no one walks past or tries to rattle the damn door knob. Well, not that you could do anything about it.

“Too much, Jongho-“ you choke, feeling his cock dragging against your soft walls, “I’m gonna-“

“Go on, let it go”, he encourages once more, making sure every time he sinks into you, you fucking feel him pressing against your sensitive spots.

Jongho holds your thighs down, his vision completely focused onto, watching you fall apart on his cock, fluttering so fucking nicely against his length as stars overtake your vision, and cream coating his cock when he pulls out, only to rut back into you.

“You’re so fucking pretty, y/n. Even the canvas can’t capture your glow”, Jongho confesses, feeling himself reach his limit. His eyes are shut, and he buries his head against the crook of your neck. You feel yourself flush at his words.

“I’m gonna cum, y/n. I can’t take it. Feels so good”, Jongho mutters, eyes glazed, looking up at you once more, his grip around you tightening. Your fingers comb back his locks, and with a smile, you reply, “you’ve earned it, baby.”

He falls apart, flooding thick and warm cum into your pussy, his breathing uneven and his mind spinning. Oh god, he can’t think.

As the both of you come down from your high, Jongho still has his head nuzzled against your neck, giving soft kisses from time to time as he softens in you.

“Don’t you need to finish your piece?” You ask, slotting your hands into the sleeves of the bathrobe as Jongho holds it behind your back.

“Yeah, I’m almost done. If it wasn’t for someone who decided to smudge charcoal onto my face”, he teases, and you laugh in reply. “Give me fifteen minutes, then we can have dinner together.”

The mess the both of you made was the least of your concerns, because Jongho scored a distinction on said piece anyway, and evidently, you’ve become his favourite muse, and he turned to be your favourite artist.

[multifandomfanfic]

hiii i love your messi insta au’s 😭💙 could i request one where Y/N is a really famous model & they’re soft launching each other on their instagrams but the fans are clueless until neymar accidentally posts something about them being together & stuff? :D thank you so much xx

A/N: Thanks for requesting! Face claim is Yael Shelbia.

yourusername added to their story

yourusername

liked by leomessi, bellahadid, khloekardashian, and 24,190,071 others

yourusername: one week away and already getting ready! couldn't have done it without my coffee-fetching partner @leomessi ♥♥

bellahadid: way too far away

yourusername: i couldn't agree more

caradelevingne: still upset you guys didn't take me on one of your coffee outings

yourusername: next time, i promise! comment liked by leomessi fanaccount1: omg love

fanaccount2: You're so pretty!!

fanaccount3: Glad someone else drinks as much coffee as me 😆

leomessi added to their story

yourusername

liked by neymarjr, zendaya, gigihadid, and 32,012,103 others

yourusername: when he puts up with going to museums 💙🤍❤️

taylor_hill: girl, where did you get that dress??

yourusername: you'll have to ask him 🥰

k.mbappe: i assume the blue, white, and red hearts are for me

yourusername: uh huh sure k.mbappe: that's not a good answer

fanaccount4: That dress 😍😍

fanaccount5: y/n??? taken??? and it's not me???

fanaccount6: what i want to know is who took that last photo fanaccount5: probably Messi third-wheeling comment liked by leomessi fanaccount5: SIR????

yourusername added to their story

yourusername added to their story

neymarjr added to their story

(this story has been deleted)

yourusername

liked by leomessi, anyataylorjoy, sukiwaterhouse, and 28,481,056 others

yourusername: since the soft launching didn't work (te amo @leomessi)

leomessi: te amo más, y/n (i love you more, y/n)

yourusername: ❤❤❤ fanaccount7: you two are so perfect!!

zendaya: a relationship confirmation and an adidas photoshoot tease? a serve.

yourusername: perhaps 🤫

neymarjr: .........Sorry about that.

yourusername: we forgive you. consider yourself lucky. neymarjr: 🙏

fanaccount8: Wish this was me!!

leomessi posted to their story

[wifeyifey]

❤️‍🔥10

Sorry if this is a bit long, but maybe it could start something like this?

Y/N visits Sam at college with Optimus, who might've came with to harass Sam about helping like an alternative to the scene where they meet at the graveyard. Leo follows Sam out, probably harassing him about the website or whatnot, and basically just kinda stops like "You didn't tell me your sister was hot!" before running up ahead to hit on her, with Sam having his fifth mental breakdown of the day. Optimus isn't happy with Sam's dormmate, to say the least.

First request for the 1000+ follower event!!! Yippie!!!

Bayverse! Optimus Prime x fem!AFAB!human! Reader

OP in love with Sam's friend who is like an older sister of Sam is my favorite trope 😌💅🏻

Smut smut smut!!!

