#I’m one step closer to fame boys

[rainypebble07]

found you on pinterest again!

they have a tumblr in their bio too

Yeah! I actually finally found the Dino one on Pinterest a while ago, I was gonna update you, but decided against it.

I also found their tumblr bc they responded to my post with your original ask a while ago! I believe it was @miaisagirllover.

In conclusion, thank you to this random tumblr/Pinterest user for helping me break the barrier between worlds (and crediting me while doing so <3). (And @chaoticbyler for being my informant- couldn’t have done it without you)

Finally the Pinterest mystery saga is complete

[eccentricwritingbaby]

family ties

lewis hamilton x reader

summary - lewis and y/n have been going out for about half a year and he can tell she’s hiding something, or somebody. her son, a little five year old boy that lewis so desperately wants to meet. but is y/n ready for that next step?

masterlist

-

it was a stormy london night, one that you so desperately wanted to stay in during, however you had gotten a call earlier that contradicted your feelings. lewis had informed you that he had a   standing reservation at a fine restaurant in the city and he was eager to take you to it tonight. so here you were, slipping into a tasteful and beautiful black dress along with your heels, getting ready for your perfect man. everything was perfect. except for one little hidden detail. your son. 

lewis knew you were withholding some sort of information from him, he just didn’t know the extent. he wanted you to tell him when you were ready, but he wasn’t sure of the seriousness with the situation. were you cheating on him? planning on leaving him? had a different identity? using him for his fame? he had no idea. and he was planning this nice outing tonight to finally get to the bottom of it. 

“alright, he’s got everything he needs. just call me if anything happens,” you speak to your ex-boyfriend, alex, the father of your son as he drops by in order to pick dominic up for his weekend with him.

“y/n, we’ve been doing this for four years. i know the drill. you don’t have to worry about dom, i’ve got him,” alex says to you as he begins to leave. 

“i know i know, i’m sorry. just a little paranoid, you know how it is,” you laugh off towards him as you both begin to walk out the door. 

“i understand. i feel the same when he’s here,” alex shrugs as he begins to walk to his car, dominic already jumping by the door of it, excited to have his dad for the weekend, “have fun on your date tonight with the superstar,”

“oh shut up,” you laugh off to alex, “you know he’s not like that,”

“i know, i’m happy for you. just be careful with dom,”

“i already told you i wouldn’t introduce him until i talked to you,” you say to him, “and we haven’t had that talk yet, huh?”

“hey i’m not saying you can’t introduce him,” alex says to you, now getting into the drivers seat, “i’m just saying after my mistake with letting him get close to laura,” he trails off with an eye roll as you both laugh about the disaster. alex had let your son meet his girlfriend of a few months and they had hit it off, but it ended as quickly as it started once she left him. leaving dom in the dust as he cried more than alex about the breakup, “just be careful,” alex reiterates. 

“i will be,” you smile at the two boys in the car, waving goodbye to them as they pull out of your driveway and into their weekend of fun. running back into the house, you finish touching up your makeup and hair, adding your jewelry, and layering your perfume before your doorbell rings. you exhale a sigh of relief, ready for a night of no stress and fun - a given when going out with lewis. 

“hey, you,” you smile as you open the door, leading lewis into your home. 

“you look beautiful, y/n,” he breathes out, his hands itching for your waist in order to bring you closer, “the reservation is for about seven thirty so we’ve got to get going,” you lean in closer to him, grabbing your purse off the hook and leading him out the door.

“you’re right,” you peck his lips quickly, locking up your house behind you, “can’t let sir lewis hamilton get a bad reputation of being late,”

“exactly,” he chuckles at your joke and yet his hands find your waist again, “but a few minutes can’t hurt,” and just like that, lewis spins you around to face him, bringing your lips to his yet again. once separated, you move gently past him to his car.

“are you coming or what?” you ask with a laugh, swaying towards his car as he admires the way you depart.

“oh i’m coming,” he sighs out, relishing in the way you walk and the way you look. 

-

once seated at dinner, lewis was shaking in his seat wondering how he’d bring up your hidden actions. he had no proof and no sense to ruin what seemed to be your perfect night. you had been bubbly and upbeat the whole time, looking gorgeous and over the moon happy with seeing him. surely the thing you were being sketchy about couldn’t hurt him? right?

“look, y/n, there’s something i’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” lewis calmly puts into conversation as you begin to sip on the drink you had ordered. 

“of course, what’s going on?” you ask him, assuming he would just bring up another weekend of travel or something along those lines. 

“you’re clearly hiding something from me, y/n. and i want to know what it is,”

“lewis-” you try to cut in with an exasperated sigh, but instead he stops you, continuing his rambling.

“listen i know it’s only been a few months of us going out but-”

“lewis,” you try again, but his head was spinning and there was no way of stopping his mouth.

“if you’re cheating on me just say so, we can figure things out or-”

“LEWIS” you raise your voice loud enough to get his attention, without spooking the other diners around you, “i am not cheating on you,” you roughly say in his direction, your eyes not leaving the meal in front of you.

“then what is it,” he pushes, urging you to uncover your secret.

“it’s nothing like that,”

“can you look at me,” he directs, holding his hand out and taking yours with it, “please?” you look up at him, and all your strength dissipates within seconds. 

“it’s not what you think,” you start, lacing your fingers with his to have some sort of grounding, “it is serious and that’s why i didn’t tell you,” his eyes stare back at you with comfort, pleading for you to continue without pushing you into uncomfort, “i-i”

“if it’s too much, y/n, you don’t have to tell me,”

“i want to tell you, i just don’t know how you’ll feel about me afterwards,”

“no matter what it is, i’m sure i’ll feel the same,”

“i have a son,”

“oh,” lewis retracts a bit, but not much, “how old?”

“he’s five, his name is dominic,” you go on. 

“and his dad?”

“he’s around, he’s a good dad, just not a good boyfriend,” you laugh a little at your joke and keep going, “dom was an oopsie at the time, but since i had him he’s been a blessing. alex - that’s his dad’s name - he is a great dad. we just figured we were better friends. there was no real connection, we thought it would be better for dom if we were great co-parents rather than bad ‘together’ parents, so we split four years ago,”

“can i meet him?” lewis asks with a hopeful expression.

“dom?”

“yeah, i want to meet your son. i want to meet everyone important in your life, and that obviously includes him,”

“i don’t know, the reason it took so long for me to tell you was because i don’t want him to get too attached to someone who may leave, he’s at an age where consistency matters,”

“i am consistent, y/n. if you want me, i’m here forever. i promise that,” lewis oozes sincerity as he looks you in your eyes, giving you the reassurance needed to confirm what you already wanted.

“alright,” you sigh into your glass of wine, “you can meet him,” lewis lets out a quiet cheer of triumph across from you and you giggle at his antics, “but i must warn you,”

“what? anything, i’m ready,”

“he’s a redbull fan,”

“oh no, now that’ll have to change,”

-

“thank you for dropping him off,” you let out a breath of relief to alex as dom comes running into your home. 

“you’re welcome, it was no problem, truly,” he says to you as he hands you your sons bag, “how’d your superstar date go?”

“he wants to meet dom,”

“oh?” alex shoots you a surprised look, “and are you going to let that happen?”

“i think so,” you shrug off, “i think it’s time,”

“good for you,” alex shoulder bumps you a little as he continues, “you deserve this, y/n. and from what you’ve told me about him, i’m sure it will all work out,”

“yeah i hope so, he’s going to come over later if that’s okay with you?”

“my son meeting sir lewis hamilton,” alex states as he begins to walk out the door, “that is more than okay with me,” 

-

“dom? i need to talk to you about something,” you approach your five year old as he is playing in the living room with his toys. 

“what mommy?” he questions without looking up, the toys in front of him grabbing his interest.

“someone wants to meet you,” you start with caution, “and he’s coming over in a minute,”

“who?”

“well…” you ponder off, not exactly knowing the right words to piece together, “he’s mommy’s special friend,”

“like laura with daddy?”

“yes!” you cheer out quickly, excited that he grasped the concept easily, “he’s like how laura was to daddy,”

“okay,” dom lets out, “is he nice?”

“yes, love,” you nod your head for the emphasis as your son gazes up at you, “he’s very nice,”

just as you finish your thought, the doorbell to your home echoes and you and dom share a look. 

“best behavior, dom,” you warn with a pointed finger as he just giggles in your direction. getting up to go and get the door, your little boy trails behind you with a bit of excitement. 

“hi, lewis,” you greet your boyfriend as you open the door, “come on in,”

“thank you,” he chimes in, clearly hiding something behind him, “and who is this?” he asks in the direction of your legs. with that, dom comes out of his hiding place behind you in order to greet him. 

“i’m dominic,” he squeaks out shyly. lewis proceeds to get down to his knees, holding one hand still behind his back and the other out in front of him for a handshake. 

“i’m lewis, it’s nice to meet you dominic,” 

“i know who you are,” dom quietly says back while shaking his hand, still shy towards the new man in front of him. 

“oh you do?” your boyfriend questions back.

“you drive for mercedes,”

“yes i do,” lewis smiles at him, sneaking a glance in your direction as you can’t help but blush at the scene in front of you, “are you a formula one fan?”

“yes,” dom giggles, “but i like checo,”

“oh man,” lewis shakes his head a bit, “then this gift is going to go to waste,”

dom’s ears perk up at that, eyes widening as he asks with enthusiasm, “what gift?” lewis laughs a bit at the question and finally pulls his other arm from behind his back to reveal a bag. 

“why don’t we move to the couch to open it?” you put into the room, encouraging the boys to relax a bit as you gesture towards your living room. they do as you ask, moving towards the living room and perching onto the couch. you take a seat next to your son as lewis sits across from him and you on the coffee table. handing dom the bag, he begins to unwrap and look into it, finally seeing the very small and adorable hamilton mercedes jersey. 

“I LOVE IT,” your son cries out, jumping off the couch and crashing into lewis’ awaited hold. as he hugs your son, you can only smile as this night had gone better than you’d hoped. 

‘thank you’ you mouth towards lewis, who only laughs and smiles in your direction, hugging your son closer to his body. everything would be fine. lewis was ready for forever with you. and you had just seen your forever fully accept him into your lives. 

-

[deatheaterv]

FIRST LOVE

pairing : harry potter x weasley!fem!reader

genre : fluff

summary : harry potter has always noticed you, ron’s younger sister, but it’s only as time passes that he starts to develop feelings for you. determined to get closer, harry finds himself struggling, especially with other boys always around you.

harry didn’t believe in love at first sight. it was an idea that felt too dreamy, too far removed from his reality. but that was before he met you.

the first time harry noticed you wasn’t in any dramatic moment. it was simple, really. on the train to hogwarts, he’d just been looking out the window, lost in his own thoughts, when he noticed you sitting with ginny, laughing at something that had been said. the sound of your laughter caught his attention before anything else. you were warm, glowing, and there was an ease to the way you carried yourself that made harry’s heart beat a little faster.

he didn’t think much of it at first. after all, you were ron’s younger sister, and they were all just getting to know each other. but over time, his feelings grew.

it wasn’t just the way you smiled or the way your hair caught the light. it was how kind you were to everyone around you, how you made others feel seen and heard. harry found himself noticing the little things. like how you always had time to help someone with their homework or how you would slip off to the library when you needed a quiet moment, always finding the perfect books to recommend to others.

and it made harry realize just how special you were. how different you were from anyone else he’d met.

but how could he get close to you? how could he, the boy who was always in the shadow of his own fame and the weight of his destiny, break through the wall that seemed to exist between them?

so, harry did what he always did. he watched. he’d find himself sneaking peeks at you, listening to your conversations with ginny or luna, just wanting to understand you better. but every time he tried to speak to you, the words seemed to slip away. it was never the right time. there was always someone else there.

he began to ask ron more questions, though not directly. he'd bring up random things like how his sister was doing in classes, or if you had any big plans for the holidays, always steering the conversation back to you.

ron noticed. "why do you always ask about her?" he asked one evening, his tone a bit suspicious.

"i’m just curious," harry said quickly, but the blush creeping up his neck gave him away. "you know, y/n's really smart. i was just wondering how she does so well in everything."

ron, ever oblivious, shrugged. "she’s always been like that. don’t know how she manages it. but don’t get your hopes up, mate, she’s got plenty of blokes around her."

harry hadn’t really considered that. the idea of other boys showing interest in you made something in his chest tighten. he wasn’t sure what it was, but it made him uneasy. he tried to push it aside, telling himself that he wasn’t the jealous type. but the more he saw you with other guys, michael corner, dean thomas, even lee jordan, the more that tightness in his chest grew.

it was stupid. he was harry potter, the chosen one. why did this feel so difficult?

one day, harry pulled out the marauder’s map and quietly followed you, careful not to be noticed. he wasn’t stalking you. well, maybe just a little. but he was trying to figure out where you went when you had time to yourself. maybe then, when you were alone, he could finally find the courage to speak to you.

he checked the map. you were in the great hall, sitting with the weasleys for dinner. harry’s heart skipped a beat.

he made his way there, trying to keep his steps quiet, hoping you wouldn’t notice him. but as he entered, he immediately spotted you. sitting with ginny, fred, george, and ron, laughing over something, her face glowing in the warm light. harry couldn’t help it. he found himself smiling. in fact, he was so lost in watching you that he didn’t notice ron glaring at him from the other side of the table.

"mate," ron’s voice suddenly cut through his daydream, "what are you doing?"

harry blinked and quickly wiped the goofy smile off his face. "what? nothing."

ron raised an eyebrow, glancing at you across the table. "you’re staring at my sister. again."

"no, i’m not," harry quickly muttered, avoiding eye contact. but it was too late. ron had already noticed.

"you’ve been doing that all evening," ron continued, his tone half teasing, half annoyed. "just... stop it. it’s creepy."

harry flushed, suddenly embarrassed. "i wasn’t... i didn’t mean to..." his voice trailed off. he had no idea how to explain why he was so interested in you without sounding like a fool.

ron just rolled his eyes. "she’s got a lot of attention already, harry. you know that. and she’s not interested in you like that, so don’t get your hopes up."

harry’s heart sank. "i wasn’t. i’m just... i just wanted to know how she’s doing. as a friend."

ron gave him a long look, his expression unreadable. "yeah, sure," he said with a shrug, returning to his food. but harry could tell that ron didn’t quite believe him.

a few weeks later, harry was invited to the burrow for the holidays, and after a day spent helping mrs. weasley in the kitchen, harry found himself wandering upstairs to your room. he knocked softly at the door.

"come in," you told him to, from the inside.

harry pushed the door open, his heart thumping as he saw you sitting by the window, a book in your hands. you looked up and smiled when you saw him. "hey, harry. what’s up?"

"just thought I’d come see how you were doing," harry said with a casual shrug, walking in and sitting on the edge of your bed.

"doing good," you replied, placing your book down. "busy with all the holiday stuff."

they started chatting, mostly small talk at first. it was easy. harry felt like he could just be himself around you. your presence was calming, like nothing else mattered when they were together.

as their conversation went on, harry found his gaze drifting to your lips. he didn’t want to rush things, but it felt like the moment was right. without thinking, he leaned in, his breath mingling with hers. you didn’t pull away.

the kiss was slow, gentle, the tension between them building. harry’s hand gently cupped your face as he deepened the kiss. he could feel your hands on his chest, pulling him closer. it was everything he had imagined and more.

but before either of them could process what was happening, the door flew open.

"blimey, harry," fred exclaimed, poking his head in, followed by george, both wearing mischievous grins. "we leave you alone for five minutes, and.."

"you two are unbelievable," george added, shaking his head.

harry and you pulled away quickly, both flushed and trying to hide their smiles. "you’re not supposed to be here!" you protested, laughing nervously.

fred and george just laughed, exchanging glances. "oh, we know," fred said. "but it’s too funny to miss."

harry’s face went red, and you laughed, your eyes sparkling with amusement. it wasn’t exactly how he had imagined their first kiss, but at least he had finally made it happen.

and maybe, just maybe, it was worth the wait.

[rafeskai]

Stolen Glances - Drew Starkey

Summary: At the Met Gala, Reader, a singer, and Drew Starkey share an unexpected connection after slipping away from the spotlight to escape the chaos. Bonding over music and the pressures of fame, they find themselves drawn to each other, sharing candid moments and stolen glances throughout the night.

Pairings: Drew Starkey x Popstar!Reader

Warnings: None

Author's Note: Let me know if I should make this a short series :)

The lights are blinding, bouncing off the sleek walls and polished floors, reflecting the glitz and glamor of a world that feels surreal even to you, despite having been in the limelight for years. The Met Gala was one of the events you could never quite get used to — an annual, glittering parade of artists, designers, models, and the occasional movie star. Tonight, you’ve arrived with your team, decked out in a show-stopping outfit that had social media buzzing long before you even stepped onto the red carpet.

After the red carpet and photo-ops, you slip away, seeking a quieter corner of the hall, clutching a champagne glass that’s more for show than sipping. It’s here, away from the flashing cameras, that you hear someone chuckle softly nearby.

“So you’re hiding out too, huh?”

