#when does a car engine need to be replaced | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ateezlibrary · 11 days ago

Text

pink slip (m) • smg

pairing: street racer!mingi x street racer!reader

tags/genre: street racing au (fast & furious-esque), smut with plot, lots of dirty talk, rivals to lovers, sexual tension, one bed trope but it's the passenger seat, mingi won't admit he's jealous, dom!mingi x dom!reader (this'll be fun)

word count: 6.8k words

synopsis: mingi says he's the best driver in the city; you'd strongly disagree. after weeks of post-race banter and spending a little too much time with another guy at the meet, mingi won't admit he's jealous—and you won't admit you like it ...

notes: 18+ content (mdni!). my best friend won't leave me alone until she gets her racer bf fantasy fulfilled, so here we are. enjoy!

it was near impossible to hear the sound of your thoughts.

the crowd surrounded the starting line like vultures, their cheering coupled with the bass thumping from speakers hooked up in neighboring car trunks. you smile to yourself in the driver’s seat of your nissan 370z, admiring the newly wrapped black cherry exterior. she idled with her usual hum, no bells or whistles that you needed to rev your engine for. after all, it’s not like you needed to compensate for something the way some men did.

mingi’s ’98 gt-r skyline, on the other hand, resounds off of the garage pillars with a deep-throated growl. everything about his car screamed loud—the throttle, the strikingly red paint, the spoiler. it was a bit much for your taste, but you knew he needed a car that matched him perfectly. he revs his engine once, taunting you to play into his game. with a roll of your eyes, you wrap perfectly manicured hands around the wheel, the hum feeding into the adrenaline pulsing under your skin.

the race is about to start just as it always does—everyone clamoring in the crowd over who they’ll place bets on, flag girls unfastening their bras for the starting line. your phone vibrates against the center console and you glance down, scoffing to yourself at the routine message you expected before every race against mingi.

[from: skyline] try to keep up this time.

now bitter at the mention of your narrow loss during your last race, you glance over at mingi and his broad, cocky grin. focusing on the exit of the parking garage that leads into the abandoned industrial complex, the noise grows quiet as you zero in on the flag girl that steps into the center. she’s perky, a dangerously bleached blonde with the tiniest miniskirt and crop top that leaves little room for imagination.

i’ll have to ask her where she got that skirt, is all you think to yourself as she lifts her hand in the air, lilac bra above her head at the ready.

“ready!” she calls, the crowd cheering in response as if they were the ones about to take off.

“set!”

your grip tightens on the gear shift, foot tapping at the pedal as you keep the clutch disengaged. mingi’s engine roars beside you, eyes narrowed slits as he locks in.

“go!” she declares, lilac bra now left in the dust as you both launch out of the garage. the sound of the crowd grows distant behind you, now replaced with the scream of your engine and tires hitting asphalt. the course isn’t unfamiliar to you, a regular favorite when you and mingi would race.

like clockwork, you shift into second gear in one clean motion. the wind howls around you as the speed’s sheer force presses you into the seat’s leather. mingi hangs tight on your left, his car perfectly parallel to yours as you drive deeper into the complex of abandoned buildings. you can hear his gloating in your head, the way he tried so hard every meet to get under your skin and undermine your driving skills. it only fuels your rage—and your engine—as you pull past him, flames roaring from your exhausts as you trigger the nitro.

mingi does the same, and the shit-eating grin that graces your face reminds you that he’s probably cursing himself for not doing it sooner. the race continues around the complex in a roaring dance, waving and weaning through a mess of scaffolding and crumbling warehouses when you’re faced with one last turn to return to the garage.

he’s just milliseconds short of braking after you, throwing him a few feet wide as you barrel into the garage. your tires screech and echo throughout the floors, silencing as you slow to a stop and mingi pulls in just about half a car’s length after you. pulling your hair out of your face, your chest heaves as you fight to steady your breath. you don’t even take the time to look over at mingi, your eyes fixated at jongho as you await his confirmation.

biting down on his apple in hand, he chews through a final, “it’s hers.”

a contented sigh forces its way out of you, adrenaline pulsing against your veins as you pop through your sunroof with a resounding, “fuck yeah!”

the crowd hollers in response, your crew cheering from their section of the meet. you blow a kiss in their direction, graciously accepting the bottle of hennessy that yeosang runs over with to pour down your throat. the liquor warms your body, calming the nerves that had knotted your core before the race started. finally, you lock eyes with mingi.

he’s leaned against his skyline, clad in his crimson racing jacket that’s twin to his wrap. otherwise, his outfit is all black—much like your usual outfits of choice. to a stranger, you’d go together like it was nobody’s business. little would they know that there wasn’t a chance in hell you’d go for someone like mingi outside of a little friendly competition.

“what was that you said about getting used to losing to you after last weekend?” you call, cupping your ear in a mock attempt to hear him better. mingi scoffs, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek as he shakes his head.

“getting lucky doesn’t count,” he answers, his own crew passing drinks around their section behind him as they tune into the banter.

“oh, i don’t think it’s ‘getting lucky’ when we’ve raced this complex … how many times now?” you pull yourself from the sunroof and step out so that you can meet mingi face-to-face.

he’s visibly annoyed, something that brings you a sense of accomplishment at the way you’re also able to get under his skin. yunho, his right-hand man, widens his eyes in anticipation for mingi’s response as he sips from his red solo cup.

“next time you want my attention, you don’t need to do all that,” he chides, making your blood boil. “just ask.”

“is this a really bad attempt at flirting or is this just how you cope with loss?” you ask, earning a chorus of ‘oohs’ from the forming crowd.

“could be both. multitasking’s one of my talents, you know.”

“apparently, driving isn’t.”

“damn!” wooyoung, another one of your crew members, calls out from the midst of the crowd and you fight against the smile that threatens to tug at your lips.

“careful, angel. keep talking to me like that and i might fall for you.”

“good luck. seems like you’ll need plenty of it before our next race.” with a coy wink, you wave goodbye to his crew and sift through the crowd so you can take your car back to your own.

you practically feel mingi’s eyes firing daggers into your back as you take off.

* * *

the next weekend follows the same pattern—the sun dips below the horizon, the garage lights come on, and the crowd begins to form. neon lights hover from the rafters, casting shades of blue and green over the modded cars that lined the center lanes in rows. there were no significant races expected for the night other than a handful of petty bets, meaning drivers were planning to spend the time dancing and drinking the night away.

not like they wouldn’t have done that, regardless.

the engine of your 370z hums as you pull into your usual spot, closest to the speakers and furthest from the entrance to the garage. most of your crew is already there, hoods propped up and liquor flowing as they pass tools with one hand and solo cups with the other. the air is warm when you step out, quietly admiring the outfit you’d chosen for the night—worn denim miniskirt (thank you, flag girl for the store recommendation), black crop top and your favorite leather jacket that matched your knee-high boots perfectly.

“supra’s looking nice, yeosang,” you call out, earning a wave from him with a wrench in hand as he hovers over the front of his car. “you’re gonna need to show me what you’ve done with the diff mounts.”

“for sure!”

“there’s our drift princess,” wooyoung cheers, handing you the bottle of hennessy. “or should i say, drift angel?” you toss him a dirty glance before throwing your head back and having a shot.

“call me that again and i’m walking off with your ecu. let’s see you try to race on foot.”

“pardon me!” he croaks, pretending to be hurt as he takes a sip of his own drink. “in all seriousness, i haven’t seen mingi tonight. his crew’s here, though.”

“probably nursing his hurt ego after losing last week,” you guess, the smile on your face triumphing over any real concern you might have had.

as if on cue, the roar of his skyline cuts through the music, wheels slowing to a stop as he pulls into his spot with his own crew across the lanes from you. he lifts himself out with a long stretch, one that makes him look a bit like a cat. his hair falls in his face in loose black waves and he’s wearing a black muscle shirt that keeps his arms on full display. you look for a second too long, something you notice as you tear your gaze away from him and back to yeosang’s description of the ignition coils he’d been installing.

the night carries on and you spend some time saying hello to other crews and to get updates on their latest mods. they’re all happy to see you, congratulating you on your win from the weekend prior. you feign modesty, hiding your gaze with a laugh. mingi keeps his eyes on you the entire night, even as he spends time doing the same.

now that’s something you didn’t notice.

suddenly, another engine’s roar cuts through the playlist and the music lowers as an unrecognizable car pulls in. the driver pulls to a stop just shy of your crew and your pores raise as you turn, now on high alert. everyone’s attention is captured by the newcomer, the chrome silver mazda rx7 a beautiful addition to the growing collection at the meet. you can feel eyes on you as you approach the stranger, about to confront them when wooyoung bolts out excitedly.

“seonghwa!” he cries out, fastening the latch on the hood of his own car before running over. the door opens, and a gasp slips past your lips unexpectedly. the driver—or seonghwa, you assumed was his name—was undeniably beautiful. his eyes meet yours behind a wispy curtain of black bangs, his gaze still piercing as he offers his hand to you.

“this is seonghwa,” wooyoung repeats. “he just moved to the city. he’s been into racing as long as i’ve known him.”

“a newcomer,” you reply, eyes never leaving seonghwa’s as you offer him your name. he repeats it, the sound of his voice like melting honey as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand.

“pleasure’s all mine,” he drawls, leaning against the side of your car. “wooyoung’s talked about you nonstop. told me you’re a real beast on the streets.”

“i get around,” you shrug, though the smile on your face almost hurts. “wanna see what i’m working with?”

“love to,” he answers, his smile twin to yours as he follows you to your 370z. the pair of you observe what’s under the hood, commenting on the nice work yeosang had done to help you tighten your turbo clamps. seonghwa hums in approval and props his hand on the edge of the fender, just shy of yours. not quite touching, but close enough for you to notice.

“yeah, she’s got a real nice turbo set up,” a voice interjects, and you grit your teeth as you whip your head towards mingi. he stands on the other side of the hood, arms crossed with a lazy smirk etched across his face. “shame it’s doing more for her ego than her torque curve.”

“funny,” you quip, turning fully to face him with a scowl. “didn’t sound like there was much of an issue with it when i smoked you last weekend.”

seonghwa laughs and your chest swells with pride. you can see the way that dogging on mingi in front of a newcomer hit a nerve. he sucks his teeth, his gaze darkening in the way that he glares back at you.

“like i said, lucky,” he bites back dryly. “let me know if you can do it again with this build when i’m done with my mods.”

“sounds like i’ll be okay,” you retort, stepping a little closer to seonghwa just to pry at mingi’s fragile ego even further. his jaw tenses, and you swallow.

“you know,” seonghwa interjects, glancing back at your engine bay with a smile, “she’s got a pretty clean set up.”

“figure anything’ll look clean compared to a factory rx7,” mingi replies dryly, and seonghwa raises an eyebrow.

“factory?”

“mingi,” you scold, setting aside your petty banter for one moment. seonghwa was a newcomer to the meet, which meant he was deserving of a fair shot at earning everyone’s respect without being subjected to ridicule by mingi. “don’t be an ass.”

“you heard me,” mingi answers, completely ignoring you in the process.

“well, which one’s yours?” seonghwa asks, folding an arm over his chest and tapping a finger against his chin. “no, wait—let me guess.” he pretends to scan around the garage, his gaze falling on mingi’s crimson skyline across the lane. “the skyline?” mingi nods. “i like the red. easy to spot in my rearview.” you can’t help but laugh at seonghwa’s insult and mingi huffs, the tension between the two men beginning to earn a circling crowd.

“let’s test it, then,” seonghwa answers coolly, lifting himself from your fender and strolling to his own car just beside yours. he calls over his shoulder at mingi, “race me?”

for the next ten minutes, the tension crackles in the air as the two men line their cars up at the garage exit. seonghwa looks calm, collected in comparison to the rage that practically radiates off of mingi. you shake your head from your spot beside yeosang, taking another sip of your drink. you’d never seen someone beat mingi, save for yourself. you had to hand it to seonghwa—he had some nerve going up against one of the best drivers at the meet as a newbie.

“ready, set, go!” in a split second, a blue bra goes flying as the two men take off.

you knew mingi’s car like the back of your hand—he’d shown you himself the kinds of upgrades he’d made to his engine and it was a force to be reckoned with. on the other hand, you’d never seen seonghwa’s build and couldn’t imagine what was under the hood. they follow the traditional route for races throughout the complex, complete with the twists and turns that few cars had cut through in a time shorter than yours.

the garage is spared of any engine sounds for some time, music thumping when a flash of chrome reenters. you gasp at mingi pulling his skyline a split second behind seonghwa, his face like stone as the crowd surrounds them. if he were upset, he didn’t show it the moment he stepped out of his car and gave seonghwa a pat on the back.

“decent run,” is all he says, reclaiming his drink from yunho with a smile as he heads back to the corner of the garage with his crew. everyone seems dumbfounded for a moment by his reaction, a completely different response from when he’d lost races to you in the past. nonetheless, they all continue the party in full swing. seonghwa pulls his car back into the spot beside you, receiving a shot of tequila down the throat from wooyoung as his prize.

“impressive,” you call over to seonghwa, sat on the hood of your car with a bottle in hand. he grins, leaning over your hood so that he could get closer to you. “might need to take you up for a challenge sometime soon if you’re planning to stick around.”

“i’d like that,” is all he says, his eyes shifting slightly from your eyes to your lips. you feel your cheeks flush in response, glancing out the side of your vision at the way mingi had his eyes locked on you. in an effort to egg him on further, you giggle at seonghwa, leaning closer so that you were just a breath away.

“you’ll have to show me what’s under the hood,” you nearly whisper, looking up at him through your lashes.

mingi continues to glare from his corner, fighting against the rage that nips at his core. his drink is untouched, still in hand as his gazes remains fixated on you. the way you were in that little outfit tonight, his plans to tease you about your last race upended by an obnoxiously skilled newcomer. yunho senses the displeasure and leans against his shoulder.

“you good, bro?”

“huh? yeah,” is all mingi says, his eyes never leaving you. “all good.”

* * *

the next night, you opted to spend some time at yeosang’s garage to work on your suspension since he was out of town visiting his grandmother. his garage was peaceful, near an open stretch of land just outside of the city that you and the rest of the crew would do practice runs on. you admired the stars through the open bay doors as you worked under the headlights, a welcome break from the glaring leds.

the sound of an engine roaring outside throws you off, causing you to drop the wrench you were using to tighten another coil. cursing mentally, you put aside your tools and peer out of the opening to see who’d pulled up.

“yeosang!” a voice calls out, and you freeze.

what is he doing here?

“oh, it’s you,” mingi realizes, standing awkwardly in the doorframe with work gloves in hand.

“well, i’m not gonna bite,” you chide, pulling off your own gloves and moving over to him. “yeosang’s visiting his grandmother tonight. what’s up?”

“need him to take a look at my valve springs. he’s usually more light-handed than i am with them.”

“sure you don’t want my help?” you offer, already heading to his car before he can protest. “it’s not like i’m one of the best racers in our group or anything.”

“yeah, yeah,” is all he says, popping his hood for you to inspect. taking a closer look at his cylinder head, you almost immediately identify the issue with his valve springs.

“they’re fatigued,” you point out, noticing the wear-and-tear in his springs. “i’m guessing you might have put too much pressure on ‘em during the race yesterday. might want to replace them with tighter ones if you’re planning on getting angry and speed racing someone every time they insult old skyline over here.”

