#I had to post it here because Instagram cut it

[cherrynpink]

between neighbours

pairing: perv!joshua x f!reader

genre: neighbours to lovers, smut (with a bit of plot) MDNI!

warnings: joshua is a perverttt lol, panty sniffing, perv yet still gentleman joshua (it is a fine line to walk), making out, mentions on masturbating, joshua in tank top (yes it is a warning), switch!joshua, switch!oc, dom!joshua? later, fingering, spanking, joshua is a bit mean but its ok bcs so is oc, oral (m! receiving), unprotected sex (DON'T do this!), he's hitting it from the back, creampie, lmk if i missed anything!

w.c.: 4.6k

for more of my work, check out my masterlist!

note: joshua in black tank top save me... save me joshua in black tank top. i wrote this bcs i love joshua in tank top if u can't tell n i saw a huge lack of perv joshua rep in the community.

also posting after so long did u miss me hehe (i will cry if u say no) anywaysss my requests are open if u have something u wanna read or just talk. i am very very open to making friends here so u can message me if u want. feedback is highly appreciated hope u like this one hehehe :3

Joshua was a nice guy.

Probably the nicest guy you’ve ever come across. He had been the sweetest to you ever since you had moved into the apartment next to him. It was your first time living alone as an adult, and he had been nothing but helpful since the day you met him. Setting up all your furniture because “What are neighbours for?”, helping you sort out all your stuff from your boxes and arrange everything, convincing your landlord to install a new AC unit, making you homemade meals until your kitchen was set up; you name it and Joshua had probably done it for you. You were nervous to move to a new city where you knew no one, but he made the transition so much easier for you. You found out he was a graphic designer and often worked from home, so he was literally there at your beck and call at even the most insignificant sign of trouble. Not to forget, he wasn’t too hard on the eyes, in fact so pretty it ached your heart- the way his eyes would widen as he laughed or whenever he was confused, the way his arms would bulge out of the black tank top he wore when he was helping you set up your bed, sweat dripping down his face which made you want to take him on the very bed he was arranging right then and there. Yeah, Joshua was such a nice guy.

Or atleast that’s what you thought and what his actions said. Because yeah he’s nice, but he’s not this nice to anyone. He would never admit it, but he’s followed you around like a puppy and helped you out so much because he just wants you so fucking bad. He would stare as your ass whenever you bent down to pick up the boxes, completely unaware of Joshua ogling your ass hanging out of your shorts. It got worse for him when the AC stopped working and all you would wear were stupid low cut tank tops. His eyes would travel to your cleavage, neck wet with sweat. You had to know your tits were out, right? Still, he was somehow coping, dropping his sweatpants down and fisting his cock as soon as he got home, your Instagram post open on his phone in his other hand as he came all over his hand staring at your pictures.

He wanted to be a gentleman, he truly did; but then came that fateful Saturday. Your living room and bedroom were almost set up, and you had asked him to get the blankets and bedsheets from one of your boxes. Now, Joshua would say what happened next was through no fault of his own. Packing is stressful, and one might often put things in the wrong box or label them wrong. Sometimes things might just fall into a box and you might’ve not noticed. So it was really not his fault when he lifted one of the pink sheets and found a red material peak through the bottom. Not thinking much of it, he unfolded the sheets, only to find your delicate red lace panties fall on his feet.

A normal person who was unaffected by you would just pick them up and put them right back in the box or in your drawers, as if they hadn’t even noticed them. But, he can’t for his life explain or justify what he did next, as he picked up the lace in his hand and brought it up to his nose without a thought, sniffing the soft material as he immersed his nose in the faint vanilla scent. Make no doubt, Joshua was not usually a panty sniffing creep; in fact till this very moment the thought hadn’t even occurred to him but even though your panties were washed and clean, he could practically feel the fragrance of your cunt and the taste of your essence. Your voice calling him from the kitchen brough him back to reality and as if his rational part of the brain had stopped working, he quickly shoved them in his pockets. As soon as you both were done for the day, he rushed to his room- a very familiar scene on his bed with his boxers still on him, just barely pulled down to take his cock out as he stroked it up and down eagerly as he moaned out your name with the newest addition of his face buried in your stolen panties.

Joshua feels so so guilty. He feels so bad for stealing your panties and then wrapping the warm material around his dick and covering them in his cum, ruining them. What he feels worse about is even though he feels guilty he cannot stop because there’s something so sick in him that loves it. He loves marking them. Loves to think of marking you the same way, marking him as yours. And what he feels even worse about is that ever since that day, whenever he goes over to your apartment to help you, he ends up stealing another pair, and another, and another to the point you’ve gotten concerned over your lack of panties. He's heard you complain to your friend over the phone that maybe you forgot to pack them since so many of them were missing but poor you, unaware of the fact they’re right across your wall in your sweet neighbour’s bedside drawer.

“Joshua, I think there’s a problem with my stove.” You call out to him.

“Wait, let me check.” He says, walking towards you. “Step back a bit.”

He checks the gas valves and calls the gas company to get it checked, which results in you finding out that the pipes need to be changed.

“Y/n, this won’t be changed until tomorrow morning.” He says as calmly, booking an appointment on his phone for a handyman.

“Why can’t anything go right!” you groan out as you fall on the coach, your head in your hands. “Maybe I wasn’t ready to live alone yet.” You mumble. “Fuck! Should’ve gotten a roommate, my mom was right.”

“Hey, this happens to everyone.” He says as he sits down beside you. “When I first started living alone I literally set my house on fire the second day, not even kidding, you’re doing much better than I am.” You laugh as his words comfort you.

“I’ll make dinner at mine today, okay?”

“No way Josh, I’ll just order something. I’ve already troubled you so much I can’t-”

“C’mon it’s no fun eating alone.” He says with a pout. “I bet once you’re fully set you won’t even want to hang out with me, let me enjoy the last few days I have left cooking for you.” He teases you as you laugh.

"No way i'm leaving you alone shua, you're gonna be cooking for me all the time." You giggle.

Now Joshua had called you over for dinner so sweetly and nonchalantly, but between all this crisis management he had totally forgotten about the fact that your panties, that he stole, were littered all over his room because he wasn’t planning to bring you over tonight. But unaware Joshua just let you stroll into his apartment as you settled in there, talking to him as you “helped” him cook for the both of you. You weren’t really helping. Just letting him do all the work and whenever he did ask you to do something, you messed it up some way or the other so you just opted for sitting on the counter rocking your legs back and forth as you explained in detail the seven part Hailey Bieber stalker series from Youtube.

“Right? Okay so Selena has this ‘g’ tattoo behind her ear after her sister Gracie, and guess what! Hailey got the same-”

“You said that you would help me y/n.”

“I am helping! I’m entertaining you shua, if it wasn’t for me you’d just get bored.” You say as you shrug your arms. “Plus you don’t know about this triangle! It’s was all over my feed a few months ago, why are you such a boomer.” You whined, frustrated at the lack of his knowledge of pop culture.

“Okay, I’m sorry” he says as he adds seasonings to the pot. “Tell me what happens next, she copied her tattoo?”

“She DID copy her tattoo, but you’re so ungrateful I’m not telling you anymore.” You say, getting off the counter. Before he can protest, you say, “I’m going to the bathroom.” Heading towards his room.

As you enter the bathroom in his room, it is only natural for you to be curious as to what he has in there. You check all his cabinets and drawers. A cleanser? Tick. A shampoo that is not a 4 in 1 atrocity? A win for you. An actual moisturizer? You are very pleased. Once you get out, you examine his room. Books on his bed side table, laptop neatly shut on his work desk, a few clothes scattered on his bed but nothing too out of the ordinary. But as your eyes scan the bed, what do you see but something very familiar and very missing from your boxes under one of his shirts, before your hand is reaching down to grab it.

Now, it finally hits him. Joshua FINALLY remembers that he had left you alone his room, and if his memory serves him right, he had left a pair of your baby blue panties on his bed. Shit. Did you see it yet? Are you horrified at him? Do you hate him? Now it was time for him to panic as he turns the stove off and hurries towards his room hoping you weren’t out yet, only to find his worst fears come true as he opens the door, panties dangling from your hand as you stand in front of his bed, eyes wide and lips slightly apart, staring at him.

“Are these mine shua?” you ask innocently, even though you know the answer all too well.

“Y/n wait let me explain I-”

“How many more do you have?” not a single note of anger in your voice, but rather curiosity.

“I-” Joshua doesn’t have any words to explain his situation. How does he tell you he’s been stealing you panties and sniffing and cumming in them? He tries to find the words to not make you mad and think of him as a creep before he sees you walking towards him, standing so close to him that he can feel your breathe on his face as you reach up, your panties still bundled in your palm, and the next second you lips are on his, taking him by surprise as his eyes widen. He first stands there frozen, but is quick to keep up with you as he deepens the kiss, pushing you back with his hands on your waist. He can hear his heart beating in his ears and it’s insane how worked up you’ve gotten him over just a kiss. He feels your nails trance over his neck, making his shudder. You pull away, deliberately letting out a sensual sigh.

“Could’ve just asked me for them, why’d you steal, hmm?” you say as you lean in once again, this time slipping your tongue into his warm mouth, his hips pressing into you from under, making you gasp as you feel his hardened length against your lower abdomen.

“Not very gentleman like of you shua.” You say teasingly.

Eager to assert control over him, you push him towards the bed, your feet stumbling and stepping over his as the back of his knees meet the edge and he sits down, legs spread wide before you’re sitting in his lap, legs on either side of him. When you pull away from his lips the sight in front of you is one to see, Joshua under you in his stupid white tank top this time (another one of your favorites) that clings to him so tight you can see his chest bulging out, sweat droplets on his forehead, cheeks flushed and a fucked out look in his eyes. You get off of him as you kneel down beneath him, but not before handing him the very panties he had stolen from you. You pull his sweatpants down, watching his half hard length trapped in his boxers.

“Y/n, please.” He whimpers above you. It’s funny really, how you’re under him yet the one to hold all the control. Your lips ghost over his boxers, and he can practically feel himself burst when he opens his eyes only to see your big doe eyes in front of his trapped length, before you’re reaching down to wrap your lips around his clothed member, mouthing at it as a wet patch forms on his boxers.

“What do you do with them?” you ask with a small smile on your face as you tilt your neck slightly, eyes so innocent that if he himself wasn't there he would never believe the words coming out of your mouth.

“It’s embarrassing.” He whispers only loud enough for you to barely hear him.

“I won’t let you fuck me if you don’t tell me.” You say as you finally lower his boxers, his hips lifting to help you. “Do you sniff them?” your fingers rub his tip teasingly, spreading around the pre-cum.

“I- fuck, yes! I do.” He finally confesses.

“Mhm, what else?” you say, one hand still running along his hard length while the other reaches to play with his balls, making him moan out loud in surprise.

“Shit I- I wrap them around me and jerk off!” he says which apparently pleases you because you wrap your plush lips around his tip, sucking softly as your hand wraps around his base in a light grip and he sighs in relief; but that only lasts so long before you’re pulling away once again.

“Did you cum in them?” you ask, stopping all your ministrations and placing your hands in your lap.

“Y/n, please-”

“I won’t do anything if you don’t answer me.”

“I did, fuck please! Need your mouth.” He says and you decide not to torture him anymore, wrapping your lips completely around him as you take more than half of him in one go, and it was NOT as easy and effortless as you made it look because Joshua is bigger than you expected. You run your tongue all around, feeling the ridges and veins popping out and you might just cry out of happiness because you actually think his cock is the prettiest you’ve ever seen.

You just rest it against your tongue for a while, letting him feel the warmth before you’re pulling it out, only to deep throat him at once and oh, the sound he lets out is music to your ears. You continue to bob up and down on his dick, as it hits the back of your throat repeatedly whilst your hand pumps the part that you can’t fit, his head thrown back in pleasure and yours in a fucked-out state as his hand grab your hair a makeshift ponytail, manoeuvring your mouth on him as he pleases. His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes closed as the sounds of your gagging and his moaning fill the room. After a point, you give in to him, letting him use you as he pleases, like a doll- only for his pleasure, and you don’t mind it one bit.

“Fuck Y/n, you’re so much better when you shut up for once, doing so good for me.” He grunts out.

His other hand roams around the bed, finding the blue lace before he brings it up to his nose, taking in your scent. All you see when you blink up to him is his buff chest rising up and down, teeth biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood but that still isn’t enough to make control his moans. He’s shaking now, so so close to his high as his mind goes blank and he gives a particularly sharp tug at your hair, making you flood your panties beneath your denim shorts, your slick travelling down and escaping the fabric as you rub your thighs.

“Thought about this so many times, fuck!” he groans as he feels your throat close up around him. his heavy cock stretches your lips out completely as you struggle to keep him in, your jaw aching accommodating his cock. Tears begin to form in your eyes as his hips increase his face, his moans signalling how close he is to his release. His breathe turns erratic and his grip in your hair tightens, as his voice breaks and his warm cum fills your mouth with no warning. He rocks your head back and forth amidst it slowly as he’s still cumming in your mouth, his seed travelling down your throat as you gag on it further, tears streaming down your face and eyes rolling back. When he’s finally spent, he pulls you off of him, a string a saliva still connects you to the head as dribbles down to your chest and you see him smirk, your panties still bunched in his palm and your tears dried on your cheeks.

“Open.” He demands with a light tap on your cheek as you open your mouth, tongue out to show him his cum smeared on his lips and tongue, and you can feel the dynamic shift already.

“Good girl, swallow.”

He pulls you up to give you a messy kiss, as if he didn’t just cum in your mouth and it kind of warms you from the inside and makes your chest flutter because even amidst this, he does act like a gentleman (as if he didn’t just literally fuck you throat seconds ago). You’re flipped onto your stomach in a second as you see him rid himself of his bottoms. One second you’re begging for him to come back to you, next he’s on top of you, pressed against you so close, hands travelling along the curve of your spine before coming down to rest against your hip, pulling you up as he forces you on your hands and knees. You hear him kneel behind, murmuring out “fuck” quietly to himself as his hands reach forward to unbutton your shorts, pulling them down just below the curve of your ass as they fall to your knees and he’s face to face with your soaked covered center.

His long fingers reach between your thighs, pushing them apart just slightly as to look at the mess you’ve made when he’s barely touched as they make contact with your slick covered soft skin. And before you know it,

smack!

his hand is pulled away from you as it comes down to hit your plush ass, your entire body stumbling forward with the impact as a loud cry erupts from your throat in surprise. He’s pulling the lace material above your cheeks, his hand rubbing it gently, soothing your skin.

“You good baby?” he asks from behind- one hand stabilizing your body with its tight grip on your hips while the other continues to caress your ass. There’s a change in his tone, voice turning raspier and deeper, much different than the Joshua you knew but not that you were complaining. And it’s embarrassing for you to explain how much wetter you felt yourself get at his actions as he brings up the hand resting on your hips up your back, grabbing your hair from behind and pulling you towards him.

“You want more, or should I stop?” he whispers, mouth resting just above your ear as he towers over you. When you turn your head to face him, you see his lust driven eyes as he looks down on you- hand still in your hair before he’s reaching down to press a kiss to your lips once again. This one much different than the way he’s kissed you before- full of impatience and hunger. You manage to moan out a “more” into the kiss as he’s pulling away and forcing your face into the pillow once again.

He's returned to slapping your behind, stopping occasionally to rub against your skin to ease the sting. Your loud cries and the sound of his hand hitting you fills the room, but what is harder for you than to bear the pain is controlling how turned on you are right now, as you feel your wetness dripping down your thighs and you’re pretty sure he sees it too, one of his hands coming down to run the tip of his finger along your slit.

“Joshua, mhm, please!” you whine out, but it seems he’s not stopped with the teasing as his fingers gently graze against your clit for second before pulling away again, continuing to play with your folds.

“Fuck, you’re dripping all over.” He murmurs to himself. “You like being spanked? That’s what got you so wet? Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen baby.” He laughs cruelly, looking at you only to see you hiding your face in the pillow out of the embarrassment.

“What? Not so bold anymore Y/n?” he teases you. “Don’t be shy baby, it’s only me.” he says, spreading out your folds with his fingers as you clench around nothing, feeling another glob of your slick leaking out, the cool air near your warmth making you shiver. A familiar warm and giddy feeling runs through your chest and makes its way down your stomach, making you flutter and moan out in surprise as you feel him spit right on your heat. Without a warning, he’s pushing 2 of his fingers in at one go- your back arching and hips pushing behind, begging for more out of his fingers. His thumb is navigating its way through your folds, making contact with your enlarged nub as you moan out his name, fingers scissoring inside you in a steady pace.

“Joshua, more!” you grunt, your arms losing strength every passing second and the band in your gut getting closer to snapping as he continues to edge you, slowing down just as he feels you getting closer to cumming every time. Your legs are probably shaking at this point, your pleads and cries filling the room every time you feel his knuckles make contact with your insides curling them just enough to make your entire body jerk at his touch. You’re breathless, gripping the sheets clenching around his fingers hard enough to crush them as your legs tremble beneath, a high-pitched loud moan leaving your throat, bucking into his hand right as you’re about-

And he stops. Fingers stopping all their movement as they’re still inside you, knuckles just resting at your opening, but that doesn’t last long either as he’s pulling them out in one go and that’s enough to break you as you feel tears wet the pillow under you, whining out and complaining to him as the loss of contact.

“Want you to cum around my cock pretty.” He justifies, voice dripping in honey as if he’s not done the filthiest things to you just seconds before. You gather the strength to lift your upper body, palms laying flat on the sheets as you turn your head to look at him teary eyed, hoping he’ll show you some mercy, only for him to lock his gaze right into yours and licking your essence off his fingers. It’s obscene really, you watch him swirl his tongue around his fingers, tasting all of you as he moans out.

“Gonna eat you next time baby.” He coos as he pulls your hips towards him by force, your back arching in reflex, pushing yourself onto him. He’s taking his length in his hand and tapping it’s head against your spent core, digits reaching to draw 8 figures on your clit, making you squeak as you hear a low deep throated chuckle from behind you. He keeps running his tip up and down your slit, teasing you till no return and all you can do is whine and beg him to give you more.

With no warning, he’s shoving his entire length inside you- giving you no time to adjust as you jerk forward, a loud cry erupting from you as he groans out due to the warm feeling. You can practically feel him throb inside you because of how deep in he is, and just as a tear is about to drop from your lashes you feel him pulling more than halfway out, only to slam right back into you until you hear his balls make contact with your cunt. Your fingers cramped from the way you’re holding onto the sheets as his hand travel up your spine and grab your hair once again.

Joshua loves your pussy. Now that he’s had it once he’s not sure he can go without it. Your tight walls are clenching around him so hard he might come right then and there. He musters up some strength in him, rocking his hips into you at a steady pace at first as to not overwhelm you with his length, but you’re apparently not satisfied, begging him “harder, more!” under him. And who was he to say no to you? he laughs with a particular strong thrust of his hips into yours, showing you no mercy. He fucks you hard, fucks you fast, fucks you like a man depraved. Because all this time he had been dreaming of your warm wet cunt wrapped around him, and now that he had you he wanted to savor every second of it.

His grip on you in tight, chants of “good girl” leaving him as you mutter out incoherent nonsense. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, overwhelmed with the pleasure that overpowers the pain of his hardness slamming inside you again and again. And he feels so close to his edge, so he chases it- skin slapping against yours as his hand on your clit speeds up, your hips rocking back to meet him instinctively. Your eyes roll back, the knot in your stomach tightening as you begin to tense up. Brows furrowed as he repeatedly hits the very spot that drives you over the edge.

“Fuck shua! Gonna- gonna cum!” you whine out. “Please baby, please- oh!” and with that you’re letting go, eyes going blank, limbs going numb as you crash head onto the pillow as you cum with a broken sob, squeezing him so hard that his hips too falter, as he paints your insides white, not a care in the world that he’s not wearing a condom. You’re probably on birth control, right? Even if you’re not, he would love to see you swell with his baby. But he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

He pulls out of you, his cum leaking down your thighs as he falls besides your completely spent body. You turn onto your back, running your hands through his hair as he kisses you, much gentler than before this time.

“You did good.” He murmurs against your lips with a slight smile looking at your tear-stained cheeks.

“Fucking pervert.” You tease him.

“What? As if you didn’t stare at my chest whenever I helped you lift boxes.” He says, hands running against your back. “I felt objectified!”

“Hey! I didn’t steal underwear!”

“Want me to beg for them next time?”

He is a nice guy after all.

[eye-of-enigmatic-thought]

HEY! As you may have read on this sheet, I am gonna start doing commissions to help support my friend @sfaamq10, who is a Palestinian mother stuck in the war and is trying to get her and her family to escape genocide! She is vetted by 90-ghost here*, if you do not know who 90-ghost is, he is a Palestinian that vets legitimate fundraisers, he has had his blog for many years and has posted about Palestine for a long time before this war.

If you send me proof that you've donated to her, I will draw art for you in turn! Because her fundraiser is in USD, all the prices here will be in USD. Even if you are not interested in my art, I still ask consider supporting her!

You can send and make a commission in this google form here, terms are also included.

And you can donate to Safaa here

*The account despite being deactivated is also Safaa and she has since changed her GFM to Chuffed due to issues with the former, but I can vouch that this is the same person and that you should donate to her Chuffed rather than GFM.

If you can't read the sheet above, the information and prices are also listed under this cut!

I Will Draw:

-Human/Furry/Monster/Robot/etc

-Mild Nudity (pinups/body refs/etc)*1

-Scenery

-Gore

I Will NOT Draw:

-Explicit NSFW/Fetish*2

-Complicated Machinery

-Hateful Imagery

*1 You must also be 18+ to commission any nudity.

*2 I debate if I'm okay with this, as theoretically I don't mind working with mild fetish art, but I'd rather wait until I have more experience, sorry!

_

Manga styled icon/avatar/pfp - $5 each

Because the minimum amount that can be donated is 5$, I can in turn give a easy-to-make manga styled avatar drawing! These will be the cheapest I can offer and you are free to ask for multiple so long as youve donated the appropriate amount. ($5 x 2 = $10 = 2 icons.)

_

Portraits & Figures

____________Graphical__/__Painterly

+1 Bust______$10.00______$20.00

+1 Halfbody__$15.00______$35.00

+1 Fullbody__$20.00_____$45.00

Note: '+1' refers to the amount of traits a commission can have and how much it may cost altogether.

Example: A piece with two graphical fullbodies would be $40.00 altogether

_

Landscape & Backgrounds

____________Graphical____Painterly

+1 Simple____$10.00______$20.00

+1 Partial____$20.00______$45.00

+1 Complex__$35.00______$65.00

Simple refers to quick and abstract backgrounds.

Partial refers to simple scenes that may use props.

Complex are entire scenes, and the amount of detail may affect the price, please discuss with me to confirm the price before you donate if you want something complex.

_

Character References

____________________________Graphical__/__Painterly

+1 Fullbody__________________$20.00______$45.00

+1Expression/Detail__________$10.00_______$20.00

Note: Remember the '+1' prices, these two examples would cost more than the listed prices here!

Contact me:

Instagram: Scarfasaurus

Furaffinity: Scarfasaurus

Tumblr: eye-of-enigmatic-thought

Email: enigma.art@outlook.com

[airybcby]

If I Could Never Give You Peace

( bllk boys when your secret relationship is leaked by paparazzi)

a/n — wrote this on a whim after listening to peace by taylor swift

content — some nsfw but not explicit, fem! reader, cursing , all characters are 18 or 18+, slight ooc maybe?, some characters are repeated

synopsis — what happens when your relationship is leaked?

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' i'd give you my sunshine, give you my best ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' everyone thought you'd broken up '

listen, you knew dating a good soccer player in high school was a big deal, but you didn't realize how big of a deal it really was when he went pro.

this was the same boy ( now man) that you'd been dating since you were 14, so nothing really changed your views on him. if you could love him through his awkward phase, and he could love you through yours, there was no way you'd break up.

again, you didn't realize that your relationship was such a big deal. it wasn't that the two of you were a secret, it was more of a 'private not secret' situation.

so when the two of you woke up in your shared bed because of just how many notifications the both of you were getting, you knew something was up.

and low and behold, something was wrong. when you opened any social media the first thing you saw was a strangely amazing photo of you and your long-term boyfriend kissing. really, if it wasn't a paparazzi photo, it would be your lock screen.

"aren't we just the cutest?" he asked you, phone thrown back onto his bedside table as if he didn't have a care in the world. (and he really didn't, not in this case)

truly, the only thing that may make him angry in this whole situation is the fact that he got woken up far earlier than his usual routine by all the commotion.

but of course, as he was dozing back off, you were reading the comments, as any loyal significant other would.

soccerluvr45: omg is that is gf from high school? i thought they broke up

okay, yeah. he had a rather public instagram account in high school that his rabid fans had found that had pictures of the two of you, but you'd never broken up?

reading through the many comments, it was like everyone had collectively decided the two of you'd broken up.

"mhm...just ignore it. the pr lady will deal with it." he mumbled as he grabbed your phone from your hands, laying it beside his before wrapping his arms around you.

"go to bed, 's too early to deal with all this."

his fans were silly, if they could see you with this bed-head man right now, they'd see there was no way the two of you would ever break up.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ NAGI SEISHIRO, yo hiori, NIJIRO NANASE, hyoma chigiri

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' pr nightmare '

anyone who knew your boyfriend knew he was...a little extreme.

and unfortunately for you, this also applied when your relationship became public because of a slight slip of focus from the two of you. it wasn't that you were trying to keep your relationship a secret, you'd already been together a year now, but you also weren't trying to out yourselves.

yet, one singular minute when the two of you slipped away to the bathroom together at a soccer banquet...well lets just say a paparazzi was scarily ready to snap someone, anyone's, photo.

so here you were, sitting in a terrifyingly big office with your boyfriend and almost his entire management team.

"do you know what this could do to your reputation?" his manager asked. "it's just two adults doing adult things, they should've been in that bathroom! that would've gotten them—"

"okay, sir..."the pr woman cut him off, ever too enthusiastic to be talking about your private lives.

"you just need to ignore all of this until it goes away, alright? no press interviews after games anymore," she sighed as if this was basic comprehension. (your boyfriend wasn't the smartest but he also didn't need to be treated like an idiot.) "and no posting on any social medias for the time being. do you understand?"

"yeah, yeah. no talking to the grown men after games. and..."he grimaced at the thought of his next condition. " c'mon is posting on my socials that bad? i don't post about us anyways."

"at. all." and the room felt as icy as the pr woman's stare.

"yeah, no, okay i got it. no social media."

after another thirty minutes of this, with them saying basically the same stuff to you (even though you had no real social media presence anyways), you guys finally left.

"no fucking posting? what if i have to talk about a game coming up?" "i'm sure she knows how to do her job, love." you soothed your boyfriend as you got in the car the company arranged to have you two taken up with.

"yeah, well whatever. give me your hand," and who were you to say no to your boyfriend?

he took your hand and placed it on his neck, a place where you could see a few bites and hickeys if you really looked hard enough.

before you could protest he took a picture, posting it on his VERY public account with the caption...

' i love my woman ;) '

before turning off his phone completely.

"let's see them try to get ahold of me now."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ RYUSEI SHIDO, tabito karasu, EITA OTOYA, oliver aiku

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' what picture ? '

how do two chronically offline people realize their relationship is now under scrutiny by the entire world?

the simple answer is...they don't!

you've never been interested in social media the way other girls your age had been. really, you'd rather just watch a video essay on every little topic that interests you than sit and watch six second videos then scroll all day.

to say the least, fast and forever changing social media just wasn't your thing.

and your boyfriend? he hardly even used his phone. unless it was for business or you, the thing was practically shoved away somewhere he couldn't care less about.

he would rather be reading or spending time with you out on a date...which is exactly the predicament the paparazzi put you in earlier this week.

the two of you were photographed having a little picnic and reading date at a small park that was pretty far out of town, assuming no one there knew, or even cared, enough to take a picture, but alas, someone did.

you and he had spent the rest of your week in pure, relaxed bliss. he had a game on saturday, so besides him going to practice and working out, the two of you stayed inside almost all week to prepare for the rather hectic weekend.

to say the game was a nail biter would be the understatement of the century. after two additional times, it was your boyfriend who scored the winning goal.

of course, you cheered the loudest, not noticing plenty of fans eyes on you unlike how many used to just chalk you up as an ecstatic fan.

as the post game interview came for him, you decided to stay closer to the door just incase it ran short. sometimes it was a one and done for him and others the questions went on for at least fifteen minutes, it just depended on his mood.

of course, the first question was about his game winning goal, but the second one threw him and you for a loop.

" what do you have to say about the photos of you and your reported girlfriend that have come out this past week? "

"...huh? what photos?"

eventually, the two of you did see the pictures, and all you could do was laugh because...how had you two not found out about this?

and you also made the picture your phone lock screen, but he didn't have to know that.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ RIN ITOSHI, reo mikage, SAE ITOSHI, chigiri hyoma

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' but the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

[ + your faves ! ]

i wrote this in about an hour, and i think it shows but i had to get it out of my brain :))

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[suliigwp]

MASTERMIND

Lando Norris x reader

SULI: ITS FINALLY HERE I KNOW I KNOW - I love this man so much just look at him. Uhhh not proof read so... If there's any mistakes ignore it! Text messages and a singular Instagram post! Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it <3 tbh idk if I want to make this a series or univers or what because there Is a Series coming soon with lando and all I can think about is them so - let me know!

