#I would like to stop being for a little bit

[chososcutie]

⟡ ݁₊˚⊹ SWEETHEART, SORRY IM LATE, I WAS LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ synopsis♡: when one fateful day leads to you being cursed, you go on a mission to find the infamous satoru gojo and his castle, but little do you know you’d find yourself in his bed later that night..

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ featuring♡: satoru gojo x reader

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ tags♡: unprotected sex, riding, oral (fem!recieving), mating press, praise, making out, p in v, cervix kissing, big dick gojo!

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ a/n♡: howl’s moving castle is my favorite studio ghibli film ever, so you already know i had to write a fanfic about it!

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ w/c♡: 4.5k

"oh, darling won't you come out of that hat shop with us, you're truly overworking yourself!"

you smile softly, eyes flickering over to where your expectant sisters stood watching you, before looking back at the vibrant purple hat you had been working on, threading through with flowers. "oh no, i couldn't. you all go ahead, though."

they giggle softly at your reply, already well-acquainted with your firm work ethics and habits of almost never leaving the shop, tossing a, "suit yourself!" over their shoulders.

and as the door closes behind them, leaving you to stare at all of the colorful creations of caps littering your desk, you sigh, leaning back to take them all in.

maybe you had been working too hard..

being the eldest daughter of your family, you had been entrusted with the shop from a young age, making and sewing up hats for a living. it had been your father's, though now had been passed down to your mother, who had appointed you as an apprentice, although you were practically the only one who crafted and fabricated everything, and though the work was quiet and calming, it did tend to get rather boring at times.

the interior of the shop was tiny and just a bit cramped, every available surface being taken by assortments of feathery, patterned hats in almost every color. brown, old, and creaking rows of shelves surrounded your working area along with coatracks dipping under the weight of all the caps resting on them.

and though it wasn't much, it was yours.

you continued working for another hour, listening to the rickety clock on your wall tick tick tick away, with an impending sense of dull weariness.

was this all you were ever meant to do?

finally, you push back in your chair with a squeak! decidedly grabbing your hat and plucking it on your head, locking and closing the shop door with a resolute slam.

you would get out and see the town to clear your head. it wasn’t good to lock yourself away in the shop for too long, so you needed to breathe some fresh air before you started working again, and find some inspiration.

and so, you venture out through the hustle and bustle of crowded markets, trains whistling and blowing gray smoke as they chuff along, and the bumping of carriages along stoney paths.

the air grows thick with the amount of people thronging around you, spilling heedlessly in countless directions, and after more than one person gets in your way and abruptly stops, you huff, veering off toward a side alleyway.

it wasn't ideal but it would just have to..

bump!

“hey, what’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone? you lost, sweetheart?”

a slightly heavier set, blonde man leaned in front of you on a wall, blocking your path. he smiled down at you condescendingly, but it lacked any actual warmth, all teeth instead.

“n-no sir, i’m not lost.” you manage to stammer out, trying to duck past him, but seemingly out of nowhere his companion sidles up next to him, bumping his hip and peering down at you, his mean brown eyes and thick mustache seeming menacing in the dim lighting.

“you sure?” his friend snickers, one gloved hand reaching for your side and spinning you around to press against his chest, a sinisterly unfamiliar cologne surrounding and practically suffocating you with its intensity. “why don’t we show you the way home?”

“leave me alone!” you gasp out, trying to break free from their suddenly too-tight grip on you.

“there you are sweetheart, sorry i’m late, i was looking everywhere for you.”

your body stiffens as a large, warm hand comes to grasp gently at your wrist, tugging you away from the two men, and spinning you around to lay eyes on the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

his eyes were azure colored and half-lidded, his voice low and resonant throughout the empty alleyway. he was dressed extravagantly with a poofy white button-up and red and black pattered overcoat flowing loosely behind him, and as his eyes meet yours, something warm twinges in your stomach, the feeling spreading all down your body hotly.

his gaze flickers away to the men still stood there, as if noticing them for the first time, and something about him sharpens, voice noticeably colder. “oh? and what are you two doing?”

"hey, we were just.." the blonde one's voice raises indignantly, trying to pull you back to them with a hasty tug.

"leaving." the blue-eyed man behind you finishes, his other hand lifting to raise his pointer finger and slice it to the side, causing the two men to immediately break into a march, boots landing heavily as they stomp away in sync.

"wha.. how did you?" you stare up at him in wonder, his own flicking down to your face with a small little smirk tugging at his lips.

"magic. now hang on!"

before you can even reply, he's grabbing you by the hand, and lifting you effortlessly up, up, up, into the sky, floating alongside him high above the town, all the people below you seemingly tiny dots scattered around the vibrant landscaping.

"oh!" you exclaim, fearfully clinging onto him as you feel weightless, the air whooshing below and around you.

"straighten your legs, it's okay.." the white-haired man whispers to you playfully, hands curling protectively around you. "now, start walking andd.. see! you're a natural!" he laughs softly at your hesitant steps into the air, growing more confident as he holds you up with ease.

the ground becomes a blur as you match each other's steps, airily floating as if it were any other day, coasting in sync as colors whirl below you in a mess of banners and flags.

"so, where ya headed?" the man's sultry, honeyed tone interrupts you as you quickly turn to glance at him, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

"oh, i.. uh.. just the hat shop."

so much for your day out.

"hmm, a hat maker you are?" you follow his eyes to where they linger on your simple little sun hat adorned with red ribbon.

"something like that.."

he smiles as he glides over to the small overlooking balcony outside your workshop, helping you down easily, your wide eyes gazing up at him as he prepares to leave again.

"make sure to be more careful next time you're out, mmkay? not everyone around here is quite as gentlemanly as me." his tousled, snowy white hair billows around him as he grins down at you teasingly.

" 'kay.." you nod shyly, and he begins to back up, smile widening.

"good girl."

and blowing a kiss to you, he jumps back off the balcony, eliciting a small gasp from you as you instantly rush over to press yourself against it, straining for a better look.

but he's already gone, practically dissipated into thin air.

with a tired sigh, and a combing of your fingers through messy hair, you lock the door to your shop with a click! before slumping down to the floor.

it had been a long day, and just as you're starting to relax, you hear a small, telltale tinkling of the bell that hangs above your door, alerting you when new customers arrive.

"hello? sorry ma'am we're closed right now." you start to stand up, noticing the woman in front of you, her face slightly flushed and eyebrows scrunched, as if in anger.

her figure is awfully plump, with a round, chubbed neck and doughy arms that hang out of her dress like deflated balloons.

her makeup is done rather sharply, as if made to look intimidating with hooked eyeliner and boldly colored eyeshadow, all accompanied by rouge red lipstick and a mole on the side of her mouth.

"why, you!" she stops right in front of you, lifting her─many─chins to stare down the bridge of her flat nose at you. "it was you he was floating around with this afternoon?"

you stiffen. she couldn't possibly mean..

"that wretch!" she hisses angrily. "eleven miserable years of my life spent chasing him! and this is what he does?" she slams her hand down on the counter loudly, causing you to flinch.

"please leave now! we're closed!" you say, your voice taking on a more firm tone as you try not to tremble, straightening yourself up.

she wheels around at you then, as if having forgotten you were there, still rambling on with passion. "oh? standing up to the most powerful witch, are we?"

her overdone, puckered lips draw up into a sinister little grin as you start to back up, unsure of yourself now.

witch?

"since he likes you so much, let's see if you can win over my precious, when i haven't been able to in more than a decade!"

black oozing spirits erupt from her flabby form, rushing over to you as you stand agape, horrified.

"and if you don't manage to fully capture his fleeting heart, you will die!"

all of a sudden, a cloying murky fog drifts in the homey space of the shop, invading your every sense, and clogging your nose tightly.

"what..?" you gasp, but all at once, it surges over to you, enveloping you in its tepid humidity, your mouth gulping in thick heaves of it, pouring into your throat, mouth, eyes, and nose with tendrils extending out of you, like a possession of your very body.

and then.. all is silent as darkness settles upon you, save for the fading echoes of the evil witch's deep, resounding laugh booming throughout the night.

when you open your eyes again, peeking out through your fingers carefully, you don’t feel different, with the exception of a vague, lingering sense of fear.

you were still plain ol' regular you, the you that stayed in working all day and turned down invitations to go out, opting to sew hats instead.

but something was.. off.

what had happened last night to make you so dazed, and memories so jumbled up?

and then, as quickly as it had been evading you, it all comes rushing back─ the man who had floated you into the air as if in a dream, the witch appearing, the sound of her cackle as she cursed you..

when you think back on the specifics of the spell she had cast however, you feel yourself pale, hands falling to your sides limply.

you were supposed to make the mysteriously magical guy that you had met yesterday fall in love with you? when you didn’t even know his name, or who he was?

that was practically impossible.

taking a deep breath, you desperately begin to wrack your brain for ideas as you try not to panic or think about the cruel ways the witch would kill you if you didn’t end up being capable of it.

one way you knew however that would be worth a shot to undo the curse, would be to find a well-practiced witch or wizard, and have them lift the curse from you, saving you a lot of time having to look for the elusive man and making him love you.

but.. there was no guarantee it would work.

you sigh heavily, trying to calm yourself down. that would mean leaving your town behind to move toward the wastelands where the witches resided, and in turn, leaving your faithful little shop, the only place you’d ever known to travel in the hopes for a remedy.

and so, it was with great strength that you straightened yourself up, huffing determinedly, and placing your hat firmly upon your head before heading out, intent on finding a way to break the curse before it was too late..

to the far west of the town, where weeds ran wild and the flowers never bloomed, muddy trails streaked across the land in brown stripes, was where you found it.

a creaking thing, four-legged and made of rotting wood with rusty pipes haphazardly sticking out of it, emitting black curling smoke to twine through the air, its agape, timber mouth and chipping, corroded eyes bringing a shiver to your spine.

gojo’s castle.

you had heard of it many times from your sisters, stories varying from grossly evil reenactments of how he devoured the hearts of beautiful women in search of his own, to tales of his haunting beauty, with glowing, cerulean eyes that were the last thing you'd ever see of the world, never being able to tell a soul.

and then it occurs to you.

of course! gojo was the most powerful wizard of them all, wielding magic that left no trace, going along with his cold reputation and secretive identity.

he could easily remedy the curse placed upon you with a snap! of his deadly fingers, but with the consequence that you still might not leave alive.

you look back up at the faltering, tarnished castle beginning to build up speed as it strode along.

it was now or never.

and so, with a running start and a leap of faith, you manage to clamber aboard the quickly taking-off oxidized clunker, clutching on to the door handle tightly before the wind practically shoves you inside, falling to the floor in a heap with a little, “oof!”

and when you look back up, rubbing your head with a wince, the enormity of the castle stretches before you, all glittering details that suggest riches, and antique, aged wooden furniture, cobwebs crowding near the top of the roof from the impossible vastness of it all.

slowly, you make it to your feet again, looking down all of the many stretching hallways for a sign of life, your steps clicking on the tiled floor ominously.

“hello? anyone here?” you call out, but to no avail.

eventually, your steps lead you to a small, tucked away room, filled with heaps of glinting trinkets and worn carpet that suggested someone had been here many times before.

there are bookshelves with dusty paperbacks piled atop them and shiny frames, but your interest was in the hefty bed shoved in the center, dipping under the weight of quilted blankets thrown lazily across it, and antique floral pillows that looked alike to a grandmother’s.

from the hours of walking that it had taken you to get here, your feet ached and your eyelids were already starting to droop from exhaustion.

all you needed was a nice sleep, and after evaluating your choices, your fatigue eventually wins as with a soft sigh, you shed your slightly muddied clothes into a pool on the floor, and trudge to the edge of the bed, lifting the heavy covers to slide in, your breathing slowing as you drift off, blissfully unaware of the warmth radiating from someone next to you.

darkness covers the room, so you don’t notice when you turn over on your side and press your soft tits against a moving, breathing body next to you, slinging your leg across him and drifting back off.

but he does, stirring awake with a sleepy murmur and tired, blue eyes blinking open only to freeze on your face, his cock hardening painfully in his pants instantly.

it couldn’t be..

you yawn sleepily, shifting closer only for your hand to drape itself directly across his lap,

fuck.

his eyes squeeze shut, breathing coming in soft, short pants as he tries to control himself.

this was so wrong, you were sleeping, completely unaware of..

your eyes flutter, and you groan as your hand curls around something hot, heavy, and pulsing, twitching beneath your touch frantically.

immediately, his face flushes a tinge pinker, eyes growing half-lidded and his breaths coming faster. wake up, wake up, wake up.

and then with a small yawn, your eyes blearily open to blink drowsily at your surroundings, startling only when they land on the pleading, blue eyed man next to you, hips unintentionally pushing up into your hand for more.

you scramble backward as your eyes land on where you’re tightly gripping him, gasping with surprise and already stumbling over an apology.

“i-i’m so sorry, i swear i didn’t know there was someone in here or i would’ve..”

but before you can stutter out another word, his mouth is on yours, and he’s kissing you hard, lips crashing onto yours a little uncertainly, as if he was lacking the experience, only making up for it in eagerness as he quickly finds the softness of your hip, pulling you closer and tugging your leg over him so the heat of your core is against him.

and then, as suddenly as he had been on you, he pulls back, face still shadowed and lined with the darkness of night as you gasp for breath from the intensity of it all.

you lean closer to him, causing your plushy tits to press up against his arm as your eyes struggle to adjust to the dark, only being able to see a faint outline of the man before you.

“i’m trying to control myself, but you’re making it a bit hard, sweetheart.” his voice is deep, slightly hoarse, and familiar all at once though you can’t quite place where you know him from.

you feel warmth pooling between your legs and lean forward, your hair tickling his face as you prop yourself up atop him.

“are you gojo? the wizard who eats the hearts of pretty girls?” you breathe out, rubbing your thighs together subtly.

he swallows thickly, lips parting slightly as his hand slowly makes its way to squeeze the soft, supple skin of your thighs as if grounding himself, his body feverish beneath yours as you feel his raging bulge poking into you with every small movement you make.

"s-something like that, although right now i'm thinking of eating something else.." his large hands skim slightly over your inner thighs, grazing the hot, gushing flood of wetness that had already begun to seep from your panties generously, one long thick finger curling slightly to press on your throbbing lil' clit like a button, your pink lips parting in a gasp as your eyes roll back immediately.

“y-you..” but your words immediately die in your throat as the bed dips and creaks as he rolls you over so he’s on top of you before pressing soft kisses all the way down your body, breathing out a soft, “s’this okay?” to which you quickly nod, already breathless for more.

and then he’s tugging your panties down in one swift motion, and exhaling sharply at the sight of your dripping cunt all laid bare before him, the feeling of the cool air grazing you making you squirm slightly.

two warm, large palms spanning across your waist hold you down as he nuzzles his head between your thighs, placing a chaste kiss to your pussy before pulling back, strings of arousal already attached to his lips.

“mmh.. so sweet.” he quickly buries himself between your legs, busying his mouth with lapping at you like a man starved, his tongue dipping into your honeyed cunt for more as the tip of his pert, button nose nudges against your clit.

“g-gojo!” you gasp out, your head falling back onto the pillows and back arching up helplessly as he uses hot, calculated sweeps of his tongue to stroke against you perfectly, slippery drool stringing sloppily between your legs.

“please..” he grunts, sucking your sensitive, twitchy bundle of nerves into his mouth before releasing with a sticky pop! “call me satoru.”

“satoru.. fuck!” you moan softly, body desperately curving up as you grind against his face for more friction which he lets out a pleased groan at, hands coming to your hips to rock you back and forth, suffocating himself in your warmth.

he quickly throws your legs over his broad shoulders, his head shaking side to side as he sticks out his tongue, gathering all of your honeyed slick with eagerness while you can only writhe and cling onto the snowy locks of his tousled hair tightly, tossing your head back with every loud moan he draws out of you.

it's only when you glance down that you notice the way his hips are desperately rutting against the creaking mattress, humping his throbbing, raging boner into the cushy bed for some form of relief as he eats you out vigorously, parting your sappy folds with his lengthy, dextrous tongue.

“castle gets lonely..” he mumbles into your pussy, the vibrations rocketing up your spine and causing a whine to get stuck in your throat as your stomach knots achingly tighter, the tang of your release on your tongue. “so m’so glad you decided to stop by..”

your eyes glassily cross, barely able to think or hear what he’s saying above the roar of blood crashing in your ears and your heavy breathing, hips twitching up into his mouth and thighs trembling as your stomach aches with the intensity of it all.

and then his whole mouth is covering your core, hot strings of spit mingling with your own sultry mess to streak down your thighs obscenely, and the stimulation turns out to be too much, as all at once your vision turns spotty and you're cumming hard, saturated shimmery squirt just gushing out of you as your body turns into a trembling, whining mess beneath him, sensitivity making your thighs clamp hard around his head.

and as he laps up every drop of your candied cunt, lips glossy and splotches of your sticky wetness pooling across his face, you can only shudder as he continues to suck and slurp at you, until you're desperately pushing him away, the tingling of overstimulation starting to settle over you in pulsing waves.

he sits back, out of breath and you see the slippery sheen of your essence dripping off his glistening chin in droplets, as he eyes you hungrily, like he hasn't had enough until he devours you whole.

he slowly makes his way back up to your face, your back hitting the plush mattress with a thump! as he pins you down, head lazing in a downward angle to draw your attention to the achingly painful, twitching bulge in his pants, sexy half-lidded blue eyes opening just wide enough for you to lock eye-contact.

blue? why did that remind you of someone..

but all of your thoughts are lost the second he's sliiiding his pants down and revealing the neatly trimmed, tufted white happy trail leading all the way to a massive, blushing pink cock, veiny and girthy with milky precum frosting out his tip so prettily.

his lip catches between his teeth as he wraps around himself with one hand, and begins to pull upward in rough-paced tugs, as his head lolls back, more stringy precum coming to gloss over his thickened mushroom head.

"you just gonna watch, or are ya gonna help me out here, doll?" he huskily drawls out, shuddering as you immediately spring to action, coming to straddle his lap in one fluid movement, desperately aligning yourself flush with his heavy cock and sinking down just on the chubbed, rounded tip with a grimace at how enormously big he was.

he makes a gruff noise, leaning back as he helps you to slowly work your way down onto his length, taking every thumping! veiny inch of him to meld into your hot, clenching walls, jaw falling slack at the pure effort it is just to fit him halfway.

"oh g-god, sweetheart.." he chokes out and you feel him pulsating and twitching faintly inside you as if he's fighting back the urge to cum right then and there, his hair flopping into his eyes as he rocks forward slightly.

and then, one thick finger is finding itself on your clit, gliding across the wetness just pouring out of you in sultry sheens as he guides you to take him, and almost instantly, your cunt greedily swallows him to the hilt, a faint bulge outlining his cock stretching all the way up past your belly button generously.

"good.. hah.. girl, taking me so well." he breathes out, and then his jittery lap is already bouncing you slowly, unable to wait another second as you feel his hefty length tracing sweltering hot strokes deep inside you, rolling his hips upward as he pants feverishly, a hand draping its way around your waist and pulling you closer.

drool pours down the side of your mouth helplessly as he moves you up and down on him, your pussy so stuffed and overspilling, it's almost obscene, though he seems to like it, cooing soft praises to you in encouragement.

"i betcha like this, yeah?" quickly grabbing ahold of your hips to get a better angle, he begins hitting into the cushy, soft spot of yours that always makes your legs weaken, smearing gooey precum from his bludgeony tip into you roughly, while the squelching between your legs grows louder, and more lewd with every thrust, the plap plap plap! of your sticky thighs ricocheting off his echoing throughout the vast castle.

he jolts his swollen head allll the way into your cervix, jackhammering with an urgency that leaves your mouth agape and tongue lolling as you feel your abdominals tighten, a familiar tautness creeping its way into your mind.

your pussy flutters around his length as his thrusts grow sloppy, and uncalculated, soft hair tickling you as he leans closer, his musky cinnamon-y scent infiltrating your every sense. "m' s'close my girl, i n-never.. hah.. thought this day would come." he shudders under your touch as you pause, bringing his face closer to truly examine it for the first time that night.

"wait- satoru?" and then, all the pieces come clicking together.

the magical man who had flown and twirled you around in the air was nothing other than the satoru gojo, owner of the infamous moving castle and the most powerful wizard of all time.

and it's then that he cums, spurting heaps n' heaps of creamy bucketloads of ribbony white. so much of it is pouring out, in fact, you swear your tummy swells up with it all, beginning to drip down your thighs in messy rivulets as gojo groans, unable to stop emptying himself heftily inside you.

your release follows just seconds later, as you soak his abdominals in your honeyed essence, slippery sheens coating him generously as he moans softly, still huffing from the effects of his own climax.

as you both come to, stars still blinking hazily behind your vision, you turn to him urgently. "g-gojo, the real reason i came here was 'cause.."

but he quickly shushes you, placing a finger on your pouty lips with a smirk curving up his features. "shh, baby i know, i know. you got a curse on ya, hm?"

you pause, taken aback. "how did you-"

he shakes his head. "in all truth, i was the one who sent her. i wanted to see you." he shifts himself to lean over you, bending your knees up to poke into your soft tits, grinning lazily down at you as he folds you into a mean, mating press. "and sweetheart, even if that love curse was real.. let's just say i already broke it, heh."