“what are you working on?” mingi asks, shifting his attention to your car instead. you scoff in disbelief at the way he shrugged off the way his ego crumbled the night before.

“trying to install larger injectors. need to sync it better to the new system.” you glance down at mingi’s engine, biting at your lip for a moment. “can i actually take a look at yours?”

slowly, mingi nods, as if he’s glad to take the attention off of his sore losses. he points out how he and yeosang worked on optimizing his fuel trims, the way that it was able to run his car more smoothly in turbo. that was an issue you’d run into before—it was difficult to keep your car consistently within a certain speed range when your fuel was less sustainable than in a car like mingi’s. he glances over at you, watching as you take in all of his information.

“matter of fact …” he trails off, glancing out at the dark expanse of open roads under the starry skies, “why don’t you test it out yourself? easier to feel it than me explaining it.”

“really?” you ask, a jolt of excitement at the idea of getting to handle a car as hefty as mingi’s. he almost smiles—really smiles—at the way you perk up at the offer.

“c’mon.”

settled in the driver’s seat, you suddenly feel a bit more nervous at the idea. mingi senses this, pulling your hand in his and over the gear shift. his hand is warm over yours, eyes focused on his odometer as you rev the engine. his voice is low, steady as he guides you into how to shift the gear so that you’d feel what he’d been talking about. your mind is muddled at his instructions, surprisingly distracted by the feeling of his skin on yours as you fixate on the readings in front of you.

“got it?”

“yeah,” you lie, shifting your focus to the drive ahead of you. like clockwork, you fall into the steady rhythm of shifting gears and listening to the differences in downshifting compared to your car. following the roads to the nearby lookout, you opt to test out how the shifts work on a curvier, steeper route.

mingi observes you in silence, the way that you confidently handle his car like it was nobody’s business. the wind whips your hair away from your face as you bite down on your bottom lip in focus. there’s something magnetic about it, the way you almost tame the beast that his car is. he was no stranger to loving the way handling his car felt, but seeing you do the same with such ease did something to him. his chest tightens for a moment as you round the corner, sparing a glance in his direction with a satisfied grin.

you bring his car to a stop at the edge of the lookout, city lights blurring into a myriad of twinkling stars down below in the valley. it was usually empty around this time of night and was a place you loved to come up to on your own. you lean back against the driver’s seat with a deep sigh before stepping out into the cool night air.

“she rides like a dream,” you comment, earning a raised eyebrow from mingi as he follows you to the front of the car.

“was that a compliment?” he asks, finding a seat on the hood.

“i’m complimenting the car, not the driver.” boldly, you take a seat beside him and continue to look out at the city.

“still can’t admit you like me,” mingi drawls, leaning back and placing his hands behind his head. he glances over at you, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes that you weren’t about to back down from. “it’s okay, angel.”

“i like watching you try hard to impress me,” you hum, trying to ignore the way that his hand over yours felt just moments prior. heat radiates off of the hood, a welcome warm embrace from the cold night. mingi rolls his eyes, turning his head to you.

“didn’t realize i was trying.”

your thigh grazes against his as you sit up, ignoring the way it sent a shiver down your spine. of all the weekends you’d spent at car meets together, bickering and going at each other’s throats, you’d never stopped to weigh the realities of what your connection to mingi was. you both were hotheaded, both cocky and full of yourselves.

“mmm, you were. trying so hard to race me all the time. the staring.” mingi’s eyes widen ever so slightly and you chuckle.

“i don’t stare.”

“you definitely do.” you lean closer, dying to push his buttons yet again. “if i didn’t know better, i’d say you were jealous of seonghwa yesterday.”

“of what?” mingi scoffs, his gaze shifting as you watch the thoughts race through his brain. “his rx7? he can keep it.”

“so, it didn’t bother you the way he was with me for the entire night?” you ask, finding newfound ammo in the way that you were able to make mingi jealous. whether it was because of some sort of feelings for you or sheer pride yet again, you didn’t know. you didn’t care.

“not when you’re on the hood of my car tonight, angel.”

“sure,” you scold, rolling your eyes and landing on the compression shirt that hugged mingi’s torso near perfectly. you look back up at him and notice the way his eyes had grown darker.

“what’s that look for?” you ask, smug. “you starting to sweat, mingi?”

“doesn’t faze me.”

“i suppose,” you murmur, eyes dragging over his face and lingering just a second too long on his lips. “but it gets under your skin.”

his jaw tightens. “very funny. keep testing me.”

“is that a threat?” you ask, unflinching as you hold his gaze. mingi exhales slowly, frustration evident on his face.

“you act like you’re so untouchable.”

“well, no one has,” you say, finally looking back out at the city as you brush your hand against his side in a movement that could either be a warning or an invitation.

“you just want someone to chase you.”

you arch an eyebrow, heat radiating from more than just the car at this point. your stomach tightens at the thought of mingi growing more frustrated, his muscles tensing beside you. it was a dangerous line to cross, one that you hadn’t even given much thought to beyond shattering his ego. “isn’t that what you’re doing?”

he sits up, his lips brushing against your ear. this is the closest he’s ever been to you, skin on skin aside from working on cars together (and the one time he’d held your jaw slack while wooyoung poured more tequila down your throat than you could recall). your heart pounds against your chest, almost like it’s threatening to escape. his body is warm beside yours as he leans in to you with a humorless laugh.

“chasing you?” he scoffs.

your smile doesn’t falter, fire still thrumming against your veins. “maybe you’re just worse than you think at hiding how much you want me.”

his laugh is low and sharp now, more breath than sound. you feel it more than you hear it as he lowers his gaze at you. “you just love running your mouth, huh?”

“you gonna do something about it?”

there’s a pause, your question hanging in the air as it pierces the tension you both have been dancing around for weeks.

hunger flickers across his face and his hand snakes around your waist, the other coming up to wrap firm fingers around your throat. it almost as if he wants to convince you he’s in control. he pulls you back against him, your spine arching slightly as his chest presses flush against you with ragged, uneven breaths.

“you think you can handle it?”

“i’m not scared of you.” you laugh, but you can feel how hard he’s breathing against his restraint. “just trying to see if you’re all talk or not.”

“get in the car, then.” his grip tightens and for a split second you feel him hard against your hip. the sensation makes you swallow as you feel his lips brush against your ear again.

“say please.”

mingi’s hand finally drops from your throat, only to grab your wrist as he hauls you off of the car after him. before you can catch your breath, he opens the passenger door and pulls you onto him as he settles into the seat in one swift motion. your knees dig into the cracked leather on either side of him, now with your hands on his neck. his palms instinctively settle on your thighs, forcibly pulling your weight against his. the friction lures a breathy moan out of you and a dark chuckle out of mingi. he shifts slightly, grinding his hips up into you hard enough to make you gasp. he smirks at the feeling of your nails pressing into the back of his neck.

“had plenty to say on the hood,” he snarls, lips barely grazing yours as he speaks. “i thought you—”

he’s cut off as you rock your hips against him, hands snaking to grab and pull his hair so that he’s forced to tilt his head back. the sound that he lets out is pathetic, something that sounds more like a whine than a groan. you scoff and press further into him, his cock hard against his jeans. his chest heaves as his hand leaves your thigh, reaching for the back of your head so that he could pull you close and capture your lips in a heated, messy kiss.

his lips are soft against yours but he is anything but. his tongue slips into your mouth, hands tangled in your hair as he presses against you. the friction becomes almost unbearable as he pulls away, catching your bottom lip in his teeth.

mingi laughs under his breath as you pull away from him, eyelids heavy from lust as you fight to meet his gaze. “out of breath already?”

“you’re the one making all those needy little sounds,” you coo, gasping at the feeling of his fingertips creeping up your thigh in slow, deliberate strokes. he gets dangerously close to your core, prying at the hem of your shorts so he could feel you through your panties. his fingers draw painfully slow circles around your clit, forcing you to jerk your hips against him.

“right,” he scoffs, relishing in the way you grind against the smallest of touches. “me.” mingi uses his other hand to pull you closer, his lips meeting your ears again in a desperate groan. “let me hear how good it feels, baby girl.”

finally, you comply after restraining yourself beyond the friction you allowed yourself. you let out a whine as his fingers brush against the hem of your panties, dancing between skin and fabric as mingi raises an eyebrow. he knows he’s getting a reaction out of you. even worse, he’s enjoying the fact that he’s the one causing it. you bite down on your lip, fighting off another moan as you glance down at him.

“finger me,” you coax in what’s more like an order, savoring how his pupils blow wide as you play into how filthy he’s acting. his lips part slightly, his breathing still ragged as he grabs your underwear in a fist and tears the fabric apart. you’re almost ashamed at how much it turned you on—almost. he retreats and extends his hand upwards, watching as you latch onto his fingers and glide your tongue along them obediently. groaning at the sound they make as they leave your mouth, he slips them into your folds without hesitation.

your body trembles at the feeling of mingi’s fingers sliding in and out of you, pumping and curling at the right spot every single time. his thumb presses against your clit and your eyes nearly roll back, head hanging at the sensation as he lets out a breathy laugh.

“fuck, you look so good riding my fingers like that,” he groans, moving against the rhythm of your hips that began to buck against his hand. your mind is clouded from the pleasure, the car window growing foggier from where your hand was pressed to keep you steady. “such a good girl.”

mingi continues his pace, hitting the right spot over and over again so that he can earn another moan from you. you can barely form coherent thoughts, your body moving on instinct. he shifts slightly, free hand cradling the back of your neck as he says, “think you can take more?”

you scoff at his bravado, slightly—but not visibly—disappointed at the removal of his fingers. you grab his wrist, bringing his fingers back to your mouth and tasting every last drop of yourself. his eyes are hooded with desire, tongue darting at the corner of his bottom lip as he watches you.

as you finish, mingi lifts you off of him and steps back out of the car. you glance over at him, not skipping a beat as he gets onto his knees, denim on asphalt as he pulls your shorts off. he leans in to draw circles around your clit with his tongue, humming contently as he laps up how wet you’re getting under his touch. you pull your thighs together, his head flush against skin as he slips his tongue in deeper.

“fuck, mingi,” you call out breathlessly, grabbing at his hair with desperate hands as he lets out a low chuckle against you. the vibration causes you to arch your back in response, in need of more of his touch than his fingers or tongue. he gets the hint, pulling away and brushing his tongue across his lip with a slick grin.

“you want me to fuck you?” he asks, lifting himself off of the ground so that he hovered over you once more. you meet his gaze, eyebrows furrowed stubbornly.

“i’m not going to say it.”

he reaches for you again, pressing rough circles against your clit as you writhe under his touch.

“say it.”

“i—i won’t—fuck!” he’s got three fingers slipping in and out of you at this point, eyes wild as he looks down at you expectantly. trembling against the seat, you gasp down air in shaky breaths as you finally cave in. “okay!”

mingi pulls out again, hands now reaching to unfasten his jeans as he slips his belt out of the loops. he looks down at you for a moment, his own chest heaving as he steadies his breathing. before you can get another word in, he’s had you turned over onto your stomach and your hands outstretched towards the driver’s seat. his weight presses firmly against your back, his arms surpassing yours as he fastens his belt around your wrists and the gear shift. he pulls on it as tightly as comfortably possible, your hands unable to shift from their position.

“seriously?” you ask, face down and ass up on display for him as he slides off of you. he frees himself from his boxers and you almost pity the fact that you’re faced away from him and unable to see what he looks like. you just know he’s big.

brushing the tip of his cock against your entrance, you can hear the strain in mingi’s voice as he calls out to you.

“hold on, baby girl.”

before you can reply, he’s shoved himself into you in one swift motion. you were right, he’s big—even so far as to say too big. he doesn’t ease himself in, going at a rough, steady pace without question. your nails dig into the leather of the gear shift, filthy moans and gasps slipping past your lips at the way he’s pounding into you. you can barely hear anything over the sound of your own pleasure until mingi lets out a string of deep-throated groans, telling you how good you feel on his cock and how badly he wants to keep fucking you.

he grips the roof of the car with a frustrated groan, his other hand on your hip as he steadies you to drive deeper into you. the car rocks with every thrust, creaking under the weight of mingi’s force as he can barely keep himself upright. your mind flickers briefly to your previous banter with him, the tension that grew and grew until it combusted with you getting fucked stupid in the passenger seat of his car. you don’t even consider if someone is watching, and frankly, you don’t care at this point.

“god, i’m gonna cum,” you cry out, legs shaking as you feel his hand press against your stomach. you feel every inch of him thrusting in and out of you, the sound of his moans mingling with yours and clouding every rational thought in your mind.

“that’s it, baby,” he groans, his own pace starting to stagger. “cum all over me.”

mere second later, you feel the weight of the impending climax fall apart as you cry out, twitching and trembling from the way mingi thrusts even harder to urge you to ride out your high. your legs shake under his weight, weak from hypersensitivity as mingi continues to fuck you.

“i’m not done,” he says, and you can practically hear the smirk on his face as he says it. his pace returns, harder and deeper than before. you’re overly shaken at this point, moaning every time his hips meet yours and your clit feels friction. he wraps his arm tightly around your waist, unleashing a final stretch of deep thrusts until his own orgasm finally approaches and a low, guttural moan slips past his lips. he’s dripping by the time he pulls out of you, settling himself and hurrying to his side of the car to unbind your wrists.

“thank you,” is all you mutter, reaching for your discarded shorts on the asphalt and ignoring the feeling of them against bare skin as you remember that mingi tore apart your panties.

the two of you sit in silence for a moment after getting dressed and settling, looking out at the city lights and the peaceful night that was a stark contrast from the kind of night you just had. mingi glances over, same as ever with his cocky grin and his hands lifted behind his head.

“hope you can come up with a few more compliments now than just my car’s mods,” he teases and you roll your eyes as you’ve finally come down from your high.

“we’ll see.”

#song mingi #mingi #ateez mingi #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #smut #mingi smut

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mingi-s-dimples · 3 months ago

Text

Sports Car - S.MG

“You feel so perfect.. need to feel you again. Need you to ride me, baby.” ~ inspired from one of his new post on Tate's song... + his fashion appearance for Off-White. enjoy ^^

pairing: mingi x fem!reader genre: 18+ summary: you're so eager to see mingi atap that you decided to wait for him in his car... and it gets steamy. wc: 3.7k warnings: needy desperate mingi, alcohol ingestion (slightly, he's just tipsy), car sex, semi public sex, neck grabbing, making out, biting, lots of touching, he's touchy af, fingering, he's loud, foreplay, lots of cum, one denied orgasm, multiple orgasms, overstim, unprotected (boo use protection irl!!), completely consensual, for sure forgot something, might edit later. author's note: yes atap is inspired from bm's song atap ^^ (after the after party). this is gonna become a damn series, to always write sth about them after a fashion show/appearance- oops. seonghwa fic coming later today and... it's SPICY. it's steamy.. it's a niche thing happening there-

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The BMW is quiet except for the low hum of the engine, parked just far enough from the venue to stay hidden. The city is still alive in the distance, but here, wrapped in shadows, it's just you and the anticipation coiling in your stomach. You’ve been waiting, fingers tracing patterns on the leather seat, the faint scent of Mingi’s cologne still lingering from earlier. You knew he would come. He always does.

And then, you see him.

