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papayainsectorone · 3 days ago

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tomorrow, i’ll be sober

summary: in the electric aftermath of oscar’s first f1 win, what begins as a celebration spirals into something unexpected, a moment of honesty shared in the quiet between the noise. you’re not used to being seen the way he sees you that night and when morning comes, you're left wondering if it meant as much to him as it did to you.

content: kissing, mutual pining, coffee-related accidents, soft!oscar, drunk!Oscar, drunk!reader, slow burn vibes, hoodie sharing, emotional tension, post-race kiss, light angst, workplace rule-breaking

word count: 5,6k

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

a thought: the quote that inspired this is from a old movie The Dreamers, never watched it but the quote hits lol

a´s masterlist

The champagne hadn’t even dried on the back of your neck before you were being shoved into a crush of bodies backstage—papaya t-shirts, camera flashes, the sound of your name called over and over, somewhere between congratulations and “Can you get him for one more shot?”

Oscar stood on the top step of the podium like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to be there. Not in disbelief, exactly. More like he was still catching up to the fact that this was real. That it was happening now.

The trophy gleamed in his hand. The light caught on the curve of his jaw, the line of sweat and champagne running down his neck.

But what really struck you—what wouldn’t leave your mind even hours later—was his smile.

Not the press smile, that you knew all too well. Not the polite, quiet curve he gave in interviews or even the rare, playful smirk he sometimes gave during media day hell.

This was wide. Unfiltered. Raw happiness spilling out of someone who always tried to keep the lid screwed on tight.

He was glowing.

And you felt it in your throat, in your ribs, in the way your hands trembled as you pressed the shutter of the camera.

It wasn’t like you usually went out. Not with the team, not after races. You were Mclaren PR—your job was to keep things clean, polished, appropriate. But someone had grabbed your wrist, handed you a drink, and said, “C’mon, one night. Everyone is a part of the win today.”

So now, hours later, you were leaning against the bar of a club too exclusive for your credentials, your orange team polo traded for something black and slinky. Your skin still smelled faintly like champagne.

The place was all glass and gold and smoke. Bass thumped through the floor like a second heartbeat. Oscar had disappeared into the crowd with a handful of engineers and Lando not long after arriving. You nursed your drink slowly, fingers curled loosely around the condensation.

You were only a few sips in when someone’s hand slid across the bar next to yours.

“God, it’s hot in here,” came his voice—familiar, tired, giddy.

You nursed your drink slowly, condensation slipping down your fingers as the music pulsed warmly through the club air. The ice clinked with each slow sip, your eyes scanning the crowd just beyond the rim of your glass.

Around you, more of the PR team had gathered—laughing over photos, recounting the chaos of the pit wall, teasing each other about who had cried when Oscar crossed the line. It was easy company, full of the post-race glow and secondhand euphoria. A few people had already told you how good your pictures looked on the socials. Someone had toasted to “team effort,” and even though you weren’t one to usually go out after races, tonight it felt right. Good. Like you were part of something worth celebrating.

You were already a few drinks in—warm, happy, a little soft around the edges—when a familiar hand slid across the bar next to yours.

“God, it’s hot in here.”

The voice was low, slurred ever so slightly, and unmistakable.

You turned your head, and there he was.

Oscar. Flushed. Lit up.

His cheeks were pink from the heat or the alcohol—or maybe the sheer weight of a win finally sitting in his bones. His curls were damp at the temples, his shirt unbuttoned one more than usual, collar wide and loose. He looked electric and a little out of place and exactly like he belonged.

There was something in his posture too—looser than you’d ever seen him. Like the sharp lines of focus had softened just enough to let something else slip through.

His grin was crooked when your eyes met, and his words melted together like honey on the rim of a glass. “Didn’t think I’d find you here.”

You shrugged, sipping again. “Even PR has to celebrate sometimes.”

He leaned in just a bit closer—not touching, but near enough for you to feel the heat off his skin. “Good. ‘Cause I was starting to think this night couldn’t get any better.”

Your heart skipped.

The line might’ve been cheesy. Hell, it was cheesy. But it didn’t sound rehearsed coming from him. It sounded raw. Tired and giddy and honest in the way only someone slightly drunk and completely unguarded could manage.

“You don’t usually come,” he said, words a little round at the edges, eyes trailing down to your hand still curled loosely around your glass.

You blinked, one brow rising with a smirk. “Well,” you said slowly, already tilting your head, ��that’s one way to start a conversation.”

Oscar’s face flushed, an even deeper pink now blooming across his cheeks. “I meant—shit.” He laughed, sheepish, tipping his head back like it could shake the words back into order. “Out. With the team. After races.”

You leaned a hip into the bar, shoulder brushing his just slightly. “You don’t either,” you said, smiling into your drink.

“Right,” he echoed. His eyes flicked to yours again, and something softened in them. “Guess we both broke tradition.”

For a while, it was just the two of you—carved out in a little pocket of stillness against the noise. The crowd moved like static around you, music pounding and lights flickering overhead, but none of it quite touched the space you shared.

It wasn’t deep conversation. Nothing serious. Just the kind of back-and-forth that existed in that perfect in-between: light, easy, just this side of flirty. You joked about the chaos in the garage, the pre-race panic over the telemetry glitches, the way Lando tried to soak everyone—and somehow just you—in champagne. Your laughter came easier than usual, loosening like a ribbon pulled free. Oscar laughed too, head tipping slightly to the side every time you surprised him.

There was something charming in how his smile lingered longer than it should have. Like he wasn’t quite ready to look away.

You noticed the way he swayed, just barely, as he stood. He wasn’t stumbling or slurring, but his sharpness had gone soft at the corners. Eyes a little glassy, posture a little relaxed. His shirt had shifted slightly—creased at the collar, unbuttoned just low enough to suggest the hour—and you had the sudden, strange thought: he looks like someone who just stepped into himself. Like he’d finally let the pressure fall from his shoulders and just was.

You felt it too—less guarded than usual. Maybe it was the drink, or the lights, or the thrill of the win still echoing through your ribs like a held breath. But talking to him didn’t feel like navigating PR, like scripting moments for cameras or plotting timelines. It felt... normal. Easy. Nice.

Then the music surged again—bass rolling deep and sticky through the floor—and a pack of people pushed between you. Laughter and bodies and half-sung lyrics wrapped around you like a wave, and you blinked, just for a second—

And he was gone.

The crowd thinned, and your shoulder no longer brushed his. Your drink was empty. Your hand felt colder.

You turned your head, scanning—but no flash of his brown hair, no crooked smile in the crowd.

You stayed at the bar for a while longer, the buzz of celebration still humming in the walls, even as the crowd began to thin. Your heels pinched at your toes with every shifting step, the skin behind your knees aching from standing too long. The warmth from the drinks had softened the edges of your thoughts, made everything feel loose, detached. But beneath the fog of champagne and music, something lingered—something unsettled. A sense that the moment you’d shared with him hadn’t quite ended, even if the space between you had.

Eventually, you slipped away. The rooftop was nearly empty now—only a few stragglers clinging to their drinks, talking in low murmurs. The cold hit your skin immediately, biting through the fabric of your dress and raising goosebumps along your arms. The air was crisp and strange after hours of warm bodies and sticky dance floors. Above, the stars blinked faintly against the dark sky, distant and impossibly clear, like they’d only come out for nights like this.

You leaned against the brick wall of the building, the roughness scraping faintly through the thin fabric at your back. You closed your eyes. Just for a breath.

Then—

Footsteps. Not hurried. Not cautious. Just there.

A breath behind you. Familiar.

“Oscar?”

Your voice came out quieter than you meant it to.

He stepped fully into view, clearly more unsteady now, his gait loose and his balance lagging just slightly behind each step. His hands were jammed deep into his pockets, his curls damp with sweat and night air, cheeks still flushed from inside. When he heard your voice, he turned his head and smiled, slow and crooked like it had to climb up his face.

“I thought you already left,” he said, words sticking just slightly as they left his mouth. Then that smile stretched, wider now, like he was amused by his own honesty. “Needed air. Didn’t expect you here.”

He came to a stop beside you, shoulder just barely brushing the brick wall where yours rested. You could feel the warmth radiating off him even through the chill. His breath made small clouds in the air. His eyes were glassy—not lost, but softened, his guard dropped just enough to let something else through.

You glanced at him sideways. The moonlight picked out the edge of his jaw, the soft curve of his mouth. You could still smell whatever citrusy drink he’d had on his skin—sharp and sweet. His breathing had slowed now, more even, but still deep like he hadn’t fully caught it all night.

And then—he looked at you.

Really looked. Not the kind of glance you’d shared during briefings or behind-the-scenes shots. Not the polite, practiced gaze of someone used to being seen. This was something else. His eyes were fixed on you like you were a question he’d just realized he needed an answer to.

You blinked, breath catching. “What?”

He laughed, low in his chest. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. You felt it—buzzing in the stillness between you. That quiet shift in gravity, the part where everything hung just a second too long. The unspoken edge of something waiting to tip forward.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes still on yours. “You’re really beautiful, you know.”

You gave a soft snort, not quite prepared for that. “You’re really drunk.”

“Yeah.” His mouth curved, but the words stayed clear. His gaze didn’t waver. “I’m drunk. But you’re beautiful. And tomorrow I’ll be sober.”

A pause. Just long enough for the weight of the words to settle.

“But you’ll still be beautiful.”

The air left your lungs all at once, and for a second, you didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Your heart hammered against your ribs with something sharp and sudden. His face didn’t flinch—there was no joke in it, no teasing grin. Just that quiet, open look that felt more naked than anything else all night.

Then, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed, he leaned forward. The space between you closed to nothing. And he rested his forehead gently against yours.

It wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t a question.

It was just... there. A fragile press of warmth, of breath shared, of something honest in the silence.

And then—Lando’s voice cut across the rooftop, yelling something about shots and being next up at the bar.

Oscar’s head lifted. He grinned again, lopsided and tired.

He didn’t say goodbye. Just walked backward a few steps, still facing you, that same smile soft on his face.

Then he turned, disappearing back into the noise and lights.

And you stayed where you were, staring at the door he’d vanished through, the stars still burning quietly above your head, like they knew something you didn’t.

The hotel room is too bright.

Harsh daylight slices through the narrow break in the blackout curtains you forgot to pull shut, lighting the room in slanted lines. You groan and roll deeper into the bed, burrowing your face into the stiff hotel pillow. The cotton smells faintly of detergent and the faintest trace of your perfume—warmed into the fabric after last night when you all but collapsed face-first on top of the covers.

You hadn’t even taken off your clothes.

Your dress is still half-on, bunched at the waist. Your phone is dead somewhere on the nightstand. One heel is toppled near the bathroom door, the other nowhere in sight.

Your head throbs—not a sharp pain, but a dull, wet pressure just behind your eyes, like your thoughts are too swollen to move properly. You lie there for a while longer, motionless except for the steady rise and fall of your breath and the occasional twitch of a muscle that wants to get up but can’t quite remember how.

Eventually, your body overrides your brain. You peel the dress off with slow, clumsy fingers and shuffle barefoot into the bathroom.

The tile is cool beneath your feet. You turn on the shower and wait until the steam starts to fog up the mirror. The water is hotter than usual when you step under, but you don’t flinch. You let it burn a little, let it drag the ache from your limbs and the film of sweat and smoke and champagne off your skin.

Your head leans against the wall for a moment, the water rushing around your ears. Your eyes close. The memory of Oscar’s flushed cheeks and soft slur of voice floats up, uninvited. You see his smile again, the one that didn’t feel rehearsed, and the words—you’ll still be beautiful—echo in your head louder than the spray.

You exhale.

You don’t know what that was, or what it’s supposed to mean now, in daylight.

Wrapped in a towel, you pad across the carpet, gathering your things slowly. Your dress gets folded and stuffed into a corner of your suitcase. Makeup bag zipped. Chargers coiled. You find your missing heel behind the armchair, of course. Your phone finally comes to life as you plug it in, buzzing faintly with missed texts and one blurry photo from the night before—Oscar, mid-laugh, drink in hand, someone’s arm around his shoulders. He hadn’t seen you take it.

