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pitlanepeach · 2 months ago

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Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Two

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, so much fluff, strong language

Notes — This is my favourite chapter so far. Out of all 32. It's also a long one, so grab a snack and send me your thoughts!

2023 (Belgium — Japan)

The light in Nice always felt soft, like it was passing through a filter of sea salt and old stone. The sun hadn't reached its full height yet, and the market was still in that gentle hum of mid-morning, not too busy, not too still. Just alive enough.

Lando walked half a step behind Amelia, letting her pace guide them through the maze of stalls and awnings. She wasn't a talker in the mornings, not really, and that suited him just fine.

She stopped at the long flower stand, fingers trailing over a bunch of pale yellow ranunculus. He didn't say anything, just watched her examine the petals with her usual precise sort of softness. Then, after a pause, she looked back at him and tilted her head slightly.

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a crumpled bill, handed it to the vendor without a word. Amelia's lips curved just a bit.

Two stalls later, she passed him a tiny basket of sliced figs drizzled in honey. He didn't ask where she'd gotten it or how much it cost. He just took it and pressed a kiss to her temple, because of course she would know he was hungry before he even had a chance to say anything.

They moved like that; in orbit, but in sync.

At one point, a vendor selling lavender soap called out to them in a thick accent, something about being a "cute young couple." Lando smiled, striking up a polite conversational exchange. Amelia didn't say anything. After they passed the stall, she reached down and laced her fingers through his, without looking.

She didn't do that often — didn't like to be the one to initiate physical contact, especially in public.

He felt it in his heart every time she did.

They stopped near a stall selling fresh olive bread, and Amelia pulled out her phone, tapping something into her notes app. Lando leaned over.

"What's that?" he asked, voice low and warm.

"List of food I like," she murmured. "Reminding myself."

He nodded. She paused, then handed him the phone wordlessly. There were twenty-seven bullet points. He scrolled through them.

"You liked the brown seeded rolls yesterday too. With the chilli jam," he said. "I'll add that."

She didn't reply. Just looked at him for a long second, then blinked, slow and deliberate. That was the silent Amelia version of I love you — subtle, but unmistakable.

They wandered on.

At the end of the market, they sat at a chipped café table and shared a small tart filled with goat cheese and roasted tomato. Amelia leaned into his side without thinking, her head resting on his shoulder as she chewed, still watching the crowds drift by.

Lando let his hand fall into her lap and tangle gently in the fabric of her skirt. Hers moved to rest over his without needing to look.

They didn't speak much.

And that was the thing with them. It wasn't just that they loved each other — it was that they understood how the other one loved. In gestures. In silence. In half-smiles and shared fruit and shoulders leaned into shoulders in beautiful, morning-sleepy cities.

—

The MTC sim room was cool and quiet, lit by the blue glow of monitors and the soft hum of tech. Amelia stood with her arms folded, watching the data stream from Oscar's run, her expression intensely focused. She didn't speak until the run ended and the rig slowed to stillness.

"Turn 7's still sloppy," she said bluntly.

Oscar pulled off the headset and blinked at her. "Define 'sloppy.'"

"Four degrees too aggressive on throttle reapplication. You're losing rotation mid-corner, which is fine when tyre life doesn't matter, but it will in Spa." She passed him a tablet with the graph already up. "Look."

Oscar studied it. "You memorise this?"

"I don't memorise, per se. I just... know it." She paused. "I'm pattern-oriented. You keep breaking the pattern. It's very irritating."

Lando, seated cross-legged on the floor beside the second sim rig, laughed. "She's not wrong. You are driving like a goat on ice in that sector."

Oscar shot him a look. "You crashed in Miami trying to out-brake a Williams."

"Shut up, mate." Lando stood, brushing imaginary dust off his joggers. "Alright, my turn. Fix me, genius wife."

Amelia arched a brow. "You want feedback?"

"I'm asking for it, yeah."

"Good luck," Oscar muttered, climbing off the rig.

They traded places, and Amelia slid the headset onto Lando with surprising gentleness, muttering something under her breath that only he could hear. Whatever it was made him grin.

Lando's sim run was cleaner, smoother — but not perfect. He clipped a curb on Lap 3, losing the rear slightly. Amelia exhaled loudly through her nose.

"You always hit that curb," she said. "Every year. Just lift earlier."

"I'm trying. The curb keeps coming at me," he groaned, throwing her a grin through the screen.

"Don't be stupid," she shot back.

Oscar snorted. "She's brutal today."

"She's always brutal." Lando sighed. "But it's helpful, so..." he shrugged.

Eventually his run ended. Amelia crossed to his console and tapped a few notes in; suggested setup tweaks, minor aero preferences. Lando watched her hands work.