You turn toward the voice and find yourself face-to-face with Drew Starkey. He’s tall, with an easy smile, his tux fitting him like it was made for him. You recognize him immediately — the Internet’s favorite bad boy. And despite the flashy lights outside, he somehow exudes a quiet, laid-back charm that feels surprisingly out of place in a room full of larger-than-life personalities.

“Guilty,” you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips as you raise your glass. “Needed a breather. How about you?”

Drew chuckles, scratching the back of his neck, his eyes sweeping over the crowded hall. “Yeah, I’m not too big on these things either. But they told me it’d be ‘good for my image,’” he says, making air quotes with a playful grin.

You laugh, nodding in understanding. “They say that a lot. But hey, it’s not so bad. I’ve already had three strangers tell me they love my latest album, which they clearly haven’t listened to.”

Drew chuckles, his gaze meeting yours. “Well, for what it’s worth, I did listen to your latest album. My sister is obsessed. I think I’ve heard every song about a thousand times.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Then you must be a fan by now.”

He shrugs with a playful smile. “Maybe I am. Got a favorite track, actually.”

Curiosity piqued, you tilt your head, challenging him. “Really? Which one?”

He steps closer, lowering his voice as if to keep the answer between the two of you. “Track three. ‘Lonely Nights,’ right? That song hits different.”

You blink, caught off guard by his choice. That song was raw, a rare glimpse of your private self in an industry that often demanded you be someone else. Hearing Drew mention it, with that earnest glint in his eye, stirs something in you.

“Didn’t expect that,” you admit. “Most people go for the upbeat stuff. The party anthems.”

He shrugs again, an easy smile gracing his lips. “Guess I’m not most people.”

Before you can respond, a voice calls out to you from across the room — your manager, reminding you that you’re needed back on the main floor.

You give Drew an apologetic smile, reluctant to leave. “Duty calls, I guess.”

He nods, his gaze lingering on you. “Good luck out there.”

You turn to leave, but then glance back at him, emboldened. “Hey, maybe we’ll run into each other again tonight?”

He grins, his eyes twinkling under the dim lights. “Count on it.”

As the night wears on, you spot Drew in the crowd multiple times, catching his eye each time and exchanging a silent smile or a raised glass. Eventually, you find yourself back in that quiet corner, escaping the chaos once more — and it’s no surprise that Drew finds his way there too.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he jokes, leaning casually against the wall beside you.

“Guess this is our spot now,” you reply, a smile creeping onto your face.

The rest of the night blurs into an effortless flow of conversation. Drew listens intently as you share anecdotes from your world, and he offers his own, giving you glimpses into the life of an actor constantly in the public eye. There’s a quiet understanding between you both, an unspoken bond between two people navigating the glitzy chaos of fame.

As the night winds down, and the crowd begins to thin, Drew walks you outside, where the city lights glisten in the darkness.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say, the words leaving you softer than you intended.

He glances down at you, his gaze steady. “No problem. Hopefully, we get to do it again sometime.”

Before you can respond, he takes a step back, giving you a quick, almost shy smile before disappearing into the night.

You’re left standing there, with a new excitement buzzing in your chest. The first spark of something that feels rare and real — and maybe, just maybe, the beginning of something extraordinary.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. My work is a work of fiction inspired by different characters, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[shuenkio]

⾕ Warming me love - 심재윤

Paring: Older!Jake X M!reader

Synopsis: He can't even forgive himself for not giving you a goodbye kiss in the morning, now he beg for your forgiveness by something else.

Genre: Smut. Cw: cock warming, dirty talk, smau, 18+, big dick Jàke ;)

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

It’s probably just you who thought getting an older boyfriend would fix every issue in your life. You’re not exactly the romantic type, easily overwhelmed by noise, moody like the eldest sibling of a big family, and prone to withdrawing when things feel too much. So you figured—why not find someone who could handle you at your most difficult?

And then, like something out of a cheesy miracle, you met Jake.

He was everything you were quietly searching for. Older, patient, grounded. He had the kind of life you never imagined being part of—cars, a house, money, fame, and a job that most would kill for. It was obvious from the start: this wasn’t a casual thing. This was ride or die. Date to marry.

But all of that—the polished image—was only for the outside world.

Behind closed doors, Jake was a different person. Someone who needed to be cared for. Someone who craved affection like air, needy in the way toddlers are—but worse. As soon as he stepped through the door, stress from work still clinging to him like a second skin, he would come find you. He needed cuddles to fall asleep, soft touches in his hair, someone to baby him through the exhaustion. Most of the time, it wasn’t even about the gestures. Your presence alone was everything to him. You were his calm. His home. The reason he remembered how to breathe.

Even if you didn’t speak, just holding him against your chest, letting his cheek rest against your skin, was enough to make him melt. To satisfy that part of him that no amount of success ever could.

That night, the sky was still cloudy from the day’s overcast, now turning into a quiet, rainy evening. You stayed home, waiting, kind of worried he’d be soaked by the time he got in.

Eventually, the front door clicked open.

And there he was—Jake.

As usual, you greeted him. Asked about his day. Whether he’d eaten. But he didn’t answer. Your brow furrowed immediately. Was something wrong at work? Did you say something? You tried again, but he just stared, silent.

You were about to ask one more time—until he cut you off.

“Do you know how insanely crazy I went today when I realized I forgot to give you a goodbye kiss this morning?”

“…I beg your pardon?” That… didn’t sound right.

“I’m sorry, my love. I wasn’t a good boy today. But can I still have your cuddle? Please? Pwes?”

And just like that, the illusion shattered. It wasn’t about age—it never was. It was about energy, mental space. You sighed in disbelief, eyeing your boyfriend with a flat look as he stood there looking like a guilty puppy.

“Please, baby? Tell me yes,” he whined softly, pulling you closer. “I’ll be a good boy for you. I’ll let you use my cock however you want—just let me touch you. Let me hear your voice.”

“But babe, you touch me every single day. Like… seven days a week, 24 hours a day. Aren’t you ever tired?” you asked, arms folded as you sat together on the couch-bed hybrid, unimpressed.

“Well, yes…” he mumbled. “But who can resist a boyfriend like you? If I could ruin you for anyone else—” He suddenly cut himself off, slapping a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. The shame hit him instantly. His lips had gotten ahead of his brain again.

You didn’t flinch. You just stared, unimpressed by his dramatics. Still, he pushed on.

“I swear, please, trust me—I'm gonna be a good boy this time. You want something back? My cock is yours. Toy with it, abuse it, play with it—I don’t care. Just let me touch you, pwease, M/N.”

And there he went again. Dramatic. Desperate. Fake tears and everything. He grabbed your hand and pressed it to his chest, then trailed it downward to where his cock strained under his sweats—rock hard and twitching with need. He kept shifting, unable to bear the pressure.

You sighed again, zoning out for a second, thinking if there was any compromise that didn’t involve you being dragged into his chaotic energy entirely.

That’s when Jake—impatient, fidgety, and horny—suddenly came up with an idea.

“How about this… love… just cockwarming?” he asked hopefully. “I know I don’t deserve to fuck you today, but cockwarming? Say yes, M/N. It’s the only thing I’ll ask for tonight.”

It was an unusual dynamic. The “top” begging the “bottom” for mercy. But here you were. Jake’s hands clapped together in prayer, face desperate, looking more golden retriever than grown man.

You considered for a moment, then sighed, nodding.

Jake didn’t waste a second. His lips crashed against yours, tender and grateful, while his hands roamed your body, peeling away layers with eager urgency. He stripped himself next, yanking off his pants and underwear in one swift move. His cock sprang out—thick, veiny, flushed pink and twitching. The musky scent filled the air, heavy with need, and you could tell how badly he wanted it just by the way it curved, desperate and leaking.

Nine solid inches, crying for you.

“That’s what you do to me, love,” he whispered, voice breathy. “My dick hurts so much… Can I do it?”

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. He pulled you closer again and lay down, the rain falling softly against the window outside. Jake held his cock in one hand, spreading your cheeks with the other before slowly pushing inside. Inch by inch, the warmth of your tightness swallowed him up. He let out a broken moan.

“God, this hole…” he choked, voice shaking. “I fucking love you, M/N. You don’t get it—”

Tears welled in his eyes—not real ones, probably, but the feeling was raw. His cock twitched, nestled deep inside, unmoving, just like you’d agreed. The heat, the pressure, the overwhelming feeling of being one—it made him delirious.

You stared out the window, biting down a quiet moan, the cozy light of the room wrapping around you like a blanket. A visible bulge marked where he sat inside you, unmoving but entirely present.

“I know I don’t say it enough,” Jake whispered, breath shaky, “but… I’m dying without you. I need to feel you. I need to hear your moans—fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Cockwarming… hmm,” you said thoughtfully. “Feels kinda nice. We should do this more.”

“Love, do you hear yourself? Fuck—stop, that’s my kink—please, I love you so much—”

“Oh, shut up. You’re being ridiculous,” you mumbled, cheeks hot. “I love you. And your… cock.”

“Yes. Yes. That’s all I ask. Love me. And love my cock.”

Jake chuckled against your ear, his lips grazing your skin. He nuzzled into your neck, planting a soft kiss on your cheek before wrapping his arms tighter around you. His cock nestled deeper, hitting a sweet curve inside you without thrusting, and he sighed like it was the first deep breath he’d had all day.

“All mine. My love. Mine.”

A/n: I just randomly added Jake was 9 inches— anyway happy 1 year anniversary to this Tumblr account, I didn't even know until Tumblr remind me just today (even tho I started to posted on 1st May 2024) and happy 837 followers to all m!reader enthusiastic y'all are my motivation 😝 shout out to my ride or die mutual, you're my everything A. and sorry for being busy these week🫠

[soulayos]

where do i fit in?

lamine yamal x you! Angst to comfort | Established relationship 1,021 words synopsis: As lamine rises, the pressures of fame begin to take a toll—not just on him, but on his relationship. Struggling to balance love and the spotlight, he pulls away in an attempt to protect you. missmorales: hi, this is my first fic, hope you all enjoy this and lemme know what you think! song of the moment: Reflection | The neighbourhood

At first, it was fun.

The lights, the cameras, the sudden recognition whenever someone saw you two together. Being with Lamine felt like flying—Barcelona’s golden boy, Spain’s crown jewel, and somehow, your boyfriend.

You were proud of him. So, so proud.

But lately, the shine had dulled. The airport rushes turned secretive. The phone calls got shorter. The messages got drier.

And worst of all?

You weren’t even sure if it was about you—or if he was just drowning and didn’t want you to watch him sink.

You stared at his name on your phone screen.

Lam🥰 Last seen: 1 hour ago Message: Delivered

You sighed, locking your phone.

He hadn’t replied to your “Good luck today ❤️” before his match. And now it was midnight, and you’d watched all ninety minutes from your room alone.

No post-game text. No call. No “Miss you.”

You flopped back on your bed, staring at the ceiling.

When did he stop letting you in?

The knock came just after 12:30 a.m.

You hesitated, peering through the peephole before opening the door.

There he stood—hood up, curls messy, dark circles under his eyes. Still in his post-match fit. Still beautiful, even in exhaustion.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

You didn’t say anything. Just stepped aside to let him in.

He walked into your apartment like a ghost, like someone who wasn’t sure he still had the right to be there.

You shut the door and crossed your arms. “Didn’t think I’d see you tonight.”

He flinched a little, turned slowly to face you. “I know. I’m sorry.”

You waited. For more. For anything.

When nothing came, you said, “That’s all you’ve got?”

He blinked. “I’m tired.”

“So am I,” you snapped. “Tired of being ignored. Tired of wondering if I said something wrong. Tired of watching you disappear.”

Lamine’s face twisted, guilt pooling behind his eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why are you shutting me out?”

The silence stretched. He sank onto your couch, elbows on his knees, hands running over his face.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered.

“Then help me get it,” you pleaded. “Talk to me, Lamine. Let me in.”

He looked up at you. Broken. Guarded. But still yours.

“I don’t want you to hate this,” he said, voice rough. “I don’t want you to hate me for what my life is becoming.”

You moved closer, kneeling in front of him. “I could never hate you.”

“You say that now,” he whispered. “But the media’s already talking about you. They found your TikTok. They zoomed in on your necklace in one of my training pictures. They’re putting you under a microscope, and I—I can’t protect you from it.”

“Who said I needed protecting?”

He paused.

You continued, “You think I don’t see the pressure you’re under? You think I don’t know how much the world is asking of you? But I’m not leaving. I’m not scared of your fame, Lam. I’m scared of losing you.”

His jaw clenched. You reached for his hand—and thank God, he didn’t pull away.

“I missed you tonight,” you said softly. “But I miss you even more when you’re right here and still a million miles away.”

Lamine exhaled slowly, squeezing your hand. “Everything’s so loud all the time. Everyone wants something. Coaches. Journalists. Fans. Brands. They act like I’m a grown man—but I still feel like i’m playing pretend sometimes.”

You nodded, tears pricking your eyes. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

His throat bobbed. “I didn’t want to let you see the mess.”

“But I chose you,” you said. “Mess and all. I don’t need the perfect version of Lamine Yamal. I just need you. The real one. Even when he’s tired. Even when he’s overwhelmed. Even when he doesn’t have all the answers he thinks he has.”

His lip trembled.

You moved onto the couch beside him, pulling him into your arms. He went easily, quietly—like someone starved for warmth.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured into his curls. “Even when the world doesn’t slow down, even when it’s too much—I’ve still got you.”

He didn’t speak for a while.

Just held you tighter.

You made him tea. He sat at your kitchen table, watching you with soft eyes and a furrowed brow.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice quieter now.

You looked at him over your shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me they were talking about me?”

“I didn’t want you to feel the weight.”

“Too late,” you replied. “I felt it the moment you started pulling away.”

Lamine winced.

You brought the mug to him, setting it down. “But if we’re doing this—if we’re really going to make this work—you have to let me in. You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”

He nodded slowly. “You’re right.”

You sat across from him. “I love you, you know.”

His eyes widened just slightly, but then his mouth curved into something soft. “I love you too.”

He reached for your hand across the table. Held it like it was something holy.

“I promise I’ll be better,” he said.

“No promises,” you replied gently. “Just honesty.”

He smiled. “Honest truth?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I need you more than I realized.”

You squeezed his hand. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The next morning, you woke up wrapped in him.

Lamine had fallen asleep almost instantly the night before—arms around your waist, face buried in your neck, like your presence was the only peace he’d had in weeks.

Now, with sunlight peeking through the blinds and birds chirping outside, he stirred.

You brushed his curls back. “Hi.”

He groaned. “Mmm. Too early.”

You kissed his forehead. “I made you breakfast.”

His eyes peeked open. “Actual food?”

“Actual food. Not just tea and trauma.”

He laughed softly, sitting up and stretching. “I love you,” he said again, casually, like it was something he’d say every morning now.

You smiled. “I know.”

He leaned in, kissed your cheek. “Thanks for waiting for me to catch up.”

“I’d wait for you forever,” you said.

But thankfully, you didn’t have to.

Because finally, finally—he was here.

[pugh-bug]

Needy

One shot

sub Art Donaldson x dom reader - smut

This was so fun to write! I hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you think it genuinely means so much just getting one comment - also if you want to be tagged in all future Art x reader fics let me know <33

——————————————————————

“You can’t be serious.”

It was Art…again. Ever since you’d slept together he’d been knocking on your door more and more. The confusing thing was that his visits didn’t concern sex, he’d want help with things - little things like finding his phone or keys. When that got ridiculous to redo he started faking illnesses, some more convincing than others, asking you for medicines or bandages. Now here he was again, puppy dog eyes gazing at you - desperate for some glimmer of hope or affection. How you pitied him.

“Patrick beat me again.” His eyes turned to the floor.

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

No part of you was surprised, Art had been getting beaten by everyone recently. You’d stopped coming to his games to save yourself the embarrassment. The boy needed pushing, or motivating somehow. You looked at his little head, bowed in shame like a dog. “Come in then.” He practically jumped at that.

Once Art had gotten comfy, sitting cross legged in his shorts on your bed awaiting orders, you sighed. “You can’t keep letting Pat beat you, coming here and looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

You took in his slightly flushed cheeks, his doe eyes under the pile of blonde curls and the slight craning of his neck to show he was listening.

“Like that.”

Art smiled a smile you almost returned but couldn’t quite bring yourself to. He was demanding to be lead on - begging for it. Well, you wouldn’t.

“If I’d known you were gonna be this needy I’d never have fucked you.”

His smile didn’t falter at that. He was annoyingly positive sometimes, full of complaints when he wanted attention but never cross when he was being told off. Art just wasn’t one for giving up. You shrugged off your jacket and sat next to him on the bed, ignoring the way his eyes admired every inch of you.

“I’m glad you did.” Art grinned, feeling proud as he remembered you stripping in front of him and swallowing his cum as he whimpered. He saw it as his greatest achievement, far more impressive than any dusty tennis trophy. All he wanted, more than Wimbledon - more than fame more than anyone was you. You consumed him, you had since first year. Since he first plucked up the courage to ask you to a Stanford party and your friendship with Patrick had given him a doorway. One he refused to step out of.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered, staring at your face in awe - his hand edging towards your own on the bed. You felt something at how earnest he was, something akin to warmth but something you couldn’t deal with just yet. “Careful.” You warned. “Just think before you speak.”