Mingi moves quickly, slipping out of the after-party unnoticed, his long strides purposeful. Even in the dim glow of the streetlights, he looks unreal—the Off-White jacket slightly open, his silver chain catching the light against the deep cleavage of his barely buttoned up jacket. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his lips a little red, and you can tell—he’s been drinking. Not enough to lose control, just enough to make his touches slower, his voice lower.

The car door opens, and the second he slides into the passenger seat, the air shifts. Heat replaces the cool night air, thick and heavy. He exhales, head resting against the seat for a moment before turning to you. His gaze is dark, locked onto you with something dangerous simmering beneath the surface.

“You’ve been waiting,” he murmurs, voice deep and rough around the edges.

You tilt your head, meeting his stare. “Knew you wouldn’t last long without me.”

His tongue swipes over his lower lip, and you catch the way his fingers flex against his thigh. He lets out a low chuckle, but there’s something restless in the way he looks at you—like he’s already lost the patience to talk.

“You have no idea.”

The space between you disappears in an instant. His hand finds the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulls you into a kiss that’s all heat and desperation. The taste of whiskey lingers on his tongue, mixing with the groan that rumbles in his chest when you press closer. His other hand moves without hesitation, sliding up your thigh, rings cool against your burning skin.

The bass from the after-party still thrums faintly in the distance, but here, inside the car, there’s only the sound of your breaths mingling, the rustle of fabric, and the quiet, unspoken promise that you won’t be leaving this car anytime soon.

Mingi pulls back from the kiss, breath hot against your lips, his eyes clouded with something dark and heavy. For a moment, he just stares at you, chest rising and falling, before he suddenly moves—quick, impatient.

He pushes open the door and stumbles as he steps out, a quiet curse slipping from his lips as his legs struggle to keep up with his urgency. His balance wavers for a second, but he doesn’t stop. He rounds the car in long strides, fingers brushing through his already-messy hair, the dim glow of the streetlights casting shadows over the sharp angles of his face.

Then, the driver’s side door swings open.

Mingi barely gives you a second before his hand is reaching for you, fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pulls you out in one smooth, rather slow motion. The cool night air barely registers against your skin before he’s guiding you—toward the backseat, his grip firm but not rough.

The second your back hits the seat, he follows.

Mingi climbs in after you, body pressing close, his weight caging you in as he pulls the door shut behind him. His hands are everywhere—one braced against the seat beside your head, the other slipping down your waist, gripping, holding, grounding himself in you. The scent of him is overwhelming now, a mix of whiskey, expensive cologne, and something distinctly *him*.

He exhales sharply, forehead nearly pressing against yours as he hovers over you. “Been thinking about this all night,” he murmurs, voice thick, slurred at the edges, but steady.

His lips brush over yours, teasing, slow, his breath warm. His fingers tighten on your waist before sliding lower, fingertips dragging over your thigh, pushing fabric aside.

“Shouldn’t have kept me waiting,” you whisper, smirking against his mouth.

Mingi groans, low and deep, and then he’s kissing you again—harder this time, more desperate. The world outside the car fades, the city noise nothing but a distant hum. In here, there’s only him. Only the heat, the hunger, and the way his hands start to move with purpose.

And he’s just getting started.

Your breath comes out shaky as Mingi’s lips drag along your jaw, slow and deliberate, his body pressing you deeper into the backseat. His hands are warm, gripping your waist, fingertips digging in like he’s trying to hold himself together. But you can feel it—he’s barely hanging on.

“Mingi,” you murmur, voice softer than you intend. He hums against your skin, lips ghosting over your collarbone.

“You’re drunk,” you say, a little firmer this time, fingers threading into his hair, tugging slightly to pull him back.

He exhales a laugh, lifting his head, eyes dark and lidded as he looks at you. “Nuh-uh,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly. “I’m just tipsy, my love…” His lips curve, hands slipping lower, pressing against your thighs. “And I know exactly what I’m doing.”

His fingers trace slow, lazy circles against your skin, and his gaze flickers down—watching the way your chest rises and falls, how your lips part just slightly.

“I just…” He exhales, his thumb brushing over the hem of your blouse. “I want to make you feel good.” His voice is lower now, rougher, thick with want.

His hands move with purpose as he starts undoing the buttons of your blouse, each one slipping through his fingers with ease. His touch is slow, almost teasing, until the fabric falls open, exposing more of your skin to the cool air. His gaze darkens, lingering, drinking you in like he’s been starving for this moment.

His hands slide lower, pushing the fabric of your skirt up, bunching it at your hips. Then, with practiced ease, his fingers hook into your panties, tugging them to the side, baring you completely to him.

Mingi stills for a second, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes flick up to meet yours, his expression unreadable—somewhere between awe and hunger.

“Fuck,” he whispers, almost to himself. His fingers trail along your inner thigh, deliberate and slow, but he doesn’t push any further. Instead, he leans back slightly, his free hand moving to the waistband of his own pants.

You watch, heat pooling low in your stomach as he unbuttons them, shoving them down just enough to free himself. His breathing is heavier now, but he doesn’t move to take you—not yet.

Instead, he just watches you, his hands spreading your thighs a little wider, his touch slow, reverent.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, voice dripping with restraint. “I need a second to admire you.”

Mingi exhales sharply, his hands spreading you wider, his thumbs tracing slow, burning circles on your inner thighs. His gaze drops between your legs, and he groans, deep and low, when he sees just how ready you are for him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself, his fingers grazing over your slick heat but not pushing in. “You’ve been eagerly waiting for me, haven’t you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, your hips instinctively shifting, searching for more. He smirks, dark and lazy, dragging his fingers through your wetness, spreading it, watching how you react.

“So wet,” he murmurs, his voice husky with admiration. “All this for me?”

You nod, barely able to form words, anticipation curling deep in your stomach. You needed this—you needed *him*. And he knew it.

Mingi leans in, his lips brushing over yours, teasing, before finally capturing you in a kiss that’s all-consuming. It’s slow but desperate, his tongue slipping past your lips, tasting, claiming. One of his hands grips your waist, holding you still, while the other wraps around his cock, stroking himself as he presses his body closer to yours.

He’s warm, hard, and aching against your thigh, his breaths turning uneven as he moves his hand up and down his length, slicking himself with his own arousal. His forehead presses against yours for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he exhales shakily.

“You have no idea how bad I need you right now,” he groans, his voice wrecked, full of raw want.

His hips roll slightly, the head of his cock brushing against your thigh, and he lets out a quiet curse under his breath. He’s holding back, fighting to pace himself, but you can feel it—the barely restrained desperation in the way his grip tightens on your waist, the way his kisses grow messier, more feverish.

Mingi looks down at you, pupils blown wide, lips slightly swollen from kissing you so hard. His fingers tighten their grip on your thigh, spreading you even more beneath him.

“I want to take my time,” he breathes, voice thick with need. “But I don’t know if I can.”

Mingi’s breathing is ragged, his forehead pressed against yours as he grips your thigh, fingers twitching against your skin like he’s barely holding himself together. His cock is hard and leaking against your thigh, his hips jerking slightly, desperate for relief.

He tilts his head, lips brushing over yours as he murmurs, “Baby… do you want me to take my time?”

His voice is low, almost strained, like he’s fighting every instinct in his body to slow down, to savor this. But you can feel the way he’s shaking, the way his body is screaming for more.

You swallow hard, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your legs spreading wider beneath him as you whisper, “N-no… I need you.”

That’s all it takes.

Mingi growls against your lips, his control snapping as he slides his hand down between your legs. Two fingers push into you without warning, sinking deep, and your body jolts from the sudden stretch. He groans at how easily you take him, at how wet you are for him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he mutters, pumping his fingers in and out of you, his pace relentless from the start. He curls them just right, dragging against that spot inside you that makes you whimper.

His lips crash onto yours, swallowing every moan, every gasp as he fucks you with his fingers, his palm pressing against your clit with every thrust. The wet sounds fill the car, mixing with the sharp breaths and the faint bass from the after-party still thumping outside.

You’re trembling beneath him, gripping his biceps, but then—your hand moves.

Boldly, you reach down, fingers wrapping around his cock, and the second you touch him, Mingi *breaks*.

His hips jerk forward into your palm, a deep, guttural moan slipping into your mouth. His cock twitches in your grip, hot and heavy, and you stroke him slowly at first, teasing, your thumb gliding over the tip, smearing his arousal.

“Shit,” he groans, kissing you harder, his tongue tangling with yours as his fingers fuck into you even faster. His hand is soaked, but he doesn’t slow down—if anything, it makes him move rougher, hungrier.

Your hand tightens around his cock, stroking him in time with the way he’s working you open, and the way he *whimpers* into your mouth sends a rush of heat straight to your core.

“Gonna make me lose my fucking mind,” he breathes, his voice wrecked, his body shaking as he teeters on the edge of completely losing control.

Mingi is a mess above you, hips bucking into your hand as he groans against your lips, his fingers still working you open, still fucking into you with a pace that has you seeing stars. His cock twitches in your grip, hot and heavy, leaking against your fingers as you stroke him, your hand tightening just enough to make his breath stutter.

“Fuck, baby,” he grits out, his voice wrecked, his forehead pressing against yours. He’s trembling, trying to hold on, but you can feel how close he is, how desperate he’s getting.

Your thumb drags over the tip, smearing his arousal, and when you squeeze—just slightly—his whole body tenses.

“Shit—fuck” His moan is raw, needy, and then he’s gone, coming hard with a sharp gasp, his hips jerking into your grip. His cock pulses in your hand, thick ropes of cum spilling onto your stomach, hot and messy, as his head falls into the crook of your neck.

But even as he’s coming undone, even as his body shudders from the force of his release, his fingers don’t stop.

He’s still pumping into you, still curling them deep, his palm grinding against your clit with every movement. He moans against your skin, panting, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck as he fucks you through the pleasure, determined to drag you right over the edge with him.

His voice is hoarse, barely a whisper as he pants, “Not done with you yet, baby.”

Mingi is still panting against your skin, his breath hot, his body still trembling from his release—but his fingers don’t stop. If anything, he moves with more purpose now, his palm pressing against your clit, his fingers curling deep, dragging you closer and closer to your own high.

But then, he stills.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his lips slightly parted, his pupils blown wide, his expression caught between awe and raw desperation. His fingers slip from you, coated in your slick, and he groans at the sight, bringing them to his lips, sucking them clean without breaking eye contact.

“Baby,” he breathes, voice thick, shaking. “I can’t hold back anymore.”

His hands slide to your thighs, spreading you open beneath him as he settles between your legs. His cock is still hard, still aching, rubbing against your slick folds, teasing, torturing.

“I need you,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours, his fingers threading through yours as he pins your hands beside your head. “Need to feel you. Need to fill you up.”

You whimper, body arching into him, legs wrapping around his waist as you pull him closer. “Mingi, please…”

That’s all it takes.

Mingi exhales shakily, guiding himself to your entrance, and then he’s pushing in—slow, deep, inch by inch, stretching you open in a way that steals the breath from your lungs. He curses under his breath, burying his face in your neck, his body tensing as he finally, *finally* sinks all the way in.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice almost broken, like he’s never felt anything better than this.

He stays still for a moment, breathing you in, letting you adjust. His hands squeeze yours, grounding himself, his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your jaw, your cheek, your lips.

And then, he moves.

His thrusts are slow, deep, deliberate—like he wants to feel every inch of you, like he wants you to feel every inch of him. He moans softly against your lips, swallowing your gasps, rolling his hips in a way that makes pleasure spark up your spine.

“You feel so perfect,” he whispers, kissing you between every word. “So warm. So tight. Fuck, I love you.”

His hands release yours, trailing down to your waist, gripping you, holding you close as he thrusts into you, his body pressing flush against yours. There’s nothing rough, nothing rushed—just slow, intoxicating pleasure, his lips never leaving yours, his body moving in perfect rhythm with yours.

His fingers slip between your bodies, finding your clit, circling it gently, making you gasp against his lips. “Gonna make you cum for me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice full of love, of need. “Wanna feel you squeeze me. Wanna fill you up while you’re falling apart around me.”

And the way he’s moving, the way he’s touching you—it’s only a matter of time before you do exactly that.

Your body trembles beneath him, every slow, deliberate thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His fingers work your clit in lazy, teasing circles—just enough to make you whimper, just enough to keep you right there, dangling, desperate.

“Mingi,” you breathe, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

He groans at the sound of his name, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath hot, uneven. “That’s it, baby,” he whispers, his hips rolling deeper, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over. “Cum for me. Wanna feel you. Wanna feel you soak me.”

You don’t stand a chance.

The pleasure crashes over you all at once, your body tensing, your back arching as you gasp his name. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him, milking him, and Mingi moans—low and wrecked—his movements stuttering as he fucks you through it, his pace still deep, still consuming.

“Fuck,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips, his body trembling against you. “Fuck, you feel—shit, you feel so good.”

His voice is ragged, desperate, full of nothing but pure need. His lips find yours in a messy kiss, all tongue and panting breaths, as his hips snap forward, faster now, sloppier, chasing his own release.

“I love you,” he murmurs between kisses, his words slurred with pleasure. “I love you so fucking much.”

And then he’s gone—his body tensing, his breath catching, his cock twitching inside you as he spills deep, his moans muffled against your lips. His hips jerk forward once, twice, his grip on you tightening as he groans your name like a prayer.

For a moment, he just stays there, buried deep, his body still shaking.

Then, with a soft chuckle, you run your fingers through his damp hair, watching the way his dazed eyes blink open to meet yours. “You’re always like this when you’re tipsy,” you tease, voice soft, amused.

Mingi grins, breathless, nuzzling into your neck. “Like what?”

“So needy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. “So in love.”

He groans, burying his face in your skin. “Because I *am* in love. And I *am* needy.” He exhales shakily, squeezing you closer.

And just like that, he’s kissing you again—slower now, sweeter. Like he’s trying to prove just how much he means it.

Your breathing is still uneven, your body still trembling from your last orgasm, but Mingi isn’t done with you. Not even close.

He shifts, his strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you with him as he moves and leans on the backseat. The leather squeaks under his weight as he sits down, legs spread, hands already guiding you onto his lap. His eyes are heavy with need, lips parted as he watches you settle above him.

“Come here, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something almost desperate.

You straddle him, your knees sinking into the seat on either side of his hips. His cock is still hard, still leaking, pressed between your bodies, smearing slick across your skin. His hands grip your waist, dragging you forward until your chest is flush against his, his forehead pressing to yours.

“You feel so perfect,” he breathes, his fingers digging into your skin. “Need to feel you again. Need you to ride me, baby.”

His hands slide down to your ass, helping you lift yourself just enough for him to position himself at your entrance. And then, with one slow, deliberate push, he’s inside you again—stretching you, filling you, making you feel completely, utterly his.

Mingi groans, his head falling back against the seat, his hands gripping your waist so tightly it almost burns. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice barely more than a whimper. “You take me so well, baby. You’re perfect—so fucking perfect.”

You moan, rolling your hips experimentally, gasping at the way he presses so deep, the way he fills every inch of you. He hisses through his teeth, his hands guiding your movements, helping you find a slow, intoxicating rhythm.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his fingers splaying across your lower back, his lips tracing lazy kisses along your jaw. “Just like that. Ride me nice and slow, baby. Wanna feel you.”

And fuck, you do.