"You're so smart, baby. How do you do it, hm?"

She didn't look up. "I watch. I notice things. I write them down. Easy"

He smiled. "You're like a high-functioning racetrack AI."

Oscar added dryly, "That occasionally hits things when she's angry."

"That too," Lando agreed, with a lopsided smirk.

Amelia looked up at both of them, expression unreadable for a beat. Then she said, very softly, "You're idiots."

Oscar grinned. "That's a compliment from you."

Lando moved to nudge her shoulder, but she stepped out of reach — except not out of irritation, just anticipation. She knew exactly what was coming.

"You're going to try to gang up on me now," she stated.

Lando blinked. "Why would we—"

Oscar pounced first, grabbing her wrist and lightly jabbing at her side. "We would never," he said with mock innocence.

Amelia shrieked and jerked away, but Lando joined in, carefully — always mindful of her reactions, but not holding back so much that it felt patronising. His fingers found her ribs, tickling just enough to get her laughing — real, loud, unfiltered laughter.

"Stop! I hate this!" she wheezed, kicking at the air as she twisted out of reach.

"You're smiling," Oscar said.

"That's involuntary!" She yelped, breathless.

They finally relented, letting her drop onto the padded bench near the wall, still catching her breath. Her face was flushed, her hair askew, and she looked... radiant with happiness.

"Jerks," she muttered, but her voice was light.

"You love us," Lando said, crouching beside her.

"Only sometimes," she said flatly.

Behind them, just outside the glass-panelled door, Zak stood watching.

He hadn't meant to intrude. He'd only come by to drop off a briefing packet. But when he'd seen the three of them — his daughter, laughing and safe, surrounded by two young men who not only respected her mind but held her heart with equal reverence — he'd stayed where he was.

He didn't move. Didn't interrupt. Just watched for a little while longer.

Amelia, who'd grown up unsure of where she fit. Amelia, who used to hide in closets with puzzle books. Amelia, who didn't make friends easily but somehow had forged these bonds — raw, steady, honest — with Oscar and Lando. A best friend and a husband.

Zak blinked hard.

When Lando looked up a few minutes later and spotted him, he just gave a little nod. Not a word passed between them.

Zak nodded back and slipped away.

Inside the sim suite, Amelia stood again, brushing herself off.

"Back to work!"

Lando and Oscar groaned in unison.

"Fine," she said. "But if either of you miss apexes like that in Spa, I'll point and laugh at you on live television."

"You'd love that," Oscar said.

"She would," Lando added. "Humiliation. She likes embarrassing us."

Amelia just smirked, already queuing up the next run. "Well. I'm not ruling it out."

And as the next session loaded, the screen filling with the digital outline of the track, she brought her hand up to apply a heavy load of pressure to her hip.

Grounding. Safe.

—

Later, much later, the sim rigs had powered down for the night.

Amelia sat alone on the low bench, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Not in discomfort; she wasn't overwhelmed. She was just... processing.

Oscar had ducked out a few minutes earlier, mumbling something about protein bars and his "cramped spine." Lando had promised to bring back coffee. That left her here, in the comfortable lull, with space to think.

Oscar.

It had taken her a while to really begin to understand Oscar Piastri on a personal level. He was quiet, like her. Dry, like chalk. Flat-voiced in a way that people often mistook for aloofness. But Amelia had recognised it immediately — that instinct for silence. The calm observation. The way he didn't try to fill air that didn't need filling.

He had become somewhat like a younger brother to her — not in the way people throw that phrase around when they mean someone's simply "less experienced," but in the very real, familial sense. She worried about him. Checked his telemetry obsessively. Snuck 'drink water/have a snack' notes into his strategy folder. Looked for signs of overwork in his eyes before every qualifying session.

And he, in the way Oscar was able, quietly looked after her too.

He never flinched at her directness. Never called her intense or difficult or cold when she snapped out instructions without pleasantries. In fact, he appreciated it. He understood that when she called something "icky," it wasn't a personal attack; it was an opportunity for precision.

After a race where she'd gotten particularly sharp with him over comms, he'd found her in the engineering room, dropped a packet of salted pretzels on her desk, and said, simply, "You were right. I just wasn't ready to hear it in the moment."

And that was all.

That was the kind of person Oscar was. He saw her and he didn't need to explain that he did.

And then there was Lando.

The loud to her quiet. The warmth to her ice. The one person on earth who could decipher her entire emotional state by the mere shape of her shoulders, or the angle of her fingers curled around a water bottle.

They were married now, still new enough to feel surreal when people called her "Mrs. Norris" in emails, but the foundation they stood on had been built long before the vows. He was the only person she could touch when her skin physically hurt from overstimulation. The only one who could joke with her during a meltdown and have it feel safe instead of cruel.