Based on 'mastermind' by Taylor swift I bow down to you queen - Stream Mastermind!!

Warnings: bestie's a bit crazy here, depressive childhood on readers part, uhhhh none?

You weren’t on the guest list.

You knew that from the moment you slipped out of the cab and took in the scene—a velvet-roped entrance, tall security guards in sleek black suits, the unmistakable pulse of deep house music rolling up from the rooftop of the Monaco hotel like heat waves off asphalt.

But you also knew how to get in.

A friend of a friend had owed you a favor. A whisper here, a mention there, and a little calculated charm had bought you more than access—it bought you control. You didn’t walk in like someone hoping to be noticed. You walked in like someone who had already decided who would notice you.

Inside, the rooftop glowed with warmth—glass lanterns, the shimmer of city lights below, and a skyline sliced by jagged cliffs and moonlight. It was glamorous in that effortless way only Monaco could pull off. Champagne glasses glinted in the hands of people who had never worried about paying rent. Women with glossy hair and gowns that slinked like second skin. Men with sports team money and sharp jawlines. Everyone either wanted something—or someone.

You didn’t smile. Not yet. You walked slowly, the click of your heels barely audible over the music. A silk dress, cut low in the back, clung to you in just the right way. Your hair—undone, deliberately imperfect—caught the wind, strands falling over your shoulder as you made your way toward the balcony.

That’s where you positioned yourself. Strategic. Peripheral. A place with the best lighting, the best view, and most importantly—the best sightlines into the crowd. You didn’t check your phone. Didn’t sip the drink you’d accepted minutes ago. You were too focused.

The room buzzed behind you: the clinking of glass, the pitch of laughter rising, the occasional cheer when someone from a team entered. You knew he wasn’t here yet.

And then—

A shift in energy.

It was subtle at first. The way the volume changed—not louder, but sharper. The kind of silence that hummed just before a chord dropped. You turned your head slightly, only enough to glimpse him without looking eager.

Lando Norris.

A navy suit jacket, sleeves slightly wrinkled, hanging off one shoulder like he’d forgotten to care. A white shirt, just slightly rumpled. Tan skin that shimmered in the lights, curls tousled in a way that could only be natural—or perfectly styled to look that way. His smile was easy. His walk was casual. But people moved for him.

He greeted a few friends with lazy handshakes, leaned into someone’s ear to say something that made them throw their head back in laughter. He was magnetic in the way boys sometimes are before they realize how dangerous they’ve become.

He didn’t see you. Not yet.

That was part of the plan.

You let the moment stretch. You adjusted the strap of your dress with your opposite hand, slow enough to catch the corner of someone’s eye. Not his. Yet. Your profile was lit by candlelight—delicate, composed. Just a girl alone at a rooftop party. Not watching. Not waiting.

And then, as if on cue, you felt it.

The weight of his stare.

You turned, not sharply, but with the softness of someone caught in a passing thought. Your eyes met. And you looked away.

You let a breath slip through your lips. Not a smile, not quite. Then you looked away. Dismissed him like he was just another boy at just another party.

Three seconds. And looked back at him.

His brow twitched. Interest piqued.

You looked away again.

He blinked.

You saw it in your periphery.

He turned to say something to a friend, but his body shifted an inch in your direction.

It had begun.

The fuse was lit—not by touch, not by words, but by calculation.

A gaze, a posture, a silence sharper than speech.

Your fingers ghosted over your untouched drink. You didn’t need to sip it.

Because this party, this crowd, this night—you didn’t crash it.

You orchestrated it.

And Lando Norris had just stepped onto the board.

You didn’t follow him right away.

That would’ve broken the rhythm—no, your rhythm. The entire night was a sequence, a carefully choreographed dance of almosts and maybes. So when Lando turned his back after that first locked glance, laughing again with friends, brushing curls off his forehead like he wasn’t aware of you watching—you didn’t move.

You sipped your drink slowly. Still unsmiling. Still unreadable.

But your eyes tracked him through the crowd, every turn of his shoulder, every lean of his body. He didn’t linger in one place. He wasn’t anchored. He never was. You could tell by the way he kept scanning the room—lively but detached, floating through conversations like they were just enough to keep him occupied until something more interesting came along.

And you knew—you were the something.

Minutes passed. Music pulsed. Laughter sparked and faded. He moved farther into the crowd.

Then, as if fate tipped its hand ever so slightly, the path between you cleared. A gap in the bodies. A breeze from the open sky. And through it—you saw him. Full view. His head tipped slightly, like he’d just heard something intriguing. The side of his face you’d studied from press interviews and podium photos was now just... real. Dimmed by lantern light, sun-kissed from the day's practice laps, brows furrowed not from stress, but curiosity.

You knew the moment he saw you again.

Because this time, he didn’t just look.

He really looked.

There was something different in his eyes now. Not just appreciation—recognition. Like a piece of a puzzle had just clicked in his head.

She’s not just another pretty girl at a Monaco party.

He turned his full body toward you. His expression changed so subtly, so deliberately, you almost missed it.

A smile—lopsided, slow, the kind of smile that starts from the corner of the mouth and rises like the first breath after a long swim.

But it wasn’t a smile that said “come here.”

It was a smile that said “I see you.”

And it knocked the wind right out of you.

Not because it was flirtatious. But because it wasn’t. It was something quieter. Smarter. A knowing curl of his lips that said “So this is how we’re playing it.”

That was the moment you knew he had caught on.

To the rhythm.

To the space between glances.

To the way you hadn’t smiled back—not once. Not even now.

Your heart thudded with quiet, invisible triumph. Because that smile? It wasn’t just a reaction. It was his first move.

You didn’t need him to chase you. You needed him to engage you.

And he had.

You finally turned your body toward him—just a few degrees. Acknowledgment, not invitation. Your eyes met again across the dim-lit rooftop, and this time, you let your lips twitch—barely—a microexpression of amusement. Then you looked away, letting the moment hang in the air like perfume.

Behind you, the party drummed on.

But the game had begun.

A quiet check. Not mate yet. But the board was set.

And all he’d done...

Was smile.

You didn’t go to him.

Of course not.

You returned to the railing, drink in hand, letting the music fold around you like a veil. Behind you, people were laughing louder, the evening deepening, the wine flowing easier. The sky above was violet now, pinpricked with stars. Monaco glittered beneath it, a jeweled tray of secrets and stories. And you—perfectly still in the middle of it all.

You knew he would come to you.

And when he did, it wasn't loud. There was no grand entrance, no purposeful stride. He simply… appeared beside you, like a current that had always been there, now close enough to feel against your skin.

You smelled him before you heard him.

Warm cologne with something sharp underneath—leather maybe, or pine. Clean and expensive, but still like him. You didn’t turn. You let the silence sit, breathing it in like a challenge.

Then:

“So,” he said, soft and amused. “Do you always do that?”

Your heart skipped once. Just once. But your face didn’t change.

“Do what?” you asked, not looking at him. Your voice was velvet wrapped in steel. A soft echo against the music.

“Look at someone like they’re not worth your time,” he replied easily. “Then stand perfectly still so they can’t stop watching you.”

Now you turned. Slowly. Eyes meeting his. Up close, he was more boyish than he looked from across the room. But that boyishness was dangerous. Mischief painted in golden skin and a grin that had probably undone better women than you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that what I did?”

He leaned on the railing, facing you fully now, one arm slung casually over the ledge. “Oh, definitely.” He nodded. “And it worked. Obviously.”

You almost laughed. Almost.

He shrugged. “Not sure I liked being the math problem, though.”

That earned the faintest flicker of amusement from your lips. You still hadn’t smiled, not really. Just the ghost of it. The idea of it.

“Did it bother you?” you asked, turning slightly, shoulder brushing the edge of his jacket. His was tailored—well-fitted, slightly creased from being shrugged off and on all night.

Lando tilted his head. “Not exactly.” He paused. “I think it just threw me. I’m used to different kinds of looks.”

You studied him then. The way his knuckles grazed the edge of the railing. The way his curls curled tighter near his temples in the humid night. There was a flicker of boyish charm in him, but muted—held in check by something more watchful. Like he knew when to perform and when to hold back. Right now, he was doing the latter.

“You didn’t seem thrown,” you replied quietly.

He smiled at that—just a little. “No,” he agreed. “I’m quick on my feet.”

“That’s what they say about drivers.”

“And what do they say about girls like you?”

Now you looked at him fully.

His tone hadn’t been mocking. It hadn’t even been flirtatious, not in the obvious way. It was curious. Almost careful. Like he wasn’t sure if he was touching something sharp.

You didn’t answer right away. Let the question settle in the silence.

“They don’t usually get the chance to say anything,” you said finally. “I don’t stick around long enough to listen.”

Lando nodded slowly, as if filing that away. His eyes dipped to your hand on the railing, where your fingers toyed with the condensation on your glass, and then returned to your face. Noticing things. Reading you. Trying to.

“You know,” he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, “I knew you were going to be difficult.”

You raised a brow. “Did you?”

“Yeah.” His expression flickered, a little grin threatening. “I just didn’t expect to enjoy it so much.”

Your breath caught—but not because of the words.

Because he said them without trying to impress you.

Because he meant it.

And for the first time that night, you really looked at him. Past the suit, the fame, the boyish face sharpened by stubble and speed. Past the way everyone else in the room looked at him like he was already theirs.

He was still standing there, waiting for your response.

But you didn’t give him one.

Not yet.

Instead, you picked up your glass again and said only: “Are you staying long?”

He blinked. The question caught him off guard.

“In Monaco?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him.

And eventually, he got it.

“As long as I need to,” he said softly. And then—“Are you?”

This time, you smiled.

Just a little.

And walked away.

With the kind of confidence that doesn’t ask for attention—it simply commands it. Her perfume still lingered faintly in the air, something complicated and cold, like bergamot with a shadow underneath.

Lando stood there for a beat too long, staring at where she’d been. His drink was untouched. His mind, not so much.

He’d had conversations like this before. Witty girls. Sharp-tongued charmers. But this wasn’t that. She wasn’t trying to be liked. She wasn’t performing. If anything, she’d been sizing him up—like a puzzle she’d already mostly solved.

And yet… she smiled like she was holding something back.

He blinked, rolled his shoulders like he could shake off the chill she left behind, then turned on his heel. He scanned the room for the one person who could give him answers—Luca, the host.

He found him by the bar, mid-conversation with someone in a pink blazer. Lando stepped in with an apologetic nod.

“Sorry—mate, quick one,” Lando said low, his voice casual but too precise to be accidental. “The girl I was just talking to. Who is she?”

Luca glanced past him. “Oh, the tall one? Red lipstick, doesn’t smile unless she means it?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s dangerous territory, mate,” Luca said, half-laughing, half-warned. “You sure?”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “What’s her name?”

Luca hesitated, then said it...

It landed in Lando’s chest like something heavier than it should be.

“And?”

Luca shook his head. “She doesn’t usually come to things like this. Barely RSVP’d. I think she knows someone from Red Bull’s strategy team—or maybe Ferrari. I don’t know. She’s not… in this scene. Not really.”

Lando nodded slowly, processing.

“Do you have her number?”

Luca gave him a sharp look.

“What?”

“I’m not gonna do anything weird,” Lando said, lifting his hands. “Just—look, I’ve never seen her before. I just want to talk. Properly.”

A pause.

Then: “You’re serious?”

Lando met his eyes. “Yeah.”

Luca sighed, pulled out his phone, thumbed through contacts. “I’ll text her first. If she’s okay with it, I’ll send you her number.”

“Fair enough.”

Lando gave a nod and turned back toward the balcony. But he didn’t feel triumphant. He felt like something had shifted. Like someone had noticed his move on the board… and let it happen anyway.

She hadn’t told him anything about herself, but somehow, he already knew:

She wasn’t an accident.

And he wasn’t going to let her be a one-night mystery.

...

The car door shut with a soft click, sealing her away from the noise of the party. It was late, the kind of late where the streets were mostly empty and the sky had turned velvet.

She exhaled, leaning back into the leather seat. The interior still smelled faintly of her perfume and the faintest trace of smoke on her coat. One heel was already off, foot tucked beneath her. She had no music playing, no voice navigation, no rush. She just sat there in the silence, eyes catching her own reflection faintly in the rearview mirror.

Then her phone buzzed on the passenger seat.

She glanced at it—Luca.

One eyebrow arched before she even picked it up.

She stared at the screen. A heartbeat. Then another.

Her lips curved slowly—not into a smile, not yet. Something smaller. Sharper.

She let the anticipation play out, letting the weight of the moment settle. The silence inside the car made it feel like time had paused just for her.

She didn’t even reply immediately. Instead, she picked up her phone, tilted it slightly in her hand, and let herself feel it—the inevitability. The way he had watched her, curious and cautious. The way he had lingered when she walked away. Like he didn’t want to lose sight of her too fast.

Like she had left him with a question he couldn’t stop trying to answer.

She hit send. Then locked her phone and tossed it gently back onto the seat.

Her smirk bloomed wider now. A quiet, satisfied thing.

Checkmate.

She leaned her head against the headrest, eyes half-lidded. The night wasn’t just a success. It was a confirmation. The fuse had been lit, and the dominoes were already falling, one by one.

And Lando Norris—darling, golden boy of the grid—had no idea what game he’d just walked into.

...

Lando got the message from Luca just past midnight.

He was lying in bed, scrolling through nothing. The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that made him restless.

His phone buzzed again.

He sat up.

There was no hesitation in his fingers—but there was care. A weight. He stared at the name on the screen, his thumb hovering over it.

He could feel the static of her again. The red lipstick, the look in her eyes that didn’t flinch. She didn’t flirt—she calculated. And he kind of liked it.

He opened the message app and typed:

Not sure if this is brave or dumb, but hey—

It’s Lando.

Thanks for not vanishing entirely tonight.

He stared at it.

Deleted “brave or dumb.” Rewrote it.

Hope it’s okay I’m texting.

It’s Lando.

You left before I could finish being intrigued.

Too much?

He deleted that one too.

Started again.

...

He hit send and immediately dropped the phone beside him like it was hot. Pulled the covers over his face.

What are you doing, mate.

A minute passed.

Then two.

Then, across the city, her phone lit up inside her dark apartment.

She was brushing her teeth, her bare feet cold on the tiles. She glanced at the screen. And when she saw his name, that familiar curve returned to her lips.

She dried her hands on a towel, padded barefoot into the living room, phone in hand, unread message glowing on the screen.

She read it once.

Twice.

Then again.

“You made the room quieter after you left.”

That one hit differently.

She curled up on the armrest of her couch, not even bothering with the full seat. The city twinkled behind her windows. Her thumbs hovered, thoughtful.

And then she typed:

Then tossed the phone onto the couch cushion beside her.

She didn’t need to wonder if he was smiling.

She knew he was.

...

The bell above the café door chimed softly as Lando stepped inside. It was late morning — warm enough for a hoodie but not enough for sunglasses, though he wore them anyway. The streets of Monaco shimmered in that gentle, curated way: expensive, slow, quiet. He wasn’t looking to be seen.

This place was tucked into a corner near the marina. Not the trendy side. Not the side where people wore designer for attention. It was the other kind — the kind where the older locals read newspapers, where the espresso was sharp and the staff didn’t care about his name.

He walked to the counter, ordered a flat white, and turned around—

—and froze.

She was there.

Perched in the corner booth like she'd been painted into the scene hours ago. One leg tucked beneath her, head bowed over a book with the page held lightly between her fingers. Her hair was pulled back in a lazy bun, but lipstick still painted her mouth in that same unmistakable red. An espresso cup rested beside her hand, only half-drunk. She turned the page with care, as if she had all the time in the world.

She didn’t look up right away. But then—like she sensed him—she slowly lifted her head.

And smiled.

Not surprised. Not even smug. Just amused. Cool, unreadable, familiar.

“Norris,” she said, shutting her book with a quiet snap. “You’re either stalking me… or the universe is starting to play favorites.”

He let out a laugh, walking over with his cup.

“I was gonna say the same thing.”

“Sure you were.”

He slid into the booth across from her without asking, stretching one arm over the back of the bench. She didn’t object. Instead, she tucked her book away in her bag like she was always planning to make space for him.

“You come here often?” he asked.

“When I want to be alone.”

She said it dryly, sipping what was left of her espresso. He raised his brows.

“So this is my fault, then.”

“A little.”

But there was no bite to it. She was… relaxed. At ease. Even as she looked at him like she was still trying to decide if he was worth her time.

“You read?” he asked, nodding at the book.

“I plan.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Doesn’t it?”

He laughed again, setting down his cup. He felt light. Curious. Like something interesting was unfolding and he didn’t know the ending yet — but she did.

They stayed in that booth far too long. Talking about coffee, cities, bad headlines. She never gave too much, and he didn’t push. But by the time she stood, dropping a few coins on the table, he looked at her like he didn’t want her to go.

“So… accident?”

She slid her sunglasses down.

“If it was, it was a beautiful one.”

And then she walked out, leaving behind the scent of her perfume and a knowing curve on her lips.

That night, when his phone buzzed with her message, he reread it three times before answering.

The sun beat down on the paddock in Barcelona — not mercilessly, but sharp. The air buzzed with movement: cameras, team radios, fans screaming at gates. Lando adjusted the sleeves of his fire suit as he made his way past the McLaren garage, nodding briefly to a few familiar faces.

He wasn’t expecting her.

He never was.

And yet — there she was.

Standing just outside the Alfa Romeo hospitality tent, fingers wrapped around a cold bottle of water, oversized sunglasses on, phone in hand, not really using it. Her hair was twisted into a braid today, neat but not soft. Her black blazer cinched at the waist, pinstriped, powerful.

She didn’t smile when she caught his eye. She didn’t wave.

She simply looked.

Long enough to make him stop. Short enough to make him question if she had actually looked at all.

“You good?” his trainer asked.

“Yeah. Thought I saw someone.”

He didn’t explain.

But later, when he passed through media duties and slipped into the shaded side of hospitality for a minute of quiet, he found her again — this time alone, sipping something fizzy, twirling her straw without interest.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, standing in front of her.

“And yet,” she said, not looking up. “Here I am.”

“You always this lucky?”

“Luck,” she murmured, finally glancing up, “is for people who don’t prepare."

He watched her for a long beat.

“Did you come just to watch?”

“Are you worth watching?”

That made him grin.

But she stood before he could answer. Walked past him, deliberately brushing his arm. Not enough to cause a stir — just enough to stay in his mind for the rest of the weekend.

And that night, when he scrolled through his photos, there was one from the paddock. Behind him, blurred in the background, was the unmistakable silhouette of her — standing just out of focus.

Madrid skyline. Rooftop. Someone’s private event for a sponsor he barely remembered signing with. The music was low, the city lights were warm, and everyone was dressed in shades of silk and champagne.

Lando leaned against the balcony railing, watching the glitter of the city below. His glass sweated in his hand. He wasn’t really talking to anyone — not really there.

Until she laughed.

Not loudly. But enough that he felt it.

He turned, and there she was. Walking in like a headline — short black dress, heels that didn’t seem to touch the ground, red lips, a drink already in her hand.

“You’re starting to make this a habit,” he said as she reached him.

She tilted her head.

“You think I knew you’d be here?”

“I know you knew.”

“Mmm.” She sipped her drink, then looked up at him through her lashes. “What gave it away?”

“The perfume. Same one you wore the first night.”

She smiled slowly. Not caught — seen.

“You remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things.”

The night stretched around them like silk. They didn’t leave each other’s side. He introduced her to no one. She didn’t ask.

And when the party began to thin out, he followed her down to the car. Held the door open.

She paused before getting in.

...

She hadn’t meant to stay this long.

They were supposed to grab a drink — casual, low-stakes, a passing thing. But now it was nearing midnight, and they were still sitting together on the rooftop of the hotel where some F1 post-event gathering had wrapped hours ago. Most people had already filtered out, the distant hum of engines below replaced by the hush of a sleeping city.

She sat on the stone ledge, her heels abandoned beside her, toes barely brushing the empty air below. Lando was beside her, arms loosely crossed over his knees, watching her more than the skyline.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said.

She gave a soft, half-smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Maybe I just like listening to you.”

He chuckled, low and warm, and shook his head like he didn’t believe her.

“No one just likes listening to me. They usually listen so they can talk.”

“Do you mind that?”

“Not with you.”

That made her chest stutter.

She shouldn’t be affected by him. She reminded herself of that often — every time she caught herself watching him too long, or felt her stomach do a slow, ridiculous turn when he smiled at her like that. This had been her game. Her idea. Her strategy.

She had planned the first meeting.

Planned the second.

Planned the glances and the conversations and the way she leaned just a little too close at dinner, just enough to make him wonder.

But now?

Now he was saying things like that, his voice thick with something soft and careful, and it was her heart that felt like it was spiraling.

The wind picked up. He turned toward her.

“Can I ask you something?”

She tilted her head. “You just did.”

He laughed, and then he looked at her — really looked. The kind of look that made her sit up straighter. The kind of look that saw more than she was used to showing.

“Why me?”

That stopped her.

“Why you?” she echoed, buying time.

He nodded, expression unreadable. “You’re… not exactly easy to read. But you’ve stayed. You keep showing up. And I can’t help wondering why.”

She turned her face away, staring out at the water. For the first time, she didn’t have a line ready. No quip. No clever dodge.

“I guess,” she said slowly, “you surprised me.”

“How?”

She hesitated. Then:

“You’re kind.”

He blinked, like he hadn’t expected that.

“You say that like it’s rare.”

“It is.”

The silence stretched between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Like the edge of something unspoken.

Then, quietly:

“Can I kiss you?”

Her head snapped back toward him. The words hit her like ice and fire at the same time. She was supposed to be in control. She was supposed to decide when this happened — after a few more dates, after she made him fall harder, after she felt less exposed.

But now here he was, asking.

Not claiming. Not assuming.

Asking.

She nodded. Barely.

His hand came up, almost hesitant, brushing her hair behind her ear — his knuckles featherlight against her skin. She watched him the whole time, her breath stuck somewhere in her chest.

He leaned in, slowly, his eyes flicking to hers like he was waiting for any sign she’d pull away.

And then their lips touched.

God.

It was nothing like she imagined — and she had imagined it, many times, in far more calculated ways.

But this…

This kiss was soft. So soft it broke something open inside her.

His lips moved over hers with infinite care, like she was something fragile, precious. His hand cupped the side of her face, grounding her as she melted under his touch. There was no rush, no hunger — just quiet reverence. His other hand brushed her knee, an anchor in the moment.

And all she could think was: He doesn’t even know what he’s doing to me.

Because he was gentle. Too gentle.

And that was the thing she never planned for. That this — his warmth, his sincerity, the safety she felt when he was close — would be what undid her. Not power. Not pride. But kindness.

His lips moved against hers slowly, like he was memorizing the shape of her mouth. His hand came to rest gently at her jaw, thumb barely brushing her skin. She melted into him before she even realized it — her hands rising, clutching at the front of his jacket, pulling him closer because God, no one had ever kissed her like that before. No one had ever made her feel like the kiss was about her.

It was tender. It was warm. It was undoing her.

She felt the heat crawl up her spine, the way his breath hitched slightly when she deepened it — the smallest shift, but he followed, like it was instinct. And when he finally pulled away, just an inch, she chased after him without thinking, like gravity had shifted beneath her.

He let out a quiet laugh against her mouth, forehead pressing to hers.

“That okay?” he whispered.

She blinked, dazed. Her lips were tingling. Her whole body felt lit from within.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Too okay.”

He smiled, brushing the tip of his nose against hers, still so close.

...

SIX MONTHS LATER

It was one of those quiet late evenings when the world outside seemed to hold its breath.

The flat they were in wasn’t hers, wasn’t his — a borrowed place in Milan between races. Wide windows, soft lighting, the kind of space that muted everything sharp. Rain had tapped at the glass earlier, and now the streets below were slick and glowing, stretching into the distance like rivers of liquid gold. Inside, it smelled faintly of cedarwood and citrus from the candle burning on the sideboard.

The TV murmured in the background, low and forgotten. Neither of them had been watching it.

Lando was lying across the sofa, his head resting comfortably in her lap. He wore a grey hoodie, soft from years of wear, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. He looked unusually still — not in the lazy, teasing way he often did, but heavy, like something was pulling him inward. She could feel it in the silence, in the way his hand barely moved against her knee.

Her fingers trailed lightly through his hair. The gesture had started absentmindedly, but now it felt like something else — something steadying.

“Long week?” she asked softly.

He nodded, his cheek pressed to her thigh. His eyes were open but unfocused, staring at the TV without seeing it.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask. Instead, she kept running her fingers through his hair, combing back soft curls, brushing her nails gently against his scalp. A grounding rhythm. Something quiet and wordless to say I’m here.

Minutes passed like that. No need to fill the space.

Eventually, he sighed. Not the dramatic kind, but a slow release of breath like his body had finally started to uncoil.

“You make it stop,” he murmured.

Her fingers paused for just a moment.

“What?”

“Everything. The noise. The pressure. When I’m with you, I forget to worry.”

She didn’t say anything to that. She couldn’t. Because something in her chest cracked open like a secret she hadn’t meant to keep.

She looked down at him. His lashes curled slightly at the edges, dark against his skin. His lips were parted just a little, brow relaxed now. He looked nothing like the image most people saw — no cameras, no tension, no lights. Just a boy curled into her like she was the safest place on earth.

And all she could think — all she could feel — was how obsessed she was with him.

Not just the way he looked. Though God, he was beautiful. It wasn’t just his laugh or his hands or the way he’d started leaving a toothbrush at her place without ever saying it out loud. It was the way he saw her. The way he leaned in when she talked, even when she was pretending not to say anything important. The way he never pushed but always stayed.

It hit her, in that stillness, that she had done all of this — spun every web, pulled every string, laid every trap — just to have this.

To have him.

She had noticed him before he ever noticed her. Months ago. Maybe even years. Not in a fangirl way, not like the others. She saw something in him — something good. Something soft. Something rare. And she wanted it.

No. She needed it.

So she played the game. Showed up. Set the stage. Built coincidence into destiny.

And now he was lying here, curled into her lap, trusting her with the weight of his world.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, tilting his head enough to see her.

She blinked. Realized she’d gone still. Her hand found its rhythm again in his hair.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what?” He asked softly.

She hesitated. For a heartbeat too long.

Then smiled.

“About how this started.”

He smirked faintly, eyes dropping shut again.

“You mean the part where you kept magically running into me?”

“Exactly that.”

“And now look at me,” he mumbled, shifting slightly to nuzzle closer into her leg. “Wrapped around your finger.”

She watched him for a long second.

I planned this, she wanted to say. Every step. Every glance. I built a masterpiece just to be this close to you.

But instead, she whispered, “I like you here.”

He hummed. A low, contented sound. His fingers slid into hers where they rested on his chest, intertwining loosely. A gesture full of trust. Full of home.

She stared at him. At the little freckles near his jaw. At the softness in his mouth when he wasn’t performing. At the way he gave himself to her so easily — when she had spent years clawing control out of chaos.

And suddenly it wasn’t about winning anymore. It wasn’t about strategy or seduction or proving how smart she was.

It was about him.

And how, somehow, she’d fallen in love with the very thing she thought she could control.

Her other hand came up to brush his cheek gently, just once.

He didn’t stir.

“Checkmate,”

But this time, it wasn’t a triumph.

It was a prayer.

...

THREE MONTHS LATER

The night had a quiet sort of heaviness to it. The kind that settles over two people when the world outside has gone still — long after dinner, after the laughter, after the teasing. The soft hum of a movie played in the background, flickering faint blue light across their faces. But neither of them was really watching it.

She was curled up on his couch, legs tucked under her, head tilted just enough to rest against the back cushion. Lando sat next to her, one arm slung comfortably across the back of the couch, his other hand lazily drawing circles over the blanket covering her legs. They weren’t even touching skin to skin, but his presence grounded her.

Until something in her shifted.

It started with the way her eyes stopped flicking toward the screen and instead stared through it. Like something old and rusted had creaked open inside her chest.

Lando noticed. He always did.

"You okay?” he said softly, almost tentative.

She didn’t answer right away.

“yeah I ... I’ve been thinking about something,” she said, her voice low.

“Yeah?”

She took a breath, slow and deliberate. It felt too vulnerable already. She hadn’t meant to let it rise to the surface, not tonight. But something about the stillness — the safety of his company — made it hard to bury again.

“When I was a kid,” she began, carefully, “I didn’t have friends.”

The sentence sat between them, a simple truth, and yet it felt like shattering glass.

Lando’s fingers stopped moving. He didn’t say anything. She was grateful.

“Not in the way people usually mean it,” she continued. “I had classmates, and people who tolerated me when we were assigned to work together. But no one invited me over. No one sat next to me at lunch unless the tables were full.”

Her eyes dropped to her lap. She picked at a loose thread on the blanket.