© 2025 CHOSOSCUTIE. please don't copy or translate any of my works. all rights reserved.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

tagslist: @brownied0ll @iluvgogurt445 @loafteaw @satoruswifeyyyyy @lunar-harts @springismss @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @luvvcho

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSURPRISE PARTY TOUR: PERIOD CRAMPS * MATT STURNIOLO * BLURB

SUMMARY　::　Where Y/N is on her period during the Philadelphia show, but don't want to let her cramps pain take her off of the show, until Matt intervenes.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　Period cramps.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The theater was empty as it awaited the company of thousands of fans.

The huge red velvet curtains were still closed, hiding the stage that would, in just a few hours, be lit up with thousands of lights and the screaming of fans. The empty rows of seats stretched out in front of Y/N as she was curled up right in the middle of it - bottom row, hoodie on, a soft woven blanket pulled up to her chin like a shield.

Her fists clutched the edges of the blanket, knuckles pale. Not because it was cold, but because of the stupid period cramps that had been trying to knock her out since yesterday. Her lower stomach felt like it was being twisted, her body hot one second and shivery the next.

Still, she was there. Watching him.

Matt stood up on stage with Chris and Nick, all three of them moving around like excited kids, playing with the mics, cracking stupid jokes, and messing with the sound crew.

Y/N barely registered Chris doing some cringey announcer voice or Nick yelling at him to stop. Her eyes were locked on Matt.

Matt looked so good it physically hurt. Grey sweatpants hung loosely on his hips, the fabric soft and a little wrinkled from sleep. A white t-shirt barely clung to his frame, his hair all messy, curls a bit matted from the couch nap he’d taken in the green room, and his face puffy in that post-nap way that made him look like the softest thing alive.

And then, his eyes found hers.

From all the way on stage, Matt’s gaze settled right on her. And the second he locked in, that smile - the boyish, sleepy, slightly crooked one that always made her knees weak - stretched across his face.

He didn’t even try to hide how happy he looked to see her.

Y/N’s heart flipped so hard she felt like her whole body shifted a little.

She adjusted her blanket and huddled deeper into it, as if that would dull the pain curling in her stomach. She hated being like this, in pain and helpless. But more than anything, she didn’t wanna bother him. He had a whole show to do.

The sound guy finally gave the thumbs up.

"All good. You're clear to get ready." And just like that, Matt took a step away from the mic.

She tensed. Crap.

He was walking toward her.

She sat up straighter, the most delusional half-sit-up to look like she wasn’t dying. She pulled the blanket slightly lower, tried fixing her face in the most natural way possible - which mostly meant not looking like she was about to cry from cramps -, and tucked her hair behind her ear like that would help anything.

Matt cleared his throat as he dropped into the seat beside her, his whole body radiating warmth like a damn human heater.

His arm draped across the back of her chair, casual but possessive in that way that made her wanna melt. He leaned just close enough that she could smell that clean scent he always had - shampoo and something warm, like cotton and coconut.

She gave in. Shifted just a little and let herself fall into his side.

He didn’t even hesitate, his arm coming around her, locking her in without a word.

"Hey, angel." He said, voice low and soft like she was the only person in the world.

She didn’t answer at first. She was too busy pressing her face against his shoulder, the cotton of his t-shirt cool and grounding against her cheek.

"How y'feeling?" He asked, and she could hear the concern in his voice.

His free hand came up, and the back of his pointer finger grazed her cheek gently. She knew what he was doing, checking how warm she was. His brows knitted together for a second, lips pressing in a little.

She rolled her eyes just the tiniest bit.

"Amazing." She said, dry as hell.

He snorted.

"Yeah?" His smile cracked wide, but his eyes stayed gentle, scanning over her like he could see every ounce of pain. "You look amazing."

His voice dropped soft at the end of that sentence, and he pressed a kiss to her hairline, barely there but everything she needed. She sighed out, a little whimper of frustration getting caught in her throat as she nuzzled deeper into him.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just let her hide her face while his fingers laced through hers, his pinky ring and commitment ring cool against her skin. His thumb brushed over her hand, steady, comforting.

"You’re in pain." He mumbled eventually, more like a statement than a question.

She opened her eyes again, tearing them away from the stage where Chris was now fake interviewing Nick. She shook her head in disagreement, slow and stubborn.

Matt just looked at her.

"You are."

She sighed, head falling slightly as her fingers from her free hand clenched together in her lap.

He gave her shoulder a tiny shake, still holding onto her.

"Let’s go back to the bus, yeah? You can lay down in our bed."

She stared at him, torn. Her body was like, YES PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE. But her heart?

"But I wanted to watch the show..." She mumbled. "Wanted to hear your voice." The pout on her lips came out automatically.

Matt let out a soft laugh, standing up and pulling her with him gently.

"You listen to my voice every day, baby. You’ve watched four shows already."

She kept pouting, even as she let him help her to her feet.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"I’ll talk for hours when I get back. You want a personal podcast episode just for you?"

She snorted, finally giving in with a small nod.

Chris and Nick paused their mic play, and both gave them a look as they walked close to the stage. Eyes not teasing, just soft. Knowing. Chris gave her a wink, followed by Nick's soft smile.

Matt led her past the side of the stage and through the back entrance, hand never leaving hers.

The second she stepped into the bus, everything smelled like home. Warm. Familiar. The mix of cologne, perfume, laundry detergent, snacks, and that weird scent every bus had - but theirs, somehow, felt right.

He helped her to the bunk area, stopping at the little side table and pulling out her lil pink necessities bag. He placed it gently on the edge of Chris's bed above his, grabbing the small warm pillow she kept in there for cramps. It was one of those little plushie ones - always warm, no idea how.

Matt knelt in front of her and gently lifted her hoodie. His hand was warm as it placed the pillow on her stomach, adjusting it until it laid just right.

She watched him the whole time, her heart swelling at how careful he was.

He tugged the big shared blanket up over her, then placed Mr. Wrinkleton - their shared fake-fluff pug - beside her hip.

Matt leaned in close, hand cradling her face again, and kissed her forehead once more.

"Get some sleep, sweetheart." He whispered. "I’ll be back before you even miss me."

She hummed, eyelids already heavy, the pain a little dulled under his attention.

"I already miss you." She mumbled.

He laughed softly against her skin.

"You’re so dramatic."

© vanteguccir

[lvl1l1]

LaDS men when you get flowers from someone else

pairings: Sylus, Rafayel, Xavier, Caleb, Zayne x F!Reader(separate)

content: jealousy, fluff, caleb and xavier are a teensy bit insane, charlie taking another L

Sylus

You two decided to spend the weekend at your apartment, he obviously wouldn’t be caught dead showing up empty handed.

As you open the door, the first thing you see is a beautifully arranged bouquet of camellias and carnations. The second is the smug grin on your boyfriend’s face, which is wiped right off as soon as he steps into your living room and notices the pathetically small bouquet you had already hosted in a vase.

“Kitten, was your budget for those flowers chump change and a dream? You should’ve known, I’d bring you a little something.”

Once you tell him, that those were a gift from a co-worker for helping him out, his demeanour shifts slightly, unnoticeable to the untrained eye. Luckily, you were the one person who could see right through him.

Not like that mattered, when he went to grab his phone before you could even say anything. You see him tap around a little before raising it to his ear, speaking into the device.

“Yeah, I want them all delivered.”

You look at him with furrowed brows and he finally went back to paying attention to you. A sharp smile makes its way to his face.

“I don’t mind you leaving these, to put it bluntly, sad flowers here. They’ll make all the bouquets i’m getting you stand out even more.”

The unimpressed stare you give him, clearly doesn’t phase him, as he just walks into your bedroom, pulling you along.

“You deserve only the best, the biggest and the grandest. For everything.”

“You’re almost winning me over, Sy. But shouldn’t we wait until those poor florists actually deliver whatever ridiculous amount of flowers you ordered?”

At that, Sylus pulled you closer, nuzzling his face into your hair,

“The flowers will be fine waiting outside of your door. It’ll also be a nice way to send a message to everyone living in this apartment complex. Now, how about a lesson in why you shouldn’t accept flowers from other men?”

You sigh first, suddenly going rigid as a realisation hits you,

“I don’t have enough vases. Or even space for more flowers!”

Being the last thing you mumbled before your bedroom door closed with a ‘click’.

Rafayel

You two were out running some errands together, grabbing art supplies for him, groceries and what-not.

Linkon City was as lively as ever, a melting pot for diverse people. You and Rafayel held hands, pushing through the crowd.

Rafayel was about to pull you into another store, when you’re stopped by a man.

He’s holding a small bouquet of red roses and smiles at you, not looking at Rafayel,

“Hi, miss. We’re giving out free flowers today, these are for you.”

You feel Rafayel squeeze your hand and you know he’s glaring without even looking at him,

“Oh, thank you but I don’t-“

The man practically shoves the flowers into your free hand,

“I insist. Have a good day!”

And with that, he turns and leaves you standing there holding the small bouquet.

A hum leaves your throat, shrugging and leaning in to smell the flowers, before you’re stopped by your boyfriend.

“Why would you accept these ugly flowers? There’s no artistic flair, just basic roses and their stems aren’t even cut evenly! Honestly, It’s like he’s trying to harass my girlfriend by making her look at something so hideous. Besides, you have a rich boyfriend capable of making you a wayyy better bouquet standing right here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, lips curling upwards, leaning closer to him,

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Rafayel’s eyes widened at that, mouth falling open slightly,

“These are clearly just for a campaign, he’s just working. I wouldn’t have accepted them otherwise, don’t worry.”

Your boyfriend jutted out his lower lip, taking the bouquet out of your hand. He made the flowers go up in flames and before you could react he pulled you towards the nearest flower shop.

“Doesn’t matter. My girlfriend deserves flowers as pretty as her. I’m arranging this bouquet myself and it’ll be the prettiest you’ve ever seen!”

You playfully roll your eyes at his antics but you couldn’t help but appreciate his effort. So, you let him pull you along.

Xavier

It was date night and you and Xavier decided to go to your usual hotpot place. You were waiting outside of your apartment building for him, as he went to grab his wallet that he had forgotten at his place.

You were leaning against the gate, when a familiar voice suddenly called out to you,

“Oh, hey! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Charlie walked up to you, you flashed him a little smile as you noticed the flowers he was holding.

“Someone brought me these at the bakery today! They look nice, don’t you think?”

You nodded curtly, not wanting to talk to him for too long, knowing Xavier might see.

Not taking the hint, Charlie’s face lit up, an idea flashing through his mind, not having learned anything from your last interaction.

“Hey, why don’t you take them? I don’t really have a place for them anyway.”

Not waiting for your reply, he pushed the bouquet towards you. Hesitantly, you take them,

“I don’t think this is a good idea-“

He waved you off and went to walk inside.

You stared at the flowers, biting your lips, thinking of what to do before Xavier returned.

You knew it was too late once you noticed the streetlights flickering and an ominous presence manifesting behind you.

“Throw them away.”

You quickly straightened your posture, turning around with a teasing smile,

“Hey there, Xav.”

“Throw them away.”

He repeated in a serious tone.

A sigh left you,

“I was planning on doing that anyway. Don’t you think it’d be a waste though?”

Xavier shook his head, a stern expression on his usually neutral face.

“Doesn’t matter, they’re ugly anyway. Besides, who gives away a gift they received? He’s got no shame.”

You raised an eyebrow at him,

“Why didn’t you come out earlier, if you were here already?”

He came closer, taking the flowers out of your grasp, not answering. He teleported over to the dumpsters, throwing the flowers in.

“I’ll get you prettier ones. Ones that actually mean something.”

You met him halfway and grabbed his hand,

“Alright. But let’s get going, before we miss our reservation.”

Xavier’s expression finally softened, a small smile making its way to his face as he looked at you.

You two started walking, you started talking to him about your day and he listened, nodding along.

Luckily, you didn’t notice how the entire buildings lights suddenly went out. He was gonna deal with that evil baker later.

Caleb

Caleb just got done cooking, when he finally heard a knock on his door.

You had finally gotten some days off after a gruelling week filled with missions back to back and you were staying with him in Skyhaven.

He was planning on helping you relax the entire time you were going to be with him. He would cook for you, take you wherever you wanted to go and monopolise your attention.

The brunet happily opened the door, immediately greeting you with a hug,

“Pipsqueak, I gave you the key to my place for a reason. You don’t have to knock.”

You giggled at him, walking inside and taking your shoes off with one hand.

That’s when he noticed the flowers you were holding, he cocked his head, not saying anything.

“Oh, a friend of mine gave these to me right before I left! Do you have a vase we could put them in?”

Caleb’s brows furrowed, his eyes darkening slightly.

“What was the occasion? These aren’t even your favourite flowers. Would expect them to be thoughtful, when pulling off a gesture like this.”

You looked at him, amused.

“Caleb, they’re just flowers. From someone who’s just a friend.”

He walked into the living room with you, looking at the bouquet like it personally offended him.

“Well, seems like we’ll have to take the bouquet apart, pipsqueak. Your friend put iris and chrysanthemums together. Vastly different vase life, would be bad if we put them together. Might as well throw them out, honestly. I’ll get you flowers that actually survive together.”

He didn’t miss the scepticism on your face as you put the bouquet on the coffee table. You walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Caleb, honey, you don’t need to let it out on the flowers, they’re innocent. My friend was just trying to be nice but if they bother you, we can throw them away.”

His hands found your waist, as he looked at you with those eyes, resembling a kicked puppy.

“But if you like them…”

You shook your head,

“They’re just flowers. You can just get me some. Or even better, I’ll bring you some next time!”

His face lit up again, pressing your foreheads together,

“You don’t need to bring me flowers, pips. That’s my job! Besides, I actually know which flowers you like, I’d never just carelessly put a bouquet together.”

You looked up at him through your lashes, realising what he was pulling,

“Caleb, you-“

He picked you up and brought you over to the kitchen, putting you down on the counter.

“Too late, you already agreed.”

He winked at you, and you noticed something fly out the window through your peripheral vision.

“Now, let’s eat and after that I’ll take you out shopping. We’ll pick up some flowers on the way.”

Zayne

Zayne was just finishing up the last of his work at the hospital, when he received a text from you,

“ahhh i just saw them, love the flowers zaynie! thank you so much”

He stared at his phone in confusion, trying to think of a response,

“What are you talking about, love?”

You sent him a picture of a bouquet of amaryllis, followed up by a text,

“they’re so pretty! they were just delivered, thank u<3”

His fingers twitched, as he left his office, making his way to his car.

“Leave them on the table. I’ll be home soon.”

With that, he put his phone away and got in his car.

-

You were slightly confused at Zayne’s last text but did as he said.

Once you heard keys turn in the lock, you quickly walked over to the door to welcome your boyfriend.

The door pushed open and your boyfriend walked inside, you noticed his bag wasn’t the only thing he was holding.

He presented you with a bouquet of your favourite flowers, before he even took off his coat.

“…welcome back, dear.”

The confusion in your voice evident, still accepting the flowers gratefully.

Zayne quietly took off his shoes and hung up his coat, pressing a kiss to your temple before walking into the kitchen.

“These flowers…”

He picked them off the table and glanced at them.

“They were delivered, yes? Did a note come with them?”

You went to stand next to him, holding the bouquet he just brought you,

“Nope. I’ll take it, those aren’t from you?”

He let out an affirmative hum,

“What do you say, we gift these to the elderly lady next door? And you find a vase for the ones I got you.”

“Sounds good! Just… who do you think sent these?”

His gaze met yours and his eyes lit up with affection for you.

“I’m not sure but I intent to find out. I can’t just stand by and watch as someone tries to make the woman I love swoon.”

You chuckled at that, switching to holding the bouquet he got you with one hand, caressing his face with your other,

“No one besides you could ever make me swoon, Zayne.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes,

“I know. Still, I won’t let this slide. I want you to be happy over things that are actually from me.”

At that, you press a sweet kiss to his lips. He was just so lovely.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Three

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, pushy reporters, Carlos Sainz Sr is a little bit of a villain in this chapter (sry).

Notes — I feel like so much happens in this chapter and I love it. Also: tysm for 500 followers!!🧡

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peacn x

2019

She hadn’t planned to cross through the garages; it just happened. Amelia was following a technician back from a briefing when she lost track of the conversation and the path, her thoughts spiralling through gearbox data and tyre deltas.

That’s when she heard it. Her name. Loud. Sharp. 

“Miss Brown.”

She stopped. Pivoted.

Carlos Sainz Sr. stood a few feet away, hands behind his back. 

He wasn’t smiling.

“You are the daughter of our team’s CEO, yes?” he asked.

Amelia nodded. “Yes.”

“You spend a lot of time in the garages,” he said. “Too much, I think.”

She frowned at him. “I— I help.” She told him. 

“Right,” he said, and his face did a strange twist. “But with Carlos, my son, it is important he has focus. Space.”

She stared at him, unsure what he was trying to imply. “Carlos told me that I was allowed in his garage as often as I like.”

“He would,” Sainz Sr. said. “He is polite. A respectful boy. But it is not always good to blur lines between personal and professional.” He paused. “It could cause problems.”

Amelia stood perfectly still.

“I’m not causing problems,” she said, a bit too flatly. 

Sainz Sr. regarded her a moment longer, then gave a short nod. “Good. I hope it remains that way. Distance, por favor.”

He turned and walked off, leaving her standing in the middle of the paddock walkway, her yellow water bottle pressed tightly to the base of her stomach.

She didn’t move for a long moment.

Her chest felt tight, but not like sadness; not exactly. It was the feeling of a… system error. A mismatch. She couldn’t understand what she’d possibly done wrong.

Carlos hadn’t seemed uncomfortable with her presence. He asked her thoughts on setup changes. Let her hover near the monitors during debriefs. He’d even nudged her elbow pre-quali and whispered, “Wish me luck.”

That didn’t feel like someone who did not want her around. 

Swiftly, she made her way back to Lando’s garage. Slow and quiet, avoiding eye contact. Lando waved at her from where he was talking to Jon, but she didn’t wave back. Just sat down beside a stack of unused tyre blankets and stared at the concrete floor.

Her fingers fidgeted, tugged at her sleeves. She didn’t cry. She didn’t really feel anything, other than... a disorienting sense of being wrong.

She thought of the conversation on loop. Trying to decode it. Trying to figure out how she’d accidentally made an enemy out of Carlos Sainz Sr.

She couldn’t focus. Not on the setup sheets. Not on the chatter from the engineers. Not even on the low buzz of the paddock outside.

She started working hard to anchor herself to something familiar. The smell of tyre rubber. The click of Lando’s cooling fan. The buzz of telemetry feeds looping on a nearby monitor. Safe things.

“You hiding, or working?” came Will Joseph’s voice, low and even.

She glanced up. Lando’s race engineer stood a few feet away, clipboard in hand.

“Hiding,” she told him. That’s what it felt like she was doing, anyway. 

Will nodded. Then he crouched down in front of her, elbows on his knees. “Wanna talk about it?”

Amelia tugged the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands. She hesitated. “I don’t think I did anything wrong. But… I think I have made somebody angry.”

His jaw jumped. “Yeah? Someone in the team?”

She gave a small nod.

Will glanced sideways. His voice stayed calm, but there was a weird tightness when he said, “If you want me to talk to them, I will.”

Amelia frowned. “It’s okay. I don’t want to… make it worse.”

“You sure?” He asked.

She looked away. “Yes.” She said, eventually. 

He paused, then stood, still watching her. “Okay. But if you change your mind… you know where I am.”

She nodded. Will turned as if to go, but then glanced back at her again.

“You want to look over brake traces with me?” he asked. 

She stood slowly, gripping her yellow water bottle. “Yes.”

Will gave a small smile. “Knew you would.”

--

It was Sunday, and her garage smelled like grease and old metal and comfort.

Amelia was elbow-deep in the engine bay of her BMW, sleeves rolled up and a thin streak of oil smudged across her cheek. Jazz played softly from the old radio by the workbench, and a fan hummed lazily in the corner, stirring the warm spring air. She was in her zone — focused, grounded, calm.

She didn’t hear the car pull up. But she did hear the familiar sound of her father’s golf shoes on the concrete. 

She turned just in time to see them step inside.

Her dad was in his usual race-less Sunday outfit, white sleeves shoved to the elbows, cap pushed back on his head. Beside him, Lando Norris stood in golf clothes; white polo, khaki trousers, hair a little messy. He looked slightly sunburned.

“Thought we’d swing by for dinner,” her dad told her, a big smile on his face. “We got finished up early today.”

Lando lifted a hand and waved at her. “Hey.”

Amelia stared at him. “You’re wearing real shoes,” she said.

Lando glanced down at his golf trainers. “Yeah. I know. Weird, right?”

Her dad ignored both of them, already wandering over to inspect the engine. “You’ve done the belts,” he noted.

“I did the belts yesterday,” Amelia told him, still staring at Lando.

Having him here felt… odd. This was her space, her house, her garage. The place where everything made sense, where she could retreat from the world and lose herself in the rhythm of machinery.