You rock against him, every movement sending pleasure sparking through your veins. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and intense, his lips slightly parted as he watches you—watches the way you gasp for him, the way your brows furrow when he thrusts up to meet you.

His hands never stop moving—roaming your back, gripping your hips, dragging you closer. One slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles that make you tremble in his arms.

“You feel so good,” he groans, his voice wrecked. “So warm. So tight around me.” He buries his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Love you so much, baby. Love you so fucking much.”

Your hands tangle in his hair, your lips finding his in a desperate kiss. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, swallowing your moans, his hips pressing up into you with every roll of your own. It’s slow, deep—less frantic than before but just as consuming, if not more.

You can feel yourself getting close again, the pleasure coiling tight in your stomach, your legs shaking as you cling to him. “Mingi—”

“I know, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft, reverent. “I know. Let go for me. Cum for me again.”

His thumb presses down just right, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you, and then—

You break.

Your body tenses, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your arms tightening around his shoulders as you moan his name. He groans at the feeling, at the way you squeeze him, his grip on you tightening as he fucks you through it.

And then he’s right behind you.

Mingi curses under his breath, his movements turning desperate, his hips stuttering as his own release overtakes him. He moans your name, his hands gripping your hips as he cums inside you, filling you up just like he said he would.

For a long moment, the only sound in the car is the sound of your breathing—heavy, uneven, tangled together like your bodies.

And with the way he’s still holding you—his arms wrapped around you like he never wants to let go—you know he means every word.

𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒: @blossomnet ♡ @illusionnet ♡ @mirohs-aurora-society ♡

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joaosnovia · 10 days ago

Note

hey ho soooo franco gets a frustrating penalty or something goes wrong with the engine, and he’s spiraling a bit. gf is just there being calm, comforting, flipping through a magazine while he decompresses. later they watch a movie together like they always do after race weekends.

bonus idea: maybe she missed the last race because she had to be a replacement bridesmaid, and now that she’s back, they have their own little celebration

❦ - fiesta 4 u.

warnings:: none.

writers notes:: ONLY POSTED THIS BC ITS HIS BDAY 💔. anyways feliz cumpleanos to him!

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @cherryloveshs

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the door doesn’t slam.

it crashes.

helmet hits the floor next. loud. rolls once, twice, then thuds into the hallway wall and stops. he’s swearing, under his breath but vicious, like he’s holding onto each word just so he doesn’t fall apart entirely.

you don’t flinch.

you’re sprawled across the couch like nothing’s burning, legs stretched, magazine in hand, hoodie two sizes too big. it’s his. you knew he needed to see you in it. grounded. home. waiting.

‘do you want me to ask what happened,’ you call out, voice low, ‘or do you wanna pretend the universe just personally keyed your car?’

no answer.

you hear him pacing. shoes still on, so every step’s a stomp.

then finally: ‘five seconds. five fucking seconds. for something i didn’t do.’

he storms into view, hair a mess, suit half undone, rage practically vibrating off him.

‘five seconds for what? for existing? for breathing too hard on lap twelve? and then the engine starts coughing like it’s got asthma and i’m just…’ he throws his arms up, spins in a half-circle, ‘i’m out there driving like my life depends on it and for what? for p18 and a stupid fine and nothing else to show for it.’

you set the magazine down. sit up a little. still calm. still watching.

‘that all?’

he glares at you. chest heaving. but the edge in his eyes softens.

you pat the space next to you.

‘come crash. you’re over revving.’

he hesitates.

you tilt your head. ‘don’t make me say it again.’

he comes.

drops onto the couch next to you, body heavy, head in his hands. he’s not talking anymore. just breathing fast, shallow. locked in his own head. you’ve seen it before, not often, but enough. when the pressure builds so bad it leaks into everything.

you reach over. hand on the back of his neck. not soft. firm. grounding. thumb brushing slow just below his ear.

‘you’re allowed to lose it,’ you murmur. ‘just not alone.’

he leans into it. into you.

‘they made me feel invisible,’ he says, voice quieter now. almost cracked. ‘like i could’ve driven blindfolded and it wouldn’t have changed shit. like… i don’t matter.’

you turn to him fully, tucking one leg under the other, both hands now on either side of his face.

‘look at me.’

he does.

‘you do matter. and not just on track. not just when you’re fast. you matter in sweat and flame and fury. and you matter right now, pissed off and exhausted and sitting on this couch like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.’

he stares at you. breathing a little steadier.

‘you’re scary good at this,’ he mutters.

‘that’s because you suck at spiraling in silence. you’re all dramatic about it.’

he actually laughs, a short, surprised huff. you grin, kiss the corner of his mouth.

‘better?’

‘a little.’

‘good. now take a breath. shower. change. and come back out here, because i ordered pizza and we’re watching rush like we always do after race weekends. yes, even when you hate racing.’

he kisses your forehead.

you let him go.

and when he comes back, damp hair, hoodie on, hands wrapped around a slice of pizza and eyes finally soft, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that went right today.

because maybe you are.

BONUS IDEA

you didn’t get to be there last weekend.

you’d tried. fought for it, rearranged everything, packed your bag and printed your pass, and then the call came.

your friend’s bridesmaid caught the flu. one of the main girls. wedding in forty eight hours. you were the backup.

so you put away your alpine pink nails and packed a pastel dress instead. smiled through photos, caught the bouquet, drank the champagne, and watched the race on your phone in a linen suite bathroom with the sound off and your heart clenched.

he hadn’t blamed you. not once.

but he’d felt it.

the silence on the comms. the empty place in the paddock. the missing hand in his hair when he needed it most.

and you’d felt it too.

so when you show up at the door this week, hoodie on, suitcase behind you, wide eyed from the airport, soft grin playing at your lips, franco doesn’t say anything.

he just pulls you in. holds you there.

for a long time.

you spend the whole day inside. no big reunion plans, no parties, no dinners out.

just the two of you.

he’s calmer now. rested. there’s still a flicker of frustration behind his eyes, but it doesn’t own him anymore. it’s quieter.

you eat lunch on the floor. half laughing, half dozing, your leg over his.

he lets you rest your head on his chest like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again if you don’t.

and when the sun starts setting, orange slicing through the window, casting soft stripes across the floor, he disappears into the other room for a second.

when he comes back, he’s holding a tiny pink cupcake.

you blink.

‘what is this?’

‘you missed my worst race weekend of the year,’ he says, crouching in front of you with that sheepish grin. ‘so now that you’re back, we’re celebrating that you’re my good luck charm. and that i’m not letting you out of my sight for the next one.’

you laugh. it catches in your throat.

‘you’re ridiculous.’

‘you love it.’

you do. so much it aches.

you take the cupcake. snap it in half. feed him the bigger piece.

‘you didn’t have to do this,’ you murmur. ‘i’m not… anything special.’

he leans in. eyes locked on yours.

‘yes, you are.’

your face is warm.

‘stop.’

‘no,’ he says softly, brushing a crumb from your lip. ‘you’re the one thing that makes all of this make sense. the one person who shows up whether i’m p3 or p18. the one who waits, magazine in hand, hoodie on, calm like a lighthouse. and when everything’s chaos, you stay. you choose me.’

you don’t answer right away.

you just press your forehead to his.

and he closes his eyes. exhales like that touch alone fixed him.

because maybe it did.

because maybe this isn’t about podiums or penalties or whatever else broke last sunday.

maybe it’s just this.

you. him. a cupcake. and the quiet feeling of finally, finally coming home.

#f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #franco colapinto x female reader #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto fic #franco colapinto x reader

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thirteenheavens · 1 month ago

Note

Can you please do seungcheol car sex or jealous sex?

Backseat,Now!|| Choi Seungcheol

Notes: last one for tonight :)

Seungcheol's gaze keeps drifting to you as he drives, his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter each time. The tension in the car grows thicker with every passing minute. "You look stunning tonight," he finally says, his voice rough with desire. "I can't stop thinking about what I want to do to you when we get home."

"You can have whatever you want," you reply, your voice sultry and inviting. Seungcheol swallows hard, his breathing becoming more labored. He quickly pulls into an empty parking lot, the car engine still running.

"Get in the backseat," he commands, his eyes dark with need.

"We're going to start right here, baby," Seungcheol says, his hands already moving to undo his belt. "I can't wait that long." He reaches over and grabs your wrist, pulling you into the backseat with surprising strength. The door slams shut behind you as he follows, his lips immediately finding yours in a heated kiss.

"Wait, someone might see us," you protest between heated kisses, though your hands are already tugging at his shirt. Seungcheol growls against your neck, his hands sliding under your dress. "Let them see. I want everyone to know you're mine." Seungcheol's hands push your dress up, revealing your bare skin to the dim parking lot light. He reaches between your legs, finding you wet and ready for him.

"No panties?" he asks with a satisfied smirk. "You're such a naughty girl." He pushes his fingers inside you roughly, the car's windows starting to fog from your combined breathing. "You're so tight," he groans, adding another finger. Seungcheol quickly unbuckles his pants, his cock springing free as he positions himself between your legs.

"Need to be inside you right now," he pants, spreading your legs wider. He guides himself to your entrance, teasing the tip through your wetness.

"Please, Cheol," you whimper, arching your back to press against him. "I need you." Seungcheol thrusts into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. He grips your hips tightly, setting a hard and fast pace.

The car rocks with the force of his movements, his groans mixing with your moans in the confined space. "Fuck, you feel amazing," he grunts, slamming into you repeatedly. Seungcheol pulls your legs up, folding you nearly in half as he pounds into you deeper. The new angle hits your g-spot perfectly, causing stars to explode behind your eyelids.

"That's it baby, moan for me," he commands, one hand moving to rub your clit while he maintains his brutal pace. "Cum for me." Sweat glistens on Seungcheol's forehead as he drives into you relentlessly. The windows are completely fogged now, creating a private bubble of steamy pleasure.

"So close," he growls, his movements becoming erratic. "Want to feel you cum around my cock one more time." Seungcheol covers your mouth with his hand as you scream, muffling the sound. "That's it, let it all out," he whispers huskily. His hips stutter against yours as your walls tighten, your second orgasm crashing through you. He follows right after, spilling deep inside with a low groan.

"Fuck, Y-N," he pants, collapsing against you as the car settles back into silence. Seungcheol holds you close, his chest heaving against yours as he catches his breath. Your bodies are still connected, both of you glistening with sweat.

"I think we might need to replace the car seats," he jokes breathlessly, finally pulling out and tucking himself back into his pants. Seungcheol pulls you onto his lap in the backseat, wrapping his arms around you protectively. His hands gently stroke your hair as you both come down from your high.

"We should probably get home before someone really does see us," he says, though he makes no move to leave yet. "But I don't want to let you go."

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evansbuckle · 7 days ago

Text

Mechanic!SingleDad!Bucky Barnes AU.

This is my first time writing a fic since like 2021, but I haven't been able to get this out of my head for the entire day, so please, enjoy. Likes & reblogs are always appreciated <3

Word Count: At least 20 for sureeeee!

Warnings: There's brief swearing, brief mentions of death and parental abandonment. Reader is referred to as y/n, with she/her pronouns, and has curly hair. Bucky's a dad? I'm pretending I know how cars work + bad grammar (i have a creative writing degree and still can't tell if the full stop goes after a speech mark or before)

masterlist link part two part three part four part five

Grease, Part One.

It was one thing to have a car breakdown on you. It was another thing for it to happen at half eleven. In the evening. Outside a garage. That was shut.

“C’mon don’t do this to me, man,” I begged the car as I hit the steering wheel, and tried the engine again to no prevail, “I’m gonna sell you, I swear.”

I looked at the garage my car broke down outside of, eyes narrowing in on the “CLOSED” sign on the door. I could see a faint light inside, and there was a nagging in the back of my head that drove me to knock on the door. It was barely thirty seconds before a greased up man opened the door.

“We’re closed.” He gruffed out, wiping his hands on what looked like a vest.

“I know, and I swear I usually wouldn’t do this but my car just stopped and I don’t really know what’s wrong with it and I’m here, and please?”

“What are you asking me to do exactly?” The man asked, amused.

“Well, realistically what can you do with it right now?”

“I can push it into the garage and ask you to come back in the morning, where I’ll be able to tell you what’s wrong with it.”

“Are you serious?” I looked at him with a level of shock in my eyes that he clearly wasn’t expecting, as he sort of grimaced at me, like he was uncomfortable.

“Nine in the morning.” His tone was stone-cold, so I thanked him again, gave him my car key, got my bag and left, walking home. It didn’t take long to get back to my apartment, twenty minutes, ten if you run because it’s the middle of the night and you’re scared. I was greeted by a series of barks and leg rubs as I walked in, leaning down to pet the giant dog that was at my feet, “Hi Cheryl.”

It didn’t take long to get ready for bed either, I speed-ran feeding the dog, getting changed and brushing my teeth, not really wanting to waste time considering I had work in the morning. As I lied in bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about the man who opened the door.

I didn’t realise I’d fallen asleep until my alarm rang, signalling it was time to get ready for work. I walked into my kitchen to the smell of my coffee machine doing Gods work, and the dog asleep on the floor. I reached over to pet her head as I poured myself a cup, downing it almost instantly. It wasn’t nice when drank all at once, but the energy boost was always welcome. I brushed my teeth, got changed, fed Cheryl, and left for work.

Opening shifts at the coffee shop were always my favourites. Me on my own, and the music I choose, having a slow hour before the day. I opened the cafe, letting the few early-waking elderly come in and order their usual pots of tea and pastries, taking my time with them. The time flew by, as it often does when old ladies are recounting their youth to you, and I left my coworkers on their own to go see a man about a car.

The bell above the door gave away my presence as I walked into the garage, the smell of grease and petrol almost knocking me clean out. I scan around the room before I see the brunette from last night, making my way over to him.

“Uh, hi,” I said, awkwardly waiting for him to turn round.

“Oh,” he checked his watch, “right on time.” All I could think to do was nod at him, waiting expectedly.

He cleared his throat before carrying on, “so, the problem is your engine. Can’t tell the main cause, but it seems like it overheated. You also need your brake belt replaced.”

“Right, sure.” The far off look on my face must’ve given away my cluelessness as he carried on.

“I’m gonna replace your engine, because it short-circuited basically. Got too hot and broke which meant your car couldn’t start.”

I opened my mouth to reply before I felt a little hand poking my leg. I jumped a little, entirely focused on the man in front of me to notice the carbon copy of him, just with blonde curly hair, standing at my feet.

“Hi! I’m Becky!” The little voice called out next to me. I crouched down next to her, “Hi Becky, I’m Y/N.” I offered my hand, she didn’t hesitate to take it in hers and give it a shake. “Wow, Becky, gotta say I think that’s the firmest handshake I’ve had in a while. You clearly mean business.” She nods at me, then runs over to the man in front as I stand back up.

“Daddy, she’s got hair like me.” She whispered to him. The man looked up at me, taking in the curls on my head that I hadn’t bothered to try with today. He nods, “Yeah, sugar, she’s got curly hair like you.” She turned back to me, holding out a colouring book, “Do you wanna see my colouring? It’s princesses.”

The man looks at me taken aback, “You can,” he says, “I’ve gotta fill out some paperwork for your car anyway.”

Becky leads me into a little office in the back of the garage, the place covered in scribbly drawings, all signed “Rebecca Barnes” at the bottom. We sit on the floor and she flicks through the book, showing me her favourites.