“There was this spot behind the science building. No one went there. I used to sit on the concrete steps and eat alone. Every day.”

Her voice didn’t crack. It wasn’t sad in tone — just distant. Like she’d gotten used to carrying the memory like a stone in her pocket.

“I remember thinking that if I pretended I was invisible, it would hurt less. Like if I stopped expecting to be seen… it wouldn’t matter that no one saw me.”

Lando’s hand gently moved to cover hers.

She stiffened — not because she didn’t want the comfort, but because it startled her. She wasn’t used to people reaching toward her when she showed the ugliest parts of herself.

“That’s why I plan everything now,” she said, her voice a little faster. “Why I read people, why I control the board. It’s all I’ve ever had. Strategy. Calculation. Making myself useful enough to not be ignored.”

She finally looked up. Her gaze met his.

“That’s what this was, at the beginning,” she admitted. “You weren’t an accident. I noticed you before you saw me. I learned your schedule, knew where you’d be. I… orchestrated everything.”

A pause.

“And now I’m terrified, because I don’t think I can do this if I don’t have control. I’ve never done this before. Not really.”

Her voice softened, broke just slightly at the end.

Lando’s expression didn’t change. There was no shift into discomfort, no flicker of judgment. He just looked at her like she had just told him the most beautiful, heartbreaking thing he’d ever heard.

“You don’t have to plan anything with me,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to be the smartest person in the room. You don’t have to earn me.”

She looked away. Her throat was tight.

And then he said it.

“I love you.”

It wasn’t dramatic or loud. It wasn’t declared like some cinematic moment. It was real. Gentle. Grounded.

Like it had lived inside him long before he had the words.

She stilled completely.

“You don’t,” she said, breath catching. “You love what I let you see.”

“I love you,” he repeated, firmer this time. “The you who’s scared. The you who sits behind science buildings. The you who still wonders if anyone really sees her. I see you.”

Her lip trembled, and she turned her face away, angry at herself for letting him in this deep. For needing to believe him. For wanting to.

“Say it again,” she whispered.

He leaned forward, forehead brushing hers, nose to nose, soft and steady.

“I love you.”

She didn’t cry — not then. But she blinked fast, like the weight of his words filled her lungs too full to breathe.

“Don’t say it unless you mean it,” she said, almost as if trying to scare him away.

“I do,” he said. “More than I even understand yet.”

She let her eyes close for a moment, his warmth surrounding her.

“You’re ruining me,” she said with a half-laugh, tears shining in her lashes.

“Or maybe I’m just showing you you were never broken."

landonorris

Liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 1.580.777 others.

lando The Shakespeare twins couldn't describe how much I love you 🧡 my girl.

comments.

maycombcountry: RUE WHEN WAS THIS?

yourusername: Lanlan❤️(Shakespeare was one man)

❤️ liked by author

lando: 🧡(I'm saying if it were twins know it all🙄 I need to teach you humor)

maxverstappen1: congrats mate👍

❤️ liked by author

hippogriffcrackk: Babyboys so in love

oscarpiastri: So happy for you both🫶

❤️ liked by author

carmenmundt: Finally we can go shopping without hiding all the time!

❤️ liked by author

lando: let me have my girlfriend for a bit please?

alexandrasaintmleux: not a chance brit

lando: @/yourusername they're bullying me

carlossainz55: Mama said she's invited to the dinner on Sunday

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yourusename: oh thank you miss!

charles_lerlerc: My favorite couple❤️

❤️ liked by author

hamiltonthemusilabvv: Oscar and max sharing energy in the comments

lucatheone: Youry welcome for the photo and for the whole relationship btw

❤️ liked by author

lando: in depth with you mate

landonoonefan: He looks so happy🧡🧡

See all comments.

[hellfire--cult]

Rockstar!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

wc: 10k

+18 enemies to lovers, rockstar!steve, reader is a bit mean, a bit of fluff, a sprinkle of angst, drinking, smut, p in v (protected), oral (f receiving), fingering, lots of sexual tension, elevator kissing ftw, kinda hate fucking

summary: You started a 'hate' blog out of your irritation towards a certain rockstar, criticizing everything he got out, giving your personal opinion on how it could be better, not thinking that would land you a spot in his actual PR team. He hated you were always right, you hated he was cocky... or, that's what you both thought.

A/N: Joe Keery doing a tour altered my brain chemistry, so here you guys go. Thank you @andvys for proofreading this and telling me if it made sense LMAO I barely proofread this myself, so yeah. I also wrote this all in a single night, so don't mind it if it's... too stupid.

please reblog, don't be lazy.

YOUR BIGGEST FAN HATER

“It’s fucking horse shit, Steve.”

You let go of the talking button from the mixer, and you heard Steve groan from inside the recording booth. Eddie was holding back a laugh from the couch as Joyce snickered on your side. You saw how Steve raised his arms in defeat, staring at you with eyes that were filled with anger.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” You leaned over to press the button again, speaking into the mic.

“I know this isn’t what you want to play, and I know this isn’t what your fans want. Stop trying to be mainstream.” You let go of the button again and inhaled deeply, when you saw him angrily putting the guitar away on its stand, and Joyce sighed heavily as Steve opened the door of the booth, walking towards you.

“We’ve been working on this song for a month already, I tried every fucking version of it, and you are still not happy.” 

“I’m in your PR team. I know what will look and sound best for you.” Your reply was cold, and it made Eddie whistle from the couch.

“Let’s not get into an argument today–” But he got cut off by Steve, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Too fucking late, stay out of it Munson.” Eddie sighed, and you crossed your arms over your chest, facing your client. “What if you are cutting my wings off, huh!? Maybe this is the music I want to make, and you are not letting me.”

“Oh no, you are completely free to do whatever you want. But I studied you, Steve, and punk is not your style, nor what you really want to do. Redo it.” Your voice was sharp as you stared into those hazel orbs of his. Joyce stood behind you, and you were either the best decision ever or the worst.

Because you were Steve’s number one critic. Number one hater.

It started as a joke months ago. You were bored, sitting in your bed while watching TikToks, where you slowly but surely started getting angrier and angrier because every two videos you scrolled, Steve Harrington’s song was used. Over. And over. And over. And it wouldn’t fucking stop.

So you decided to Google the bastard. He filled your TikTok, Instagram, car radio, and weekly top song playlists. His song stayed for weeks and weeks, and you were sick of him. When you looked at his photoshoots, you saw the attraction—you really did… until you saw red carpet looks… listened to his album, and—he was fucking overrated. 

His songs had different vibes, some lyrics didn’t make sense or didn’t match the tunes, then in the red carpet he was dressed horribly sometimes, and then at concerts he didn’t know how to properly interact with fans, and also how to fucking dress. Who the hell wears a basketball getup singing a ballad?

He almost looked like he didn’t have a PR team at all to advise him.

But you were pissed. It was going to be a small joke. A small blog post giving a detailed critique of his outfit on the red carpet. You were anonymous, so you weren’t worried about that part, but you were surprised when people started agreeing with you, as well as those crazed fans you hated who tried defending his every move. He could have made a lady trip on purpose, and the fans would defend him and say he has a condition that makes his body spasm and do things against his will.

For some reason, seeing people agreeing with you filled you with relief. You got the anger out. Only for it to come back the next day when your little cousin would not stop playing the damn fucking song at a family gathering. You watched an interview of his that night, the latest one he had. You were surprised he was quite charming, but there was still a tone in his voice that made your insides fire up with rage.

And then it was post after post after post. You had a following; some agreed completely with you, some found your content funny, and some followed you only to try to tear you down every time you posted. You didn’t care. You were right in what you were saying, in every little detail you pointed out. You did, though, delete all harsh insults against him. You disliked Steve Harrington but not to the point of being evil and a piece of shit about it.

He had his good points too, which you couldn’t deny. He was pretty, very much so. He had a good voice. He had good hair. He was very nice to people in interviews, and whenever he met fans outside. Still, the dislike won over those points each time he did something unnerving or his only two hit songs played over the most random shit. Like your elevator in your apartment.

You were venting out your anger towards this guy with no other thought than to relieve yourself from how annoying everything felt, only for that venting to be read by someone. The star himself.

Now Steve first laughed it off. He was a bit taken aback by people agreeing on some of the stuff you said, but he rolled his eyes each time, saying you didn’t know what you were talking about. He showed the blog to Eddie, and unbeknownst to Steve, Eddie showed it to Joyce, his manager. Without Steve’s knowledge, Joyce started taking some of your suggestions at hand, be it for his clothes, his getup, his topics of conversation in interviews or podcasts, and you nailed it each time.

His views went up. His following went up. His hashtags trended each time, unlike before. You were good, really good. And Joyce didn’t want you to go unpaid for it.

Two months have passed since Joyce contacted you. At first you thought it was fake, a bullshit account or them trying to dox you, only to find a legitimate contract, and you were in desperate need for cash. This paid well. Very well. The plus? You got to tour around the country and see many states, all paid for.

Steve had tried to fire you on the spot when he met you, but Joyce forbade it. You were under her agency’s contract, not Steve’s. He could complain, but unless you did a bad job, there was no need to fire you. And you hadn’t done a bad job. It was excellent each time. Thanks to you, Steve had risen in popularity as one of the hottest men of the day. You had advised him to be more carefree in interviews and give people a chance to make memes out of him, out of his faces, and out of his gestures.

He didn’t understand it at first until he started seeing a cropped part of an interview of his being used as a reaction. The comments were from ‘Who is this?’ ‘Oh, he is cute!’ ‘Damn he fine.’ He didn’t want to admit it. He wasn’t going to admit you were right. 

But now with his music, he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of being right. Not with the one thing he wanted to do since forever, even when he was still following Daddy’s command. You didn’t know anything about him, so what could you know about his music? 

“You are fucking insufferable, I have promised my fans I would give them a sneak peek of my new song weeks ago, and I have till tomorrow!” His next concert was in Philadelphia. He suggested premiering a song he had been working on for a while, and you were skeptical. You started asking him for demos, and each time, you were never happy. 

“Then you won’t sing it!” Your voice was sharp as you delivered the order. Your body was tense, sweat pooling at the tips of your fingers, the more you stared at the man before you. There was fire in the room, that is something you could feel on your skin right now. 

“I will sing it! I promised that–”

“You are not even sure of your own song, so why sing it? People will not like it if you do not like it.” Steve’s jaw fell at your words, the anger rising up in him more and more. He couldn’t fucking stand you. He couldn’t fucking stand you were good at your work. He couldn’t fucking stand that you couldn’t stand him either.

“And what do you know what is in my mind?” He spat back, and Joyce finally got in between, separating the two of you. You hadn’t noticed just how close you stepped towards him. How his breath fanned over your face. Only when the warmth of it was gone from your nose did you realize the closeness. 

“Okay, let’s settle. Steve, I think she is right. You are not even sure of this song…” Joyce tried to explain calmly, unlike you did to him. You could see Steve’s vein popping on the side of his neck as he clenched his jaw. Eddie cleared his throat as he got up from the couch, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Let’s go cool off, big boy.” Eddie winked your way, always telling you he would somehow make the waters grow calm again. You wondered if that was going to be the case this time. Steve’s eyes never left your face, and yours never left his. 

Finally, he turned around without saying anything else and left the room. Eddie turned to look at Joyce with a wince, only for her to wave at him as thanks. Once the door closed, she turned to you, crossing her arms over her chest. You frowned, confused, shrugging your shoulders in question.

“What?”

“A little more tact, next time?” You rolled your eyes at her request, shaking your head.

“Tact? Tact is what led him to make all the mistakes he did before. No one was telling him what was right and what looked awful.” Joyce sighed, rubbing her temple in annoyance. 

“You two…” 

“Us two, what?” And it seemed as if Joyce bit her tongue. She shook her head to dismiss what she was about to say.

“Let’s hope tomorrow he doesn’t… do something reckless.”

You doubted it.

It sucked.

People didn’t like it.

Just like you said.

Just like you had fucking said. 

He had tried the version of the song he liked best, and people clapped at the end of it, but it wasn’t massive cheering. He went against your order of not singing the song, but he had convinced himself he liked it, and honestly, he couldn’t even blame it entirely on the people. He hated every single version he made of this song.

The lyrics looked good, but the tune of it was what sucked. It didn’t fit. The lyrics didn’t fit any of those beats or genres he played around with. He really wanted this song, but he hated every version he wrote. What was his own version? He thought he had himself figured out, but now? Now it was all a blur.

It was 2 am, and he went down to the hotel bar for a drink because he needed a distraction from looking at his phone and read what people had to say. He sat down at a booth, drinking his negroni, and pulled out his notebook for his songs. He flipped through the pages and found the lyrics of this particular song, and he frowned as he remembered the lack of enthusiasm from the crowd. 

He put on his reading glasses and he was scanning it, over and over again, so focused he missed the part where you had sat down in front of him with a beer in hand.

“Told you.”

His head snapped up to look at you. There was no smirk, no smug grin, no ego being shown. You were being professional, but he still hated it. He hated you for being right. For having been the reason his career had been going up instead of plummeting to the ground. 

“No need for those remarks right now.”

You studied his face. It was one of those you particularly enjoyed. When he looked concentrated, and that little piece of hair fell on the side of his face, over those glasses, that's when you thought he looked best. Your breathing hitched at the intrusive thought, one of the many you had about the man in front of you, and even more since you started working with him. 

“You know, we could try to figure it out together.”

He was surprised at your response, making him look up from his notebook with a skeptical look. He studied your face, waiting to see a flinch that would give away you were joking, or a little tug at the corner of your lips trying to cover up your laughter, but he found none.

“Are you serious?” You shrugged, taking a sip of your beer before looking down at his hand that was holding a pen.

“When I tell you I didn’t find it nice, it didn’t mean I didn’t have ideas.” You confessed to him, and he tilted his head your way, still squinting with skepticism.

“Why didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t my place. Like you said, you know yourself better than anyone else, so I wasn’t going to let my ideas maybe… influence you.” You looked down, a little bit embarrassed because it was the first time you and Steve had a civil talk for once. You were also a little angry for wanting to talk to him like this, but he never gave you such a chance… or maybe you hadn’t.

He blinked a few times in surprise, looking down at his notes for a second. He gulped once, and he cleared his throat.

“You think your ideas are so good that they would influence me? Wow, a bit of an ego there.” You couldn’t help but chuckle because it was just a matter of minutes before he made it a fight, but you were surprised when he laughed along. He didn’t mean what he just said. He hesitated for a few seconds before sliding the notebook your way.

“Collaborative.” You said, and he rolled his eyes, handing the pen to you. You took it, your fingers grazing his for a second, sending chills all over your body. Chills, you were going to pretend did not happen at all. 

“C’mon, let me see what your ideas are.” He took a sip of his drink as he watched you study the lyrics. Instead of scribbling on top of his original ones, you were respectful and wrote it all over on a new page. He, of course, noticed it, and it made him move in his seat in which he thought was because he was uncomfortable, but in all honesty, he felt… delighted.

“I think that if you change some adjectives here, or even elongate some phrases, you can make this song like… Slow, but with a slight upturn in the bridge.” You explained as you scribbled a few more seconds before giving the notebook back to him.

He studied it with a frown and–

“God, can you stop being right for two seconds?” Your eyes widened at his outburst, but before you could mention anything of it, he called for a waiter and ordered another negroni and a beer for you. You hadn’t noticed you had drank the entire bottle while writing down notes. 

“I didn’t even say I wanted another beer!” You complained, and he glared at you, but there was a hint of something else behind it. Respect, and also, the need for you to stay.

“Well, we’re gonna work on this, so you have to be fueled up.”

And for some reason, that made you happy. It made you feel useful in another kind of way. Instead of clashing all the time, the two of you spent an hour working on that notebook while drinking and letting the alcohol relax you both. You did not fight. You did not clash against each other. You were hearing one another out and that’s– Fuck, that’s all you’ve ever wanted.

When you first met Steve, you tried to introduce yourself nicely; he was a client after all. He obviously had his ego busted thanks to you, so he didn’t want you near him at all. At first, you didn’t care, but then, when you saw him interact with his best friends, or with Joyce, even with random girls, you couldn’t help but feel jealous that you were never going to have that kind of Steve for you. You were never going to have one of his smiles directed your way, or you would never hear his laughter thanks to you.

And that’s because you liked it. You liked that side of him, and you have always loved what you shouldn’t have.

An hour passed, the three beers now kicking in, but just making you tipsy, bold, and to Steve’s surprise, giggly. You laughed at certain things he pointed out, and just like you, he hated that you never smiled for him. He hated that all he got from you were snarky remarks or orders. It intrigued him, which only added to the fuel of despising you. Why would he want a mean girl like you? Why would he want someone who criticized him out of fun? That’s fucked up. He clearly had something wrong going on in his head.

But he couldn’t deny how pretty you looked. There were times he remained silent while you said something because, even when angry because of something he said, you looked pretty. You looked pretty while frowning, glaring at him. Eddie had joked around with him, telling him you two needed to fuck it out and get it over with. Steve didn’t know what Eddie was on about because, why the hell would he want to fuck you?

And now, with four drinks in, he can answer that fucking question with no shame.

It was always a tug-of-war game, see who caved in first. There were times, little ones, when he would be having a hard time with a fan interaction, and you would step up to cover for him. You were in charge of making sure no interviewers asked out of line questions to him. 

And on your side, you noticed how Steve would order either coffee or ask Joyce if she could give you a day off. There were times when you didn’t sleep because it was an event, an interview, and a concert, back to back to back, so the content was fresh. You had to do your investigation and see what the people were talking about, and not miss a single hour. Joyce told you that Steve demanded you back off for a while.

You were mad at first, only to realize after sleeping for twelve hours straight just how badly you needed to rest. You tried thanking him after that, but it ended with you two staring at each other before he got called into the recording booth. You never got to thank him for those times when, even if your job was to basically shut him down, he cared for your health.

The two of you weren’t blind to each other, you were just idiots.

“Okay, hang on, so, you and Eddie never banged?” Steve almost spat his negroni, a laugh escaping his lips, shaking his head. 

“Why the fuck would you even think that!?”

“He is very touchy!” Steve smirked, tilting his head to the side, making that curl of his hair fall a little bit as well. Damn him.

“You jealous that he is touchy with me?” You gasped, feeling your stomach do a twirl at the accusation, but you shook your head aggressively.

“No! But come on, the girls online also think you two are dating! There’s even fucking fanfictions about you two!” He squinted slightly, now confused.

“What are fanfictions?” Your eyes widened in surprise, a smile of mischief appearing on your lips. You hummed as you grabbed your phone and tapped on the screen. He took this time to scan your features. You looked relaxed, as if you were treating him like a person and not the celebrity you have to keep in check. Then his eyes moved downwards, and– that damn neck of yours. Fuck–

“Here.” You handed him your phone with a smirk on your face. He took it without question, seeing it was text, and he took a sip of his drink as he read, adjusting the glasses over his face. For some reason, he decided to read it out loud, which only made you cover your mouth in anticipation–

“Steve could only look Eddie into his eyes for a few seconds, before his hands started making their way to the belt of his best friend’s pAAAHNT–” He dropped the phone on the table with disgust and a yelp, and you burst out laughing, throwing yourself back onto the booth, holding your belly. “What the hell!”

You couldn’t help but feel the tears building up from laughing so hard, and soon enough he started laughing too, taking his glasses off to cover his eyes as if he were in pain. The song was forgotten, the work, the fans, the blog, everything. You were just in a bar booth, laughing your ass off with a cute boy. That’s what it felt like.

“And you’re always the passive.” Steve choked on his saliva as he leaned down to rest his head into his arms, cradling it while laughing hysterically into them. You wiped your eyes, trying to cease your laughter, but having a hard time doing so. 

“I’m gonna kill myself.” He said jokingly, which prompted you to laugh again. After a minute, he finally came back up, his eyes teary from the laughter, and he was taking deep breaths in to calm himself down. “Also, the passive!?” 

“Yeah, the one who takes it.” He rolled his eyes and chuckled, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest, which only made your eyes fall to the extent of his biceps getting slightly bigger because of the flex. You gulped as you were finally left with small giggles, putting your phone away.

“If only my fans knew.” He mumbled, but you caught on to it. You frowned in question, a cheeky smile on your lips as you rested your elbows on the table and your chin at the top of your joined hands. 

“Knew what, Harrington?” His eyebrow twitched for just a second in thought before he finally caught sight of you. His body tensed, and the air around you both did as well. You two were lucky no one else was down there at the bar at that time. 

So, as his tongue and muscles got a bit loose thanks to the alcohol, his crossed arms came to rest on the table as well, leaning forward, your way.

“If they knew how I really was in bed, I would not be considered the bottom.” Your legs clenched together at those words because– Fuck, it’s been a while since you had sex and, you had been interested in Steve despite hating him, but it shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t happen, and now he is letting your imagination go wild.

“Oh? And how is the nice, charming, gentlemanly Steve Harrington in bed, huh?” You tried to sound as teasing as possible, using the names people called him online, but all you got from him was a cheeky grin, one that was making your entire body turn on like a wildfire.

“That, I keep to myself and whoever I have sex with, honey.” The pet name. The pet name came out by itself and with no restraint. He was staring at your reactions, and– Was he causing any? He noticed how you looked away, taking the last sip of your beer and, fuck, he did. He did cause a reaction, and you looked good like this. You looked good when you were speechless.

And he can think of a way or two to provoke that again.

“As long as there’s an NDA afterwards.” You joked a bit, trying to hide how much you have reacted to his words because the images in your head kept popping up. You have seen him shirtless thanks to photoshoot campaigns, and, thanks to the girls online pointing it out, you obviously stumbled over thirst posts… some were of his bulge thanks to his tight pants. 

He huffed a bit as his eyes never left your figure, his tongue licking the inside of the bottom of his lip in thought, trying to gather up even more courage than what the liquid had given him. It was starting to wear off, so he had to use it quickly.

“And what about you?”

“Mmm?”

“How are you in bed? You think that in a so-called fanfiction of this, would you be the bottom?” Your eyebrows went up, stunned at the bold question. You leaned back, putting your hands to your sides, grabbing onto the seat, and popping your chest up as if you were lying back on the seat. His eyes drifted to your cleavage, and fuck, did that dress look good on you.

“Well… If it were a fanfiction of me and you… I would definitely be pegging you.” His eyes widened, his arms still crossed as he leaned back. His pants started to tighten up more and more, and if your teasing before made him hard a few times, the sexual teasing was going to be the death of him.

“Is that right?” He challenged, and the fire just kept spreading more and more, and this was not supposed to happen, because it shouldn’t. You really should get up, say goodbye, and go away. Yet, you stayed put.

“What? You think you could dominate the situation? I hardly believe it, you can barely fight me when I suggest something for your image.” You scoffed to emphasize your mockery, but he didn’t even smile. Instead, his pupils were dilated, looking your way. It only made your limbs grow limp. It was as if he just made your entire self feel like something you could squish with just a hard grip. 

“Hmm…” He hummed, his eyes still racking all over your body, and he wanted you to feel it. He wanted you to feel observed, he wanted you to feel like fucking prey for him, because he knew he was good. He knew it, and that is the one thing he won’t tolerate you criticizing.

He really wants to shut you the fuck up.

“I’m sorry. We need to do a clean-up before the morning shift starts?” The waiter came over as politely as possible, and your eyes noticed the discomfort on his face. He was obviously uncomfortable because he knew he had interrupted, but maybe it was for the better. You took a deep breath before standing up. Steve gave a generous tip to the waiter, getting up and putting the small notebook in his back pocket while he hung his reading glasses on the collar of his button-up shirt. 

“Thank you.” You mumbled to the waiter before you headed out of the bar, Steve following right behind. Every step felt heavy with tension as you two walked towards the elevators. He stood next to you with his hands in his front pockets, and you were trying not to glance, but the stickiness between your legs was bringing you back to the real world, in which you were wet for the man you ‘hated’, making you move in your place.

“You gotta pee?” He asked as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Spacious and empty. Your belly flipped, and you noticed how his hand pressed against the frame so the doors wouldn’t close, so you could step in first. You gulped, walking into the elevator, shaking your head.

“No. These heels are just killing me.” He chuckled, stepping inside and pressing your room’s floor first. You were surprised he remembered it. 14.

“Really? You’ve been sitting all night, though.” He reminded you, and you felt yourself flushing over at being caught. You shrugged, trying not to let the nerves, or rather, the need to jump on him, consume you as the doors closed, leaving you two alone.

“They can still hurt. You’ve never worn heels, you have no say.” He chuckled at your response, and then it was silent.

The air was tense, just the sound of the elevator slowly moving as it went up. You scratched the side of your face, trying to distract yourself from the events of the night. He then leaned against the mirror behind him, his arms crossed as his eyes ran all over your body, which only made you scoff a bit.

“What?”

“Why are you acting like you’re the main character of a music video?” You asked, kind of irritated. He chuckled, tilting his head.

“Jealous?” 

“Of your ego? Never.” 

Then the floor kept clicking upward, and his hand raked over his hair, as if nervously, or maybe fed up.

“You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you have a knack of finding me in every single room we're in.”

Your eyes widened at his words, making your head turn to look at him. He was grinning your way, knowing he was getting under your skin. You level him with one look, shaking your head.

“Please, you orbit me, Harrington.” Then it was silent as you two stared at one another. The air was thick with tension, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ear, a loud ringing that was making you almost lose your balance.

Steve was feeling the pulse in his neck quicken by the second, and it almost felt as if it were about to pop his vein off. He uncrossed his arms, and he took a step closer your way, tentatively.

“Do you still hate me?” His question made your stomach flip, when it fucking shouldn’t. You lifted your chin, trying to make it look like you were unfazed.

“Shouldn’t I?”

That only prompted him to take one more step, and you would only have to raise your hand to touch his chest from how close he got to you. You could feel the heat on your ears, on the tips of your fingertips, in your belly. 

“You didn’t look like you hated me when you were laughing down at the bar with me.” 

Your breathing skipped as his eyes went down to your lips, and your knees trembled slightly at how good he was with physical teasing. He knew what to do to make you crumble, and you hated him a little more because of that. 

“Maybe you just didn’t look like a jerk then.”

“Do I look like one now?” His response was fast, ready to counterattack you. You stayed silent, and that was the answer he needed. He licked his lips, studying your face as his hand itched with the need to touch you. The need to grab you, anywhere. “You’re really… insufferable, honey.”

Your mouth opened in disbelief at his words, only for the elevator doors to open on your floor. Maybe he was only mocking you for the night. Maybe it was his goal to know if you fancied him or not, and he might have gotten his answer, and that made you mad. You scoffed and stepped out of the elevator, ready to go to your room and write a long fucking post on how he sucked ass tonight–

But his hand gripped your arm, pulling you back in as his other hand pressed against another button aggressively, his floor, just four more floors up. You managed to let a small gasp leave you before his lips clashed against yours, the elevator doors closing behind you.

Your body moved instinctively, your arms wrapping desperately around his shoulders as his arms wrapped around your body, his hands on your back, pressing you close to him. It felt desperate, rough, filled with pent-up feelings that both of you were never going to admit. 

He backed the two of you against a wall, his hand stopping the impact for a second so you wouldn’t hit it hard, before wrapping it back around your body. You could feel your center throbbing for him, and this was just a kiss. Not even with tongue. His hand glided down to your right thigh, making you wrap your leg around his hip, and then, you moaned into his mouth.

His hard on was tight against his pants, pressing it against you and creating friction on your clothed clit. He took the advantage of pushing his tongue inside your mouth, finally having a proper taste of you, making his stomach flip over. His hips rolled instinctively once, making you groan into the kiss as your nails ran all over his hair, scratching at his scalp.

You heard him groan and grip onto your thigh even tighter, his hand underneath your dress, and someone could walk into the elevator at any moment and see you two together, but you couldn’t care less. Not now. He didn’t care either, even when he should, because he was a rockstar, and this could make it in a post anytime soon. 

Your tongue was exquisite against his, and again, his hatred for you only grew. Why were you so fucking perfect? It wasn’t fair. He pulled away after a second, panting heavily against your lips. 

“Still hate me?” He mumbled desperately, and you nodded, your hips rubbing against his, earning a moan from both of you.

“So much…”

“Then get off on my floor.”

The elevator bounced a bit as it dinged. He pulled away from you as the doors opened, and you didn’t even hesitate to follow him, like a magnet. He smirked breathlessly as he grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the elevator and walking down the hallway. His hand went into the left back pocket of his jeans, and he got his card out, stopping in front of his door. 

You were looking around, making sure you were not being seen, but, in all honesty, some part of you wanted to. Some part wanted people, the girls who thirsted for him, to know he was taking you to his room. Maybe it was your ego talking. Maybe it was just some proud moment of fucking a celebrity… You weren’t going to admit the other possibility of why you wanted everyone to know you were about to fuck Steve.

He passed the card against the lock of the door, and it opened, letting you in first. Once he closed it behind him, he didn’t give you a single chance to look around, to look at the much fancier room he had rented for the night, because he was back on you in an instant. His hands cradled your face as he kissed you roughly, passionately, and fuck you were growing addicted to them. You had never been kissed in such a way, you felt completely and utterly wanted, desired. 