Then again, she considered, she was always in his garage. This was just the other way around, really.

Lando shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Your dad said dinner was happening. I didn’t really get a say.”

She shrugged. “You could’ve said no.”

“I could’ve,” Lando agreed. He was smiling at her. “But then I wouldn’t get free food. And apparently your mum’s making roast potatoes.”

“She puts garlic in them,” Amelia told him. She turned back to watch her dad, making sure he wasn’t touching anything. Or worse, moving anything. 

“She sounds like a genius.” Lando said behind her. 

Her dad pushed the hood higher, eyes inspecting the wiring, and let out a low hum of approval. “Right. Dinner in twenty,” he said, glancing at both of them, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice. “Lando, you coming inside?”

Lando wiped his hands on his trousers, then glanced back at Amelia, clearly unsure. “Might stay out here for a bit,” he said with a slight shrug.

He paused, eyes flicking between them. He seemed to weigh the situation for a second before speaking again, more slowly this time. “That okay with you, Amelia?” 

She looked over at him. Shrugged. “Fine.” 

Her dad nodded and gave them both one last look before walking out of the garage and toward the house. He started whistling somewhere along the way. Amelia grimaced, shoulders inching toward her ears. 

There was a beat of silence. Amelia crouched beside the car, fingers working a stubborn bolt. Lando just hovered. 

“This place is sick.” He said, eventually. 

She looked at him and then around the absolute chaos that was her workspace. “It’s a mess,” she said.

“Yeah, but like… a cool mess. Suits you.” He shrugged. 

She made a face, nose scrunching, eyebrows lowering. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.” 

“It’s a compliment.” He said. “Like… you fit in here.” 

Oh. Well. That was nice of him to say. Fitting in wasn’t something she usual excelled at.  

The bolt finally gave way with a soft click, and she exhaled, satisfied.

Lando took a step closer, leaning in to peek at the engine. “So what are you working on now?”

She handed him the bolt without thinking. He closed his fist around it. “Timing chain.”

“Oh. Sick.”

“You keep saying that word.” She told him. 

“I’ve got a limited vocabulary,” he said with a half-smile, sliding the bolt into his pocket. She narrowed her eyes. “Mine now. Finders keepers.”

“I hate that saying.” She muttered, not asking for the bolt back. She didn’t need it. Maybe he did. “Do you like chicken?” she asked abruptly.

“Sure.” He nodded.

“Good.” She sighed. “It’s all my mom knows how to cook.”

“Mom,” he repeated, mimicking her accent.

She frowned. “You’re quite annoying.”

He grinned, the lines next to his eyes deepening. “I know. Want me to get you a drink or something?”

Her gaze flicked to her yellow water bottle, standing out like a warning sign against the cold steel of the garage. Then to him. Her mind caught on the image of him picking it up, his hand unscrewing the lid, closing it again. It wasn’t even anything weird. Just… she didn’t like it. Not today.

Her stomach did a small, unwelcome swoop.

“No,” she said, sharp. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he replied simply. 

She squinted at him. This would be the perfect moment to bring up his social media. She had a whole list saved in her notes app; bullet points and everything. Of things he could post that would improve long-term brand perception, boost fan engagement, attract sponsor interest. She’d even colour-coded it.

But then he leaned a little closer to the engine bay, poked a stray wire with the back of his finger, and asked, “What does that do?”

And instead of launching into a Twitter audit, she blinked. Then sighed. Then said, “That’s not a wire. It’s the gas belt.”

He just looked at her. “That sounds made up.”

“It isn’t.” She crouched beside him and pointed. “It’s part of the pressure regulation loop. If it’s too tight, the fuel intake timing offsets and we lose energy recovery.”

“Oh,” he said, looking down at it. “I thought it was just a spare wire.”

“It’s never just a spare wire.” 

She didn’t plan to spend an hour explaining the entire energy recovery system to a man who literally drove race cars for a living. But she did. And he listened. Asked questions. Didn’t pretend to know more than he did.

Dinner came and went. Her mom popped her head in, said she’d keep their plates warm. Amelia didn’t even realise how long they’d been in the garage until her dad came to check if they were still alive.

“What’ve you two been up to?” He asked.

And Lando, still squatting beside the car with grease on his knuckles, said, “She taught me how a gas belt works.”

Amelia felt her lips twist into a smile before she could stop it.

Her dad laughed, loud and full of something Amelia couldn’t place. 

Lando’s cheeks went a bit pink. 

—

By the time the Spanish Grand Prix rolled around, one thing had become evident.

The Renault engine was going to be a problem.

It wasn’t just an occasional glitch or a minor calibration error — it was systemic. Structural. A pattern beginning to take shape. Carlos had already been forced to retire from the first two races. Lando hadn’t made it past lap twenty in China. And now, in Spain, he was pulling into the garage mid-race with smoke curling out from the rear. 

Amelia didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. The telemetry screens told her more than enough — voltage spikes, temperature climbs, the dreaded red-highlighted warnings blinking across the console in angry bursts.

She watched from her usual spot, perched on the edge of the engineering desk with her notebook balanced on her knee. The frustration in the air was sticky. 

This was becoming predictable. Usually, she would like that — this was not one of those times.

After the race, she found herself lingering in the quiet corner of the garage, sketching out hypothetical flow improvements in the margins of her notebook. She didn’t work on the engines — not directly, not yet. But she could see the shape of the problem, the flaw in the systems approach. She could feel it humming under her fingertips like a code waiting to be cracked.

Across the paddock, celebrations echoed from the teams that had made it to the finish. The podium champagne had already been popped. But in Lando’s garage, it felt like they were all waiting out a storm that they already knew was coming.

She pressed her pen to the page and underlined a note she’d written hours ago, before the race had even started.

"Energy efficiency doesn’t matter if the engine won’t survive the lap."

She sighed and capped her pen. In the background, someone was wheeling the scorched power unit away for inspection.

Maybe she should’ve warned them louder.

— 

She found him in his driver’s room, slouched in a chair with his legs stretched out in front of him. His helmet was discarded on the floor, and he was still in his fireproof suit, half-zipped. Amelia hesitated outside the door for a second, wondering if she should just leave him alone. But Lando had left his water bottle in the garage, and Amelia wasn’t the best at letting things slide. She wasn’t sure why it felt important to bring it to him, but it did.

She knocked softly on the already-open door before walking in. Lando didn’t even look up. He was just staring at the wall. 

“I brought your water,” Amelia told him. 

He looked up at her then. “Thanks,” he muttered as he reached for the bottle, shoving the straw into his mouth and taking a long gulp. “Second DNF in five races,” he said, his voice rough. “Rookie season, and this is what I get.”

After a second of hesitation, Amelia sat on the beanbag chair across from him, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She didn't say anything at first — just looked at him. She wasn’t sure how this worked, whether she needed to talk first or wait for him. 

Eventually, Lando exhaled through his nose and kept going, his words starting to pick up speed. “I don’t even know what went wrong this time. One minute, I’m fighting for position, and then it just… dies. The engine. The whole thing. It’s like I’m cursed, or something.”

“Curses aren’t real,” Amelia said, frowning. “Drink more water. I think you might be dehydrated.”

He laughed, but it was short, and it didn’t feel genuine. “Yeah, well. Maybe I deserve to be dehydrated.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” she sighed, reaching up to itch her neck. She was pretty sure that she’d started to develop a stress rash somewhere around the tenth lap. 

“I know it doesn’t,” he muttered, rubbing his hand over his face. “I just… I keep replaying it. I did everything right. I kept the pace, I managed the tyres, I even—” He stopped himself, jaw tight. “I’m trying so hard. Every week. And it still ends the same way.”

Amelia tilted her head. “Trying hard doesn’t guarantee results. Statistically, a mechanical failure is not a reflection of your driving ability.”

“Yeah, but people don’t see it like that, do they? Sponsors don’t see it like that. Fans don’t see it like that. They see a DNF next to my name and think “Ah, that lad’s shit. Couldn’t even finish the race.”

“They’re wrong,” she said, voice steady. “You can’t control the engine.”

He looked at her, like he was searching for something on her face. “That’s not really comforting, you know.”

“I’m not trying to be comforting,” she shrugged. “I’m telling you the truth.”

A beat passed. Then he let out a breath and leaned his head back against the wall, his shoulders finally sagging a little. “Still… it sucks.”

She watched him for a moment, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I made a chart,” she told him. “About Renault’s historical DNF rates. You’re not even in the worst percentile.”

He blinked at her, and for the first time that day, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You made a chart?”

“I like charts,” she said. “They help me make sense of things. Maybe they’ll be able to help you too. I colour coded.”

Lando unfolded the paper and scanned it, a soft breath of laughter escaping him. “You’re actually unbelievable.”

Amelia blinked. “In what way?”

He didn’t answer that, just kept smiling at the paper like it had done something remarkable. Which it hadn’t. It was a simple data set, neatly formatted, with pink for DNF, green for points finishes, and orange for races affected by mechanical issues but still completed. She had used bold font for his name and added a tiny asterisk explaining why none of it was technically his fault.

“You should remember that every time your engine has survived, you have finished in the points,” she said, because facts were important when emotions got loud. “And the season’s not over yet.”

Lando looked up at her. “Thanks, Amelia.”

His voice was quiet, yes, but there was something else layered in the tone, something that made her chest feel tight in a way she couldn’t immediately categorise. She frowned, not at him, but at the sensation itself.

There were variables she didn’t have control over. Facial expressions. Tone. Context. She could usually work it out when someone was mad, or distracted, or lying. But fondness… that was harder. It was inconsistent. Often irrational. Frequently confusing.

She pointed at his water bottle because that was easy. “You should still drink the water.”

He smiled again, this time more to himself, and shook his head. Then he picked up the bottle and unscrewed the lid, just like she knew he would.

As he drank, Amelia watched him carefully. Maybe, she thought, tucking her hands back into her lap, she just needed to collect more data in order to be able to fully understand Lando Norris.

— 

iMessage — 17:09pm

Max F. Sorry about the shit luck, mate. Engine again?

Lando Norris Yeah. Just shut off mid-corner. Didn’t even get a warning this time. Proper embarrassing.

Max F. Not your fault. That Renault engine’s a grenade with wires.

Lando Norris Yh that’s what Amelia said kinda She made a chart

Max F. A chart?

Lando Norris Yeah. With colours Fucking cute

Max F. Whipped. 

Lando Norris

Yh 

— 

She liked the Mercedes hospitality unit. Neutrally designed, air-conditioned, and smelled faintly of eucalyptus. She liked that a lot.

Amelia walked slowly, phone in hand. 

There was no sign of Lewis or Roscoe when she stepped inside, just the low hum of quiet conversations and the click of cutlery. She turned left, toward the usual corner where Roscoe liked to sleep in the sunbeam from the long vertical window.

She didn’t make it that far.

“Amelia.”

She blinked. Then blinked again.

Toto Wolff stood halfway down the hallway. In a dark polo. Arms crossed. He was very tall. 

“Hello,” she said. She meant to say it with some level of confidence, but it came out more like a question.

“I was hoping we might speak.” His tone was hard for her to read. 

She tilted her head, a slight frown growing on her face. “I’m supposed to go and see Roscoe.”

“He will not mind waiting. I am told he is a very patient dog.” Toto said. 

She wasn’t sure what to say to that — Roscoe was not, in any sense of the word, a patient dog. She also didn’t really want to argue with Toto Wolff. 

So she just gave a small nod and followed him when he gestured to a nearby side room. It was empty. A single chair. A single table. It felt a bit like an interrogation room. 

Toto sat. Amelia did not. She hovered just near the wall and folded her arms tight against her chest.

“I understand,” he began, “that you have declined my offer. The junior engineering placement.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

There was a pause. His brow furrowed, just slightly. “You did not think it was a good opportunity?”

“I thought it was an excellent opportunity,” she said honestly. “But I already have a place at McLaren. The team like having my input.”

“That they do,” he said. He didn’t sound offended. He sounded like he was calibrating. “And Lando?”

She blinked. “What about him?”

“He seems to like having you around especially. I have noticed that you spent your time primarily on his side of the garage.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant, so she didn’t respond. She could feel her fingers starting to curl in against her arms. She tightened her grip to stop it.

Toto exhaled through his nose. “I will not press. I simply wanted to say, the door is still open. Mercedes does not forget talent.”

“I know,” she said. “My dad doesn’t either.”

There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Possibly a smile. Possibly a tic.

“I see. Then I will stop trying to, how do you say in English… poach you.”

“That would be good,” she said. “My dad would get mad if he found out.” 

Toto raised an eyebrow. “You did not tell him?” 

She shook her head. “No. I need to go now. Lewis and Roscoe are waiting.”

“Of course,” Toto said, standing. He offered a handshake, which she pointedly ignored.

She left the room and continued on down the hallway until she found Roscoe, sprawled across the carpet like a throw rug.

She dropped to her knees and scratched behind his ears.

“Hello. I have missed you very much,” she whispered. Roscoe huffed, then rolled over.

Lewis rounded the corner a second later with two smoothies in hand. One was green, and the other was pink. She hoped that the pink one was for her. He glanced over her shoulder, where Toto was walking away, his phone pressed to his ear. “Oh dear. Did you get ambushed?”

“Yes,” she said. “But I escaped.”

— 

Two races later, she found herself in Canada.

She was en route to the Red Bull motorhome — they always had the best coffee vendor, and no one ever seemed to mind when she slipped in — when someone stepped into her path.

“Miss Brown? Amelia?”

She blinked. The man was tall, holding a Viaplay mic, all teeth and polished camera charm. 

“We’re doing some quick paddock interviews — would you mind answering a couple of questions?”

Amelia hesitated. She wasn’t in team kit. Just a plain black hoodie and her headphones around her neck, though the headphones did have the McLaren logo engraved onto them. She glanced over his shoulder. The cameraman was already adjusting focus.

“I’m not a driver,” she said, pushing the words out through a chest that suddenly felt tight.

He laughed, like she’d made a joke. “No, of course — we know. You’re Lando Norris’, uh, data engineer, right? And Zak Brown’s daughter?”

Her fingers tightened in her sleeves. “I’m only officially one of those things,” she replied. “I am not Lando’s data engineer.” 

“Still. Very involved in McLaren. We’d love a few thoughts on the upcoming qualifying session. From your perspective.” He was still smiling. 

Amelia’s teeth squeaked with the force that she was grinding them together. Her heart was ticking fast, too fast. She didn’t like being filmed. She didn’t like… whatever this was. 

She especially didn’t like when people used polite voices to try and back her into a corner.

“I didn’t say I’d do the interview.” She said, eventually. 

“Just one or two—”

“She said no.”

The voice came from behind her. Flat. No hesitation or inflect. 

Amelia turned her head. Max Verstappen was standing next to her, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. He wasn’t looking at her — his eyes were locked on the reporter.

“We’re just asking—”

“She doesn’t work for a team. She doesn’t have to answer your questions.”

“Ah, Max, come on, we’re live in—”

Max took one step forward. The cameraman slowly lowered the lens.

“I do not like to repeat myself.” He said. He didn’t sound angry, but there was nothing kind about the way he said it. 

The reporter faltered. “Right,” he muttered, stepping back. “We’ll… catch someone else.” They disappeared down the paddock, the cameraman not even bothering to stop the recording properly.

Amelia stared at Max.

He didn’t look at her right away. Just let out a breath through his nose and rubbed the back of his neck. “They should not be bothering you. That was very shit of them.”

“I’m not very interesting,” she told him, her voice barely a mutter as she tried to collect herself. “There’s no point putting me on TV.”

“You’re on TV more than you think,” he said, glancing sideways at her. “Especially when Lando’s around. People are very interested in you both.”

She frowned. “What?”

Max looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

It sounded like it might matter, but if he said that it didn’t, then she wasn’t going to bother asking more about it.

Instead, she tilted her head upward in his direction. He was much taller than he looked when he was in his car. “You’re Max Verstappen.”

He squinted a little under the sun. “Yeah. I am.”

“Why did you help me?” She asked. 

He shrugged, like it was obvious. “Because I don’t like people getting cornered. And Dutch media are, ah—assholes, sometimes.” Then, his mouth curved slightly, something close to teasing. “And because Lando would kill me if I let someone mess with you.”

She just stared at him.

Her stomach did something strange and fluttery that she didn’t like at all.

Max must’ve caught the look on her face because he looked away immediately, regret passing across his features like a cloud. “Anyway,” he added, tone turning brisk, “don’t let them bother you. You’re not public property.”

“I know that,” she said, a little too fast. “I just… forget sometimes. That I’m allowed to say no.”

He nodded once. “You are.”

Then he gave her a brief, crooked grin. “I’ll see you around, Amelia.”

And with that, he disappeared into the Red Bull motorhome, as though nothing unusual had happened at all.

Amelia stood there for a few seconds, her skin still prickling from the confrontation, her thoughts spinning in all directions. The iced coffee no longer felt essential. She turned sharply on her heel and made her way back toward McLaren.

The motorhome wasn’t quiet, or even particularly peaceful; but it was familiar.

It was safe.

—

Lando’s garage was louder than usual.

Or maybe Amelia just wasn’t settled yet; her ears hadn’t quite adjusted, and everything felt like it was pressing in from too many angles. The buzz of the generators, the thud of tyres being stacked, the distant screech of an engine on an out-lap. None of it was new, but it all felt sharper today. She tugged her sleeves over her wrists and walked the perimeter of the garage, not because she needed to check anything, but just because she needed to walk.

Lando was leaning over the front wing of his car, talking to his race engineer. His voice had the kind of ease that came only after a good FP3. He glanced up when she approached.

“You okay?” he asked, brow ticking up.

She nodded. “Yes.”

He didn’t believe her. She could see it in the way he paused, fully paused, mid-sentence with Will, and turned his body slightly toward her.

“You sure?”

She considered lying. Or deflecting. She was usually very good at both.

Instead, she told him, “I ran into Max.”

Lando blinked. “Verstappen?”

“Yes.”

He looked vaguely alarmed. “Did he—? I mean, are you—what happened?”

Amelia folded her arms across her chest and looked past him, toward the pit lane. “Viaplay tried to interview me. I wasn’t wearing anything official. I said no, but they kept asking questions. Then Max showed up and made them leave.”

“Oh.” Lando’s face shifted, obvious concern first, then something much tighter. “That’s… are you okay?”

“Max said that Dutch media can sometimes be assholes,” she added matter-of-factly. “His words.”

“He’d know that better than any of us.” Lando said. 

She looked at his hands, noticing that his veins were very blue. “He also said you would kill him if he let them mess with me.”

Lando coughed, and Will made a choked sound somewhere in the back of his throat.

“Did he?” Lando asked, ears already pink.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Will looked like he was trying not to laugh, which was odd, because she hadn’t heard anyone make a joke. Lando gave a little shrug. Will nudged him with an elbow, and Lando muttered, “Fuck off, mate,” under his breath.

She sighed, looking off toward the data screens. “I didn’t even get my iced coffee.” She mentioned. 

Lando leaned a little closer to her. “You want one now? We can go get it together.”

She shook her head. “No. Just… I want to stay here. Until quali starts.”

His smile got softer. “Yeah. Okay. You can do that.”

So she stood there, adjacent to him, not speaking; just listening to the familiar rhythms of the garage. Tyres being moved. Headsets crackling. Mechanics calling out numbers and adjustments.

She watched Lando pick up his gloves and flex his fingers into them, testing the fit. Quiet. Focused.

And then she turned, and for a split second, panicked. Her water bottle had been moved. She looked around quickly, breath hitching.

But Lando cleared his throat and caught her attention. He walked over to the back of the garage and pulled it from underneath the counter. “Put it in the mini fridge,” he told her. “Didn’t want it getting warm.”

She took it from him, stared at it for a long time, and then smiled. 

— 

iMessage — 5:08pm

Mom Hello, darling! Just checking in. Hope everything went well today x

Amelia Hello, mom. I have a question. How do you know if you have a crush on somebody?

Mom I think this conversation would be much easier on FaceTime. Are you back at the hotel yet?

Amelia No. Lando asked me if I’d like to go get burgers after qualifying and I said yes. Dad was busy so I didn’t tell him. I texted him though.

Mom Is Lando driving you to get burgers?

Amelia Yes. He is a very safe driver in a normal car. He drives exactly at the speed limit. I was a bit worried that he would speed, but he doesn’t :)

Mom That’s very nice, honey x

—

iMessage — 5:12pm

Tracy Brown (Wife) Zak Brown. You have some explaining to do.

Zak Brown (Husband) What’s going on, honey?

Tracy Brown (Wife) You tell me! Your driver has taken our daughter out on a date and you’re none the wiser!

Zak Brown (Husband) What? Which driver?

Tracy Brown (Wife) He is driving her, Zak. To go and get burgers. She texted you.

Zak Brown (Husband) SHE TEXTED ME “ALL GOOD” I THOUGHT THAT MEANT SHE WAS SAFE IN HER HOTEL ROOM UNDER TEN BLANKETS WATCHING A BARBIE MOVIE 

Tracy Brown (Wife) Nope. She’s in a car. With LANDO NORRIS. They’re going for a burger date.