“Becky, what’s your dads name?” I ask her while she points out a green unicorn.

“Bucky.” She giggles.

“Yo-your dads name is Bucky? And he named you Becky?”

“Technically, I named her Rebecca. And my name is James,” Bucky smiles at his daughter from the doorframe he’s leaning on, “my middle name is Buchanan, so everyone calls me Bucky.”

I snort, “your middle name is Buchanan?”

“Don’t laugh,” he chuckles, “my parents were old fashioned.” I can’t help but let out the laugh building in my chest as I take in the attractive man standing a few feet away from us. Easily six foot, and covered in grease, it made sense he’d have a daughter by now. My thoughts weren’t finished fully forming before Becky runs off to another mechanic.

“She’s sweet,” I say, watching her potter about, “how old is she?”

“Too old,” he looked at her with a soft glimmer in his blue eyes, “she turns six in a couple months.” He turned back to me now, “you know she doesn’t take to strangers often. Usually takes her, like, three interactions with someone to warm up to them.”

There’s something warm blooming in me at the thought of this girl taking kindly to me and it makes me smile. “I used to work at a kindergarten, maybe that’s why.” He chuckles, a deep sound, raspy, “yeah maybe she can smell the teacher-vibe.”

He walks around me, going to sit at the desk, grabbing a form and quickly scribbling on it before standing in front of me again. “So, technically this was just a consultation, ‘cuz I didn’t do any actual work on it so I’m not charging you for this,” he thrusts the form toward me, “I do need you to fill this out though so I can start on it today. It’s just basics, phone number, email, all that.”

I nod at him, my face scrunching up at the price written at the bottom of the paper, and I don’t get a chance to voice myself before he interrupts.

“It’s steep, I know. But we need to buy you a whole new engine.”

“No I get it, it’s just, you know, it doesn’t make it any less scary.” I lean forward on the desk, filling out the rest of the form, handing him the paper.

“It should be around a week, but I’ll keep you updated as I go.”

“Thanks,” I say, looking him in the eyes “Not just for this but for taking it in last night, I think you literally saved my life.”

He chuckles again, “I don’t know if I’d go that far.” A faint blush creeps up on his cheeks.

“I would Bucky, seriously. I think a lot of people would’ve just told me to fuck off and come back in the morning, so, thank you,” I turn around to start leaving, “you should come by Cafe Cloud sometime, have a coffee on me, you know, if you want.”

I don’t give him a chance to reply, waving bye to Becky and walking back to work.

Getting settled back into work was nothing short of horrid. Two machines broken, the register jammed, and the staff bathroom in disarray. The next seven hours sped by, but not in the good way, in the way that left your head pounding and your feet burning. We were open still, but by now the crowds had gone, and the only people left were students who had their faces buried in laptops. The little bell above the drew my attention, as I watched Bucky walk up to the counter.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough, “I’m taking you up on that coffee if it still stands.”

“Course it does, what would you like?”

“Filter’s fine, thanks.”

I nod, “take a seat I’ll bring it out to you.”

It doesn’t take long for the filter to brew, and while it does I bring Bucky his cup and saucer, setting it down. While I grab the carafe, I grab him a blueberry muffin too. Filling up his coffee, I set the muffin down in front of him.

“Oh I didn’t-”

“I know, but it’s end of day. It’s either give them away or throw them out. They’ll be getting some too,” I nod around to the other 3 people left in the cafe. “Shout if you want more.”

“Actually, I uh,” he starts, looking pained at the fact he’s speaking “I wondered if you wanted to sit with me, if you’re not busy or anything.”

“Sure, just give me a second.” I turn around and walk back behind the counter, pouring myself a cup and making sure my co-worker was okay on her own, before sitting down with Bucky.

“I just, I don’t know, what I’m doing here actually.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, laughing at his facial expression, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“I wasn’t going to come, but then I thought, Becky’s at a friends for dinner, and I don’t really wanna sit at home on my own, so I’m here now and I’m blabbing your ear off.” He laughs a little at himself, taking a sip of his coffee, “Shit this is good, what the hell?”

I laugh at the change in his attitude as I watch him take another sip, “On your own? Becky’s mum not home?”

His face contorts into something unreadable while he splits the muffin in half, pushing one half to me, keeping the other for himself. “Ah no, she uhm, she’s not really around, anymore. Not for a while now.”

My face scrunches up at his revelation, “Damn, I’m sorry. Is she still with us?”

Bucky chokes on his coffee, “Yeah, yeah she’s still kickin’ somewhere. She just,” he shrugs, wiping at his mouth with a napkin, “decided she didn’t want anything to do with us so she left.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“That must’ve been awful, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, “Honestly she’s been gone for longer than she was around. It feels a little like it’s always just been me and Becky against everything else.” His face lights up a little at the mention of his daughter, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. “I don’t think she really remembers her mum anyway, or at least she’s real good at pretending she doesn’t.”

“How long has it been just you two?”

“About four years.”

I think for a second, “If Becky does remember her mum then it’s probably very little anyway. Don’t think kids really start having conscious thoughts until they’re about two. You tried asking her?”

He shakes his head no, and finishes off picking at his half of the muffin, “I keep meaning to, I just, I don’t want to make her sad, make her feel like she’s missing out on what other kids have, you know?” He looked at me then, his stormy-blue eyes looking mine.

“I don’t think you’d make her sad, as long as you were careful about the reason why her mum left. As for the missing out, she’s going to feel like that anyway,” I hold my hands out in front of me at the horrified look on his face, “Maybe not now, and hell maybe I’m incredibly wrong and she’ll never feel like that, but when I was a teenager and I didn’t have my mum around, I was so jealous of my friends it was ridiculous.”

“Your ma leave you too?”

“Not voluntarily. She passed when I was about ten. So when I was a little older and discovering literally everything, it made me angry at the world, ‘cuz why did everyone else get a mum that lived but me? You know?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I lost my parents too, a while ago. It’s not easy.”

I shake my head, “no it’s not, but my point is it’s probably going to happen to Becky too. I just wonder if it would be any consolation to her if you talked about her mum more. But again, it’s not really my place to say, so please, ignore me.”

By now the last of the customers had gone, and it was just me, Bucky and my coworker Morgan left in the place. Bucky and I had spent the last two hours talking about nothing, and I ended the day feeling like I’d made a new friend, even if he was almost twenty years older than me. He sat and watched as Morgan and I closed, laughing here and there at our music choices and berating us when we got distracted.

“Alright, I’m ready to go,” I say to Bucky, my work apron now off, bag on my shoulder.

He opens the door for me, letting me out first.

“So, I’m up a couple blocks that way,” I point up the road. “It was nice to see you again, and please, come by anytime.” I start to walk off but I don’t get very far before a strong hand wraps around my arm, stopping me in my tracks.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Going home?”

“You’re walking?”

“Well my car is under your care so unless you’d like me to somersault home.”

“I’ll drive you.”

Bucky doesn’t give me time to respond, placing one arm softly on my back, barely perceptible, as he guides me across the street to his jeep. He opens the passenger door, and gives me his hand as he helps me in, shutting the door and walking round to his side. I give him the address, and we drive off, but not before he grumbles about the part of town I’ve chosen to live in.

It takes us all of three minutes to drive back to my apartment.

“Do you wanna come up, for a glass of water or anything?”

“Yeah. That’d be nice.”

He opens my car door, letting me step out and walk us over to the building. I lead him up the stairs and down the hall to my door. I wince as I realise I’d forgotten about the St Bernard currently waiting for me.

“Any chance you’re scared of dogs?”

“Not at all. Why?”

I smile as sweetly as I can, opening the door and walking in to meet Cheryl, the dog currently jumping up and down at the sight of her owner. I pet her, holding her by the collar as Bucky shuts the door.

“Bucky, meet Cheryl. Cheryl,” I kneel down, scratching behind her ears, “You be the good girl I know you are, this is Bucky, he’s no danger.”

Cheryl tentatively walks to Bucky, who’s holding his hand out for her to sniff and get used to. She sniffs for a few seconds, before flopping down onto her back, inviting Bucky to rub her belly. I laugh at her, but the sight of Cheryl getting along with Bucky makes my chest feel oddly warm. I go to pour him a glass of water and leave it on the kitchen island.

“Hey sweet girl,” he talks to Cheryl, “You’re gorgeous aren’t you?” Cheryl barks playfully,

“Yeah you are, attagirl.” He pets her head again before standing up and walking back over to me, taking a sip of the water.

“Cheryl?”

There’s a sheepish smile on my face as I say, “I used to love Cheryl Cole. It felt right.”

He laughs then, the lines by his eyes evident when he does. He puts the glass of water down as he walks around the apartment, taking it in, the dog trailing behind him, tail wagging furiously.

It isn’t fancy, by any means. The kitchen and living room were right there when you walked in, and there was one bedroom and one bathroom. But after a few coats of a warm yellow paint, a few days of bookshelf building, and hours of various trinket organising, it had become home.

Bucky stood by a shelf of records, taking his time looking through them. “Radiohead?” he scoffs playfully, rolling his eyes, “Let me guess, you’re a creep? A weirdo even?”

I can’t help but laugh at him, walking over to stand by his side. I take the vinyl out of his hands and put it back on the shelf, “leave me alone, I think they’re good. There are literal millions of people who agree with me.”

He turns to face me, arms crossed over his chest. “There are also millions of people doing crystal meth. That doesn’t make it good.” He laughs at my reaction then, tipping his head back and placing his hand on his stomach.

When he finally composes himself, his gaze settles on my face. I physically watch his eyes as they take in all my features, from my hair to my eyes, to my nose, my lips. His gaze doesn’t drop any further, but it takes a while for him to look back into my eyes and when he does, his own have grown darker.

“I should go,” he says, clearing his throat. “It’s getting late and I still need to pick up Becky so,” his voice trails off as he walks to the door.

He opens it, then turns around, “thank you for tonight, I needed that.”

I offer him a smile as he leaves, and I move to lock my door. Cheryl runs up to me, panting and her tail wagging. I kneel down to give her a kiss, whispering to her “I think I may have just met your dad.”

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cinnamanz · 2 months ago

Text

# MAMMA MIA — chapter twenty-nine!

there’s always been one rule in the group: don’t bring up y/n. no one really knows why, but it’s clear sophia would rather leave her ex-best friend in the past. once inseparable, their friendship dissolved after a summer camp that no one talks about, and y/n vanished, moving god-knows-where without so much as a goodbye. some say it was a fight. others say it was something more. only sophia knows the truth—or maybe not even she does. now, as the third year at dream academy begins, sophia is blindsided by y/n's unexpected return. gone is the familiar, easygoing childhood bestfriend she remembers. in her place is someone sharper, colder, and—unfortunately for sophia—hotter than ever. (who gave her the permission to look so fine?)

wc: 396

HARDEST BATTLES

PULLING UP INTO THE CAMPUS PARKING LOT, y/n exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel. her hair was a mess, her hoodie was on backward, and she was so close to kicking sophia out without even stopping the car properly.

“we’re here. get out.” sophia had just stepped out, barely getting both feet on the ground, when it happened.

he happened.

alex.

y/n barely had time to process him launching out of his own car like a damn track star before he sprinted across the lot, all but lunging for the passenger door. the second he yanked it open—way too hard, by the way—y/n flinched at the god-awful sound of metal slamming against metal.

oh, hell no.

did this guy just try to break her car?

“good morning, sophia,” alex greeted, sickeningly enthusiastic, flashing his most charming smile as he extended a hand like he was welcoming a princess down from her royal carriage instead of, you know, just greeting someone who had already exited the vehicle.

y/n saw red.

shutting the engine off with an aggressive twist of her keys, she flung her door open, already marching over to give alex a piece of her mind. who did he think he was? if he wanted to open car doors so badly, maybe he should apply to be a valet and leave her car the hell alone—

but then she saw it.

sophia, standing just outside the car, gripping the door frame as she swayed slightly.

y/n’s irritation screeched to a halt, replaced by a sharp furrow of her brows. was she dizzy? nauseous? okay, yeah, y/n had maybe driven a little fast, but—

before alex could even notice, y/n was already at sophia’s side, steadying her with a firm hand on her arm. “hey. you good?”

sophia blinked up at her, slightly unfocused, and instead of answering, she just… latched onto y/n. and then alex.

one hand gripping y/n’s sleeve, the other grasping alex’s arm like they were the only things keeping her upright.

y/n and alex locked eyes over sophia’s head, both glaring, both silently daring the other to let go first.

sophia groaned, voice weak. “if one of you lets me go, i’m gonna throw up on your shoes.”

immediate silence.

then, in perfect synchronization, both y/n and alex tightened their grip on her.

masterlist ✮⋆｡˚📽️ next

omg an update HAPPY DAYS!!! im currently in assessment week my b for the lack of updates guys💔💔💔 i have an english exam tmrw wish me luck i truly need it😭😭😭

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#katseye #katseye x reader #wlw #katseye smau #katseye x female reader #smau #sophia laforteza katseye #sophia laforteza x female reader #sophia x female reader #sophia laforteza x reader #sophia katseye #sophia laforteza #sophia x reader #gxg

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mimiii-3 · 5 months ago

Note

I love saboteur very much, and I was wondering what would Batfam do if they released Batsib reader was setting up the Darling? I can’t imagine it would end well for Batsib that’s for sure.

I’m so happy you love it!

…

Oh they would be livid.

It would probably be when batsib gets sloppy after so many successful tricks. Tim would catch batsib placing contraband in darling’s room on one of his many monitors.

…

Tim sent you a curt message telling you to come to the bat cave. You immediately know that something’s up. Tim never texts you and you aren’t usually invited to the bat cave.

The descent to the cave seems endless as you nervously wring your fingers. When the door slides open you spot Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian standing around a steel table.

You make your way over to them and freeze when you see the items on the table. Every last piece of contraband you had planted on their darling spread across the table.

You close your eyes before squaring your shoulders. You know it’s too late to lie. Now all you can do is put on a brave face as you prepare for the verbal lashing you will receive.

Bruce rubs his temples and turns away. He flicks his hand, like an invitation for your siblings to do as they please.

Dick is the first to speak, “What the hell were you thinking?” His soft, easygoing smile is replaced with bared teeth and the curl of his lip.

Tim and Damian stay eerily quiet, waiting for an explanation of your treachery. You clench your fists, “I just wanted to help.”

“Help,” Dick huffs as he grabs one of the knives and let’s it clatter to the floor. “How does framing them help us at all?!”

You take a breath before looking over at your father. This time he’s staring right at you. You were hoping to see anger in his eyes but all you see is disappointment.

His displeased stare is the last straw. “Maybe if you loved me even a fraction as much as you loved them I wouldn’t have to do this,” you cried.

They seem taken aback by your outburst. Before any of them can question you further, you run to the lift. Eager to get as far away from them as possible.

Someone calls out your name but your weeping drowns them out. You hold yourself as the lift carries you back to the manor.

You race down each and every long hall to the foyer of the manor. You grab your car keys out of a gold-rimmed bowl and slip on a coat.

Your car is parked in the driveway and you turn on the engine. The car is practically on two wheels as you make a u-turn and head for the gate.

The doors of the black iron gate swing open for your departure. You haphazardly drive through the winding path that leads to the main part of the city.

You didn’t know where you were going but you knew it needed to be far. You’re done seeking their validation. If they love their darling so much they can have them.