The kiss was greedy, desperate, and then he pulled away from you to kiss down your jaw, then your neck, grazing his teeth against the skin of your pulse point. Your hands were dragging against his biceps, trying to center yourself back to earth, a hoarse chuckle escaping you.

“You kiss like you’ve been waiting to do it since the moment I called you overrated in your face.” Your eyes fluttered shut at a particular suck on your neck, making you sigh.

“I have.” He growled against you, “you piss me off so much, I get hard by thinking about shutting you up.”

“Oh, fuck off–” You were cut off as his hand started moving up on your thigh, under your dress. His fingertips dragging against the elastic of your underwear. His hips pressed against you, making you feel his bulge against your belly, his leg sliding between yours, thigh pressing against your cunt. You moaned against your will, feeling that sweet friction on you again. He pulled away from your neck, his nose brushing against yours.

“This what you imagined?” He murmured, and his mouth brushed against yours, making you sigh. “Me, pinning you like this? Getting you wet after talking shit the way you did?”

“I imagined punching you–” You gasped as his fingers ghosted over your clothed pussy, a soft huff escaping him as he pressed even harder, feeling your wetness.

“And yet you are soaked.”

You were going to retort, if it weren’t for the fact that he got down on his knees, right before you. He hooked your leg over his shoulder, his eyes locked in your panties with hunger in them. You were shocked, looking down at him, and his lips found your inner thigh, kissing it softly before giving it a soft nibble.

“Still want to hit me?” You whined as your hips moved a bit towards him, and his mouth was on the wet lace in a second. You gasped, throwing your head back against the wall as your hands went to grab onto his head. 

“Fuck–” You moaned out as he sucked on your clothed clit. If this is how it felt with your panties on, you were desperate to know how it felt without them. He moaned at your scent, at your taste, and he got his other hand to move between your legs, while the other gripped onto your ass, and he hooked his fingers on the center of your panties to move them to the side.

You clenched at nothing when the cold air hit your pussy, only for that to be replaced by the warmth of his tongue, making you sigh with delight. He swirled it around your clit, making moans escaping you as he groaned into your cunt, before sliding his tongue between your folds, tasting you completely.

“You taste so fucking good…” He moaned into you as he fondled your ass, making you grip his hair even tighter. He lapped at you like a man starved, as if you were the most delectable thing he ever tasted. 

“Fuck, don’t stop… Steve–” You whimpered as your back arched off the wall when he dipped his tongue inside of you. This was the living proof this fucker was a singer. He knew how to move his lips, his tongue, going from licking to sucking and it was driving you wild. 

“Never.” You heard him mumble against you, and then his hand left your ass, and you felt the tip of his fingers gliding against your entrance, making you gasp. “Beg for them.” 

Your mouth fell open at the request, but he sucked on your clit again and your walls clenched around nothing, when they wanted to clench around something. Your body was flushed all over, hating him just a little more.

“Please…”

“Please, what? Come on, you are super clear when you order me around, you can be clear in your begging too.” You fucking hated him. Your belly turned desperately, feeling even more aroused than before, and your dominating side was slowly slipping away from you. 

“Please, use your fingers… Please–”

“Good girl.” Your eyes widened when you felt two of his fingers going inside of you slowly, his ring and middle finger, and– You couldn’t deny it. You had seen his hands before, way too fucking big, and maybe you had fantasized a bit once or twice about them. 

Those fantasies did his fingers no justice as he started pumping them in and out of you mercilessly. The squelching of your pussy echoing in the room as well as your moans and his. He was flickering your clit with the tip of his tongue, curling his fingers towards him to try to find that special spot inside of you.

You moaned his name when you felt your belly start to coil, and you realized you were getting close. Embarrassingly fast. This is what you get for not having a moment’s peace to take care of yourself for weeks.

“Steve– Oh–” He could feel your walls fluttering against his fingers and he groaned as he pulled away from your clit, looking up at you.

“Tell me how much you hate me.” And you felt your body growing a sweat as your legs started to shake, the one over his shoulder twitching as your climax built and built.

“I fucking hate–” You gasped at a particular movement of his fingers, making you jerk against him, the first warning you were going to cum making itself present. Your hands gripped his hair tightly, desperately. “-- that you’re so good at this–”

He chuckled and he sucked hard against your clit, his fingers dragging in and out of you. You were breathing heavily, and then, you came undone. You saw stars behind your eyelids as your back arched off the wall. Your leg over his shoulder hooked towards his back, pushing him into you desperately as you moaned loudly, and he had to concentrate on not cumming right then and there because you just sounded incredible.

He slowed his pace as he helped you ride your orgasm out, licking, taking your slick into his mouth to taste your climax. Once he felt you unclench, and your leg relaxed against him as well as your hands letting go of his hair, he pulled away from you. He breathed in deeply as he tried to catch his breath. 

He patted your leg, silently telling you to move from him, and you followed the instructions, trying to stabilize your breathing as you put your leg down. He gave one last kiss to your clit, making you groan and jerk in your place at the overstimulation. He chuckled, grabbing the edges of your panties to finally pull them down from you. You stepped out of them, and he finally stood back up, towering over you. He threw your panties onto the small table next to the door.

His eyes found yours, and you saw the darkness in them, the lust, and you trembled once again as you felt him grab onto your waist. His lips clashed against yours, and you could taste yourself, making you a little dizzy as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. His tongue instantly connected with yours as he pressed himself against you. Your hand glided downwards in between your bodies, finally touching the big bulge in his pants.

He groaned into the kiss as he felt you palming him, then pressing your palm against him. He needed more. He wanted more. He pulled away from you, breathing heavily into your lips. 

“Bed, now.” You nodded at his request, kissing him desperately again as he pulled the two of you off from the wall, walking you backwards and towards the bed. You jumped a bit when you felt the edge of it on the back of your knees, pulling away from him. His hands gripped the hem of your dress, pulling it over your head. “Oh, fuck–”

You didn’t let him touch you, moving to sit on the bed, getting out of your heels before you moved back onto it, setting yourself in the middle, completely naked. You saw how flushed he was, gripping onto his shirt, ripping it off his body, and then quickly moving to his belt. His movements were rushed as you stared at his stripping. You saw that chest hair you’ve thought of brushing your fingers over a few times before, then the freckles in places you’ve always wondered if they even had them. 

Then he got out of his shoes and jeans, and all was left were those blue tight boxers on him and– Fuck. He looked big. He looked so big. He noticed your eyes on him, making him smirk, but also shiver from the attention you were giving him. He grabbed the hem of them and pulled them down finally, his cock springing up and hitting against his belly and your eyes widened.

You didn’t know if in all your life you had slept with smaller than average dicks or if Steve was just… huge. You noticed the smug look on his face, and you wanted to wipe it off, so you stared at him as you were propped on your elbows, slowly spreading your bent legs for him. His eyes fell back to your cunt and he had to take a sharp intake of breath in, his dick twitching for attention. 

He got on the bed, crawling your way, but before he completely covered you, he leaned to the side, towards the bedside table. You saw him grab his wallet, opening it to get a condom out, making you roll your eyes. He noticed, straightening up after tossing his wallet back on the table.

“Anything you want to say?”

“Nope.” 

“I can absolutely get off of you, if you so want me to–”

“I swear if you don’t fuck me in the next five seconds, I’m walking out of here.” He chuckled at your whiplash of emotions. You saw him rip the foil with his teeth, and that shouldn’t have been as hot as it had been, but here you were. He rolled the condom on himself, and you took a sharp intake of breath as you lay down when he crawled a little closer, getting on top of you. 

“Anything your snarky mouth wants to add?” He asked and you were getting pissed, frustrated as you grabbed onto his shoulders, glaring at him.

“Why are you still fucking talking–” Your words were cut off with a gasp when you felt him pushing in. His eyes were on how your face contorted into a silent moan, a satisfying groan vibrating in his throat as he gave a nibble to your jaw.

“Yeah, there you go, shut the fuck up–” You wanted to punch him, but the more he filled you, the more you couldn’t come up with any words in your head. Your mouth was open, choking on your spit at every inch. “Fuck–”

He cursed as he felt your warmth all around him, and maybe Eddie was right. You two needed to fuck it out. He couldn’t believe how good you felt, and he could have had you all these months if he hadn’t been so stubborn. If you hadn’t been one too. If you two had stopped for a second and just talked with each other the way you did today.

But then, this sex wouldn’t have been as delicious as it was going to be.

He growled into your ear as he thrusted inside of you in one sharp movedent, hilting himself into your cunt, bottoming out completely, and you could barely breathe. It was a sudden stretch. It was big, suffocating even, knocking all the air that was held in your lungs. His hands were on each side of your head, but his lips were on your ear, breathing into it.

He waited for a few seconds for you to adjust to him, but also to calm himself down because he was sure he was going to cum two strokes in. He took deep breaths in as he concentrated on anything else but your soft little whimpers. He felt you roll your hips against him, and he cursed under his breath, his hands gripping the sheets beneath you.

His hips started to slowly roll, in and out, soft movements to get you used to the friction, and you were already going insane for it. You felt so full, each drag against you was incredible, making you tremble underneath him. Your nails were scratching on his back, legs spreading even more.

“Steve– More…” You gulped, not even believing the soft whimper, the soft plea that tumbled out of your lips. He hummed into your ear, and his hips started picking up a pace, and your moans finally started leaving your mouth. He felt a wave of heat all over his body the moment his name was called, breathlessly, and he had to see your face.

He leaned up, holding himself up by his hands as his hips snapped into yours. Your face was contorted in pleasure. Your eyebrows were downwards, your mouth was open, and your eyes were half lidded as you stared at the ceiling. You looked marvelous, and fuck he wanted to see more. He wanted to see you choke on your words.

He sat back on his legs, his hands coming to grip the back of your knees to keep you spread for him, and he started moving in fast thrusts, deep, making the bed creak and the headboard hit the wall behind it, over and over again. Your moans became louder, your hands coming to grip the pillow beneath you. Your eyes found his face. He was frowning, the hair now almost sticking to his forehead, his body was flushed red, and you noticed how the veins on his biceps were pronounced, as well as the one on his neck.

He rolled his head over his shoulders at a particular drag of his cock, making you clench around him. Then again, this time, making him moan your name, which made your brain short-circuit.

“You feel so fucking good…” He felt his belly burning, and he knew he had to be quick in making you cum again because he was going to anytime soon. It was embarrassing, but he wasn’t a man of taking groupies, or fucking his fans. He also barely had time to jerk himself off, because he was barely alone. 

You whimpered at his words, your back arching off the bed as your body bounced back and forth thanks to his thrusts. His eyes were fixed on your breasts, watching them, and he growled as he moved downwards once again, his lips closing on your left nipple and softly tugging on it.

“Steve!” You gasped and he gave the same treatment to the right one, making you clench around his cock. He growled into your breast, his thrusts becoming slow, shallow, and deep. Each time he pulled out, he kept the tip in, only to thrust back in roughly, rolling his hips inside of you at the end of it. 

At each snap, you both heard the loud thump of the headboard, but it only heightened the experience. Whoever was next to him, if they saw you the next day walking out of his room, they would know what happened. He couldn’t care less; in fact, he hoped someone would see you. Someone would see you walking out, with wobbly legs, with his marks all over your neck.

He continues that pace, getting his hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your sensitive clit which made you jerk your hips towards him. You were breathless as tears pooled in your eyes from how good it felt. How amazing he was making you feel, and you wanted to punch him for that. His breath was in your ear as his fingers picked up a pace, making you mewl underneath him.

“Say it.” You frowned in confusion, only for his teeth to bite your earlobe, making you gasp.

“Say what?” He rolled his hips inside of you, making your hands snap towards his biceps, gripping him tightly as you moaned out his name.

“That you don’t hate me.” Another roll that had you biting on his shoulder, a moan escaping his lips, and into your ear. 

“I don’t hate you…” You answered and he moaned your name, sweetly, this time, and you felt your body light up at his tone. Your belly started to burn up again, twirling inside out, and his fingers were working overtime now to get you to cum for a second time.

“Louder, baby. Say it louder.” His hips started moving faster, your walls fluttering around him as your hands ran through his hair, pushing his mouth into your neck. You could feel him biting down on your skin, making you whimper and shiver underneath him.

“I don’t hate you, Steve! Please– Don’t stop–” And he doesn’t. He kept the pace, his fingers on your sensitive clit, swirling around as his cock kept punishing your insides. Your g-spot was grazed at each stroke, and your eyes started to roll to the back of your head.

“I’m about to cum– Fuck–” He cursed your name, and you started panting before your second orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave, stronger than the first one. Your walls clenched tightly around him, your eyes shutting tightly, and your nails digging into his shoulders.

His name came out of your lips with a cry, your cunt trying to push him out of you from how much you were clenching. He huffed a few breaths, choking on his moans from how tight you felt, to the point it was almost painful. He watched you contort underneath him, and you never looked more amazing than right now.

And at your sight, he came. He groaned your name as he spilled inside the condom, his hands coming to grip the pillow underneath your head as he snapped his hips into you at each spurt. His face almost looked pained, but it was the complete opposite. He could barely handle the pleasure he felt, and he was sure he came way too hard into the condom.

You managed to open your eyes to see his reaction, and fuck– He looked so good like that. Definitely another look you liked on him. Then he finally stilled, and that left the two of you breathing heavily, looking at each other with half-lidded eyes. 

You two crossed a line that should not have been crossed. You couldn’t blame the alcohol because that just made you both brave—brave to do something you were scared of doing before. It didn’t make you do something you two didn’t want; it urged and encouraged you to do it.

Then, he winced when he slowly pulled out of you, looking down at the mess he had made and– he did cum a lot. You groaned at the feeling, and then his eyes found yours again. Should you leave? Should you just… bid goodbye to him now? You didn’t know what any of this really meant, so you needed some guidance over here. You didn’t want to leave, but didn’t know where Steve stood. 

“Well… that happened…” You softly spoke, and Steve huffed, nodding and plopping next to you, staring at the ceiling, same as you. He took the condom off and tied it up, throwing it on the floor, something he could take care of later, because right now, he couldn’t concentrate on that.

“Yeah. That happened.” He was also thinking the same things you were. Should he let you sleep in his room if he leaves? Should he just let himself fall asleep? But fuck, he didn’t want to just pretend that didn’t happen.

So, fuck it.

You were surprised when you felt arms engulf you, pulling you towards a chest as you both now lay on your sides. Your eyes were fixed on his chest hair, feeling your cheeks burning like crazy because you weren’t prepared for him to cuddle you. Not that you were complaining. 

His hands rubbed against your back, his thoughts running. He wasn’t going to let this happen just once. Hell, he wanted what happened back down in the bar. He wanted to kiss you whenever you frowned at him. He wanted to make you proud as well, following your instructions, letting you know he heard. Letting you know he took your words into account.

“Still think I’m overrated?” You couldn’t help but chuckle, your arms wrapping around him.

“Absolutely…” 

But maybe you weren’t so sure you meant it now. His fingertips were softly grazing your skin, giving you soft caresses that made you melt more and more into him. You hummed appreciatively against him, nuzzling against his chest. Then, you started laughing, pulling back a bit from him. He frowned, a smile creeping on his lips.

“What?”

“I just remembered– So many of the comments I get, say that I secretly want to fuck you. That, that’s the reason why I do the blog.” His eyebrows raised in surprise, then a squint with a cheeky glint.

“Secretly? If only they knew we might have to pay the safety deposit of this hotel room because, pretty sure, we made a hole in the wall with the headboard.” You giggled, covering your face in shame, and he could not stop himself from being amused by this new side of you. “You gonna tell your loyal followers the truth?”

“That I got railed by the rockstar I roast for fun?” You hummed a bit, looking up at him. “Tempting.”

“Only if you include the part where you begged.” He smirked and you scoffed, shaking your head, but your heart was filling up with small little butterflies.

“I did not beg.”

“Oh, honey…” He bit his lip, loving this little banter with you as he rolled on top of you again, holding one of your hands against the pillow. “You absolutely begged.”

Before, you would have wanted to punch the smug grin on his face, but right now, you wanted to kiss it. His hair was all messy, and his skin was all flushed. He just looked too pretty, irking you just a little bit.

“You are more tolerable when you don’t talk.” You snarkily replied, and he coughed a chuckle, giving you a small nod.

“And you’re pretty when you’re helping me, instead of being a bit of a bitch.” Your eyebrows raised up in surprise, your mouth falling open. Your heart skipped a bit, tilting your head at him.

“Is this admitting you like me, rockstar?” He hummed, putting his lips on your shoulder to lay a soft, lazy kiss there. You sighed, your eyes fluttering closed for a second.

“Let’s say, I didn’t hate fucking you stupid.”

“Wow, romance isn’t dead.” You replied dryly, not really liking that answer, not noting the sarcasm and humor behind his tone. He noticed, chuckling and pulling his head back up to look down at your angry face.

“Let me take you out.” And you weren’t expecting that, your breathing catching in your throat as you tried to swallow from the sudden nerves that invaded you.

“Like a date?” He gulped, finally feeling his stomach turning at the fear of your answer. He slowly nodded, finally admitting to wanting more than to share some sheets with you.

“What do you say?”

You couldn’t help but ponder. This was probably a bad idea, wasn’t it? No matter how you looked at it, this would end up in shambles, wouldn’t it? He was someone famous, you were just a person in his team. That’s all. He noticed you were hesitating, making him grow a little anxious and a bit desperate, so he tried talking again–

“You can still make fun of me, my music, my lyrics, and what I wear. I will even let you write a scathing review of my bedroom performance…” He gulped, knowing he was begging at this point, but something about you was driving him insane. Something was telling him to risk it. To dive in. 

And you found it endearing. You couldn’t help but find him extremely charming, making you bite your bottom lip as your eyes went back and forth with his. You leaned up and gave him a soft kiss on the lips, pulling away with a small nod.

“Okay… Just one.” He smiled at your response, wanting to fist pump the air.

“That’s all I need.” You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. You weren’t going to show him how happy you were, at least not yet. You poked his chest jokingly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“You’re still not that great, you know?” You fought, and he smirked, his mouth leaning close to yours, his voice low and a bit wicked, which made chills run down your spine. 

“Then, let me prove you wrong, again.”

end

a/n: long live joe keery's hands

[joshujin]

dude, nice try!

◀ teaser • series masterlist • part one • part two ▶️

joshua hong has had the immense privilege of living 30 whole years without ever feeling so much as an ounce of jealousy. that is, until you come prancing into his picture-perfect life on your dumb burner account with evidence that his long-time girlfriend is cheating on him… with your boyfriend.

as he gets tangled up in your chaotic plan to get back at your adulterous partners, he begins to wonder if this growing discomfort in his chest was ever even heartbreak to begin with, or if it’s something entirely new to him—something that has the ability to eat him alive from the inside out.

♫ get him back! olivia rodrigo ⟡ hot girl bummer blackbear ⟡ lackin’ denise julia ⟡ mascara xg part one: 9.4k words pairing: joshua x fem!reader cw: strong language, mentions of/implied sexual activity, reader is highly emotional and tbh kind of crazy maybe even toxic but idc bc i support women’s rights and wrongs <3 tags: strangers to partners-in-crime to partners PERIOD, joshua pov, pining, he fell first AND harder oops, he’s also so incredibly whipped from the jump, a few smau bits but mostly writing, no smut, inspired by get him back! by miss rodrigo, basically john tucker must die except joshua is sophia bush hehe iykyk a/n:  as stated in the teaser, this was a request for jealous!shua, though you should consider joshua’s affair with jealousy a slow burn in this one haha. if you read the teaser, i suggest you do not skip the parts you recognize here because i did cut some stuff out for the sake of length when i posted the preview! okay enough blabbing, enjoy!

dividers by cafekitsune! cover by yours truly!

prologue

the first message from you came in the middle of the night, as if the idea of reaching out to joshua had kept you up and tortured you mercilessly until you just couldn’t physically take it anymore. in retrospect, the thought of that is silly to him considering your first and only message was ridiculous and absolutely ineffective for what you were trying to do. but it makes him smile anyway. you’re just… so you.

of course, there was also the fact that joshua had been sound asleep at 3 a.m., so your plan really wasn’t well thought out—more a product of the rage that joshua isn’t sure whether he admires or should have you committed for.

his instagram notifications had been off back then, back before he felt the need to see everything you were doing and saying and posting on the stupid app.

it made sense that he kept you waiting, not noticing your first message until about halfway through his sunday morning.

he remembers feeling like it was an unfair assessment to make of his own long-term relationship, especially coming from a stranger. he also remembers having to sit back in thought for several minutes after reading that to contemplate what on earth you could even mean.

of course he loved mina. she was his girlfriend of a little over a year. you don’t stay with someone for a whole year and not love them, right? it was such a bizarre idea to him at the time—the thought that anyone could be in a relationship and not love their partner.

unfortunately, he learned that you were right pretty early on in your friendship. you've proven it enough times now that joshua knows you often are—right.

as he sits here next to you now, frowning at the odd sensation in his chest and listening to you frantically explain yourself to the bewildered officer across from you two, he realizes that not only did he never love mina, he's also starting to wonder if he ever loved anybody.

he has let go of all his ex-girlfriends so frighteningly easily when he thinks about it. on the other hand, he’s had a single month with you and he can’t imagine his life without you in it anymore. the thought makes him nauseous.

so now, it’s not a question of whether or not he ever loved mina; he knows he didn’t. now… he’s wondering if maybe, without even knowing it, he was just letting each relationship he’s been in happen to him—if he was just passing time.

passing time until what?

he doesn’t have the courage to respond to his own thoughts with the obvious answer, but he knows it’s the wrong question.

he watches you speak at a million words a minute, your cuffed hands waving in the air erratically and your brows pinching in the middle as you plead your innocence. he was sure you thought it was a pitiable enough expression for the officer to let the two of you go, but really, it was just painfully cute.

he bites back a sigh.

yeah. it was the wrong question. passing time until *who?

one month ago

“i believe her.”

joshua looks up from where he’s pulling up your messages on his phone and glares at jeonghan. “she’s a stranger. and you haven’t even seen what she said. how on earth can you already believe her?”

his best friend shrugs casually, bringing his straw to the corner of his mouth and sipping his americano nonchalantly like they’re not discussing the possibility of joshua’s girlfriend cheating on him. “i have eyes? ears? literally any one of the five senses? pick one and it can definitely pinpoint mina for the absolute snake she is.”

“okay, you’re biased, you hate everyone i date,” he mutters, returning to his phone so he can show jeonghan your conversation—if he can even call it that. most of it was just you screaming.

“yeah,” jeonghan agrees easily. he never made an effort to mask his feelings, something joshua still wasn’t sure if he appreciated or loathed. “because you date the most vapid, boring people.”

“oh, i’m sorry my tastes aren’t up to your standards,” he snarks, not bothering to look up.

“y’know, i’m glad you apologized—someone had to,” jeonghan says dramatically, making joshua roll his eyes. “i don’t know why you keep dragging these duds not only into your life but my life as well. why should i have to suffer too? you don’t even like any of these people.”

joshua immediately puts his phone down on the table. this is now the second time in 24 hours someone has claimed he doesn’t love or like mina. jeonghan raises an eyebrow at his sudden attention.

“what makes you say i don’t like mina?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

the man sitting across from him scoffs before putting his drink down and leaning his elbows on the table. “do you like mina?” jeonghan dodges the question.

“of course i like mina,” he says incredulously. “why would i stay with her this long if i didn’t like her?”

“beats me, i’d like to know too,” he retorts.

“jeonghan.”

he sighs, knowing he’s wearing joshua’s usually never-ending patience thin today. “okay, fine. you like mina,” he says in a way that blatantly confirms he doesn’t believe him. “what exactly do you like about her?”

“what?”

“what do you like about her?” he repeats easily.

“what do you mean?” joshua asks when his best friend doesn’t clarify.

jeonghan looks at him like he has two heads. “what do you mean what do i mean?” he asks, irritated. “it’s not some kind of trick question. what do you like about your girlfriend, dude?”

joshua is dismayed at his own silence. he realizes the first things that come to mind when he thinks about mina are physical traits. he likes her long hair. he likes the way she dresses. he likes the way she does her makeup. he likes her lip gloss—wait, no, not really because she doesn’t let him kiss her when she has it on… which is almost always. sure, she’s pretty, but… what does he really like about her?

he doesn’t have the time to ask himself what it could mean that he doesn’t have a meaningful answer, and jeonghan doesn’t have the time to laugh in his face and drive his point home. because at that moment, his phone pings, and it’s one message from you, just a little over 24 hours since your last message about him being heartless went ignored.

joshua glances down and feels his stomach turn.

i have evidence.

an hour later, joshua and jeonghan are sprawled across the latter’s living room. when they’d seen your message, both of them had quickly and wordlessly vacated the cafe they were holed up in, gotten to jeonghan’s apartment frighteningly fast, and rifled through the series of messages you sent—all of them photos you took of your boyfriend’s phone screen.

at first, joshua was just annoyed at how hard snapchat made it to read messages; most of the ones sent by whoever your boyfriend was were deleted. he was ready to wave you off and call your “evidence” a reach. but then, he got to more damning photos—photos he was a little vexed jeonghan got to see too.

because they just proved his know-it-all best friend right. mina was a fucking snake.

he’s shocked at the lengths they went to to be able to communicate with each other without being caught.

but perhaps the most damning piece of evidence of them all comes last: a photo of a woman’s naked back as she laid on her side in a bed—that wasn’t joshua’s or mina’s—away from the camera. it could’ve been anyone. the small tattoo at the base of her neck told joshua exactly who it was.

it wasn’t something he could refute anymore; you were obviously not a random person and you definitely weren’t mingyu playing some kind of sick prank.

“so what now?” jeonghan asks, both of them still starfished on the floor and staring at the ceiling after spending several minutes furiously swiping and cussing at his screen. “let’s fill all her shampoo bottles with hair remover,” he answers his own question before joshua can even open his mouth. “oh! or we can follow her around, inevitably find this tool, and kidnap him! i’m sure this y/n person will appreciate that too!”

joshua doesn’t bother entertaining his best friend with a proper response, choosing to ignore the suggestions altogether. his mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to find the point in his relationship mina might have started straying away. has it been happening the entire time? or did she recently decide joshua wasn’t fulfilling her needs to her liking?

“… his car and it’ll probably break down and explode at some point later that week?”

he frowns, realizing jeonghan has been suggesting ridiculous things they can do to mina and your boyfriend the entire time he was contemplating his relationship. it’s his first time getting cheated on, but he isn’t surprised at his best friend’s reaction to it. he’s more surprised when silence blankets over them for several long seconds before jeonghan asks:

“are you okay?” he sighs. “i know that’s a dumb question to ask. you’re obviously not going to be okay after finding out your girlfriend cheated on you.”

his frown deepens at that. it’s a fair statement. he always imagined this kind of thing would throw him into some kind of jealous rage—emotions he’s not really familiar with. rage like yours.

he wonders if he had been the one to find out about this, would he have had a meltdown the way you did? make a burner account and find you to tell you the way you did? try to find someone to commiserate with—even if it’s a stranger—the way you did?

no, probably not. he was telling the truth when he told you that all he would do is break up with mina.

and he’s incredibly confused to find that, contrary to what jeonghan is saying, he feels very okay with that. he can’t really imagine caring enough to do anything more, and he doesn’t know why. shouldn’t he care more?

if you and jeonghan were wrong about him loving mina the way he was so convinced you were, why didn’t he care more?

“joshua,” jeonghan reaches over and pokes his shoulder. “speak. you’re scaring me.”

he snorts. “i’m fine.”

“okay…” he responds slowly. “so still in shock?”

“no, i really think i’m fine,” joshua says, shaking his head at the ceiling. “i feel… normal. i guess just confused about when and why she decided to cheat.”

“you did nothing wrong. she’s just a conniving, slutty ingrate who doesn’t know that she’s throwing away the most decent man in the universe,” he assures him. “which brings me back to my initial question. what should we do now to punish said conniving, slutty ingrate?”

joshua sighs. “we’re not doing anything. i am breaking up with her as soon as she gets off work.”

jeonghan perks up, rolling over onto his stomach and crawling to him until his head appears in his line of vision. his best friend has a shit-eating smile on his face that makes him instinctively roll his eyes.

“can i be there?”

he knows he should say no. it’s an absurd request and it shouldn’t even take joshua more than a second to answer. but as he thinks about it, jeonghan continuing to smile at him like a little devil on his shoulder, he thinks it might be nice to have him there and shame mina for cheating in a way he knows he doesn’t really care to do himself.

he shrugs. “sure, why not?”

jeonghan squeals with delight, scrambling to get up. “come on, we have to make sure you look smoking hot so it hurts her twice as bad. you can borrow my leather pants.”

“leather?!” joshua repeats. “it’s the middle of summer!”

joshua texted mina to let her know he wanted to talk to her after work and he would be dropping by. she told him several times that tonight wasn’t a great time and insisted they wait until tomorrow, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about her convenience, so here he is, with jeonghan practically vibrating with excitement at his side, standing outside her apartment building.

“i still think you should’ve worn the leather pants,” his best friend says, “but you look killer. she’s gonna shit herself.”

joshua recoils at the idea but thanks him anyway.