Zak Brown (Husband) I’m calling his father. That little shit head. 

Tracy Brown (Wife) Don’t be dramatic. They’re just getting food. I think she likes him. It’s cute.

Zak Brown (Husband) Cute? Are you serious? The media are going to be all over this. 

Tracy Brown (Wife) Have you seriously not noticed? They’ve been the talk of the paddock for weeks! They’re attached at the hip. I don’t know how we missed this 

Zak Brown (Husband) I think I’m having a heart attack And also a stroke. 

— 

Amelia had already deconstructed her burger; bun on one side, lettuce on the other, everything organised into neat piles. She wasn’t sure if that was weird or not, but Lando hadn’t commented, so she assumed it was fine.

She cleared her throat, tapping her straw against the side of her milkshake. “I’m sorry if I’m in your garage too much.”

Lando blinked at her mid-bite. “What?”

“I just… I know it might be annoying. I don’t want to get in the way. But since I’m not really allowed in Carlos’ anymore—”

“Wait. Hold on.” He put his burger down, brows pulling together. “What do you mean you’re not allowed in Carlos’ garage anymore?”

She picked up a fry, broke it in half, and frowned down at her tray. “Carlos’ dad told me, in China, that I wasn’t welcome in there. So I’ve just been staying in yours.”

There was a long pause. Then, “Fuck that.” Lando said. He was digging his phone out of his pocket. 

Amelia blinked at him, taken aback. “What are you doing?”

“I’m texting Carlos.” He stared down at his phone, typing furiously. “That’s absolute bullshit. You’re not just allowed in my garage, Amelia, you’re wanted there. You practically run the place. I mean, I was wondering why you didn’t spend any time in Carlos’ anymore, and he’s been thinking this whole time that he did something wrong.”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t run anything—”

“You do.” He cut her off, still a little frantic. She stared at him. He took a deep breath. “I’m serious, Amelia. Everyone listens to you. Even Will. Which is terrifying.”

She bit her lip, worrying as she glanced at his phone. “It’s okay, though. I like your garage better, anyway.”

Lando smiled at her. “Good. But still. He can’t just get away with that. Carlos appreciated your input — he told me so. And you belong wherever you want to be, yeah?”

Her face felt warm. She reached for another fry, more for something to do with her hands than out of hunger.

“Also,” he added, a little more casually than before — but she didn’t miss the way his jaw was set, or how his voice had tightened just slightly. “Next time someone tells you that you’re not welcome somewhere you want to be… just tell me, alright? I’ll handle it.”

She tilted her head, frowning slightly. “Handle it how?”

“I don’t know,” he said, grabbing another fry. “However I have to.”

— 

iMessage — 7:48pm

Lando Norris oye

Carlos Sainz qué pasa

Lando Norris did your dad seriously tell Amelia she wasn’t welcome in your garage?

Carlos Sainz ¿qué? when??

Lando Norris few races ago. bahrain she just told me she thinks you don’t want her around

Carlos Sainz no jodas I never said that I just thought she was busy I will talk to him. 

Lando Norris she didn’t wanna say anything

Carlos Sainz

I am glad that she did. 

tell her I never said that and that she is welcome any time

Lando Norris yh. already told her but yeah, sort your dad out mate 

Carlos Sainz voy a hacerlo ahora mismo this is nonsense

Lando Norris cheers mate

Carlos Sainz de nada are you with her right now?

Lando Norris we’re just getting burgers no biggie 

Carlos Sainz Liar.

NEXT CHAPTER

[momspren]

I hear what you are saying, and I understand that feeling, but I need you guys to all understand that this just isn’t true.

It’s true for a time. You go to college, or to work, or a cafe or a bus station or the freaking library, and it doesn’t matter how cute you look, you feel like everyone can see you desperately clawing for attention and affection. It’s awful. Maybe you ask your friends too many times if they actually like you. Maybe you push away a couple of people because you don’t know how to accept their earnest affection.

It sucks. It hurts. You keep going anyway. You get up in the mornings and you look in the mirror and you see that little girl with the badly fitting clothes, or the weird opinions, or the tearstained face because people keep spreading rumors about her. She looks back at you, and she wants love so bad.

So eventually, after countless days of feeling like an imposter in your skin, you look her in the face and do something radical, something insane: you tell her you love her.

She didn’t have their love, but she can have yours.

And maybe it feels fake. Maybe you grimace and brush your teeth and take your meds and avoid eye contact with the mirror because it was so cringy.

But maybe in a couple of weeks you look at her again, and you think it again.

And it gets a little bit easier. She doesn’t believe you yet, but why would she? It’s okay, you two have your whole lives together. And eventually you stop making as many decisions that hurt her. Eventually you learn that the way to avoid pushing away your friends is to allow them to love you too. And eventually thinking kind things about that girl in the mirror doesn’t feel so impossible. Eventually you start thinking them naturally. You think about how you’re creative. You think about how you’re good at that one thing, actually. Not the best, but very few people are. And maybe it’s okay not to be the best. Maybe it’s okay to just like it. You don’t have to prove yourself to be loved. You can just be.

Slowly, without realizing it, without tracking it, that little girl will grow up. She will become you. You’ll talk to people, and you’ll realize you don’t think they see through you anymore. You aren’t afraid of being called out for being a fraud, because you will know you aren’t. You’ll remember what it is like to be that girl, and sometimes things will throw you back into feeling that way, but you know you can always walk over to the nearest mirror and give her the love she needed the most in the world: yours.

I promise, it gets better.

when you grew up as a lonely uncool girl it will never stop haunting you by the way. you will meet a cool person at a bar or the train station or at a friend's party and you can wear your most stylish outfit and striking eye makeup and you will swear that they can see through all of the facade and see the lonely terribly insecure teenage girl you used to be who desperately wanted to connect and you will swear that they know that there is like an insurmountable gap between you. this will happen forever

[vampzity]

it’s something about jealous chan.

it wasn’t often that he would get this way— that singular raised eyebrow, snarky remarks, the squeezing of your thigh. though when he did, it was noticeable. blatantly obvious.

he didn’t like when guys talked to you, or even be anywhere near you. it drove him nuts seeing a smile creep onto your face from just talking to another guy, or when you laughed at someone else’s joke. why didn’t you react that way with him?

was he the problem?

oh but he was. you two weren’t dating— in fact were merely just friends, but you did know of each other. despite that, chan wanted you all to himself. he admired every part of you, and wanted nothing more than to shield you from the male gaze.

the music was louder than anything around you, but you didn’t care. here you were, in a random room with a complete stranger. you had no idea where bangchan was, nor did you care— well, you were too drunk to care.

your moans we’re soft and persistent as his lips bit and nipped at your skin, leaving small marks against your neck. his hand slipped up your dress, brushing over your clothed area slightly.

you wanted this, you needed this.

so why did it still feel like it wasn’t enough?

because it wasn’t him?

the boy’s hand tugged at your skirt, eager to pull it off only to be stopped by someone coming into the room. you whined out, looking over to see bangchan standing in the door way. before you could say anything, he invited himself in, leaving you in a confused dazed.

“Chan?! I thought you went home?”

“You think this is funny?”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, watching as he walked over to the two of you, glaring at the boy harshly.

“Woah man, I didn’t know this was your girl.” you sighed, moving away from the boy and giving Chan an annoyed look.

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a friend and needs to act like one.”

chan grabbed him by the arm, pulling him out the room and closing it behind him. you heard the lock click making you sit up. you stared at him blankly, unsure of what to say to him. you had no idea what he was thinking or what his intentions were, but you remembered this expression before. the scoffing, the rolling of his eyes.

jealousy.

he was jealous.

“Before you get all riled up. It was nothing Chan, we barely did anything.”

he walked over to you, eyeing your neck for a moment before laughing to himself. a small red mark was painted into your skin, turning almost a soft purple. you’ve surely done it now and this may have been enough to set him off.

“Barely did anything, huh?”

he glared at you, his eyes feeling as if they were stinging into your skin. his eyes trailed down your skin, being met with multiple bite marks, and the small tints of pink that threatened to form into a hickey. he peeked at your skirt, seeing the zipper half way undone. your heels laid a mess on the floor as the male’s jacket rested beside them.

“I don’t understand what you’re getting all worked up about.” you stumbled up, rolling your eyes at him as you bent over to grab your heels.

chan grabbed your wrist, pulling you back up and holding it by his head. He squeezed it, his nails digging into your delicate skin.

“Chan— ow, let go of me!”

your brain was fuzzy, legs so numb, you couldn’t quite grasp what was going on. one thing was for sure though, you were desperate. desperate for his attention, desperate for someone to touch you and make you feel as if you were worth something.

and the gaze he gave you, only made that feeling it worse.

“What will it take for your dumb little brain to realize.”

he leaned in, his face merely inches away from your own. the tension between you two grew, making your body heat up and your heart beat out of your chest.

“I don’t like other people touching what’s mine.”

you stayed quiet, feeling his glare worsen as he backed you up against the wall. he let go of your wrist, his hand grazing under your chin softly.

“And calling me a friend?”

your skin was hot to the touch as he brushed his lips by your neck, smelling a mix of your perfume and the previous man.

“Bold choice of words for someone who begs for me every other night, isn’t that right bunny?”

this is what you wanted. his attention— you wanted him to notice you, to want you as bad as you wanted him. his gaze was still harsh, not softening in even the slightest. his free hand slipped under your skirt, his fingers running along your clothed area. a soft whimper escaped you, making you shift slightly in reaction.

he circled your clit softly with his two fingers, his lips kissing against your neck. he sunk his teeth into the same areas the man did, only harder receiving a small yelp out of you.

chan tugged at your band of your underwear, pulling it down until it fell to your ankles. he slipped his fingers between your folds, gathering a bit of your slick.

“Chan, fuck— more.”

“So needy, aren’t you baby..”

you nodded your head, feeling his fingers push into you softly. your walls clenched around him as they curled, hitting your sweet spot perfectly. his hooded eyes felt as if they burned a whole into your skull. he tilted his head at you, watching you fall apart as he pumped his fingers into you repeatedly and not letting up.

“You like that?” he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding up your weight as your knees began to buckle under him.

“Is this what you wanted? Poor bunny wanted my attention, hm?”

he pulled his fingers out of you, placing them on his tongue to taste. a low growl escaped his mouth as you both watched your string of slick connect from his tongue to his finger.

“As much as I wanna give you what you want,” he pushed you onto the bed, bending you over just enough to expose your ass through your skirt.

“You sadly don’t deserve the princess treatment.”

chan quickly undid his buckle, pulling his pants down slightly. he pulled his cock out of his band, rubbing it softly against your folds. he threw his head back, pushing himself in you just enough for you to feel his tip.

“Fuck baby..” his hand gripped your waist as his cock sank deeper into you, feeling your walls constantly squeeze at him.

he fastened his pace, pushing his tip against your sweet spot with every motion. his nails dug into your skin, his strokes getting sloppier by the minute as he fucked his emotions into you.

you didn’t even deserve this— you were about to give yourself away to some random man all because he wasn’t paying attention to you. but god, was it so hot to see how desperate you were. watching you fuck on the closest thing you could find, only to realize they were nothing in comparison to himself.

he wrapped his arm under your waist, pulling you up against his body. his hand held the front of your neck, squeezing it softly but still allowing you to breathe.

“All these guys, and they don’t fuck you like I do huh?”

you whimpered and moaned as he pounded into you, showing no mercy. chan dug his nails into your neck, making you cry out in response.

“Aww, too fucked out you can’t even respond to me? That’s too bad.”

his grip onto your neck wouldn’t let up, your legs shaking as they felt like they would give out at any moment. chan relentlessly fucked you, his thrusts getting harder and faster as he felt himself slipping.

“Chan.. oh my god.” he kissed at the back of your neck, groaning against your skin as he felt your walls quiver around him.

“Gonna cum for me baby?”

he was practically out of breath at this point, his tip leaking into you. you nodded, knowing any marks you once had were now going to be replaced by the marking of his nails. he pushed your body toward the bed once again, fucking you into the mattress with no remorse.

a small white ring formed around his member as your drunken whines filled the room, begging him to slow down as you reached your peak.

“that’s it, let it out f’me.”

within seconds he let himself go, his own pleasure leaking out of your abused hole and mixing with your juices. chan let out a large sigh, feeling you pulsate around his cock as his thrusts slowed.

“Feel so good when I fill you up.” he mumbled, pulling his cock out of you.

he pushed two fingers into you, pumping them slowly as he watched your thighs squeeze from overstimulation. he used his free hand to grab you by the hair, pulling your head up. you cried out in pain, feeling his fingers curl inside of you.

“The next time you talk to another man..” he leaned over, lips only a few inches away from your ear.

“If I even see another man touch you, i’ll make sure he watches me destroy you.”

chan pulled his fingers out of you, placing a soft kiss against your cheek. he pulled up his pants, hand running against the curve of your ass.

“Are we clear bunny?”

💌: took me a little longer than i hopped to finish this but it’s ok hehe. i hope you guys enjoyed !

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @scarfac3 @h4untedgrl @rvereri @jjongibears @kittykat-25 @hwasddeongbyeoli @joonezra @honeyhwaaa @potentialgay @dollywoo @losrpark @motherseonghwa23 @inniesfanblog @stephanieeeyang @galaxy4489 @fangirljas929 @desirehorizon @channiesluvrclub @katsukis1wife @unbel1ev4ble @sojuxxi @bbykaixx @felixleftchickennugget @gncbnahc @jwnghyuns @kjr-army @tahiraax1 @wonderz_real @noxonexherexbotherxmyxteaxtime @hyunmikim @lov3lycosmos @jujusreader @heechwe @bluesungology @minhosgirlposts @choisanvers @4phroditeee

★ comment to be added to the taglist or fill out the form here!

[megapteraurelia]

“you’ve read the page, like, three times.”

fushiguro megumi didn’t look up. “because someone won’t stop staring.”

“i’m not staring.”

a disapproving click of his tongue, “i can feel it. shameless as you are, you’re not even pretending to look away.”

“no, you can’t,” you stretched, muscles tensing up deliciously; your hands flailing right in his line of sight and he leaned back, trying to dodge your flopping limbs, an annoyed grunt escaping him. but when you allowed your body to crumble in on itself, he didn’t move the hand that landed on his knee, right underneath the book he was holding.

fushiguro megumi huffed a sigh, and the dark blue of his eyes fluttered back to his book. his lashes, long and soft the way they shielded his eyes from the sunshine, were catching the light, painted dark with a golden shimmer. his one leg was tucked under him, his one hand propped his head up, fingers buried in his hair. 

his eyebrows slightly furrowed, teeth worrying his lips as he mindlessly picked the skin off his mouth, finally losing himself in the words on paper when you stayed quiet. he shifted slightly to balance the book on his knee, hand turning the page, careful, calm. even though he muttered at you with a tone of voice that suggested irritation, his book was slightly tilted towards you, in a way that made you feel welcome, that made you feel like he liked having you around him.

“you look like the book is making you mad.”

megumi turned another page, blinking, eyebrows drawn together. “that’s just my face.”

you snorted and let your head fall onto the couch, buried in the cushion that smelled like him. his leg comforting against your hand and you could have fallen asleep right then there with the soft inhale and exhale of megumi’s chest, the warm caress of sunshine on your cheek, the silence in the air serene. 

like time suspended, both of you existed here and now. no curses, no teachers, no classmates, just you and him. him and you. 

“read to me?” you asked, voice a bit softer, inquiring, yearning to connect to him, to lose yourself in the way his voice would form syllables, the deep timbre hugging the words close. he knew just how to give soul to the words, how to string them along to form a sentence; when to stop, when to continue, when to give time for its meaning to sicker.

he didn’t answer for a little while, and you didn’t push him to. 

when sleep knocked on your door, trying to settle over you like a thick blanket, that was when his voice infiltrated the space between you both. low, settled, a bit awkward but steady. 

the sun kept dancing over your face to the edge of the couch to the floor, and time kept pretending it didn’t exist. your hand on his leg stayed there, warm, seeking, and he never flinched, never stopped reading. page after page of seemingly boring medicinal properties of tea, yet it came to life with the care that he spilled forth his being.

one hand of his quietly found its way through the strands of your hair.

AUTHOR'S NOTE | for the nonnie, who asked me to write for megumi: i'm working on it!!! you have actually spurred my mind on to do a deep dive into megumi's psyche and,,,, nfgnghnngn so i'm so sorry if it'll take a bit longer. i just!!! have an idea!! and need to put it to paper!!

have this little domestic moment between megumi and yn tho in the meanwhile! :33

[nerdygirlramblings]

It has been three weeks since the gods departed, and a full moon rises over the village. There had never been any conversation about what occurred the night you made your first sacrifice. All your people knew was you secluded yourself in your home and two days later the rains came. The gods' intercession was tangible. Now you need to convince the Elders you've received some kind of message they will have to take on faith. You aren't sure if it will work, but you know you must try.

The morning after the full moon, you dress in the most elaborate garments you own, looking every bit the seer you've been dubbed, and walk calmly in to the main building. The Elders meet each morning, though there is usually little to discuss. Your people are welcome to bring any grievance or concern to the Elders any day, but since your sacrifice, few have felt the need to approach the Elders, most of their burdens eased when the rains came and the fighting stopped.

It is know how you spend your mornings, so your appearance at the Elder's meeting, dressed in much more finery than is typical, is impossible to ignore. Elder Stigr banks his glare but only because there are others present. Elder Hrafn looks you over and says, "Seer, what a surprise. This is a change from your morning routine. Has something happened?"

Before you can respond, Elder Agnar, who has been watching you carefully, asks, "Have you heard from them?" There is no need to ask which them he speaks of. There really should be only one reason why you are dressed ritualistically and encroaching on their space as though you are the one in charge. You smirk to yourself knowing where you stand with the gods, knowing who they would say is the leader here.

Instead of voicing this, you dip into a small curtsy and smile as you rise. "I dreamed of our gods last night." It wasn't a lie at all; you see them every night, and last night Gaz told you what to say to make the Elders believe new altars are their idea. "They are pleased with how well we honor them." You let the words settle, allow the Elders to bask in their own pride at making the gods happy.

"Their pleasure cannot be the only reason you came," Elder Agnar says. "Do they need something from us to continue blessing our people?" The others' gazes sharpen, concerned.

"Perhaps," you answer slowly. "They mentioned another god, Fra, whose worship has been forgotten."

Elder Stigr leans forward, accusations in his gaze. "Would Fra also bless our people?" he asks.

You look down and bite back another smile. If Elder Stigr believes, when he is now so suspicious of you, the others will fall in line. "It seemed so from what the others said: Fra was a protector of home and hearth."

You let them make whatever assumptions about blessings they want. All you care about is their permission to build Fra's altar with the others. After a few moments of fiercely whispered conversations, you are given permission to build whatever Fra needs.

You leave the main building and find Gunnarr and Njall working their craft. You tell them what you need - wood made stronger for being burned - and why. Unlike the Elders, most of your people take the gods' blessings on faith. The men promise to have you the wood you need in two days' time.

Two days later you are in the space with the other altars when Gunnarr and Njall come over carrying bundles of blackened wood in various sizes. Gunnarr must see your unease as he points out how parts of the branches are more flexible, thus less likely to crack and break. The men help you build Fra's altar, and when you finish, Njall's wife Astridr comes over with a small loaf of freshly baked bread, perfectly sized for the new altar. She looks to you for permission, and you nod. Astridr reverently places the bread down and thanks Fra for protecting her son, Bui.

That night you do not dream of your men gods at all. Instead, you dream of a woman built as you are but covered almost entirely in cloth. All that is visible is her piercing gaze. She tells you to have Bui search in the forest just beyond the river's bend. When morning comes, you set off for Njall's home before your usual visits. Luckily you catch Bui before he sets off for the day's work and pass on the message Fra gave you in your dream. The boy's eyes widen in fear and awe, but he takes off for the section of forest Fra indicated.

That evening, Bui comes triumphantly into the village, carrying a plant whose medicinal properties are known but which hasn't been seen in over a generation. Its uses will help many in the village with a variety of ailments. When Bui attributes his miracle to Fra, your people's esteem for you and the ancient gods is solidified. You know they will help restore the others to glory regardless of what the Elders may say in the future.

more

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

taglist: @hidden-treasures21

[insight-chronicles]

This has raised an interesting question for me...

Can I be accepting of something if it annoys/irritates/or causes me to feel some other negative feeling?

My main example for me is the "without volume control" and "screaming meltdown". Like I have a strong dislike of people and as a result limit my time outside the house so I don't have to deal with lots of people at once. How if I am out of the house and there is something particularly loud happening, i.e. an autistic person with no volume control, this annoys me. However, I would never go up to that person and ask them to be quiet. I understand that I am in a public space and therefore cannot conform the world around me to my liking. That is what my home is for.

I mean I'm not accepting of it because I really don't like it but I am accepting because I'm not going to ask/tell them they need to stop/be quiet/get themselves together.