Warnings: size-difference! tried to keep this realistic so no penetrative sex. cock humping, clit stimulation. messy cum 🥴 Also cheesy flirtations from Leo

You were sitting inside Optimus who was in his semi-trailer form as you both waited for Sam to come out of his dorm building so you could surprise him. “You think he’ll be excited to see me, Optimus?” you ask softly, “I know it’s only been one day since he’s been here, but I was so upset I couldn’t help him move in,” you say with a small hint of guilt in your voice. 

“My dear sweet spark, Sam would be happy to see you,” Optimus said in his soothing deep voice in reassurance through his radio. You smile before affectionately rubbing your hand over his steering wheel. You open your mouth to say something when you see Sam walking out of the building with his roommate in tow. “Oh, look! He’s coming out!” you say happily as you scramble out of Optimus. 

“Sam!” You call out to him, effectively grabbing his attention. “Y/N?” Sam says happily as he sees you waving over to him with Optimus chilling behind you with his engine revving. Sam rushes over to pull you into a big hug as he lifts you slightly in his tight embrace. You can't help but giggle brightly as you wrap my arms around his neck tightly. “God, I’m the worst big sister ever-,” you start before you get rudely interrupted by Leo’s low wolf whistle making you pull back from the hug and look at him with a raised brow. “Damn, Sam! You didn’t tell me your sister was a babe,” Leo says as he pushes Sam to the side a bit as Leo grabs your hand to kiss your knuckles, “I’m Leo, Sam’s roommate, and hopefully your future husband,” Leo winks. Sam watches the scene unfold as he tries not to burst out laughing at the clear disgust on your face. Optimus is fuming at the scene knowing you're not exactly enjoying the flirt. Your brows raise in shock as you pull your hand away from him. “Charmed,” you say sarcastically as you wipe your knuckles on Sam’s shirt. You turn back to Sam, “Anyways, hon. My husband,” you pause to look at Leo as you lift your hand with your wedding band on it that you wear to fend off creepy men then look back at Sam, “wanted to talk to you. He said it was urgent. So, go get Bee and meet up with us,” you say in a more relaxed tone as you look at Sam. Sam can't help but chuckle lightly before realizing you're talking about Optimus and he let out a sigh. “Really? I can’t have one day?” Sam asks exasperated. “Nope!” you say as you pop the ‘p’, “And you know you can’t really say no to me and I’m not exactly asking,” you finish with a cheeky smile before walking over to Optimus and getting inside. “See you soon!” you say sweetly. 

“Wait! Here’s my number in case your husband doesn’t work out or if you want some spice in your life,” Leo says as he hands you a folded-up piece of paper and he blows you a kiss. Optimus’ engine revs loudly in annoyance at Leo’s insistence. You look at him incredulously and can’t help the laugh that comes out of you, “I genuinely don’t know where you get this confidence to go after a married woman, but I’m very much not interested, kid,” you scoff. “Leo, buddy. Trust me. Her husband is a god compared to you,” Sam adds as his hand pats Leo’s back as he guides him away from you. 

You crumple up the number and toss it aside as Optimus peels out of the parking lot. After a few minutes of driving at a fast speed and Optimus being oddly quiet, you decide to speak up. “My love?” you ask softly only to hear nothing but silence. You sigh softly, “You know you’re the best thing to happen to me right? That I’ll never get tired of you and that it’s always you on my mind right? The only one who gets me all hot and bothered,” you say reassuringly with a small giggle at your last statement as your hand caresses the dashboard in a soothing manner. “I know that. I’m not upset with you. Never with you, my sweet spark,” Optimus says with a soft sigh before pulling off to the side of the road and into a small forested area as he transformed into his humanoid form with you in his servos. 