Art shook his head, moving closer to you. “Mmm, can’t. Not around you.” God, he was cute when he was desperate. His little wriggly movements, his wide eyes and puffy lips. He’s probably hard already, you thought trying not to smile. Poor baby, it had been a week since you’d touched him and for Art a week of pure longing. He’d touched himself to the thought of your kisses so much he’d forgotten how to finish without you in his head. Without the flashing images of your lips round his cock or your grin at his moans he felt nothing.

Sensing a ‘no’ coming, Art did what he did best. He begged. “Please,” he moved your hair off your ear to kiss under it. “I miss you.” You asked him how that was even possible when he’d been practically living in your room but time meant nothing to this star player. A second without you was a second too long. “Need you now mommy…please.” Your stomach flipped at the honorific, how it dripped off his tongue so deliciously. It suited him. You wanted him to say it again.

Before you could say anything Art was planting eager kisses up and down your neck. You let him, told yourself you were giving him a much needed win but really you were loving it. With Art so preoccupied with your neck you could safely squeeze your thighs together. You both knew how desperate he was to fuck you again, everyone knew. Patrick knew. His trainer. Your trainer. Everyone in a 10 mile radius. What you didn’t both know was how likely it was to happen again if he’d only beg a little more.

To Art’s dismay you gently pushed him off you, looking into his pleading blue eyes trying not to break. “You realise I’m not your girlfriend right?” It was harsh but a fair question. The boy seemed unsure. When he didn’t answer you narrowed your eyes. “Because I’m not fucking you if you answer wrong.” Suddenly the tent in Art’s pants hardened and his pupils grew a few millimetres. He got all wriggly, like an animal caught in a trap. A horny, desperate one.

“You’re not my girlfriend.” Art sighed but it was clear he was still hoping for your approval. He knew it should disgust him, how much he craved and desired it, but it didn’t. Your hand on his thigh only spurred him on, reminding him that he’d follow you anywhere and that he’d be or do anything for you. Anything you asked.

“Art,” you could tell he’d retreated into his head. Nothing a hand down his shorts wouldn’t fix. “I need you to relax okay?” Art melted into your touch and at the gentleness of your voice, the care in it. You found his cock immediately, hard and desperate, and felt the weight of it in your hand for a moment. If you’d been feeling mean you’d have teased him but something told you if you didn’t touch him now he’d cry.

As your hand worked its magic Art closed his eyes, leaning his head ever so slightly back. He needed this and fuck did he look angelic taking it. His little breaths and fluttering lashes spurred you on. It didn’t take long for him to start bucking up into your touch desperate for you to go faster. You refused, ceasing your movements to pull him with both hands into a kiss. He practically gasped when your tongue entered his mouth but that was followed by a moan at the intrusion. He tasted like spearmint.

“You’re so,” you gasped in between kissing him. “Fucking cute.” Art felt charged up at your compliment. You usually avoided giving them out finding it easier to show your affection rather than state it. He treasured those moments where you let slip how much you really liked him.

“Mmmm!” He was close you could tell.

“You gonna cum for me?”

Art started nodding aggressively, eyes closed and hips bucking.

“You can’t wait till you’re inside?” You cooed in that patronising tone he found so sexy and hurtful. Art tried to think straight, though his body was betraying him as it chased the orgasm you were yet to give. You asked him again, playing nice, and it sunk in the second time. Art stopped bucking. He stopped moving at all. All he could do was watch in a mixture of sorrow and excitement as you let his cock go.

“Take your shirt off.”

Art knew an order meant sex was on the table - not even on the table it was guaranteed to happen. He didn’t let on how gleeful he felt at that fact, instead he obediently threw his t-shirt off. It landed in the pile of clothes on your floor but his eyes didn’t linger for long, they couldn’t not when you were taking your own shirt off. Art gulped at the sight of your bare chest, your tits that begged to be kissed and sucked and the line of your neck and shoulders. God he was obsessed with you, truly he felt almost in love.

Art’s mind raced with possibilities. Were you going to let him eat you out? Sit on his face? Were you simply going to straddle him without any foreplay and sink your warm, wet pussy down onto him? His cock twitched at the image. You hiked up your skirt and let him hurriedly pull down your soaked panties with wide eyes. He couldn’t believe that was for him - because of him. The most beautiful woman in the world is turned on…because of me.

“You’re so b-“

You promptly shut him up by sinking down onto him, his eyes grew even wider with shock. No warning, no words just pure lust. Art was inside you again, finally, and it felt so good he thought he could cum already. “Shit…” he moaned and you hadn’t even started to move. His size was an adjustment, especially seeing as you hadn’t let him pleasure you beforehand, but you felt deliciously full. Full and smug.

“I might just stay here,” you teased, rocking your hips painfully slowly. “Forever.” It was torture for Art, your painstakingly light movements and your gleeful smirk. You both knew what teasing him did to you - how powerful it made you feel. “Mommy…”

“I’m right here.” You cooed, gazing down at his eager face and lust filled eyes. He hadn’t bothered to take his shorts off, you’d just shoved them to the side, and somehow that turned you both on more. All that mattered to Art was you. Your bare skin so close to his own and your heavy breaths, those he could hear even over his own moans. Although you wanted nothing more than to torture Art and bring him to the very precipice of pleasure just to snatch it away you had to think about your needs. Your cunt was leaking already, your skin was hot and there was a fire inside you that needed him. So when he moaned:

“Fuckkkk…”

It seemed only right for you to say:

“Yes that’s it, fuck mommy.”

Art groaned, indulging his lust and carnal needs he’d usually feel embarrassed of. Before you Art had always hidden his desires from partners and even himself. He’d been raised conservatively, this you knew, so you found it gratifying to pull his real self out. It made you wet to see his cheeks redden when you said such things and you couldn’t help the smile that filled your face when you felt him harden even more inside you. He started to quicken his pace.

As Art closed his eyes to focus on how good you felt you stared at him, watching him. Studying him. The way he clamped his arms around your waist to easily thrust up into you, how his eyes were scrunched shut so he didn’t cum early and that one bouncy curl hiding his left eyebrow. He was beautiful, you had to admit. In your horny state it was easy to get lost studying Art and forget everything else. He felt the same about you.

Art didn’t wait too long before opening his eyes, not wanting to miss too much. Your tits were so close to his face as your chest heaved up and down up and down. It was driving him insane - you were driving the poor boy insane. How could he still need you when he was inside you?

The bed creaked under Art’s rabbiting movements, groaning under the strain of his excitement. He was groaning too, whimpering whenever you kissed or bit his neck and struggling not to cum. It was all too much, your warmth, your tits, your thighs wrapped round his own and your lips open to let out angelic moans. He wanted to give you everything, everything he had. All Art desired was to make you happy.

“Mommy!” there was a tinge of panic in his voice as he stared at you, awaiting permission but still fucking you hard and fast like you wanted. Feeling sorry for him you awed in his face, circling your hips to meet his movements and brushing the sweaty curls off his forehead. He wanted to cum. “Already?”

Art nodded frantically, feeling his release draw closer and closer. You were on the pill, he knew that, but he still needed permission. With every thrust he sheathed himself to the hilt and yet you still both needed more. “You gonna cum for me?” Art’s mouth started opening as he edged himself, not wanting this moment to end but needing release more than anything.

“Cum inside mommy, I want to feel it.”

That did it.

Before you could finish your sentence, Art was holding your waist impossibly close to him and releasing inside you. “Oh fuck…fuck mommy I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” His little whimpers and blushing skin sent you over, within seconds you were cumming too. The two of you were panting like animals, bucking into each other with all the energy you could muster. Art’s cum started to drip out of you, down his sensitive cock and onto the bedsheets but your focus was him. He was breathing heavier than last time, heavier than you’d seen him after matches.

“Are you okay?” You asked after a moment, with genuine concern. Not wanting to startle him you chose not to move, instead you held him in your arms and kissed his cheek. The softness of it made Art feel safe but more sorrowful that you wouldn’t date him. “I’m okay.” He looked out of it so you squeezed his hand. “You can sleep here.” The boy practically jumped for joy. He thought he’d won.

“No, no.” You laughed at his presumptuousness. “This doesn’t mean what you’re thinking.” But Art slept wonderfully well that night believing there was hope yet.

——————————————————————

Masterlist

Resources 🇵🇸🇸🇩🇨🇩

Permanent Art taglist:

@theynothem @amorisxx

[beaviu]

𝜗𝜚˚ ⋆₊ LOVE iN THE AiR — bye bye smoothie boy

⌗ masterlist :: next :: prev

The plane gave one last tremble like God’s version of a mic drop—and then… stillness. The kind that makes you question whether you’ve just survived a near death experience or entered the afterlife with mediocre cabin lighting.

The intercom crackled on, and the captain’s voice came through, sounding like he had not just traumatized a planeload of emotionally volatile idols and their flightcrew.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve cleared the turbulence. Beginning final descent. We’ll be landing in twenty minutes. Flight crew, prepare the cabin.”

Karina blinked up from her tray table, deadpan. “Final descent sounds like the name of a breakup song.”

Yumi, already scrolling for lyrics in her Notes app, muttered, “Hold on, that’s a crazy idea. Dibs on writing credit.”

Jake sat bolt upright like a man born again. “We survived?! Someone call my accountant. I need to legally become a good person.”

Leehan, still reading his book like the plane hadn’t tried to body slam them, didn’t even look up. “You don’t have an accountant.” obviously done with jakes stupidity

Jake blinked. “your right. I just Venmo my mom and hope for the best.”

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🪷་༘࿐

In the galley, Yn was locking the snack cart down like it personally offended her. Every latch click was a middle finger to chaos.

Heeseung stood way too close, all long limbs and lazy smirk, leaning on the counter like he was modeling for a calvin klein ad.

“You know,” he started, voice low and maddeningly attractive, “if we had crashed, your last words to me would’ve been about duct taping my mouth shut.”

“and I stand by that,” Yn replied nonchalantly. “Honestly, I still might.”

He cocked his head, grin widening. “So no emotional goodbye? No dramatic confession?”

She squinted at him. “You’re not dying. You’re annoying. Different genres.”

He stepped closer, brushing shoulders. “You could at least admit you’d miss me.”

“I would miss the peace I had before you existed.”

“That’s not a no,” he said, staring at her with a soft grin.

“It’s a threat,” she clarified.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🪷་༘࿐

Back in the lounge section, Amber was re stabilizing the cart for the fifth time while Sunghoon lounged against the overhead compartment like he’d just walked off stage at a sold out Tokyo Dome show and was still looking for someone to mess with

“You know,” he began, handing her a protein bar like it was a diamond, “we could spin this into some attraction. ‘Global star finds love in a near death turbulence.’”

Amber didn’t even flinch, not even surprised. “Global star gets punched by flight attendant midair for being a stupid fuck. Yea I like that a lil more”

He grinned. “See? Great headlines either way.”

“Do your fans know you’re like this?”

He leaned in, voice velvet. “Only the lucky ones.”

She shoved a water bottle at him. “Hydrate before I file a report for harassment.”

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🪷་༘࿐

Karina sat by the window, earbuds in, one leg tucked up under her as she refreshed her playlist like it was the only thing standing between her and an emotional breakdown.

Yumi flopped next to her, completely wrapped in a blanket and fame fatigue. “You okay?”

Karina didn’t even look up. “I’m going to commit war crimes if I hear the acoustic version of any frank song one more time.”

Yumi nodded solemnly. “I told our manager we needed turbulence-safe playlists. He gave us those lo-fi yt playlists.”

“Who does that?” Karina whispered, horrified. “Is this psychological warfare?”

“Yes,” Yumi confirmed. “And we’re losing.”

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🪷་༘࿐

In the galley, Heeseung had gone suspiciously quiet. Yn noticed immediately at the difference in atmosphere.

“You good?” she asked, flicking her eyes toward him without pausing her checklist.

He hesitated, the cocky grin slipping for a split second. “Not a big fan of flying,” he said.

That surprised her. “You literally jet across the world on a weekly basis.”

“Yeah. I also get paid to smile at stadiums full of people while slowly losing my will to live. Doesn’t mean it’s not terrifying.”

She paused. Something shifted in her expression—something softer.

“I used to hate it too,” she said. “But now I pretend I’m just… not in control. And maybe that’s okay. Like life, but with less legroom.”

He looked at her, really looked. “You say weirdly profound things when you're not threatening to throw me out a window.”

“I’m full of mysteries.”

“pls punch me.”

She elbowed him. “Sit before I threaten to duct tape your mouth shut smoothie boy.”

He obeyed, grinning, taking the jumpseat beside her. “If I die mid flight, put ‘Was annoying but super hot’ on my tombstone.”

“I’ll write it in permanent marker on your forehead.”

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🪷་༘࿐

The wheels finally hit the runway with a loud thunk that made everyone jolt and then freeze. Total silence. No claps. Just stunned, post chaos quiet.

Then Jake gasped, ruining the silence. “We survived. I’m rebranding. I’m going to post wholesome content and donate to a turtle sanctuary.”

Leehan calmly took a mint out of his pocket. “You said that after the Tokyo flight. You posted a thirst trap and bought an NFT.”

“That was art,” Jake argued. “Turtles would understand.”

Yumi looked over. “I don’t think turtles know what NFTs are.”

“Neither do I!” Jake cried. “That’s the problem!”

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🪷་༘࿐

As everyone started gathering their things, the cabin buzzed with life again. Sunghoon grabbed his duffel and turned to Amber with a smug look.

“So, post trauma coffee? Just to, you know, emotionally regulate.”

Amber raised an eyebrow. “You think I want caffeine near your mouth??”

“You want me near anything,” he said, winking.

“Yeah. The exit.”

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🪷་༘࿐

Outside the plane, the heat hit like a slap. Cameras were already clicking from the terminal windows. A small crowd had gathered, half excited fans, half airport staff pretending they weren’t staring at global idols in various stages of disheveled survival.

Karina slipped on sunglasses like armor. “I swear if anyone tweets that I look ‘relatable’ right now, I will sue.”

Yumi fixed her hair in the reflection of her pocket mirror. “We just survived turbulence, emotional instability, and each other. We’re allowed to look feral.”

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🪷་༘࿐

Yn stepped off last, Heeseung matching her pace like he was afraid she'd vanish into the terminal.

“You know,” he said, “if we were in a drama, this is the part where you’d realize you’ve been in love with me the whole time.”

She blinked. “If this were a drama, you’d have better lines.”

He laughed. “Harsh. But fair.”

She paused, tilted her head toward him. “You’re lucky you’re famous.”

“You’re luckier I’m not humble.”

They walked into the terminal together, side by side arguing and giggling like a married couple.

Behind them, Karina whispered to Yumi, “They’re either going to kiss or kill each other.”

Amber added, “Honestly? Hoping for both.”

Jake shouted from behind, “I call best man if anyone gets fake married for publicity!”

Leehan, walking past with his headphones on, muttered, “God save us from jake.”

༘˚⋆ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧༘˚⋆ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧༘˚⋆ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧༘˚⋆ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧༘˚⋆ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 — taglist :: @heesexual74 @starbyeol1512 @naevisringring @urmomssneakylink @lovenha7 @ari3ll4 @t1iqaa @gweoriz @millis-diary @androgynouscrownorbit @reibelhearts @melodiessvy @desssss-0 @i03jae @right-person-wrong-time @wonzzziezzzz @ilovhoonie @kiwicup @bunchesoflilies @nodoubtily @steddie-steddie @honestlyatomicpanda

>ᴗ< authors note — landing chapt !!!!!!! Plot will thicken guys trust 😇😇

[msbigredmachine]

Finding Angel: 4

MASTERLIST

Elysian Motion Studios, Midtown Atlanta 

The sounds of sneakers squeaking on polished wood and a booming hip-hop beat fill the massive room. Naima stands at the front of the class, her reflection mirrored endlessly across the walls. The Saturday morning sunlight pours through wide windows, casting long golden streaks across the floor. Normally, this place is her sanctuary, a world apart from the glittering haze of Exotica. Today, though, her mind is elsewhere.

A few days have passed since her clash with Roman in the champagne room. The memory of it clings to her like stubborn smoke, curling into every corner of her thoughts no matter how hard she tries to focus. It’s not her first fight with a guy, but something about this one leaves a raw edge she can’t shake. They haven’t spoken since, and she is not comfortable with how much that bothers her.

“Five, six, seven, eight!” she calls out sharply, clapping her hands to the rhythm with more force than usual.

The students flinch slightly but keep moving. Teenagers with dreams of TikTok fame twirl and pop alongside a few moms laughing at themselves as they stumble through the choreography. A middle-aged man in the back concentrates furiously, determined not to trip over his own feet.

“Don’t overthink it!” Naima encourages, though her tone carries an unintentional bite. She walks through the group with a commanding presence, her movements sharper and more precise than usual. “Feel the beat in your chest, don’t fight it! Let it carry you!”