Your stomach flips.

When everything’s finally packed, you sit on the edge of the bed for a moment, palms braced on your knees. You’re not ready to leave, but staying won’t solve anything.

So you stand, grab your suitcase handle, and head down to the lobby.

The lobby is too bright—marble floors gleaming under morning light, too clean, too loud in its stillness. You step inside, dragging your suitcase behind you, fresh from the shower but still not entirely present. The weight of sleep clings to your shoulders, and last night feels half-dreamed, half-lost.

Then you see him.

Oscar.

Sitting low on a leather couch by the windows, hoodie slouched over his head, water bottle untouched on the table in front of him. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers absently picking at the hem of his sleeve. He looks like he feels exactly how you do: run through, hollowed out by celebration and too many hours without real rest.

And for a second, you pause.

Because you remember. The rooftop. The cold air. The smell of citrus and sweat. His words, slurred but certain: "I'm drunk. But you're beautiful. And tomorrow I’ll be sober. But you’ll still be beautiful."

Your stomach flutters—but then he lifts his gaze, meets yours with a tired sort of smile. Easy. Blank.

No flicker of recognition.

Your heart drops a little. Of course. He was drunk. You were too, to be fair. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it didn’t even land.

Still, you smile back. Casual. Friendly.

“Morning,” you offer.

“Hey,” he says, voice raspier than usual. He clears his throat, sits up slightly. “Rough one?”

You nod, dragging your suitcase closer. “Could’ve been worse.”

He chuckles faintly. “Could’ve been better.”

There’s a pause where neither of you says much—just the faint murmur of voices near the doors as the team filters into cars. Then:

“You heading to MTC?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “Few of us from PR are reporting in later this week.”

He nods, gaze flicking toward the spinning doors. “Same. I’m going back with the engineers though.”

You nod too, chewing your lip like you might say something else. But what would you even say? Hey, remember calling me beautiful like it was the most honest thing you’ve ever said? You don’t.

“See you there, then,” you offer instead.

He lifts his water bottle in a mock-toast. “Yeah. See you.”

And just like that, the moment passes—quiet and unacknowledged. You pull your suitcase away with a faint tug of regret trailing behind you. Maybe it meant more to you. Maybe he really doesn’t remember.

The MTC feels colder than usual.

Not the temperature—though the glass-walled corridors always carried a clinical chill—but something else. Something in the way people move, fast and focused, laughter from the race weekend now just a faint echo in the past.

You’ve been back for hours already. Meetings, debriefs, emails stacked like bricks in your inbox. It’s the first real pause you’ve had, and you find yourself at the café corner of the atrium, hands wrapped around a paper cup of burnt coffee, eyes scanning the light-dappled water outside but not really seeing it.

And then you feel it.

Not quite a sound. Not quite a shadow.

Just the shift of the air when someone enters the space. When he enters the space.

Oscar.

You don’t turn around right away. You don’t have to.

You can sense him—quiet but not unnoticed. He’s standing across the room, near the vending machines, shoulder tilted against the wall, deep in conversation with a mechanic you vaguely recognize. He’s wearing black MTC gear, arms folded, curls pushed back messily from his face.

Your heart skips—just slightly.

You see it then. The way his eyes flick across the room. Just once.

You force yourself not to read into it. Not to linger.

Instead, you push off from your seat, paper cup in hand, notes clutched to your chest as you make your way toward the corridor. Your mind’s already halfway to your next meeting, shuffling bullet points and strategy when you round the corner—and crash directly into someone.

Coffee sloshes violently from your cup, splattering across your notes. Papers flutter like startled birds. You gasp, stumbling back, and then:

“Oh shit—sorry, I didn’t see—”

Oscar’s voice. Closer now.

You look up, eyes wide.

Of course it’s him.

He’s already crouching, long fingers chasing runaway pages with quick, fumbled movements. “That’s my fault,” he mutters, brows knit. “I wasn’t watching—”

“No, I wasn’t,” you rush to say, kneeling across from him. Your fingertips touch the same page, and you both freeze for a beat too long. “Really. I should’ve—”

“It’s okay.” His voice is quieter now. Closer. “I’ve made bigger messes.”

He offers a sheepish smile, holding out a soggy corner of your schedule. You take it carefully, your fingers brushing his.

You both glance up at the same time. And you’re too close.

For a heartbeat, no one says anything.

Then:

“You alright?” he asks. Gently. Sincere.

You nod, maybe too quickly. “Yeah. You?”

He gives the smallest shrug, looking down again. “Could be worse. I didn’t get scalded by your coffee.”

Then, Oscar clears his throat, gesturing vaguely at your front. “I, uh… kinda spilled coffee all over you.”

You blink. Look down.

Oh.

The pale fabric of your blouse is soaked, clinging to your skin in places and already browning along the seam. You inhale sharply, suddenly aware of how bad it must look.

“Shit.”

“I’m really sorry,” he says quickly, eyes wide, hands sort of frozen in midair like he wants to help but doesn’t know how. “I—I have a small office, just around the corner. There’s a sink in there. If you want, I can try—like—washing it out? Before it stains?”

You hesitate. He looks so earnest. So mortified.

“…Now?” you ask, a little tentative.

“Yeah, I think that’s best,” he says, already turning slightly, motioning you to follow. “If you’re okay with it.”

You glance again at your ruined shirt and sigh. “Yeah. Okay.”

The short walk is quiet. Tense, but not uncomfortable—just that thick kind of silence where neither of you knows what to say first. His office is small and clean, papers stacked in careful piles on the desk, a grey MTC hoodie slung over the back of the chair. He holds the door open for you.

“I’ll, um…” He gestures toward the sink tucked into the corner, then back to you, clearly scrambling. “If you want to give me the shirt, I’ll try rinsing it.”

You raise a brow. “Right. Just like that.”

He laughs, but it’s nervous. “I mean—not just like that. I’ll use soap.”

You stare at him.

He runs a hand through his hair, flustered. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—just if you want. You don’t have to.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say slowly, fingers already moving to the buttons, more out of instinct than thought. “You’re probably right. It’ll stain.”

Oscar turns a little to the side as you undo the blouse, the damp fabric peeling off with a soft tug. You’re left in your tank top, suddenly hyper-aware of your bare arms, the chill of the air conditioning, him just a few feet away.

He turns back too soon.

His eyes catch on your exposed shoulders—just for a second—but it’s enough to make his throat bob with a quiet swallow. “Uh—I have a hoodie. If you want.”

You nod quickly, covering yourself instinctively with the now-offending blouse.

He grabs the one from his chair, crossing the small space in two strides, and holds it out. You duck your head as you take it, the soft cotton brushing your arms, his scent already warming through the fabric.

As you pull it over your head, your fingers tangle in the sleeve—and before you know it, he’s stepping in, helping untwist it.

And suddenly, you’re close.

Too close.

His hands fall to your wrists, steadying the fabric, his breath close enough to warm your cheek.

The hoodie settles over you with a quiet finality.

You glance up at the same moment he does.

Neither of you moves.

The silence presses in again, thicker than before. But there’s something fragile in it now—something that feels like it might break open, or shift everything, if either of you leans an inch further.

“I’ll just… rinse this,” he says, voice lower now, as he gently takes the blouse from your hand.

You nod, still watching him.

And for a long second, even as he turns to the sink, he doesn’t let go of your wrist.

He lets go of your wrist finally, almost like he had to remind himself to do it.

You don’t say anything as he turns, sleeves pushed up, and starts running water over the blouse at the small sink. The room is quiet except for the faint hiss of water and the rustle of fabric. He’s careful with it, more careful than you expected, using the gentlest bit of soap and his thumb to work at the stain.

You lean back against the edge of his desk, the hem of the hoodie curling against your thighs. It swallows you whole—warm, soft, his.

“Didn’t think I’d be hand-washing someone’s clothes in my office today,” he says after a beat, not looking back.

You laugh softly. “Didn’t think I’d be half undressed in someone’s office either.”

He freezes for a split second—shoulders tightening—then glances over his shoulder at you, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “We’re really breaking McLaren protocol, huh?”

You smile, fiddling with the edge of the sleeve that still smells faintly like his cologne and worn cotton. “Rebellious.”

He turns back, attention fixed on the blouse like it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground. The water runs soft against the fabric, soap swirling through the fibers. His movements are steady, but you see it—the slight tremble in his fingers, the faint flush that climbs up the back of his neck, all the way to the tips of his ears.

“You know,” he says after a moment. His voice is soft, almost lost beneath the sound of the water. “I think I probably already broke a few McLaren rules last weekend.”

It’s not a joke—not really. He laughs a little, but it’s uneven. Nervous.

You don’t answer, not yet. Not while he keeps scrubbing at your blouse like it’ll save him.

“I just…” he hesitates, the fabric slack in his hands now. “I didn’t know if I should bring it up. Or if you even remembered.”

The silence stretches, but only for a heartbeat.

“I do,” you say, and it comes out smaller than you expected, your voice caught between surprise and something gentler. “I remember.”

That makes him turn. Not just his head this time, his whole body pivots slowly toward you. His hands still drip with water, your blouse hanging limp in his grip like a peace offering he doesn't quite know how to present. His hair is a little messy from the steam. His eyes, though—those are wide. Searching.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts. “If that was weird. Or if I was weird. Or—God—when I was awkward. Or when I obviously broke rules.” His words tumble out too fast, falling over each other. “I mean, I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t mean to say it like that. But…”

He finally meets your gaze.

“I meant what I said that night.”

The words settle into the quiet like a landing. Not jarring, but solid. Sincere.

You look at him—really look at him—and you can tell how long he’s been carrying this around. How much of that night has played on repeat behind his eyes. Maybe it wasn’t just alcohol that loosened his tongue. Maybe it was something heavier, older, waiting.

You stand slowly, the oversized hoodie shifting over your frame as you do. His gaze flicks down for the briefest second, then back to your eyes, like he’s trying his best not to mess it up this time.

You step a little closer.

He sets the blouse aside carefully and takes a small step forward, like he’s afraid to break the spell. But you don’t move away.

You just keep looking at each other.

The air between you hums, charged but quiet like something sacred lives in the pause.

You tilt your head just slightly, chin tipped up as you look at him, eyes steady. “You were really drunk,” you murmur, almost teasing, but not quite. It’s gentler than that, softer around the edges. A reminder, maybe. Or a question.

His mouth lifts at one corner, but it’s a fragile sort of smile—like he knows what he’s about to say matters.

“I was,” he admits. His voice is low, careful. “Maybe that’s where I got the confidence.” He breathes out, eyes never leaving yours. “But like I said… I’m sober now. And I still think you’re beautiful.”

You feel it then, the subtle shift in the space between you—the way it tightens like a held breath, like something long-held is about to give way.

A strand of hair slips forward, falling across your cheek. His hand moves before you even register it, fingers brushing the strand back, his touch so featherlight it sends a quiet thrill down your spine.

He doesn’t drop his hand.

Instead, his palm finds your cheek, warm and tentative, thumb resting just beneath your eye. You lean into it, instinctive, breath catching slightly in your throat.

His gaze flickers, your eyes, your lips, back to your eyes again.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” he asks. A whisper, almost.

You nod before you even realize you’re doing it, your voice caught somewhere between the thud of your pulse and the heat blooming in your chest. “Yeah,” you breathe.

And then he leans in slow, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away, like he’s trying to memorize the moment just before and when your lips meet, it’s not rushed. It’s not sharp.

His thumb lingers for a second along your cheek before his palm settles there fully, grounding, steady.

It’s not fireworks or breathless urgency.

It’s soft, like a secret. A question more than an answer.

His lips find yours in a kiss that feels... delicate. Not unsure, but intentional—like he’s been carrying this moment for days and wants to make it last. You lean into it slowly, fingers curling around the fabric of the hoodie at your waist, pulling him just a little closer.

The room is quiet around you. The only sound is the distant hum of the building. But here, now, in this tiny office with a damp blouse forgotten on the desk and your heart thudding beneath borrowed cotton, it feels impossibly warm.