“ready?”

he sighs. “yeah, i guess. ready as i’ll—oof!”

he stumbles a few steps and right into jeonghan as someone violently shoves him, continuing to push and slap at both him and his best friend until they’re several steps away from the entrance to mina’s apartment.

“what the—”

“and what the hell are you doing here?!” a female voice shrieks.

he wants to yell at this stranger for putting her hands on him. he wants to tell her to have some manners and to get away from him. at the very least, he wants to glare at her until she shrivels up in shame and scurries away. but all ideas of even attempting to do any of that die as soon as he lays eyes on the stranger.

your instagram photos don’t really do you justice (of course he looked. he really thought mingyu was pranking him and had even mentally applauded him for his effort to find a cute girl to post so consistently). your photos were well-taken and curated perfectly for your profile, but now that you were—for some weird reason—standing in front of joshua and jeonghan, he can confidently call your photos dirty liars. he can’t blame them, though. he has a feeling no camera in the world can capture how pretty you actually are in real life.

prettier than anyone i’ve ever dated, his intrusive thoughts remind him. prettier than mina.

“well?!” you screech when neither of them answer you, making them both flinch. you don’t notice your effect on them, though, because you’re busy frantically looking between them and the entrance of the building like you’re scared the three of you will be seen.

he knows jeonghan is thinking the same, exact thing he is because he is never rendered silent.

“i—uh,” joshua stammers for what he thinks might be the very first time in his life. “we…”

jeonghan glances at him, face twisted in amused confusion before he schools his expression and points his signature stunning smile at you. “you’re y/n! hi!”

“who the hell are you?” you turn back to them, cross your arms, and practically bark at him.

his best friend’s laugh is exaggerated and several decibels louder than it has any business being. it grates joshua’s nerves. he glares at him but jeonghan pays him no attention. “i like her,” he mutters to him before saying, “i’m jeonghan.”

“okay, jeonghan,” you spit his name like venom, obviously unimpressed, making him giggle.

joshua rolls his eyes at him and his increasing giddiness. his best friend doesn’t date often, but he shouldn’t be surprised that he enjoys this kind of vitriol. jeonghan is, at his core, attracted to the same chaos and mischief he himself is made of.

“what are you doing here?” you ask again, raising an eyebrow at joshua to make it clear you’re talking to him.

“i’m… here to break up,” he answers weakly. “with mina! i’m here to break up with… mina.”

he doesn’t know what’s come over him, but being confronted by you in person and unnervingly close in his vicinity has him forgetting how to properly communicate. the thought of blocking you was a lot easier when he had no idea if you were a real person. now, he feels like there’s no escaping you.

“what are you doing here?” jeonghan asks the question he forgets to return to you.

you ignore him, eyes staying trained on joshua as you speak, and something about you pretending like his best friend doesn’t exist forces him to fight down a smile.

“you’re not breaking up with her today,” you order him confidently, like you know saying it is enough for joshua to agree. if the way his palms start to sweat are a sign, you might be right. “she’s up there with siwoo.”

“who’s—”

“my boyfriend,” you answer before jeonghan can even finish his question. “i followed him here when he told me he was getting drinks with coworkers.”

joshua’s stomach flips. he’s not really sure how anyone can even think about another person in your presence, let alone cheat on you. maybe your intensity scares siwoo, though. it definitely kind of scares him.

“you mean… they’re up there right now… and they’re probably…” jeonghan’s sentence trails off, but you’re you and you don’t shy away from finishing it.

“fucking?” you ask with a biting and sarcastic enthusiasm. “yeah, jeonghan! probably!”

joshua winces. your rage was already palpable via DMs, but it’s near suffocating in person. it grabs him by the neck and shoves his face back into the dilemma he was quietly contemplating back at jeonghan’s apartment: why isn’t he sharing the same anger? why isn't he doubled over, throwing up at the idea of mina having sex with someone up in her apartment at this very moment?

“are you hungry?” you direct the question to him.

“what?” he asks dumbly.

“are. you. hungry?” you repeat, irritation laced in your voice.

“i am!” jeonghan announces.

you give him a blank stare before looking back at joshua. when he fails to say anything, you sigh, your temper appearing to deflate infinitesimally.

“they’re going to be a while,” you inform him like you’ve done this before. “there’s a fried chicken shop i like nearby.” okay, so you’ve definitely done this before. “we can eat and… talk, i guess.”

“we would love to talk. right, joshua?” jeonghan asks, pinching his side with more force than necessary. he fights to keep from jumping.

"sure," he finally agrees. "i could eat."

"thanks for ignoring me amidst my weekend-long menty b, by the way," you say sarcastically as you set down a pitcher of beer and three glasses next to the tray of friend chicken on the table.

"ment—?"

"mental breakdown," jeonghan whispers to him as he reaches to pluck a piece of fried chicken from the tray.

instead of depositing it on his own plate, he stretches across the table to put it on yours. joshua's eyes involuntarily narrow at the gesture. he doesn't realize he's glaring at his best friend until he speaks again.

"what?" he pouts at him but his eyes glint with mischief. "ladies first."

"thanks," you murmur, not-at-all sounding thankful. jeonghan snorts. "well? explain your rude behavior." he looks back over to you to find you sulking. you add more chicken to your plate even though you haven't touched the one jeonghan gave you.

"ah." joshua shakes his head. "i was just... not all the way convinced you weren't my friend trying to mess with me."

"mingyu," you say the name a lot like you said jeonghan's and for some reason, it makes him smile.

"yeah," he confirms, laughing a little. "mingyu. he's been known to play a prank or two on me."

"our joshua is just very gullible," jeonghan supplies as he serves joshua chicken now. the statement feels like a crack to the ribs. it's what mina called him when she was messaging siwoo. gullible. "so he's slow to trust."

joshua doesn't have a chance to argue that because you're, once again, ignoring jeonghan to ask him another question. "and now?"

"now what?"

"i take it you're all the way convinced?" you clarify as you tear into your first piece of chicken like you haven't eaten in years. with a full mouth, you add: "i mean, i assume you are if you're here to break up with your girlfriend."

"uh... yeah..." he nods slowly, distracted.

joshua is often described by his friends as a gentleman—elegant even. with the exception of jeonghan and mingyu—the two people who know him best—he is always polite and accommodating. he's careful that his clothes are always pressed and lint-free. he always has good posture, and he does his best to remember his table etiquette, especially in the presence of elders. he tries to be buttoned up and put-together almost all of the time, sometimes even to his own detriment.

so staring at you, wiping soy garlic sauce off your mouth with the back of your hand and talking with your pieces of chewed up chicken tucked into one, puffy cheek, he should absolutely feel repulsed.

he frowns at you and knows it probably looks like he is repulsed by you. but really, he's just confused about why you look so endearing sitting there, eating like it pains you to while taking turns glaring at your drumstick and glaring at him and his best friend.

"hello?" you wave your saucy fingers in front of joshua's face. "is he always this... spacey?" you ask jeonghan without taking your eyes off him.

"i'm glad you asked! no," the man next to him answers—also through cheeks full of chicken. "i've actually never seen him this nerv—"

"sorry, what were you saying?" joshua interjects before everyone at this table, including him, has to face the fact that yes, he is very much nervous and he's unsure why.

you sigh as you wipe your fingers on a napkin. "what is it about me that men's eyes just begin to glaze over as soon as my mouth opens?" you complain, the signature rage joshua has come to expect from you in the one hour he's known you bubbling back to the surface.

his eyes widen in horror at the thought of you mistaking his fascination with disinterest. "oh! i didn't—no, i'm not—i—"

"what joshua is trying and failing miserably to say," jeonghan cuts in, sneaking him a look that screams get it together, "is that no one here is ignoring you. he's just... trying to process all of this. after all, you had all weekend to think about this, and he just realized you were telling the truth, what? two hours ago?"

you stare at jeonghan with the same unimpressed expression you’ve been forcing on him since you met him. after a moment, your gaze travels to joshua, and he gives you a meek smile. you finally hum in understanding.

“sorry, i know i’m projecting. i’m just all…” you wave your hand wildly near your temple to mimic a muddled brain. “siwoo has done a number on me.”

joshua finally gains enough composure to string a sentence together. “i’m sorry i ignored your messages… and blocked your burner account.” you cringe at that but nod an acceptance of his apology. “and i’m sorry i’m not fully present right now. jeonghan’s right.”

kind of. not really. he was processing your existence more than he was processing being cheated on, to be frank.

“i’m just… trying to understand what’s happening, i guess. for what it’s worth, i find it really unbelievable that anyone would ever cheat on you.”

he ignores the way jeonghan inhales deeply and slowly through his nose. only joshua would be able to tell it’s the equivalent of him scream-giggling and kicking his feet when he’s trying to be discreet.

your eyebrows rise like you’re shocked joshua is capable of more than grunts and one-word replies.

“ditto,” you say plainly. joshua can’t help the immediate laugh that escapes his mouth at that, and he’s pleased when you smile for the first time since you met. “mina seems dumb. and not just because she and siwoo are ruining my life. you’re very handsome. and if you blocking me on instagram so fast is any indication, you seem very loyal too.”

you say it easily, as if giving out compliments like that is no big deal to you. maybe it isn’t, but even if that’s true, he’s going to appreciate it nonetheless.

unfortunately, that appreciation manifests in a fierce blush joshua feels spreading across his face like wildfire, much to his mortification. he doesn’t remember the last time he blushed like a pathetic schoolboy with a crush. it was probably when he was an actual pathetic schoolboy with a crush.

he clears his throat, choosing to ignore the compliment. “yeah, i guess we have the same, bad taste in dummies.”

you suddenly groan, throw your head back, and blink rapidly at the ceiling like you're trying your best not to cry. both men glance at each other and fidget awkwardly at the abrupt change of mood, neither of them being great at handling a crying woman. joshua has little to no experience with it and jeonghan tends to fall back on ill-timed jokes during times of distress.

"i followed him here months ago," you tell them unprompted. “i followed him here so many times because he was always so fucking sketchy. but his lie always involved ‘one of the guys,’ so i just thought his friend lived in that building.”

“and you found out this weekend…?” jeonghan asks carefully. joshua rubs the back of his neck nervously.

you nod, squeezing your eyes shut briefly before bringing your line of sight back to them. your eyes are glassy but your efforts to keep from crying were mostly successful.

“he lent me his laptop because mine stopped working,” you explain, rolling your eyes like having a broken laptop on top of all this is almost enough to send you over the edge. “his texts are connected on there too. i was at a cafe with a friend, and one of those verification texts came through. i ignored it but a few seconds later, it messaged again and i saw that he’d replied on his phone.”

“he told her it was safe to text,” joshua says, remembering the photos you sent.

“yeah…” you breathe, hugging yourself tightly and rubbing your arms as you try to self-soothe. “and i just sat there in front of my friends, watching him make plans with her in real time… brainstorm the lies they agreed to tell us… and i just had to pretend to be normal or else i would’ve burned that cafe to the ground.”

jeonghan coughs as he chokes on his chicken a little. joshua pats him on the back absentmindedly, eyes never leaving you, even as his best friend stretches across him, still coughing, to pour everyone a glass of beer. you sniffle as you accept your glass with a small nod, your body visibly relaxing as you take your first sip. he tries not to gawk when you down it all in one go.

joshua thinks this is probably what someone in love should look like when their heart has been broken: drunk and sad. now that the initial shock of seeing you in person has worn off, he can see how tired you really look. there are dark, bruising circles under your eyes, visible even under your makeup, and your hair looks like it was haphazardly put up into a ponytail to avoid having to wash or brush it. your eyes are tinged pink, a little swollen, and dull, like you’ve been crying all weekend. you have been crying all weekend.

and joshua? he’s asking himself why he hasn’t felt the urge to cry at all yet because right now, he could be the poster child for soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend who is going to be okay has been okay, is okay, and will always be okay. aside from his irritation with mina and her insane audacity, today is like any other day.

he’s never had his heart broken before this, but maybe it’s just different for guys. he read somewhere that men’s emotional intelligence develop a lot slower than women’s; maybe he just hasn’t reached a level of maturity you have.

“anyway,” you say as you stifle a tiny burp that makes jeonghan giggle for the nth time tonight, “i’m going to ruin his life.”

okay, so maybe maturity is the wrong word.

“wh…” joshua glances at jeonghan for confirmation he heard correctly.

his best friend’s eyes are lit up with excitement as he leans forward with impossibly even more interest in what the pretty lady across the table has to say. joshua would slap him if they were alone. what for, he doesn’t know, but he would.

“sorry, what was that?” he asks, trying not to sound judgmental at the risk of setting your anger off again.

“she’s going to ruin his life,” jeonghan answers for you giddily. “what are you going to do? i told joshua he should fill mina’s shampoo bottle with hair remover.”

that earns the two men another smile from you, but this time, joshua finds himself annoyed it was because of something jeonghan said.

“oh my god, that’s vile,” you say even though you’re grinning and obviously love the idea. “maybe i’ll add that as a little cherry on top for siwoo.”

“oh, he’ll be so ugly,” jeonghan claims like he’s already daydreaming about it.

“you don’t even know what he looks like,” joshua murmurs.

“i don’t need to,” he responds, smiling as he stares off into the distance. “a stupid motherfucker who can cheat on our lovely y/n, here, like that has to look like ass.”

you roll your eyes at the compliment but your cheeks turn a cute shade of pink anyway.

“well, making him bald will look like child’s play when i’m done with him,” you match jeonghan’s dreamy tone, and joshua feels a chill of fear from having the two of you at the same table crawl up his spine. why was he a magnet for agents of chaos?

“is that why you haven’t broken up?” he asks. “you’re scheming to ruin his life?”

you frown. “what makes you think we haven’t broken up?”

joshua shrugs. “maybe the fact that you followed him here and then shoved me and my best friend into next week to keep us from attracting any attention?”

jeonghan snickers and your cheeks turn a darker shade.

“ah, right.” you nod once. “sorry about that.” you don’t look sorry at all and joshua finds himself thinking it’s amusing. “i suppose that was a bit… rude.”

joshua hums like he’s contemplating your apology but he knows it’s clear he’s fighting a smile as he brings his beer to his lips.

you sigh. “anyway, yes. that’s why i’m still with him. he doesn’t even know i know. i’m trying to get my ducks in a row and figure out the most devastating way to leave him.”

jeonghan smirks. “my kind of girl.”

joshua’s foot finds his best friend’s and stomps on it as hard as he can without thinking twice about it. it almost shocks him—how much it felt like instinct—but after the day he’s had, he thinks he’s entitled to a bit of a tantrum. maybe this is how he is when his heart is broken. a little mean.

“ow, what the fu—”

“so what’s the plan?” joshua asks loudly when your eyes snap up to jeonghan mid-sip over the glass of your beer.

you lick your lips clean of foam before setting the glass down, and joshua forces himself to look away when he notices how plump and pink they are.

“well, to be honest… i haven’t been the smartest,” you admit, seeming timid for the first time since you barged into his DMs. it’s an odd look on you. “i—um. i kind of rely on him… financially.”

the explanation comes tumbling past your lips after that like you’re afraid the two of them are going to judge you if you allow even a second of silence to pass.

“i had a job! i had a great job! but siwoo’s a bit traditional, and he comes from a more conservative family that really buys into gender roles, and i mean, fuck that, right?”

you give them no chance to agree.

“i’m a feminist! i swear to god i’m a fucking feminist!” you’re practically shouting now and the two men are so stunned, they can’t bring themselves to notice or care that the other patrons of the restaurant are starting to look over. “but i was in love! and i thought i was going to marry this moron! so i convinced myself i wanted to stay home and i wanted to clean the house and take care of a man—”

you say the word with so much disgust, both joshua and jeonghan struggle to keep from laughing.

“—and he was so happy when i quit my job like he’s been asking me to, and i thought i was happy too, like, what woman doesn’t want to be taken care of by a rich man?!”

you pause to burp briefly but it still isn’t enough time for either of them to get a word in.

“though again, i was in love! i was looking at that shithead through rose-tinted glasses! he’s nothing but a spoiled mama’s boy with a rich family! that asshole doesn’t have to do anything for the wealth he has! so, like, really… what woman wants to be fake-taken-care-of by a 30-something-year-old mama’s boy?!”

the words come with even more disgust than “man.”

“and he had the nerve to act like he was better than me because i had to work for everything i had before him! like, dude. if your bank account is still connected to your fucking mom’s, lower your goddamn voice when speaking to me!”

his best friend’s mouth drops open in absolute joy-filled shock at your biting remark. he’s enjoying meeting someone as chaotic as he is too much.

“and what was it for?! empty promises that he would propose soon?! endless faked orgasms for a man who’s afraid to give a woman head?!”

jeonghan chokes again, this time on nothing. joshua has more decorum but he can’t help the way his face turns bright red.

“you’d swear i was harboring a monster down there the way he cringed at the mere mention of oral, like, what is he, 12?!”

joshua has to avert his eyes to the ceiling of the restaurant at the mention of your “monster,” and he can’t even get it together long enough to nudge jeonghan when he bursts into hysterical laughter. they might as well be nonexistent, though, because you keep barreling through your rant.

“i was on track to be a director before 30! i was a fucking star! and look what he made me!” you screech, words slurring.

it takes your slurred speech and yet another burp for joshua to realize with mild horror that the pitcher of beer is almost empty, and that he and jeonghan are still on their first glasses. he elbows his best friend, who’s still cackling, and motions at the pitcher. jeonghan sighs happily as the last of his laughter leaves him and mutters a quiet: holy shit, pretty aggretsuko can drink.

“he turned me into a housewife! and i remind you: I AM A FEMINIST!” you slam your palms against the table to each word to punctuate your point. joshua can see why you picked aggretsuko for your burner account. “i support a woman’s choice to be a housewife if that’s what she wants, but my dumb ass didn’t realize that this isn’t the life i wanted until this fucking weekend! god!” you groan miserably. “all of this heartache and for what?! he cheated on me and now i’m jobless and about to be homeless and completely broke, and i…”

you abruptly run out of steam, slumping in your seat and looking at your near-empty glass of beer pitifully. joshua has the urge to round the table and give you a hug, but he stays put, trying to process the whiplash of witnessing what he imagines is a mini “menty b.”

you take a few breaths before quietly saying, “i can’t believe this is what being in love got me.”

something violently lurches inside joshua’s chest when you say that.

“i can’t believe something that’s supposed to be as beautiful as love blinded me so badly.” your voice cracks. your eyes well with tears and this time, you make no move to stop them as they begin to streak your face. “how the hell can love hurt this much?”

joshua’s mouth falls open to say something—anything. any kind of comfort or kindness or advice. but no sound escapes his lips as he watches your heart break into tiny, little pieces in front of him.

he’ll look back at this moment and realize this was the first time his heart knew something before he, himself, did: what he had with mina wasn’t love—that he had actually never even been in love before. there’s no world where mina would ever have the kind of effect siwoo has on you on him, and there isn't anything mina can do that would make joshua scorn the concept of love because it's something he never even experienced with her in the first place.

but for now, all he can think is that, despite barely knowing you and despite being somewhat afraid of you, he has an insatiable want to fix this for you. he wants you to stop crying. he wants to see the rare smiles they were gifted tonight on your face once more. most of all, he wants to make the man who made you cry sorry for ever entering your life.

the words are out of his mouth before he can think twice about them.

“i’ll help you.” you immediately stop crying and look up at him with wide eyes. “i’ll help you ruin this idiot’s life. and when the two of us are through with him, i promise you he’ll be afraid to breathe within a 10-mile vicinity of you.”

joshua is surprised you haven’t already responded to tease him about his fickle typing bubbles because for the last ten minutes, he’s tried and stopped, tried and stopped (stopped, stopped, stopped) to find a response to your question that was not only honest with you, but with himself.

it’s not lost on him how unconcerned and unbothered he was with the repulsive and heinous death his relationship suffered last night. jeonghan made sure to point it out the entire way home, all while nearly choking him and stimming his socked, shoeless feet against his torso during his piggyback ride.

“so are we going to talk about the fact that you had zero reaction to mina having a guy up in her apartment?” jeonghan muttered not one minute after demanding joshua carry him home.

“we were in the presence of a stranger,” joshua grumbled, adjusting jeonghan higher on his back. “how should i have reacted?”

jeonghan hummed in thought. “i guess if it were me, i wouldn’t have really cared about strangers. i would’ve started with busting into her apartment and hoping you were present to keep me from committing second-degree murder. that’s a start, no?”

joshua sighed. “you’ve known me practically my entire life. i’ve never been like that.”

“i know.”

he said it in a resigned way, as if a visceral reaction was a healthy one and joshua was depriving himself. as if jeonghan wanted more for him—like he wanted him to cause a scene and make a fuss. the thought confused him but he stayed silent as his best friend continued.

“i kind of just… i don’t know, worry?” 

joshua smiled. he could practically hear the wince on jeonghan’s face from having to be serious as he spoke. 

“i lowkey expected a meltdown like y/n’s from you at my place. are you sure you’re okay? i feel like i’m waiting for the aftershock of an earthquake.”

“are you saying you think i’m emotionally repressed?” he asked, putting the pieces together and saying what jeonghan was dancing around.

“well, if you think that’s what i’m saying, who am i to argue with your interpretation of my words?” 

he snickered. “i literally cried when you told me about that deep-sea anglerfish that swam to the surface of the ocean to see the sun before it died. i wouldn’t call myself emotionally repressed.”

“okay, repressed isn’t the right word,” jeonghan conceded. “it’s just—ugh, hold on.”

he suddenly started wriggling in his hold, obviously asking to be let down without vocalizing it. joshua squatted down to let him off his back, and before he could straighten all the way up, jeonghan had him by the shoulders and was turning him around almost violently.

“ungh!” joshua grunted as he came face-to-face with him.

“listen,” he said, capturing joshua’s face between his hands, forcing his wide, surprised eyes to meet jeonghan’s. “i’m going to ask you something seriously, and i want you to answer just as seriously, okay?”

joshua frowned. “okay…”

jeonghan nodded curtly once before speaking. “your girlfriend of over a year is cheating on you.”

“dude. i kn—”

“uh-uh, i’m speaking,” he deadpanned, tapping a finger against joshua’s temple. 

he sighed. “okay, go on.”

“your girlfriend of over a year is cheating on you,” he repeated, this time slower and with more emphasis, as if it was something he was convinced joshua didn’t totally understand. “she went out of her way to sneak behind your back, and not only lie to—your—face!” he practically shouted. “but laugh about lying to your face with that scumbag asshole. and when you went over to break up with her, she was entertaining her side-piece in her apartment!”

joshua fidgeted under his hold. having it repeated like this did hurt him, and although he spent a lot of this time wondering why he wasn’t as affected as you were, he felt a little sad and lonely now, standing there being reminded that his relationship just imploded.

“in all of this,” jeonghan continued, “the most reaction i saw from you was some quiet cussing when we looked through y/n’s screenshots, and i know you’re capable of being upset.” he smirked. “anglerfish aside, i know that you can express emotion healthily. so…” he took a deep breath.

when he didn’t say anything for several seconds, obviously hesitating, joshua raised his eyebrows. “so…?” 

jeonghan’s gaze flicked down to him from where he had been frowning at nothing above his head.

“so…” he inhaled slowly. “do you think you really… truly loved mina?”

he hadn’t been able to answer a barefoot jeonghan last night, and even after tossing and turning for hours and thinking of nothing else this morning, joshua finds that he still doesn’t have an answer.

if he measured love by how heartbroken someone was after it ended, he’d say you were (are?) madly in love with siwoo and he’s basically been in a committed friendship with mina—apparently a shitty one at that. but is that even the proper way to measure love? did the way he cared for mina for the past year count for nothing? a tender, aching hurt bloomed in his chest when jeonghan stopped him and forced him to look at his love life closely, and it has just grown since then. he doesn’t know if it’s telling him that love is more than the way it ends or if it’s telling him he’s been living life without it.

the jarring sound of his phone ringing interrupts his introspection, and he’s startled to find your contact on the incoming call. he quietly gets up from his desk and vacates his cubicle, where he has been neglecting his work to figure out a way to respond to you. he slips into one of the office’s private phone rooms and answers.

“hello…?” he rolls his eyes at how confused his sounds. smooth.

“you’re taking ages to reply,” you inform him, forgoing a normal greeting. “thought i’d call and see what has you so committed to sending me nothing but typing bubbles.”

joshua sighs harder than he needs to, sinking into the seat in the booth. “do you have nothing better to do than stare at my messages and wait for a reply?”

“no,” you scoff. “should i remind you i’m a stay-at-home girlfriend?” you spit the words out like you’re ashamed of them. he knows that you are and winces, silently chiding himself for the poorly timed joke. “i’m not doing anything for that cheater and his apartment while i have to continue living in this hellhole.”

“fair,” joshua says quickly. “sorry. forgot for a second.”

you snort. “it’s fine. what are you thinking about?”

“um, i’m at work, so… work?”

“no, dude, in regard to my question,” you remind him, laughing. he squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to groan. he knows he’s not doing a good job of convincing you that you don’t make him nervous. “why are you overthinking your answer so hard?”

“i’m not overthinking,” he mutters petulantly. “i’m just…”

“thinking overly hard?”

he hates that he cracks a smile at that. “fine, i might be overthinking.”

“oh! well, welcome to my page. i’m glad we’re now on the same one.” he can’t help but grin even wider at your apparently never-ending well of sarcasm. “so what are we overthinking about?”

we. you just met last night—barely agreed to help each other last night—and already, there’s a we. and already, joshua feels comfortable with the notion of that.

he shrugs even though you can’t see him. he slides down until his neck meets the curve of his seat and he stares at the ceiling as he speaks. “i was there to break up with her last night.”

you hum. “i remember. and you still want to.”

it’s more an observation than a question.

“well, i guess that’s what i’m overthinking about.”

“bro, i get it,” you say, shuffling around in what he assumes is your bed. he narrows his eyes at the word bro. “staying with your awful partner and pretending like everything’s okay when all you want to do is strangle him is certainly not for the weak.”

“okay well, thankfully, i don’t want to strangle mina.”

you laugh again and he suddenly wishes he’d gotten to see and hear you do that in person last night. “so what do you want to do to mina?” you ask as the sounds of you moving around the apartment come through the phone. “please don’t say nothing. i already feel like a horrible enough person as it is.”

the statement derails joshua’s train of thought. “why do you feel like a horrible person?”

“probably because i’m committed to doing whatever it takes to burn siwoo’s life to the ground instead of just breaking up with him and moving on like a normal, well-adjusted adult, and if you say ‘nothing,’ it will just remind me moving on is exactly what i’m supposed to be doing. and i don’t want to do that! not without fucking some lives up first!” you end your ramble with a grunt of frustration.

“i don’t think that makes you horrible,” joshua counters. “i think that just makes you… human? i feel like the normal reaction is to want to hurt someone as badly as they hurt you, right?”

at least from how joshua sees it, he thinks that’s probably the normal reaction. if jeonghan’s pressing questions say anything, it’s that his lack of reaction isn’t normal.

the sounds in the background pause like you’ve stopped to think about what he said. after a few moments, your only response is: “thanks.”

“i’m just being honest.”

“i know. thanks for saying it anyway,” you sigh as you continue to do whatever you were doing. “well?”

“well, what?”

“you haven’t answered my question.” you repeat it for him. “what do you want to do about mina?”

he groans, letting his eyes fall shut. “i want to break up with her and forget she happened.”

“do all men move on that fast?” you ask, sounding genuinely curious. “like, do you all just decide you don’t love someone anymore and move on after, like, a week?”

“i’m not moving on fast,” he argues, opening his eyes once more and sitting up. “i just want to give myself a chance to move on at all.”

“so mature of you,” you comment. something tells him you don’t believe that, though, and you prove him right with your next sentence. “or you just don’t love mina as much as you think you do.”

“what is with you guys and insisting i didn’t love my long-term girlfriend?” he complains.

“who’s ‘you guys’?” you sound too excited to realize more than one person in his life has made this observation about his relationship.

“nobody,” he practically hisses, not wanting to give you and jeonghan something to bond over and tease him about. 

if he had his way, he’d probably make it so that you two never hung out again; your threatening energy as a duo honestly freaked him out a little and something about the way his best friend acted around you irritated him to no end. but he knows that helping you with siwoo will probably entail jeonghan butting in somewhere at some point.

“i loved mina, okay?” he insists, annoyed with the way he sounds like he’s trying to convince not only you but himself. “why do you even think otherwise?”

he doesn’t think he needs to point out that ultimately, you two don’t really know each other. you don’t have enough evidence to make such a massive assumption about him.

“i don’t know,” you mumble, “ugh.” he hears something clink against what sounds like porcelain. “i guess i’m having a hard time knowing that i’m devolving into this… child who’s having a world-war-sized tantrum, but someone who’s going through the same, exact thing i am is able to handle his emotions maturely... and gracefully… and just walk away. you’re so level-headed. meanwhile, i feel like my anger is consuming me.”

he rolls his lips over his teeth and bites, like that will help him from saying something too intimate to someone who’s still virtually a stranger. he suddenly feels sad for you again. it shoves away the newly formed pain in his chest that jeonghan forced there last night and burrows deep in his ribs the same way it did when he was watching you sob over fried chicken and beer.