Phoenix, her teaching partner, leans casually against the mirrored wall, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face. His sweat-slick golden brown skin practically glows under the studio lights, and his clean-cut features look like they’ve been sculpted by a Renaissance artist. His usual charm is in full effect as he cracks jokes with the students.

“She’s intense today, ain’t she?” he jokes to a teenage boy trying to keep up.

“She scary, bruh,” the boy mutters, though his grin betrays his admiration.

Naima spins around, catching the exchange. “I heard that! And y’all gon’ thank me when y’all nail this routine.”

The group groans good-naturedly, but her students love her. She has a way of pushing them while making them feel seen, a balance that comes naturally. Today, though, her frustration simmers just below the surface.

After wrapping up the hip-hop session, the atmosphere in the studio shifts. The room clears out, leaving a smaller group of women changing into more form-fitting gear. This is Naima’s second class of the day: pole dancing.

She moves to the next room where the gleaming metal poles are situated, and ties her long natural curls into a high puff on top of her head, and sheds her loose t-shirt and sweatpants for a sleek sports bra and biker shorts. “Alright, ladies, let’s get to it,” she announces, kicking off her sneakers and slipping into her clear heels. “Pole isn’t just about strength. It’s about rhythm, confidence, and owning your space. So, let’s own it.”

Her moves are fluid as she demonstrates a spin and transitions into a graceful climb. The students watch, wide-eyed, some giggling nervously. Normally, she loves showing them what their bodies can do, even if they don’t believe it yet. Today, though, she feels a pang of impatience, like everything around her is moving in slow motion.

Phoenix, ever observant, notices her tension. “You good, Nai?” he asks, stepping closer to her after the pole class is over.

“I’m fine,” she replies quickly, her voice clipped.

Phoenix raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press further. He’s known her long enough to steer clear when she’s in this mood. Instead, he takes his place near the camera, ready to film their choreographed routine for their dance studio’s social media handles, all named Elysian Moves.

Naima has been steadily growing her personal and professional Instagram and YouTube following for years, holding on to the hope that the right person might notice her one day, hopefully one of the top choreographers in the world. Sean Bankhead is her ultimate idol, but lately, she’s been inspired by Paris Goebel, whose cutting-edge choreography has made her a global powerhouse. Watching their work is a reminder of where Naima wants to be in the future.

“You ready to make us go viral, queen?” Phoenix teases as Naima adjusts the camera angle.

“You know I was born ready,” she says, though her smirk doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

They nail the routine, a fiery blend of hip-hop and jazz that showcases their creativity. Phoenix replays the footage afterwards, but Naima isn’t absorbing any of it. She should be focused, analyzing her movements, critiquing her form…but her mind keeps drifting.

To him.

To the sharp cut of his jawline, the heat in his gaze, the way he looked at her before everything went sideways. She should have moved the fuck on. But she hasn’t.

His deep voice echoes in her head, low and rough from their last conversation. She wonders if he’s thinking about her too.

Probably not.

Men like him don’t dwell. He’s likely moved on, flashing that easy smirk at someone else.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Phoenix’s voice is quieter now, careful.

Naima blinks, finally meeting his gaze. There’s something there, something warm, patient—more—but she doesn’t reach for it.

She never does.

“I know,” she says, but nothing more.

Instead, she hits play again, pretending she can drown Roman out.

Naima sits at the small kitchen table in her sister’s cozy home, absentmindedly stirring honey into her tea. The late afternoon sun streams through the window, casting a warm light over the space, but it does nothing to calm the storm raging inside her. 

Across from her, Adara leans back in her chair, arms crossed and watching her baby sister with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Adara has always been a steadying presence in Naima’s life. Twelve years older, she practically helped raise Naima with their aging parents. Strong, composed, and fiercely protective, Adara has weathered life’s storms with a quiet strength Naima has always admired. But now, sitting under the weight of her sister’s steady gaze, Naima feels like a teenager caught sneaking out past her curfew.

“So,” Adara prompts gently, her tone calm but firm. “You didn’t come all the way over here just to stare at your tea. What’s going on, Nai?”

Naima hesitates, her fingers tightening around the mug. “It’s…complicated.”

“With you, it usually is,” Adara laughs, leaning forward slightly. “But you’ve got that look, like something big’s happened. Start talkin’.”

Naima takes a deep breath, glancing toward the living room where Adara’s eleven-year-old son Julien’s laughter echoes as he watches wrestling clips on YouTube. Her nephew’s excitement makes this all feel even stranger. “Okay. So…there’s this guy…”

Adara raises an eyebrow, her expression neutral but attentive. “There’s always a guy when you show up like this.”

“No, this is different,” Naima interjects, setting her mug down. “He’s…he’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before. His name’s Roman.”

Adara tilts her head, her lips twitching as if suppressing a smile. “Roman, huh? He sounds handsome already.”

He’s beautiful. Naima sighs. “He is. He’s a wrestler. Like, a big deal wrestler.”

Adara blinks, clearly taken aback. “A wrestler? Like the ones on TV that Julien keeps yelling about?” she jerks her thumb in her son’s direction.

“Yes,” Naima laughs nervously. “Exactly like that. Julien probably knows who he is better than I do.”

Adara studies her for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And how did you meet this wrestler?”

Naima hesitates, shifting in her seat. “At Exotica.”

Adara’s lips press into a thin line, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t say anything, but the silence is loud.

Naima knows that look. Knows Adara has opinions about her line of work; the same ones she’s been biting back for years. But instead of voicing them, Adara simply waits, her gaze steady, expectant.

“He came in for a private dance,” Naima explains, her voice soft. “And we…clicked. It wasn’t like anything I’ve experienced before, Adara. The way he looked at me, the way he talked to me—it was like I wasn’t just some stripper to him.”

Adara’s expression softens slightly, though her brows remain furrowed. “Okay. And then what happened?”

Naima glances away, her cheeks burning. “I took him home. We…we slept together. And now it feels like it’s moving so fast. Two days ago he came back to Atlanta just to see me, and we had this big argument.”

Adara’s eyebrows shoot up. “An argument already? About what?”

Naima runs a hand through her straight strands of her wig, letting out a frustrated sigh. “He doesn’t like that I work at Exotica. He says it bothers him, that I deserve better. But he doesn’t understand. I need that job. It’s how I survive. It’s how I help you and Julien. And he has no right to tell me how to live my life just because we had sex.”

Adara leans back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “What exactly did he say?”

Naima recounts their argument in the champagne room, the way Roman’s protectiveness had veered into frustration, and how she’d thrown his possessiveness back in his face.

When she finishes, Adara lets out a long breath of her own, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. “Sounds like he’s used to getting his way.”

“Exactly,” Naima says, her voice sharp. “He walks in like he owns the place, like he owns everything he comes across. And from what I’ve seen, he does. But he don’t own me. I don’t give a damn how much money he got or how good he is in bed.”

Adara smirks. “That good, huh?”

“That’s not the point, Sissy,” Naima groans her sister's pet name, covering her face with her hands.

“Okay, okay,” Adara chuckles and holds up her hands in surrender. “Look. I get it. You’re independent, and you’ve worked your ass off to take care of yourself. But maybe this guy’s not trying to control you. Maybe he just doesn’t know how else to show he cares.”

Naima frowns, lowering her hands. “So what, I’m supposed to just let him bulldoze into my life and tell me what to do?”

“No,” Adara says firmly. “But maybe you don’t have to push him away either. You’ve been on your own for so long, it’s okay to let someone worry about you and care for you.”

Naima stares down at her tea, her mind racing. “It’s scary, Adara. Letting someone in like that…it’s overwhelming.”

Adara reaches across the table, taking Naima’s hand in hers. “I know, Nai-Nai. But you don’t have to figure it all out today. Take it one step at a time. And don’t let fear make your decisions for you.”

Before Naima can respond, Julien’s excited voice rings out from the living room. “Auntie Nai, did you say you know Roman Reigns?! The OTC himself?!”

Adara giggles softly as Naima’s head drops to the table. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

Despite herself, Naima manages a small smile, her heart feeling a little lighter. Maybe Adara is right. Maybe she doesn’t have to have all the answers right now.

The following days continue to be heavy with silence between Roman and Naima, each too stubborn to make the first move. Naima engrosses herself into her work, pushing through her sets and her classes with an intensity that leaves her physically exhausted but mentally distracted. Roman, back home in Miami, channels his frustration into grueling workouts and business calls, though his thoughts constantly drift to her; Her voice, her fire; the way she stood her ground. Both feeling slighted and frustrated by how things broke down between them so quickly.

But beneath their anger is a lingering ache, a pull that’s become too magnetic to resist.

Naima is in her apartment this evening, the quiet pressing in around her. She scrolls through her phone, her finger hesitating over Roman’s name in her contacts. Her chest tightens as she remembers his expression when she made him leave, how hurt he looked despite trying to mask it.

“Ugh,” she mutters, tossing the phone aside and burying her face in her hands. Why is he getting under her skin like this?

Meanwhile, the OTC stands on the balcony of his penthouse, the city lights glittering below him. His phone rests on the railing, Naima’s number already pulled up. He clenches his jaw, debating whether to call her. Part of him wants to maintain their distance, but the other part…the part that can’t stop replaying her words…feels like he needs to set things right.

Finally, Roman cracks. With a low, resigned growl, he grabs his phone and dials.

Naima’s phone buzzes on the couch, and she freezes at the sight of his name flashing on the screen. Her heart races as she picks it up, her thumb hovering over the answer button.

“Just answer it,” she whispers to herself, before finally swiping. “Hello?”

Roman’s deep voice comes through, steady but laced with tension. “Hey.”

She swallows hard. “Hey.”

There’s a long, tense pause, both of them struggling to find the right words.

“I don’t like how we left things,” he says finally, his voice quieter than she expects.

“Me neither,” she admits, her fingers gripping the phone tightly.

“I didn’t mean to come at you the way I did,” Roman continues. “I just…It irks me to see you in a place where people don’t treat you right and you’re in harm’s way.”

Though Naima’s heart softens a little, she still feels the need to defend herself. “I know you mean well. But this is my life, and I’ve been handling it on my own for a long time. I don’t need anyone stepping in and trying to fix me or whatever.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” Roman says, his voice steady but softer than she expects. “I don’t think you’re broken. I just don’t like seeing you deal with shit you don’t deserve. And if I can make things easier for you, even a little, I want to.”

Naima swallows, his words catching her off guard. He barely knows me. Yet, there’s something about the way he says it—no pressure, no expectation—that makes her stomach twist.

“I don’t even know how to let you do that,” she admits. “We just met.”

“I know,” Roman nods. “That’s why there’s no rush. Just…don’t push me away before I even get the chance to be here for you.”

She exhales, blinking against the sudden sting in her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t gotta say anything,” he tells her. “Just let me do the work.”

For a moment, she just sits with his words, turning them over in her mind. She isn’t used to this; someone wanting to stand beside her without trying to control her.

Naima nods, even though he can’t see her. “Okay.”

A small silence stretches between them, but this time, it’s not heavy. It feels more like a tentative truce.

“I’ll be back in Atlanta this weekend,” Roman says finally, his tone lighter. “Let me take you out.”

Naima smiles softly, the tension in her chest easing. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “I gotta go. But I’ll talk to you soon, baby girl.”

After they say their goodbyes, Naima sets her phone down and leans back against the couch, a strange sense of relief washing over her. 

The days that follow their conversation brings a quiet yet welcome shift. One of relief and excitement as their reunion inches closer and closer. Naima replays Roman’s sexy voice in her mind as she moves through her routines. At work, her sets have less of the frantic, escapist energy that consumed her just days ago. Instead, she finds herself slowing down, focusing on the movements she loves, and on the art of her dance rather than the hustle.

Roman feels lighter, though his days are no less busy. He powers through his matches and business meetings with renewed clarity, his mind no longer as clouded by frustration. The memory of their call—the vulnerability in Naima’s voice, the way she softened—keeps him grounded. He’s not quite sure where this will go, but for now, the fact that she is willing to let him in is enough.

Naima stands in front of the mirror in her bedroom, a pile of discarded outfits on her bed as she huffs in frustration. “Why does this feel like such a big deal?” she mutters to herself, nervously running her hands down the black dress clinging to her curves.

“Because it is a big deal,” Brandy pipes up behind her, brushing her daughter, Treasure’s hair. The little girl sits quietly, swinging her legs as her mother carefully smooths her hair.

Naima frowns at herself in the mirror. “It’s just a date. And we’ve hung out before.”

Brandy smirks knowingly. “Well, this is a date, date. With a fine ass man who got you actin’ like a teenager before prom,” she finishes, arching a brow. “And don’t even try to deny it.”

Naima rolls her eyes but can’t stop her face from flushing through her carefully done makeup. “I’m not actin’ like a teenager,” she mutters, fiddling with the hem of her dress. “I just…wanna look good, that’s all.”

Brandy lets out a soft laugh as she ties the final curl in Treasure’s hair with a bright pink bow. “Girl, you always look good. You stressin’ cuz this man got you feelin’ somethin’. And that’s okay.”

Treasure turns her wide eyes toward Naima, her little voice chiming in, “Is he a prince, Auntie Nai?”

Naima chuckles despite herself, crouching down to Treasure’s level. “Something like that, baby girl,” she says, unwilling to shatter the little girl’s illusion.

Brandy tilts her head, watching her BFF closely. They’ve known each other for five years, and she’s never seen her like this. “Close enough to make you nervous. This is new, Nai.”

Naima straightens up and shrugs, avoiding her gaze. “He’s just different, I guess.”

Brandy’s smirk deepens as she folds her arms. “Uh-huh. Different enough to have you raiding your closet like it’s life or death.”

“B…”

“I’m just saying! If he makes you nervous, that means you care. And if you care, maybe you should stop pretending it’s just a date.”

Naima sighs, brushing her long straight hair back from her face. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re in denial, but do you.” 

Naima’s heart thuds in her chest. She turns back to the mirror, taking a deep breath. “Just a date,” she whispers to herself again, though the fluttering in her stomach says otherwise. “Is this too much?”

Brandy tilts her head, studying the dress that shows off every curve she owns. “Absolutely not! It’s perfect. You’re going for classy but sexy, not trying-too-hard. Trust me.”

Treasure looks up at Naima and smiles shyly. “You look so pretty, Auntie Nai!”

Naima can’t help but laugh, warmth blooming in her chest. “Thank you, Treasure. You’re my little cheerleader tonight.”

Brandy sets the brush down and moves to stand behind Naima, smoothing down her sleeves. “Roman’s not gonna know what hit him. You look stunning!”

Naima meets her friend’s eyes in the mirror, her nerves clearly showing. “What if it’s awkward? After our fight…”

Brandy’s expression softens. “You two are fine, Naima. He flew back just to see you. He didn’t have to. This ain’t another patron lookin’ for another dance.”

Naima nods slowly, taking another deep breath. “You right. I just…I don’t know, I guess I’m a little scared.”

Brandy gives her a reassuring hug. “You’re allowed to be scared. Just don’t let it stop you. You got this.”

Treasure helps Naima put on her stilettos, beaming that she’s being helpful. “She’s gonna have the best date ever!” 

Naima laughs, scooping the seven-year-old up into a hug. “You’re my good luck charm, huh?”

The sound of a knock at the door freezes her. Her heart races as she sets Treasure down and looks at Brandy with wide eyes. “That’s him.”

Brandy gives her a little shove toward the door. “Go. We’ll finish cleaning up here. And relax, you’ve got this.”

The distance from her room to the front door feels longer than it should. Naima opens the door to find Roman standing there, looking as effortlessly handsome as ever in a fitted dark suit and a crisp black shirt, a bouquet of white roses in his hands. His long hair is neatly tied back, and his usual confidence radiates from him, though there is a softness in his expression when his eyes meet hers.

“Hi,” she says, her voice soft and shy.

“Hi,” he replies, stepping forward and pulling her into a big hug. 

Naima sinks into his embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. They stand there for a long moment, neither of them speaking, just holding each other. The tension from their last conversation seems to melt away, replaced by something warm and unspoken.

Roman finally pulls back just enough to look down at her. “You look incredible,” he gushes, handing the bouquet to her.

“Thank you,” she responds, her cheeks flushing. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He chuckles, his hand lingering on the small of her back. “I wanted tonight to be special. To show you…well, that I mean what I said before. I’m here, Naima. For you.”

Her throat tightens, emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “I know. I’m sorry if I—”

“Hey.” Roman cuts her off with a gentle finger on her lips. “Let’s just enjoy tonight, okay?”

Naima nods, her nerves easing just a little. “Okay.”

Brandy materializes seemingly out of thin air, rushing over to gently relieve Naima of the roses. “I’ll put these in a vase for you,” she says, grinning. “Y’all look like a magazine cover. Go have fun, lovebirds.”

Naima rolls her eyes, laughing softly, while Roman chuckles and gives Brandy a polite nod. “Thanks for helping her out.”

“Anytime, big man,” Brandy says, winking.

As Roman leads Naima out to his Bentley, the warmth of his hand in hers reassures her. She is almost floating on air. The ride is comfortable, both basking in each other’s presence and aura. They eventually pull up to Marcel, an upscale restaurant that Naima never looked at twice because of its sheer opulence. 