You will find someplace new to belong. Whether they like it or not.

Extra notes: the silence in the cave after batsib’s outburst is deafening…

#dc x reader #dcu #yandere platonic batfamily x reader #platonic batfam #yandere batfam x reader #batfam x reader #gn reader #sibling reader #batsib!reader #batsiblings #platonic yandere x reader #yandere x reader

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c1qfxugcgy0 · 1 year ago

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adventures in aerospace

So I recently started working at Large Aircraft Manufacturer. (LAM) The plant I work at employs 30,000 people. The company as a whole employs 170,000. Usually you only hear about LAM when something goes wrong. But no matter how bumbling it seems from the outside, it's way worse on the inside.

Three months after my first day, I have been "graduated" from "training." In reality, I'm still completely worthless on the floor: the training center has given me a paltry subset of the production certificates I need to actually to do my assigned job. A commonly cited statistic at LAM is that a hundred men a day are retiring, each one representing decades of experience, walking out the door, forever. The training center is in the unenviable position of managing a generational replacement, and have resorted to shoveling heaps of zoomers through as fast as possible. (As one of the few people with a visible hairline and who is not wearing a Roblox graphic tee; I am frequently mistaken for an instructor, and asked where the bathroom is, what time the next class starts, etc)

In theory, the training center knows what shop I'm assigned to, and can simply assign me all the required classes. In practice, they do the absolute minimum amount of training in a desperate attempt to relive the crowding in their handful of computer labs and tell graduates to pick up their certs later.

Of course, the irresistible force of the schedule meets the immovable object of the FAA. If you don't have the required production certificate to perform a particular job, you don't touch the airplane. Full stop, end of story.

And so the curtain opens on the stage. It reveals a single senior mechanic, supervising a mechanic who finally received all the certs and is being qualified on this particular job, surrounded by another three trainees. Trainees are less than nothing, absolute scum. At best we can fetch and carry. Mostly we are expected to stay out of the way. And the senior mechanic is only senior in title. He is one of six assembler-installers who is certified to actually work on the plane, out of twenty people on the crew, and spends every day with a permanent audience. He is 23 years old.

("Mechanic"? If you think the jargon at your job is bad, try joining a company that's a century old. Assembler-installers are universally referred to as "mechanics", despite doing work that's nothing like what a car mechanic does, and who are generally paid far worse than FAA certified A&P mechanics. Mechanics are the 11 bravos of LAM, grunts, the single largest category of worker. The tip of the spear. Hooah!)

Large Aircraft Manufacturer is in a dilly of a pickle. All of its existing airframe designs are hilariously antiquated. It tried designing a brand new plane from a clean sheet, and lost billions of dollars to a decade-long integration hell. After that, to save money, it tried just tacking bigger engines on an older design without changing anything else, and the stupid things plowed into the ground in an excruciatingly public manner.

LAM is now trying a middle road. It is upgrading one of its designs that is merely middle aged, rather than ancient, and with proven, de-risked components built in-house, rather than scattering them to subcontractors across the world. And it's still blowing past deadlines and burning billions of dollars LAM really doesn't have to spare.

This is the program I've been assigned to.

Advanced Midbody - Carbon Wing has taken the bold step of just tacking on carbon fiber wings to a conventional aluminum fuselage. Shockingly, AMCW is now stuck in lightning strike testing, due to that troublesome join between conductive aluminum and conductive...ish carbon fiber. But LAM, confident as ever, or perhaps driven by complaints of its customers, has announced that full rate production will begin just next year. Thus the tide of newhires. According to the schedule, we're supposed to jerk from one wingset a month to one wingset a week. That's not going to happen, but, oh well, orders from above move down at the speed of thought, while reality only slowly trickles upwards.

"120 inch pounds? Really?"

I startle upright. I have observed one hundred pi bracket installs, and I will observe a hundred more before I can touch aircraft structure. This is the first disagreement I've witnessed. A more advanced trainee is questioning the torque spec on a fastener. It is not an entirely foolish question-- most sleeve bolts we use are in the 40 in-pounds range. Doubling it that is unusual. I cough the dust off my unused vocal cords and venture an opinion.

"Well hey I could look it up? I guess"

The lead mechanic glances at me, surprised that I'm still awake, then looks away. Excuse enough for me!

I unfold myself from the stool I've been sitting on for the last four hours then hobble over to the nearest Shared Production Workstation.

We do not get Ikea-style step by step instructions on how to put together the airplane. Like any company that's been around for long enough, LAM is a tangled wad of scar tissue, ancient responses to forgotten trauma. If you state a dimension twice, in two different places, then it is possible for an update to only change one of those dimensions, thereby making the engineering drawing ambiguous. Something real bad must have happened in the past as a result of that, so now an ironclad rule is that critical information is only stated once, in one place, a single source of truth.

As a result, the installation plan can be a little... vague. Step 040 might be something like "DRILL HOLE TO SIZE AND TORQUE FASTENERS TO SPEC". What hole size? What torque spec?

Well, they tell you. Eventually.

(Image from public Google search)

You are given an engineering drawing, and are expected to figure out how things go together yourself. (Or, more realistically, are told how it's done by coworkers) Step by step instructions aren't done because then dozens of illustrations would have to be updated with every change instead of just one, and drawings are updated surprisingly frequently.

Fasteners are denoted by a big plus sign, with a three letter fastener code on the left and the diameter on the right, like so: "XNJ + 8"

To get the actual part number, we go to the fastener callout table:

(Note the use of a trade name in the table above. There is nothing a mechanic loves more than a good trademark. Permanent straight shank fasteners are always called HI-LOKs™. It's not a cable tie, it's a Panduit™. It's not a wedgelock, it's a Cleco™. Hey man, pass me that offset drill. What, you mean a Zephyr™? Where'd the LAMlube™ go? This also means you have to learn the names of everything twice, one name on the installation plan, and one name it's referred to in conversation.)

We find XNJ on that table, and fill in the diameter: BACB30FM8A. Now we look up the spec table for that fastener:

The eagle eyed among you might note that there is no "diameter: 8" on that table. As a LAM mechanic, you are expected to simply know that "diameter" is measured in 32nds of an inch, which simplifies down to 1/4.

(LAM preserves many old-school skills like fraction reduction and memorizing decimal equivalents like this, like flies caught in amber. Not least is the universal use of Imperial units. Many American manufacturers have been browbeaten into adding parenthetical conversions. Not LAM! Any risk at all of a mechanic seeing a second number and using it by accident is too great, and anyway, it violates SSOT. Lengths are in inches and feet, weights are in pounds, volume is in gallons and if you don't like it then you can go eat shit!)

After 10 minutes of following references, I arrive at that table, print it off, highlight the correct row, and hand it off to my senior mechanic.

"Great, thanks."

Gratified that I have enhanced shareholder value, I sit back down, and immediately fall asleep. Another day living the dream.

(next post in this series)

#avgeek #large aircraft manufacturer

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deiitsukki · 7 months ago

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Situationship | Suna R.

Synopsis: “In a relationship built on unspoken words and fleeting moments, Y/N falls hard for the enigmatic Suna Rintarō, hoping for something deeper beneath his casual demeanor. Their connection grows complicated during a road trip, culminating in a bittersweet romance that promises everything but permanence. When Suna’s family embraces Y/N as one of their own, their bond is tested, exposing their contrasting hopes and fears. In the end, Suna’s unwillingness to commit leaves Y/N in painful realization—she was just a chapter in his story, one he would inevitably turn the page on.”

A/n:( Angst & Smut fic! Cunnilingus in the car, Fingering, Bathroom sex, Mirror sex, Based on chappell roan's song “Casual” if you wanna read diff and sfw ver of this check it out on my other tumblr account it's @namicakes )

The sun dips low as you and Suna Rintarō drive down the winding road, the car filled with the soft lull of tires against asphalt and the fading hum of the radio.

Outside, the world rushes by in a blur of trees, and the sky blushes into twilight hues—muted colors that match the mood that’s slowly settled between the two of you.

It had started so casually between you and Suna. A fleeting touch, lingering glances, an easy conversation one night that stretched into early morning. Casual, just like that. But the truth was, nothing had been casual about it for you since the beginning. You’d fallen into his quiet allure, the pull of his indifference that somehow always seemed to tilt towards you.

You’d spent weekends together, some late nights, maybe a holiday or two. But now, as his mother had asked you to join them at their beach cottage—another invitation you hadn’t expected—it felt different. Real. Like there were strings attached, and you weren’t sure if either of you wanted to acknowledge it.

“Hey,” you murmur, glancing over at him. He doesn’t look away from the road, fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel. But he hums in response, a low acknowledgment that he’s listening.

“So… us. What is this?” You try to keep it light, but your voice wavers, betraying the tension inside you.

He sighs, glancing at you for a brief second before his eyes return to the road. “Why does it have to be anything?”

Your heart sinks a little at his words, a leaden weight settling in your chest. It’s always been like this with him—a series of contradictions. The way he looks at you, sometimes like you’re the only person in the room. And yet, his words, they always pull you back, hold you at arm’s length.

“I just… I don’t know,” you say, struggling to find the right words. “Sometimes it feels like… more, you know? Like we’re not just… casual.”

“Does it matter?” he asks quietly, but there’s something in his voice—a crack in his usual guarded tone that catches you off-guard.

You laugh, but it’s hollow. “It does, to me.” You look away, the passing landscape blurring into streaks of color through the window. “I just wish I knew what I was to you, Rintarō.”

There’s a beat of silence before he responds, his tone softer than usual, almost contemplative. “You’re… something to me.” He clears his throat, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. “But I don’t know if I can be what you need.”

The words sting more than you expected. There’s something about the way he says it—like a wound that never quite healed, a place in him he’s never let anyone touch. And suddenly, you’re angry. Angry at his distance, angry at his hesitation.

“Then why am I here, Rintarō? Why do you keep pulling me in if you’re just going to keep pushing me away?”

The car slows as he pulls over, cutting the engine. He turns to you, his gaze intense, something dark and raw lingering in his eyes. “Because I don’t know how to let you go.”

And then his lips are on yours, desperate, almost feverish, like he’s searching for something he can’t name. Your anger dissolves in the heat of the moment, replaced by a yearning that you can’t ignore, a need to be closer, even if it hurts.

He broke the kiss and without anymore words he fixed your seat so you were slightly laying, He then unbuckled his seat belt, and before you could ask him what is he going to do, he was already on his knees infront of your seat.

You yelped as he suddenly put his cold hands inside your dress skirt, in a swift moment he already removed your panties, He smirked as he saw you were wearing the laced pink panty he really loved.

“R-rin” you muttered shyly as you look down on him “We're in the middle of the road we can't-” you said warning him but he shushes you as he lifts your dress skirt “Shh be quiet then.” he said sternly before ravishing your pussy

You squirm at the sudden contact, you put your right hand to your mouth to muffle your moans and your left hand on his hair, you gripped his hair tightly as he eats you out like a hungry animal.

“Rin~” you whisper-moaned trying not to make a loud noise but the way he eats you makes you wanna moan his name. You threw your head back as you felt yourself closer into orgasm, he felt it too so he put his long thick fingers inside of your pussy, and your eyes rolled back as the pleasure you were feeling grew more intense.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, fingering you while licking your clit, he continued doing this until you couldn't hold back anymore

“F-fuck Rin Fuck I'm gonna cum” you cried out in pleasure, hearing your cries he deepens his fingers, he hums looking up on you his face burried in your pussy.

You felt the vibration of his hum and that was the last straw, you felt yourself reach your climax and came in his fingers.

The days pass in a blur after that, the memories of his touch and his words haunting you, lingering in every quiet moment. You find yourself at his family’s beach cottage soon after, where his mother welcomes you with open arms, her warmth something unfamiliar and almost painful. It’s as if she’s seeing you as something permanent in his life—an idea that fills you with both hope and dread.

And then, weeks later, there’s the dinner at his family’s house, the night where everything unravels.

Suna’s mother watches the two of you as you sit side by side, her gaze soft and knowing. She smiles, her words gentle, but they cut deeper than she could ever know. “You two look lovely together,” she says, her tone warm and inviting.

The weight of her words sinks into you, heavy and suffocating. Lovely together. Lovely, as if you were a real couple, as if this wasn’t just some half-spoken promise that neither of you fully acknowledged. You feel the walls closing in, the words catching in your throat, and suddenly you need to escape.

You mumble an excuse, pushing away from the table and stumbling into the bathroom. Locking the door behind you, you let out a shaky breath, your chest tight as you sink down against the wall. The tears come before you can stop them, hot and silent, slipping down your cheeks as the ache of wanting something you can’t have crashes over you.

It’s only when you hear the soft click of the door that you realize you’re not alone. Suna stands there, his expression unreadable as he watches you. He doesn’t say anything, just steps closer, his gaze dark and searching.

You expect him to comfort you, to say something, anything, to break the silence. But instead, he kneels in front of you, his hand reaching out to brush a tear from your cheek. And then he’s kissing you, a slow, deliberate kiss that drowns out the pain, the questions, everything. His touch is gentle, as if he’s afraid you might break, but there’s a desperation there too—a silent plea, a need that neither of you can put into words

The world blurs around you, the line between what’s real and what’s fleeting slipping away. It’s intoxicating and heartbreaking, and you lose yourself in him, knowing that this moment is all you’ll ever have.

He took your hands and guide you in the mirror infront of the bathroom sink,He then make you face the mirror, he was behind you, he then swept your hair to the side kissing your shoulder, you whimpered as him left a wet kiss in the side of your neck.

His hands slowly tracing your body, from you shoulders to your hands and finally his hands finding it's way to your waist, he holds your waist in a gently way as if he's afraid you're gonna break, Then all of a sudden he made you bend down.

His other hand lifted your dress and his other was on the back of your neck, He then unzip his pants, letting out his painfully hard cock. He lined himself in your entrance and without any warning he slammed his thick cock in your wet pussy.

You Moaned and your hands instinctively went to your mouth to prevent yourself from being heard, you remembered that his family was downstairs having a happy dinner and you can not help but feel ashamed because this was their house and you were just a guest but here you were letting their son ruined your insides.

Suna Fucks you into oblivion, his thrust were slow and sloppy but you feel good because he was hitting the spots that made you see stars, His hands grabhed a fist of your hair, he yanked your head up to make you look at yourself in the mirror.

And oh god, you were so ashamed of how your face shows that you were having good, you were in deep pleasure, and he knew it, suna knew it too, you take a look on his face in the mirrpr infront of you, he smirks at you, His pace picking up as he felt himself close.

he bend down too, his chest on your back and both of his hands pinned your hands down onto bathroom sink, his face in the crook of your neck, his cock going deep inside you, he felt your walls squeeze him and he groaned in your neck muttering “Fuck don't squeeze me like that”

You bit your lip so hard to stop yourself from screaming from how good he fucks you, you can feel him burries his thick cock inside your pussy.

“Suna gonna cum” you muttered quietly “Cum on my dick then” he chuckles in your neck, his hot breath tickling you

Just as he said, you groaned as you came in his cock, your back arching against his broad chest as you heaved on heavy breaths trying not to make any loud sound to disturb the family dinner downstairs.

Suna's pace became sloppier as he felt himself cumming inside of you, with a quiet moan he shoot his loads inside of your kissing your back as he emptied his cum in your pussy.