“it’s kind of funny,” he starts, his voice soft and hesitant. “i thought something was wrong with me for not reacting the way you were.”

“nothing’s wrong with you,” you assure him. “sorry, i know me joking that you didn’t love mina probably makes you feel that way. i’m just trying to find an excuse for why you’re doing this so well and i’m… not. guess it’s easier to tell myself you’re moving on so fast because you didn’t love her in the first place.”

“you know,” joshua starts making his own observation as he thinks about the way you apologized for projecting your feelings about siwoo on him last night, “you’re super self-aware.”

“pfft, well as my therapist would point out, what good does that do if i’m aware i’m being self-destructive and i do it anyway?”

he smiles. “does that make me an accomplice to your self-destruction?”

“of course. you’re still willing to help with project destroy-siwoo-and-maybe-y/n-in-the-process, though, right?”

he grins wider. “of course,” he parrots before getting serious again. “but hey, i’m definitely not a good bar to set yourself against when it comes to break-ups. i’ve had too many to be someone you want to compare yourself to. you’re not not doing well.” he frowns at himself. super eloquent, joshua. “i think you’re handling this as best as you can. plus, i’m not going to pretend like siwoo doesn’t deserve everything that’s coming to him.”

you giggle like the thought of siwoo’s life crashing to the ground excites you. he knows it does. “okay, well if you’re committed to enabling me, i’m not going to make you stop.” joshua laughs loudly at that and you join in. “you have a nice laugh,” you tell him once you both stop.

“yah,” he whines. “are you always so bold?”

“didn’t we already establish that i am? what’s the big deal, anyway? i think we should all compliment each other more. it balances out my devotion to rage and revenge.”

he shakes his head, smiling once more. his cheeks are beginning to hurt. “fine. i’ll try to get used to it.”

“good!” you chirp as he hears more clinking in the background.

“what are you doing, by the way?”

“uh, i’ll tell you later,” you give him a non-answer before quickly directing his attention elsewhere. “so are we leaving mina out of this? should i just let you move on and grieve however emotionally healthy people grieve and tear up the mina section of my revenge plans?”

he snorts. “wow, okay, i need to stop letting your antics surprise me.”

“i agree. it’ll make this friendship easier for you.”

“i’ll bite. what’s in the mina section?”

“oh, nothing huge yet since i know nothing about her. i have jeonghan’s brilliant hair remover bit in there though.”

joshua glares at the wall across from him. he agrees that jeonghan is generally brilliant but he’s irked to hear you say it anyway. “right.”

“mhm,” you hum. 

“well,” joshua sighs, knowing that after several minutes on the phone with you, he has yet to give you an answer and he should really get back to work. “i guess that’s what makes the most sense for me. tearing up the mina section of the plan.”

honestly, nothing really sounds better to him than getting her out of his hair. 

“okay,” you agree quickly. “i can’t lie, i’m a bit disappointed because the scorned woman in me of course also wants to ruin mina’s life, but you’re the boss.”

he has no idea why he’s the boss when this is all your master plan, but he appreciates the grace you give him. he knows it’s probably not easy for you to redirect your disdain for mina and refrain from including her in your mission to ruin lives. well, life—one life: siwoo’s. 

“at least i can keep my girl’s girl reputation in tact.” 

he smiles at your priorities: 1. ruin siwoo’s life 2. remain a girl’s girl.

“exacting revenge on mina would do nothing to your girl’s girl reputation,” he assures you. “she’s the one who isn’t being a girl’s girl. she’s the asshole here.”

“oooh,” you sing, very clearly delighted, “joshie’s getting mad!”

he’s glad you’re not here to see him blush for no reason. when he’s too flustered to respond, you chuckle.

“i guess we don’t really need to go after mina, anyway, huh? you’re probably just as angry at siwoo for stealing her away too,” she thinks aloud.

he stills. 

joshua is a little embarrassed to admit he didn’t even consider that. he’s typically a proud man—humble and grounded, but he takes pride in himself nonetheless. is it weird that he didn’t think twice about the fact that siwoo disrespected him and his relationship by pursuing mina? up until now, his anger was mostly feeding off of your sadness.

“joshua?” 

“uh, yeah,” he stammers. “yeah. siwoo’s enough.”

“figured. we’ll make him pay real good for the both of us then.”

joshua nervously squirms in his seat. “yup. well, i should get back to work,” he says awkwardly. if you notice, you don’t point it out for once. “let me know what we should do next whenever you’re ready.”

he can practically hear the smile in your voice. “okay, and you let me know how breaking up with mina goes.”

if he had his wits about him, he'd probably give you shit for sounding so happy about the looming end, but he doesn't. so all he does say is:

“bye, y/n.”

“later!”

just a few moments later, he’s back in his cubicle when another text from you comes in.

he wasn’t scared, just like he wasn’t annoyed that you ate like you were discovering food for the first time. the right word didn't come to him until he was almost done with the report he had been working on before you texted: he was charmed.

a/n: thanks for waiting! hope you liked it! as you can probably tell, this is already way longer than i planned on it being so i’m not entirely sure how many parts this will be, but it’s my priority fic rn so i’ll work hard on updates! for now, keep reading to see a teaser for the next part! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

if you’d like to be added to the tag list, comment here or send me an ask! if you requested to be on the list but weren’t tagged in this post or the reblog, it’s bc you don’t have an age indicator on your page. pls add that if you want to be tagged next time.

part two teaser

and when he felt a little better in his own skin and ready to put a “realer” version of himself out there, he met mina. mina, his longest relationship, and up until now, someone he was convinced was his first love. he said as much anyway. he was the first to tell her he loved her, he reminded her he did every day, and he thought they had a nice, long future ahead of them. what he pictured in that future exactly, he had no clue. but after an odd and somewhat unlucky streak in dating, he finally felt like mina was a nice and comfy place to land.

he’s never been more wrong about something in his entire life. 

and after the laughable amount of breakups he’s experienced, he’s also never been angrier after the end of a relationship in his entire life.

mina was proving to be a lot of firsts for him—first cheater, first master manipulator and liar, first person who’s ever made him wonder if he could possibly switch over to dating men instead… or simply stop dating at all! sure, he would die alone but he would die in peace. 

whatever the case, he's quickly approaching the conclusion that “first love” is not among those firsts, and it probably never was. no amount of teasing from you or jeonghan did it, but in less than a handful of minutes spent breaking up with mina, he is a million percent sure this was not someone he could have loved. or else what did that say about him and his taste?

sixteen minutes earlier

joshua arrives at mina’s apartment exactly two hours after work ends for her—5 p.m. every day because she always scheduled a pilates class at 5:30 p.m. thirty minutes for her to get to her class, one hour for her to finish it, 30 minutes for her to get home, zero minutes for her to get clean because he doesn’t care how presentable she is when he dumps her. 

plus, however long it takes joshua to end this.

he hadn’t bothered to tell her he was coming over; he didn’t think she really deserved that courtesy. he may be intent on a clean break, but he also wanted this to be as annoying for her as it has been for him.

so at a prompt 7 p.m., joshua finds himself casually leaning against the elevator’s railing, ascending the floors of mina’s apartment and feeling almost excited to be free of this experience. 

after he got off the phone with you, he decided he would bite the bullet when work was over. he spent the rest of his day absentmindedly finishing his reports, periodically stopping to scribble an idea for what he would say to his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend.

he takes the folded piece of paper out of his pocket now and runs over his options again.

his levels of shame and self-pity were sky high when he first pulled out his notepad at the office to write his thoughts out, but after texting you and letting you know what he planned to do, you insisted on meeting at a cafe beforehand to brainstorm together while he waited for mina’s pilates class to end. and once you both workshopped the entire list, his embarrassment diminished almost completely.

it was clear you took this a lot more seriously than he did. he doesn't know what he expected; you probably have a manila folder stuffed full of notes for what you plan to do to siwoo.

as such, you were very helpful. sure, you were also really distracting, with your subtle, spiced perfume he recognized as lola james harper, and your daunting and unrelenting eye contact, and the way your eyes smiled all on their own when they weren’t busy crying over siwoo, and the fact that you graced him with your laugh in person for the first time (every bit as fun as he thought it would be), and everything else that came with just existing in your presence.

all of it was really distracting—almost to the point of it being entirely counterproductive for him. almost, if it weren’t for the fact that you were so determined on his behalf to make this the most unpleasant experience for mina. he was mostly pleased with where you two landed, and if anything, he at least had a better idea of what he wanted to say. he reads the completely ruined paper, a mess of his black ink and wrinkles where you kept trying to grab the paper out of his hands. it was already a vulnerable enough occasion talking about this with you; he did not need you seeing his notes on top of it.

TALKING POINTS FOR BREAKING UP WITH EVIL GF i know you’ve been cheating on me, and don’t try to deny it because someone sent me proof! — cannot say this without exposing that y/n knows about siwoo!!! i know you’ve been cheating on me, and don’t try to deny it because i went through your phone and saw your text messages! — better, but am i willing to look crazy just to cover for y/n? yes what am i saying NO this will do ✓ how could you do this to us, mina? i loved you! — seems disingenuous? note: yell at jeonghan and y/n for putting ideas in my head later! i literally gave you everything you could’ve wanted, and that still wasn’t enough? what does any other man have that i don’t? — ok met with y/n for feedback. she says this sounds pathetic and that i can't let her think this has affected me. but she cheated on me? this LITERALLY affects me. i will come back to this one ok y/n made a different, better point: i am perfect and i should not present myself as lacking. so true. she's very good at this! do you really think anyone with half a fucking brain cell who's willing to homewreck a relationship is really going to give enough of a fuck about you to be capable of putting up with your insufferable ass and treating you as well as i did? — y/n suggested this one. had to workshop bc she's alarmingly vulgar. plus, it sounds a little toxic to say i "put up" with mina ??? not sure do you even regret hurting me? — y/n says this is silly bc siwoo and mina obviously do not regret anything, but i told her i do want mina to feel guilty even if i'm not sure that i'm all that hurt. she now agrees and says i should add: "or are you just so heartless you don't care?" she said this more colorfully, but i will remain respectful why should i remain respectful? mina is literally the most disrespectful person i have ever met. i will say what y/n suggested: ↳ my bad, i forgot your commitment to being a heartless fucking asshole has you by your ugly ass neck and it's squeezing with both hands and i hope it kills you GET HELP! — more for catharsis. will not be yelling this at her you're going to regret this and if you think there's a world where i take you back when you do, you're mistaken — wow, no notes from y/n! must be very good. definitely say this one!! please never contact me again — note from y/n: "why are you being so goddamn polite? tell her to fuck off and if you ever see her number on your phone screen, you'll set up an appointment on her behalf to get a lobotomy." ????? note from ME: have a serious discussion with y/n at a later time about why i, a MAN, can't just talk to WOMEN like this!

tag list: @coupsma @tokitosun @nothingbutadeadesceane @ateez-atiny380 @minghaofied @reiofsuns2001 @turtash @https-seishu @gaslysainz @dawn-iscozy @mrsjohnnysuh @sunnysidesins @thepoopdokyeomtouched @faizaa09 @hearts4itoshi @iamdkayyyyy @randojeon @iwannakisspoutycheol @youre-on-your-ownkid @justanotherkpopstanlol @sanaxo-o @seokqt @bath1lda @ilouvwonwoo @littlemisshyperfixation @mxelatrix-x @papichulomacy @o-schist @sumzysworld @alyssa19123456

[darnell-la]

perchance..dry humping with logan….pretty please with all the cherries on top

𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗡 '𝗘𝗠 𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗬

summary: Logan had just became apart of the x men. he’s always been known to flirt with whoever he could, but when y/n came around, he realized she was the only one he wanted to smell like.

warnings: up late, public humping, embarrassed, kissing, submission, dominance, dry orgasm, love confession, etc.

note: we kind of want to write a submissive!logan… tell us what y’all think.

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

“Whatcha doin’ down here, bub? It’s like three in the mornin,” Logan made his way into the kitchen. Y/n had jumped from the man’s voice. She wasn’t expecting anyone down here. She wasn’t expecting him down here.

“God — I-I’m just listening to music,” y/n placed her phone down and took her headphones out. She was lying and somehow, Logan knew that. The way she slammed her phone — He couldn’t hold back his smirk.

“Are you sure that’s what you’re up to?” Logan asked as he sat next to y/n with his eyes on her phone. “Yes, I was-“ she tried to lie but she was cut off when Logan snatched her phone.

“Hey!” She yelled and whispered at the man, praying her phone was locked, but it wasn’t. Shit. “Let’s see what we have here,” Logan leaned back in his chair as he clicked the video he assumed she was just watching.

“Why are you watching us train?” Logan asked, already finding whatever she was doing boring. “You’re not even in the video,” he laughed, trying to figure out what it was that she was looking at until he noticed the video was cropped.

It was cropped to show him closer. The man skipped the video and noticed it was almost an hour long of him fighting.

The smirk that grew on his face, raised y/n’s heart rate. She was caught and she had nothing to back her up.

“Now, what made you do this, bub?” Logan slid her phone across the table for her to look at. “If I’m not mistaken, that looks like me — for an hour,” he pointed at himself fight training.

“I-I can't explain,” she said low, so embarrassed that she got caught. How could she get caught? She knew she should’ve stayed in her room.

“I don’t think there’s much to explain, princess. Seems you get off by watching me fight,” Logan was now hunching over, looking at her with his sweet and soft eyes.

She couldn’t look at him. She swore she would pass out if she did.

“You like watching me fight?” Logan asked y/n, a right hand softly touching her thigh. He’s been teasing her ever since he got here. Tonight was the first time he touched her. She was going inside on the inside.

“I know you do, you wanna know why?” He asked, hands getting higher until he stopped under her nightgown. His fingers were grazing her panties. Y/n looked up at the older boy, eyes shy.

“Because I can smell that pretty cunt leak,” his voice was sweet, yet dark. “And you’re always like that. It’s hard walking past you because you’re always so damn wet,” he tease as he rubbed on her clothes heat.

“Logan,” she whispered, not knowing if she wanted him to do this. They’re in the kitchen, so anyone could come down here and see how flustered she is from the way he’s talking and touching her.

“C’mere, bub,” Logan pulled away before patting his lap. Y/n was confused at first, but got the idea and did was she was told. She got up and went to sit, back facing him until he turned her around to sit, facing him.

As soon as she sat down, she felt how hard he was. It felt like actual metal, but she knew a human cock had no bone — So why is he this hard?

“You feel that, princess? Got me like this as soon as I walked in,” he said, making his cock throb through his pajamas. “I-I don’t know if we can do this,” y/n spoke. She’s never been a submissive kind, but he brought it out of her.

“Why not? I’ve liked you ever since I got here. Had to work weeks to make you nervous,” Logan’s hands traveled from her back, down to her ass to grip and pull at.

“We’re in the kitchen, Logan. A-And I don’t think the girls that you talk to will-“ she went to say but he cut her off quickly. “Ah uh — I don’t talk to anyone, bub. They talk to me,” he corrected her.

“I’ve been workin’ hard to impress you. No one else. Who gives a shit if they want me. I don’t want them,” Logan lifted his hand to cup her chin.

“Are you okay with that?” He asked, now using his hand that was on her ass to move her, making her grind on his clothes cock.

The whine that left her mouth, made Logan’s heart skip a beat. She sounds so beautiful.

“C’mon, baby, tell me — Tell me you’re okay with being my pretty girl,” he said, slowly moving his own hips. He kept asking her, wanting her to reply as her mind fogged up.

“O-Okay,” her head fell onto his shoulder. Logan lifted the girl's head back up only to lean in and suck on her neck. He wanted to make sure she knew he was going to claim her.

“Lo,” y/n moaned, now moving her own hips, feeling her cunt throb on him. She was getting hot and her stomach felt funny. Kind of when she masturbated but better.

She’s never grinned at someone, but this felt so good. This felt amazing.

“Always lookin’ so pretty, baby,” Logan said as his hands lifted her nightgown up so he could touch and feel her skin. “T-Thank you,” she stuttered as she looked into the man’s eyes.

Y/n was the first to lean in and taste Logan. He was sweet. He already knew she was sweet, but finding it out for himself was the best feeling.

Y/n’s hips began to speed up as her moans got a bit louder. Logan knew she was near. He couldn’t help but smirk on her lips. She was falling apart right on top of him.

“C-Cumming,” the word was barely heard from the low she was. Her moan was broken as she shook. She’s never had her cunt throb this hard before. She couldn’t stop it.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groaned under his breath as his hips bucked. He swear he wouldn’t cum in his pants. He’s not one of those, but tonight — he was different. Y/n felt wetness grow under him, and she knew it wasn’t her.

She was confused until she looked at the man in front of her. His breathing stuttered, his body twitched and his shaky arm was holding her back into him so she’d be closer to him.

“O-Oh my god, baby — Fuck,” the man caught his breath and calmed down from his high. In his mind, he thought she was emasculated, but when he looked at her needy eyes, he knew she still felt submissive.

“You’re so good, baby,” Logan gave her a peck. “I think I’m in love,” he joked, but they could both tell he wasn’t joking. “I know I am,” y/n said as her hands rested on his shoulders.

Logan felt relief before he smashed his lips on hers, making out with her roughly but softly at the same time. He eventually took her up to his room, not being able to hold back and tell her how he was going to move everything from her room into his.

He didn’t think he wanted her this bad, but after tonight — After she showed how much she liked him back, he needed to keep her around him at all costs. He was in love and she was too.

[tojisun]

sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au)

hockey player simon riley x f!reader’s relationship, through the eyes of the fans // sort of smau

i was listening to 5sos’ slsp while writing this so!!! sorry i went bonkers 😔 i just love this au sm

simon riley is obsessed with his girl, and it is maddeningly endearing.

of course he’s in love with you, everyone could see even from a continent away, but there is something clingy, possessive, in the way simon hovers around you. like you’d disappear right before his eyes if he wasn’t pressed close; if his tattooed arm wasn’t looped around your waist or his thick fingers were not twined with yours.

it is new, unheard of, even riley’s loyal fans says so, but it’s just so—

nice.

(the word is inadequate, they know, but there’s nothing close that could describe how heart-fluttering his devotion to you is.)

riley has always been a private person, sharing only sparse details of his life. one can even easily locate his earliest instagram post because there’s just about twenty uploads in his account since its creation—from 2017, and it’s a broken hockey stick. even that throw-away picture continues to amass likes as new fans come scouring whatever of him they can find.

his latest post was during last season’s finals’ celebrations—a series of pictures of the boys carrying the stanley cup. the first few pictures were all professionally taken, but the rest splinters into blurred shots of mactavish and garrick, particularly, drinking from the cup from inside of the locker room.

it said: thank you all.

curt, direct, but not any less meaningful.

cut to this year, mid-regular season (january), and after five months of drought, the simon riley posted a picture. and it wasn’t just any picture, but it was a hard launch of his new partner.

it was a selfie, taken by you, the camera angled just slightly. your back was pressed to his chest, and his chin was hooked to your shoulder, and, cheek-to-cheek, the two of you grin up at the camera. the background was distinctly new york, central park, so it must have been taken after the specgru’s game against the rangers (0-4 for the specgru).

for the caption, he wrote: she’s never been here before.

in an instant, all of the speculations were confirmed—the most eligible bachelor of the franchise is, finally, in an official relationship.

news articles popped up after that, speculations bloating at the shocking news. some people have even said that they’re sure they’ve seen you prior to the announcement—weren’t you that one fan simon riley was flirting with while he was on ice, mid-game?

(you were.

you were even one of the people that was tagged in johnny’s story before it got preemptively taken down; and the same person seen with the other WAGs, sprinkles of your silhouette seen on pictures like the ones that are taken on the days when the franchise flies them for game nights or the countless ones during the unveiling of the season’s WAGs jackets.

you have been a part of their circle even before the world knew who you were and, somehow, that was comforting; how simon riley had not thrown you to the wolves—or vultures, as mactavish snarled when they’ve hounded him about his fiancee’s abrupt end of her season in the FIVB, like her health wasn’t the priority over her career—and instead made sure you were surrounded by people who knew how to survive amidst the scrutiny.)

and, just like that, the dam called simon-riley’s-secret-album-of-you broke.

what had been a sporadic activity in his account exploded into series of posts, one update every week. it was a whirlwind of excitement because no one from the hockey world has ever seen this much of simon riley’s life.

he was always unapproachable, distant, like there’s always a wall between him and the rest of the world. like in exchange of being called the living legend, the guiding star, simon riley gets to shirk away from the public whenever he chooses. and who can fault him for that? riley’s career has always been heavily documented—people knew him even before he was drafted into the league, they had betted on his rookie year, and then had put him in a lonely pedestal. so of course he is fiercely protective of his privacy.

only a select few get to truly know him, only a select few have stories of simon that isn’t about the ice or hockey or his in-the-works legacy. only a select few see him beyond his crown, and now he’s giving a piece of his true self to the world because of you.

because you are worth showing off.

because life with you is worth celebrating.

.

riley41

[it’s a candid image of you standing on the balcony, wearing a too-big of a shirt that is getting ruffled by the wind and pyjama pants, and leaning over the railing as you stare at the scenery. you’re all silhouette because your body is devoured by the orange rays of the sunrise, its tendrils spilling into the wooden floors of the hotel room.]

liked by jmactavish.91, reyenzo14, and others

riley41 ibiza

.

riley41

[it’s a series. the first image is of the two of you on his motorcycle, the picture taken from simon’s bike’s camera. you’re both wearing tinted helmets and leather gears, the background a blur of colours which indicates that this was taken mid-ride. you’re gripping him tightly and your body is almost fully-covered by his bulk, leaving only the top half of your helmet to be seen peering from his shoulders.

the second image is of the beach. it’s dusk, and the sky is an explosion of pinks and purples and blues.

the third image is a selfie with your visors up. you’re looking at the camera with a shy smile, your eyes squinted because of how bright it still is, while simon only has his eyes on you.]

liked by pricejhn2, alexkeller_, and others

riley41 vroom

.

riley41

[it’s a mirror selfie of the two of you, with simon taking the photo. the background is notably his house. your back is facing the mirror, your head tilted to rest on his shoulder, while his arm is curled around your waist. you’re wearing this season’s WAG jacket—it’s black and green, their colours. the pose now makes sense because you’re showing off the back of the jacket that spells out RILEY 41 in white. simon’s wearing their away-jersey.]

liked by kylegarrick, konig_76, and others

riley41 game six let’s go

.

riley41

[it’s a video; the angle shows that it is taken by someone else. you and simon are hugging, and are swaying lightly as the two of you dance to the faint sound of music booming from somewhere behind the camera. simon’s mouthing the lyrics to your ear, his cheeks flushed like he’s buzzed from drinking, while you giggle and softly rub your palm at his back.]

liked by jmactavish.91, kylegarrick, and others

riley41 my favourite person

.

.

yourname

[it’s a candid picture you’ve taken of simon sleeping while he uses your lap as pillow. the angle captures the way your fingers are playing with his hair and scratching his scalp gently. the picture is a little blurry because there’s not enough light to properly focus the lens.]

liked by riley41, jjoanne.spam, and others

yourname im the happiest when im with him

[bluetimeombre]

: ̗̀➛ The Paul Mescal school of yearning

You and Pedro had stared in the Last of Us together, and now he cannot stop talking about you at any chance given, very much similar to another friend of his…

[Pedro Pascal is my love and my life and has been for a while now, idk what anyone else has told you but we’re very happy together. Anyway, this is a little thing I created cause don’t we all want to be wanted the way Paul wants Daisy?!] daddy references, language, fem reader, not proof read

ᴘᴇᴅʀᴏᴘᴀꜱᴄᴀʟɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀᴏɴᴇꜰᴀɴ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇꜱ: ɴᴏ ʙᴜᴛ ꜰʀ ᴘᴇᴅʀᴏ ᴘᴀꜱᴄᴀʟ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴜʟ ᴍᴇꜱᴄᴀʟ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ᴏꜰ ʏᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴄᴜᴛ !!!

↪️ -

Yourusername: The Last of Us, out now. If you’ve ever liked me, you’ll go give it some love

1.1 m likes // 7.8k comments // 🏷️pascalispunk

urfan: obsessed

peoplelover: oh she getting that Emmy

pedroisloveislife: THE LAST OF US?!?

urfriend: ❤️

pedroishot: u and pedro are going to kill me

fanista: this is gonna break me

pascalbemine: mother is mothering!!!

pascalispunk: I’ll watch it cause I like you

↪️ yourusername: I appreciate that

↪️↪️ pascalispunk: and because pedro pascal is in it

↪️↪️↪️ yourusername: actually he got cut

↪️↪️↪️↪️ pascalispunk: 😦😦

-

pascalispunk: The Last of us with some of my favourite people. Give it some love

1.9 m likes // 101k comments

user101: cannon that pedro doesn't know what tagging is

y/nfan: that's y/n in the third picture, i know it

pedroismyman: he's so daddy

personcha: daddy

bellaisqueen: daddy is a state of mind

y/nluver: y/n took the last pictures, i scream as they drag me into the asylum

pascalandy/n: the flowers!! i need him

youryousername liked this post

↪️↪️ -

~ y/nbiggestgurl: guys!!! @yourusername and @pascalispunk at the a Stevie Nicks concert, I don’t know who I want to be more!!!!

↪️↪️↪️ - Pascalisinlove:

Everyone saying Pedro and Y/N are just friends when all of this exists:

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• play video

'Do you ever look at instagram accounts devoted to you being a heartthrob when you’re feeling down ?'

'Yes, I do,' Pedro immediately burst into laughter.

'What’s your favourite account?'

‘It’s called Pedropascalfanaccount,' he chuckled to himself again, eyes squeezing shut. He regained himself in time. 'Y/N runs that account.'

There was silence in which he tried not to laugh again.

'Does she think you’re a heartthrob?'

Pedro cringed. 'I hope.'

comments:

but this is so normal pedro behaviour

I love Pedro and Y/N together sm, i hope the rumours are true

He's so daddy, need him

Y/N Pascal, I am here for it

↪️↪️↪️↪️ Pascalisinlove:

'K but Pedro Pascal is like this with all his costars.' Pedro being close with Y/N like any other costar:

These headlines:

↪️↪️↪️↪️↪️

One of my favourite moments- y/npascal11

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• play video

The camera's caught you and Pedro standing next to each other as the interview progressed onto how you all bonded on set of the Last of us. She suggested, off-handily, karaoke.

Pedro leaned into the microphone. 'I hate karaoke.'

You chuckled, giving your own answer. 'I'd have loved karaoke, it's quite fun.'

Everyone lost their minds at how Pedro flustered, waving his hands around and desperately grabbing for the microphone. 'I don't mind karaoke, I don't mind it,' he quickly redeemed himself. Everyone loved how he was looking to you for approval. 'With the right company, it can be great- oh, we should go.'

Everyone watching the video lost their minds at how quick an opinion change he had as soon as he realised you liked it.

'We should!' you chuckle, playing along.

The video then played every other interview clip that could be found of Pedro expressing dislike for karaoke. He hated it. But as soon as you said you liked it his whole mind set was changed.

User101: he’s in love omg!!

User102: the way he looks at her

User33: omg internet mommy and internet daddy!!?!

- ⤵️

Pedropascalnumberonefan: this interview is what started it all, the way Paul just brings up Daisy and Pedro can’t stop talking about Y/N!!

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• play video

Pedro and the rest of the cast of Gladitor II sat together, each taking turns holding cards and asking questions, how well do they all know one another.

Paul and Pedro seemed to be having their own competition, privately wanting to beat each other. But whilst privately competing they hadn’t realised just what they were saying:

"Who is my favourite actor?" Pedro asked, biting the lid of the pen off.

Joesph Quinn stroked the boldness of his head. "It’s me right?"

"That you’re my favourite actor?"

"Yeah- you said that to me once."

"I said that you were special," corrected Pedro, grinning to himself before laughing at his own joke. "And special can mean a lot of things."

"Marlon Brando?" Connie suggested.

"Harrison Ford?" Was another by Freddy.

And just as Pedro was gonna accept that answer, Paul said your name.

"Y/n! It’s y/n, y/n!"

Pedro’s grin split his cheeks as he turned his board and showed everyone your scribbled name, a heart jotted down next to it.

Pedro didn’t even care he’d just supplied the fans, he cared he got a point- going for a high five that nobody returned.

And if Pedro and Paul were in a competition for who could name their girls the most, Pedro had the lead very quickly as when Connie was up, asking:

"What is my favourite curse word in Danish?"

Pedro went in with ‘fuck’ which was wrong. Then he tried again with Bastard but he told himself off with that one, mumbling a:

"No that’s y/n’s favourite."

Next to him, Paul laughed.

But Paul came swinging back in the game when Joseph asked:

"What actor do I get mistaken for?"

The question had hardly left his lips when Paul erupted-

"Daisy Edgar Jones! Sometimes,"

"Um, no."