“Roman,” she says, her voice a mix of awe and uncertainty, “This is…a lot.”

He parks and turns to her, his expression serious. “Only the best for you, beautiful.”

Her breath hitches at the intensity of his words, but before she can respond, he’s already out of the car and opening her door. He offers his hand, which she takes, feeling a spark as his fingers thread through hers. 

The restaurant is a dream. Its dim lighting, elegant leather banquettes, and vintage décor exude a timeless sophistication that makes every guest feel like a VIP. Naima orders a delicate seafood linguine, the pasta glistening in a light white wine and garlic sauce, topped with fresh shrimp and scallops. Roman opts for a perfectly cooked filet mignon, paired with truffle mashed potatoes and roasted asparagus, the plate a balance of sophistication and hearty flavor. Roman orders her favorite wine without needing to ask. 

The evening passes in a blur of soft laughter, meaningful glances, and the kind of conversation that makes time feel irrelevant. When he later asks about Brandy and her presence at Naima’s apartment, she feeds his curiosity.

“She seems like she’s got your back, “Roman comments, cutting into his steak. “That’s rare in your world, I bet.”

Naima giggles softly, sipping her wine. “Rare don’t even begin to cover it. She’s a badass. She’s been through so much, but she’s so positive. Her daughter, Treasure, she’s adorable. Seven going on seventeen. Keeps Brandy on her toes.”

Roman smirks. “Sounds like a beautiful relationship.”

“It is.” Naima smiles fondly, setting her glass down. “It makes me think of Adara sometimes. She’s always been that steady presence in my life, even when things got tough.”

Roman leans back in his chair, recollecting. “Adara…Your sister, right?”

Naima nods, looking thoughtful. “Mm-hmm. She’s twelve years older than me, so she was more like a second mom growing up. She’s raised her son, Julien, practically on her own. He’s eleven now and—” Her face lights up, “he’s a big wrestling fan. Like, huge. That’s why you looked familiar when I first saw you in Exotica.”

Roman chuckles, his dimples showing. “Yeah? Who's his favorite?”

She raises a teasing eyebrow. “Who do you think?”

He smirks, tapping his chest. “The Tribal Chief, of course.”

“Of course,” Naima laughs, the sound light and musical. “I think you’d like him,” she puts out there, her eyes softening. “You might already be his hero.”

Roman grins. “Well, I’d better meet him soon, then. Can’t let the kid down.”

Her heart swells at his easy confidence, at the way he doesn’t shy away from the idea of meeting her family.

Not too fast now, Naima.

“You’ve got this…presence,” she observes after the waiter he summoned walks away, swirling her glass of wine. “Like, you walk into a room, and everyone just knows you’re in charge.”

Roman leans back in his chair, an air of pride in his demeanor. “It’s useful. But it’s not just about being in charge. It’s about making sure the people I care about are good.” His gaze softens as he looks at her. “That includes you.”

Her heart flutters, and she boldly reaches across the table to take his hand. “You make it hard to keep my guard up, you know that?”

He chuckles, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Good. You don’t need it with me. I gotchu, baby.”

The silence between them is thick, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. Naima breaks it first, a slow, knowing smile tugging at her lips as she tilts her head and teases, “You call me ‘baby’ a lot. What’s that about, huh?”

Roman’s eyes darken, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that sends a slow heat curling through her belly. His voice drops lower, rougher, as he leans in just enough to make her breath hitch. His lips curve, full of promise, full of possession. “Because when I say it, you look at me like you did the night we met…Like you wanna be mine.”

A spark of electricity shoots through her, a rush of heat flooding between her thighs. The way he says it, with that quiet confidence, that raw certainty, makes her pulse stutter. Any other man saying something like that would have made her roll her eyes, maybe even walk away. But him? The way he owns it, the way he owns her in that moment, keeps her rooted in place, breathless.

She forces herself to hold his gaze, to push back against the intoxicating pull of him. Her lips part, and she murmurs, a teasing edge laced in her breathless words, “You’re awful cocky for someone who’s still earning it.”

Roman’s smirk deepens, a slow, wicked curve that makes her toes curl in her stilettos. “It ain’t cocky when you back that shit up. I do, every single time. I know what I want. And I want you, Naima. Period.”

Her chest tightens, a thrill sparking in her veins as she realizes just how serious he is. She bites her lip, trying to maintain some semblance of composure, but her inner voice betrays her, a single, undeniable word echoing in her thoughts.

Damn.

The night ends with Roman leading her back to the car, his arm around her slender waist. They don’t speak much on the drive home, but the silence between them feels warm and easy, like they don’t need words.

As he walks her to her door, the tension between them crackles like static in the charged air. She turns to him, their eyes locking in the dim light of the hallway. 

“Thanks. For dinner. For…everything,” she says.

Roman steps closer, his fingers brushing her chin. “Thanks for giving me a chance, baby girl,” he replies, his voice low and steady. “I meant what I said. I’m here for you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

She looks up at him, her chest tightening at the sincerity in his eyes. Slowly, she steps closer, her hand resting on his bicep.

“I think I’m starting to believe you,” she whispers.

Roman’s smile is soft but firm. “Good. Cuz like I said, I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he murmurs, his tone carrying a weight that quickens her pulse.

It accelerates even more as she finds herself leaning up, her lips brushing against his in a tender, teasing kiss. But the softness doesn’t last. The kiss deepens quickly, their restraint dissolving as desire takes over. His hands slide to her waist, pulling her flush against him. Naima’s fingers curl into his shirt, holding on like she’s afraid to let go. The hours spent pretending to be patient have finally unraveled.

She fumbles with the door, barely managing to push it open before they stumble inside, lips never breaking contact. Roman presses her back against the wall, his hands gripping her hips firmly, grinding himself against her and making her gasp into his mouth.

She feels one hand leave her body, reaching into his pocket to pull out a condom. Naima’s lips curve into a teasing smile, even as her breaths come fast and shallow.

“You came prepared this time,” she observes, her voice laced with amusement.

Roman blushes, a rare flicker of boyishness breaking through his usual confidence. “I was hopeful,” he admits, tearing open the wrapper with swift precision.

“Thank God,” she gasps, hiking her dress up to her waist and ridding herself of her thong while he manages to put on the condom, lifting her fully against the wall in one fluid motion.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” Roman mutters against her skin as he pushes inside her, his lips trailing down her neck.

Naima moans out loud, her fingers tangling in his hair as he grips her bare ass. “I do,” she says breathlessly, her voice shaking, “Cuz you do the same to me.” 

The next moments are a blur of heat and intensity, making her dizzy with desire. His thrusts are deep, raw and desperate, his hunger for her taking over. Naima’s moans of pleasure echo around the apartment, her head tipped back against the wall as she clings to him, every nerve in her body ignited by his touch. The way he holds her, kisses her, fucks her…It’s exactly what she needs, a release from all the tension and uncertainty that’s been building between them.

But Roman isn’t finished. Even as they catch their breath, his hands stay on her, possessive and firm as he carries her to the kitchen, setting her on the counter with a controlled urgency that sends a thrill through her.

“This fuckin’ dress,” he says, his voice gravelly as his paws for hands skim her thighs, pushing the fabric higher. “Drove me crazy all night.”

Naima lets out a shaky laugh, her eyes half-lidded with desire. “Good. That was the point,” she teases, her voice unsteady.

Roman’s response is to capture her lips again, silencing any further words. Their remaining clothes disappear, leaving nothing between them. He takes her right there on the counter, and Naima surrenders completely. She loves how he takes charge, the way he doesn’t hold back. He’s deep and hard, rough and unrelenting, leaving her gasping, trembling, desperate for more. Every touch, every kiss, every stroke makes her feel alive, desired, and utterly his.

“Roman,” she gasps, her nails raking down his bare back. She can feel his dick all the way in her, right up against her g-spot, and she's seeing stars. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” he promises, his voice rough with emotion, his hands gripping her as though he never wants to let go.

Finally, Roman gathers her into his arms, cradling her limp body as he carries her to her bedroom. The urgency of before fades, giving way to something slower, something gentler. He lays her down with a tenderness that makes her chest tighten, his warm gaze sweeping over her. He brushes a stray curl from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek.

“I’m sorry. About last time,” he murmurs, the weight of it heavy in the quiet room.

Naima’s lips curve into a soft, knowing smile. “I’m sorry, too.” She hesitates, searching his eyes. “I didn’t mean to push you away…I just…” She exhales, her fingers tracing the solid lines of his forearm. “I don’t open up to people like this. Not this fast.”

He studies her for a moment, then leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips. “I get it. It’s the same with me,” he whispers. “But I don’t wanna fight with you, Naima. I just want you.”

Her hand slides up to his face, fingertips grazing the sharp edge of his jaw. When he turns into her touch, nuzzling his cheek into her palm, something in her chest shatters.

“I want you, too.”

When he enters her this time, it’s unhurried, deliberate. His thrusts are deeper, slower, each movement steeped in need and reverence. His body is heavy against hers in the most delicious way, his lips mapping a path along her jaw, down the column of her throat. Naima clings to him, her nails raking down his back, gripping the firm muscle of his ass, pulling that long, thick dick of his even deeper inside her. Roman groans, burying his face in her neck, murmuring his pleasure like a sacred mantra.

Then she shifts, rolling them over until she’s on top. He exhales a ragged curse as she sinks back down onto him, her pussy incredibly swallowing him whole. The stretch, the fullness…it steals her breath, makes her head fall back as she rides him, her pace measured and devastating.

“Holy shit,” Roman grits out, hands gripping her hips, her ass, anywhere he can hold onto. He meets her movements, pushing deeper, dragging his palms over her skin like he can’t get enough. “Baby, you feel too fuckin’ good.”

Naima’s thighs are already trembling, her hands pressing to his chest as she leans forward, her lips crashing onto his in a hungry kiss. “You’re so deep,” she gasps, voice barely above a breath.

And yet, he wants to be deeper. Needs to be. Roman groans again, his grip on her ass tightening, hips snapping up to meet hers, reveling in her moans and whimpers. He’s lost in her, and she’s just as lost in him.

The pleasure builds between them, sharp and undeniable, a tension coiling in their bodies, ready to snap. Naima shudders first, her nails digging into his chest as a whimpering cry rips from her throat, her walls clenching tight around him. Roman curses, his grip bruising as he thrusts up hard, once, twice, before his own release crashes over him like a wave, stealing his breath. His head tips back, a groan rumbling deep in his chest as he comes hard, his entire body tensing beneath her before finally going slack.

She collapses against him, spent, her beautiful body quivering in the aftershocks. Roman wraps his arms around her, holding her close, anchoring her to him as their breathing slowly evens out. They lie tangled together, bodies slick with sweat, breaths still uneven. Roman’s hand rests on her plump backside, gently, lazily squeezing, like he needs to keep touching her. Naima presses her cheek to his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, and for a long moment, neither of them speaks. 

They only met a week or so ago, but somehow, it already feels like more. Like they’ve stepped into something neither of them are ready for, something neither of them can ignore. It was supposed to be just desire, just physical, but the way he holds her, the way she melts into him, makes it clear that this is already more than either of them ever expected.

Thoughts? Business is about to pick up 😈

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[justageekk]

❛❛ color caramelo ❜❜ — marc bernal x fem!reader

summary: Marc gets jealous when a boy tries to flirt with you.

warnings: jealousy, small discussion.

word count: 1,015

inspiration: “color caramelo” by beny jr

❛❛ Si alguno a ella le tira

Puede que en su mismo barrio yo me plante ❜❜

NOTE : My native language is not English, I'm sorry if I write something wrong.

The music inside the house thumped softly as you walked into the party with Marc. He lightly took your arm and leaned closer to discreetly whisper in your ear.

“Are you okay, cariño?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly as he waited for your response.

“Yes, although I’m surprised you agreed to come here.”

“I couldn’t leave you alone. I made an exception for you,” he said with a smile, giving you a quick glance.

The two of you separated as the party began to liven up. You weren’t too far apart, but you both knew you needed to keep your relationship hidden for both your sakes—mostly because of Marc’s rising fame. People lately had been invasive, and neither of you wanted to risk your relationship being destroyed by rumors or other complications.

You were in the kitchen pouring yourself a drink while Marc chatted with Guillermo, though his eyes stayed fixed on your every move.

Taking a sip of your beer, you suddenly heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Well, I didn’t think I’d see you here,” Alex, a friend of one of your friends, said, flashing a confident smile and running a hand through his messy blond hair.

You chuckled politely before responding, “I didn’t want to stay cooped up on a Saturday.”

He let out a soft laugh, leaning closer to you and starting to play with your hair, curling it around his finger before letting it go. His gaze lingered on your face, occasionally dropping to your body as though he wanted to devour you right then and there.

“I’m glad you’re here. It’s been a while, hasn’t it, beautiful?”

You clenched your jaw, smiling awkwardly as you nodded, gripping your glass tightly before taking another sip.

At first, Marc didn’t pay much attention, thinking you were just having a normal conversation. He couldn’t act like a jealous maniac, after all. But his demeanor shifted completely when Alex leaned in far too close to your face.

The brunet rose from the couch in a fury, striding over to where you were and shoving Alex by the shoulder to get to you.

“Is he bothering you?” Marc asked, pointing at the blond with his thumb over his shoulder.

Alex smirked, as if the situation was a joke to him. “Relax, we were just talking, man.”

“Shut up. Who asked you?” Marc snapped, turning abruptly and shoving Alex again.

“Take it easy, bro. It’s not that serious. What’s your problem?” Alex let out a nervous laugh, stepping back.

“My problem is idiots like you trying to hit on what’s mine with other intentions. Got it?”

Your eyes widened as you stood frozen, unsure of what to do in this situation.

“Alright, man, I didn’t know she was taken.”

“Well, now you do,” Marc said firmly, giving Alex one last glare before turning toward you. His expression softened instantly as he stepped closer, reaching out his hand to you. His fingers brushed against yours with a tenderness that starkly contrasted with his earlier anger.

“Let’s go,” he murmured quietly.

Without saying a word, you took his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch as he began leading you out of the party. His body remained tense, his posture firm, as though he was still ready to confront anyone who dared get in his way.

As you moved through the crowd, you felt the weight of people’s stares. Some whispered to one another, probably surprised by the scene they had just witnessed, but Marc didn’t pay them any mind. His only focus was getting you out of there.

When you finally stepped into the cool night air, Marc let out a long sigh, as if releasing all the tension he’d been holding in. He still held your hand, but this time, he stopped and turned to face you, his eyes scanning you carefully.

“Was all of that really necessary?” you asked, meeting his gaze.

“Are you seriously asking me that? Did you not see how he was looking at you? Or the way he was talking to you?”

“Marc, it was nothing. You know I didn’t pay him any attention.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going to stand there while someone tries to make a move on you.”

He shook his head, exhaling heavily as his hands gripped yours tightly.

“I’m not going to just stand by while someone flirts with you,” he said firmly.

You looked at him silently for a moment. Before you could respond, Marc took a step closer, closing the distance between the two of you.

“Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?” he murmured, his voice barely audible as he leaned in, his dark eyes locked on yours. Without waiting for an answer, he closed the gap, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your lips.

The kiss made your heart race instantly, and your hands, almost instinctively, moved to rest against his chest. Marc’s hand slid up to cup your cheek, his fingers brushing your skin gently, while his other hand moved to your waist. With a determined motion, he pulled you closer, pressing your body against his as if he wanted to ensure there was no space left between you.

“I love you,” he whispered between kisses.

[diettwistup]

HALF OF YOU

PAIRINGS: tashi duncan x f!oc, art donaldson x f!oc, patrick zweig x f!oc

SUMMARY: No matter how bright Tashi Duncan shined, her best friend, Milan Mikaelson, wasn’t far behind. Though seeming second best, Milan would never let that define her career. Holding as much fame as Tashi, Milan encountered Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson. Would this encounter change the trajectory of her life, and would it completely alter her relationship with Tashi Duncan?

WARNINGS: challengers spoilers, reader is milan mikaelson, sexual situations, language, angst, plot alterations.

WC: 3.9K

NOTES: hey y’all!!! so excited to be posting the first chapter of this story. manifesting my edits are all good LOL. enjoy! 💋

READ BEFORE THIS: INTRO

CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTIONS AND EMBARRASSMENTS

US OPEN TOURNAMENT- 2006, 2:00 PM

Sitting down on the hot bleachers, I put my sunglasses on and adjusted the braids in my hair. Sucking on my teeth and brushing my fingers across the hem of my uniform skirt, I let my eyes gaze at the large crowd of people accumulating. 

Damn Tashi, you always know how to make a bang. 

Crossing my arms and softly laughing, I let my mind wander back to my match yesterday. 

I had lost to the girl who would be playing Tashi for the championship. I really don’t know if that was a good or bad thing. On one hand, I lost from a bad call when I was so close to the end. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have to battle my best friend and get absolutely decimated, as she would say. 

As I continued to lose myself in thought, two boys, blonde and brunette, moved through the growing crowd and sat in front of me. 

You’re kidding me. 

Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson—the “fire and ice” duo—had just won their doubles match, if I’m not mistaken. How could I be when their trophies were sitting right on their laps?