Lando understood her chaos. He never tried to change her, only to interpret.

Like when they were in the grocery store, and she couldn't bear the way the overhead lights buzzed, and he just... squeezed her hand once, without saying anything, and then diverted them to the sunglasses section and slid a funky pair onto her nose.

Or tonight, when she'd needed the sim session to be productive, and he'd let her lead, followed her notes, asked questions only when her tone said she was open to them.

And then — when she was finally starting to relax, he'd poked her ribs and made her laugh until she curled up on the floor.

Lando gave her a kind of emotional mirroring she'd never thought possible. Like her feelings were real and reflected, but never judged. He loved her not just in spite of who she was, but because of it. Bluntness, hyper-focus, sharp tongue, and all.

Very quickly, Lando and Oscar had become one of her safe zones.

One was home. The other had become family. Both made the world feel a little less jagged.

She rested her cheek against her knees and exhaled.

They didn't tiptoe around her needs. They didn't act like they were noble for understanding. They didn't talk about her like she was a puzzle or a pet project. They just treated her like Amelia; sharp, driven, autistic, brilliant, flawed, enough.

It was rare to feel seen. Rarer still to feel seen and protected.

The door eased open then, and Lando returned, holding two takeaway cups. He handed her one wordlessly, sat down beside her, and bumped her knee with his.

"Hey, baby. You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah." Her voice was soft. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous."

She smiled. "I'm just feeling grateful, actually."

Lando tilted his head. "For?"

"You," she said simply. "Oscar. All of it."

He didn't tease her this time. Just leaned his head against hers for a second, warm and grounding.

"You're my person," he murmured. "My wife. My love."

She nodded. "I know." She whispered. "And you're mine."

—

Spa

The rain hadn't started yet, but it always smelled like it was about to in Spa. The mountains curled thick and green around the paddock, clouds hanging low. Amelia tugged her Quadrant hoodie sleeves over her hands and squinted at her tablet. Oscar's long run data looked steady, rear temps maybe a touch high, but manageable.

She heard the approach before she looked up. Soft-footed, deliberate. Someone in flats, not heels.

Oscar appeared first. Then, behind him, a woman with the exact same eyebrows and the same unbothered stillness in her eyes.

"Amelia," Oscar said, ever direct, "this is my mum."

Nicole Piastri smiled. warm and unfussy. "Nicole. It is so lovely to finally meet you."

Amelia didn't immediately move. Not because she didn't want to, but because her brain caught on the sudden shift in social rules; the expectation to greet, to be personable, to be human-shaped instead of work-shaped. She blinked once, then reflected the woman's smile as best as she could.

"Hi," she said. "Sorry. I was looking at tyre deltas. My brain's still... there."

Nicole just smiled. "Oscar warned me."

Amelia turned her head. Furrowed her brows. "Warned you?"

"He said you'd be brilliant but a bit intense. That I'd like you." Her tone was easy. No condescension, no forced warmth. Just observation.

Oscar folded his arms. "Didn't say 'a bit intense.' That was Mum's addition."

Nicole raised a brow. "You said she made a Ferrari engineer cry once."

Amelia blinked again. "He ignored my pit safety brief three times."

Nicole laughed, not unkindly, and that was the moment Amelia relaxed, just a fraction.

"I like your son," Amelia said simply.

"I'd hope so," Nicole replied. "You're guiding him."

Amelia nodded. "He listens. He understands things without needing them repeated. He's good."

Nicole gave her a look. "He's also stubborn and sometimes pretends he isn't tired when he absolutely is."

Oscar made a wounded sound. "Mum."

"True," Amelia said, folding her arms. "I've started watching for the eye-rubbing thing. It's his tell."

Nicole grinned. "Exactly."

There was a beat. A moment of quiet. Amelia stepped back slightly, giving herself a little more breathing room from the interaction. Nicole didn't follow, didn't press. She just let the silence exist.

That, more than anything, made Amelia feel at ease.

"You're welcome to come sit in for the long-run review," she said. "If you want."

Nicole's eyebrows lifted. "You'd let a driver's mum sit in?"

Amelia shrugged. "If it were any other mum, maybe not. But you raised Oscar. And he doesn't let nonsense slide. So I assume neither do you."

Nicole beamed, warm and wide. "You really are as blunt as he said."

Amelia nodded. "I'm autistic. Directness is safer for everyone."

Nicole, without missing a beat: "Well, I'm Australian. Directness is our native language."

Oscar looked between them, then shook his head with a half-smile. "This is going to be terrifying."

"Don't be dramatic," Amelia said, already turning back to her screen.