Like it's their life, they have to live with it the whole time and deal with people hating on them and I don't want to be another person to add to that because my trip to the shops got a little bit worse. And instead of going home and being productive I am instead going to have to go home and decompress. But that's not their problem, it's mine.

happy autism acceptance month. this month, regardless if you're abled or disabled, allistic or autistic, try to consider if you really do accept people with autism. all aspects of autism. people who:

without volume control

talk to themselves or make sounds (seemingly) at random

have huge screaming meltdowns

stim any way, including smearing body fluids

only talk about one subject and will never "move on"

stare inappropriately

struggle with personal hygiene

are unemployed

who left education early ("dropped out")

has a carer and will always need one

don't use mouth words to communicate

have comorbid intellectual disability and don't want to separate that from their autism

autism acceptance month can't truly be about acceptance if we don't broaden our understanding of autism and confront our internal biases. these things listen above are normal parts of autism. sometimes very common. there's stigma around them, but that's stigma we can actively fight.

[mickyschumacher]

[MEANS I CARE!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: isack is entirely confused why his best friend is avoiding him. or in which you realised you're in love with your best friend.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: childhood friends to lovers, mostly angst, bits of fluff, a reader with dismissive avoidant attachment, reader struggles with her emotions, initial anger from confrontational!isack but overall caring!isack, cute love confession at the end! // poorly proof read as usual

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: isack hadjar x bsf!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.2k

𝐀/𝐍: poured a bit of myself into this one! it's hard to tell from my writing, but i struggle with expressing my emotions and telling people i care for them. i've heard it's quite common for older sisters to have avoidant attachment issues so... i guess i check the box ◡̈ anyway, this one might be a tad bit dramatic but lmk what you think! ♡︎ // also miss mcrae's album has a lot of avoidant attachment!!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You and Isack were opposites in every sense that mattered.

Where one would claim he was too expressive, you couldn't bring yourself to show you cared.

Where he was indecisive, you held all rationality.

And where he trusted freely, you locked yourself up.

But nevertheless, you had been childhood friends since he moved next door to you. Neither of you had a problem with the way you both acted. It was sort of like give and take: where you lacked, he made up for it and vice versa.

It never really mattered. At least that's what you thought anyways.

This year was different from every other. There would be no other like it. Because Isack was debuting as a Formula One driver. His life long dream. And you couldn't be anymore proud.

You didn't outright say it–you couldn't. You remember smiling when he told you and saying congratulations before Isack simply rolled his eyes and pulled you into a hug.

You remembered him thanking you when you pulled away, stomach churning at the lengthy hug. You were confused. Eyebrows furrowed, you asked why.

"For believing in me," he said with the most beautiful smile and the warmest brown eyes holding your own.

That was the defining moment... the moment you realised you were in love with your best friend.

There were signs. There were always signs.

Your extensive care for him and only him. The constant worry every time he went out on track. The small skip in your heart beat when he'd return home with your favourite ice cream. Your slight amusement when you'd pretend to be cross with him and he'd think you were being serious. The little trinkets he'd bring back from every race to put on the shelves in your bedroom. Or the way he lowered the volume of the TV before you'd even ask him to because he knew you didn't like it.

They were always there. But the line between best friends and whatever... it was so similar... so blurry. How could you've ever known?

But that day... it was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over your head and reality had finally been opened to you.

You loved Isack. Not liked. Not admired. Not fancied. Loved. And you had been for years.

God it scared you. It terrified you.

People never said it to you but you knew how you were.

When you invested too much of yourself into one thing, you stopped it only moments later. You didn't want to stick around to see if something would be good. It was the assumption it would hurt. So if you could dismiss it before it even had the chance to... that's the only way you could ever relax.

You never understood how people did it. How you could give so much of yourself away. What happened when it all inevitably failed? Why wouldn't you protect yourself first? Why did you have to deal with the mess of emotions?

Loving Isack... it meant showing the most vulnerable sides of yourself. And it's not that he didn't know you. He was your best friend, of course he knew you. But that made it worse.

In your years of friendship, you had cried twice in front of him. And you hated it every single second of it. That he could see you break down. That you weren't the strong friend he normally relied on.

Loving Isack was going to fail.

You knew it.

You knew it when he crashed in the formation lap on Australia and it felt like a part of you had been ripped and torn into pieces when you saw him cry on the screens.

You knew it when he came to you, thought to be out of tears, but almost on his knees, hands immediately wrapping around you for a hug, asking you why this had happened to him and you couldn't do anything but apologise to him and tell him he'd come back stronger while you cried so silently.

When his parents thanked you for being there for Isack... fuck, you knew it would all backfire.

So you slowly stopped. Like you always did.

Fewer texts. Fewer jokes. More lies. Forcing yourself to do something–anything–else but care too much.

You hated it. You hated that it was bringing you some calm despite your body screaming at you.

It was getting difficult to keep it up. How many more times would you blamed it on the time zones? As if you hadn't memorised them the moment they came out. As if you hadn't been doing this his entire career.

But the small break after the Saudi Grand Prix meant Isack was back home. After you had missed your usual good luck text.

You had forgotten actually. You were in your room, studying quietly, unaware anyone would be home as your workaholic parents were out like normal.

Consequently, the thumps up your staircase were loud, almost deafening. Your ears perked up as the door of your bedroom went wide open.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Isack's shrill voice echoed in your bedroom, chest heaving as he stood in front of you, arms firmly to his side.

You turned from your desk. You eyed his attire briefly. The hoodie and sweatpants, the bags under his eyes... he'd probably just come from the airport. The one where you'd usually be waiting for him. "Excuse me?" You asked, throat dry from not speaking in hours.

Isack blinked, swallowing. He took a step forward to you, eyes flickering over you rapidly to see if you were okay. "Is something wrong? A-Are you sick? Are you stressed? Tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."

You could feel it. The tear in your heart growing while annoyance boiled under your skin. He didn't need to fix you. That was your job.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," you sighed out, standing from your desk before you walked to your shelves. You chewed on your lip, nervously eyeing the trinkets Isack had brought you.

You needed this conversation to be over before it went somewhere else.

"Putain de merde," Isack swore, running a hand through his hair. He walked to you again. "Like hell you don't... you don't talk to me for a week and avoid my calls and you don't know what I’m talking about? Like I'm crazy?" He asked with a small scoff.

You sucked in a sharp breath, turning to face him. "I told you with the time diff–"

A loud groan interrupted your sentence. Isack breathed slowly, fingers pressed on his nose bridge. "I swear to fucking God, if you mention that stupid fucking time difference again, I will lose my mind."

You stayed quiet. You weren't sure what to say. You wanted to peel out of your skin, you were so uncomfortable. You hated confrontation. Isack knew you hated confrontation. And yet...

Isack sighed quietly. He stepped closer to you, holding your hands with his gently. "Please, ma moitié. Please tell me what's wrong. Did I do something? Why... why won't you talk to me?"

Your eyes burned at the crack in his voice. Fuck, this sucked. You hated yourself for feeling like this. It was like it was on the tip of your tongue but you could never get it out.

"I..." you said shakily, forcing yourself to remove your burning hands from his while you pretended like you didn't see the hurt flash in his eyes, "It's nothing. Nothing is wrong."

"So it is something. Something has been bothering you. Since last year... since I told you about my seat... something's been wrong. What is it? What happened?" Isack queried softly, brown eyes searching yours so deeply for an answer.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Shit.

"You know you can tell me anything."

But I can't! You wanted to scream it. You just couldn't tell him.

"Isack, please... just– you know how I am. I'll deal with it, hmm?" You said, trying to muster up a smile.

He stared at you quietly and you were scared he was seeing too much of you. The debate in his eyes... the way he chewed his lip... he also couldn't tell if he should say it.

"You want to cry," he stated, making your eyes widen. "I can see it in your eyes. The redness. Your red cheeks. You want to say something so just say it! I'm worried for you."

"Stop saying things like that." You let out an exasperated groan. You brushed past him, clambering into his shoulder. "I don't understand how you do it," you murmured angrily more to yourself than him.

The tears were freely flowing down your cheeks before you knew it. You glared hard at your desk, eyes hot as though it would stop you from crying.

You couldn't see it but Isack could feel his heart breaking at the sight of your figure shaking. You could feel him gently lay his hand over your shoulder. "It's okay to cry," he mumbled, "I wish you wouldn't hide it."

You felt sick. Like your stomach was churning. It felt like his hand was leaving an imprint on you, searing you. Exhaustion was clouding your body. Exhaustion that had built up over the course of the past few weeks.

"I can't do it like you, Isack. I can't show I care. It's so hard. It's like I have to constantly fight myself," you quietly said, unable to bear this any longer.

"Hey," Isack murmured, hand travelling to your face to turn you to him. His eyes softened at your wet cheeks. Wiping them with the pads of his thumbs, he held your chin with his thumb. "It's okay. You don't have to do anything like me. Take your time. Do what you want when you want."

You breathed quietly while you stared at your best friend. He was right. It wasn't as easy as he made it sound, but you were so tired of feeling like crap. You focused on his encouraging smile and opened your mouth.

"I... you were right. I was avoiding you," you admitted, eyes falling to the floor in embarrassment. You could feel he wanted to say something but he stayed quiet, waiting for you. "I was avoiding you because I care."

Isack furrowed his brows. "I don't understand."

You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating how much you wanted to say... how much you could say. "Last year... when you told me you got your seat, you thanked me."

He nodded in agreement. "For believing in me. Because you always do," he murmured, his free hand rubbing your own softly, comforting you.

You smiled gently at his words before taking in a sharp intake of air. "It just made me think, well, realise that I'm in love with you. And I always have been," you breathed out, the weight slowly lifting off your shoulders.

You could see Isack's eyes slightly widen but you continued. "And that terrifies me, Isack. Because it means I care. I care a lot for you. And I'm scared that because I care, something will go wrong. I-I didn't mean to shut you out. It's not what I want. It's just all I know. So I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I'm dumping this on you when you don't feel the same way and–"

"Wait, wait, wait," Isack interjected, hands both reaching to hold your face gently. He held your eyes with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "Who's says I don't feel the same way?"

You mouth felt dry, heart speeding. "I... You do?"

Isack smiled, laughing softly as he nodded. "I thought it was obvious. That maybe you just didn't feel the same way."

He watched a dark expression fall on your face. You were in that same dreadful space you had just been in. "Hey, ma moitié, what's wrong?"

Your eyes fell to his once again. "What if I can't love you enough?"

It sounded strange but he knew what you meant. Even with all your care... what if you couldn't show you loved him enough? What if you couldn't express it?

"Not possible," Isack retorted, casually shrugging.

"But I–"

"I see it," Isack firmly told you, quietening you easily. "I see it when you're at my races and you stand on the side, letting me go to my parents first. I see you and your camera taking pictures of us when you think I don't. I see your heart. I see all of it."

You blinked, eyes burning all over again. For the first time in forever, you stepped forward, hugging him tightly. "Je t’aime, Isack.

His arms wrapped around yours, holding you closer to him. Isack smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Je t’aime, ma moitié."

"Did you bring me any souvenirs?" You mumbled against his shoulders, sniffling slightly.

You could feel his body rumble with a chuckle. "Depends. did you even watch my race or were you busy 'sleeping?'"

You pulled away, making a face, guilt still swirling within you. "I did watch it. You know I watch it even when I'm mad at you," you pouted.

Isack grinned. "Then of course I did."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[devotedsweetheart]

・❥ SAY IT AGAIN

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ rundown :: you find out caleb had been logging into your phone at random times of the day to keep track of who you were texting. frustrated, you call him to yell at him only to question what exactly he was doing on the other end.

WARNINGS :: NSFW! 18+ , phone sex , sub!caleb (per usual) , masturbation , cnc , use of y/n

a/n :: highkey got this idea from that one scene in twk when cardans kissing jude & telling her to say she hates him..🌝🌝

he had absolutely no right to be invading your personal space. absolutely none.

you were so fucking angry.

caleb was away on a trip with gran. usually, he would simply ask to check your phone, and you'd happily give it to him- knowing he means well. but with the shit he has been pulling, you're starting to question whether or not he really does trust you like he says he does.

you had found out that he was hacking into your phone because the device started acting awfully odd. opening apps you didnt click on, siri turning on without any context, letters on the keyboard being pressed when you never tapped on them in the first place. confused (and frankly a little scared), you took it to a professional to get it checked out. when he asked if anyone else had the password to your socials, thats when the realization dawned on you.

you felt so stupid. utterly dumb. but how were you supposed to know? you had told caleb about the issue multiple times and each occasion you mentioned it he would always say the same thing: "thats so weird, pips.. maybe you should go get it checked out or something." feigning complete innocence.

you had enough.

driving home as fast as you could, you barely reach the front door before you're calling him nonstop until he answers.

"hey pips! i missed yo-"

"you fucking liar."

there's a beat of silence at that. your breathing is heavy, going right into the mic- giving caleb an idea of what he's in for.

"um.. excuse me?" caleb manages, swallowing thickly. he knows exactly what you're going to yell at him for and he's praying to jesus christ himself that he can manipulate his way out of it.

"you know exactly what i'm talking about, don't try to play dumb. you've been going into my phone and looking through my shit. i thought you said you trusted me? what happened to that? i mean, seriously, caleb, i thought we had gotten over this." you say, voice pinched a bit higher than usual. you're pacing around the room in order to keep yourself calm, heart beating at a distressing rate as you don't like to argue with him.

"pips, i really don't know what you're talking about," he utters, licking his lips. "i know whats been going on with your phone has been messing you up, but you don't necessarily have to blame me for it. look, once i get back i'll help you figure out what's wrong with it just to prove that it's not me. deal?"

you can tell that he's trying his best to soften his tone to make his lie more believable, but you aren't gonna buy into it.

"no. no, caleb, just quit the act already. i'm so tired of this. i'll give you two choices," you say, sitting down on the couch; elbows on your knees. "either you stop with the whole hacking thing and we stay together, or i cut things off with you and we never talk again."

for a moment, there's nothing being said. pure silence. he's absolutely speechless on his end of the phone, mouth agape and eyes wide. every few seconds, he'd attempt to say something but nothing would come out- resulting in something that resembled a stutter.

"well? what's it gonna be?" you asked, becoming to grow impatient.

"y/n.." he whispered. "you.. you can't do that to me. i-.. i'm sorry for doing all that crap. i didn't do it because i don't trust you... it's other people that i don't trust. please believe me, baby. i can't stop doing it, it's just my way of keeping you safe."

aaaand now it's your turn to be shocked.

"are you fucking serious?" you yell, and you swear you can see the look on his face regardless if he's visible or not. eyebrows raised up, cheeks as red as roses, eyes backed up with tears. you know how much he hates being yelled at by you... but he deserves it. "you can't be serious. please tell me you're pulling some joke."

" baby, please. i-"

"enough. just quit it. i fucking hate you, caleb."

he swallows. no, practically gulps. he shouldnt be turned on by the sound of that. he really shouldnt. he knows he should be terrified by the threat of you leaving him... but the tent growing in his pants is getting undeniably uncomfortable that he just can't seem to care.

unzipping his jeans, he gently lays his back on his bed, being carefully quiet to ensure you don't hear.

"you're fucking insane and no matter how much i try to talk to you about it you never change. it is draining, caleb. you have absolutely no idea how fucked up you are."

he's nodding against his phone, murmuring small 'yeah's here and there to let you know that he's listening. what you aren't aware of is the fact that instead of really listening, he's actually moving his hand at an insane speed on his dick. it gets to the point that he can't even respond, the pleasure taking over. all he needs is for you to tell him how bad he is and how much you despise him for him to be able to go over the edge.

the fact that you don't even know whats going on keeps him going for even longer.

"...-is so frustrating, caleb! you don't even care for me and... wait, are you even listening? hellooo?" you shout, expecting an answer.

he picks up his phone from where it was sitting on his pillow and takes it off speaker phone to reply. "y-yes, baby? 'm sorry.. i'm, um, listening. keep talking." he responds, stuttering over his words.

you roll your eyes, thinking he simply just doesn't care. "my god, you're so fucking annoying. i hate you so much, y'know that?"

he nods hastily, even though you can't see it. "y-yes. say it again. please." the last word comes out broken as he was embarrassingly close to cumming.

you stop in your tracks, both eyebrows furrowed. "um..." you utter, confused at what he was playing at. "i... hate.. you..?"

"f-fuck!" he whisper-shouts, hips thrusting into his hand as he drops the device back onto where it was initially. he brings his previously free hand down to his cock to stroke the tip, twisting his wrists. biting his lip, hard enough to draw blood, he makes his best effort to keep little whimpers inside of his mouth. it works for the most part... but you already knew what was happening. he does it too many times for you to not know.

"caleb." you warn.

he doesn't answer, he can't answer, mind is too hazy from the force of his orgasm. he's practically like putty on his bed, half asleep and half awake.

"text me in the morning." you say before hanging up and throwing your phone on the bed.

he will not ever learn.

[starsoverbrooklyn]

Very informal, obnoxious, and messy annotations below... (all love, promise) 💚

“It’ll be fine by morning–” he starts to argue with you, but you’re already walking away from him, exiting the room to retrieve a first-aid kit kept in one of the shared bathrooms just down the hallway. Though you can’t currently see him, you have no doubt that he is shaking his head and rolling his eyes at you. 

I love that this feels so him. I’m a full supporter of the theory that Bucky and Steve both lack the sense for self-care and burdening with what can heal—regardless of it being broken. Ah! & then your sprinkle of his personality? 5-star Michelin.

“What were you reading before I so rudely interrupted you?” The corner of his mouth tugs upwards in a smirk as he inspects the cover of the book. 

🫵Witch!! I shouldn’t be able to PICTURE this rn—insane work.

Natasha, Sharon, and Wanda wave at you from where they lounge next to the bonfire, Steve and Sam are engaged in an intense game of beer pong (which Sam seems to be doing impressively well at, considering one arm is still in a cast and sling), Clint and Bruce are playing cornhole - everyone is here, though you don’t see the one person you came for.

This is the content I live for—everyone on this earth and living their best lives. I love the rest of this scene so much—ugh. And the wrapping paper?! Cait. I’m dramatic but I’m sending you my hospital bill bc i feel the love for this piece building & i’m going to have to go through another heartbreak of finishing it again.

“Thank you,” he says with a soft, earnest smile. “This is incredibly thoughtful of you. I'm going to start reading them–” 

Omg, he’s whipped. and i love it.

“Ivanov just arrived,” Bucky's voice murmurs next to your ear as he walks up behind you, snapping you out of your self-doubt induced trance. His left hand, disguised using nano-tech to look like a human, flesh hand, comes to rest against the small of your back and his right hand extends the drink that he retrieved for you from the bar. 

This gives congressman Bucky & I’m losing my mind. Him knowing the drink is such an attractive detail, ugh. 

“Dance with me,” Bucky interrupts, his eyes locked on something on the opposite side of the room.

My breath trembled a bit like he actually cut me off. You’re compiling so many rich tropes into one piece and mixing it with your ability to just create an immersive reading experience… It’s giving am I reading or watching a movie?

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, beginning to massage his thumb over the skin of your hand in languid, circular motions.

Time for me to indulge a little on my top love language. You did this push and pull with her anxiety and his soothing so naturally. People often mistake WOA as someone who needs to be constantly assured, and though there are people who do—the truth and assurance in his words, with a note of him highlighting her past things worth praising? I seriously love how beautifully you’ve touched on all of these love languages.

And then the fucking—

“And remember, we're madly in love, so it's alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

I get this is a huge talking point with this piece, but it was such a subtle affirmation that he cares about what she shares with him—and gosh, I wish I could rave day & night about how amazing you did with this.

“I fully anticipate him trying,” he answers as he puts the car in reverse and peels out of the nearly vacant parking lot. “But I promised you a potentially gut-rotting meal, and I'm going to keep that promise.” 

I’m a skeptic of shifting, but if I wasn’t, this would go on my script. This gives ‘I’d stop the world and melt with you’, which is the epitome of quality time. Beautiful.

“I'm just saying, Katniss is kind of oblivious,” Bucky shrugs with a mouthful of fried cheese. “It's obvious that Peeta was never just pretending to be in love with her.”

This parallel is paralleling. (Don’t hate me, I’ve never read the books, but this is the reason I’m going to).

“Why were you trying to play pool at ten years old?” he chuckles, gathering up all of the balls and placing them inside the triangular rack in the center of the table.

Ugh, adorable. Give him to me, Cait. Just let me copy him from your brain and paste him irl. And the touch about the cootie-phobic crush just puts the icing over the cavity just before things take a turn……

But you don't miss the way his expression darkens ever so slightly and his eyes sweep up your figure before moving to stand behind you, propping his own cue stick up against the table.

CAIT, LADIES AND GENTS. Made Bucky flip like the switch he so desperately is. 

“With how fast your heart is beating right now, I don't think I would have to do something as cheesy as that to make a move.”

I… have to read the rest of this portion in solitude… I shall return.

As soon as his mouth makes contact with your center, you’re lacing your fingers through his short, soft locks and tugging on them.

Screaming!!

You bring your other hand to remove the ring from your finger, planning to tuck it into a cup holder for safekeeping while you use your hands on him. “Leave it on,” he breaks the thick silence when he realizes what you're doing. “Want you to keep wearing it.” 