There's still a ton of seats open, and they choose to sit here? 

Rolling my eyes and crossing my arms, I pushed my sunglasses up, waiting for Tashi to come out. 

Staring at the door to the locker rooms, I clicked my tongue in boredom before grabbing the tournament pamphlet to look at everyone’s stats. 

“Don’t you wanna meet Tashi Duncan?” 

My ears perked at this as I put the pamphlet down and narrowed my eyes at the brunette boy. 

Whoever said eavesdropping was a bad thing…

I had to hold in my laughter as they began to talk about Tashi and how she was the entire package. Telling her this later would be the highlight of my week. 

“What about Mikaelson, you know her?” Patrick asked as he slung his arm around his companion. 

I froze at this and tilted my sunglasses down to better see the two of them. 

“Of course I know her. Have you seen her play? She’s fucking hot.” Art added with a smirk as he attempted to whisper, failing miserably. 

My face heated up at this as my eyes narrowed at the boys. 

Do they not realize the person they’re talking about is behind them? 

“Agreed,” Patrick started as he pulled his friend closer. “She’s also got a fat ass.” He laughed as Art chuckled along with him. 

Gag. 

Closing my eyes and pretending I didn’t hear that, I heard cheers and claps from around, signaling that Tashi had come out of the locker room. The chair umpire immediately began to talk about her stats and how she was the best female player in our division. 

I happily clapped as I beamed at my friend, her eyes scanning the crowd and locking with mine, a large smile playing on her features. 

“Fuck, did you see that? Tashi Duncan just smiled at us…” Patrick exclaimed in awe as he pushed Art in the chest. 

“Shit, I missed it.” Art complained before leaning back and adjusting himself in his seat.

I almost had to cover my mouth to hide the vomit that was about to let loose. 

Dumbasses. 

After a few minutes, Tashi’s match began, of course, in her favor. Everything was perfect: her serves, backhand, line receives, counterattacks, and every single step she took. 

I smirked widely as I watched Tashi decimate the bitch who, unfortunately, decimated me. 

Patrick and Art watched Tashi in awe for the first ten minutes of the match while commenting on how amazing a player she was. 

I snorted at this, wondering how long it would take to notice who was sitting behind them.

On the next serve, Tashi’s opponent hit the ball out, but the line umpire declared it as in. 

Standing up immediately, I pointed a finger and yelled at the top of my lungs. 

“What?! Come on, Tash, don’t take that shit!” 

Everyone else agreed with me as the crowd began to roar in protest of the shitty call. 

Lost in the moment, I hadn’t realized that Patrick and Art had turned around and stared at me in horror and awe. 

“Oh,” I started and took off my sunglasses. Did I yell in your ear?” I looked between them before looking back up at Tashi. 

“Fuck, you’re-“ Patrick started in a slightly panicked state before I cut him off. 

“Milan Mikaelson? Yeah, I’m guessing you two know me.” I spoke with sarcasm as I kept my eyes trained on Tashi and her opponent. 

Caught. 

“Shit, I’m real sorry for what I said, I-“ Art started before I placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him, eyes still not leaving the game.

“Don’t sweat it, was too focused on the game to give a damn.” I lied straight through my teeth as I pretended to act nonchalant. 

I could feel both of their eyes staring long and hard at my hand lingering on Art’s shoulder before I took it away to throw my hands in the air and yell as Tashi locked in another point. 

“Come on, Tash!” I yelled and clapped with the roaring crowd, boys still looking back at me. 

Sighing, I crossed my arms and looked back down at them. “Take a picture, it will last longer,” I spoke in annoyance before sitting back down and putting on my sunglasses. 

All I could hear were muffled whispers and attempts to counteract my statement before they turned back around and shared we’re fucked looks. 

Stifling my laughs, I angled my eyes back to the match. 

As Tashi continued to hit the ball effortlessly for the rest of the match, her win came almost naturally. 

Standing up and yelling, I quickly ran down the bleachers, feeling two pairs of eyes following me. I stood against the fence and clapped loudly while Tashi caught my eyes after her victory yell and smiled widely at me. 

I jumped up and down with all the fans cheering with their signs and matching t-shirts. 

Running around the court to thank everyone for coming, Tashi came over to me and grabbed my hands. 

“Tashi! I’m so proud!” I yelled and bounced on my heels, extremely happy with my friend's success. 

“My biggest fan.” She smiled and reached over to hug me before letting go and continuing to thank everyone. 

Smiling proudly at her, I pushed my braids behind my back and took off my sunglasses. Turning around, I looked back at the sea of people cheering for Tashi before my eyes landed on two figures. 

What a mystery those two are…

I smirked proudly at them as their eyes shifted between Tashi walking back to her locker room and myself standing by the fence. 

Patrick leaned over to Art and whispered something as their eyes darted between us. I could only see Patrick's smirk and Art’s growing grin at his friend's words. 

Snorting to myself, I turned around and put my sunglasses back on. 

“Fucking morons…” 

ADIDAS BRAND PARTY - 2006 8:00 PM

“Tashi!” I exclaimed as I weaved through a crowd of familiar and influential faces to ambush my best friend. 

I could see her bright smile miles away as she turned to meet me at the edge of the dancefloor, engulfing her in a hug. 

“Milan, I was wondering if you weren’t coming.” She laughed as she wrapped her arms around me and returned my hug. 

Pulling away, I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “Tashi Duncan, my best friend, thought I would miss out on this?!” I questioned as I gestured to the bustling party. "You must be crazy if you think I would miss out on anything that concerned you and your tennis career,” I snapped at her with a knowing smirk.

“I’ll have you know I was late because my mother insisted on making me change ten times.” I rolled my eyes and tilted my head to where our moms were conversing. I stuck my nose up and closed my eyes, annoyed at the memory of how nagging my mother was when getting ready for the party.

Immediately, she raised her hands in defense and raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, Miss Mikaelson, didn’t mean to assume.” She laughed before crossing her arms. 

I watched her expression change slightly as her eyes softened and lips parted. 

“I watched your match yesterday,” she said, lightly treading. “I’m sorry about the loss.” She finished and brought a hand to my shoulder, rubbing it gently with a sad smile.

Flashes of my match fluttered back into my mind as a small pit formed in my stomach. 

I shrugged this off and took up a carefree attitude, whereas my insides were screaming. 

“It was a shitty call, what can I say? That bitch had and has nothing on me.” I smirked and made sure not to falter, but secretly, the loss had internally crushed me.

Tashi laughed, brought her other hand to my shoulder, and bent down to level our eyes. “Don't worry, I decimated her for you. Plus, at Stanford, the both of us will be fucking up bitches right and left.” She shot a cocky smirk at this as I gave her one back in turn. 

Stanford. The next four years of my life with Tashi Duncan would be the ultimate dream. 

Right? 

I extended my pinky to Tashi with a slight wink. “Promise?” I bit my bottom lip and smirked at this familiar gesture between us. 

As long as I can remember, Tashi and I have made over a hundred pinky promises. Our first one involved her letting me borrow her Barbie doll while we played house and my promise to return it. Since then, it’s been a norm between us. 

I felt the confidence radiating from Tashi’s grin as she moved her right hand from my shoulder to interlock our pinkies. 

“Promise.” She repeated and swung our interlocked pinkies back and forth. 

I laughed like a child all over again before quickly raking my eyes across the entire party. As I scanned the crowd, I let go of Tashi’s pinky and leaned in to whisper. 

“Lots of important people here, I see,” I whispered as Tashi’s eyes followed mine.

“And familiar faces too…” She responded in a lower tone, angling her eyes to an older man by the beverages. 

“Shut up!” I gasped before looking back at Tashi. “Is that Mr. Reynolds?!” I asked in shock at seeing our fifth-grade English teacher. 

“Yup,” Tashi responded, standing straight as she crossed her arms. She studied the older man as he scanned the beverages offered. “He was always my favorite,” she quipped, not needing a huge explanation for why he was here. 

At this, I burst out into laughter, as did she. 

“I thought he died years ago.” I clutched my stomach before placing a hand over my mouth and muffling my small laughs. “Wait, that’s not nice. I mean, I thought he passed on peacefully years ago.” I corrected in a serious tone as I watched the older man before glancing at Tashi and bursting into laughter again. 

As I laughed with Tashi, I felt a burning feeling on the back of my head. 

Was someone staring?

Wiping my eyes carefully to avoid messing up my makeup, I slowly turned around and almost froze as I locked eyes with the person, or should I say persons, staring at Tashi and me. 

Oh, hell no. Is that who I think it is?

Quickly, I turned back around and whispered to Tashi in a hurried tone. 

“Tash, is that Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson?” I looked her in the eye as they narrowed at the mention of the “fire and ice” duo’s presence at the party. 

“Oh yeah, they’ve been staring all night.” She smirked and looked between the two of us. “Frankly, I don’t blame them.” Her smirk grows even wider, mirroring the Cheshire Cat. 

Biting my lip, I remembered my earlier encounter with the two tennis players. I shuddered as I remembered their smirks and remarks about Tashi and me. 

“Tash…” I said warningly, pointing my perfectly manicured finger in her face. “Please tell me you don’t have one of your ideas in mind.” I slightly scolded her, studying her face to see what she was thinking. “Those two are complete and utter idiots.” I continued as I shook my head. 

She wrapped an arm around my shoulder and whispered back as she lowered my finger and sucked on her teeth. “Do you really need to ask this?” She questioned with an air that spoke obviously, are you stupid? 

“And believe me,” She started and moved to fix the straps of my dress. “I know exactly how they are…teenage boys.” She snickered wider at this as I rolled my eyes. 

I huffed loudly before grabbing a piece of my hair to fiddle while I groaned. “But Tash, it’s our summer before we go to college. No boys.” I retorted as the music in the background got a little louder. 

Grabbing my hands, Tashi dragged us to the middle of the dance floor and forced me to dance. “First of all,” She started as she twirled me around, “This was never a pinky promise.” She spoke, wrapped her arms around my neck, and swayed us to the music. 

Fuck, she got me there. 

“Second of all,” She continued before touching my neck to untangle my necklaces while swaying with me. “I know you’re internally drooling over Art Donaldson. He’s exactly your type, and he’s going to Stanford.” She laughed to herself as she worked on my necklaces. 

Fuck x2 can’t deny that. 

I rolled my eyes and turned away, knowing I couldn’t argue either of those statements. 

“You’re crazy…” Was all I could protest. 

Untangling my necklaces, Tashi clapped and smiled brightly at me before putting her hands back on my shoulders. “This is gonna be a great start to the summer.” She grinned like a mad woman as we kept dancing across the floor. 

After dancing, mingling, and trying not to focus on the two hard stares hitting Tashi's and my head for the entire night, I decided to go to the beach. 

“Hey, Tash, I’m going to the beach for a quick breather. If my mom asks, I’ll be down there. Come down if you need anything or if I miss something interesting.” I smile gently at her while I take my heels off.

“Got it. Be safe.” She waved before going to get pictures with her family. 

I smiled at her before walking to navigate the path to go down to the beach, pretending not to notice the two pairs of eyes following me. 

10:00 PM

I wonder how long I had been down here listening to the sweet waves ripple against the hot sand. I almost feel as if the ocean is calling me. 

Imagine the escape of living on a secluded island where nothing mattered. Not school, not tennis, and not the future.

Especially the future. 

Staring at my newly manicured nails, I continued to get lost in my thoughts while the ocean rang in my ears.

Shit, I’m over everything.

I reached a hand up to my mouth and began to bite one of my nails. 

Do I even wanna go to Stanford? 

Practically gnawing at it, I can feel the acrylic wearing off.

Doesn’t matter because I’ll be with Tashi… right?

SNAP

“Fuck…” I muttered to myself as I broke off a nail, leaving a tiny bit of blood seeping from my nail bed. 

Rolling my eyes, I held onto the broken nail and rested my head on my knee as I watched the ocean. 

“We’re not interrupting, are we?” I heard a deep voice ask behind me, making me let out a small yelp and nearly fall off the rock.

Quickly turning around, I was met with two, unfortunately familiar, faces. 

Why now?

Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson stood before me, shoes in one hand and cigarettes in the other. Frankly, I had no idea which one spoke, and I had no care to know at this rate. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, and they disturbed that. 

“What the fuck,” I explained as I stood up from the rock and patted my dress down. “Do you know how rude it is to sneak up on someone?” I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes as I looked between the two boys sheepishly standing before me. 

“Shit, really sorry, didn’t know you were here,” Patrick spoke up as his counterpart dropped his cigarette from his lips upon seeing me study his stature. 

Bullshit. 

“Hm, okay, well, I’ll be going then,” I exclaimed, irritated, as I bent down to grab my heels. “I hope you two have a grand time.” I sarcastically quipped as I went to walk past them and go back up the path to the party. 

“Wait,” Art, almost panicked, stood before me with a lopsided grin as he flicked his cigarette bud beside him and treaded lightly as he motioned to the chairs near the rock I had just occupied. “We’d love it if you joined us, just for a chat.” He had a genuine smile on his face now. 

Are they serious?

Before I could open my mouth, Patrick beat me to it as he walked to sit in one of the chairs Art motioned to. 

“Yeah, just to talk. You're one of the best players in our age bracket, and it would be a real treat to get to know you as an apology for what happened earlier.” Patrick added and smirked so wide I could feel pure smitten radiating off it. 

They are serious.

Both boys were now staring at me, gazes identical in pure amazement, awaiting my response. 

Fuck this. Fuck me. Fuck x3.

Sighing softly and crossing my arms, I dropped my shoes, returned to the rock, and sat down. 

“You get five minutes,” I spoke curtly as I looked between the boys, waiting for one of them to speak up.

Art took this chance to open his mouth, but before he could begin, I held a hand up to stop him.

“Oh, and there’s no need to introduce yourselves. Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig, the “fire and ice” duo.” I spoke unenthusiastically, keeping my eyes on Art for a little longer before angling my expression to Patrick.

Both boys stared at me with slight smirks as I adjusted my dress and grabbed a piece of hair to play with while they continued. 

“Well, Milan Mikaelson,” 

I inwardly shuddered as he spoke my full name. 

“During your match, I thought that call was fucked.” Patrick spoke up and got right to the point. He laughed as if he remembered it as a fond childhood memory. 

Almost instantly, Art chimed in to add to his friends' thoughts, a bit too eager for my liking. “I mean, that Anna girl could barely serve your entire match, and then that?” He stated as he shook his head, acting like he was scolding my opponent to her face like a coach.

My eyes lit up at this. They knew how to crack me. Bring up my pride and losses, and I’ll talk your ear off for hours. 

“I think the official was blind because that bitch’s ball was totally past the line,” I explained matter-of-factly. “Did you see the way he hesitated before calling it? He probably had it in with her.” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms in annoyance at the memory of the loss. 

“Still, you were fucking amazing out there. How did you get your backhand to be that powerful?” Art quickly added and leaned forward in his chair as if moving closer to me would allow him to understand my words better. 

I let a slight smile adorn my features as I studied his position. 

Fuck x4.

For the next four minutes, the three of us talked about tennis and our matches throughout the tournament. Though brief, I could quickly tell how these two relied on each other and their sport. It was definitely the glue for their friendship. I could also tell how they hung onto my every word, like a toddler waiting for his mother to let him out of the time-out-chair. 

Checking my watch, I stood up and looked between the boys. 

“Though this was fun, your five minutes is up.” I flashed my watch at them with a subtle smile before bending down to grab my shoes. 

When I bent down, I could hear some rushed scuffles and whispers. Standing back up, I saw that both boys were also standing, very tense, might I add. 

“How can we contact you to do this again?” Patrick asked with a smirk, which I presume was a signature for him.

Raising an eyebrow at him, I crossed my arms and looked between him and his blonde companion. 

“Who said I wanted to do this again?” I asked as Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets with a defeated grin while Art let out a muffled chuckle. 

“Come on, this was fun.” Art added and took a cautious step towards me. “Can we get your number?” He asked as he studied my face with the cheekiest grin he could muster.

I laughed at his question dryly before pointing my finger between the two boys. “We? You think I’m gonna get between this? Hell no.” I replied, walking past them to the stairs and back to the party. 

Immediately, I could feel their eyes staring into the back of my head, and I wondered if they would beg or plead. 

They better not. 

“Come to our hotel,” Patrick yelled, making me whip my head around. “We have beer,” he grinned once he saw my interest somewhat piqued. 

Fuck x5.

“It’s not far from here. We can talk more.” He gestured between the three of us and then pointed up to the party. 

This made me look back to the party, about to question what he meant before Patrick chimed in. 

“We talked to Tashi earlier and told her the same thing. Would be fun getting to know the beautiful golden tennis girl duo.” He chuckled as I watched his eyes flicker from my face to my lips.

This made my face heat up, but I would never reveal that. Teenage boys don’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing they have any sort of effect on me. 

Clicking my tongue, I nodded at this new piece of information. 

Tashi did say she had a plan in place. This could be fun. 

“Maybe,” I replied as my eyes shifted between the boys.

You’re not easy, Milan Mikaleson. Remember that.

“Depends on my mood.” I finished and shot them small smirks before walking back up the stairs, not giving the boys a moment to retort. 