He finds a tree and sits down with his back against it as he lifts you up to his face and carefully places kisses on your face and lips. “No one else could ever have you,” Optimus says as his spike is released and his other hand reaches under your dress to take off your panties only to realize you weren’t wearing any and he lets out a low rumbling growl. You smirk slightly, “I have to keep things interesting, Optimus,” you say teasingly. “My wife,” he says possessively and places you against his warmed-up spike making a shiver run down your spine. His voice and possessiveness were something you’d never dealt with before with him. Optimus was always so gentle and loving, but this… this was primal and rough. You begin to rock your hips lightly as your slick covers his spike making it easy for you to feel the ridges of his spike against your clit making you let out breathy moans. His servo wraps around your torso in a firm grip. “Primus, you’re mine,” Optimus groans out as he gently rocks his hips lightly to create more friction as you grind against his large spike. Your hands grip his spike as you let out a whine at the feeling of him, “I’m yours. N-no one else’s. I love you, I love you,” you whimper out desperately as your orgasm approaches. Transfluids start to leak from his tip and he pushes your hips down as he starts to apply more pressure to his length as he let out a deep moan from the feeling. Your juices have coated his spike as your thighs tighten and they become lubed up from your essence dripping down the sides of his spike. “‘M close, my love,” you gasp out as you continue to moan and whimper from the pleasure. “Optimus!” you cry out as your orgasm wracks through your body and your thighs squeeze around him. Optimus hasn’t stopped moving you against his spike as his hand moves down to hold your lower back and ass to continue the grinding. “Y-Y/N,” he groans loudly as he twitches and the transfluids shoot out from his spike in large spurts against his abdomen and breastplates. 

You watch the liquid shine against him and you bite your lip softly. “I… don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing that,” you say lovingly before looking into his blue optics. “Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you… it’s quite sexy seeing you so- what’s the word,” you pause, “so deliciously possessive,” you finish with a smile and a small giggle. Optimus lets out a small chuckle as he raises his other servo to caress your cheek with the back of his finger. “I wasn’t too rough?” he asks softly with slight concern. “Your grip may have been too tight, but would I change that? Absolutely not. In fact, I like this rough side a bit,” you smile cutely, “it’s kinda, super, mega sexy,” you giggle brightly making Optimus laugh softly with you. “I love you with all of my spark and every inch of my being, Y/N,” Optimus says lovingly as he leans down a bit to rest his forehead against yours gently. Your hands go on either side of his face as you place soft kisses on his lips, nose, and forehead before resting your forehead back against his as you both close your eyes to breathe in the moment. “I adore you and every bit of me forever belongs to you. Mind, body, and soul. I love you,” you say in a soft whisper.

Bonus:

Sam turns to Bee at the place they were supposed to meet you and Optimus at. "Where are they?" Sam asks confused. Bee shrugs his shoulders and lifts his servos slightly, "Hell if I know," he says through multiple channel changes through his radio.

A/N: lmk what y'all thought about it!! comments appreciated 🫶🏻 tips are also appreciated, no matter how small 💞 much love and kisses to you all

[breadbrobin]

friendship bracelets

leo valdez x reader — heroes of olympus

[gn!child of demeter reader]

summary: friendship bracelets are a love language in themselves. it’s a shame leo can’t wear the ones you make him.

warnings: little bit of swearing, possibly ooc leo, fluff, food and eating, leo forgets to eat sometimes.

word count: 1.2k

(so i wrote a leo fic too uhhhh. anyway. i love him and i have always loved him and i will always love him, so here’s a lil gift from me to you and uhhh yeah enjoy!)

——————————————

you’d given leo two bracelets. one was at the wilderness school. it was flimsy and made of red and yellow beads, held together by an elastic tie you’d smuggled into the school. the second was after your first quest. you’d managed to get some leather straps and made a braided leather bracelet for him.

he thought you’d made them for your other friends too, but he soon found out that he was the only one to get a matching leather bracelet with you.

“i don’t have enough for everyone,” was your excuse as you hid your rolls of leather threads and straps under your pillow. “i wish i could.”

that was good enough for him.

he soon realised, though, that he couldn’t wear them.

the risk of them burning was far too high, and after he nearly melted the beaded one when he got too excited one day, he decided to stop wearing them.

they held pride of place on his bedside table though. they were right beside his three-day-old water glass and the shrivelled pot plant you’d given him that you swore he’d be able to keep alive.

“it’s a cactus, leo! you can’t kill a cactus.”

he killed the cactus. or, at least, he mostly killed the cactus. you’d even named it jeremiah in the hopes that it would make him remember to water it, but he’d known a jeremiah once and hated his guts, so it hadn’t really helped much.

so leo valdez was a plant-killing, bracelet ignoring bastard. what was new?

oh, nothing. just the fact that he was madly in love with you.

maybe it was the bracelets, or your insistence that he would be able to keep a little cactus alive, or your uncontrollable laughter as he showed you the wilted plant, or maybe even the way you used your influence over plants to heal the little cactus and bring it back to life.

whatever it was, he was totally screwed. so screwed, in fact, that he took to staring at the two bracelets on his table every night before going to sleep, wishing he could wear them to see the look on your face.

leo worked hard. he always did. once he got into something, he didn’t stop until it was finished. sometimes, that meant ignoring his body’s need for food and water.

you marched into bunker 9 with a bag in hand. “leo valdez!”

he looked up from his workbench. “what did i do? whatever it was, it wasn’t me. i swear.”