CRYING!!! THROWING UP!!!!!!!!!!!! UNFORGIVABLE. 

He snorts, breaking into laughter beneath you. “A second date, then,” he concedes. “I would love to take you on a second date.”

*SLAMS CREDIT CARD ON TABLE A BILLION TIMES* ADD TO CART. ADD TO CART. ADD TO CART. BUY. BUY IMMEDIATELY. BUY POSTHASTE. FULL-fucking circle, baby. This is what we were WAITING FOR!!!!!!

Cait—I do not expect you to read all of this. Just know that I had so much fun reading it this time around (as I’d previously wished I could read it for the first time again)—and it felt just like the first. I’m reading as part of self-improvement for my imagination, and I hope you know this will always be in my top favorites of things I’ve read that made me feel. Thank you for writing it, and sharing on this platform. May your pillows and covers always be just the right temperature for the season. I’ll definitely be back for more 💚 -rrinnie

love language

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 6.6k

snapshots of your relationship with bucky told through the five love languages.

“remember, we're madly in love, so it's alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

warnings/tags: smut, oral, unprotected sex, mentions of blood, wound care, brief uses of alcohol, anxiety and self-doubt, language, reader is afab, avenger!reader, fluffier than what i typically write, undercover mission, friends to lovers!!! 18+ only

Acts of Service

“Exciting Friday night?” Your head snaps up at the masculine voice. You nearly slosh hot tea on both yourself and the pages of the book that lay open in your lap. You're surprised to see him - as far as you were aware, Bucky and Sam were in Munich. You didn't think they were supposed to be back in the country for another two days.

“Something like that,” you answer, regaining your composure as you bring the mug to your lips. “What are you doing back so early? Did recon go okay?”

Bucky lets out a long sigh as he plops down into the recliner, adjacent to where you're curled up on the sofa in the compound’s communal living room. His eyelids look heavier than normal, with dark circles underneath that aren't typically present. You place your cup of tea on the end table next to you and close the book before angling your body towards him, giving him your undivided attention.

“It was a shit-show,” he answers bluntly, voice laced with defeat. “HYDRA had the drop on us from the minute we entered Germany. What was supposed to be us just gathering intel turned into an ambush. One minute, it was just the two of us in an old warehouse, and then the next..” he trails off, eyes locked on one of the buttons of his tactical pants that he’s fidgeting with. “We’re lucky to have made it out. Sam was taken to med-bay as soon as we got back. Broken arm and collarbone, dislocated shoulder, possibly a few fractured ribs..” he lists off the injuries.

“Jesus,” you cringe, a death grip on the book in your hands as you listen to him summarize the mission. “Looks like you came out pretty unscathed in comparison.” You glance him over from head to toe, relieved to see no visible wounds or bruises.

“Yeah, well,” he starts, sitting forward and pulling the collar of his black t-shirt over to expose his right shoulder. Your eyes bulge when you see the obvious knife wound that the fabric had been concealing. “Not completely unscathed.”

“Holy shit, Bucky, why didn’t you go get this stitched up?” You stand up quickly, your book falling forgotten to the floor as you step closer to him to inspect the cut. There’s dried blood covering the surrounding skin of his chest and shoulder, with fresh blood still seeping from the opening of the wound. Even with the luxury of the Quinjet, a direct flight from Germany to New York is at least eight hours, who knows how long the cut had been steadily oozing–

“The bleeding has slacked off for the most part at this point,” he tries to assure you, attempting to cover the wound back up with his shirt. His shirt that, upon closer inspection, is thoroughly soaked through with blood. You all but smack his hand away so that you can continue to inspect the cut.

“It’s too deep,” you shake your head. “It needs stitches.”

“It’ll be fine by morning–” he starts to argue with you, but you’re already walking away from him, exiting the room to retrieve a first-aid kit kept in one of the shared bathrooms just down the hallway. Though you can’t currently see him, you have no doubt that he is shaking his head and rolling his eyes at you.

Before returning to the living room, you stop by the kitchen and grab a cold can of Blue Moon to help take the edge off. Upon reentering the living room, you find that he’s hunched over where he sits in the recliner, leaning forward to grab your book from where it had fallen on the rug.

“What were you reading before I so rudely interrupted you?” The corner of his mouth tugs upwards in a smirk as he inspects the cover of the book.

“The Hunger Games,” you answer simply as you place the first-aid kit on the couch and hold out the beer to him. He accepts the drink, a small, surprised smile appearing on his face.

“Shirt,” you instruct a second later, turning to him with a warm, wet rag that you intend to clean some of the dried blood off with. Surprisingly, he obliges your request, placing both the beer and the book in his lap to pull the bloodied fabric over his head.

“And what exactly is The Hunger Games about?” he asks, looking up at you through his thick lashes before turning his attention back to the book in his lap. He flips it over, skimming the words on the back cover.

“The Hunger Games,” you begin as you delicately swipe the damp washcloth across the dirty skin around his wound, watching as the material turns from white to pink as it collects the old blood. “Are dystopian fiction novels. The books get their title from an annual event in which a boy and a girl, ranging from the ages of twelve to eighteen, from twelve different districts are selected by name-drawing to compete in a fight to the death. Twenty-four go into an arena, one comes out.”

“Sheesh,” Bucky grimaces and pops the tab to the beer. You turn away from him, placing the soiled washcloth on the table next to him before retrieving some disinfectant from the kit. “And what’s the point in having a bunch of children kill each other?”

“Punishment and control,” you shrug, pouring some of the clear liquid on a large gauze pad until it’s soaked. He gives you a vague nod, signaling he’s ready for you to clean the wound. You dab the drenched cotton along the opening of the wound, wincing more visibly than Bucky does himself. “The districts where the children are reaped from have had uprisings against the nation’s Capitol in the past. The games are to punish them, as well as to remind them what power the Capitol holds.”

Bucky’s brows furrow together, contemplating your words. You make the initial incision for his stitches and he lets out a grunt of discomfort. “Sorry,” you mumble, concentrating on the stitchwork.

“So what happens?” He asks after a few moments of silence, obviously trying to distract himself from the needle going in and out of his tender flesh as he sips on the amber colored liquid. “The group of kids rebel and take down the Capitol?”

“You’re not too far off,” you chuckle lightly. “I guess you’ll just have to read them for yourself to find out.”

“I suppose I will,” he says, eyeing your needlework from the corner of his eye. “Will you let me borrow your copies when I finish The Lord of the Rings?”

“You’re reading The Lord of the Rings?” you fail at hiding your tone of surprise, more focused on finishing suturing his cut.

“Don’t act so shocked,” he feigns insult. “I read when I have the free time to do so.” He turns his head towards you for the first time since you began stitching, causing you to realize just how close his face is to your own. You push down the fluttery feeling in the pit of your stomach at the close proximity, clearing your throat as you turn to grab a pair of small medical scissors. You clip the thread before backing away from him.

“That should hold you together well enough until your supernatural super-soldier healing abilities take care of it while you sleep.”

He stands from his position in the recliner, holding out your book to you. “Thank you,” he tells you sincerely. “For the stitches, and the beer.”

“Of course,” you say as you take your book back from him. “Don’t want you getting blood all over the compound.”

“I think I’m gonna go check on Sam,” he sighs. “I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

“Get some rest!” you demand as he retreats to the hallway.

“Yes ma’am,” he calls without looking back, his Brooklyn drawl making an appearance.

For the rest of the night, you try to focus on your book and not the way you felt when his plush pink lips and cerulean blue eyes were just inches from your face.

Receiving Gifts

One week later

Punctuality has never been your strong-suit, but you didn’t expect to be the very last person to arrive at Bucky’s birthday party - get together, as he insists on calling it, since he feels silly having a birthday party at over one hundred years old. However, as you’re approaching the pavilion at the compound’s lake, you see that all of your friends are already mingling comfortably.

Natasha, Sharon, and Wanda wave at you from where they lounge next to the bonfire, Steve and Sam are engaged in an intense game of beer pong (which Sam seems to be doing impressively well at, considering one arm is still in a cast and sling), Clint and Bruce are playing cornhole - everyone is here, though you don’t see the one person you came for.

You make your way over to a picnic table closer to the lake that has been dedicated to presents so that you can add yours to the pile. You had ordered the gift a week ago, the same night that you had stitched up Bucky’s shoulder wound, and it arrived just in time - in today's mail, only an hour ago.

Hence the reason you are the last to arrive with a shittily-wrapped present in hand.

“Is that Avengers wrapping paper?” You whirl around at the amused voice to see Bucky walking towards you.

“That it is,” you confirm. “You and I aren't featured, though. Just the OGs,” you shrug, staring down at the cartoon depictions of Steve and the others.

“I was starting to wonder if you weren't going to come.” He says lightheartedly, nodding in the direction of everyone else.

“Your present didn't get delivered until the last minute,” you explain, giving the box-shaped object in your hand a shake. “Didn't want to show up empty handed.”

“You didn't have to get me a gift at all,” he says reassuringly, but eyes the present curiously. “But since you almost missed my party over it, I should open it right away.” He holds his hands out expectantly, almost childlike.

You roll your eyes, handing over the poorly packaged present. You had never been the best at gift-wrapping, usually preferring to reuse bags.

“I did not almost miss your party. It's just now eight o'clock,” you defend yourself, staring at the sun that's just starting to set over the lake's horizon, painting the New York sky in hues of orange and purple.

He smirks, walking past you to place the present on the table. You watch as he rips the wrapping paper away unceremoniously, until the gift is revealed.

“I know you had asked to borrow my copies,” you begin, suddenly feeling nervous as you watch him look over the box set of the first edition of The Hunger Games trilogy. “But my copies are old, and tattered, and have been annotated to shit, so.. I thought maybe you'd like your own,” you shrug nonchalantly.

He studies the box, pulling out the first book and glancing it over with a look you can't quite decipher. There's a faint hint of rose on his cheeks, and the lines around his eyes crinkle when he turns his head to look at you.

“Thank you,” he says with a soft, earnest smile. “This is incredibly thoughtful of you. I'm going to start reading them–”

“This pizza is getting cold!” You hear Sam's voice bellow from under the pavilion a few yards away. “I'm about to dig in with or without the birthday boy.”

You exhale through your nose, a half laugh, half sigh and look at Bucky expectantly. “Pretty sure you're the only birthday boy here.”

“I guess that's my cue,” he sighs as he places the books with the rest of his unopened gifts. “Thanks again, really. It's my favorite gift,” he adds with a sly grin as he begins to walk towards Sam and the table of pizza boxes.

“You haven't even opened the others yet,” you point out, following in his steps.

“Don’t need to open any of the others to know that yours is my favorite.”

Words of Affirmation

Two weeks later

Overstimulated. That's the best word to describe the way you're currently feeling.

Nervous, uncomfortable, irritable, a little hungry, even - any of those words would suffice, too. But with the way the velvet fabric of your dress hugs your hips too tightly, the way that the conversation of the drunk party guests roars in your ears, and the way that the heels of your feet already burn in your platform wedges so early in the evening, you think overstimulated sums up your current state the best.

You fidget with the extravagant ring that adorns your left ring finger, twisting it back and forth and rubbing the pad of your right thumb across the oval-shaped stone.

You aren't even supposed to be here, your brain keeps reminding you. It was supposed to be Natasha. Natasha, who has a boatload of undercover operations experience. But then she had to come down with the flu. Natasha, who never gets sick with anything more than a head cold, bedridden with the flu the day before a highly anticipated undercover mission that you are now taking her place in.

It's not that you hadn't been part of an undercover operation before - you had. You just hadn't been part of any undercover operation that required you to pose as someone's wife before.

Definitely not Bucky's wife.

The two of you had just arrived at the party no more than thirty minutes ago and you had spent the entirety of that time thinking that you wouldn't be able to make this believable; that everyone would see how anxious and awkward you feel and just know - just know that you weren't meant to be here and that it's abundantly clear that you and Bucky aren't actually together.

“Ivanov just arrived,” Bucky's voice murmurs next to your ear as he walks up behind you, snapping you out of your self-doubt induced trance. His left hand, disguised using nano-tech to look like a human, flesh hand, comes to rest against the small of your back and his right hand extends the drink that he retrieved for you from the bar.

“How'd you know I like lemon drops?” You ask, instantly recognizing the pale yellow liquid in the martini glass.

“I'm your husband. It's part of my job to know your go-to cocktail,” he smirks, looking at you in a way that almost makes you believe his words. “Besides, I'd know your drink of choice anyway. You always order a lemon drop.”

You clear your throat, breaking his stare by checking out the fellow attendees and event staff filtering through the ballroom. You slowly sip the sour liquid, trying to focus on the burn of the vodka and not the heat radiating across the skin of your back from him simply resting his fingers against the material of your dress.

“So where's Ivanov?” you break the tension. The illegal arms dealer that you'd been assigned to spy on was nowhere to be seen.

“He should be showing his face any minute now,” Bucky answers, a hint of displeasure in his voice. “I overheard some men at the bar saying he had just arrived in a three million dollar Bugatti with his twenty year old girlfriend.” You visibly cringe at the numbers. Ivanov had to be approaching senior citizen status at this point.

“Can't say that I'd expect anything else from him,” you sigh, attempting to wipe the disgust from your features. “What’s our game plan from here? Hover close by him and listen in on conversations–”

“Dance with me,” Bucky interrupts, his eyes locked on something on the opposite side of the room. You follow his gaze, realizing that Ivanov has entered with his exceptionally youthful girlfriend on his arm. Bucky extends his own arm to you, which you accept after tossing back the last sip of your drink and setting the empty glass on a table behind you.

He guides you to the center of the dance floor where several other couples are swaying to classical piano music. Ivanov mingles with a small group of questionable looking men just a few feet behind you, where Bucky is able to keep an eye on him.

He places one hand on your waist, using the other to hold one of yours in his own as he begins to slowly sway both of you to the rhythm of the music. Your free hand rests on the back of his neck, where you nervously twirl a tuft of his hair between your perfectly manicured fingers (you tried not to take too much offense to Sharon rushing you to the first salon she could find yesterday to help you look the part).

Bucky huffs a low laugh before using his grip on your hip to tug you closer to him, closing an awkward amount of space that separates your chest from his.

“If we want this to be believable, you’re gonna have to act like you kind of like me,” he murmurs lowly so that no one near you overhears. His face is just inches from yours - the scent of sandalwood from his aftershave and spearmint from his mouthwash is dizzying. Add in the fact that the lemon drop you had just quickly downed was heavy on the vodka, it’s a miracle that you’re still standing upright in these ridiculous heels that Sharon had picked out for you.

“I do like you,” you huff, your cheeks warming. “Not liking you isn’t the problem.” His gaze shifts away from where Ivanov stands a few yards behind you and down to your face.

“What is the problem then?”

You stare at his hand that holds yours, your eyes fixated on the brilliant diamond of your faux wedding ring. “For starters, I don’t really know how to slow dance,” you half-mumble. As if on cue, your left ankle shifts ever so slightly in your shoe, causing you to wobble. Bucky tightens his grasp on both your waist and hand to help steady you. He cackles - loudly enough for an old lady walking by to give him a side-eye.

“I think it’s pretty unlikely that our cover gets blown because you’re a little unsteady,” he whispers reassuringly. It does little to ease the lump of anxiety that has settled in your gut.

“It’s not just my lack of dancing experience,” you retort. “It’s all of this. I’m a bit out of my element here and I can’t help but feel like Natasha would have been able to do a much better–”

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, beginning to massage his thumb over the skin of your hand in languid, circular motions. You can’t decide if it’s the effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins or if it’s just the fact that it’s him, but it feels as though there’s a continuous trail of hot sparks everywhere his skin touches yours. “You've got this. If anyone’s got this, it's you. You've handled missions far more daunting than this with ease, right?”

You finally shift your eyes to meet his gaze. His deep blue eyes bore into yours with utmost sincerity. You give him a small nod of agreement and a tight-lipped, uncertain smile.

He leans in closer so that his mouth hovers just next to your ear, his warm breath raising goosebumps down the expanse of your neck and shoulders.

“And remember, we're madly in love, so it's alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

The slow, gentle swaying motions you'd been forcing your body to perform come to a sudden halt. You look at Bucky as if he's grown a second head. He’s looking at you with a shit-eating grin spread from ear to ear.

“Did you just quote Peeta Mellark?”

“I finished up the first book yesterday,” he shrugs as if his words hadn't just made your heart skip several beats. “Now let's get this job over with so we can go discuss the book in detail over some greasy diner food, yeah?”

Quality Time

The mere thought of getting the fuck out of that giant estate and away from Ivanov and the other countless skeevy party-goers to gorge on greasy diner food was more than enough motivation to get you through the duration of the mission.

Of course, it helped that Ivanov is a lightweight drunk with no concept of volume control. After a couple drinks, he handed the location of his next illegal arms deal to you and Bucky on a silver platter - without ever even noticing the two of you dancing just feet away from him.

“I'm sending the audio recording over to you right now,” Bucky says as he types on his cell phone. The two of you are currently in a drugstore parking lot half an hour away from the estate, sitting in the Audi SUV that you'd been given for this evening’s mission.

“Got it,” Sam’s voice booms through the car’s Bluetooth speakers a second later. “You guys did great back there. Go ahead and get back to the compound for debriefing.”

Your eyes flash to the time on the vehicle's touchscreen display - 10:06 pm. You can feel your stomach churning from hunger and your skin itching to get out of the restrictive velvet fabric, the last thing you wanted to do at this hour was go to a fucking debriefing.

“About that..” Bucky starts, noticing your disappointed expression and tense posture. “Debriefing is going to have to wait until the morning.”

“We should really get any details while they are still fresh–”

“What’s that? Sam? Sorry, you're breaking up, can't understand what you're–”

Bucky's flesh finger touches a button on the digital display screen and the call disconnects before he finishes his sentence.

“You know he's going to call back any second, right?” You ask after a moment of loaded silence. Bucky says nothing at first. You watch as he powers off his phone, and then grabs yours from its location in the center cup holder and powers it off, as well.

“I fully anticipate him trying,” he answers as he puts the car in reverse and peels out of the nearly vacant parking lot. “But I promised you a potentially gut-rotting meal, and I'm going to keep that promise.”

Half an hour later, you and Bucky sit opposite each other in a cozy, corner booth of the only open diner in a five mile radius. It's half diner, half arcade, and the two of you are some of the only people here save for the teenage couple making out next to the jukebox in the gaming area. You both look out of place - him in his black satin suit and you in your burgundy colored dress with the thigh-slit, but you're too relieved to be eating to care.

He's already scarfed down a fried chicken sandwich and is rapidly making his way through a pile of mozzarella sticks. You're eating a fat stack of blueberry pancakes and the best loaded hash browns that you think you've ever had.

Breakfast foods hit different at eleven o'clock at night.

“I'm just saying, Katniss is kind of oblivious,” Bucky shrugs with a mouthful of fried cheese. “It's obvious that Peeta was never just pretending to be in love with her.”

“That's a big assumption coming from someone who hasn't even started the second book yet,” you say as you fork a bite of pancake into your mouth.

He throws his hands up in mock defense, covering his now empty plate up with a dirty napkin.

“You're not wrong though,” you admit. “She did miss a lot of signs, and she's not always the most reliable narrator.”

He responds with a small hum as he watches you finish your pancakes with a soft smile that shows his laugh lines and the dimple of his left cheek.

His smile turns to something more curious as the young couple who had been making out in the arcade room earlier dashes past your booth and out the back door of the restaurant.

“What is it?” You ask, pushing your empty plate towards the center of the table.

“The game room is free now,” he states, as if it's obvious. “Now I can kick your ass in air hockey.”

And kick your ass in air hockey he does. And skee ball, and Dance Dance revolution.

“Please don't tell Natasha that you beat me at Dance Dance Revolution,” you beg him as you pick up your high heels that you had discarded for the game. “She'll never let me live that one down. In fact, if anyone asks, it was a dead tie for all of these games.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” he chuckles, approaching the pool table in the center of the room and leaning against the edge. “As long as you win this game of pool.”

“No, nope, absolutely not,” you freeze where you're standing, crossing your arms over your chest. “If I couldn't beat you at air hockey then I don't stand a chance of beating you at pool.”

He ignores you, instead turning to choose two cue sticks from the selection on the back wall. He tosses one to you from several feet away, which you instinctively drop your shoes to the floor to catch.

“I haven't even tried to play pool since I was maybe ten years old,” you whine.

“Why were you trying to play pool at ten years old?” he chuckles, gathering up all of the balls and placing them inside the triangular rack in the center of the table.

“It was at a birthday party,” you admit. “I pretended to know what I was doing to impress a boy that I had a crush on.”

“And how did that go for you?” He removes the triangle-shaped container from around the balls and begins to line up his shot.

“Well, I haven't tried to play pool since then,” you begin, taking a seat on the edge of the table and turning your head to watch him. He pulls the cue stick back and quickly stabs it forward, breaking the balls apart and sending them rolling in various directions across the felt table. “And Kyle from my fourth grade class thought that I had cooties, so, you tell me how you think that went for me.”