As I walked back to the party, my eyes shut as I felt a headache coming on. 

What the hell did I get myself into?

[f1girliefics]

The Golden Age Love

1950s!AU

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Summary: In the golden age of Hollywood, a famous actor stumbles into a quiet diner and falls for the waitress behind the counter.

You’d seen his face before.

On every movie poster, every magazine cover in the newsstand across from the diner.

Carlos Sainz, the golden boy of Hollywood.

Leading man. Matinée idol.

The kind of man who could make time slow down just by walking into a room.

But you never expected him to walk into your diner.

It was a slow Tuesday afternoon, the kind of day where the hum of the jukebox filled the silence between coffee orders and the occasional clang of a spoon.

You were refilling sugar jars when the bell above the door chimed, and in he walked with his coat draped over his arm, fedora in hand, smile just a little too tired for someone who lived in front of a camera.

He sat at the counter, two stools from the end, and offered a polite nod.

“Coffee, please.” His voice was low, smooth, touched with that Spanish lilt you’d heard a thousand times in interviews.

You gave a stunned smile and poured the coffee. “You’re-”

“Carlos,” he interrupted gently, eyes meeting yours. “Just Carlos.”

You hesitated.

He smiled again, this time slower, more real than any he’d given to a camera.

“I know who you are,” you said quietly, sliding the cup toward him.

“I figured.” He chuckled, taking a sip. “But thank you for pretending like you didn’t.”

You were no actress, no model. Just a waitress in a faded pink uniform, doing your best to make ends meet. But the way Carlos looked at you, really looked, it made your skin warm in a way that had nothing to do with the summer heat pressing in through the windows.

He came back the next day. And the next.

Always around the same time, always ordering coffee.

Sometimes pie. He asked questions, real ones.

About your favourite movie, your family, your dreams. And he listened like nothing else existed when you spoke.

And slowly, dangerously, your heart began to ache for something you didn’t believe could ever truly be yours.

It wasn’t until the fourth visit that everything changed.

Carlos had just asked you what you would do if you could live any life—really live it.

Before you could answer, a group of girls walked in, and suddenly, the air shifted.

One of them gasped. “Oh my God, is that-?”

Carlos glanced over, his jaw tightening.

Whispers began to rise, and people started pulling out pens, napkins, and anything he could sign.

He turned to you. “Do you trust me?”

Your heart jumped. “What?”

He reached for your hand. “Come with me.”

And just like that, he grabbed you and ran.

Out the back door, through the alley, your laughter catching in your throat as the world spun behind you. You didn’t stop running until you reached an old parking lot a few blocks away, breathless and flushed.

He turned to you, hand still holding yours, eyes wide with adrenaline and something softer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into that.”

You shook your head, breath catching. “I didn’t mind.”

Carlos looked at you like you’d just spoken the most impossible truth. “I’ve been to hundreds of places, seen thousands of faces. But you…” He paused. “You’re the only one who’s ever made me want to stop running.”

Silence. Then your voice, quieter than a whisper. “Carlos, I don’t belong in your world.”

He stepped closer. “No. But maybe I don’t belong in it either. Not without you.”

---Two Months Later---

The magazines speculated where he’d gone.

Paparazzi hunted.

But Carlos Sainz had vanished from the spotlight.

He now lived in a little house near the sea, far from the cameras, where the air smelled like salt and old movie reels.

And every morning, he’d make coffee for you, barefoot in the kitchen, stealing kisses between pouring sugar and stirring milk.

You were still just you, a girl who used to pour coffee in a diner. But now, you were his girl.

And that mattered more than fame, fortune, or flashing lights ever could.

Because in the end, the only role Carlos ever wanted to play… was yours.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stars Align 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as age gap, manipulation, power imbalance, dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Steve Rogers was one of the biggest stars of Hollywood’s Golden Era. For years, his disappearance from the spotlight has been a mystery, that is until he walks right into your life. (Old Hollywood AU/1960s AU)

Characters: silverfox!Steve Rogers, reader is named ‘Satyr’ for clarity

Note: A longer chapter for yall.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Satyr 

You keep your foot from fully touching the ground. It’s cold and grimy in some spots. Your caution gives your gait an uneven affectation. 

The men lead you through the city, your inner compass spinning as your eyes skitter all around. You nearly collide with Sam as he turns and opens a door. A bell above rings and he waves you inside. Your toe hits the lip of the step and Steve catches your arm swiftly, keeping you from toppling forward. 

You thank him as he squeezes then lets go, retracting his hand as if branded by the touch. You smile over your shoulder as you enter the din of the restaurant. It’s mostly empty and the lighting is low. A juke box glows against the wall near the end of the bar and several tables are set out across the dining room. 

“Gene,” Sam calls out, “where’s that bar boy? He up for making a dollar?” 

“Oliver,” the man behind the counter calls over his shoulder as he wipes the surface. “Get on out here.” 

A skinny adolescent shuffles out from the door behind the large man. Sam strides up as he reaches into his jacket. You linger close to Steve as your eyes wander around. The man on a stool at the end of the bar glances at your shoeless foot. You wiggle your toes as the famed dancer beside you steps closer, almost protectively so. 

“Honey, what’s your shoe size?” Sam says as he unfolds several bills. 

You give your size and he repeats it to the kid, holding out the bills. “Go, get her some nice shoes. Something with polish,” he demands. “Get back her fast enough, and I’ll add a few extra, huh?” 

“Thanks, Mr. Wilson,” the kid, Oliver perks up. “I’m on it.” 

Sam chuckles and turns back to you and Steve. He tilts his head and a light nudge directs you away from the bar. Sam claims the table in the corner, placing his hat beside him as Steve pulls out a chair and waits for you to sit before he does the same. 

You still can’t believe any of this is real. You smile and subtly pinch your arm. Wake up. 

“Right, so, while we wait for your shoes,” Sam begins and signals over at the bar, “let’s get to business. First lesson, move fast or go nowhere.” 

“Sam,” Steve crosses his arms atop the table and leans on them. 

“By all means, you do the talking,” Sam pulls out his cigarette case and Steve tuts. He puts it away without taking one out and huffs. “I’m merely an agent. I get paid whether it’s me or you.” 

You glance over at Steve shyly and flutter your lashes. You can barely look at him. It’s just so absurd. It’s him! The star of Red Stripes and Called To Duty. Despite the years, he is just as brilliant off-screen as on-screen. 

“We got a script, we got backing, we want to do a film,” Steve begins.

“I’m sure it’s no secret that musicals aren’t exactly in demand anymore. Ginger’s more into dramas now, and a bit above what we’re looking for.” Sam intones as another man approaches; this one slender and as tall as a lamp post. He flips the mugs on the saucers in front of you and pours coffee in each. “Bad timing but there’s a vision.” 

“It’s not over.” Steve insists. 

“Sure fooled me and everyone else,” Sam counters. 

You peek between them with a wordless gape, struggling to keep up. 

“Alright, let’s give the money back to Stark,” Steve retorts. 

“Calm down, I’m teasing,” Sam lifts his mug and blows the steam away. Steve hooks his fingers through the handle of his but doesn’t drink. You don’t really drink coffee. “Look, as much as my man wants to make the offer right now, our producer requires things done in an orderly manner. Now, we’ve seen you dance, we heard you sing. We can clean that up, but we’ll need to do a reading and screen test--” 

“Screen test?” You echo. “Are you... are you asking me to audition? For a movie?” 

Sam chuckles and Steve drags his fingertip around the brim of his cup. Then he lifts his hand and examines the lines of it, curling his fingers, then stretching them again. He opens his palm and rubs it with his other. It’s a nervous gesture you wouldn’t expect of someone like him. 

“Well, I never even been on stage until today,” you giggle. “That’s... that’s-- is this a joke? One of those big city funnies?” 

Sam snorts and shakes his head. Steve shifts beside you. “I don’t got the time to waste on jokes.” 

“Forgive him. He’s a bit grim,” Sam says. “Look, we’re looking at a revival. It’s more than a movie. We’re bringing the golden era back.” 

“Oh, oh,” you swing your legs beneath the chair. “And you want me? But—I mean, I got a call back tomorrow morning.” 

“As a backup dancer, honey. We’re offering you the starring role, so long as you look just as good on a camera,” Sam explains. 

“I know, I know, sir. Thank you, I’m mighty grateful for that. I just—I don’t know if I should believe it. My ma always said I got lost in the clouds.” You flick your thumb nervously against your other hand. 

“That’s good. That’s what we need. Actresses these days don’t wanna put in that work. They want a stand-in to do all that with some fancy camera work.” Sam argues. 

“Come to the studio. Just for a dance. See how it feels,” Steve suggests. 

Sam gives him a look you can’t decipher, “forgive him. He’s the creative type. He’s all about the emotion, that’s why I’m here. And to be honest, I don’t know if I can handle sitting through a hundred auditions with this one.” 

Steve growls in warning. 

“Well, I... I suppose I could try. Nothing wrong with that. I mean, I came all the way here just for the audition today.” You shrug. 

“Came all the way to New York? From where?” Steve asks. 

“Ah, way out in the country. My only audience was Mr. Shawnessy’s cows.” 

Sam laughs again. He sure finds everything amusing. 

The tall man reappears and lays out paper menus. You sit back and thank him. When he goes you look down and try not to show your reaction to the prices. It’s not very expensive for most, but for you, you don’t have a penny to spare. The coffee you have no interest in will be enough of a gouge. 

“Mm, starving,” Sam leans forward to brows the menu, “how about you?” 

“Just thirsty. Think I might just have some water,” you smile without another look at the paper. 

“The Monte Cristo is great,” Steve offers. “Dancing always gave me an appetite.” 

“No, really, I’m--” 

Grrgghghhghg. Your stomach roars in direct contrast to your insistence. You cringe and sheepishly look down. You push your shoulders up. 

“Really, I had a roll with butter on the bus. I’m fine.” 

“My treat,” Sam proclaims. “You don’t think we’re gentlemen? We don’t let a lady pay for her own plate.” 

“No, please, you can’t,” you exclaim and clap your hands. “Really, it’s fine.” 

“You keep saying that but your stomach sounds like a thunderstorm,” Sam scoffs. 

“I’ll eat at the station. I don’t wanna spend your money.” 

“First time I heard a woman say so,” Sam chortles and ignores you a he signals again. 

“Station? Thought you had a call back,” Steve remarks flatly. 

“Well, er, yeah, I was gonna stay there since... since I didn’t expect--” 

“Sleeping at the station? No way. Not the next co-star of Steve Rogers,” Sam snips as the tall man once more approaches, “Winston, monte cristos for the table. Side of fries with each, and some of your chocolate cake. Betsy always made the best slices.” 

“Thank you,” you put your hands to your cheeks and lean on your elbows. “Promise, I’m really not pathetic.” 

“We all start somewhere,” Steve assures you. “I was hemming dresses and building sets when I started. Just a skinny kid hiding behind the curtains.” 

“He likes to say so,” Sam harrumphs. “But look at him now.” 

You smile as your cheeks burn and you chew your lip. Your stomach rolls over again as the smell of coffee makes you nauseous. You can’t wait to call your ma and tell her all about it. 

Steve 

Steve walks beside her, trying not to stare, even as his eyes move on their own to spy her from the corners. She walks with a limp as she tries not press her sole to the cold pavement. He battles with the urge to pick her up and keep her off the dirty street. That feels too much. 

Sam stops in front of Gene's and opens the door. She stops short as Steve does the same, nearly squashing her between their bodies. She turns at the tinkle of the bell and takes the other man's wordless invitation inside. She trips over the threshold and without a thought, he grabs her arm to keep her upright. 

The touch wraps his hand in fire. Her warmth seeps into him and it's like he's been electrified. He squeezes as the flames flick up over his face and he lets her go as she turns to smile over her shoulder. Another scalding lash across his chest. 

He's afraid of how just a flash of her eyes can make him want to tap his toes. He shouldn't feel that way. He barely knows her. He doesn't know her.  

He lowers his hand to his hand an wiggles his fingers. He's impressed. He was quick. He might still have it after all. His reactions are there, but what about the rhythm. 

"Gene," Sam calls to the owner, "where's the bar boy? He up for making a dollar?" 

The man calls for his son as he drags a cloth over the bar. 

Steve doesn't hear his next words as Satyr stays close to him. He can tell she's anxious. He would be too. He can tell she isn't from around here. Mostly, because he is. This place is in his veins, even if he tried to drain it out. 

Steve looks down at it then notices another glancing in her direction. He moves closer. She speaks and he winces. The kid takes the money as he thanks Sam and rushes out to find some shoes for her naked foot.  

Sam turns and Satyr remains, hypnotised by the scene before her. Steve gently taps her arm and she follows them to a table. He's sure to remember the lessons his mother taught him all those years ago and pulls out her chair. She sits and he does the same, his grip lingering on the back of her chair for just a moment. 

She looks dreamy as she runs her hand up one sleeve. She pinches herself but he doesn't mention it. He needs to stop staring. 

"Right, so, while we wait for your shoes, let's get to business. First lesson, move fast or go nowhere," Sam chirps and lifts his hand towards the bar. 

"Sam," Steve crosses his arms and puts them on the table. 

"By all means, you do the talking." Sam takes out his silver cigarette case but just as quickly puts it back as Steve clears his throat. "I'm merely an agent. I get paid whether it's me or you." 

She looks over at Steve and he tries not to flinch. She's shy, starstruck. He usually hates that but it makes him feel fuzzy when she tries not to stare. 

He steadies himself before he speaks, "we got a script. We got backing, we want to do a film." 

“I’m sure it’s no secret that musicals aren’t exactly in demand anymore. Ginger’s more into dramas now, and a bit above what we’re looking for." Sam adds as Winston comes to pour the coffee. “Bad timing but there’s a vision.”  

"It's not over," Steve asserts. 

"Sure fooled me and everyone else." 

Steve sneers at Sam's smart mouth, "Alright, let's give the money back to Stark." 

“Calm down, I’m teasing,” rasies his cup. Steve loops his finger through the handle of his as he tries not to fidget. There's a lot riding on this, that's it. That's why he can't sit still.  

Sam continues, “Look, as much as my man wants to make the offer right now, our producer requires things done in an orderly manner. Now, we’ve seen you dance, we heard you sing. We can clean that up, but we’ll need to do a reading and screen test--”  

"Screen test?" She utters. "Are you... are you asking me to audition? For a movie?" 

She makes it sound glamourous again. She makes Steve excited. His dread fades away with her hopeful tones. He remembers when he was once like her, but he knows better than to believe that feeling. He wants to save her from the same disappointment. Maybe he found her so he could do just that. 

Sam laughs as Steve circles the rim of his mug, his hand still tingling. He peels his hand away and opens it, looking at the lines and the markings of his age. He balls his fist then splays his fingers wide. He can't shake the tickle under his skin. The same hand he caught her with... 

"Well I never been on stage until today," she confesses and trills with laughter. “That’s... that’s-- is this a joke? One of those big city funnies?”  

Sam snorts and shakes his head. Steve doesn't want to laugh at her. "I don't got the time to waste on jokes, he assures. 

"Forgive him. He's a bit grim. Look, we're looking at a revival. It's more than a movie," Sam expounds, "we're bringing the golden era back." 

"Oh, oh," she hums in her seat. "And you want me? But-- I mean, I got a call back tomorrow morning." 

“As a backup dancer, honey. We’re offering you the starring role, so long as you look just as good on a camera,” Sam coaxes.  It's a good thing he's talking because Steve might just get on his knees. 

“I know, I know, sir. Thank you, I’m mighty grateful for that. I just—I don’t know if I should believe it. My ma always said I got lost in the clouds.” She screws her thumb into her hand as she speaks. 

“That’s good. That’s what we need. Actresses these days don’t wanna put in that work. They want a stand-in to do all that with some fancy camera work.” Sam insists. 

“Come to the studio. Just for a dance. See how it feels,” Steve offers. He needs her to try. Just one dance, he knows it will work. 

Sam narrows his eyes in Steve's direction before he pipes up again, “forgive him. He’s the creative type. He’s all about the emotion, that’s why I’m here. And to be honest, I don’t know if I can handle sitting through a hundred auditions with this one.”  

Steve sighs. 

“Well, I... I suppose I could try. Nothing wrong with that. I mean, I came all the way here just for the audition today.” She bounces her shoulders giddily. 

“Came all the way to New York? From where?” Steve wonder aloud.  

“Ah, way out in the country. My only audience was Mr. Shawnessy’s cows.” She chimes. 

Sam laughs once more. Satyr squirms and Winston returns with menus. She thanks the waiter and gives a quick peek to the menu. Her jaw firms and she looks up evasively. She hasn't even reached for the coffee. 

“Mm, starving, how about you?” Steve drawls. 

“Just thirsty. Think I might just have some water,” she smiles. 

“The Monte Cristo is great,” Steve suggests. “Dancing always gave me an appetite.”  

“No, really, I’m--” she begins. 

Grrgghghhghg. Her stomach undergirds her protest. She shrinks down in embarrassment. Steve's heart twinges. He's been there. 

“Really, I had a roll with butter on the bus. I’m fine.” She says. 