“yeah, you didn’t do anything. like eat! i didn’t see you at breakfast or lunch!” you sat on his workbench beside him and placed the bag down in front of his busy hands. “it’s three o’clock now, so i bought you food.”

“i really have to—“

“eat? yes, you do.”

“no, but—“

“and drink water? that too. there’s a water bottle in there.”

“y/n—“

“leo, if you don’t eat your food i’ll break your hands so you can’t work anymore and then i’ll spoon feed you chicken soup every day until your hands are better.”

he looked up at you, offended. “i hate chicken soup.”

you smiled and leaned forward. “i know. so eat your fucking food.”

he raised his hands in defeat. “okay, fine.” he set his tools down and opened the bag with a teasing roll of his eyes. “if it pleases you so.”

“it does, indeed.”

as he ate, you walked around the bunker as you did every time, your hands behind your back like you were at an art gallery. to you, it was a gallery. bunker 9 was like the inside of leo’s mind: chaotic, messy, always moving and changing, and covered in memories of you. there were polaroid pictures that you’d given him pinned to a cork board. the whiteboard beside it read: ‘meet y/n for campfire’. there was even a note you’d scrawled to him in Ancient Greek a few weeks ago: ‘don’t forget to eat, dumbass.’ Apparently, he hadn’t listened to that one.

you walked back over just as he finished his food. he made to hand the back bag to you, but you stopped him. “you didn’t get everything.”

he frowned and opened the bag again, looking inside. “what are you— oh!”

he reached in and pulled out a leather bracelet. it was similar to the one you’d made him before, but tidier. you’d clearly gotten better at making them. “it’s beautiful, but, y/n, you know i can’t—“

“you can’t wear them because you’ll burn them. i know. put it on.” you smiled knowingly.

he put it on warily. it was nice, and his heart fluttered a little at the gesture, but he still couldn’t wear it out of fear.

“now burn it.”

his eyes widened and his eyebrows raised. “what?”

“burn it.”

“i’m not gonna—“

“do you trust me?”

“sometimes, like when you tell me to burn your hard work, i don’t, no.”

you stepped forward and tightened the bracelet on his wrist. “leo. burn it. or i will.”

he frowned up at you. “you’re very scary today.”

“thank you,” you smiled, stepping back. “just trust me.”

he sighed and shook his head, but lit his hand and lower arm on fire, watching forlornly as the bracelet melted to nothing—hold on. he extinguished the fire. the bracelet was still there. “how did you—?”

“talked to lou ellen. there’s a spell on that one. i had to get her to do it as i made it, but it won’t burn. it’s magic.” you smiled proudly, rocking back and forth on your heels.

he looked at you in shock and stood up. “you made a fire resistant bracelet for me?”

you shrugged. “of course, i did. and look!” you extended your wrist to him, showing a matching one. “i made a better one for me too!”

he looked from your wrist to your face with his signature impish grin. “thought you didn’t have enough to make anymore.”

you shrugged. “maybe i underestimated myself.”

“maybe you did.”

for a moment, you just smiled at each other, and he thought he could have kissed you right there and maybe (just maybe) from the look on your face you wouldn’t push him away, but then you slipped your hand into his and pulled him to another work bench. his hand was still warm, as always. “now, tell me what this is, because i have no idea.”

so, as he explained how one of his many projects worked and you hung onto his every word and held his hand tightly, he couldn’t help but feel a little warmer than usual.

and maybe, when you left that afternoon, leaving him to continue his work, pressing a kiss to his cheek like you always did, he could summon the courage to pull you back in for a kiss on your lips, like he’d always wanted. and maybe your friendship bracelets would turn into something more.

but, even if they didn’t, he knew he’d fall asleep that night without staring at his bedside table. he’d stare at his wrist instead. and he’d never take that bracelet off. ever. not even if the gods themselves required him to.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Can I request more 2012? I really like your table tease story with Donnie BTW! My request is what do you think would be good turn ons and turn offs for the 2012 turtles.

Turn Ons and Turn Offs (18+)

2012!Turtles x reader

A/N: Of course you can!💚 And I’m happy that you liked it😘💜 These focuses mainly on the spicy stuff, but there’s also some general relationship aspects in there. As you know, not all turn ons has to be strictly sexual💙❤️ 💜🧡 (Btw, thought you all should know I wrote this while listening to Shady Lady by Ani Lorak).

All characters are aged up.

Warning: Talk about sex, and possible break ups. And spelling. My head did a upsi every once in a while.