When he pulls back, barely, your noses still brush. His voice is quiet.

“I thought about that night more times than I probably should’ve.”

You exhale, your forehead touching his now. “I did too.”

His smile is small. Shy.

Weeks passed. The season rolled forward. Races, travel, press—it never stopped. But neither did the small, steady gravity between you.

Sometimes, he would find you during lunch breaks just to sit beside you, knees brushing beneath the table. Other times it was a shared coffee left on your desk with a little note tucked under the lid. Nothing dramatic. Nothing loud.

Just him. Just you.

You had moments. Lots of them.

Like that night, after a chaotic media day, when he knocked softly on your hotel door and said, barely above a whisper, “Can I come in?” You didn’t need to ask why. He came in, curled beside you under too many blankets, and said, “I can’t sleep unless I know you’re near.”

And then there was the photo from the garage—the first one he posted with you half-visible in the corner, his caption not about the race, but a lyric. One you recognized.

One that made your heart twist, in the best way.

But maybe the clearest moment came months later.

Another win.

You were already pressed against the barriers, camera in hand, lens trained on the blur of papaya as he crossed the line. The crowd roared around you—mechanics yelling, pit wall erupting. It was chaos, joy, adrenaline wrapped in noise. But your world narrowed to the frame in your viewfinder.

Oscar.

You tracked every movement—the way he slowed the car, waved at the grandstands. The way he unbuckled with practiced hands, climbed out of the cockpit, raised his fists to the sky like the moment might lift him off the ground.

Then he jumped down, helmet tugged off, hair damp against his forehead.

And that’s when you saw it.

The way his eyes scanned the crowd—not aimless, not distracted. Searching. Intent.

For you.

You lowered your camera just in time to see him take the last step.

There he was.

Closer than you'd expected, already in front of you. He didn’t stop. Just folded you into his arms, sweat and heat and joy pressed against you in one breathless second.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, his voice low, husky, wrecked from shouting.

“Feels like I’m drunk,” he said. “And you’re still beautiful.”

You blinked up at him, startled, a laugh caught in your throat.

“Osc, babe—everyone is watching” you whispered.

But he was already pulling back, just enough to look you in the eyes, that same glint from the rooftop all those months ago—only now clearer, grounded, real.

And then he kissed you.

Right there, over the barrier. Pressed his lips to yours like the world had gone still. Like nothing else mattered.

Cameras flashed.

People screamed.

The team lost it behind you, Lando somewhere yelling “Are you kidding me?!” and someone else whooping, and photographers already elbowing each other for the angle.

But you didn’t notice any of it.

You kissed him back.

And that was it.

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri imagine #mclaren #mclaren x reader #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri #op81 #𓊆papayainone𓊇

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holylulusworld · 1 year ago

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Indifferent (2)

Summary: Your father wanted a bond between you and the Barnes Empire. No matter what.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Characters: Thor Odinson, Winnifred Barnes

Warnings: arranged marriage, angst, mentions of impotence, arguments, mafia au, a hint of violence, strong reader, jealousy

Catch up here: Indifferent (1)

Indifferent Masterlist

Bucky is taken aback at your behavior. You’re a brat, but you never openly talked back or yelled at him. It’s simply not your style.

“What did you say?”

“Oh, you’re dull too?” You smirk darkly when he tightens his hold on your arm. “I said make me.” Bucky blinks. His features darken and he’s close to fulfilling his promise when you use the momentum to knee his groin. “FUCK!”

He whines and drops his hand from your arm to cup his crotch with both hands. Tears well up in his eyes, and he whines like a wounded animal.

“Well, now you definitely are impotent,” you flash him a smile. “Aw, you should put ice on that, darling.” You pat his cheek, earning a growl from your husband. “Don’t wait up for me, baby. I’m going to have a little fun outside these dusty walls.”

Pain radiates through his crotch. Bucky feels like he’s going to throw up, and his insides churn. Not only from the pain but the fact that he’s unable to stop you from leaving.

“I dare you to leave,” he yells after you. “Y/N, come back or I swear I’ll hunt you down.”

You turn around to blow a kiss at Bucky. “I love you too, baby. Have a great day. You really should put ice on that. We don’t want your tiny wiener to fall off. I’d be a shame.”

“I will kill her,” he grits his teeth and breathes through the pain. “If she doesn’t come back within the next minutes, I’ll spank her ass until it’s raw, and she can’t sit on her bratty ass any longer.”

“OH my God,” you whimper. “This feels so good. Please don’t stop…don’t you ever stop!”

“He won’t stop until you relax, Y/N. He’s the best in town. Just look at his large hands,” Winnifred chuckles. She dips her head to look up at the tall masseur. “Thor, my dear. I need you to knead all the knots and kinks my stubborn son caused out of my lovely daughter-in-law.”

“Your wish is my command,” the tall blonde flashes Winnifred a stunning smile. His blue eyes sparkle, and he drops his eyes to your shoulders. “She’s so tense, but I’ll make her relax. Trust me. I’m a professional.”

“I feel like I’m floating,” you sigh dreamily, completely lost in the feel of Thor’s hands on your body. “I’m boneless but happy.”

“That’s the goal,” your mother-in-law grins. “I’ll leave you to Thor now, Y/N. You’re in capable hands.”

“Yeah…” you murmur sleepily. “Perfect hands…perfect…so perfect.” You close your eyes and forget about your marriage and that you left your husband with more than a bruised ego. “I’ll deal with the bastard later.”

“Relax,” Thor leans over your body to purr in your ear. “No thinking, sweetness. Just feel. I need you to shut your mind off and let me rule your body.”

“It’s yours,” you slur. “All yours…”

You’re walking on air when you return to the place you call your prison, not a home.

After Thor was done with you, it felt like all the sorrows and Bucky’s ignorance just vanished. You decided to ignore him for as long as needed. The moment your father retires, you’ll take over his empire and file for divorce.

What’s a few more years with an indifferent husband – right?

“YOU!” Bucky is back on his feet. Or rather, his balls don’t hurt anymore. While you spent the day with your mother-in-law, he tried to find a way to pay you back. A shame he didn’t come up with a good plan yet.

“A good night to you too, husband,” you don’t let Bucky ruin your mood. Your body feels like you are reborn after Thor worked his magic. “I had the best day ever.”

“You are…” He sizes you up and frowns. “You’re glowing…and…you’re so relaxed.” Bucky sucks in a breath. “What did you do?”

“You mean who did I do?” you can't fight the dopey grin creeping on your face. It’s all Thor’s fault. You feel like you’re high on the good stuff. Or maybe you just enjoyed his hands all over your body. “Damn, that man has magic in his hands.”

“Hands? Man?” The wheels in Bucky’s head begin to spin. He balls his hands into fists, and growls. “If you fucked that gardener, I’ll kill you!”

“Gardener?” You blink a few times. “Nah, masseur, baby.” You giggle and turn to make your way toward your wing of the mansion. “I’m telling you; he’s got more power in his thumb than any guy in their hands.”

“Thumb?” Bucky follows you, hot on your heels. He limps a little while walking next to you. “Who used his hands on you? Where have you been? What did you think going out there fucking that asshole!”

“Winnifred was so right,” you sigh dreamily at the memory of the tall blonde hunk. “His hands are the best remedy. I think I’ll visit him twice a week from now on.”

“My mother?” He stops in his tracks to watch you walk toward the west wing. There’s a sway in your hips, and he can’t help but wonder if another man gave you what he denied his wife for so long. “She got you a callboy?”

“MASSEUR!” You twirl around to glare at Bucky. “Do not call Thor a prostitute! He’s a professional and would never cross a line. This man gave me something you never could!”

“What’s that?”

“Caresses!” You sniff. “It wasn’t romantic or sexual, but today I felt like myself for the first time since I married you. What a shame that a stranger made me feel like that, not you.”

He wrinkles his forehead. “Caresses?” Bucky thinks about the possibility of losing you to a masseur. His ego couldn’t take it, nor his reputation.

The worst is a green-eyed monster clawing its way to the front of his mind. Another man put his hands on you, and he can’t stand the thought.

“MOTHER!” Bucky storms inside his parents’ house. He’s fuming, and close to losing his cool. Maybe he already lost it on his way toward their house, he's not sure about it. “How dare you bring my wife to that callboy!”

Winnifred lifts her eyes from the book she tried to read. She smirks knowingly when her son starts to throw a tantrum like an angry toddler losing their favorite toy.

“Thor is a masseur, Jamie,” she coos and goes back to reading her book. “If you do not help your wife relax and make her feel good, I must help that sweet woman. That poor thing is touch-starved thanks to you.”

“You hired someone to have sex with my wife, mother! What in the world!”

“Jamie," she closes her book and sighs. “Not every touch is about sex. I raised you better. You should know that a human being needs more than air to breathe and food to fill your belly. We are not meant to remain untouched, unloved, unhugged…”

She slowly rises from her seat to walk toward her son. Winnifred pats his cheek, and sighs once again.

“I don’t understand your behavior, Jamie. She’s beautiful, smart and caring. What did Y/N ever do to you to deserve your hatred? She won’t admit it, but this situation is killing her. Don’t you see that she’s like a flower withering away in the shadow of your hatred?”

Part 3

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #Indifferent (2)#mafia au #mobster!bucky barnes

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punkrockmlchael · 24 days ago

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Drunk in Love

Masterlist | Fred Hechinger Characters Masterlist

Customer: @medievalharlot

Order: double scoop of cookies and cream with crushed oreos

Ingredients: 18+ mdni, Fem!Reader x Jason Hochberg, Two Dorks Talking about Feelings, Drunken Confession, Smut: Making out, Unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it), Riding Jason, Masturbation... kinda (fem), Creampie, Jason kind of doesn't know what he's doing but it's okay

Total: $23.00 (2300 words)

Order note from the scooper (Jason): "Hi, Kia! Thank you for your order! I had so much fun with this one so here's your double scoop of cookies and cream ice cream with crushed oreos on top! I see you like oreos, hm? Please, come back soon and get some more ice cream from us! Oh, and, uh, you're like really pretty..."

Check out our ice cream parlor here!!

Huge thank you to @keeryhours , @bumblebeeswrite , @glassbxttless and @swiftieintheupsidedown for reading this over for me!

Counselor Weekend was always a party. The camp rules were no drinking, no smoking and no partying but that really didn’t stop anyone, especially the younger counselors.

You were kind of in the middle this year. Not as young as the new counselors but not as old as the returning lead counselor, Jason. You were fresh into your 20s with a lot of hope for this summer. You understood all of the hip lingo and jokes from the younger counselors, but you also understood Jason’s jokes and his struggle to fit in. It didn’t help that over the past few summers here at Camp Pineway you had sort of developed a… soft spot for Jason and all of his quirks and habits. And he definitely had a mutual feeling towards you; he just would never admit that out loud. At least, not sober.

And, as much as you loved Jason for who he was, you wanted to help him get out of his shell and connect more with the younger counselors. You’re still surprised you got him here… sitting around the bonfire with the other counselors, a beer bottle in his hand. He was nursing it, for sure, not really wanting to admit how much he liked being able to kick back and relax a bit. You sat beside Jason on a log, laughing at all the stupid jokes he was making.

“I thought you said you could handle your alcohol?” You asked, elbowing him gently. It was well past midnight at this point and all the other counselors had gone their own ways (whether to make out, get lucky or crawl into bed). You and Jason just continued to sit by the bonfire, watching the flames slowly die out in the cool summer air.

“I totally can,” Jason mumbled, a hint of a slur in his words as he finished his third beer of the night. He wasn’t drunk yet, but he was definitely feeling a slight buzz from the alcohol he had consumed throughout the night. “I’m a pro at drinking.”

You smiled, looking up at him. “Looks like it! That’s why it looks like I might have to carry you to your bed.” You teased, watching a small smile form on his lips.

Jason shook his head, setting the beer bottle down on the ground next to him. “No, trust me, I got this,” he smiled fully, standing up slowly. He was a bit uneasy on his feet, stumbling a bit before you stood up after him.