Userp12: PLS!! Jo shut him down so quick

User89: guys this is hilarious

User69: not even ten seconds in and we got a Daisy and Y/n mention

PaulMescalboy: k but do you think Paul is so mad cause Pedro stay winning, like has everyone SEEN the SNL videos

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• play video

Everyone had seen the SNL videos. Not only had you and Pedro done a sketch to express how he is internet Daddy and you were internet Mommy looking after all your children, but then a tiktok had gone viral.

You were walking the red carpet with your assistant, the flashing lights adding to the glamour you carried in every step when you brushed by Pedro.

At first everyone was talking about how they were sure your hand was purposely grazing his ass but then everyone's jaw dropped with how you dragged your hand over the back of his neck. It was such a simple move, so nonchalant that you didn't even look as you did it.

Pedro looked.

Pedro grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it as if there weren't a hundred camera's on the pair of you.

Pedro looked at you like you'd hung the very moon.

He pulled you into him, leaving the microphone to grab you and hug you. Maybe he'd abandon the whole thing just to follow after you like a lost puppy.

But he'd left the microphone and the people in front of their phones with a deep need for love like Pedro loved you. When he muttered a small 'Dios mío'.

-

↪️

Y/nupdates: but do you all remember that time Pedro and Y/N were caught looking after her nephew together BEFORE FILMING FOR THE LAST OF US EVEN BEGAN!! UR HONOUR ITS ALWAYS BEEN THEM

-

↪️↪️

"You really facetime people a lot," said Bella, as they were on camera, discussing The Last of Us and what it was like on set.

Pedro laughed. "Let's facetime someone."

"Y/n?" asked Bella. They didn't even need to take another guess, Pedro's cheeky grin telling all just who he would be face-timing.

"Lets see if she answers me this time," he mumbled as he got your contact up.

Bella continued adding fuel to the fire. "I feel like every time I came into the tent on set, if you weren't with her on set, you'd be talking to her over the phone."

"Oh come on, don't exaggerate- she calls me!" said Pedro, furrowing his brows at the phone screen as he watched your name flicker on his phone. The camera's picked up the scrunch of his face as did Bella.

"You always do that face as well!" Bella pointed out. "When you start a face time call- you always do a little smoulder!"

Pedro chuckled. "I can't see!"

His head snapped down to his phone when the ringing had stopped and you'd picked up his call. He grinned and cheered.

"What the fuck do you want?" you playfully yelled down the phone as Pedro laughed, showing you Bella and showing you off to the camera.

-

↪️↪️↪️

User1: If Pedro went to the Paul school of yearning then Y/N went to the Daisy school of avoiding the damn question.

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• play video

The video played you in your own lie detector test, similar to how Pedro had once been subjected to.

"People call you the mother of the internet," said the lady behind the camera.

You nodded and waited for the rest of it to come.

She slid a picture of Pedro over to you and your cheeks immediately went red. "Is this man your daddy?"

The camera caught you trying to keep it together but you started to laugh, hiding your face as you clearly didn't want the camera's to pick up your blush or your heart rate. "Oh geez- um," you hesitated, but picked up the picture of him. "My god his eyes are gorgeous. I think-"

"True," said the man officiating the lie detector test.

"Thank you," you quickly threw his way before addressing the question. "I think he's everyone's daddy, yeah."

"But is he your daddy?" she repeated.

You tried to think of a way to play it and yet nothing came to mind. "I plead the fifth."

-

You laughed as you finished the video and read the article’s accompanying it and even went back to look at the pictures.

You felt like a fan of yourself and Pedro as you stared at all the evidence on your phone.

Perhaps the most incriminating bit of evidence was the man stirring next to you.

"What have you been laughing about over there?" Mumbled Pedro as his arm wrapped back around your waist, tugging you closer to him again.

You cuddle in, abandoning your phone to the side. "Oh you know, just how much you love me."

Pedro knew immediately as he grumbled, hiding himself in the soft skin of your neck. "That damn video again?"

[I hope you enjoy!! Let me know if you’d like any more Pedro,]

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Two

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, mentions of an autistic meltdown, Lando being horrendously down-bad.

Notes — I love to ramble with ya’ll about my fics, so send me as many asks as you want!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2018

Amelia liked it when the pit garages were like this. Tools neatly racked, screens idle but ready, the scent of fresh tire rubber still hanging in the air — not yet burnt.

Fernando sat on a workbench, sipping his espresso.

She was perched on the same tire she always chose, butter-yellow water bottle in hand. There was enough ice inside to keep her drink cold all day, even under the Abu Dhabi sun. She wore a white cotton dress that would probably be stained with oil by the end of the day — she didn’t care.

"You are thinking too much," he said eventually, voice low, words shaped by the curl of his accent. "I can hear them.”

She turned the bottle slowly between her hands, listening to the ice crash against the insulated metal. “You can’t hear thinking.” She told him. 

"I can when it is this loud," he replied. She frowned, staring at one of the stickers on her water bottle. Either there was a language barrier — or Fernando was some kind of mind reader. “You are worried about the new boys, yes?”

She rounded her shoulders up to her ears in response. 

He shifted slightly, the sound of his espresso cup touching down on the metal bench. “You worry they will not like you. Or not understand you. That they will say stupid things.”

“I don’t care if they like me,” she said automatically, but her voice was too tight around the words. “I just… I don’t want to make them uncomfortable. Because I don’t act the way they will expect, since I’m their boss’ daughter. Or because I don’t always know how to—”

He cut her off with a short sound — not quite interrupting, just catching the sentence before it turned into something more self-deprecating than necessary. “Mi niña,” he said. “You are not responsible for the comfort of two boys. Especially not ones who still trip over their own feet getting into the car.”

She didn’t smile, but the edges of her thoughts softened.

“They come into your garage. You were here first. You are a very helpful addition.” He paused. “And you are never unkind. This is more than most.”

She tightened her grip on her water bottle. “I make people uncomfortable sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he agreed, and his honesty was nice. People always tried to lie to her in a silly attempt to make her feel more normal. “But only the ones who do not listen properly to what you say.” He picked up his espresso again, then added, “And if they do not listen, I will teach them.”

Amelia glanced toward the open garage, where footsteps passed in rapid beats and voices moved in bursts. It was the last race of the 2018 season. Lewis had already secured the Drivers’ Championship. She’d sent a big cake to his house with Well Done for Being Fast written on it. He’d posted a picture on his Instagram, which meant he’d appreciated the gesture.

She glanced at her phone and started chewing on her bottom lip.

Thinking about Lewis only reminded her of the email — unread, unacknowledged — sitting in her meticulously organised inbox.

Toto Wolff had taken it upon himself to email her. From his personal address, not his work one — no “Mercedes” anywhere in sight.

She’d taken one look at the subject line (Unconditional Job Offer / Employment Opportunity) and promptly launched her phone across the room. Miraculously, the screen had survived.

Lewis had warned her more than once that his team principal was interested in her talents. She’d assumed it was flattery. Apparently not.

If her dad ever found out about the email, he’d have a full-blown meltdown — the kind usually reserved for her. A rival team trying to poach his daughter wasn’t just a personal affront; it was a declaration of war.

“Amelia,” Fernando said. 

She didn’t look up right away. 

"Yes?” She asked. 

"Do not worry so much,” he said, tapping the side of his cup. "It ruins the coffee."

— 

The MTC was half-empty, lit with the flat grey light of a British winter morning. Most people were still on holiday. Lando wasn’t most people anymore. 

He tugged at the sleeves of his new team jacket as he walked the corridor past engineering, sneakers squeaking just slightly with each step. It still felt surreal; being here. Not as a junior, not as a maybe, but as a full-time McLaren Formula One driver.

He was so wrapped up in the thrill of it that he nearly walked right past her.

Amelia Brown was crouched beside a cart of sorted telemetry tablets, scanning each one like she was decoding a puzzle, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed unhappily. Her white trainers were smudged, her dark hair pulled back loosely, and her signature butter-yellow water bottle was sat beside her on the floor.

Lando stopped.

“Hey,” he said, a little too loud for how quiet the corridor was.

She looked up, blinked once, then gave a small nod. “Hello.”

Not cold. Not warm either. Just… Amelia. 

“I, uh… I set two alarms now,” he blurted, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “So I’m never late anymore. Not even accidentally, you know?”

She turned her attention back to the tablets. “Okay.” She mumbled, hardly eligible. 

He waited. 

Right. That was it. 

Just okay.

“You know,” he tried to remind her, smiling because he wasn’t sure what else to do with his face, “because you said I lacked discipline and wouldn’t get the promotion if I kept being late.”

“I did say that,” she said, tapping on one of the screens and letting out an almost silent sigh when the screen remained black. “It was a problem.” 

Still nothing. No smile. No teasing. 

Lando cleared his throat. “Right. Well. It’s not a problem now.”

“Good,” she said.

A pause stretched between them. 

Lando rocked back on his heels. “Cool. Alright. I’ll just— I’ll see you around?”

Still, she didn’t look up. “Highly likely.”

He gave a quick nod and turned to go, cheeks warm.

He’d always thought of himself as pretty likeable. People laughed when he wanted them to. He was decent at reading a room — usually. But clearly, none of that meant anything to Amelia Brown. 

As he walked off, he glanced back without thinking. And, like an absolute idiot, he stumbled a little when he saw her absolutely beam at one of the tablets as it flickered to life, screen lighting up her face like something out of a bloody PC World advert.

Jesus Christ. She was fucking pretty.

Not in a flashy, look-at-me way. Just… quietly, properly pretty. The kind of pretty that made his stomach do something proper dodgy. He dragged a hand through his hair, muttering to himself. “Yeah. Sick. Nice one, mate. You’ve got no chance.”

— 

iMessage – Tuesday, 19:47

Lando mate she’s well fit 

Max F. bro 💀

Lando can’t stop staring at her she probably thinks im a right creep

Max F. yeah probably who are you even talking abt

Lando zak’s daughter

Max F.

are you actually brain dead?

you can’t fancy your boss’s daughter, mate

Lando she smiled today not at me but i saw it 

Max F. get a grip

Lando shut up you don’t get it

Max F. it’s a miracle you’ve still got a job 

Lando is this a safe space or what??

Max F. absolutely not you’re delusional, mate she’s so off-limits it’s not even funny

Lando 

🖕

— 

The Browns didn’t really do Christmas — not in the traditional sense. No matching pyjamas, no big family gathering, no chaos in the kitchen over a turkey no one actually wanted. They kept it simple: jazz music, good coffee, and her dad’s usual schtick — “I forgot to buy you anything this year.”

Which was a lie. Obviously.

She found it parked just outside on the driveway. A muted grey, weather-worn 1974 BMW 2002. 

Amelia stood and stared at it for a long time. Long enough that the cold bite of English winter started to seep in through her socks, and the tips of her fingers began to sting.

“Don’t just stand there,” her dad called from the doorway, hands tucked into his dressing gown pockets. “Take a proper look. She’s all yours.”

She took a slow step forward, then another. The car was old, but solid — just the way she liked things. A little rust, some scuffed chrome. It was beautiful. She crouched next to the front fender and ran her hand along the edge, careful, reverent.

“You hate shopping,” she said, still staring at it.

“I didn’t shop,” her dad replied. “I emailed a man named Clive and paid way too much to have him do all the work for me.”

There was a long silence.

She stood, glanced at him, tried — really tried — to meet his eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

He gave a small nod. “You’ll need new tires. And probably a carburettor.”

Her fingers curled tighter around the edge of her sleeves, but this time it wasn’t nerves — it was barely-contained energy. Her thoughts were already whirring; parts lists, toolkits, diagrams, weekends in the garage with grease on her hands and her favourite playlist playing on repeat.

“I— I can order those online,” she said, already calculating delivery times in her head. “And the belts. And the spark plugs. And—” She stopped herself.

He didn’t say anything. Just smiled into his coffee mug that said ‘Worlds Best Dad’ and stepped back inside, leaving her alone with her new car and barely contained excitement.

Her hands started moving at her sides — flapping, stimming, too fast to stop once they began. She shoved them into her pockets, fists clenched tight against the fabric. Closed her eyes.

She took a breath. Let it out slowly.

Old habits died hard. Years at school had taught her to mask her reactions — even the harmless ones — because they made her stand out. Because they made her weird.

She hadn’t just been ignored. She’d been mocked. Not always loudly, but enough to stick. The way she flapped her hands. The way she didn’t make eye contact. The way she talked too much about one thing and not enough about everything else.

There was a reason she’d chosen not to go to university, even though she loved learning. Even though engineering made perfect sense to her in ways people often didn’t.

She could get a degree. She’d probably be good at it.

But it would drain her — the social minefields, the unspoken rules, the overwhelming noise of lecture halls and shared spaces and trying to be something she wasn’t just to fit in.

She’d spent so long trying to pass as normal. To not stim in public. To not talk too much. To not be too much.

Once, a girl in her class had said, in a tone that Amelia guessed was meant to be kind, “At least you’re pretty. You wouldn’t be able to tell that you’ve got, you know… issues.”

She still thought about that sometimes.

How it was supposed to be a compliment.

How it hadn’t felt like one at all.

— 

2019

The lights were off in her dad’s office. Just the soft hum of the monitor on standby, the gentle click of the old wall clock, and the warm, familiar scent of coffee baked into the furniture. She curled up on the old leather couch, knees tucked close to her chest, head resting against the arm. She had her weighted blanket on. Her yellow water bottle was beside her, half-full. The room felt like a safe haven. 

After yesterday, that was all she wanted.

The meltdown had come on fast — she’d been too hot, the lights too bright, someone had changed the layout of the front-desk without warning her, and it had all just spiralled. She hated how quickly she lost herself in the emotions. Hated the looks people gave her when she couldn’t hold it all together.

She’d apologised more than she should have. Her dad told her that she never needed to apologise for being who she was.

The office door opened.

She didn’t move, but her eyes flicked toward the sound. Her dad stepped in first, deep in conversation, and behind him were Carlos and Lando.

“I told you, she’s probably curled up somewhere charging like a phone,” her dad said lightly, then saw her. His voice softened. “Ah. There she is. Amelia — this is Lando. And this is Carlos.”

She blinked. Sat up a little. “I already know Lando.”

Lando almost tripped over his own feet. “Yeah! Yeah, we’ve, uh— run into each other a few times. Around. Just, like—hallways. And stuff.”

He scratched the back of his neck. His face went bright pink.

Amelia stared at him for a moment before she turned her attention to Carlos. “Hello.”

He gave her a small smile. “Hola,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

There was a small pause.

Her dad cleared his throat, cheerful as ever.

“Carlos is one of the good ones,” he said. “No nonsense. I like that in a driver.”

Amelia nodded once. That made sense. She respected no-nonsense people, too.

She tucked her knees back under her chin. “Okay,” she said quietly.

Carlos smiled again, just a little wider this time. Still cautious, but less unsure.

Amelia didn’t return the smile — not because she didn’t want to, but because she didn’t always remember that she had to. Instead, she reached for her water bottle and unscrewed the lid. 

“You retired in Australia,” she said. 

Carlos blinked, then gave a small laugh. “Yeah. Not the best start to the season.”

“It was the power unit,” she shrugged. “Renault engine. Unreliable. It wasn’t your fault.”

Her dad gave a low chuckle. “She doesn’t miss much. Reads through race data like it’s the morning newspaper.”

Carlos tilted his head slightly. “You work with the engineers?” He asked her. 

“I don’t work anywhere,” Amelia said. “But I sometimes sit in on meetings. And I fix things when they’re wrong. Fernando used to let me be in his garage. He said I was very useful.”

“You are useful,” her dad said automatically, from across the room.

She didn’t respond. Compliments were difficult — they always made her feel like she was meant to do something with them, and she never quite knew what.

She looked at Lando. He was already watching her.

She blinked. His eyes widened a little.

She let out a quiet sigh through her nose. She hated not knowing what expressions meant — what came next, what was expected.

“Well, I’ll take all the help I can get,” Carlos said, breaking the silence.

Amelia took another sip of water. The right words settled on her tongue this time.

“You overshot Turn Nine,” she said, turning back to Lando.

He coughed. “I—Yeah. I know.”

“You let off the brake too early. You always do that when you’re nervous.”

Carlos let out a small, choked sound.

She frowned at him. 

Lando shifted. “I don’t always do that.”

“Yes, you do,” she said, turning her attention back to him. “You did it at Monza in 2018.”

“Okay.” He said. His neck was going red. 

“But you’re getting better,” she added. “You were twelfth. That’s good, considering the partial engine fault.”

He looked at her for a second too long. She didn’t know why. Then he said, “…Thanks.”

She nodded once, and then tugged at her blanket. 

There was a quiet pause — the kind Amelia usually didn’t mind. Lando shuffled his feet. Carlos glanced toward the door, then back to her.

“Right then! I’ll come find you later,” her dad said to her. “We’ll get something nice for lunch.”

“Okay.” She agreed. 

Carlos gave her one last polite nod. “See you around, Amelia.”

She didn’t say goodbye, just looked at him, then at Lando. “You should eat more complex carbohydrates before qualifying sessions,” she told him. “You looked quite pale.”

Lando stared at her. “I—yeah. Alright.” He paused, then added quickly, “It was, uh, nice seeing you again.”

She didn’t answer, but her lips pressed together in a way that, for her, was close to a smile.

— 

iMessage – Thursday, 10:51

Lando i’m fucked like properly fucked

Max F. bro come on

Lando she’s unreal and actually insanely smart

Max F. mate this is such a catastrophically bad idea

Lando she remembered i locked up into turn 9 in monza like three years ago i think i’m in love

Max F. you’re not in love you’re having a breakdown

Lando can’t it be both

Max F. lando i’m staging an intervention where’s jon⁉️ does he know you’re acting like this

Lando jon just keeps saying i should be stretching more he doesn’t care about my emotional wellbeing

Max F. he’d start to care if he found out you were thirsting after zak browns daughter 

Lando gonna make her my wifey 😏

Max F. fucksake lando 

— 

Amelia stood behind the screens at the back of the McLaren pit garages, fingers looped through the sleeves of her jacket. She’d already organised the weekend’s tyre allocation list by compound, colour-coded the data feed to match, and adjusted the ride height figures twice. Not because she needed to — just because she could.

It was her first race of the year.

The first time back since before the winter break. 

The new chassis looked better in person than it had in the renders. She liked the way the papaya paint caught the light.

“Amelia,” someone said softly.

She turned her head slightly. One of the engineers — Greg? Grant? She still hadn’t learned his name. She was terrible at remembering names. 

“Telemetry’s live when you’re ready.” He told her. 

She nodded once and moved closer, careful to avoid the cables that trailed across the floor like snakes.

The numbers lit up on the screen in front of her. Speed. G-force. Delta times.

She exhaled, long and slow. 

“Morning.”

She looked up. Lando.

He was already in his race suit, helmet tucked under one arm, hair a mess and half-damp. He hadn’t had time to dry it properly after his shower.

“Hello,” she responded.

“You’re here,” he said, smiling. Then quickly added, “I mean — yeah, obviously. It’s only the third race. But still.”

She tilted her head. “Yes. I’m here.”

A pause. His mouth opened like he was going to say something else, then closed again.

“Okay, cool,” he said finally. “Sick. Um. Good luck out there.”

“I’m not driving,” she frowned at him.

“Right.” He turned and walked straight into a support beam.

Amelia blinked, then returned her attention to the screen.

Lando’s throttle trace was spiky again. She’d make a note of that.

— 

The garage was quieter now. Not silent though. It was never fully silent. Engineers were keeping their voices low. Tools clinked still, but in a less urgent rhythm. Some of the pit crew were already sweeping up debris from the floor. Wiping away a mess that no one wanted to talk about.

Amelia stayed where she always did, behind the screens, legs crossed on the floor like it helped anchor her in place. Her yellow water bottle sat by her knee, half-empty and warm now. She hadn’t drunk much since the race started.

DNFs always left a strange taste in the air. Bitter. Like metal.

She hadn’t seen the full replay yet, but she didn’t need to. Lando’s car had made it twenty-eight laps before something failed; she’d seen the warning signs creeping into the data before the radio call was made. His voice had been clipped. Tired.

The flap of the garage partition opening made her flinch. She didn’t look up. She didn’t need to.

It was obviously Lando. His helmet was gone, race suit peeled halfway down, sweat-damp fireproofs clinging to his arms. He stopped just beside her.

“I’m fine,” he said. His voice cracked a little. “In case anyone’s, you know. Wondering.”

Amelia didn’t respond.

He hovered.

She tapped the edge of her tablet. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Kind of was.” He dropped onto the floor beside her with a groan, back against the wall. “Clipped the kerb weird coming out of six. Probably jarred something.”

“No,” she said. “You were nursing a power unit issue from lap seventeen. You did what you were supposed to.”

He looked at her, then away again, picking at the velcro on his gloves.

She watched him for a second. Tried to decide if she was supposed to say something else. If there was something people usually said in moments like this.

Nothing came.

So she offered the only thing she could give. Facts. “You did better than the data predicted.”

Lando glanced at her. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

She squinted at him. Hadn’t that been obvious? “Yes.”

He smiled a little. Just with the corner of his mouth. “Cheers.”

They sat there in silence for a while. A few people came over to touch Lando’s shoulder and offer him sympathy. His jaw got tighter every time. 

Eventually, she picked up her tablet and started rewatching his onboard. Then she angled it toward him. 

“You’re going to tell me exactly what I did wrong, aren’t you?” he asked.

She nodded.

He let his head thump back against the wall. “Brilliant.”

—

The motorhome had quieted after media duties and the two-hour race debrief. Lando sat slouched on the drivers' lounge sofa, phone in hand, aimlessly scrolling. Carlos was across from him, arms folded, watching with a look Lando had come to recognise: the I know something you don’t want me to know look.

“I need to ask you something,” Carlos said, tone casual. But the accent gave it weight — Som-theeng.

Lando didn’t look up. “No.”

Carlos chuckled. “You don’t even know what I’m gonna say, coño.”

“I do.” Lando groaned. “And the answer is still no.”

Carlos leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You like her.”

“What? No, I—” Lando paused, brow furrowed. “Like who?”

Carlos tilted his head. “Come on. Don’t play dumb, amigo. Amelia. You like Amelia Brown.”

Lando scoffed, shaking his head. “Nah. We’ve barely talked.”

Even he could hear the lie in his own voice.

Carlos raised a silent eyebrow.

“I’m just being respectful!” Lando snapped. “She’s—she’s McLaren royalty, basically. And she knows more about my car than I do half the time.”

Carlos shrugged, eyes sharp. “Sí, she’s smart. And I like her. But...” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “You need to be careful, cabrón.”

Lando’s jaw tensed. “Why? Do you like her? Is that what this is?” The words came out sharper than he intended, something hot and ugly twisting in his gut. Jealousy. Stupid, immediate, and impossible to hide.

Carlos blinked. “Ay, no. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Lando didn’t say anything, but the look on his face said he wasn’t convinced.

Carlos sat back, arms folding again. “She’s not a paddock flirt, okay? She’s not like the grid girls or the influencers who want a selfie and a race pass. She is your boss’ daughter. You screw that up, it’s not just her you lose — it’s your job, your reputation, and the respect of thr whole damn garage. If you haven’t already lost your seat.”

Lando looked away, jaw tight. “Why does everyone act like I’m some... idiot teenager with zero self-control?”

Carlos held his gaze. “Because you are a teenager with zero self-control.”

“I’m nineteen!” He argued. 

“Exactly.” Carlos exhaled through his nose. “So, listen to me. If you’re serious? Fine. But don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.”

Lando looked away, jaw tight. “I’m not a total dickhead, y’know.”

Carlos gave him a long look, then nodded. “Bueno. Just remember what I said.”

Lando muttered under his breath, “Still worth it.”

Carlos groaned, grabbing a cushion off the sofa and chucking it at him. “Ay dios mío. You are so getting yourself fired.”

— 

Amelia was sat on the low wall outside the McLaren hospitality unit, sipping from her water bottle, tablet balanced on her knees.

She heard him before she saw him — Lewis never really moved quietly. Valtteri was beside him. 

“Morning, little genius,” Lewis said, slowing to a stop.

She looked up, blinked once. “Good morning.”

Valtteri gave a small nod. “You’re looking well.”

“I’m fine,” she said, glancing back down at her tablet. 

There was a pause. 

She sighed softly before looking up at them both. “You can tell Toto thank you,” she said, tone even. “For the offer. I appreciate it, but I’m not interested.”

Lewis blinked. “Offer?”

“Yes. The job.” She paused. “I assumed he’d told you.”

Valtteri and Lewis exchanged a glance; surprised, a little caught off guard.

“He didn’t,” Valtteri said slowly.

Lewis folded his arms. “He reached out to you directly?”

She nodded. “From his personal email. Not the Mercedes one.” That felt important.

Lewis let out a low whistle. “Damn. That sneaky bastard.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Amelia went on. “And I’m staying with my team. With my dad. Loyalty is important to me.”

Valtteri raised his brows. Lewis looked at her for a moment longer, then gave a slow nod. “Well, he’ll be disappointed,” he said, voice lighter now.

Amelia shrugged. “He’ll be fine.”

“Guess we’ll just have to beat you on track then,” Valtteri added, grinning.

She frowned down at her tablet screen. “You have a significantly better car than us.”

Lewis laughed. “Yeah. Guess we do.” 

— 

“Miss Brown, I’d like a word.”

She turned, blinked, and then frowned.

The team principal for Renault smiled at her, a little too wide — it was off-putting.

“I’ll just jump straight to it. I think you could be a great asset to our team. We’d love to have someone with your brain power. I could offer you a very generous employment package.” He said. 

She blinked at him. She’d been getting these exact kinds of propositions ever since the season started. Every team, it seemed, was suddenly interested in her ‘brain power’. She wasn’t sure what had changed. Maybe they had followed her on Twitter. 

“I am happy where I am,” she said flatly. “Thank you.” 

The man was still smiling, though it was starting to fade just a little. “Are you sure? We’d be willing to work out a very appealing arrangement for you. It could be a great opportunity.”

She wasn’t interested. She didn’t need to be polite. It didn’t take a lot of effort to walk away from the conversation. She took a step back, her fingers clenching around her yellow water bottle.

As she moved past him, she heard him call after her, but she didn’t stop.

Gosh, she thought to herself, as she made her way back to McLaren motorhome. Could none of them find anyone better than a 19-year-old without a degree?

NEXT CHAPTER

[rafecameronssl4t]

When in Charleston || Drew Starkey x fem!reader

Summary: you have a horrible encounter with one of Drew’s fans out in public.

Warnings: none!

Word count: 1,060

MASTERLIST

You and Drew stroll through the streets of Charleston, the cobblestones beneath your feet felt comforting and gave you a sense of familiarity. You had just arrived in South Carolina to support Drew whilst he was filming the next season of Outer Banks. Layla and Freddie, your lively dogs, bound ahead, their enthusiasm contagious as they sniff at every tree and shrub in their path.

Your arm was wrapped around Drew's waist as his arm rested around your shoulder making you closer to him as the two of you talked about anything and everything, just enjoying each other's company and the quietness of the street. Your peaceful stroll is interrupted when a young woman, probably in her early twenties, catches sight of Drew from across the street.

Her eyes light up with recognition, and she all but sprints towards you, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. You exchange a knowing glance with Drew—this isn’t your first encounter with a fan, and you’ve learned to take these moments in stride. “Hi, Drew!” she exclaims breathlessly, her excitement barely contained. Drew, ever the gentleman, offers her his signature warm smile. “Hey, how’s it going?” he asks, his tone friendly but measured.

The woman doesn’t seem to register his response, already fumbling with her phone. “Oh my god, can I take a picture with you?” she blurts out. Without so much as acknowledging your presence, the woman thrusts her phone into your hands. “Here, take this,” she says bluntly, her tone leaving little room for negotiation. The abruptness catches you off guard, and you hesitate for a moment before muttering, “Uh, okay.”

Drew’s eyebrows knit together slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face, though he masks it quickly. As you position the phone, the fan moves closer to Drew, looping her arm around his waist with a familiarity that makes your stomach tighten. Drew, ever respectful, keeps his hand hovering lightly on her back, his body language stiff. “Make sure it’s good,” she instructs sharply, glancing at you with a dismissive look before focusing all her attention back on Drew.

Drew shifts uncomfortably, clearly irritated by her lack of manners. Her tone is enough to make your cheeks burn, but you force a polite smile and frame the shot, snapping a couple of photos quickly. When you hand the phone back, she snatches it without so much as a “thank you,” her attention already fixed on the screen as she inspects the pictures. Satisfied, she offers Drew a quick, “Thanks!” before walking off, leaving you both standing there in an awkward silence.

Drew lets out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. “She seemed nice,” he mutters, his sarcasm biting. You can’t help but laugh, the tension easing slightly. “Yeah, a real sweetheart,” you reply dryly. “They’re not usually like that, trust me,” he says, his irritation still evident. “It’s fine,” you reply, brushing it off, though the encounter left a small sting. Drew notices, of course, because he always does.

Sliding his arm around your shoulders, he pulls you in closer. “Don’t let it get to you,” he says, his tone softening. Then, with a cheeky grin, he adds, “I didn’t even really smile in the photo. So, joke’s on her.” You can’t help but laugh again, his humour cutting through the awkwardness of the moment. That’s one of the things you love most about Drew—his ability to make you feel better, no matter what.