Leonardo:

Turn Ons:

Your admiration for his leadership skills is evident, and Leonardo is drawn to your determination to better yourself, just like he always tries to better himself. He finds your disciplined nature and eagerness appealing, often finding himself lost in admiration as you dive into whatever you’re passionate about.

Your respect for tradition and loyalty to your friends resonates with his own values. Your ideas of a relationship matches up with his, and both of you found that you had the same goals for your love lives.

When you let him geek out and take an interest in his sci fi series, board games and martial art rants. It made him weak in the knees to have you sit next to him, listening intently to all his words.

Leo likes to view himself as an independent leader with a mind of steel, making the decisions and leading the flock. But, he did like it ALOT when you took control in the bedroom. It gave him a change to relax, and, well, you looked hot as fuck on top of him.

But as much as Leo LOVED it when you took control during intimate times, it made him feel like a true man and a real leader, whenever you looked to him for protection or help. It made you look so small and cute, and he could just eat you on the spot.

Training you. More than once a small training session between you and Leo had turned into a heated makeout.

Calling him Sensei. Leo will lose his shit and become dominant very quickly.

Your eyes. Leo loves to watch your eyes during sex. Both of you made a big deal out of looking into each other’s eyes during your climax.

Teasing. Him or you? It didn't matter. Leo just had a thing for teasing and foreplay, finding it amazing the longer it lasts.

Turn Offs:

If you did not understand his role as a leader and what it meant to him, Leonardo was OFF. Leo is committed to his given role, and he can become frustrated if he senses any disrespect towards their mission or disregard for his orders. That same goes for his partner, if they decided not to see how important it is for Leo.

He values structure and organization, so if you're too spontaneous or disregard the importance of training and preparation, it might put a strain on your relationship. It’s not that Leo doesn’t like a few spontaneous things, but he has a daily routine that he needs to follow.

Leo doesn’t like it when it gets too messy in the bedroom. Sure, he can get into the kinky stuff, and bodily fluids tend to get involved, but it has to be easy to clean. So it’s a big no when it comes to bringing food into the bedroom. Maybe something to drink so you can keep going, but other than a few snacks for movies, no food.

Degradation. Leo likes it when you call each other things; good boy, good girl, Sensei, slut has even been used, but he will never talk down to you. He’s not against talking about how much one of you was loving it, but peeling each other apart with words. Never ask or expect him to call you dumb, stupid or something worse, because he won’t do it.

If you bleed, either from a bite or Leo being a little too rough with you, he shuts the whole thing down. You can say you liked it, but Leo wasn’t having it. Blood meant pain, typically a pain that was way stronger than any pleasure. Leo did not like it, fearing that he was hurting you too much.

Raphael:

Turn Ons:

Your fiery spirit and unwavering determination catch Raphael's attention from the start. He's drawn to your confidence and independence, finding your willingness to stand up for what you believe in incredibly attractive.

Raphael appreciates your straightforwardness and isn't afraid to engage in some friendly banter and teasing with you, loving the challenge you present. Nothing could get Rapg in the mood, like when you returned his comment with an even fiery one, continuing back and forth until one was the ultimate winner. That winner tended to be the dominant one that night (even though Raph tended to take that role from you very quickly), or some very hot brat taming.

 Just like playful banter, playful fighting could rail Raph up so easily, trying his best to keep you pinned to the ground. He found it adorable to watch you struggle against him, and at times he would let you think you had the upper hand, before he pushed you to the ground, smiling mischievously at you, your flustered expression keeping him going every time.

Rough sex is his favorite kind. Though he would never try to intentionally hurt you, he did have a thing for hearing you whimper and plead for him, often turning into a whole game of dirty talk.

Begging has Raph spinning. He could lose his mind, just to the sound of your begging. However, if you really want him to enjoy it, don’t beg straight away. Make him fight for it. That’s the most fun part.

This man LOVES spanking. It is the sound, and the way your flesh jiggles afterwards, and the reddening of your skin, almost matching the color of his bandana. Raph loves watching your ass turn red during doggy style, calling it proof that he has been the one doing this to you.

Sex outside the bedroom? This man will do it anywhere with you. All you have to do is ask, and he will do it.

Turn Offs:

While Raphael admires your independence, he can become frustrated if he feels like you're shutting him out or keeping secrets. He values honesty and loyalty above all else, so if he senses any deceit or manipulation, it could lead to some serious clashes between you two. He can easily become insecure, overthinking very quickly, and make up ideas in his head, based on things you once said. Just talk to him, it makes everything easier.