“Really, Jason, it’s totally okay if you can’t.” You reassured him, walking alongside him. “I am here to help, oh wise head counselor.” You said, giggling at the side eye glance he gave you. “What?” You asked, “Camp Pineway needs their amazing head counselor, Jason Hochberg. I don’t think I could sleep tonight knowing that he didn’t make it to his bed safe and sound.”

You helped Jason towards his cabin, watching him only stumble a couple of times. You helped him up the short few steps and into the cabin before he stumbled towards his bed.

“You’re too nice to me,” Jason sighed, breathing out your name before he fell back into his bed.

He turned towards you slowly, looking up at you. “Everyone else would have just left me and laughed at me but you… you’re actively trying to make sure I’m okay. And that I fit in with the others. Fuck, you’re just,” he paused for a moment, looking you over slowly. “You’re perfect. I love you—I… I mean it. I love it. I love that you’re so nice to me and helping me and it makes me just feel like I actually do fit in,” Jason rambled on, looking at your face before he yawned and closed his eyes. His hands grabbed yours gently as he pulled you down onto the bed next to him. He sighed softly, snuggling up behind you as his arms wrapped around your waist. “Thank you,” he said softly, his breath tickling the back of your neck gently.

Your face contorted in confusion slowly as you turned around in his arms, facing him. “What did you just say?” You asked softly, pushing his hair out of his face gently.

“Just said thank you,” he shrugged, looking at you. He leaned into your touch slightly, the feeling bringing a sense of peace and calm to him that he rarely had nowadays.

“No, there was more,” you giggled softly, leaning towards him. “Something like… you love me?” You inquired.

Jason watched you, biting his lip softly as he opened his mouth to say something before he closed it soon after. You shifted slightly, your hand moving to rest on his cheek softly. He leaned into your touch again but closed his eyes, avoiding eye contact with you. “I didn’t… say that,” he mumbled.

“Oh, but you did,” you said, looking at him. “You said you love me,” you added, giggling slightly.

“Yeah, okay, so what if I did?” Jason mumbled, looking at you. “I have had the biggest crush on you since we met a couple summers ago… but, it’s not like you love me back, or even like me for that matter.”

“Says who?” You asked softly, resting your head on the pillow gently. “Jason—look at you. Why wouldn’t I like you?”

“Yeah, look at me. Why would you like me?” He rambled slightly. “I mean, I’m not exactly the coolest guy out there. I’m twenty-four and still go to summer camp. I'm kind of awkward, I’m a loser… no one even wants me here.”

“I want you here.” You whispered, leaning closer to him. “Jason, you’re literally the coolest person I know. You always make everything that you can as fun as possible, your jokes are hilarious and you care so much about everything that you do. You are literally the definition of the coolest guy out there.”

Jason shook his head, his cheeks and neck turning a slight shade of pink as he looked at you. “But there’s Chris… and Bobby…”

“Douchebags,” you nodded, looking at Jason. “You truly are one of the sweetest guys I have ever met.”

“You’re just saying that because you have to.”

You shook your head, looking at him. You sat up slowly, moving towards him as he laid on the bed. You moved to his lap, straddling his waist gently as your hand pushed his hair out of his face again. “You think I have to say that? I don’t, really. I don’t have to say anything to you. But I am, because it’s all true.”

Jason’s breath hitched slightly as you moved on top of him. You leaned closer to him, looking at him as he gulped slightly.

“Are you sure?” He asked softly.

“Positive.” You stared down at Jason, smiling slightly as he looked up at you with a nervous smile. His hands found your hips gently, resting there as he repositioned himself into a sitting position with you in his lap. Your knees rested on the bed beside his thighs as your body moved closer to his.

“What’re you doing?” He asked softly, his face moving closer to yours as your arms snaked around his neck. Your fingers toyed with the hair on the back of his neck gently as you leaned closer, so close your lips were almost touching.

“Nothing,” you muttered, smiling at him. “Just, hanging out,” you giggled softly.

“Just hanging out, hm?” He asked, his hands trailing up your sides gently. They ghosted over the fabric of your hoodie before slowly moving under your hoodie, touching your bare skin.

“Mhm,” you hummed softly, gasping slightly at the feeling of his fingers on your skin. You looked at him and smiled, leaning closer to finally close the gap. Your lips pressed against his softly, your fingers continuing to play with his soft hair as you did so. Jason smiled into the kiss, his hands pushing your hoodie up slowly.

You pulled away from the kiss and slid your hoodie off, tossing it to the side before you leaned back down and kissed him again. He smiled, kissing you back as his hands continued to move up and down your sides slowly. “You’re perfect,” he mumbled against your lips, deepening the kiss slightly.

“Says you,” you mumbled, pulling away from the kiss. You tugged his shirt up, pulling it up and over his head before you discarded it in the same pile as your sweatshirt. Your lips trailed down his jaw and neck, leaving soft and sweet kisses over every inch of his body that you could. You moved your body slightly, accidentally rubbing your clothed core against his growing bulge.

A small gasp escaped Jason’s lips as his head fell back against the wall. Your name fell from his lips, a cross between a moan and whine as his hands moved back to your hips. “Fuck.”

You smiled, trailing more kisses down his chest as your hands fumbled with his belt carefully. You pulled away slightly, looking at him, “is this okay?” You asked softly. Jason nodded rapidly, watching your every move.

“Yes, fuck, more than okay. This is great, this is perfect, actually.” He mumbled, nodding more. You giggled softly at his response before you undid his belt and his shorts, tugging them down slowly. His erection sprung free, hitting his lower stomach with a soft thud as a small hiss left him from the cool air. You stood up, pushing your jeans to the floor quickly. Jason watched you stand up, his hands reaching out for yours. “Come back,” he muttered, pulling you back to his lap carefully.

“I’m not leaving,” you giggled, kissing his lips again as your hands moved to behind your back, unhooking your bra. You slid it off of your shoulders and tossed it to the side of his bed. Pulling away from the kiss, you looked at him. “Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure?” Jason asked, his eyes trailing over your bare chest as your hips began grinding into his slowly. He whined loudly, his hands moving to your waist, his grip tight and possessive as he helped you move against his erection.

“Positive,” you breathed out, your clothed core continuing to rub against him. “Not going anywhere,” you mumbled, looking up at him. You sat up on your knees carefully, pushing your panties to the side gently before hovering over his cock. You teased him, sliding his tip through your slick folds slowly. Jason groaned pathetically as you slowly sunk down onto him until you were fully seated on him.

“Shit,” he moaned out your name as his grip on your waist stayed. “Is this really happening?” He asked, closing his eyes at the feeling of you around him.

“Really happening,” you mumbled. You moved your hips slightly, lifting off of him before you sunk back down, moaning out softly. “Jesus, Jason,” you sighed, your hands moving to his shoulder gently.

“Hm?” He asked, watching you continue your movements. His eyes widened as you bounced a bit faster, your breasts moving each time. “Fuck, you’re so hot.” His hands slid up your sides hesitantly, stopping right next to your breasts. He stared at you, mesmerized with each and every movement you made.

“You can touch them, you know?” You suggested, leaning in to kiss his lips softly. He groaned against them, kissing you back as his hands slowly moved over your breasts. He rested his hands on them carefully, afraid he might break you. “Come on, Jason,” you mumbled, biting his bottom lip. “I promise you’re not going to hurt me.”

Jason moaned into the kiss, gasping as your tongue slipped into his mouth to explore every inch. He squeezed your breasts lightly, his tongue slowly moving against yours as you continued to move up and down on his cock. Your speed increased, moving up and down rapidly as he pulled away from the kiss. His head fell back against the wall, moaning loudly as his hips bucked up involuntarily. “Hm, fuck, gonna cum,” he mumbled, squeezing your breasts again.

“Yeah?” You whined softly, moving your dominant hand down between your legs. Your middle finger and ring finger found your clit, rubbing tight and small circles on it as you moaned his name loudly. Jason opened his eyes, looking at you up and down. He moaned loudly, watching you use him for your own pleasure while your fingers made quick work on your clit. That sight alone was not only going to be burned in his memory (along with your moans), but that was enough to bring him over the edge.

“Fuck,” Jason whined, your name leaving his lips rapidly as he thrusted up inside of you. He shot rope after rope of hot cum inside of you, groaning as he felt you clench around him tightly. His hands moved down to your waist, gripping it tightly as he kept you in place. You moaned his name, your head falling back gently as you released around him.

After a few minutes you sighed, your head falling into his neck gently. Once you caught your breath, you placed soft kisses against his skin, his grip slowly releasing from your waist as his arms slid around your body instead. “That was, wow,” you mumbled, looking at him. “You need to drink more often.”

Jason hummed, looking at you. “Maybe you just need to help me into bed more often?” He teased, placing a soft kiss on the side of your head.

“You know,” you mumbled, leaning closer to him, “that could probably be arranged,” you smiled, placing a soft and sweet kiss against his lips. Jason smiled, kissing you back as he pulled you closer to him.

“I’d love that.”

jason hochberg taglist: wanna join? click the form here! ; @medievalharlot ; @alexa0813 ; @yearsbecomingcool ; @bumblebeeswrite ; @janis01127 ; @samslvrgirl ; @iitsmandii

#punkrockmlchael #punkrockmlchael ice cream parlor blurbs #punkrockmlchael ice cream parlor #jason hochberg hell of a summer #jason hochberg #jason hochberg fic #jason hochberg x reader #jason hochberg x fem!reader #jason hochberg fluff #fluffy jason hochberg #sweet jason hochberg #jason hochberg smut #jason hochberg x reader smut #drunken confession #jason hell of a summer #fred hechinger jason

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illyrian-dreamer · 2 years ago

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Spin the bottle

Jealous Azriel x Reader. Angst/fluff (the usuaaallll)

Summary: A drunken game of spin the bottle with the rest of the IC makes Azriel a grumpy boy. (But it’s actually pretty romantic).

Word count: 2.1k

--------

This was stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

You looked up from where the bottle had finally stopped spinning. Flecks of red wine having splattered on the floorboards from what little remained in the deep green bottle, it’s long neck now pointed directly at your High Lord.

It was the eighth bottle of the night, or perhaps the ninth? It hardly mattered, you and your friends were stupidly drunk, so much so that when Cassian had suggested a childish game of spin the bottle with a wiggle of his eyebrows, you had snorted and excitedly agreed.

It had taken a variation of tactics to get the rest of the Inner Circle to play along.

Feyre had giggled, whispering something to her mate who merely winked back at her as they both took a place by the fire.

Mor had clapped in delight, poking fun at Amren who clung to Varian, but when her partner agreed, so had she.

Nesta rolled her eyes at Cassian, but a smirk was set at her lips as he hauled her over his shoulder to the circle that was beginning to form. Even Elain hadn’t given much fight, blushing as she shrugged “If it’s only a kiss.” You had pecked her hands and gave a squeal of delight, pulling her to sit by your side.

That only left the amused, yet still brooding Shadowsinger.

Azriel kept his arms crossed, shaking his head with a stubborn smirk as each of you tried your own way to convince him to play, Some begged, some insulted, and some bargained with unfulfillable promise – all of which rendered useless against the Spymaster.

He leaned against the arm of the chase, dark hair falling in front of his honey-brown eyes. Despite his stubborn front, his wings were slouched and relaxed, Azriel’s tell-sign he was just as tipsy as the rest of you.

“C’mon Az,” you drawled, uncaring that you spoke with a slight slur. “You’ll be the only one not playing.” Dark shadows began to curl in your lap.

Azriel smiled tightly. “You’re all drunk.”

“Oh, and you’re not?”

Calling the shadows back from the distance they had gained towards you, Azriel’s eyes narrowed on you playfully. His smile grew, yet he remained unmoved.

“Leave him be,” Cassian spoke, a hand covering one side of his mouth as if to tell you a secret, but with a volume high enough to ensure everyone would hear. “He’s just brooding because he lost the snowball fight yesterday.”

Azriel stiffened immediately, and spoke with lethal cool. “I did not lose.”

Rhysand grinned, chiming in. “You certainly did.”