Later that evening, as the two of you relax at home with Layla and Freddie curled up on the couch, Drew pulls out his phone. Typically, his Instagram is a mix of work updates and occasional behind-the-scenes shots, but tonight, he decides to share something more personal.

drewstarkey

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I don’t usually post things like this, but it feels important to say. I absolutely love meeting you all and am always so grateful for your support—it truly means the world to me. That said, let’s remember to approach these moments with kindness and respect, not just towards me but also to the people who are important in my life. Being demanding, shoving phones in someone’s hands, or disregarding others isn’t the way to go. Let’s keep these interactions positive and memorable for all the right reasons. Much love to every one of you!

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yourusername: 🐶❤

↘️ drewstarkey: love you!

madelyncline: Always so proud of you for standing up for yourself and the people you love. You and Y/n deserve all the respect. imu guys!

↘️ yourusername: miss you more 🥺

alexademie: preach.

hichasestokes: Couldn’t have said it better myself, brother. Love you and your crew! 🙌

user1: You shouldn’t even have to say this, but I’m glad you did. You and your loved ones deserve all the respect in the world 🫶

user2: I seriously don’t understand people who call themselves “fans” and do disrespectful shit like this

user3: Is this about the incident that happened today??

↘️ user4: yup. It’s all over Twitter and tiktok rn

↘️ user5: the “fan” is getting slandered so hard rn

user6: wait I’m so confused. What happened?

↘️ user7: basically a “fan” came up to Drew and Y/n and demanded y/n to take the photo for them and she was just overall rude

user8: so funny how Drew isn’t even smiling in the photo 😭

↘️ user9: HAHAHAHHA I WANNA SEE THIS PIC

↘️ user10: it’s on TikTok!!

[rottencherrypie]

R-18+; Another (Thorin x Reader)

Summary - The dwarven king is determined to make his seed take again.

Warnings - Smut, language, afab!reader, fem!reader, fingering (reader receiving), mention of a womb, female genitalia (reader), bodily fluids, implied previous smut, dom/sub undertones, slight dom!Thorin, "good girl" is used, heavily implied previous pregnancy, breeding kink, overstimulation, implied following sex.

Pronouns & POV - None, third-person

Word Count - 700+ (a short one)

A/N - Another one from the suggestion box on my Instagram! (I am trying to polish up the form a bit, and get through the current suggestions before I post it on here too!) "would love a thorin blurb with fingering. maybe breeding kink too." — (anonymous) I hope this lives up to what you envisioned, sweet one! The only descriptions used for the reader are that their lips are swollen from kissing, their ass is round, and their skin is referred to as "delicate". (I had no idea what to put as the header, so I did a pomegranate and flowers because they are associated with fertility?) Pure smut below the cut!

Read on AO3 Read on Wattpad

The bitter mountain air nipped at your exposed, quivering flesh as the sounds of your exhausted mewls danced throughout the air. A stream of drool cascaded out of the corner of your kiss-swollen lips, dripping down your chin and staining the silken sheets beneath you. Though, the sheets had seen far more within the past hour, stained with the essence of your pleasure and the spilt seed of the dwarven king.

"Shh, shh," The sudden heat of his breath against the exposed flesh of your arse made a shiver roam down your spine, furthering the quivering of your exhausted legs as his rough, calloused hands began to caress the roundness of your buttocks softly. "you must relax if it is to take." The king cooed as the thickness of his fingers delved into your exhausted, sensitive hole.

A fullness that made your nails dig into the smooth fabric beneath you, piercing into the silken sheets and nearly tearing it from the seams as the hot, stickiness of the dwarf's cum was pushed deeper into your aching walls.

"Thorin..." His name left your lips in an exhausted mewl, the corners of your eyes staining with tears. The weight of your chest sunk further into the mattress, further pressing your arse into the air as his thick fingers continued to push inside of you—curling up against your most sensitive spot, forcing another strained sound of pleasure from your soft lips. "...too much...can't...gonna..." A string of nonsensical words fell from your lips, a mixture of a desperate plea for the dwarf to give you a moment of recovery and a cry to continue as that familiar tingle began to spread throughout the pit of your stomach.

"Shh, shh," The dwarven king softly hushed you, yet his fingers continued to move within. The pace at which his hand moved was slow yet calculated—lulling you into a false sense of stability before his fingers spread apart, stretching your inner walls for a moment before quickly snapping back together. "just one more. I know you can give me another." He cooed. His tone dripped with false affection, knowing all too well he was pushing you to your limits—but he didn't care. What the king wanted, the king got—and he wanted you to cum again, just how he wanted you round with another child.

"Be a good girl for me and let it happen." He continued, as did the motions of his fingers inside you. They ranged in variation: one moment curling against your spongy spot, while the next, they scissored against your quivering walls. There was no rhyme or reason for the lack of pattern—he just wanted to watch you squirm. And squirm you did as he suddenly pressed his thick, calloused thumb against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

It tingled, nearly burnt, as the weight of his thumb pressed against your clit—tracing slow circles upon it as your hips mindlessly bucked into his palm. If you were to raise your head from the plushness of the bed and look back at the dwarf, you would see how a smug grin curved upon his thin lips as your wet walls clenched around his fingers—your cunt's desperate plea for release.

Within a matter of breaths, the sound of your muffled cries of pleasure filled the air. The essence of your pleasure gushed out of your aching cunt, coating the king's hand and forearm with its wetness.

"That's it." The king would coo, pressing a kiss upon the middle of your back as his free hand slid to the front of your lower abdomen. Resting right above where a babe would soon grow, keeping you steady as he pushed the remnants of his seed deeper within your walls—as if he was attempting to shove it up to your womb. "It will surely take." His words vibrated against your back as he pressed another kiss upon your skin; the harshness of his beard rubbing against your delicate flesh sent another tingle throughout your body.

"And if it does not?" You managed to question, your mind still in a daze from the endless hours you had spent being pumped full to the brim with the king's seed. Inner walls sore and likely bruised, sheets stained with the few droplets that spilt out from your warmth. "And if it does not," The king began, raising his head from your back—his beard grazing against your skin as the bed groaned at the shifting weight. "then we have all spring to make it take."

It was not a suggestion; it was a promise.

[starkwlkr]

just a girl | f1

an: this is me asking for your letterboxd pls i need letterboxd mutuals 🤭 my account is deadpunks also made the reader have glasses because we need more glasses representation in fanfics 😔 (to the girlies that wear glasses, this is for you!!!)

Las Vegas Grand Prix Weekend

“What movie did I watch?” Y/n read the comment that a fan left on her instagram live. She adjusted her glasses and smiled. “I just finished ‘Drop Dead Gorgeous’ it’s so underrated. The cast is so iconic like you have Kirsten Dunst, Brittany Murphy, Denise Richards, Amy Adams and Allison Janney in one movie. It’s definitely in my top four.”

It was hours after qualifying and Y/n was exhausted, but all she wanted to do was finish watching her movie. Unfortunately for her, the movie she had just named wasn’t anywhere on streaming so she brought her portable dvd player and a stack of dvds. When Lando saw her watching a movie and crocheting a scarf for herself in her garage, he laughed at the scene. He actually found it adorable.

“What’s my letterboxd? Okay, listen. . . I don’t give it out to just anyone so this is between you lovely people and me, okay? My letterboxd is ilovecillianmurphy420 and please follow me, I am desperate,” Y/n laughed. She then took her phone and saw all the new follower notifications from letterboxd. “I’m going to ask the social media admin to ask everyone on the grid for their four favorites. Lando is definitely going to name animated movies. That or he’ll forget what a movie is and say nothing.”

What’s your four favorites?

“Whoever your asked for my four favorites, I’m blocking you. How dare you ask me that question . . . Paddington 1 and 2, Saw and Mamma Mia. I know I said drop dead gorgeous was in my top four, but I lie all the time.”

The next day, her letterboxd account had become the second most followed account.

INSTAGRAM

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yourusername just watched the masterpiece that is jackass number two

formulaupdating can i ask why you don’t post about f1 that often?

yourusername no you may not

oscarpiastri i was there too

yourusername ok

landonorris didn’t you watch that last week?

yourusername this is my own private domicile and i will not be harassed

landonorris ?

yourusername bitch

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After The Race / Interviews

Y/n hated being interviewed, it was the absolute worst thing on earth. No wait, forgetting her AirPods was the worst thing, but interviews were right behind that. She was exhausted and now she had to deal with reporters asking her what she thought about the championship battle.

Her fingers brushed the strap of her cap nervously as the interviewer’s voice cut through her anxiety.

“Y/n, P7 today—solid result. How are you feeling?" The reporter asked.

Y/n blinked, her eyes flicking around as she tried to process the question, and then her gaze landed on her own shoes. She cleared her throat awkwardly, looking up only to meet the camera for a brief, uncomfortable moment.

“Uh, yeah. It, uh . . . it was. . . good. I mean . . . yeah, I’m happy with it, I guess," she mumbled, her voice faltering.

The reporter smiled kindly, already used to the shy responses. “What do you think made the difference here in Vegas?" He waited patiently for Y/n’s answer.

Y/n’s lips parted as she prepared an answer, but the words tangled up in her brain. She shifted from foot to foot, adjusting her grip on the cap. Fuck, why can’t you think of anything?!, she thought to herself. “Uh . . . I don’t know . . . it’s just . . . uh, a little . . . weird, with all the lights and, you know, the . . . Strip, and, um . . .” Her voice trailed off.

The interviewer gave her a soft chuckle, understanding that Y/n’s awkwardness wasn’t lack of confidence, but rather a product of her introverted nature. Before the interview could go on, two figures appeared behind Y/n.

Oscar had cut in, Y/n’s pair of glasses in his hand. He placed a hand on her shoulder and handed the glasses to her while Lando ruffled her hair. She happily accepted them and placed them on her face.

“Alright, alright,” he said with a grin, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve tortured her enough, mate.”

Y/n let out a relieved sigh as she turned to Oscar, who gave her a small, reassuring smile. “You’re doing great, really,” he said quietly, his tone meant to ease her nerves.

Lando then spoke up. “Are we done with the interrogation? She's literally about to disappear into her own head if we keep this up."

The reporter chuckled. “I was just asking Y/n about her performance today.”

Y/n hadn’t even noticed that she had completely abandoned the interview. She had started doodling on Oscar’s hand. The Aussie had given her the pen he had used from a fan when he was signing autographs. It was their thing. Whenever she would get nervous and Oscar was around, he would let her draw on his hand. Somehow the hand doodles calmed her.

“Right, Y/n?”

That’s when she picked up her head and noticed Lando was staring at her. “Sorry, what?”

“The race,” Lando reminded her. “She was brilliant out there. Absolutely nailed it.” Y/n didn’t have the words to argue. Instead, she ducked her head, feeling both embarrassed and grateful.

The three drivers said their goodbye to the reporter and walked away. Lando threw an arm over Y/n’s shoulder, grinning. “You know, for someone who hates interviews, you’ve got a hell of a lot to say . . . just not when it’s on camera.”

Y/n’s lips twitched into a small smile, and she felt a brief wave of gratitude for her friends’ protective camaraderie. She glanced at Oscar, who gave her a knowing nod, his usual quiet confidence offering her a sense of calm.

“You guys are unbelievable.” Y/n laughed lightly.

“Yeah well you’re the idiot who’s going to have to deal with us.” Lando replied.

“Unfortunately.” She teased.

“The idiot with the crocheting skills and silly little film reviews that are very popular on the box app.” Lando added.

“What?” Y/n stopped walking and stared at Lando. She looked over at Oscar for an answer, but the Aussie just shrugged his shoulders.

“I do believe our dear Y/n wants a hot priest?” Lando teased, bringing up Y/n’s lastest letterboxd review about Fleabag. “That’s a bit scandalous, don’t you think?”

“Hot priest?” Oscar couldn’t believe Lando had just said those two words together.

“You two don’t get it! Come on, we’re watching Fleabag!”

[meazalykov]

yapper

barca femeni x reader

part one - part two here

summary: you always had something to say

warnings: angst, online hate

you've always been the one to fill the quiet. 

if the locker room was silent, you’d throw out a joke. sometimes so bad it would have everyone laughing just because of how ridiculous it was. your teammates loved you for it—or at least you thought they did. 

you didn’t want anyone to sit in nervous energy before a big game. you wanted everyone to feel at ease, to smile, to believe they could take on anything since this was literally barcelona– of course the best club in the world could handle anything. 

“why are you so loud?” mapi teased one day after you cracked a pun about her tattoos during a media day. 

you grinned at her. 

“because someone has to keep this team awake. what would you do without me? shit, i don’t know how you survived without me for long.”

“probably enjoy the peace and quiet,” she shot back, but the grin on her face told you otherwise. 

you knew mapi got all the credit for being the talker of the group, but you easily topped her in that department. kika often joked that you had a built-in microphone, always on and ready to broadcast. 

yet, despite all the jokes, you never felt like it was too much. not until recently. 

training sessions at barça were something you relished, even on your worst days. being surrounded by alexia, kika, and esmee—your closest friends on the team—always made it feel less like work. 

alexia was like a big sister, always ready to listen. kika was your partner-in-crime, teasing you relentlessly, but never crossing the line. esmee? she was your rock, her quiet presence balanced your constant energy, grounding you in ways you didn’t think anyone could. 

after a long training session one evening, you found yourself alone on the practice pitch. penalties were your weak spot, and you wanted to fix that. you lined up the ball, took a deep breath, and sent it toward the net. it hit the post.

“what are you doing here so late?” alexia’s voice startled you.

you jumped, clutching your chest dramatically. 

“you scared me! i could’ve died.”

she smirked, arms crossed as she walked closer. 

“you didn’t answer my question.”

“what are you doing here?” you tried to deflect.

“i asked first.”

rolling your eyes, you motioned to the ball. 

“penalties. i suck at them.”

alexia raised a brow. 

“you’re not even one of the main takers.”

“exactly! that’s why i suck! i need to be better in case i ever have to take one, you know what if you frido or ewa are not available?” you rambled, launching into an explanation of all the ways penalties terrified you. 

alexia didn’t interrupt, just watched you with that calm, almost maternal expression she always had. 

“you’re overthinking it,” she finally said, cutting through your spiral. 

“just keep practicing. you’ll be fine.”

her reassurance helped more than you wanted to admit. alexia had that effect on people, like she could carry all your worries on her shoulders and not even flinch. 

a few days later, you stopped by esmee’s apartment, where she was curled up on the couch with her girlfriend, dani. the sight of them together tugged at something in your chest, a reminder of what you used to have with emily. 

“finally over her,” you announced as you plopped down beside them, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on esmee’s lap. 

“who?” danielle asked, clearly out of the loop. 

“emily,” esmee filled in. “her ex.”

“oh, good for you,” danielle said with a smile through her dutch accent. 

“it’s about time, right?”

you laughed, nodding. 

“yeah, it only took me almost a year.”

however, later that week, you saw something that made your chest tighten all over again. scrolling through instagram, you stumbled upon a photo of emily with another girl, their smiles wide and carefree in north london. 

it shouldn’t have mattered. you were over the woman three years your senior. however, it stung in a way you didn’t expect. 

then came the champions league quarterfinal against bayern munich. the mistake was small—a misplaced pass, a missed mark—but pernille made you pay for it with a screamer that tied the game. 

1-1. 

after the game, you did your best to shake it off, smiling for the cameras, joking with alexia and frido. you thought you’d done well hiding your disappointment. 

the internet didn’t let it slide. 

“y/n talks too much. maybe she should focus on her game instead.”

“doesn’t she get tired of hearing her own voice?”

“the team probably wishes she’d shut up for once.”

the comments were harsh, cruel, and loud in your mind. you tried to brush them off, but the words stuck, clinging to you like thorns. 

the next day at training, you were different. quieter. focused. when kika asked if you were okay, you only nodded, too afraid that anything you said might annoy someone. 

“you sure?” she pressed.

you nodded again, forcing a small smile. 

“weird,” she muttered under her breath, walking away. 

alexia and aitana exchanged glances, both noticing the shift. esmee tried to pull you into a conversation during a water break, but you only offered short replies, your usual energy gone. 

that night in the locker room, after everyone else had left, you stayed behind, the weight of it all finally crashing down on you. in the showers, the tears came hard and fast, your shoulders shaking as you tried to keep quiet. 

though the locker room echoed, and when you emerged, changed and ready to leave, alexia, kika, esmee, and ellie were waiting for you. 

“we heard you crying,” kika said softly, her eyes full of concern. 

“what’s going on?”

you hesitated, swallowing hard. 

“nothing.”

“don’t lie,” alexia said, her voice gentle but firm. 

“i don’t…” you trailed off, taking a deep breath. 

“i don’t want to annoy you guys.”

they all looked at you like you’d grown a second head. 

“annoy us?” esmee asked, incredulous. 

“i talk too much. i saw what people were saying online, and… maybe they’re right.”

“y/n,” alexia started, stepping closer. 

“we love you. all of us. you make this team better, not worse.”

“you think we don’t look forward to hearing your ridiculous jokes every day?” kika added, her tone light but sincere. 

“you’re the reason we laugh half the time.”

“is that mistake against bayern bothering you?” ellie chimed in. “it happens to everyone. it doesn’t define you.”

their words broke through the wall you’d built, and before you knew it, they were pulling you into a group hug. 

“promise us you won’t let those comments get to you again,” alexia said, her hand on your shoulder. 

you nodded, sniffling. 

“i promise.”

“good,” kika said, grinning. 

“now, what were you going to say about the athletic club match?”

and just like that, you found yourself rambling again. they listened, laughing and teasing you like always, reminding you that this was where you belonged. 

part two here

[edwardslvrr]

THAT'S MY GIRL ☆ rafe cameron

✦　　　.　　a look at reader's instagram and rafe cameron being whipped for his girl

AUTHOR TALKING -> requests for this storyline are always welcome babes, enjoy princess & rafe x

𓂃⋆.˚ yourname’s new post

⚲ Kitty Hawk, Outer Banks NC

liked by rafecameron, sarahcameron and 1928 others

yourname lovely day with you 💕

𖤘 rafecameron

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┃ liked by yourname

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𓂃⋆.˚ yourname’s new post

liked by rafecameron, username and 1293 others

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𖤘 rafecameron

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rafecameron i love you so much, pretty girl

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⤿ rafecameron i’m not afraid to cut your dick off so fuck off

𓂃⋆.˚ yourname’s new post

liked by rafecameron, username and 1873 others

yourname i only love golf because of the tight shorts

𖤘 rafecameron

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rafecameron love that outfit on you

topperthornton last time i golf with him, only looking at you didnt even care about the game

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⤿ yourmom take care of her❤️

⤿ rafecameron always ma’am!

𓂃⋆.˚ yourname’s new post

⚲ La Manzanilla, Jalisco, Mexico

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yourname favorite vacation 🇲🇽

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rafecameron anything with you is my favorite

⤿ yourname love of my life 🤍

sarahcameron had so much fun!!

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rafecameron could look at you all day and never get bored

rafecameron perfect 😍

TAGLIST -> @inthelibrarybtw @bradshawed

TAGLIST -> comment on this post to be added to my rafe cameron taglist

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[darnell-la]

Can you do a follow up with the project x!wolverine x government employee!reader (it can be smut or not I just really like that story)

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗕𝗥𝗢𝗞𝗘 𝗢𝗨𝗧 (ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ)

pairing: project x!logan howlett x government employee!reader

warnings: tied up, trapped, sniffing, hunting down, roughly fucked against a tree, pinned, choking, “dragged” through the woods, fucked on the patio, ass slapping, hair pulling, etc.

note: we will be making a part three where they contact Charles's school for mutants to warn them about the government, but the government hacked into their call and found out where Logan was hiding out and keeping y/n.

Logan will be more sweet in the next one as y/n grows out of the fear of him.

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

when y/n woke up, she was dangling from the ceiling by her wrists. It took her a while to realize, she was in a basement full of big freezers and sinks. For a second, she thought she was going to be cut up and frozen to feed to whoever until she saw a man sitting on the stairs, leading upstairs.

“W-Where am I?” Y/n said, voice coming out lower than she expected it to. “Home,” the man spoke before getting up. He came out of the light, now shaking off the figure.

He was shirtless, yet had jeans on. Her heart skipped a beat, and she didn’t know why. Was it because Project X had her tried up in god knows where, or was it the fact she could see all of his chest?

He was sweaty, hairy, ripped, muscles flexed every once in a while, veins popping from his skin and smooth.

“It’s passed midnight, but I bet you’re hungry. Went to the store then cooked us up some food,” he spoke as her eyes traveled all over his body. She felt like she was in a trance.

“Up here, princess,” his voice was closer. She didn’t notice how close he was until his fingers lifted her chin. Even though her feet were a few inches from the ground, he was still towering over her.

“You hungry?” He asked with a head tilt. “Let me go,” she spoke, not knowing what else to say. “No,” he spoke back, voice sounding stern. She could hear the seriousness behind his tone.

“And if you try runnin’ you’ll regret it,” he said, body now touching hers. Y/n quickly went to kick him right between his legs, but he knew what was coming. He surprised her by pulling her leg to the side of his waist. She went to use the other, but he did the exact same thing.

“Relax, princess,” the man smirked down at her as she tried wiggling away, but doing so made her cunt rub up and down his clothes length. She prayed he wouldn’t notice, but he felt the wet spot soaking into his jeans.

“If you act good, I’ll fix that for you,” the man whispered in her ear, pulling her body closer to his. Y/n held bad the whine she almost let out. What was he doing to her?

Logan eventually pulled back and walked to the corner of the room to lower her rope. He then walked back over to the girl as she looked down, not knowing what to say or do to the man.

He wasn’t giving off any type of serial killer vibes. He didn’t seem like he wanted to do any kind of killing. A part of her felt saved than she’d ever had, especially because of her job, but she felt off just letting this man win what he wanted. And that was her.

After y/n’s hands dropped from the ropes, she lifted her knees and connected with his groin. The man fell to the ground in pain as she pushed past him, running up the stairs.

The slightly frightened girl ran towards the front door, thinking she was free until she noticed a device on the lock that needed a code. “Fuckin’ hell,” she shouted before running around the rest of the house to find another way.

“You ain’t gettin’ outta here, bub!” Logan yelled from downstairs, finally getting up from the ground. You would think a mutant like him wouldn’t feel that pain, but he did.

Y/n panicked, thinking she was doomed until she had an idea. A stupid one which she slightly felt bad for doing but she did it anyway.

“Son of a bitch!” Logan finally made it up the stairs to the sound of glass breaking. She was out and running for her life, knowing he’d be furious about his genitals and glass.

Y/n ran as fast as she could through the woods, a bit terrified of the dark and animal noises, but the real animal was back at that house. He is an animal, right? That’s what they said he was.

Y/n had stopped after a few minutes to catch her breath. He’s never been the kind to run.

As she rested, she looked down at her feet, swing scratches and blood, but she’d get over it. She needed to get away.

As the young woman went to take a step to continue, she heard a noise behind her. She quickly looked back but saw nothing. Maybe it was a squirrel or something, she thought.

Y/n turned back around to start walking until he saw the view of an angry Logan in her face. “Where ya goin, bub?” He asked. Y/n instantly screamed at his presence.

Before she could move, the man tangled her to the ground, pushing his hand down the middle of her back to pin her into the dirt.

“No!” Y/n fought in anger, thinking she was actually going to escape. “When I said no, you ain’t listen, now didn’t you?” The man said through his teeth as he forced her to dress up.

“Logan, please! N-Not out here, not out here!” She begged, thinking people would be able to hear this scene going on and go and check, just to see her getting drilled into the ground.

“No one’s out here, princess. Not for another mile or so — You’re all mine out here,” the evil low laugh he let out as he pulled his jeans down was insane. He hadn’t even pulled himself out of his boxers. He wanted to take his time with her out here.

Y/n tried kicking her legs, but what was the point? He could smell her leaking down her folds. He knew she wanted this, and he was going to make her understand.

“I said, no!” Y/n shouted as she swung her elbow back as hard as she could, making him fall back. Y/n crawled away, but only a few inches to look back at him. The fear that grew inside of her was unbelievable.

Logan‘s jaw was dislocated. She popped his jaw.

Y/n’s words got stuck in her throat. She wanted to apologize as the man slowly looked up. He didn’t mean to hurt him. She’s not like that.

Before she could open her mouth, Logan popped his jaw back in place with his hand before moving it around to make sure it was normal.

“You fucked up, bub,” the man said before crawling towards her. It didn’t even look like a crawl. How did he do that? Logan lifted the girl up by her neck and pinned her to the closest tree.

“Ow!” She cried out, feeling the tree bark scratched her ass through her thin and silky nightgown. God, she needed to change soon.

“Logan, ow!” She hoped he’d have sympathy for her, but the way his eyes looked, he was far from it. He wanted to teach her a lesson, and that’s what he was doing.

“N-No, no!” She pushed at the man’s hand, but that did nothing. He ripped her nightgown off like a strand of hair. “Logan!” She shouted, feeling the breeze on her body until his body rubbed against hers.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” Logan growled as he pulled himself out of his jeans. “I don’t like that,” he had as he shifted up and between y/n’s legs until they were lifted off of the ground. Her toes barely touched the dirt.

“I-I can't, Logan,” y/n remembered how he fucked her the last time, and he wasn’t even angry at her. Logan let out a chuckle that he soon cut off after he slammed up into her cunt.

Y/n cried loudly as her arms gripped his shoulders. Logan stared directly at her, his face seemed too serious to look at. He was angry. Very angry. But why? It’s not like the pop in his jaw hurt like any other thing her went through?

“P-Please,” she choked as he pushed her neck into the tree harder, just to get a reaction out of her. “Shut the fuck up,” the man said like the tree wasn’t about to break or come out of the ground from how hard he was pounding into her.

“I can’t,” she whined in pain, but too much pleasure to not tighten around him. The way she squeezed him, egged him on further.

“Oh, you can’t? Does it look like a give a fuck? Huh!? Does it!?” He spat as his pelvis roughly slapped against her clit. She couldn’t think straight. This man was fucking her like some wild animal in the woods. She’s literally being fucked by an animal in the woods.

“F-Fuuuck,” y/n dragged with a broken moan. Logan let her neck go and used both of his hands to grip and hold onto her legs, keeping her up and against the tree, not caring how much she scratched at his shoulders and chest.

The man growled in her ear, cock slipping in and out of her entrance as her asshole puckered. He was huge and slagging around like he wasn’t.

Y/n couldn’t say, but her broken cry warned him she was cumming, and when she did, it was hard. “Goddamnit — Fuck,” the man grunted, pinning his feet to the ground to keep up his hard abuse.

“So fuckin’ good — Fuck!” The man couldn’t keep himself together as his nails dug, into her thighs. Y/n was now crying, not because she was scared, but because of the overstimulation followed by a thrust that wouldn’t slow down.

“Yeah? Yeah, is that the spot, baby?” He asked, knowing it was. “Think this is over just because you came? Think ima stop because you’re drunk on my cock? How did that go last time?”

The girl shook her head, half ass answering his questions. “So cute,” the man chuckled before pulling y/n off of the treat and throwing her over his shoulder to give her a small break.

He wanted his fresh meet alive and functioning when he fucked filled her up. Last time he didn’t get that chase, but he swore to god he would this time.

Because she ran so far, he had to walk it, giving y/n some time to come to life. “Lo-“ y/n cut herself off, still having trouble speaking, but held herself well enough for him to understand.

“No more,” she begged, but he wasn’t having it. “Please, no more,” she begged again as she noticed him passing his car parked several feet from his cabin.

“Logan!” She shouted, now kicking and screaming again. The man grew angry but wanted to take her to the bedroom for what he was about to lay on her.

“Logan!” She shouted, gripping onto the side of his house which was a long wooded stand. “Y/n, stop it!” He let her down with a shout as he began pulling her, but she wouldn’t budge and he didn’t want to accidentally rip her arms off.

“No!” She screamed before he finally pulled her off, causing her to fall on the front steps in front of his house. The way she fell and landed on her hands and knees made him say, fuck it.

“You wanna be fucked like an animal? Fine,” he said as he came up behind her, pulling his cock back out before plunging into her, earning a scream that made him know he hit the right spot instantly.

Logan grew an evil smile across his face as he tugged on her hair, making her arch her back before slapping at her ass, causing her to bruise lightly.

“Little sluts get treated like slut, y/n. You could’ve be fucked nice and sweet on the bed earlier, but no — You wanna run,”

Y/n’s mouth slacked as her eyes crossed from how hard the man was pounding on her. “You see that, bub? Look right up there, right into that camera,” he forced her to look at his security.

“Gonna tie you down and make you watch how dumb you look on my dick,” the man spat, making y/n feel the burn in her eyes, but not from embarrassment. From too much pleasure.

“Yeah — Yeah,” the man repeatedly groaned as y/n squeezed him with a shake in her body. “So fuckin’ pathetic, I might have to give you back,” Logan said, knowing he’d never do such a thing. “Nah,” he added drill in her head that she ain’t goin’ nowhere.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ / ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ, sᴍᴜᴛ ᴏɴʟʏ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ғᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ sᴏᴏɴ...