Raph’s not a fan of overly clingy behavior and needs his space to process his emotions. That does not mean that he doesn’t want you around, but sometimes, when he’s mad at his brothers, he just needs to punch a punching bag first, before he tells you what's going on.

Raph loves to choke you doing sex, but if you choke him, he will pull away. Make sure he’s okay with it before you do it, otherwise he will start gaining some real trust issues when it comes to your intimate activities. He may be open for it one day, but he NEEDS to know it before you get down and dirty.

Stay. AWAY. From. His. ASS. No finger, no nothing. He ain’t doing it. Nope. Nuh-uh. Your butt, hell yeah! But his butt? FORGET IT.

His tail too! Ask first, otherwise, he will get aggressive or just walk away.

If you as much as joke about getting down with one of his brothers, his done. Leave. Raph is a pretty insecure guy, so a small joke can easily break him. Don’t do that to the poor guy. He’s trying his best.

You can get your ass spanked and your throat used and choked, but he will never make you bleed. He wants you to enjoy it just as much as him, so as soon as you tell him you don’t like it, he will stop. He will shut the whole thing down, even if you protest, deciding to spend the time cuddling instead.

As much as Raph loves to do nasty things with you, don’t you dare tell anybody. It’s not because he doesn’t want people to know that you two are intimate, but he just doesn't want people all up in his and your very personal business.

Donatello:

Turn Ons:

Donatello is captivated by your intellect and curiosity, often finding himself engrossed in deep conversations with you about science, technology, and the mysteries of the universe.

He's drawn to your creativity and innovative thinking, appreciating your unique perspective on the world. Your passion for learning and exploring new ideas resonates with his own interests, creating a strong intellectual connection between you two.

Donnie is a BIG fan of phone sex. Masturbation together over the phone or sexting when you couldn’t be together. He loved it all. If you’re in the mood, just send him a pic and he is ready. He can fix whatever he was working on another time.

He has a thing for seeing you in his color. A purple shirt, or maybe even surprise him with purple underwear, and he will be ON. Sometimes he will even let you wear his bandana, maybe even wrapping it around you during sex. He just loved the sight.

Donnie LOVES dirty talk. All of it. He can be so sweet and caring on any other occasion, but during sex, he can talk so nasty to you, making you wonder where all that came from. But in truth, he had always been like that. It just took a person he trusted to bring it out of him.

Neither you or Donnie have a set role when it comes to sex. You feel like being submissive? Sure, then he’ll dominate you until your world starts shaking. Or let’s say that you feel like dominating, Donnie will happily be submissive, begging and pleading for you.

Let him watch you. Please! He finds it so hot!

Your purple genius turtle likes to try out news in the bedroom. He has a very open mind when it comes to your sex life, and will pretty much try anything you bring up, and things that has been thinking about for some time.

Turn Offs:

Donnie doesn’t have a lot of sexual turn offs, most of them having something to do with the maintenance of a relationship. But he will NEVER do anything you don’t want him to! Never ever! If you don’t want to, he will throw the idea away, prioritizing your comfort way more.

Donnie values honesty and transparency in a relationship, so if he feels like you're hiding something or being evasive, it can cause some tension between you two.

When it comes to relationships, he's also not a fan of recklessness or impulsiveness, preferring to carefully analyze situations before taking action. He wants to talk to you first, going through all the pros and cons, making sure that both of you are on the same page, and that nothing is left in the unknown. If you disregard safety protocols or act without thinking things through, it could lead to some disagreements.

Donnie is not always available, even though he really wants to be. Since he’s the only one that knows how to fix a toaster, his help is often needed in the lair. Therefore it would really discourage him in the long run, if you didn’t come down to visit him.

Cut him off during his long rambles about the newest thing he was working on, or show a general lack of interest in his work, and Donnie will quickly find himself rethinking the entire relationship. It’s not a lot he’s asking for, and his trying his best to make space for you in his life, so if you can’t give him that, is it even worth it?

Break some of his work on purpose, and he will feel like you have betrayed him.

Michelangelo:

Turn Ons:

Your fun-loving nature and sense of humor immediately click with Mikey's laid-back personality. He's drawn to your adventurous spirit and willingness to join him on spontaneous escapades around the city. Mikey loves your positive attitude and ability to find joy in the simplest of things, often finding himself laughing and smiling more when you're around.

There’s many ways to get Mikey in the mood, one of the easiest ones being just telling him. Whisper in his ear and tell him you’re in the mood, and you’ll find that he too will be in the mood. It doesn’t take much more than that.

Something as simple as cuddling could get him going. Hug him in a certain way that reminded him of how you would press yourself against him, and his mind would go wandering until he couldn’t contain his excitement anymore.