“I only lost to a pair of cheats. You’re not supposed to work as a team.”

“Why not give me a big smooch and prove you’re not a loser at this game too, then?” Cassian boasted, arms wide and beckoning, his lips comically puckered.

The rest of you howled in unison, tears forming in your own eyes as you wiped them away. Azriel finally took a place in between you and Feyre, and as far away from Cassian as he could get.

The rules were simple – spin the bottle and kiss whoever it pointed at. If the bottle was to land on a relative, it would automatically direct to the first on their right.

And so the game began. Cassian declared the first round his, the bottle landing swiftly on Varian who merely chuckled. Cassian had grabbed both sides of his face, planting an enthusiastic kiss on his mouth that sounded with a smack of his lips.

“Mmm, tastes like blood,” he teased at Amren, who merely scowled back. The rest of you were in hysterics, and you had to clutch at your stomach to stop it from hurting.

Mor was up next, the bottle reeling to a quick stop on Elain. The kiss was swift, but gentle, and had Elain thanking her with an shy giggle. Mor winked back at the blushing Archeron before returning to her spot.

Feyre had spun the bottle enthusiastically, and tipped her head back and laughed when it landed directly on her mate.

“C’mere darling,” he said smoothly, moving to dip her head back and plant a sensual kiss on her neck before slipping his tongue into her mouth. The group whooped and cheered, before Nesta declared she was to be sick and the couple finally broke their kiss.

Azriel was up next, and Cassian had roared with a cheer as the bottle landed in his direction. ‘Come here big guy!” Azriel had let him kiss him for all of two seconds, and kept a firm hand planted on his brother’s chest to ensure some distance was kept. You were sure you had never laughed harder in your life.

And so it was your turn. You were yet to be kissed, and felt a silly flutter of nerves as you crawled towards the bottle. It slowed to a stop. It’s long neck pointed directly at your High Lord.

“Well well,” Rhys mused, his violet eyes sparkling as a feline grin grew. “Try not to be too jealous, Feyre darling,” he winked at his mate. Feyre laughed, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m only glad it’s not Cassian,” she joked, earning a shove from the General.

Rhys was crouched in front of you now, his face relaxed yet playful. There was no denying his handsomeness – you certainly weren’t unhappy to be kissing him.

Rhys reached to cup your face, and as his long fingers found where your jaw meets your neck, you heard a sharp breath being sucked in from beside you.

Flicking your eyes over to Azriel, you saw his brow pulled in fury, his body completely stiffened and shadows nowhere to be seen. You hadn’t a second to process before Rhys’s lips found yours in a gentle kiss.

A kiss that lasted a mere second, before a cold, harsh voice spoke.

“Stop that.”

You and Rhys both broke away from the kiss. His hands were still on your face as you looked up at Azriel who now stood towering over the two of you, wings spread and chest fuming.

You couldn’t help but gawk at his erratic behaviour. “Azriel, what–?”

“Let go of her.” Azriel was practically growling at his High Lord.

Rhysand didn’t question him, instead he dropped his hands from your face immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said with a hushed voice. “I had no idea.”

The rest of the circle fell silent, each of you stunned by the Shadowinger’s outburst.

With a final fume from his chest and flare of his nostrils, Azriel folded to a winnow, vanishing from the room entirely.

“Well that was unexpected,” Mor spoke with a pull of her brow.

“I’ll say,” Feyre added.

Bringing a hand to your lips, the sensation of Rhys’s lips on yours lingered, and twinge of guilt cast through your stomach.

“Any idea of where he went?” you asked quietly, no longer amused with the game’s antics.

“The Sidra,” Rhys answered shortly, offering you a sorry smile before casting a long look at his mate, an obvious sign of their mind-to-mind exchange.

————

Velaris was freezing this time of year, and even your layers of wool, scarves and a heavy coat couldn’t protect you from the icy bite that blew from over the cold of the river. You found Azriel at a docking pier, solemnly leaning against the railing as the water sloshed below the planks.

There was no sneaking up on the Spymaster, yet he continued to ignore you as you approached.

“Care to explain yourself?” you spoke from some distance, making your way closer to him. His wings twitched at your words and knuckles whitened at their clutch on the railing, but Azriel kept his gaze on the night’s horizon.

You folded his coat over the railing, a small sign for a truce you were unsure was needed. When Azriel left it untouched, you sighed, folding your arms. “Put the coat on, Az.”

Without turning his head, Azriel cast a sideways glance before pulling the large black coat over his arms and wings. He was already a large and broad male, but the coat refined him further. It was quite a handsome look on the Shadowsinger.

“What happened back there?” you poached again.

There was a moment of silence before he spoke. “You wanted him to kiss you.”

Frowning, you were quick to defend yourself. “Not necessarily.”

“You did. I heard your heart fasten. I scented your excitement.”

“It was a game Azriel, one we all agreed to play.”

“I didn’t want to.”

You rolled your eyes then. “Alright Az, I’m sorry we forced you–”

“I didn’t want to play because I can’t stand the thought of anyone else kissing you.”

You gawked at your friend. “Excuse me?”

Azriel had finally turned to face you, his eyes wild and swirling with gold, his frown deep and chest moving fast. You could hear his own heart then, beating far too fast.

“When Rhys looked at you like that, and touched you, and then h-he kissed you… Gods Y/N. You don't understand. It took everything I had to rip him off of you.”

You blinked at Azriel – never had he shown such vulnerability. “Is this an Illyrian thing?”

Azriel shook his head tightly, wild eyes still fixed on you, nostrils flaring yet again.

“Are you jealous?” you collected.

Azriel ignored your statement. “I ache to be the one to kiss you like that, Y/N.”

Your heart skipped a beat then, and you were forced to take a gulp of quick air. “Do you desire me, Azriel?” Something in your core throbbed at the thought.

“Tonight I realised it’s more than that. You have a certain…pull on me,” he said, moving to step closer. “Every time you’re in a room, I feel the need to be near you. And when you leave, something beyond my will begs for me to follow. I feel anxious when you’re away, and unfulfilled if I haven’t seen you or even scented you in hours.”

Your were deadly still, eyes wide as Azriel continued to move closer, drawing a breath through his nose, claiming the smell of you he so desperately needed. A deep hum sounded from him, before scarred hands moved to grasp either side of your arms.

“You have no idea how much control you have over me. You rule me Y/N, dictate my every move, just by simply existing.”

Guilt, confusion, passion and a small glint of hope overwhelmed you as his words sunk in. Could it be? Something so rare sparked by a ridiculous exchange of puppy-love? Your hands moved on their own accord, seeking his to hold. And when your cold fingers slid over his scarred ones, Azriel’s touch ignited a current of warmth through your veins, heating you from the inside out. Your own eyes widened to find his softened, earnest and pleading.

“I never meant to hurt you by kissing Rhys.” Your voice was a whisper.

“I know. Gods, of course I know that. I’m acting rash, I’m aware.” Azriel kept your hands in his, but looked down now, shaking his head. “Mother above, this is insanity!”

“It’s not insanity,” you said softly, stepping closer and bringing a hand to cup his chiselled cheek. “It’s the mating bond.”

Azriel froze then, his eyes locked on yours. “You feel it too?”

“I do now,” you said with a faint smile.

Azriel brow pulled in painful relief. “I heard it snap the moment Rhys’s lips found yours,” he admitted.

You cringed at the thought. “Gods, what an awful way to find out.” You pulled him closer to you, instincts igniting as your body begged to be closer to him, pressed against him bare if you could. “I’m sorry.”

Azriel was silent as he moved to entwine himself with you, strong arms encompassing you, protecting you. For a moment you held each other, savouring the feel of a perfect fit, two pieces of a puzzle having finally interlocked. Your kept your check pressed to his chest, listening to his heartbeat that was now a melody to your ears.

Looking up, you trembled in awe of his beauty, gingerly stroking his cheek before rubbing your thumb gently over his bottom lip. A deep sound left his chest then, and it thrilled you – you were tuning him with your touch.

“Be mine?” he asked, biting back his own urges as you leaned on your toes, reaching closer to his face.

“Only yours,” you whispered before pressing your lips against his, indulging in the euphoric sensation of the eternal tether binding you to your mate.

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A/N: Look, I truly believe not all fics have to end with a mating bond. But this one does, ok? Hope you enjoyed, thank you to @aroseinvelaris for the request!!

Also did you spot the slightest Mor x Elain crackship?? If you blink you might have missed it.... but I got excited lol.

Thanks always for reading! MWA

#azriel acotar #jealous azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel mate #azriel jealous #azriel x you #inner circle fluff #inner circle x reader #acotar fluff #acotar fan fiction #acotar one shot #rhysand x reader #azriel mating bond #sarah j maas #acotar fanfic #acotar spin the bottle

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cookie-lore-keeper · 3 months ago

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Cookie Glosssary

A lot of humans might not know some of the terms used by cookies, so, I put a list of the terms here and an explanation for what they mean!

Ancients/Ancient Heroes - The 5 great heroes who wield the soul jam. These

Baby Dough- Baby cookies

Beasts/Beast Cookies - The Corrupted cookies who had the Souljam before the Ancient Heroes

Bland - An offensive term for a cookie that you find boring or not unique

Crumbs - the fallen parts of a crumbled or injured cookie. If used in the context or, "Oh crumbs", that can basically be, "Oh fuck."

Celestials - Godlike cookies who weren't born cookies but somehow became cookies and originated from the human world

Cheesian - A cookie who is descended from the Golden Cheese Kingdom

Cookievorous - something that hunts cookies

Créme Republican - Refers to cookies who are from the Créme Republic

Crispia - The main Continent of Earthbread

Crispy - Refers to a healthy Cookie. Is also slang for a young cookie

Crumbling - Dying

Dragons - When talking about Dragons, cookies usually mean the Dragons that are able to turn into and communicate with cookies. But, they're are also dragons who don't have this ability

Dark Cacaoian - Refers to cookies who are from the Dark Cacao Kingdom

Dough- Body or skin

Dough-Brained - An offensive term for someone you find dumb

Eyecing- Eyes

Earthbread- The world that the cookies are on

Elementals - Refers to the powerful god-like cookies who rule over a specific part of nature

Frosting - The umbrella term for hair. Not all hair is made out of frosting, but all hair is called frosting

First Cookies - The witches who had their souls rebaked into cookies. Because they are witches, these 12 cookies are very powerful

Flatster - A slur for cookies

Flavor - Refers to the specific taste of a cookie but can also refer to the cookie's ingredients

Freshly Baked - A baby cookie

Hollyberrian- A cookie from the Hollyberry Kingdom

Ingredients- The things that make up a dessert's dough. Can also refer to their genes

Icing- Refers to facial features as well as any decorations on a cookie

Juice - Unless specified that it's non-alcoholic, juice is an alcoholic drink

Jamline- The familial line of a cookie

Jellies - The food cookies eat. Practically everything they eat is made up of jellies

Lifepowder - The magical substance that gives dessert creatures life

Millenial Cookies - Cookies who are from the Millenial Forest

Magichanical - A combination of modern techonology/robotics with magic

Mercookies- Aquatic cookies

Oh Witches - Like, "Oh God/Oh my God"

Parfaedian - A cookie from Parfaedia

Pasty - An offensive term for cookies who have a lot of Vanilla flavors or ingredients in their dough

Rising Dough - A growing cookie. Usually refers to a young cookie

Resonate Ingredient - The main and most important ingredient of a cookie.

Syrup- On cookies, syrup refers to makeup, since a lot of makeup is made out of syrup. On clothing, it's basically a synonyms for icing

Shortbread- A slang term that refers to a small cookie

Soggy- A wet cookie. Being soggy for a cookie is dangerous because they can literally die if their dough becomes too soggy

Soul cheese - What the Golden Cheese Kingdom calls a cookie's soul

Soul Jam - An item with great power that gives the Ancient Cookies and the Beast Cookies their power. Contains a lot of lifepowder.