While catching his breat, suna slowly pulled his dick outside of you. As he cleaned himself he notice you weren't moving, he saw you staring at yourself in the mirror with a blank expression then he sighs.

“Come here” he spoke ushering you “Let's shower together” he said still in his usual deadpan expression and cold tone, you were shocked to say the least.

“W-what about your mother? she mght think-” you asked nervously “don't worry about her, I told her you were in my bedroom resting” he cuts her off

He didn't know if you heard him but you were in a daze as if you were drowning in a deep ocean of unsaid thoughts, he sighed again, you've been spacing out a lot since the small fight you had in the car.

He didn't know what made you like this, but what he said in the car, he means it. he didn't want to lose but he doesn't know if he wanted more of you, he keeps you closebut never too close.

To pull you out of your thoughts, he snaked one of his hands in your waist and pulled you towards him, kissing you in a deep and passionate, his other hand cupping your face.

‘Was it casual when you kissed me passionately trying to pull me out from drowning over my miserable thoughts?’

When you finally pull away, the silence between you is thick with unspoken words. He looks at you, his gaze soft, almost tender. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You manage a weak smile, your heart heavy with the truth you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. “Don’t be. I knew what this was from the start.”

He nods, a shadow of sadness flickering in his eyes. “I wish… I wish I could be more for you.”

You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. And in that moment, you realize that he won’t ever be the person you need. He’s too afraid of letting you in, too afraid of what he might lose if he does.

And so, you let go.

The silence stretches between you and Suna long after that night. You drift apart like waves receding from shore, a slow and inevitable separation. The calls become less frequent, the messages shorter, until they stop altogether, leaving only an empty inbox and a quiet ache you carry like a scar.

It’s been weeks since you last saw him, the memories still sharp and vivid, refusing to fade. You keep replaying that night at his family’s house, his mother’s warm smile, his silence in the car, the way he pulled you close only to push you away again.

And now, as you sit alone in your room, you realize you were right all along: he was always just passing through, slipping out of your life as easily as he slipped in. You find yourself scrolling through old photos, looking for remnants of moments that feel like they were never real. It’s as if he left nothing behind, no trace except for the hollow ache inside you.

One evening, you’re drawn to the beach, the same stretch of sand where you’d spent that warm afternoon with his family. The waves lap at the shore in the fading twilight, mirroring the last of the light in your heart. You pull your jacket tighter around you, trying to block out the cold, but it seeps in anyway, a biting reminder of everything you’d tried to hold onto but lost.

There’s no message, no goodbye, only an absence that weighs heavier with each passing day. You realize he’s already gone, moved on like you were just another moment he’d let slip through his fingers. And yet, part of you still waits, still hopes that he might come back. But he doesn’t.

One night, months later, you hear from a friend that he’s been seen with someone else. She’s smiling in the photos, leaning into him, her gaze full of a warmth that’s achingly familiar. You can’t help but wonder if he looks at her the way he once looked at you, or if she’s just another fleeting thing he’ll one day forget.

As you close the album on your phone, the realization hits you fully: you were always just a passing chapter, a story he never meant to keep. And even though you knew this was how it would end, the pain of it feels like a wound that will never truly heal.

You look out at the ocean, letting the waves carry away the last of your hopes. And in that quiet, lonely space, you finally let him go.

#Spotify #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fic #haikyuu angst #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #hq suna #suna rintarou #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro haikyuu #suna rintaro fluff #suna angst #suna fluff #suna smut

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hai7ani · 7 months ago

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cocky motherfucker Rindou who works at Murasaki Sports that loves annoying you whenever you come by the store. he's a bit of a jerk with the way he acts, but still gives you staff discounts at checkout and a free sticker whenever you pop by because you once brought along your laptop while shopping and it had many weird alien, cat stickers on the cover. he recommends you a specific skateboard and he makes you buy it afterwards, claiming it's for making him waste saliva on explaining boards to a non-skater, but sets it up for free anyway and tells you the best spots to skate in the city. the board's not even for you anyway 一 you meant to buy it as a gift for your skater cousin, but okay, thanks, you'll pass along the message to your cousin, you guess... (you started skating ever since that day and gifted your cousin a pair of socks from New Era instead.)

you don't even know him that well 一 he's a friend of a friend of a friend from high school and you'd only met him once properly at a club party about a year ago when he accidentally got beer all over your shirt and threw you his expensive Carhartt jacket before running away. and then he somehow manages to befriend your BeReal later that night, reacts the middle finger to every post you make and you'll react it right back at him with a pissed off look on your face. he comments stuff like 'shit music' and 'u need a better playlist, hmu' when he sees whatever song you've been listening to when you take a BeReal but is always the first one to react to them.

he's still kind of sweet though. likes rapping along to whatever's playing on the speakers in store (you don't like to admit it, but you must say, he does have great music taste as he claims), but you'll always catch him twisting the volume knob to the left even though KOHH is playing whenever you come by to replace your wheels (of the skateboard he made you buy) or shop for a new cap and he's so cocky about it every time too. one time he made you wait for him about 15 minutes to close up the store and you expected to walk together to the train station until he turns the other direction and you hear beeping followed by car doors unlocking. "aren't you dumbass getting in?" he's already one foot in his car (a fucking Nissan GTR) with his left brow raised when you turned around 'cause you thought he disappeared into thin air and then stare at him dumbfounded as he starts the engine. ?????

he visits you at your own store (literally just opposite of Murasaki Sports) whenever you're in during his break and annoys the hell out of you. you sell phone cases and he likes trying on every single one he picks up only to never buy them and places them about 6° to the left that he knows make your skin crawl from the asymmetric position, but you'll catch him helping you tidy up the other out-of-place on-display phone cases and greet random customers that come in, as if he is the one working here and not you, and then only he tosses you either a Pocari or a Cola as a refreshment when he's gotta get back to work. he gives you (forces you to let him give you) a ride back home whenever your timing matches and'll quietly make sure the A/C isn't facing your face when you accidentally fall asleep in the passenger, but tells you to never sit in his car again 'cause he claims you get hair all over his seat and the sand-trapping mat below. ("y'all ladies and your hair-fall problem...")

one time your father caught the two of you bickering in the car over who's bar of Snickers it was but to him it looked like the two of you were kissing because of a perspective problem and he got so damn flustered. simply stepped into your home with his shoes on, scurrying after your old man to explain that nothing ever happened and then fist bumps your dog on the head who actually hates him like crazy, but doesn't bark at him this time. your mother makes him stay for dinner that night and you think that maybe he isn't so bad after all 一 as your best friend once suggested 一 when he makes your mother laugh like crazy (you realise then that he's a smooth talker with the elders) over dinner and your father starts asking him about sports attire because he's been wanting to get into jogging. but he keeps stepping on your toe under the table and you think he's deliberately annoying you but really, he just wanted to make you make your mother stop feeding him shrimp (he's allergic.)

#yeah like he's mad goofy but so damn annoying at the same time #u dont know if u like him or hate him #and #i think bereal is still big in tokyo right... i saw a lot of locals using it when i was there 2 weeks ago #at least i still use bereal all the way here 🙋🏻‍♀️#blabbers #rindou x reader #rindou haitani #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers

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garysautorepair · 2 years ago

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Wondering when does a car engine need to be replaced? Ask an engine repair expert at Gary's Quality Automotive to check out your car as soon as possible.

#when does a car engine need to be replaced #engine service grand island ne #engine repair grand island ne #engine rebuild grand island ne #engine repair shop near me #what causes the service engine light to come on #is the service engine light bad #what happens when you rebuild an engine #what are the signs of engine failure #what are the signs of a bad engine #what does an engine rebuild include

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neimacodm · 4 months ago

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A late-night drive with Matt turns into something more than either of you expected. ʚɞ M.S

The night is heavy. Not just in the way the clouds swallow the moon or how the streetlights flicker like they’re struggling to stay awake, but in the way the air feels between you and Matt, charged, tense, and waiting for something to snap.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been driving. Time moves weirdly when it’s just the two of you, slipping through your fingers like smoke. The city is miles behind, replaced by winding backroads and stretches of nothing but darkness.

Matt hasn’t spoken much. He rarely does when he’s like this.. brooding, lost in thoughts he won’t share. His fingers grip the steering wheel tighter than usual, his jaw flexing every so often like he’s holding something back. You don’t push. You never do.

The only sound is the low hum of the engine and the song playing through the speakers, something slow, something aching. It matches the weight in your chest, the unspoken thing that’s been sitting between you for weeks now.

You shift in your seat, pulling your hoodie sleeves over your hands as you glance at him. “You good?”

His lips twitch, like he’s debating whether to lie. But then he exhales, shaking his head slightly. “Just… needed to get away for a bit.”

You nod. “Yeah. Me too.”

That earns you a glance, his blue hues flicking to yours for a second too long before he looks back at the road. There’s something in that look, something you can’t quite name but feel deep in your bones.

A few minutes later, he pulls off onto a gravel road, the tires crunching over loose stones as he parks near an empty clearing. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating nothing but trees and the faint glimmer of mist rolling across the ground. He kills the engine, and suddenly, it’s just silence.

Thick, suffocating silence.

You swallow, fingers twitching against your thigh. “Why here?”

Matt leans back against the headrest, rubbing a hand over his face before turning to you. “I don’t know,” his voice is lower now, rougher. “It just felt right.”

You hold his gaze, your pulse picking up at the way he’s looking at you, like he’s been waiting for something. Like he’s on the edge of saying something he can’t take back.

The air inside the car feels warmer, heavier. You shift again, and the movement draws his eyes downward for just a second before he looks away, jaw clenching.

“Matt,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Do you ever feel like… I don’t know,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Like something’s about to change, and you don’t know if you’re ready for it or not?”

Your breath catches. “Yeah,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “I do.”

The space between you feels smaller now, like the universe is slowly pulling you toward him whether you’re ready or not. His hand, resting on his knee, flexes like he wants to reach for you but won’t. Like he’s waiting for a sign, for permission.

So you give it to him.

Slowly, deliberately, you reach out and trace your fingers over the back of his hand. His skin is warm, his breath hitching just enough for you to notice.

And then, he moves.

Not just leaning in, not just hesitating at the last second like he always does. He moves, shifting over the center console, one knee pressing into the seat as his body crowds yours. His breath fans over your lips, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at each other, the tension coiled so tight you swear the air could shatter around you.

Matt’s fingers hover near your jaw, hesitant. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than gravel.

You don’t.

Instead, you tilt your chin up just slightly, your silent way of saying don’t you dare.

And then his lips are on yours.

It’s slow at first, testing, like he’s still afraid of ruining something. But then you exhale against his mouth, your fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, and that’s all it takes for him to unravel.

The kiss deepens, his hand sliding to your waist as he presses closer, the weight of him making your head spin. His lips are warm, insistent, and when his fingers tighten just slightly against your skin, you realize.. you were right.

Whatever this is, whatever it’s turning into, neither of you are walking away untouched.

And you’re not sure if that terrifies you or if it’s exactly what you’ve been waiting for.

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obsessedwithceleste · 1 month ago

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Ethically

Mattheo Riddle x Theodore Nott

week 1 of @acourtofchaos 's Festival of AUs

Summary: next door neighbor! au— In which Mattheo and Theodore’s methods for spending time with each other aren’t always the most ethically sound

word count: 4.2k

Mattheo had always thought that the worst part of moving had to be all the fucking boxes. You had to load up all your shit into dozens of flimsy cardboard boxes, break your back moving it all, and then deal with the mess of reversing your previous hard work and unboxing all of it. But standing here outside his new apartment, boxes piled up lining the hall as he repeatedly tries jamming his key into the lock, he’s beginning to realize that it can in fact, get worse.

“Are you— are you trying to break into my apartment?” A voice asks, causing Mattheo to jolt back, his key clattering to the floor.

“Fuck. No. I’m trying to get into my apartment, but this bloody key doesn’t fit the lock,” he replies, bending down to snatch the key off the ground, not bothering to glance at the stranger who’d snuck up on him.

“That’s probably because you’re at the wrong door. Empty apartment is one door over,” the voice says, clearly trying to hold back a laugh.

Mattheo freezes, blinking once before slowly turning his head to glare at the apartment one door down the hall, and then finally turning fully to face the stranger. His plea to not call the cops on him is quickly replaced by a sharp in take of breath as he gets a good look at his new neighbor.

Tall with soft brown hair, sharp eyes, and a devious smirk grinning down at him; Mattheo feels his chest tighten, bobbing his head in a quick nod before shuffling over to the correct door, a cold sweat washing over him. Why did it have to be him? He wonders to himself as his key finally turns allowing the door to swing open.

"Name's Theo by the way. If you ever need anything," his neighbor calls out before disappearing into his own apartment.

As soon as Mattheo steps into his new home he wants to melt into the floor. Great first impression he thinks bitterly to himself. New neighbor is hot as hell and the first thing he does is try to break into his apartment. Unknowingly to be fair, but still.

Not allowing himself to dwell too much on it, Mattheo begins lugging boxes inside, letting a pile grow in the middle of the would-be living room. It was going to be a long fucking day.

The first thing Mattheo notices the next morning, other than the pain in his lower back from sleeping on a mattress on the floor, is the distinct lack of anything edible in his new home.

He hadn’t wanted to deal with the hassle of moving food and all the nasty smells of spoiled, rotten food that could come with it. But by the way his stomach was now rumbling, he was beginning to see why that had been rather short sighted.

With an agitated groan, he rubs the sleep from his eyes, barely making the effort to brush his teeth and throw on a new hoodie before venturing out to find some food. As soon as Mattheo exits the apartment complex, he’s blinded by the early morning sunlight. Grumbling, he makes his way over to his car, an old beater sure, but one of the first he’d ever worked on.

The door closes with a gentle thud, and Mattheo turns the keys, the engine slowly spurring to life before sputtering out just as quickly.

“Oh for the love of-“ Mattheo throws his head back, groaning as he swings the door back open.

Stupid spark plug had probably come loose again. He really needed to find time to fix that, it was starting to get annoying. Opening the hood of his car it’s clear his suspicion had been correct and he’s about to adjust the damn thing once more when a voice calls out behind him. Startled, Mattheo jumps, the back of his head slamming on the hood of the car as he lets out a string of curses.

“Need a ride?”

Mattheo turns and of course as luck would have it, finds Theo standing behind him, once again attempting to hold back a laugh, his own set of car keys dangling between his fingers. Why did the world hate him?

“Ah, no! Nope! Everything’s fine over here, thanks,” Mattheo replies, tripping over his words as if he’d never strung a sentence together before.

Theo just raises an eyebrow at him, looking between him and his rather beat up car unconvinced.

“It’s really not a problem,” Theo says, tipping his head towards the car parked directly next to Mattheo’s.

“I—“ Mattheo pauses, looking down at the loose spark plug.

It would take him seconds to fix. But what the hell? If his smoking hot neighbor wanted to give him a lift, who was he to decline?

“You know what? That would actually be great,” he hears himself declare, closing the hood of his car with a dull thud.

Theo looks rather pleased with his answer, unlocking his car and gesturing for Mattheo to hop in.

"I never actually got your name," Theo trails off as Mattheo gingerly steps into the cars.

"Mattheo. Matt. Whatever you want," he rushes out, mentally face palming as Theo lets out a soft laugh.

"So where were you headed?" Theo asks as the car hums to life.

"Just to pick up some food and stuff," Mattheo mumbles back as he takes in the tidy interior of the car.