Dress up in something revealing, and Mikey will not be able to keep his hands from himself. Especially something that puts focus on your chest. It will definitely help with this boob man.

There’s no way around it, but Mikey will bring food into the bedroom, and he will find a way to involve it in your acts. Licking syrup off of each other, or maybe eating ice cream from your chest. If Mikey can think of it, he will do it.

Mikey genuinely wants sex to be fun and enjoyable for both of you. It is a light hearted and pleasurable affair, and he will not see any reason to stop before you and him are satisfied… for the time being.

Sneaking around in the lair and in the city above can also really get him going. Mikey can’t help it. The thought of getting caught did some very interesting things to him.

Does Mikey like to be a little submissive sometimes? Yes, yes he does.

Roleplay? YES! This man LOVES it! Anything creative in the bedroom and he is hooked!

Turn Offs:

Mikey is not a fan of negativity or pessimism, preferring to surround himself with positivity and optimism. He understands that not everything is a dance on roses, but if you continuously point out the negative, he can find himself growing quite bored or maybe even tired of the relationship.

If there is one thing Mikey can’t stand, it is when he is forced to put a damper on his imagination and creativity. Tell him no to a good roleplay one too many times, and he will become quite agitated.

Mikey understands that sometimes life gets serious, he does not like it when his sex life has to be serious too. Mikey is not against intense intimacy with eye contact and all that, but let him have fun dammit! Can’t he have fun, then what is the purpose?!

Stick to one position for too long, and Mikey will get bored. And once Mikey is bored, the mood is gone. Keep it interesting, listen to his suggestions and have fun.

Keep Mikey stuck in the bedroom for too long, and he will - you guessed it - get bored. If you won’t sneak around with him, he will feel utterly lost in boredom. It takes a lot to make Mikey rethink a whole relationship, but with everything combined, he may be getting close to that point.

And the worst of them all. Probably the one he would put as the base for a break up; make him feel or call him childish. Now, Mikey wouldn’t care if his brothers called you and Mikey immature and childish, but if you called him that, along with sucking all the fun out of his life, Mikey would call it quits. He wants to have fun with his partner, and if his partner refused to do that, he wouldn’t want to be with them.

[ms-taurusvenus]

Astro Notes

The naives have a RBF and features of a Scorpio rising would by having Ascendent-Pluto aspects. 

9H placements frequently create and attempt to locate the deeper meaning of even the most basic things.

Scorpio placements and those with aspects to Pluto tend to be accused of envy.

7H Venuses typically wed in private and detest the thought of a lavish ceremony. Their weddings also tend to be more understated, with the bride and groom dressing in more casual or straightforward apparel as opposed to how many other couples make a big deal out of what they wear. Examples include: Cardi B, Adrianna Lima, Bruno Mars, Kurt Cobian, Ryan Golsing, etc. When you search for these celebrities' weddings, you frequently find that they either have few to no photos from their ceremony or that it was a modest affair.

Scorpio, Virgo, Sagittarius, and Gemini men look fantastic with dyed or bleached hair.

Cancer, Taurus, Libra, and Virgo placements typically hug the best.Cancer placements frequently hold on until you release them from the hug.

Tips for arguing with a Virgo Mars 101: Prove. Them. Wrong. Even if you're in the wrong, attempt to pull something out of your ass and hope it works if you still want to win the debate.

9H Chiron may have religious trauma.

Sun in Capricorn x Fire Moon motivates the naive to work tirelessly and ambitiously toward their goals.

Aquarius and Leo placements (particularly Moon & Ascendent) are always significant and important in some way, whether they're famous or not.

People with Taurus and Cancer placements frequently find it quite easy to fall asleep.

People who have placements in the 7H, 8H, and 12H frequently generate envy in others.

A lot of well-known, successful football players have a weak Mars; this only goes to show that just because someone has a weak Mars doesn't mean they aren't driven, determined, or as strong as someone with a strong Mars. Examples include Diego Maradona (Cancer Mars), Lionel Messi (Cancer Mars), Pele (Libra Mars), and Kylian Mbappe (Libra Mars).

Ask a Gemini or someone with perdominate Gemini placements if you want recommendations for fantastic movies or TV shows.

Until you meet a Virgo Lilith, you don't understand what a perfectionist is. They put a lot of effort into making sure everything is done carefully and to the best of their ability.

Pisces placements nails are frequently quite attractive, long, and strong.

People with the Libra and Leo placements are sweethearts and are frequently regarded as loving and kind by others.