“Sounds like it was Kyle's loss.” You watch as he walks to one of the table's pockets to look inside. “I've got stripes,” he states, looking at you with an expectant smile.

You exhale a dramatic sigh, hopping off the edge of the table and turning around to position your stick in front of the cue ball.

“Fine,” you relent, looking up at him from where you're leaning over across the table. “But you're not allowed to laugh at me when you realize I wasn't lying about having no experience at this.”

“Scout's honor,” he swears and you can tell by his smile and reddened cheeks that he’s already trying to contain his laughter.

Feeling extra nervous due to the way you can physically feel him watching you, you take an embarrassing amount of time working up the courage to propel the tip of the cue stick towards a solid purple colored ball.

It travels a foot or so across the green felt material of the table and comes to a stop just inches away from a corner pocket.

“Damn it,” you sigh under your breath.

“That wasn't too bad, actually,” he says, not even trying to conceal his tone of surprise as he walks over to where you're standing. “You just need to change your stance a little and hit the ball a bit harder.”

“So, do basically everything differently, then?”

“I can help you, if you want,” he offers with a smug grin.

“Hm,” you bite your lip as you pretend to contemplate the proposition. “Okay,” you accept with a shrug. “But this better not be an attempt to pull a cliche “pretend to help her with pool as an excuse to make a move” kind of move.” You're fully joking - you know Bucky well enough to know he wouldn't make such a corny, obvious move with anyone - and you definitely wouldn't expect him to do so with you.

But you don't miss the way his expression darkens ever so slightly and his eyes sweep up your figure before moving to stand behind you, propping his own cue stick up against the table.

The front of your thighs brush up against the edge of the table and Bucky’s arms enclose you on either side - his hands coming to rest next to each of your legs on the table's edge, as close as they can be to you without actually touching.

Your breath hitches in your throat when the silky material of his suit brushes against your bare shoulders, the sensation causing you to go deadly still as you await his next move.

“With how fast your heart is beating right now, I don't think I would have to do something as cheesy as that to make a move.” He murmurs, his mouth close enough to the exposed skin of your neck that you can feel the heat of his breath. It's an automatic response, the way your head tilts back into his touch. You start to pull away, start to feel embarrassed, start to tell him just how wrong he is, when he brings a flesh finger to the ball of your shoulder and trails his index finger down the skin of your arm, eliciting a surge of goosebumps in its wake.

This physical reaction doesn't go unnoticed by him, either. He hums a small laugh, inching closer to you so that his body presses against your ass.

“In fact,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “I think that if I wanted to, I could have you bent over this table for me without having to resort to anything like that.”

If his chest wasn't pinning you between him and the pool table, you probably would have fallen over. The air in the arcade feels a sudden ten degrees warmer and you swear you can hear your blood pumping in your ears - things that unfortunately can't be blamed on the effects of the martini that had dissipated from your system hours ago.

No, it's all him. His closeness, his warmth, his voice, his scent. Just him.

“If you wanted to, yeah?” You question, your voice an octave higher than you ideally would have liked. “That makes it sound like you don't want to. But the bulge I'm feeling from your pants makes it seem like you do want to. Kinda sending me mixed signals here.” You rut back against him for good measure.

He hisses next to your ear, his hands snapping to your hips, effectively stilling you beneath him. His fingers dig into the flesh around your hip bones, the pressure somewhere perfectly between uncomfortable and pleasurable.

“Here? Bent over this table?” he tuts, his lips grazing the skin next to the shoulder strap of your dress. “Where a couple of unsuspecting teenagers could walk in for a game of skee ball at any second?” He lets out a low laugh, the sound vibrating against your back.

“No, I don't think so,” he continues. “Not when we've got a brand new Audi with a spacious backseat and highly tinted windows just outside this building.”

Physical Touch

If someone had asked you six hours ago if you thought there was a chance you would be ending this night by having sex with Bucky Barnes, you would have said no.

But if someone had asked you if you thought there was a chance you would be having sex with Bucky Barnes in the backseat of a car in a diner-arcade combo parking lot, you would have said fuck no.

You would have been wrong on both accounts. And with the way that he's nipping and sucking up the insides of your thighs, you're pretty fucking okay with that.

Your dress is bunched up around your waist, your panties discarded on the floor of the car. You're laying as comfortably as you can across the backseat with Bucky nestled snuggly between your legs. It's a tight fit, and the stagnant air inside the Audi is balmy, but you'll be damned if you interrupt this to turn the AC on. The only light inside the vehicle is from the glow of the full moon that illuminates the sky, and the giant neon green diner sign a few yards away from where you're parked.

He's not wasting any time - it's well past midnight at this point and considering the fact that Bucky turned your cell phones off hours ago, you're surprised that Sam hasn't traced the location of the vehicle and sent search and rescue already.

As soon as his mouth makes contact with your center, you’re lacing your fingers through his short, soft locks and tugging on them. You grind your pussy against his face, meeting his fervent motions with your own. He locks his lips around your clit before pulling away with an obscene, wet pop that echoes through the cab of the car.

He reaches one hand up to your shoulders while keeping his lips on you, quickly tugging down the spaghetti straps of your dress and then pawing at the fabric covering your chest to free your tits.

At the same time that he plunges his tongue inside you, he rolls a nipple between two of his cool, metal digits, yearning a sharp yelp from you. He releases his grip and then palms your breast in his hand, continuing to work your folds with his lips and tongue.

You don't know if it's the fact that it's been a ridiculous amount of time since you so much as kissed someone or the fact that Bucky eats pussy like he's starving, but you're approaching your climax insanely fast.

You clench your thighs around his ears and push your hips upwards, the friction building that warm tension in your lower belly that comes spilling over when he lets out a guttural moan across your core.

You cum against his face, feeling your juices drip down the insides of your thighs - there's a pesky voice in the back of your head telling you that you're going to have to pay to have this car detailed before giving it back.

He sits up, his back resting against the middle of the leather seat. He unbuttons and unzips his suit pants, raising off the seat just enough to tug them down to mid-thigh along with his boxers. You're still coming down from your orgasm when he's pulling you up from the seat and into a sitting position.

You tuck your legs underneath you so that you're propped up on your knees on the seat directly next to him. Bucky pumps himself in his hand as you lean over, gathering all of the saliva in your mouth and letting it slide between your lips and over the head of his cock.

You push his hand away to replace it with your own, using your spit as lubrication as you stroke him up and down. He throws his head back against the headrest, looking up at the roof of the car as he brings his hand around the curve of your ass, flesh hand finding your pussy that's still throbbing from how hard he had made you cum.

You can feel the smooth band of the engagement ring that you'd been wearing all evening repeatedly caress a large vein on the side of his dick - you remove your hand from him, causing him to snap his head back down to look at you. You bring your other hand to remove the ring from your finger, planning to tuck it into a cup holder for safekeeping while you use your hands on him.

“Leave it on,” he breaks the thick silence when he realizes what you're doing. “Want you to keep wearing it.”

You push the ring back down on your finger, his command sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core. You're extending your hand back to his cock when he cuts you off, pulling you to him and across his lap.

You straddle him, his erection locked between your pussy lips and his lower belly. You move forwards, and then backwards - earning another deep groan from him as you coat the underbelly of his cock in your juices. You grind up and down against him several times, until you're feeling impossibly empty and can't take the feeling of not having him inside you any longer.

You lift yourself up on the balls of your feet, high enough for him to guide himself to your entrance. He teases your hole with his head - or at least tries to, before you're sinking yourself down onto his length. You go still for a moment when he's fully inside you, giving you both time to adjust to the new, overwhelming sensation of each other.

You begin to ride him, slowly at first - he stretches you blissfully sweet and soon you're picking up the pace, your ass bouncing off of his thighs with each comedown.

He places a hand on the back of your neck, pulling your face down to his in a sloppy, searing kiss. It hits you that he's inside you raw right now, and you're just now kissing. You taste yourself on him, warm and salty sweet. He sweeps his tongue along your bottom lip and you open up for him, letting him explore your mouth from the perfect angle that he's at beneath you.

He continues to kiss you but removes his hand from the back of your neck, moving both of them to cup your ass. He begins to meet your movements with his own, thrusting himself upwards so that his cock is ramming into that sweet spot of your cervix and sending you towards a second climax.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” you moan into his mouth, breaking the kiss for air. Your encouragement spurs him on, increasing the speed of his thrusts. Your legs turn to jelly beneath you, but he's got you - he holds you up by your ass cheeks and leans forward to take one of your nipples in his warm mouth.

It's enough to send you over the edge again. Your orgasm builds, heat exploding through your abdomen as his movements grow erratic and he spills into you from below.

He stills beneath you when you're both spent, your chest heaving against his. You make no effort to remove yourself from him, and he seems more than happy to keep you right where you are - his arms locking around your waist and pulling you close to him.

“I guess now would be as good of a time as any to ask you if you'd like to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Go on a date with you sometime?” You lean back, looking down with him with the limited amount of moonlight and neon lighting that breaks through the tinted windows. “We dressed up real nice, slow danced, spied on a bad guy, ate greasy diner food, played arcade games, and you're inside me as we speak. I think it's safe to say we're currently on a date.”

He snorts, breaking into laughter beneath you. “A second date, then,” he concedes. “I would love to take you on a second date.”

♡♡♡♡♡

thank you for reading!!! kind of nervous to put this one out there tbh, i've been working on it off and on for weeks but i love how it turned out and i hope you all do too. as always comments and reblogs are very appreciated 💕

it's nice to have a friend

moth to a flame

oil & water

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙃𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙑𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙢

summary: your twang, makes mattheo develop a thang for you.

characters: southern! reader. down bad! matty. mentions of slytherin boys

warnings: none! just sweet!

word count: 1.4k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

It was a typical day at Hogwarts, or at least, that’s how it was supposed to be. Mattheo had been looking forward to the rare moment of peace when his schedule was free of detentions and irritating professors. But no, of course, life at Hogwarts never went as planned.

Instead of being tucked away in the dungeons with his friends, Mattheo found himself begrudgingly walking down the corridor with an unexpected new responsibility. He had been “volunteered” by Professor McGonagall to show around the new transfer student.

"Mate, it won’t be so bad. Just walk her around, show her the ropes," Theo had said earlier, a smirk plastered on his face, knowing full well that Mattheo hated babysitting anyone.

"I don’t babysit," Mattheo had growled in response.

"You’ll be fine," Draco added, adjusting the collar of his robes as he walked beside them. "Think of it as a chance to make a good impression on the new girl."

"A good impression? Why do I have to make a good impression? I'm not interested in being her tour guide." Mattheo couldn’t help but sigh as he glanced at the clock. The afternoon had barely begun, and he was already regretting this.

But his friends’ words stuck with him, and reluctantly, Mattheo dragged his feet toward the entrance hall where the new student was waiting. He turned the corner, his mind preoccupied with how much he’d rather be anywhere but here.

You stood there in your black robes, nervously twisting the end of your sleeve. Your boots were a little scuffed, your uniform skirt a little too short for the dress code. And your eyes-bright, curious, framed by lashes that could kill a man - flicked up to his.

“Oh, hell,” Mattheo muttered under his breath.

She was pretty.

Like, too pretty.

For a moment, everything around him seemed to fade. The chatter, the footsteps, the hum of the castle-all of it disappeared. It was just her, and her eyes were locked on his. His chest tightened, and for the first time in ages, Mattheo felt something stir inside of him-something that had nothing to do with his usual dark thoughts or aloof indifference.

She was beautiful.

He hadn’t expected it, and that’s what made it worse. He never allowed himself to think of girls in those terms-especially not in this place, not with everything else on his mind. But there she was, and everything he had told himself about being too detached, too cynical, seemed to vanish in the wake of that first glance.

She smiled softly, a slow, warm curve of her lips that made him feel like an idiot for standing there, staring. His mouth went dry as he forced himself to take a step forward.

"Hey, you must be the new transfer student, right?" he asked, a bit too sharp. He mentally cursed himself for sounding so curt.

And when she spoke, Mattheo felt his entire world shift.

“Well, I reckon that would be me," she said with a gentle smile, her southern drawl lilting through her words like honey dripping from a jar. "Name’s Y/N. Nice to meet ya.”

He blinked.

Your voice.

Mattheo’s heart skipped a beat. He was certain he'd heard accents before, but nothing like this. There was something intoxicating about it, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The way her words flowed... it was like music to his ears.

It was like sweet tea and slow Sundays. Like porch swings in the heat and lightning bugs in jars. Mattheo wasn’t used to soft. He wasn’t used to voices that lilted like that.

“Where are you from?” he asked before he could stop himself. He was genuinely curious, but more than that, he wanted to hear her talk again.

"Georgia," she replied, twirling a lock of her hair absently. “It’s a southern state in the states. We’re known for our peaches.”

"Peaches?" Mattheo’s lips curled into a slight smile. He couldn’t help it. Her voice was too mesmerizing, and he wanted to hear it again. “I’ve never heard anyone talk like you before."

Her laugh was soft, a melodic sound that only made him more captivated. “That’s 'cause most folks up here don’t know much 'bout the South. But trust me, there’s nothing quite like it.”

"Peaches," he muttered under his breath, the word feeling warm and comforting. “I think that suits you. I’ll call you... Peaches."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Peaches, huh? Alright, if that’s what you wanna call me.”

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning. It felt right, the way her name sounded in his mouth, and something inside of him clicked. He was already drawn to her, to her voice, to the way she made even the simplest words seem enchanting.

-

Throughout the tour, Mattheo couldn’t help but ask her more questions—anything to keep her talking. Her voice was like an addiction he couldn’t shake. They passed the Great Hall, the dungeons, and the greenhouses, but all he could focus on was her voice.

“So... do you always say things like 'reckon'?” Mattheo asked, his voice casual, though there was a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes.

She blinked, surprised by the question. “Well, reckon is pretty common where I’m from. It’s like a way of saying 'I think' or ‘I suppose.’”

"Reckon,” Mattheo repeated to himself, savoring the sound. “I like that.” He paused for a moment, looking around the hall as if searching for his next question. His eyes caught on a few banners hanging in the corridor. “What about... ‘y’all’? Do you say that a lot?”

Her lips curled into a smile. “Of course. It’s the plural form of ‘you,’” she explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We use it when we’re talking to a group of people, like ‘How are y’all doing?’”

“Y’all,” Mattheo repeated, tasting the word like it was something sweet on his tongue. “It’s... it’s charming.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly amused by his fixation on her accent. “You sure like how I pronounce things.”

“I do,” Mattheo confessed. “It’s... it’s different. But in a way that makes me want to hear it more.”

“Well, you’re in luck. I reckon I can keep talking, if you like.” The soft blush that spread across her cheeks made Mattheo’s heart flutter. She didn’t seem bothered by his words, but rather intrigued, a little amused.

-

That night, in the dim green light of the Slytherin common room, Mattheo collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. Theo was already half-asleep with a book on his chest, Blaise was flipping through a Quidditch magazine, and Draco was polishing his wand.

“She’s got the voice of a goddess,” Mattheo said, staring at the ceiling.

“Already?” Blaise drawled. “You fall in love every Thursday.”

“No, no, listen,” Mattheo sat up, animated now. “She talks like… like butter melting on toast. Like bourbon on the rocks.”

Draco snorted. “You sound insane.”

Theo peeked open one eye. “Didn’t you say she was from America?”

“The South,” Mattheo said dreamily. “She said,‘Well, you’re in luck. I reckon I can keep talking, if you like.” Do you understand what that did to me?”

“Turned your brain into soup, apparently,” Blaise muttered.

Mattheo ignored him. “I swear, she could be reading potion ingredients and I’d still be hanging onto every damn word.”

“She cute?” Theo asked.

Mattheo glared. “Don’t even look at her.”

Draco laughed. “Oh, he’s whipped. Already got dibs.”

Mattheo slumped back into the couch, a dazed grin on his face. “I’m gonna make her say my name. Just once. Mattheo. Like Mat-thay-oh, in that voice…”

Blaise threw a cushion at him.

“She’s from Georgia,” he announced.

Theo looked up. “Is that a real place?”

Blaise nodded. “I think it’s in America.”

“No,” Mattheo said, pointing a finger in the air like he was making a grand proclamation. “It’s the Peach State.”

Draco looked bewildered. “What the hell does that mean?”

Mattheo leaned forward, eyes wide and intense. “It means it’s hot, sticky, there are bugs that sing at night, and-get this-everyone’s got porches and eats fruit off trees like they live in some kind of fairy tale.”

“She told you all that?” Blaise asked.

He nodded. “With that voice. That accent. I swear, I’d listen to her read me my own death sentence and thank her for it.”

Theo threw a pillow at him again. “Get a grip.”

“Too late,” Mattheo said, already leaning back into the cushions. “She’s mine. I’ve already named her.”

“You named her?” Draco asked.

“Peaches.”

There was a moment of silence.

“God, you’re pathetic,” Theo muttered.

And still, Mattheo just grinned.

[yoiisa]

what kind of drunk are they?

a/n: FIRST POST YAYYYY!! I wanted to cast a wide net with this one, so when I say I had like five tabs of character wikis open at once of all the different shows, I mean that. Im sure I still missed someone's fav characters tho, and Im sorrryyyy ToT.

Anyways, tag yourself as what kinda drunk you are, or tag your other favs as their type of drunk. I'm mopey/cuddly!!

THE MOPEY ONE!

"Y/N!" You turn your head from your drink to see your boyfriend hunched over the counter of the bar. He throws his head back as he wails for you, before putting his head back onto the counter. You giggle and walk over to him, just for him to open his mouth and call out, "Y/N!!" As you approach the counter again, one of the bartenders gives you a relived look. "Thank god, he's been like this for the past ten minutes. Are you his partner?" they ask. You nod and take the seat next to your boyfriend. "He gets like this when he gets really drunk. I'm sorry if it's a disturbance." The bartender shrugs. "As long as he's not shouting anymore-" "Y/N!!" "Oh my god, I'm here, I'm here," you laugh and pat his head. He lifts his head from where he'd burrowed it into his arms and pouts as he stares up at you. His eyes are wide and wet, and he sniffles. "Where'd you goooooooooo? I was so lonely..." "You were drinking babe," you giggle, petting him softly. "I thought you were kept company?" His pout somehow grows deeper and shakes his head. He leans into your touch and shakes his head. "I only wan' you..."

NAGI, CHIGIRI, hiori, YUTA, CHOSO, INUMAKI , KENNY ACKERMAN, porco, CONNY, SHINICHIRO, chifuyu, baji, kokonoi, inui, BAKUGOU, KAMINARI, tamaki + (Your Favs!)

THE CUDDLY/GIGGLY ONE!

There is absolutely no universe where you should've been able to actually carry your boyfriend home from the bar. Maybe the alcohol had given you super strength though, because here you are. "Stop going to the gym," you groan as you dump your boyfriend on your couch. You stare down at him, considering the likelihood of him throwing up. No. He wouldn't. You don't think so at least. He stares up at you and smiles. A string of erratic giggles pour from his lips as he reaches up to you, his arms ready to wrap around you and yank you straight down to his chest. "C'mere!" he cheers. "Wanna cuddle!" "Umm," you laugh, "wait, stay like that." You reach for your phone from your pocket, but your heart stops when you notice it's not in your pocket anymore. No, no no no no- Did you leave it in the bar? Did it fall out of your pocket on the way home? Hopefully it's in the car maybe- "Looking for this?" he asks coyly, holding up your phone in between his thumb and index finger. He waves it in front of your face, "Snatched it from your pocket!" You sigh and rub your hands over your face. "Thank you, now give it-" "No!" he shouts and tosses it onto the floor. You watch it for a moment as it (thankfully) falls onto the plush carpet. In your moment of fear and surprise, you freeze and he attacks. He leaps from the couch and wraps his arms like a vice around your shoulders. Before you can think, he practically drags you down to the couch with him. He legs wrap around your waist and he nuzzles his face into your neck. "Perfect," he hums and you finally give into your fate.

BACHIRA, kunigami, REO, nanase, ITADORI, gojo, TODO, armin, takemichi, KAZUTORA, izana, RINDOU, KIRISHIMA, MIDORIYA, SHIGARAKI + (Your Favs!)

THE STOIC ONE!

You could not stop laughing. Your stomach was beginning to hurt. Your boyfriend - sweet, perfect, loving boyfriend - looked so fucking stupid right now. His face, flushed from the amount of alcohol he'd consumed, was still as stone. You had your camera in his face, and was prodding his cheek, but he would not look at you! For anything! It was hilarious. He was so laser focused on just being able to stay upright, you honestly felt a little bit bad. But then he'd do a frog blink, where one eye'd go down before the other, and you'd be back to losing your fucking mind over his state. "Maybe you had too much?" you suggest, but the silence you're met with makes you burst out into giggles. You try to take it a step further after another moment, and prod him in his stomach. You're gaze drops to his side when you feel his abs. There's no way. This fucker tensed his stomach. In fact, he's tensed his whole body! You slump against his shoulder and try to calm down, but it's a bit of a losing battle. You look up at him once you've finally slowed down and beam up at him. "Baby boy, how much did you drink?" Finally, you seem to snap him out of it. He slowly turns his head to look at you, as if he's terrified that if he moves too quickly, his head'll twist right off. When he finally manages to meet your gaze though, his heart stops. Perfect. Oh my god. You're so perfect. You're eyes are glowing in the dim lighting of the bar, your skin glows red, but it's just the right amount to make you look like you have a romantic aura. Your hair is falling just right over your forehead, and your cheeks are puffed up in a smile. His mask finally cracks ever so slightly, and he leans down to press his forehead against yours. His nose brushes yours, and you hum. "I think I had too much," he whispers. "I might puke." "If you puke on me, I'll poison your toothpaste." "Gothcha."