Stale- An older cookie. Can be used as an insult in a different context

Strawberry Jam - Basically the cookie version of blood (doesn't work the same way human blood works though)

Sugartearean - Cookie's who are from Sugarteara

Toothcing - Teeth (most cookies don't have teeth so idk why this is a term 🤷‍♀️)

Vanillian- Refers to cookies from the Vanilla kingdom

Wizards - Similar to the witches, the wizards were humans with magical powers and also created cookies

Witches - The humans with magical abilities that created dessert kind

Yogurcans - Cookies who are from Yogurca

Yakgwans - Cookies from the Yakgwa Village

Feel free to tell me anything that you think I should add!

#this was supposed to be explaining to humans what cookies mean by “frosting” and “crumbling” and all that #but it got out of hand...#anyways enjoy the glossary #will be updated accordingly!#earthbread #crispia #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk #cookie run roleplay #crk roleplay #cookie archives #worldbuilding #cookie run ovenbreak #crob #cookie run ovenbreak roleplay #beast yeast #crwc #cookie run witch's castle

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lightsoutmatthews · 4 months ago

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New Rules - Andrei Svechnikov

Summary: You and Andrei used to date, now you´re trying to let go of him with a set of new rules which should work (more or less)

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x female!reader

warnings: angst (some), sexual themes (not explicit, hints to), mentions of break up, hints to toxic behavior, mentions of being drunk

word count: 3.05k

authors note:

this is my very first time publishing anything I´ve written like ever

feedback is appreciated

english is not my native language so bear with any grammar or spelling mistakes

Svech is portrait as kind of toxic, that´s not how I see him irl

I hope you enjoy :))

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ONE: Don’t pick up the phone, you know he´s only calling cause he´s drunk and alone

“Give me your phone.” Your friend demanded as you checked it for the millionth time that evening. “What?” Confusion was written all over your face even though you knew exactly what she meant. “You are not waiting for his call.” You rolled your eyes in annoyance.

She knew you were waiting. He had just lost the metropolitan division final round against the Rangers. They had battled hard, almost came back to equalize the series after being down 3-1 just a few days prior but it wasn’t enough. Seeing the defeat on his and his teammates faces after they once again did not even come close to winning the cup broke your heart.

You were there when they got swept in the eastern conference final the year prior. You comforted him after the game, let him get drunk out of his mind and then brought him back to your shared apartment where he cried in your arms over not being able to be on the ice to help his teammates reach their ultimate goal.

“We both know he will call as soon as he´s drunk enough. He always does.” Unfortunately, your friend knew your relationship well enough for that. When you were together, he always called after bad games. Sometimes when he was drunk, sometimes when he was sober, but he always called.

The thought sent a shiver down your spine. You knew you should have blocked him the first time it happened after you broke up. He was injured again. Taking a puck to the face. You had broken up a few weeks prior to that after one of your many disagreements was the tripping point for you.

He slurred his words during the phone call, begging and pleading for you to take him back. That he would change, for you. It broke your heart to turn him down.

“Give me the phone, girl.” Your friend held out her hand again, waiting for you to finally place the device into it. Your shoulders slumped. You knew you should give it to her because you would give in as soon as the call came through. Her face tensed when you made no move, just kept twirling the phone around. “You want him to call.” It was a statement not a question. You didn’t have to answer for you both knew you did.

“You need to get over him.” She hissed, slamming her drink down on the wooden bar top. “You relationship was toxic. He manipulated you. He wanted to take away your dreams and make you a trophy piece he can put next to the Stanley Cup one day. A beautiful thing on his arm he can show off. When will your realize?” Her face turned red as she spoke, her voice laced with venom.

A loud sigh left your mouth. She was right but still there was this feeling deep inside your chest that made you go back to him. “Grow up. He´s a playboy. A kid they gave too much money to who now thinks he´s the king of the world and can get away with everything because he´s good at shooting a rubber disk at a net.”

Each word stung in your chest. You knew she was right. “And yet I still love him.” Right on que your phone started to ring. Andrei Svechnikov.

“If you take this, I can´t do this anymore. I´m done watching you getting your heart broken by this asshole. You know he is only calling because he is drunk and alone.” You rolled your eyes. You knew she didn’t mean it; she just didn’t want you to get hurt again.

“Hey…” you said before dismissing her by turning around.

TWO: Don´t let him in, you´ll have to kick him out again

You thought he had gone back to Russia during the off season but when you had a knock at your door in the middle of the night. A gasp left your mouth when you saw the scene on the other side.

Seth Jarvis and Jesperi Kotkaniemi holding up a very drunk looking Andrei shooting each other worried glances as they waited for someone to open the door.

You leaned your forehead against the cold wood for a second, contemplating if you should let him in. With his state it would mean that he would spend the night, and you would have to kick him out again the next morning. Guilt would eat you alive if you let him stay but something in you knew you could not let him stand out there.

Three pairs of wide eyes looked at you after you gathered the courage to open. Jarvy and KKs eyes soon turned into guilt. Unspoken apologies filling the air. “BABY.” Andrei shouted. Peaking your head left and right you made sure no neighbors were nearby. “Hey.” You weren’t sure any of the men heard you. “He insisted on coming here.” KK stated, his words laced with guilt.

The both of you knew he knew better than bringing him here, so did Seth but you knew once Andrei had an idea in his head it was hard to get him to stop. “We´re sorry. We will take him home.” Seth fidgeted with his left hand and brushed it over his already tussled hair.

Your eyes wandered over the slump body of your ex-boyfriend. He was barely hanging on to his teammates shoulders. It must have been quite the process to even get him up here in the first place. “Bring him in.” KK exchanged a worried glance with his teammate on Andrei´s other arm. “Are you sure?”

Another loud sigh escaped your mouth before you could stop it. You knew you should say no. “Just do it, I will deal with the consequences later.”

Once Andrei was settled on your couch, deep asleep within seconds, you and his teammates stood in silence. Unspoken words heavy in the air. “We shouldn’t have come here.” Seth broke the silence. “It´s fine.” That was the end of the conversation.

The next morning you were awake way to early after the late-night disturbance. Andrei was still asleep on the couch when you walked into the living room. “Why are you here?” you whispered into the quiet space.

“I miss you.” Goosebumps rose on your arms at his reply. “Drei…” He groaned as he sat up. His hair tussled, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes shot red from the alcohol he indulged in last night. “I´m sorry. I didn’t know what I was thinking coming here. It was like a reflex when Jarvy and KK tried to take me home.”

“It´s fine.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “No, actually it´s not fine. Andrei, what are we doing? You call me when you are drunk, you show up at my doorstep when you´re drunk. Jarvy and KK apologized approximately fifty times for your behavior last night. We broke up months ago because YOU could no longer deal with my dramatics. You´re here for what exactly? Because it is certainly not to beg me for forgiveness.”

“I saw you on your date a few nights ago.” His confession hit you like a truck. You went for lunch with a guy from work a while ago. A friend from work, but you didn´t tell him that.

“And that gives you a right to do what? You can’t state any claim to me. We broke up, Andrei.” You clapped your hands over your face. The exhaustion from the long night now coming back to haunt you.

A beat passes with no reply. “Leave.” His eyes shot up in surprise. “What…?” You knew he wanted to say more but no words came out of his mouth. “Leave, Andrei. Leave and never come back. Never contact me again. We are over. I want to move on with my life and moving on does not include you.”

THREE: Don’t be his friend, you know you´re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning

Months passed without seeing him after you threw him out of your apartment that night. You moved on with life. A few dates here and there, but nothing came out of it. Sometimes he was on your mind during them. In the beginning you compared them to him even though you didn’t want to, but things got better with time.

The more time passed between the last time you saw Andrei and the present day the less your thought about him actually. Your friend, who obviously did not stop being friends with you because you picked up the phone, was happy with the development and set you up with various different people throughout the passing time.

All came crashing down the next time you saw Andrei. It was New Years Eve. You were at a club in Miami to celebrate. Some girlfriends talked you into a trip over the year change and you said yes. Having been wrapped up with work prior to the holidays you were excited to let loose for a bit.

The bass hammered through your body a few hours into the evening. Alcohol had been flowing in masses, and it was still an hour until the new year. You swung your arms over your head to a Latin song you liked, your girlfriends next to you. “The guy over there has been starring at you for the past 10 minutes, you should go talk to him.” one of them yelled into your ear.

You followed her finger and looked directly into pretty blue eyes. The guy had blonde hair and muscles that everyone could see under his slightly too small shirt. “Go talk to him! He´s hot!” Your friend yelled again.

“Hey, gorgeous.” He greeted you as soon as you slid on a chair next to him. “Hey there yourself.” Flirting came easier to you when you had drunken but something about talking to him made him nervous. “What´s a pretty girl like you doing here ringing the new year in all alone?” You knew it was the worst way to open a conversation and in a sober state you wouldn’t have fallen for it but in this scenario, you looked up at him with heart eyes.

“Waiting for a guy like you to talk to me.” I shot him a wink which made him chuckle. You and he fell into an easy conversation. He told you that he´s here for a bachelor party and you told him about your girls trip to Miami. Conversation flowed easily, you blushed as he bought you another drink and brushed a strand of your hair out of your face. His touch lingering a little longer for just a friendly gesture.

“Babe, there you are.” The words hit you like ice cold water. The familiar Russian accent sending a shiver down your spine. “Babe?” The guy in front of you questioned as he saw the tall Russian step into your space. “Yeah, man, thanks for taking care of her, when she´s drunk she likes to wander. You next drink is on me.”

Perplexity was written all over the guys face but Andrei´s expression was ice cold, so he took the hint.

“Are you out of your mind?” You went off on him as soon as he was out of your earshot. “Hello to you too, malysh.” The Russian term of endearment something you had grown familiar with over time. “Fuck off, Andrei.” You pushed him out of the way and marched back towards your friends, but he stopped you by grabbing your arm.

“Let me go.” You whisper yelled as to not draw too much attention to you two. He didn’t comply. “Svechnikov, I´m warning you. I told you the last time we saw each other that you don’t have any claim to me anymore so, I have no idea what your little stunt back there was supposed to be but thanks for that.”

“He looked like a douchebag. You´re not good enough for him.” You huffed out a grunt. “And for whom am I good enough? You? Don’t make me laugh.” He grimaced. “I didn’t come here to fight.” His English getting worse with the alcohol, but you still understood him well enough.

“Then what are you here to do?” The two of you had wandered around in the club, now standing almost in the middle of the dance floor. “I wanted to apologize. You blocked me on everything so I could not do it via text, so I took my chance.” Your eyes narrowed. You didn’t really know what to do with his confession.

“I would like for us to be friends. I know you hung out with KK and Jarvy.” Your eyebrows raised. Friends. He wanted to be friends. “What?” The tone of your voice must have caught him by surprise because his eyes widened. “Friends.” He repeated.

“Ten… nine… eight… seven…” the countdown started in the background. You were still trapped in the bubble Andrei´s words put you in, so they sounded like you had something stuck in your ears. “Let´s start the new year with a truce. Friends. We hang out occasionally, you come to a game every now and then. I promise to stop texting you drunk and to call you, and to show up at your house in the middle of the night unless you ask me to.” He slurred, half of his words getting lost in the chanting and celebrating happening around you.

You knew you should not do it. You knew this would end in disaster, just like it did the last times but were unable to tell this man no. He had captured you from the moment he first entered your life and put his spell on you. “Fine.”

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

You blinked your eyes open stung by the brightness that hit you when you fully woke up. Holding your hand in front of your eyes, blocking the sun from hitting you in the face. This was not your hotel room; you could tell from the window you were looking at alone. Behind you the rustling of sheets let you know that whoever you went home with was still with you.

After taking a deep breath you tried to manage the headache that immediately hit you. The last thing you remembered was talking to Andrei, setting a truce with him about being friends. A mistake, you immediately thought.

Taking another deep breath, you picked up your phone and checked the time. Shortly after eleven in the morning. You didn’t remember when exactly you got here or how, but you knew that you were naked which meant you drunkenly slept with someone.

Usually, hookups were not your thing but today you could bring yourself to care. This is why you came to Miami. “Good morning, malysh.” Your heart skipped a beat. There is no way. Blinking a few short times to make sure you were not dreaming you turned around.