Clean leather seats and not a single piece of trash littering the floor. It was nothing like his own beater, but that car had been the only constant in his life these past few years.

"Convenient. I was headed to the store myself," Theo replies easily as he backs out of his parking spot.

Mattheo can feel his heart stop when Theo's hand lands inches away from him, resting on his seat as Theo turns to check out the back window. He can't tell if his mouth has gone completely dry or if he's salivating uncontrollably as his eyes lock in on Theo's forearm and the veins protruding from it. God he needed to snap out of it. Get a grip.

Mattheo spends the rest of the ride trying to survive awkward small talk and looking out the window at the new city he found himself in. When they finally pull into the parking lot, he finds himself following Theo inside like a lost puppy. There's an awkward pause where Mattheo isn't quite sure if he's supposed to go off on his own or not, but Theo answers that question when he gives him a strange look.

"Never been to a grocery store or something? Come on," he says, grabbing a basket.

Mattheo feels like he’s shopping with his mother, carefully putting items into the basket and hoping he doesn’t get any strange looks or raised eyebrows. Theo on the other hand goes about as if it’s business as usual, tossing this and that carelessly into the shopping basket.

It all feels terribly domestic, especially for two people who’d barely ever spoken before, but somehow, with each aisle they meander through it grows increasingly more comfortable.

When they finally make it to check out, Mattheo has to fend Theo off, insisting that he’ll pay.

“Can’t hijack your grocery run and let you pay,” he grumbles, shoving his card into the reader.

The following weekend Mattheo finds himself pulling yet another batch of cookies out of his oven. The sugary sweet aroma filled his apartment and flour coated every surface of the kitchen. He’d always liked baking growing up and seemed to have a bit of a knack for it. That was a lie. He did not like baking and he was actually terrible at it. But Theo didn’t have to know that.

Unfortunately, Mattheo’s first batch of cookies had come out hard as rock on the outside, but still raw on the inside. He had no idea how that was even possible. The second batch had almost caused the fire alarms to go off after he’d gotten distracted and forgotten them in the oven. But this batch. Well, they looked normal, tasted normal, and Mattheo hadn’t immediately gotten sick after trying one so they’d have to do.

Over the course of the last week, Mattheo couldn’t keep track of how many times he’d accidentally run into Theo. He swore he’d never seen any of his other neighbors this frequently. It seemed like every time he turned around, Theo was there with his smug grin and some little quip that made Mattheo putty in his hands. It was driving Mattheo insane.

Not to brag, but Mattheo had always considered himself to be a smooth talker if he did say so himself. Charming, charismatic, the works. So to be left a blubbering fool every time Theo so much as breathed in his direction. Well that simply wouldn’t do.

Carefully picking out the best looking cookies from the pan and dumping them into a plastic container, Mattheo is ready for battle. He straightens his shirt and smoothes out his hair one last time before swinging his front door open and marching the twenty feet over to the neighboring unit.

Taking a deep breath of determination, Mattheo steels himself before giving a solid, firm knock on the door. A moment passes. Then two. Maybe this was a bad idea. Another moment goes bye. Mattheo is about to turn tail and flee back to his apartment when the door swings open, revealing Theo leaning casually against the door frame.

Nothing could have prepared him for what was waiting on the other side of the door. Nothing. All the confidence he’d built back up. Gone.

Theo’s eyes burned into him leaving scorching trails, his god forsaken smirk dancing across his lips as he stands in front of Mattheo in nothing but a grey bath towel that clings dangerously low on his hips. He doesn’t even flinch at the way Mattheo’s eyes rake his body up and down before forcing their way to the ceiling, the floor, anywhere else.

“Can I help you?” Theo’s voice comes out smooth, but Mattheo can still detect a hint of a snicker as his neighbor continues leaning on the door frame as if it were just another Tuesday.

“Uh, yeah, I mean no,” Mattheo hears himself stuttering like a bumbling idiot, and forces himself to stare at the ground, trying to compose himself. “I made cookies. Thought I’d bring some over as a thanks for the ride.”

He can feel the bob of his adam’s apple as he shifts awkwardly, thrusting the container out and trying not to ogle his neighbor’s very bare chest.

“I’d let you ride any time,” Theo replies, that sinister smirk securely in place as he accepts the container of cookies.

His fingers brush against Mattheo’s for a moment too long as Mattheo feels his brain short circuit. So much for being cool, confident, and collected.

“whAT,” Mattheo wheezes, sure he must have misheard.

But Theo just tilts his head cockily, eyes raking over the curly haired boy in front of him.

“You can ride any time. I know car stuff can be— inconvenient,” Theo replies smoothly, clearly enjoying Mattheo’s flustered state.

“Right! Yes. Thanks again. I’ll just— be going now,” Mattheo responds, tripping over his words once more before retreating back to his own apartment, Theo’s eyes burning into the back of his head.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Mattheo feels himself sink to the floor; face red, palms sweaty, and heart beating out of his chest. The hell was that. He was being messed with surely. There was no conceivable way a guy like that was flirting with a guy like him. No, he needed to calm down, and chill out before he embarrassed himself further.

God, what had he become.

Theodore Nott generally liked to keep to himself. He observed others from afar, kept his head down, and minded his business. He liked it that way.

What he did not do was greet new neighbors. And he definitely did not offer them a ride in his car, much less to go grocery shopping with him. And answering the door half naked and sopping wet? Absolutely not. So how he had gotten to this point, he really didn't know.

It had all started when Theo had returned home one day to find Mattheo jamming a key into the lock of his door with a look of sheer rage and determination. From the stacks of boxes lining the halls, it was clear that this was his new neighbor.

“Are you— are you trying to break into my apartment?” he'd asked, trying to make light of what was surely about to be an awkward situation.

What he hadn't taken into account was the fact that his new neighbor was ridiculously attractive. Theo could feel his chest tighten, feet shifting awkwardly as the new neighbor fumbles with the key, clearly agitated as Theo directs him to the correct door.

He does his best to keep his eyes from raking the new stranger up and down, but he can't help the way they lock onto the soft brown curls, or the faint scar on the bridge of his nose.

The new neighbor doesn't even spare him a second glance when he calls out his name before Theo escapes into the safety of his apartment. Well. That was enough social interaction for the week. Humbling as always.

Theo has no clue what comes over him the next morning when he sees his handsome neighbor bent over his car, the hood propped up, shielding him from the early morning sun. When he offers him a ride, he's sure the curly haired boy will say no and they'll both move on with their day, so he can't help the perhaps overeager grin that spreads across his face when the boy gives in.

He finally learns his new neighbor's name, Mattheo, on their drive to the nearest grocery store, and really Theo is too focused on the mantra of 'stay calm, don't be weird' repeating in his head to pay attention to much else other than the giddiness of being within arms reach of Mattheo for an extended period of time.

When it comes time to pay, Theo tries to insist that it's no big deal as he pulls out his wallet, but one look from Mattheo has him melting into the floor. His cool, care-less attitude had Theo in a choke-hold, and paired with those big, brown eyes? Theo feared he was in over his head.

What Theo had now dubbed 'the cookie catastrophe' truly felt like an out of body experience in which Theo had no choice but to watch on in absolute horror.

The knocking had started shortly after Theo had stepped out of the shower. He was going to ignore it like he usually would, but against his better judgment he shuffled over to the door, peeking through the peephole to find Mattheo waiting on the other side. Not a single thought was running through Theo's brain as he swung the door open, not realizing until it was too late that his hair was sopping wet and he hadn't even had the decency to throw on sweatpants.

He tried to play it cool, leaning casually against the door frame and just hoping that if he didn't acknowledge it, neither would Matt. He watches though as Mattheo's eyes widen slightly, taking in the sight before him and clearing his throat. A hint of red appears in his cheeks and Theo can't help but grin as Mattheo stutters a bit over his words. But as soon as Mattheo presents him with homemade cookies, Theo just knows he's done for.

He doesn't even hear the words come out of his mouth, “I’d let you ride any time,” until Mattheo is sputtering in front of him, cheeks burning red as he laughs nervously, arm reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

Theo can't help but admire the flexed bicep before quickly jumping to clarify that car issues could be annoying and hoping he'd saved any of what little dignity he had left. When Mattheo finally retreats back down the hallway, Theo slams his door shut with a resounding thud, the past several minutes feeling like a blur. What was wrong with him? He thought to himself, ripping the lid off the container and shoving a cookie into his mouth.

That's how he ended up here though, towel slung over his shoulder and clutching a bottle of shampoo in his free hand as he knocked shakily on Mattheo's door. He couldn’t help it. The only things he’d been thinking about these past few days were the way that blush had creeped up onto Mattheo’s face when he opened his door, and the way his muscles had flexed when he had reached up behind his head. But oh god, what was he doing here?

It's clear Mattheo is wondering the same thing when he opens the door, brows furrowing as his head tilts. Theo lets out a nervous cough.

"Ah, sorry to bother, the water's out in my apartment and I just got back from a run so I was wondering—" he lets the question hang in the air and Mattheo blinks once before rushing to pull the door open further.

"Yeah, of course, I mean sure. No problem," he replies, that familiar tinge of red once again painting his cheeks as Theo brushes past him. “Bathroom’s just there,” Matt says, directing him past the living room.

“Right, thanks,” Theo replies, taking his time to subtly glance about the apartment.

There was a sofa that looked like it had seen better days, a coffee table with take out containers littering the surface, the television had some movie flickering across the screen, and more boxes that needed to be unpacked.

As soon as the bathroom door closes behind Theo, his head falls back, a dry laugh escaping his lips. What had become of his life? This was psychopath behavior he thought wryly to himself. But he’d come this far.

Quickly switching the water on, Theo takes what has to be the fastest shower of his life before stepping out and doing his best to dry himself off. His sweatpants go on and then he looks at the ratty old shirt he’d worn over, another scandalous plan forming in his head. He really shouldn’t.

When he exits the bathroom, Mattheo’s head snaps onto him from his spot on the couch and Theo watches as the blood rushes to his face once more. He would never get tired of that.

“Whatcha watchin?” He asks, trying to keep a casual, straight face as Mattheo’s eyes noticeably lock in on his bare torso.

It takes a moment for Mattheo to respond and Theo can feel himself preening at the attention.

“Uh, whatever you want,” Mattheo replies, still openly gawking.

Theo raises an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his face, a newfound confidence beginning to grow.

“You inviting me to stay?”

The question seems to shake Matt out of his stupor as he finally seems to realize he was staring and blinks up at Theo.

“Only if you want. I don’t want to hold you hostage or anything,” he jokes with a sheepish grin.

Theo finds himself letting out a low chuckle, humoring his neighbor as he takes a seat next to him, his shirt and towel all but forgotten in a heap on the floor.

“I’ll order us a pizza. Least I can do since you let me rack up your water bill.”

Mattheo knew that he was going crazy. He'd accepted it really because every time he closed his eyes, visions of his shirtless neighbor eating pizza on his couch and laughing at his bad jokes flooded his mind. It was like the images were burned into the back of his eyelids.

This however, was an entirely new level of insanity, even for him. See it started simple enough, Theo had caught up to him in the parking lot and walked into the building with him. Only when Mattheo had gotten to his door, he'd reached into his jacket pocket for his key only to come up completely empty.

His frantic search had apparently caught Theo's attention because his neighbor had turned towards him, head tilted in that annoyingly sweet way and asked if he'd forgotten his key. And then of course his neighbor had to be all benevolent and chivalrous and offer to let Mattheo stay over in his apartment because the office was closed and calling a locksmith would be annoying and expensive. And how could Mattheo possibly say no when Theo was looking at him with eyes like that?

Mattheo was just about to bashfully accept the offer when his hands slid into the back pockets of his jeans, fingertips grazing across the cool, hard metal of his key. Clutching his fist, he shoves the key deeper into his pocket before following Theo into his apartment.

And now here he sat on Theo's pristine leather sofa eating Chinese takeout while being hyper aware of how often Theo's knee was knocking into his own.

"I can grab you a pair of shorts or something so you don't have to sleep in jeans," Theo is saying, breaking Mattheo out of his thoughts.

"Sorry?" Mattheo mumbles, clearly having not been paying attention to Theo.

Theo just laughs though, setting down his box of noodles.

"I was saying that you could borrow a pair of shorts or something so you don't have to sleep in jeans. Unless you like sleeping in denim of course."

"No, no, that would be great, thanks," Mattheo replies quickly, shoving another bite of eggroll into his mouth before he could say anything else stupid.

Theo lets out another soft laugh, his head shaking slightly as he gets up and disappears into what Mattheo would assume to be the bedroom. He reemerges just moments later with a pair of black athletic shorts, tossing them onto the couch next to Mattheo.

“I’ll find a movie or something to watch if you want to get changed. Bathroom’s over there,” Theo tells him.

It only takes Mattheo a minute or two to change and settle his heart rate before he re-emerges, settling back down on the couch. He knows he must look stiff as a board sitting there, but he can’t not focus on the way Theo’s eyes flicker as he watches the television, or the way his arm is slung casually across the back of the sofa, his hand mere centimeters away from the back of Mattheo’s head.

Mattheo could not tell someone a single plot point of the movie they’d just watched by the time the screen goes dark. He was far too busy over thinking. Too busy in fact that he barely hears Theo announce that he’s going to run to the bathroom.

“Hey, you left your jeans in the bathroom,” Theo calls out as he opens the door.

As he goes to toss the crumpled pile of fabric, to Mattheo’s absolute horror, a gleam of metal shines through the air before clattering onto the floor. Two pairs of eyes lock onto the familiar looking metal key. Mattheo lets out a nervous laugh.

"It was in there all along?" he chuckles, decently sure that there was fear written across his face.

But Theo just raises an eyebrow, a smile growing on his lips.

"Yeah, you know that's crazy. I'm sure you didn't just happen to forget it was there so you'd have an excuse to hang out with me," he replies cockily, inching towards Mattheo like a lion hunting its prey.

Mattheo gulps.

"Nah. No. That would be crazy," Mattheo laughs.

Theo is directly in front of him now, bent down to look him straight in the eyes.

"Crazy like pretending the water is out in your apartment so that you can use your hot neighbor's shower instead?" he asks.

Mattheo can feel his eyes widen slightly at the implication, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he searches for words.

"I have never baked cookies before in my life. Also, that day you gave me a ride to the store, it was just my spark plug that was loose. I could have fixed it in two seconds," he blurts out.

Theo is laughing now, collapsed on the sofa beside him as Mattheo also lets out a loud laugh, the insanity of it all finally crashing down on the both of them.

"That actually feels really good to have off my chest," Mattheo says once they'd both calmed down.

His head is resting against Theo's shoulder and his hand is entrapped between Theo's fingers.

"I hope you know I think you're a psychopath," Theo says, though there's no real bite to his words.

Mattheo just snorts in response.

"Oh you're one to talk. By the way, who the hell answers the door half bloody naked? What was that about?" he asks.

"I was excited to see you," Theo defends.

Mattheo can hear the sheepish smile in his voice as he tilts his head to rest on top of Mattheo's and it's quiet for a moment.

"So does this mean I can convince you to sleep in the bedroom tonight instead of on the couch?" Theo asks.

"Won't take a lot of convincing," Mattheo replies.

A silly little idiots-in-love piece that’s completely unserious because I can’t get these two dorks out of my head🤪

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