Many Aries Venuses wait until later in life to get married. They also tend to not want to get married until later in life as well.

Despite having better options, a toxic or unsuitable spouse, or being dissatisfied in a relationship, Pisces placements tend to only date those with whom they feel comfortable.

Uranus-Jupiter transits may indicate pregnancy.

Taurus Venuses are incredibly devoted to their lovers, but that doesn't mean they can't let go of their ex-partners and move on. In fact, many Taurus Venuses are able to and do do.

[pumpkinbxtch]

thrill me &

i'll take you to a ride ✷

— leo valdez x daughter of hades!reader

summary: Sometimes things happen when you let yourself get excited and you are a daughter of Hades. Warnings: none

Your relationship with Leo was very new. You were in that awkward stage where both of you blushed constantly when your fingers tried to interlace or one of you longed for the other's hug, that phase where you couldn't express your desires and hesitated when it came to showing them. This was most evident when you kissed.

However, for you, it involved a bit more than just worrying about appearing clumsy; sometimes, your powers could play tricks on you. Being a child of the big three already made things messy due to strong emotions, now being a daughter of Hades like you, where you spent your time repressing your emotions to avoid bringing the dead to the surface or ending up in China like your brother Nico, made everything even more complicated by itself.

It would be simpler if only your palms sweated, and you could be enjoying being with your boyfriend on a beautiful day in the strawberry field while Leo and you were having a kissing session on a picnic blanket. While both were craving for touch everything was going wonderfully.

The big deal was when Leo put his hand on your waist to pull you closer to him, that simple move made your heart race and lose control, that's when you felt your surroundings change and the overwhelming sensation of being sucked into darkness.

You panicked, felt embarrassed, but you clung to your boyfriend's hand tightly. If it weren't for the spins and Leo feeling like he had just been thrown from a first floor, he might have plead you to let go of his hand before you broke it with the force you were holding it. Although to be honest, you wouldn't have done it even if he begged, you couldn't let anything else happen to him because of you. Amid what seemed like an imminent darkness, another hole opened up, and gravity forced you to fall face-first into an alley.

Your boyfriend's groans made you blush, you wanted to disappear, but if you thought about it for a second more, it probably would happen, and you were tired of that shadow travel already. You rolled onto your side and avoided facing Leo, still lying in the street feeling like a loser, you didn't even have an idea of where they were.

— baby, are you okay? — Leo crawled towards you, and you bit your lower lip. You would have bothered to run if it weren't for your tiredness. You yawned and slowly sat up, hair falling in your face and hands covered in dust. With a slight breeze, the climate change was noticeable to you.

He took you by the shoulders, helping you sit up completely, him squatting and you sitting on the pavement. He sighed seeing you unharmed but curiosity lingered in his gaze. You hugged yourself, hoping it would give you strength to speak. You already felt your cheeks burning and your face forming a grimace of discomfort.

— Sorry, did I... get carried away?.— Leo grinned like an idiot, and chuckled while shaking his head slowly. He fixed your hair and tucked some strands behind your ear, his sweet touch made you sway sleepily. He noticed.

— Did my girl overdo it? — Despite the obvious teasing in his voice, the words comforted you, making you feel less guilty because that's exactly what Leo wanted, he didn't blame you for anything, he wasn't even upset, he was just taken by surprise.

— Sorry — you repeated with pleading eyes. Leo gently took you by the back of the neck and pressed his lips against your forehead, barely touching your skin.

—It's okay, amor. Let's see where we are — he murmured and helped you to your feet, holding your body tightly so you could put most of your weight on him.

Your eyes widened, and sleep left you for a second when you noticed that the signs seemed to be in another language, the streets were too different and narrow.

— I've been here — he said, admiring his surroundings, reaffirming his grip on your hand. You raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to continue, and he began to walk with you down the alley until you reached the widest part. You admired the architecture in better detail, the blue sky, and the people. You were no longer in Long Island Sound.

—'ll tell our kids that you kidnapped me to go on a trip together to Italy — Leo joked, and you felt your ears burning.

He looked at you with those chocolate eyes that turned gold in the sunlight. You silently admired how his tanned skin shimmered or the small wrinkles that formed when he smiled, everything about him seemed perfect. Of course in the future you would want to have his children.

— Dork — you accused him, unable to hide that typical way of yours of disguising embarrassment, he let out a small laugh. Leo loved that about you. He cleared his throat, it was a little dry from yelling.

— Well, but anyway, after we take a walk and enjoy this nice place because we would be idiots not to. I wonder... — He leaned towards you, teasingly, his thumb rubbing your palm. — How will I have to 'thrill' you to come back?