Andrei lifted his hand to block out the sun just like you had a few minutes earlier. “Fuck.” You mumbled. “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. No, this is not happening. I´m dreaming.” You pinched yourself in the arm, jerking as it actually hurt.

Andrei chuckled behind you. “You okay?” His voice was rough and still laced with the screaming that had happened the night before. You buried your head in your hands. This could not be happening. You could not be in his hotel room, having come back to old patterns again. Your heart was racing, your hands were trembling, and your breathing was getting more rapid by the second.

“Malysh.” His voice mealy above a whisper. Shortly after you felt a soft kiss to your naked shoulder. “You´re panicking.” He correctly reads your actions. “Go.” was the only thing you said to him. “Baby, I can´t go, this is my hotel room.”

“Andrei, please, leave me alone for a few minutes.” He sensed the urgency in your words, so he slowly got up. “Okay, but we will talk about this after.”

And if you´re under him, you ain´t getting over him.

You took a few deep breaths, telling the situations was not as bad as you thought. At least you didn’t go with a stranger. An ex-boyfriend was not that much better, but it could have been worse. Drunk you is acting on sober you´s thoughts. Is what you thought. Did you still have feelings for Andrei? Was that a question you wanted to think about right now?

Andrei returned before you could finish your internal discussion. Shorts hung low on his body, his bulge visibly staining against the front. “There is no way you are turned on right now.” You tried to deflect. “What do you think happens when you are naked in my bed. You´re the hottest woman I have ever come across.”

You weren’t sure if he was being serious. Sure, he told you the same thing multiple times throughout your actual relationship, but he was with hotter people after. You saw the gossip, the models he was surrounding himself with after you had broken up.

“Stop thinking, Malysh.” The more he called you this specific Russian nickname the more you were taken back to your relationship. The problems but also the good memories. You knew this must end after today. You couldn’t let yourself get back to this.

He stepped into your space and started to prep your neck with kisses. “You´re thinking too much. Let me help you turn your head off just a bit.” He moved his kisses further down your neck before he pushed you down, so your back was hitting the soft sheets of the bed.

It was easy for him to climb over you and still reach every part of your body. He placed a short kiss to your lips before he started wandering again, placing kisses to every inch of you that was available to him.

This was the last time you were indulging in him; you were telling yourself. But the idea vanished when he sucked on your neck, leaving a mark as if you were his again.

You would deal with the consequences later.

#andrei svechnikov #carolina hurricanes #andrei svechnikov imagine #andrei svechnikov x reader #nhl imagine #carolina hurricanes imagine #nhl fanfiction #andrei svechnikov oneshot

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rosiestalez · 9 months ago

Note

LOVELY PLEASE. I need some Gambit angst. The angst where Gambit loves Rogue and he will never love you like he does her. I NEED IT. I NEED TO CRY.

Oh my gosh, y’all just LOVE angst dont y’all. I was working on something like this request before i got it, and i’m glad i finished this! Maybe i’ll make a part two to this! i have a good amount of requests and i’m getting them as quickly as i can thank you for understanding!

The Rules of the Game

Remy LeBeau x gn!reader

summary: Remy tells you something after 1 year of marriage!

warnings: ANGSTY ASF, cursing, a lot of alcohol is mentioned, i think that’s it. Picture from Pinterest

Happy reading 🫶

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It’s a rainy night; the soft sound of rain knocks on the windows, creating a gentle rhythm that fills the quiet house. The book in your hands is illuminated by the warm glow of the fire Remy lit before heading downstairs to play poker with his friends. The crackle of the fire mixes with the faint laughter rising from the basement, but the peaceful ambiance begins to fade as you hear the unmistakable sound of Remy stumbling upstairs, clearly drunk.

The kitchen cupboards bang open and shut, and you can hear him muttering curses in French under his breath.

“You okay, darlin’?” you call out from the couch, pushing your glasses up your nose. You turn away from your book, your gaze lingering on the kitchen. “Need some help?”

“I’m good, cherie, just tryna fin' my liquor,” he slurs in response, his words thick with alcohol.

Sighing, you reluctantly get up from your cozy spot and stroll into the kitchen. Without a word, you pull a brand-new bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the pantry and hand it to him.

“Oh, mon cherie, thank ya! You’re too kind to me!” he says, kissing your forehead clumsily before snatching the bottle from your hand and disappearing back downstairs. You roll your eyes, shaking your head at his drunken gratitude, and return to the couch, diving back into your book.

As the night wears on, the fire begins to dim, and the laughter from below grows louder, echoing through the house. You glance at the clock—almost 1 a.m. Deciding it’s time to call it a night, you snuff out the fire and finish the last sip of your wine. Heading upstairs to the bedroom, you strip out of your clothes, tossing them into the hamper, and slip on a silk purple nightdress. The plush sheets of your California King bed welcome you, and you soon drift off.

Hours later, the mattress dips beside you, pulling you from your sleep. You glance at the clock: 3:00 a.m. With a sigh, you feel Remy’s arm wrap around you, pulling you close.

“Rem—”

“Shhh, go back to sleep. I ain’t mean to wake you up, amour,” he whispers, kissing the back of your neck as he brushes your hair out of the way.

“You’re makin’ it kinda hard, sugar,” you reply, letting your Southern accent lace the words with frustration.

“Sorry, jus’ miss you… you didn’t come down to see me.”

“My bad. My book was really good,” you chuckle lightly, though deep down, your thoughts are elsewhere. You can’t shake the discomfort of knowing Rogue, the woman who broke Remy’s heart, is downstairs playing cards. But you decide to save that for when he’s sober. “Good night, Rem.”

You try to let go of the irritation, but it lingers as your meemaw’s words echo in your mind: *Never let the sun go down on your anger, darling.*

The sun is already creeping through the curtains when the sound of vomiting startles you awake. “Damn it,” you mutter, pulling yourself out of bed. In the bathroom, you find Remy pathetically bent over the toilet, retching out the remnants of the previous night.

“Baby? You okay?” you ask gently. He gives you a weak thumbs-up, still hunched over the toilet. You hurry to the kitchen, grab an ice pack, and place it on the back of his neck, holding his auburn hair out of the way. “That’s it, get it all out,” you murmur, rubbing his back in comforting circles.

After several minutes, you help him into a cool shower, washing his hair and handing him an aspirin along with an anti-nausea pill. Once he’s cleaned up, he brushes his teeth and joins you in the living room, squinting dramatically at the light as if it were torture.

As the two of you stand across from each other in the kitchen, you can feel the tension brewing. He knows something’s on your mind, but he waits, sensing the storm coming.

“Why was she here?” you finally ask, your voice tight with emotion.

“Who?” he responds, though there’s a hint of annoyance in his tone.

“Rogue. Why… was… she… here?” you ask again, hugging your arms to your chest. A flicker of sadness crosses your face, but it quickly hardens into something more.

He sighs heavily, running a hand over his face, clearly frustrated. The two of you had been married for about a year now, ever since Rogue left him at the altar. You had been his solace, the one who helped him pick up the pieces of his broken heart. But sometimes, it still felt like you were competing with a ghost.

“Y/N, please, not today,” he says softly.

“Not today?” you huff, your sadness turning into anger. “What the hell do you mean, ‘not today’?” Your voice takes on the sharp edge of your Georgia accent. “Remy, is there something you need to tell me? Did you sleep with her?”

He looks at you incredulously, as if the accusation is absurd. “Y/N, I’m not sleepin’ with her. Oh mon Dieu!” His frustration is palpable as he walks away, grabbing his shoes and the jacket hanging by the door.

“Remy, where are you going?” you shout after him, your anger boiling over.

“Out,” he says flatly, slamming the door behind him.

“Shit,” you mutter, slapping the door with your palm before storming off to the bedroom. You throw yourself onto the bed, eyes welling with tears. Clutching his pillow, you sob into it, your heart aching. *What is he not telling me?* The tears come in waves—anger, jealousy, sadness, all tumbling out uncontrollably. His scent lingers on the pillow, and for a fleeting moment, you consider tearing it to shreds. But you can’t. Despite everything, your heart still swells with love for him.

Eventually, exhaustion overtakes you, and you fall into a fitful sleep, alone in the bed you share with him.

Hours later, the sound of the door creaking open pulls you from sleep. You hear it close softly behind him, the house trembling slightly. Glancing at the clock, you see it’s noon.

You wipe the tear stains from your cheeks and gather the strength to get out of bed. After rinsing your face, you make your way downstairs to find Remy sitting on the couch, whiskey in hand, soft jazz playing from the TV. His eyes are fixed on the dark screen.

“Rem, I’m s—”

He cuts you off, patting the spot beside him. “Sit,” he says quietly. His gaze burns into you as you take your place on the couch, pulling the blanket over yourself for warmth. The room feels cold—colder than usual.

“Mon amour, we gotta talk, like adults, yeah?” You nod, unable to speak, afraid the dam will break again if you do. He hands you a glass of wine that’s already sitting on the table, waiting for you.

“I can’t love you the way I loved Anna-Marie,” he says, his tone serious. The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your body goes rigid, heat rising in your chest as you struggle to understand.

“W-what?” you manage to squeak, the words barely escaping your lips.

“We had somethin’ for years,” he continues.

Your eyes flick to the wedding band on his finger, then to yours, and back again. “Then why did you marry me?” you ask, your voice trembling.

“Because I love you,” he says, placing his hand on yours, trying to reassure you.

“This doesn’t make sense, Remy.” A tear slips down your cheek. “I’m so confused.”

“I can’t help my feelings, cherie. Feelings are feelings. I can’t change that.”

“Yes, you can,” you sob. “Remy, you’re the only man I’ve ever loved. I could never even *think* of having feelings for anyone from my past and then marrying you out of convenience.”

“Cherie, I didn’t marry you out of convenience,” he pleads.

“Then why did you marry me?” you ask, your voice cracking. The tears flow freely now, and your heart feels as if it’s being ripped apart.

Remy sees the pain in your swollen, red eyes. He knows he’s broken something precious.

“Y/N, I—”

“No, don’t you dare,” you interrupt, pointing a finger at him. You stand up abruptly, storming to the bathroom and slamming the door behind you. Sliding down against the door, you cry into your knees, your body trembling with the weight of it all.

*What does this mean for us?* you wonder. *How do we move forward? Can we even fix this?*

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fallen-symphony · 1 year ago

Note

Percy appears in a portal

"Uh... where am I now?"

The alarms start going off.

"Lord Brevon...!"

"I know, I know. Another intruder. Just put them on screen, Serpentine."

General Serpentine put up the screen where they saw Percy coming from a portal looking confused.

"Isn't that the brat with the Omnimon Zwart?"

"Oh yeah! I remember him. Is there something different about him today, or is it just me?"

"Whatever the case, I'll go see what this is about."

Slur teleports to Percy's location in the Dreadnought.

"You, there! What brings you to the Dreadnought this time?"

#thepersonaking56 #general serpentine reporting for duty (ic)#bow down to lord brevon (ic)#analogman unleashes his machinedramon (ic)#teseo hacks the world (ic)#slur will rule (ic)#freedom planet #digimon #azure striker gunvolt #megaman battle network

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sentient-rift · 1 year ago

Note

Rift. Given how big Slur's army is getting, a nuke would be the most efficient way of dealing with her. I understand she's your sister, but she has no hope of redemption given her evil deeds and her willingness to orchestrate this whole ordeal. If you use a nuke, the multiverse will be spared from her wrath and this war will be over before it begins.

I am aware of the disadvantages as you will lose your sister, Teseo will be dead and Nanami will never see her again, but this might be the only option to reduce casualties and avoid innocent people being killed.

"Just because my core was placed in the body of Copy X, doesn't mean I share his ideals. I will not just simply kill them! Even if Symphony is gone forever..."

(Slur suddenly appears.)

"And this is why you won't win, baby brother. You're far too soft. If you'd just realize how much of a superior being you are to the people you want to save so badly, you and I could rule the Multiverse together."

"Never. I will not rule the Multiverse. I will protect it from those like you who plan to bring it harm."