“My treat. You don’t think we’re gentlemen? We don’t let a lady pay for her own plate.” Sam offers before Steve can. 

“No, please, you can’t,” she claps and clasps her hands tightly. “Really, it’s fine.”  

“You keep saying that but your stomach sounds like a thunderstorm,” Sam teases. 

“I’ll eat at the station. I don’t wanna spend your money.” She argues. 

“First time I heard a woman say so,” Sam snorts and gestures to the bar.  

“Station? Thought you had a call back,” Steve intones. 

“Well, er, yeah, I was gonna stay there since... since I didn’t expect--” She refuses to look at him. 

“Sleeping at the station? No way. Not the next co-star of Steve Rogers,” Sam turns to search the diner, “Winston, monte cristos for the table. Side of fries with each, and some of your chocolate cake. Betsy always made the best slices.”  

“Thank you,” she cups her face as if trying to hide. “Promise, I’m really not pathetic.”  

“We all start somewhere,” Steve drawls, tempted to lean in, to touch her again. Don't. Old man, you are getting carried away. “I was hemming dresses and building sets when I started. Just a skinny kid hiding behind the curtains.”  

“He likes to say so,” Sam huffs. “But look at him now.”  

She smiles and Steve's caution catches alight. He doesn't care if he's being stupid. She is perfect. She is his fate. 

[broidobe]

𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔭𝔬𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔦𝔫𝔤

requested by 🌹!

☾nikki and the reader share a quiet, heartfelt evening together after a mötley crüe show, filled with love, playful banter, and an unspoken connection that strengthens their bond☽

☾warnings: fluff, lighthearted moments, sweet and sincere nikki☽

𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ᡣ𐭩 𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝓹𝓸𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝜗𝜚 𝓶𝓸𝓶 𝓳𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓼

⁎⁺˳✧༚motley crue masterlist

the sun had barely dipped below the horizon, and you could feel the electric energy buzzing in the air. the city streets were alive with the promise of another night filled with chaos, but tonight was different. you weren’t caught up in the madness that often came with the glittering fame of the rockstar world. tonight, you were sitting backstage, curled up on a couch, waiting for the man of the hour to finish his soundcheck.

nikki sixx, the man whose every move made the crowd go wild, had stolen your heart from the first moment you met. not because he was the famous bassist of mötley crüe—no, that was a given. it was because underneath the chaotic, bad-boy persona was someone who cared more than most people realized. he had a way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the room, no matter how many fans were screaming his name.

"hey, babe." his voice cut through your thoughts, deep and husky, and you immediately looked up to see him standing in the doorway of the dressing room, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. he was still in his stage clothes, leather pants and a shirt that clung to his chest. his hair was slightly tousled from rehearsals, and you couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly handsome he looked.

"hey, you," you replied, shifting to make room on the couch for him. he stepped in, closing the door softly behind him, and walked over to where you sat. he immediately sat down next to you, his arm draping over the back of the couch.

"you know," nikki began, eyes glinting with that signature mischievous look, "i think the crowd's gonna lose their minds tonight." he leaned in a little closer, his breath warm against your ear. "but i’m more interested in making you lose your mind tonight."

you chuckled, leaning your head on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat in sync with yours. "you always know how to charm me."

"you’re easy to charm," he teased, nudging your side with his elbow. "but i’m not complaining. it’s a gift."

"uh-huh, a gift i didn’t realize i needed," you smirked, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eye.

"yeah, yeah," nikki grinned, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "you’re my favorite distraction. i mean, i love the fans and all, but there’s something about you that makes everything else fade into the background."

the sincerity in his voice made your heart swell. it wasn’t something he said often—nikki had a way of keeping his emotions guarded, especially when it came to how much he cared. but in moments like this, when the madness of the world outside disappeared and it was just the two of you, you could feel the truth in his words.

you snuggled closer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. "i love you," you murmured, barely above a whisper.

"i love you more," he replied, brushing a strand of hair from your face. his fingers traced your cheek softly, almost as if he were memorizing the feel of you.

it felt like time slowed down whenever you were with him, and tonight was no different. there was no rush, no crazy schedule pressing in on you both. you were just two people enjoying the quiet before the storm of a mötley crüe show.

nikki’s fingers tangled with yours, giving you a small squeeze. "you’ve been a rock for me, y’know? all the shit i’ve dealt with, the chaos… i’m lucky to have you. you make me feel grounded."

you looked up at him, heart full. "i’m the lucky one. you make everything feel like it’s worth it. i wouldn’t want to be anywhere else."

he smiled, a real, unguarded smile, and kissed the top of your head. "i’m never letting you go. not for anything. you’re stuck with me, babe."

you laughed softly, the sound almost drowned out by the distant rumble of the crowd outside. "that sounds like a pretty good deal to me."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

the night went on in a whirlwind of music, lights, and the unmistakable energy of a mötley crüe show. you watched from the side of the stage as nikki moved effortlessly across it, a magnetic presence that made it impossible to look anywhere else. his fingers danced over the bass, and his eyes scanned the crowd, but when they caught yours, it was like everything else fell away. for that brief moment, it was just the two of you, even in the chaos.

after the show, as the final chords of "home sweet home" rang out and the crowd roared, nikki slipped backstage, sweat glistening on his skin. you were waiting for him at the door, as always. his face lit up the moment he saw you, and without a word, he pulled you into his arms, lifting you off the ground in a tight hug.

"did you hear them? they loved it!" he said, voice full of excitement, though there was something softer in his eyes when he looked at you.

"yeah, i heard them," you grinned, holding onto him tightly. "but i think you’re the real star tonight."

nikki laughed, pulling away just enough to look down at you. "no, babe. you’re my star. without you, none of this matters."

his words made your heart flutter, and before you knew it, you were kissing him—soft, slow, and full of all the unspoken feelings between you two. there was nothing grand about it, just pure, simple affection that made everything else in the world seem insignificant.

when you finally pulled away, you smiled up at him. "i’m glad i’m stuck with you."

"me too," nikki murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "i wouldn’t have it any other way."

you sat down together on the couch, his arm around you, your head on his shoulder. the night was winding down, but you didn’t care. in this moment, you had everything you needed.

the world could be chaotic, crazy, and wild, but as long as nikki sixx was by your side, you knew it would always be worth it.

and with a soft laugh, you whispered, "i think i’m falling even more in love with you."

nikki chuckled, kissing the top of your head. "well, good. 'cause i’m never letting you go."

and with that, you closed your eyes, content in the warmth of his arms, the world outside forgotten.

[huggybearhughes43]

Idk if you’ve ever watched the Netflix movie “through my window” but there’s this one scene where the girl and the guy are laying in bed together and he slips his hand into her panties and starts to finger her while they’re in bed with someone else. They aren’t together and lowkey it’s like enemies with lots of sexual tension.

Anyway I was thinking that with Ethan Edwards? Maybe the reader is really good friends with the other umich boys and ends up going back to their house after a party and she’s inbetween Ethan and one of the other boys even though her and Ethan kind of can’t stand each other and he has his arm around her and starts to kinda of touch her everywhere which makes her involuntarily move against him and they end up having sex together

Pretty Girl

Ethan Edwards x Fem! Reader

Warnings- smut, fingering, finger sucking (teehee), sharing the bed, pet names (pretty girl, brat, baby), Ethan is mean but gentle, very soft, riding, creampie (she’s on the pill), I think that’s it???

Summary- in the request

Work count- 1.5k

Drunken laughter filled Marks apartment as him and his teammates cram into the small place. But me? I was the designated driver to get back to this said apartment. It was nearly two in the morning, making me fearful to drive back onto campus to my dorm, if I was caught I’d be in big trouble for being out past curfew. Instead Marks little drunk giggles were in my ear while his girlfriend was asleep in his arms.

“I have a quest room” he says in a lame excuse for a hushed whisper. It was a wonder how Farah was still asleep on his chest. “But like…” he hiccups, “Ethan and Rut are sleeping in there” another hiccup from the drunk boy, “I’m sure you can find room”. I sigh softly, I can’t complain when he’s giving me a place to stay. I nod reluctantly and stand up, making my way to the spare room. The source of the drunkenness was the hockey seniors going away party. It was just pretty much the team and their girlfriends… and you know, me: the media girl.

Rutger was passed out on the right side of the bed when I walk in, drool on the corner of his mouth as his soft snore echoed in the room. He didn’t even care to attempt to wipe off the lipstick marks from his girlfriend Kayleigh as they were plastered all over his face. I was mildly surprised she wasn’t here, they were normally inseparable but I guessed her friends had taken her back to their place.

Ethan was sat up against the headboards with an arm behind his head, scrolling through his phone. I hated his guts. He was always stuck up and made snarky comments. He let his fame get in the way of a friendship with me, always thinking he was better than everyone else. But in reality, me the media, gave him his fame. I didn’t care to fix it though, I never let it bother me. Until now that is, his eyes meeting mine with a scoff. I narrow my eyes in disgust. “Mark told me I can sleep in here, he also said for you two to make room for me.” Ethan’s eyes look down at the floor. “A lot of room left down there.” I roll my eyes and step towards the bed.

I ignore his request as I crawl on the bed and squeeze between him and Rutger. “Go fuck yourself” I mutter and turn my back to him, so squished my face was practically pressed into the back of the snoring boy. I wiggle myself under the covers and close my eyes, slowly drifting to sleep. In my deep slumber I could feel a body lay beside me and an arm wrap around my waist. Normally, I’d be quick to push anyone off but in this state I couldn’t tell between a dream and reality.

My eyes flutter open to soft breaths against my neck. Rutger was still in front of me. My face heats up at the realization of who had me wrapped in their arms. I knew he wasn’t asleep because his soft thumb rubbing back and forth on my hip. I turn my head slightly. “What’re you doing, Ethan?” He groans softly with no response. “Ethan, I’m serio-“ I was cut off by his hand moving closer to the center on my stomach, just above the waistband on my sweatpants. “Do you ever know when to shut up?” He laughs softly as he moves his hand all over my stomach, hips, then eventually lifting it under my tank top to cup my bare breasts.

“Ethan.” I warn in a faint whisper, hoping I wouldn’t wake up Rutger. “What? Do you want me to stop? Hate me all you want but you know this feels good.” He chuckles as I gasp when he pinches one of my nipples. I don’t respond. “That’s why at I thought.” He laughs and presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Just wanted to thank you for looking out for us at the party. You’re still a brat, but thank you” a sudden realization hits me. “Ethan- you’re drunk” I try to swat his hand away “I didn’t touch a single drop of alcohol all night, pretty girl.” I let out a relieved sigh.

His large hand makes its way into my sweatpants and under my panties. I feel him smile against my shoulder when he slots a finger between my folds. I whimper softly and reach my hand down to hold his wrist, not to stop him but as support. “So wet for me.” He presses another sloppy kiss to my shoulder. Without warning his finger dips into my wet hole making me accidentally moan out. His other hand moves to wrap around my neck and cover my mouth. “I wanna hear those pretty moans so bad but we can’t wake him up”. He begins to thrust his thick finger in and out of my hole, I moan against his hand but it was still loud enough to potentially wake up Rutger.

“Fuck,” he removes his hand just to stuff two fingers into my mouth, “keep these warm for me, pretty girl.”. He works another finger into me. I screw my eyes shut and force myself to suck his fingers to block a moan. He removes his fingers from both my pussy and mouth causing me to whine. “Y/n, baby, my cock will feel so much better.” A quiet “oh” falls from my lips causing him to chuckle. He flips me over to face him and our eyes meet. I’m suddenly reminded that this is the same guy that pisses me off every single day. “It’s probably tiny.” I say without thinking. I expected him to get mad but instead a smirk plays on his lips. “Don’t be a fucking brat.”

He loops his fingers in my waistband and pulls them down enough for me to be able to kick them off. He doesn’t touch my panties in case rutger wakes up, he doesn’t want me to be completely exposed. In some strange way I find it cute that he’d protect me from another guys gaze. He pulls his own pants down just enough for his dick to spring free. He grabs one of my legs and places it over his hip, moving my panties to the side and pressing his dick to my entrance. I bite my lip at the realization that there was no way he was small. He laughs softly at my reaction and presses his forehead to mine. “It’s hard to admit you’re wrong huh, brat? Don’t worry, though…” he presses a soft and quick kiss to my lips then pulls away slightly, “I’ll go slow for you.”

He slowly presses into me, stretching me out in ways I didn’t know was possible. “Ethan…” I whisper. “I know, pretty girl, I’m almost all the way in.” As he finishes the sentence he bottoms out. My mouth falls agape and my eyes squeeze shut. He knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my moans in if he moved so for precaution, he forcefully pressed his lips into mine before moving. He snakes his hand around me and grabs my ass. He moves back, his tip was the only thing left in me before he slams back in. My moans are swallowed by his kiss. Rutger stirs causing Ethan to completely stop. “M’sorry, baby, but for this to work you’re gonna have to ride me.”

I whine softly and hoist myself on top of him. “There you go baby, don’t feel like being a brat anymore, huh?”. I let out a shaky breath before rounding my hips on him. My head drops to his shoulder as I rock back and forth sloppily. “There you go, pretty girl, just like that. Fuck, making me feel like I can cum already. “Ethan-“ I gasp out as I tighten around him. “I’m on the pill-“ my tummy tightens as my legs shake. Without warning my cream creates a ring around his cock. I stop moving out of exhaustion. Ethan chuckles softly and moves my hips for me, lifting me up and down on his cock. “Gonna fill you up, baby… you want me to fill you up?” He teases and I tiredly nod against his shoulder. His hips snap up into me as he holds me down, his thick ropes of cum filling me up.

I lift up off of him and fall back onto the bed. I re adjust my panties and put my sweatpants back on in case his cum leaked out of my swollen pussy. After he fixes his pants he pulls me into him. “M’sorry for being an asshole” he kisses my forehead, “I won’t stop but I am sorry.” I laugh quietly and nestle into his chest.

“Yeah well now I know how I can shut you up.”

[xoln04f1xo]

In the Driver's Seat - CL16

Suggestive

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x Reader

WC: 695

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Y/N had always admired Formula 1, enchanted by the symphony of roaring engines and the precision of the world’s finest drivers. But nothing could have prepared her for Charles Leclerc. The man whose passion burned as brightly off the track as it did on track.

It started innocently enough, a chance meeting in the paddock. Y/N, an aspiring journalist, had scored a rare interview with Ferrari’s golden boy. Charles, charming as ever, had a magnetic presence that made it impossible to focus on anything else. His eyes lingered a little too long when she asked her questions, his lips curving into a smile that seemed meant just for her.

“Do you always ask such dangerous questions?” he teased, leaning back in his chair, the red of his Ferrari shirt clinging to his form.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat. “Only when I want honest answers.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Then you should know, I’ve never been great at playing it safe.”

----

The interview concluded, but the moment lingered. Y/N replayed their exchange in her mind, convincing herself it was all in her head. Until later that evening, when a message pinged on her phone:

Charles Leclerc: I hope you’re free tonight. Monaco has much more to offer than the paddock. Let me show you.

Her heart raced as she read the message. It felt reckless, accepting an invitation from someone she barely knew. But something about Charles, the confidence in his tone, the way he looked at her as if she was the only person in the room, was impossible to ignore.

She typed back a quick response, her fingers trembling slightly.

Y/N: Alright. Where should I meet you?

----

The night air in Monaco was electric, the city alive with its usual blend of glamour and excitement. Charles picked her up in a sleek black car that looked almost too perfect to touch. As he drove, the gentle hum of the engine filled the silence between them, though the tension was anything but quiet.

“Where are we going?” Y/N asked, glancing at him. He smirked, his eyes flicking to her briefly before returning to the road. “You’ll see. Trust me.” She did, though she couldn’t explain why.

The car stopped at a secluded cliffside overlooking the city. The view was breath-taking. Monaco’s glittering lights reflecting off the sea, the sound of distant waves crashing below. Charles stepped out and opened her door, extending a hand to help her.

“You bring all your interviews here?” she joked, trying to steady her nerves. “Only the ones who leave an impression,” he replied smoothly, his voice carrying the faintest edge of mischief.

They talked for what felt like hours, the conversation flowing effortlessly. Y/N learned that beneath the fame and the pressure, Charles was disarmingly down-to-earth, his passion for racing matched only by his love for his home.

As the night deepened, their laughter gave way to silence. The air between them shifted, charged with an unspoken energy. Charles took a step closer, his gaze intense.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come tonight,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “And miss out on this view?” she teased, though her voice wavered slightly. “I’m not talking about the view,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers.

Her breath caught as he leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was both tentative and consuming. The world seemed to disappear, the distant sounds of the city, the wind rushing past them, everything faded until there was only him.

When they pulled apart, Y/N searched his face, her heart pounding. “Charles… this is crazy.”

“I know,” he whispered, a small smile playing at his lips. “But sometimes, the craziest things are the ones worth taking a chance on.”

The night didn’t end there, nor did their connection. What started as an unexpected encounter quickly grew into something neither of them had anticipated. Charles might have been in the driver’s seat on the track, but with Y/N, he’d found something far more thrilling than any race. A chance to let go and risk it all.

For once, neither of them played it safe.

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