ISAGI, baro, RIN, KAISER, MEGUMI, EREN, HANGE, REINER, nicolo, JEAN, zeke, NAOTO, ran, all might, IIDA, TODOROKI, sero, aoyama + (Your Favs!!)

THE SOBER ONE!

You're head was pounding, and you blearily looked around at the shot glasses, martini glasses, champagne flutes, wine glasses, and every other type of glass known to man. You'd dared your boyfriend that you'd be able to out drink him, but right now you just felt like crying. You and him had drank the same amount, who knew how much the tab was. And yet, you were the one completely drunk out of your mind, while he was chilling in the stool next to you, watching you with a smirk. No, actually, you were pissed as hell. You whip your head around to look at the bastard, and all you get is blurry vision and a sensation akin to getting shot in the head. "It's okay, shh, shh," he says, petting your head and cooing. "Just cool down, I ordered you water." "Nnnnnnnoooooo! Screeeeeeewwwww you!" You slap his hand away and whimper. "My head hurts..." "Yeah sweetie, I'm pretty sure you drank half your weight in alcohol . . ." he sighs. He adds, more to himself than anything, "I didn't even know that was possible." " 'Ts not fair," you whine. "You always beat me in everything!" "You're so whiny all the time," he teases. You punch him in the ribs. "Babe, what the fuck!" he coughs. He doubles over and his head hangs as he tries to regain his standing. You giggle and his heart aches at the sound. He looks up at you and his eyes soften as he sees you laughing softly. "Well, you're stronger than me so at least there's that." "Mmmmm, carry me!" you ask, stretching your arms up, even though he's still hunched over. "Yes princess," and after he pays for the tab, he has one arm hooked beneath your knees, another wrapped behind your back, and your heels dangling from his fingers.

SAE, AIKU, shido, GETO, NANAMI, SUKUNA, toji, LEVI, ERWIN, draken, MITSUYA, aizawa, shinso, DABI + (Your Favs!!)

[chevroletdean]

Bean There, Done That

nsfw prompts, send in a character + a number

PAIRING: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Fem!Reader GENRE: Smut (18+ CONTENT) TO NOTE/WARNINGS: Horny!Ben being his own warning, oral (fem receiving), mentions of male receiving oral, unprotected p in v (wrap it), creampie, hickeys and bitemarks and bruises, rough sex, manhandling, dirty talk WORD COUNT: 2k PROMPT: 17) seeing the love marks they left on their partner later and getting turned on all over again remember how it got there in the first place A/N: In honor of my coffee machine finally arriving. After 8 days without a proper cup, I can run on bean juice again, hooray! Thanks a ton to the lovely @justwhisperingfantasies for requesting AND betareading <3 <3 <3 CREDIT & LINKS: dividers by cafekitsune ─〃★ join the taglist ─〃★ Soldier Boy Masterlist

When Ben woke up, it was thanks to the waft of coffee emitting from the kitchen. Grumbling, he sat up and glanced towards the clock.

10:32 AM

Though that counted as sleeping in, he definitely didn’t get much rest last night. The clothes that were scattered all over the floor were enough proof of that. Among them, a pair of lace panties, torn apart.

Maybe he should feel bad about that one, but all he could muster was a proud smirk as he remembered ripping it off you just a couple of hours ago.

He quickly realized two things were missing from the picture— one being his jersey, which he was sure must’ve ended up somewhere among the pile; and more importantly… you.

Slipping out of bed and into his boxers and robe, Ben followed the trail of freshly brewed arabica. The sight he was met with beat any pirate’s lame treasure hunt.

You were standing at the counter, idly humming to yourself while you cut up a handful of strawberries. With your back facing him, you haven’t noticed him yet.

All the more time for him to appreciate the view.

His sharp eyes wandered up your long, bare legs, stopping briefly at the hem of a familiar shirt. Ah, so that’s where his jersey went.

The material was flowing down your body effortlessly, covering you up to around your upper thighs. He’d be lying if the idea of you wearing nothing underneath to cover the fat of your ass and your pretty pussy didn’t get him half-hard again already.

Baggy as your choice of attire was, it hung loose around your neckline. You’d swept your hair out of the way, into a messy ponytail—one he could already picture grabbing tightly to push your little mouth down his girth, much like last night.

Pink and purple constellations peeked through. Distinct marks, clearly the outline of his teeth.

He stepped closer to your unsuspecting form, hands already twitching to touch you again.

“Morning, sunshine,” Ben hummed at last, the gravel of his voice still raspy and deep from just waking up properly.

Honestly, his brain was still a but foggy, whereas other parts of his body were wide awake in comparison.

You flinched slightly, though your tension eased immediately as your eyes met his over your shoulder.

His smile was easy, his green eyes dropping to the curve of your lips. Even at the morning after he could still vividly remember them stretching over his length, glistening with spit as you had drooled all over his cock.

“What’s the rush today?” Ben asked, whilst his big arms caged you in, one hand on each side of you gripping the edge of the counter. “Didn’t want to stay in bed with me a bit longer, princess?”

“Thought I would make some breakfast,” you replied with a smile that was both shy and cheeky. “Was gonna bring it back to bed.”

He was all muscle and skin behind you, pressing against you until the kitchen counter bit into your hips.

“I think I know what I wanna have for breakfast,” Ben purred. His breath was hot and heavy against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His teeth grazed your tender skin, teasing the bruises and lovebites until you whimpered softly.

Who knew there was an artist in Ben on top of all that superstrength? How else could one describe the canvas of your skin, littered in hickeys?

Before you even had a chance of reacting, Ben shoved the bowl of fruit out of the way and seized you by the hips.

“Turn ‘round for me, dollface,” he demanded, despite manhandling you into his desired position himself.

He spun you in his arms, then lifted you up with ease, sitting you up on the counter. The cool marble surface was a stark contrast against your warm skin, even more so as your bare cunt brushed against it and you flushed further.

Wasting no more time, Ben’s large hands flew to your thighs and spread you open.

Much like your throat, your inner thighs were plastered in evidence of last night’s escapades. A scan of the red marks at the apex of your thighs would probably run successful, if anyone were to test his damn fingerprints. No wonder, considering how hard he had to grab you yesterday, hold you down so you wouldn’t fly off the mattress thanks to his tongue devouring you.

His cock twitched in to life in his boxers just reminiscing over your taste. Definitely better than any fucking strawberry, much sweeter too.

Yeah, he was definitely right. Only breakfast he was interested in eating up was you.

“No panties, huh?,” he quipped, licking his lips.

You scoffed, though with a grin: “Kinda your fault, remember?”

“Touché, princess,” he chuckled and slipped his fingers beneath your shirt. His shirt. “Guess we’re even then, damn thief.”

“At least you can have it back,” you shrugged playfully, “my panties are gone forever.”

A laugh erupted from Ben then and a spark ignited in his eyes. “Good riddance, if you ask me,” he countered. “Not like you need them anyway, they’d only be in the way. I like you without them just fine.”

As if punctuating his statement, his fingers curled around the underside of your thighs, lifting your legs slightly. He sank down to his knees and pulled you closer, hoisting your legs over his shoulders.

And, Christ, you were already glistening, straight up honey for him to enjoy. Always so eager for him, taking whatever he decided to give you like a good girl. That’s what he loved about you. It was addictive.

To your surprise, he started slow—in the beginning, anyway. His lips brushed over the inner of your thigh, almost gently, coaxing a shaky exhale from you and giving you the chance to relax in his grip.

“Thank the Lord for a good fuckin’ meal, or whatever,” he muttered, though he was talking more to himself.

You were only able to cry out weakly as he dove right in, his wet tongue gliding through your folds like he was a man starved. One of your hands shot to his head, fisting his tousled hair as he slurped away.

You moaned his name like it was something holy, although you were his altar he worshipped on his knees.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, briefly kissing your sensitive clit. “Swear, this pussy ‘s better than coffee.”

Your thighs were trembling around his head. Your body honestly still ached from hours of Soldier Boy pounding into you, the smallest touch leaving you sizzling. His stamina was downright cruel and you thought it quite unfair that he was already back to full energy while you struggled to contain your first orgasm.

He had barely touched you, but you were already embarrassingly close to crumbling.

You were sensitive still, which Ben used to his advantage.

He lapped at your core once again, tongue flat against your heat and milking you dry. Just before the tight coil in your lower belly could snap, he pulled back, leaving you all whiny and breathless.

“You know I usually like my coffee black,” he spoke as he rose back to his feet, standing tall between your shaking legs and pulling his boxers down just enough to free his throbbing dick. “But I think I wanna add some cream today.”

Ben guided the tip through your slick a few times, teasing and coating himself in your essence. You bucked your hips to meet his touch, desperate to finally feel him fill you. When he did, you gasped audibly, leaving your mouth open and vulnerable for his kiss.

You blushed tasting yourself on his mouth, still fresh and tangy.

He claimed your lips in a heated kiss, teeth colliding and tongues pressing hungrily. All while thrusting in and out of you relentlessly. He pawed at your hips, your waist, everywhere he could reach. Because what where a couple more fingerprints added to the ones that already decorated you? The evidence of you belonging to him. The more the merrier.

Though you struggled to sit upright, you knew Ben had a good hold on you. Your arms snaked around his neck and he took it upon himself to slip his hands under your ass, lift you off the counter, and carry you back to bed. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around him in the process.

Once there, the two of you collapsed onto the mattress, still a tangle of limbs, neither of you knowing where one body began and the other ended.

Ben pushed you down and slammed into you. Hard. Your back arched, your moans echoing off the bedroom walls. Your neighbors must’ve hated you—first you were robbing them of a peaceful night, now you were at it again, like rabbits.

The drag of his cock against your velvety walls was delicious, stroke for stroke making you see stars and every fiber of you tighten.

Ben’s gaze dropped down to where your bodies were connected, mesmerized by the sight of him sinking into you over and over again. As much as he had to give, you were taking all of it, which never failed to impress him. You always accommodated his size so well, getting stretched inch for inch, as if you were shaped for his cock.

“Christ on a cross, ‘s like you were made for me, huh?”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, which was, bluntly put, swiped clear at this point. Fucked stupid, you didn’t have it in you to produce a coherent thought, let alone form a proper sentence. All you felt, all you were at that moment, was the impact of his hips against yours, the pleasure building in your middle.

What a beautiful mess he’d turned you into, eyes glazed over with tears pricking their corners, swollen lips parted yet only able to spill broken moan after broken moan.

When Ben slipped his hand between your lower halves and let his thumb rub tight circles over your clit, you were gone. Shuttering, you almost spasmed under him, convulsing and crying and falling apart right then and there.

You reaching your climax triggered Ben’s own peak, his hips chasing his high in the warmth of your walls. One more thrust and he followed shortly after, stilling his hips and spilling deep within you.

After riding out both of your orgasms, he dropped down next to you. The sweat sticking to his forehead did not dull the glow of his expression whatsoever. He turned to you, as if admiring his artwork. His grin was wide and proud, the white of his teeth nearly blinding you in the best way possible.

“Gotta say, sweetheart,” he declared. “I could start every day with a breakfast like this.”

Your attempt at catching your breath was interrupted by your own soft laughter. That guy was truly insatiable. Not that you’d have it any other way.

“I guess our actual breakfast is long cold now, though,” you huffed, less disappointed and more bemused.

“Here’s a deal for ya,” Ben started with a wink. “I get my jersey back, you get your coffee. Hot.”

With a snort, you shook your head. Not only had you never seen Ben actually operate the coffee machine, ever, you also saw his offer for what it truly was. You knew what would happen if you were so much as lift the hem of that jersey again.

“And, what? Risk myself turning into another round of dessert the second I return your shirt?”

Ben’s proud grin widened, his eyes heavy on you as he scanned you from head to toe, as if assessing the suggestion. He then shrugged playfully. It definitely sounded like a win-win in his book. “What can I say, I might make myself a career as a salesman after all, don’t ya think?”

Soldier Boy (Ben) Taglist:

@alwaysdaydreamingoffiction @angelicjackles @blueschevy @jackles010378 @jollyhunter

@justwhisperingfantasies @ladykitana90

Want to be added to the taglist? Fill out this >FORM< Want to be removed from the taglist? Send a DM Not sure if you're on the taglist? Check here

[k-aemi]

Helloo, can I request bully shidou who loves seeing reader crying because of him and his actions so h took a step further and forced her into the Janitor's closet and just fucked her silly. If that's ok with you ofc

shidou ryusei ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ youre so weak its amusing.

smut, pub, non, degrading, dacryphillia, abuse, mentions of urinal, lost of virginity, blood

you never understood why shidou bullied you. you never did a single thing to him before, in fact, you didnt even know him until he started to bully you! you didnt know people could be this cruel.

shidou didnt care. you were like an object, getting your hair pulled, thrown, or degrading words. but you never reported him, he just found it so amusing how someone so weak didnt even have the strength to tell anyone.

he really could see what the limits were. how much until he breaks you. hed wonder if you would report him now, hes gambling his whole life on this bet.

“ah-!” you gripped onto shidous wrist, worthless attempts to stop his harsh grip on your scalp.

“hurt?” shidou mocked your whines that echoed thru the bathroom. him and his little buddies were having a fun time laughing at your pathetic self.

you didnt respond, not like theyd give you any empathy or care to stop. only continuing to cry out with whimpers that fell from your lips.

“cant say shit huh?” he leaned down to your level, seeing the way your teeth grit from the pain. he can only grin at the sight of your tears dripping down your cheeks.

he then grunts in frustration when he hears one of the staff members roaming around close, hed be in big trouble seeing five men surrounding one girl.

“tch, youre lucky i aint use ya body as a urinal yet.” he gripped your jaw tightly to the point its sore, it hurts, it hurts so much. observing your face a bit more, he cant get enough of your eyes that were filled of fear. it turns him on so much he can cum on sight.

he throws you to the stall door, a loud thud echoing. you just feel as if your shoulder got bruised and you had a concussion from that. being left alone as they exit out the restroom. all that shidou can hear were your cries and whines that made him hard. seeing your once smiley face soon destroyed by him made him feel twisted, but a good kind.

he doesnt even get called to the office or anything, he just goes on about his day, thats how he knows you never report anything. meaning he can do about just anything he wanted with you, even if it was sick.

the only good thing about you was that at least you had a decent body. youre probably a virgin because you cant pull for shit, knowing you, itd be surprising if you werent.

its after school hours and you were left in charge to clean the classroom today. you were just happy enough he didnt bother you at all today, you didnt need any more trouble since your shoulder was still sore from yesterday.

you were heading to the janitors closet to see if there were any more supplies since you ran out of wipes for the desks.

shidou walks up the stairs, yawning while he scratches his head. he had forgotten his bag somehow and came back to retrieve it. slouching while he walks before he heard faint footsteps to the side, and to his luck, its you.

“hmm, where does he keep it…?” you rummaged through the shelves and boxes, it seemed like you were getting no where and there probably wasnt any more at all. your cloud of thoughts interrupted when a shadow emit from the door, thinking it was the janitor, you turn around but to your horror it wasnt.

“going to a dead end while im here? what a dirty girl you are.” he leaned against the door frame as he eyed your figure. you were crouched down, and you didnt move an inch. you can only gulp and a bead of sweat dripped down your forehead.

he closes the door behind him, darkness filling the room. you can barely make out of his figure until he grabs you by the collar harshly. throwing you down on your back.

“arent you excited? its just us.” he whispered to your ear, nibbling your earlobe. you shake your head, you didnt want this, all you wanted was to clean then head home! not deal with him.

he smirks, making out of your refusal. “thats a shame. already hard f’ya.” hes stuffs his crotch in your face, the smell filling your nostrils and you want to gag. it smelled musty.

the weight he set on you was heavy, you could barely breathed as he settled down on you. your hands trail to his thighs to nudge him off, but he didnt move an inch.

“dont be like that. promise my size wont disappoint.” he chuckled, unbuckling himself and you can feel his cock springing to life. he swings his hips to the sides, feeling his cock head glide against your lips.

you can feel his pre-cum smearing all over your lips and seeping thru the crack of your mouth. gross. it was slimey and gooey you hated that flavor and texture.

“p-please…i dont wanna..” you whined out. but shidou had other plans.

“just open up, promise i wont bother you anymore.” he lied. a promise or not he was going to have you either way, he didnt care. youre gullible enough to believe through his lies, what a dumb fuck you are he thinks.

you hesitate. you didnt want shidou to bother you anymore! so the best thing was to just listen to him…leaving your mouth slightly ajar, he instantly shoved in his fat cock.

youre left coughing a bit before he starts his erratic thrusting. you feel it down your throat and it burns. burns so much you try to push him off.

“fuckkk.” shidou lets out a low growl, damn your mouth was all warm it made him feel fuzzy. he continued to pound into that mouth of yours till his balls slammed on your face. hearing the way your little moans were muffled excited him so much.

the way your throat contracts with his cock felt so good, hes never felt this before, this new sensation was the best.

youre stuck trying to push him off, but his strength was far greater than yours, theres nothing you can do as you gag, feeling hazy, the room gets warmer by the second, filled with his and your moans.

he bites his lower lip. thinking if he should force his cum in you, or give you a nice little touch to your ugly face.

“think youll look prettier with my cum on you huh?” his thrusts becomes sloppy, but you cant even respond, youre not even sure what he said, his cock was making you dizzy.

“let me give you… a nice facial.” he breathes out before pulling out, to jerk off himself a bit before a huge abundance amount of cum splatted on your face.

“a-ah!” you yelp feeling it spraying everywhere, its gross. this was hell, it almost got into your eye!

his cock turns flaccid for a slight second, but the way your face looked so slutty with his cum has him stiff in just seconds.

“you still g’na help me right? after all, ill leave you alone.” he nippled your earlobe, but youre still trying to catch up with your breath. he only grunts in frustration when he hears someone approaching the door, the shadow from the other side of the door can be seen from the little gap.

he harshly grabs the collar of your shirt, placing you into a nearby locker that was somehow big enough to fit the two of you, the only vision he had was the three line of gaps on the front.

and what do you know, it was the janitor that had entered in. the space made it hard for shidou to contain himself, his cock was on the crack of your ass, and he can just fuck you right now.

he lifts your skirt before tearing your panties apart. he spits on his cock, rubbing it all over his length.

“no please..” your voice was barely of a whisper to not get caught, you should of yelled for help, but you couldnt.

he smirks at your refusal.

“janitors right there baby. dont wanna scream for help?” his hand snakes to your throat, tilting it upwards while he seductively whispers to you. you just kept your quiet, you actually wanted this didnt you? youre so naughty.

“careful.” he says before his length enters in you, he was right to cover your mouth with his hand, because you were squealing. he squeezes your throat with pressure as he starts to bully your tight little cunt, the locker shaking a bit as he forced his way with you.

he sees the way the janitor eyes over at his direction. but he didnt care, he knows youre bleeding down there and he can feel tears dripping down your cheeks.

the janitor brushes it off, probably his imagination or something. no it wasnt! you were getting fucked by shidou ryusei and it hurts. you feel his tip reaching that same spot over and over again.

he finally leaves and shidou takes this opportunity. leaving you cunt empty, he opens the locker, pushing you down where your cheek hit the cold floor. his hand presses your head down with pressure, sticking your ass out.

you yelp as he gives it a slap. a couple more following, the way it echoed throughout the room made him insatiable. your cunt filled with his cock again makes you whine before continuing to pound your tired out pussy.

“making a mess on my cock like a fuckin’ whore.” he licks the tears that came welling down, he could cum on sight right now at your vulnerable state. the sounds of your pussy squelching made it so erotic and only fueled his drive.

he feels you tightening up. “oh? came already?” he slapped his hand on your ass. theres a pool of drool beneath you, your mind mushy, you cant form a single coherent sentence of thought. you dont even know what was going on.

he lets out breathless moans, beads of sweat that dripped down his forehead. his thrusts become sloppy and he feels his balls tighten.

“sorry baby, cant pull out.” he snickered and those were the only words that sank in your head.

“w-wait no please!” your hands tugged at him to stop, but he never faltered, he just kept on going like a mad man.

“speakin’ up now? interesting.” he growled, biting into the flesh of your neck, drawing out blood.

and thats when you feel himself release his seed into you. painting your fluttering walls white with his cum, to the point it seeped out your abused cunt.

your breathing hitched followed by hiccups, tears peeking out the corners of your eyes.

“s’okay baby. just let me fuck more of my cum into you.” he starts to move again.

i forgot my portable charger and i will be out (ŎдŎ；)…its kind of inaccurate because there arent janitors at the school but for the sake of the plot there is!!!

tags ✎: @rinrinniebaby