"If that's the case, then why not take that mortal's advice? Why not send a nuke to destroy us while our guard is down? Why not end this war before it begins?"

"Because... I still have hope for you, Symphony. If Duo and I... And even ARiA can come to love the worlds we watch over enough to protect them... Then so can you, my sister..."

"...You're an optimistic fool, RiFT. Symphony is gone. I am Slur, and I will win this war and rule the Multiverse."

(Slur returns to the Dreadnought. You can see what she's up to over at @fallen-symphony .)

"...I will protect the Multiverse from Slur... But I will not resort to becoming a monster to do it."

#super sentai fan #new data discovered (ask)#data analyzed (answered)#sentient dimensional rift (RiFT)#slur will rule (ic)#clash of good and evil (blog jump cameo)#megaman battle network #mega man zero

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sunnytoonsproductions · 8 months ago

Text

🐧🐟🦇🐿️🦧🐯🦥🦏

🎷🥁🎻🎸🎸🪈🪘🎹

🌞Introduction post!🌞

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

Heya, y'all! How are y'all? •∀• 💚

My name is Emin, but y'all can call me by ma irl name Emina, y'all can even sometimes nickname me as Emi, Mina, Min, Emz, or Emu~ =^_^= 💖💖

Ah'm a teenager =^.^= 💛

Ma birthday is on october 14th ★.★

I'm a muslim ☪️

I'm from Bosnia and Herzegovina 🇧🇦

Even tho I'm a muslim, I'm genderfluid and even transmasc, but even pansexual =^//////^= ❤️

Im an Creative, kind-hearted, sweet, sarcastic, fun-loving, sensitive, sassy, kind, goofy, quirky, gentle, sometimes flirty (in a friendly way), polite and caring lady/guy! And you can vent anything to me.. And all your problems ^///^

I'm a 2D traditional and digital multi-fandom artist 🎨🖼️🖍️🖌️🖊️✏️🖋️

And just know, I'm rully sensitive, even over the slighest things... So be nice here, please... Even to my loved ones in my tumblr family.. •́⁠︿⁠•̀

I support the LGBTQ community 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

I might have OCD, maybe even ADD, I can also often be a bit autistic 💚

I'm taken, and my gf is Eliza @elizachangreaves , she's ma sweetheart =^//////^=

I rully love to draw, and ah'm even takin' some practices for animating aswell since ah wanna have ma sunny toons productions company be real ruul soon =^///^= 🎨🖌️🖍️🖼️✏️🖋️🖊️🖌️🖍️✒️

I love all the colors, but I just really love Pink, red, yellow and orange =^_^=

I love roleplays! And I even do roleplays of ma favorite fandoms/hyperfixations =^.^=

I love cartoons and animated shows, they're ma hyperfixations 📺

I love all mammals And sea animals, Ah can't choose one most favorite animal TTwTT

I wear glasses 👓

I'm allergic to peanuts! >_< 🥜

Tumblr was always my home ever since september 24th of 2022, and always will be ♥️

I have a very big and creative imagination, and I practically have lots of odd, yet creative ideas for each one of my shows/series of my company but even my art ideas =^/////^= ❤️🧡💛💖💖

I love crossovers! Even crossover ships, and I even have alot of Ships and otps, and they're all either Canon, my headcanon, or crossover/crackship, I love shippin' characters~ =^.^= ❤️❤️❤️

Ah love lost media, obscure games/cartoons/kids tv shows, and scrapped or lost characters, cause they ruuly give me these kind of good and satisfied nostalgic vibes, and they even give me lots of motivation to draw 'em aswell =^//^= 📼📺🎥

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

NOTES:

1. Y'all can make fanart of my 'sunny toons productions' shows and series. Y'all dont have to ask for my permission but just @ me in the post or send me the post on private messages =^.^=

2. Spam likes and reblogs are allowed, go crazy! =^w^=

3. Y'all can swear here, just don't say racial slurs! 0_0

4. If y'all wanna join my team in the 'sunny toons productions' company, just ask me in the private messages, and I'll maybe accept ya. But ya gotta even atleast be one of my loved ones/members of my tumblr family =^/////^=

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

RULES:

1. No being rude to me or any of my members in my big tumblr family. I'm very sensitive.

2. Don't be a sexist.

3. Don't be impatient with me. Ah'm a literal teenager, and if ah don't do one of your requests quickly, it's cause ah'm often/sometimes slow with requests and art trades, but not always. And don't throw hissy fits, I ain't yo momma/daddy or your servant/peasant.

4. Don't bash ma opinions.

🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️

My favorite cartoons, shows, games and movies (or fandoms/hyperfixations for short):

The muppets show, class of 3000, jungle bunch: to the rescue!, jungle bunch movies (the 2017 and the 2023 one), all hail king julien, sesame Street, Tractor tom, Fosters home for Imaginary friends, Farmkids, Ice age (all movies), fanboy and chum chum, the tales from sanctuary city movies, the legend quest movies, kung fu panda (all movies and shows), courage the cowardly dog, original blues clues, blues clues and you, camp lazlo, madagascar (all movies), animal mechanicals, legend quest, hero 108, yoohoo and friends, yoohoo to the rescue, the croods, dawn of the croods, pokemon, sonic, sonic boom, jujutsu kaisen, the amazing world of gumball, the amazing digital Circus, ena dream bbq, ena series, lazytown Angela anaconda, magic roundabout,mgummy bear show, Monsters inc, Monsters University, dont hug me im scared, orange Roulette, the adventures of fish n chips, Fifi And the flowertots, drawn together, aqua teen hunger force, 2012 littlest pet shop, dandys world, maya the bee (the anime one and the 2012 one), furiki wheels, blaze and the monster machines, penguins of madagascar, dog man, milky way And the galaxy girls, Teletubbies, nature Cat, roary the racing car, psychonauts, talking Tom And friends, ed edd n' Eddy, arthur totally spies, T.U.F.F. puppy, pig goat banana cricket, cuphead show, Turbo: F.A.S.T, Monster high, Winx Club, adventures of Jimmy neutron, Spongebob squarepants, brave little toaster, little curious, rugrats, total drama, psychonauts, my Life as a teenage robot, Looney tunes, bob's burgers, original Betty boop, hello Kitty Paradise, fairly odd parents, cats dont dance, all grown up, Grim adventures of Billy And Mandy, Barimba, super billy, panty And stocking with garterbelt, nane ve limon, muppets 2015, muppets haunted mansion, jim Henson hour, the Garfield Show (from the 90s And 2000s), strawberry shortcake (the old generations), TMNT 2012, Alvin And the chipmunks (the older ones), skunk fu, top Cat, vila amalka, Mr Hopp's Playhouse, Andy's apple farm, sailor moon, anpanman, PaRappa the rapper anime, bear in the big blue house, Lidsville, the Buzz on maggie, old om nom games, scratchin melodii, galaxy high, rock n rule, bratz, amanda the adventurer, Angelo rules, wizadora, ahh! Real monsters, Club Penguin, webkinz, amanda the adventurer, the boondocks, chalkzone, codename: kids next door, as told by ginger, danny phantom, Sabrina the animated series, braceface, my gym partner's a monkey, subway surfers, trollz, A.N.T farm

My favorite singers/music Artists/groups:

Melanie Martinez, odetari, kesha, MARINA, mitski, 6arelyhuman, asteria, kets4eki, vyzer, proz, ashnikko, brit smith, Britney Spears, Lady Gaga, Sodikken, Beyonce, CMTEN, glitch gum, OutKast, Andre 3000, perfume, DAgames, Jack stauber, 1stress, CG5, Skillet, set it off, skypebf, Ayesha Erotica, Upvampin, daryana, Katy Perry, Charli xcx, lizzo, the cardigans, Billie Eilish, Chappell Roan, Millionaires, Demi Lovato, Scratchy, Drowning Pool, Jake Neutron, Dove Cameron, Gwen Stefani, horrormovies, FabFantasy, hauntingclaire, m1v, sinful, maneskin, ghost and pals, maretu, ado, brooksie, panic! At the disco, Tyler the creator, axie

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞my art statuses🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

Requests - always Open, but only for the members of my big tumblr family! Theyre the ones I trust. Even for ma fans.

Art trades - the same like the requests. But sometimes even fans can ask for trades.

Commisions - never, so don't ask

Art contests And competitions - for the members in ma big tumblr family, but even my fans if I have 'em.

Art collabs - for the members of ma big tumblr family, even my fans.

Gifts - for the members of ma big tumblr family, even ma fans. Even new loved ones/mutuals and fans in ma big tumblr family.

Art ideas - always open! But don't ask for some basic-ass requests like just a regular dog, butterfly, cat... Etc. Be a bit more creative, that's what ah love.

Roleplays - always open, especially if they're the ones of ma favorite fandoms/hyperfixations.

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

~~~~My socials~~~~

Tumblr: sunnytoonsproductions (you're here, silly! =^_^=)

Twitter: sunnytoons123

YouTube: eminsunnytoons

Discord: emishows123toons_03802 (or just type Emin💛🧡)

Instagram: SunnyT00nsPr0ductions

C.ai: sunnytoonsproduction

FanFiction: Sunnytoonsproductions

Here's even a link to ma FanFiction site account:

Deviantart: Sunnytoonsproduction

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

Shows/series of 'Sunny toons productions' Company:

1. The muppets show: life in the boarding home

2. Class of 3000: back to the SING!

3. The new adventures of the jungle bunch

4. Subway surfers: surfers from around the world

5. A pimp named slickback's ruulality show

6. Crossover gathering

7. The moopets show

8. The whatnot show

9. The teppums show

10. The parodies cousin show

11. The sunbles show

12. Class of 4000

16. Tamika-San

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

My AUs/possible more series for the 'Sunny Toons Productions':

1. Muppets present

2. Muppets save the world

3. Class of 3000: sugar rush

4. Class of 3000 spies and agents

5. Class of 3000 animals

6. The muppets infection

7. Sunny's musics in education and learning

8. Class of 3000 arabian nights

9. Muppets K-12

13. Class of babies

15. Horrifying muppets world

19. The muppets kingdom

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

~~~~~~~~~~~My big tumblr family~~~~~~~~~

💗my long-form bff💗: @kriticalmaniac03

(Nicole is not really now my "tumblr sibling" or mother figure since she's not really comfortable with that, so she has a special spot here in my big tumblr family =^///^=)

🩷My tumblr sisters, brothers, and siblings (or just loved ones)🩵:

@kxllboii @cheezekennith @aquamarine-dream-queen @daydayc224 @oscarandgrinchfan @moshywoosh @ilovescaredysquirrel2 @nuggetaubrey @sharkyy599 @nightkit92 @familyoffood @animatronicdoozer @thelazzyblogzz @sugar-miss1 @shrimpathizer @shypeachrunaway @sayuri-does-skits @peaceforpeople @oxxjustfrankieandmikuloverxxo @ducktopia90264 @artismeyou-12 @blackstar044 @nia1sworld @rumplestiltsbear @s4gefr0g @bluebird-in-a-cagedrawing @blo0st4r @fancytigercupcake @classywinnerpeace @dackychansworldofhoshino @itzbluecl0udd @moonlightrosebud2000 @avaford2009 @devillemon085 @untitled14360 @lotlotdefiesgravitywithtater @kornyart @pennyroyald @foreverevanescent @cherrycolaaa1 @alo380 @fluffyrookie @samantha80ssuperstar @dreamkingsworld @sparklycandyalpaca @bubblesnack14 and the rest of my mutuals and loved ones that belong in my big tumblr family~ =^////^=

💖my cool aunt figure💖: @imjustaspie

❤️My girlfriend❤️: @elizachangreaves

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anyways, ah hope y'all will like ma blog and what ah post, and ah even hope I'll be able to be y'all's mutual and even for some of y'all to be ma loved one/mutual in ma big tumblr family~ =^////^= ❤️❤️❤️

🎷🥁🎻🎸🎸🪈🪘🎹

🐧🐟🦇🐿️🦧🐸🐸🐅🦥🦏

#emin rambles #introduction post

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