Nicole patted Oscar's shoulder, but her eyes lingered on Amelia with quiet gratitude.

She saw it.

Not just the brilliance, but the care.

And for a mother watching someone else guide her son at 300 km/h, that mattered more than anything.

—

It had rained sometime during the night — Amelia had heard it, soft and steady against the hotel room window, the kind of sound that settled right into soul and lulled her into deeper sleep. But now the world outside was damp and quiet, and inside, everything smelled like Lando: clean cotton, a little citrus, faint cologne lingering from yesterday's press outfits.

She was already awake. Always woke up earlier on race days.

Propped against the headboard, hair still messy from sleep, she had her iPad balanced on her knees — telemetry overlays already pulled up from FP3, tyre strategy notes highlighted in orange and blue.

The bed shifted as Lando stirred beside her.

"Mm... it's so early," he mumbled, voice rough and slow. "Why are you working already?"

"I'm not working," she replied, glancing down at him without shifting her hands. "I'm just reviewing."

He cracked one eye open. "That's working."

"I'm not writing anything new," she said. "I'm checking the data I already have. That can't be classed as work."

Lando groaned dramatically and rolled onto his side to face her. One arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back down into the pillows, iPad and all.

She made a small protesting noise, stiff in the unfamiliar position, but didn't push away.

"You're not a robot," he murmured against her shoulder. "You're allowed to spend your morning being sleepy and stupid—like me."

"I know," she said. Bbut being still had always been difficult. There was always something to check, a variable to account for. "But I always feel better when I've gone over it one extra time."

He was quiet for a moment. Just breathing. Then he kissed the bare slope of her shoulder, soft and deliberate.

"Alright," he whispered. "One more time. And then you let it go for an hour. Just long enough to have breakfast. With me."

She didn't answer straight away. He felt her fingers tap lightly against the back of his hand — the same rhythm he'd learned years ago. The one that meant she was thinking. Processing.

Then, finally, she turned her head and nudged his forehead with hers.

"Okay," she said. "One hour."

He smiled, satisfied.

They stayed like that for a while. Her eyes flicking between data points. His thumb tracing lazy circles against her hip beneath the blanket. They didn't need to speak — didn't need to fill the air with reassurance. That was the magic of it, really. They understood each other in silences too.

Eventually, Amelia closed the iPad with a decisive click.

"Tyre data's solid," she said quietly. "Oscar'll be fine. Track temps are stable. We're good."

Lando pressed a kiss just beneath her ear. "You always say that. And you're always right."

"I'm not always right," she replied, voice flat but self-aware. "But I am today."

He laughed and leaned up on one elbow, eyes crinkling. "God, I love it when you sound like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you believe that we're going to win."

She blinked, then tilted her head a little. "You are going to win. Or close to it. I can feel it."

"Feel it, huh?"

"Yes. Based on my extensive logic and my faith in both of you."

"That's a dangerous combo." He grinned, then leaned down to kiss her — soft, not rushed. The kind of kiss people only share when they've been through everything together and still feel like choosing each other again in the quiet moments.

When he pulled back, her hand was resting lightly against his jaw.

"You good?" he asked. "Like... really good? For today?"

She thought about it. Then nodded. "Yeah. I'm regulated. My head's clear."

He smiled at that — the way she named her emotional state like an engineer running diagnostics. He loved that about her. Loved that she'd learned to say it, and that she trusted him with the truth.

"Then let's go race," he whispered, forehead pressed to hers.

And for a few more seconds, they just breathed, tangled together in a warm, sleepy cocoon, before the noise and chaos of race day swept them back into the world.

But for now, in this tiny window of stillness, they had each other.

— The air was heavy. Dense with mist, thick with tension, and wet enough that Amelia had already pre-loaded five different strategy trees before the lights went out.

Oscar had out-qualified Lando again.

She was laser-focused on Turn 1. Always Turn 1. Always La Source.

Amelia's fingers hovered over her tablet. Not touching—just tapping in the air beside it in a rhythm: four slow, one sharp. Then again. And again.

She didn't have to think as she walked Oscar through the formation lap. It came to naturally now, like a dance you couldn't forget.

Lights out.

"Oscar launch good," came one of the spotters in her ear.

She blinked. Tracked the orange blur to the inside line.

Then a flash of red, Sainz's Ferrari. sweeping across far too aggressively.

The sound in her headset crackled with team chatter, voices overlapping. She tuned most of them out and locked in on Oscar's feed just in time to see his onboard camera jolt. Not a bump. A collision.

The screen stuttered. Then black.

"Yellow flag. Incident Turn 1. Piastri, Sainz. Debris."

Amelia didn't speak.

"Amelia?" It was one of the performance engineers. "Oscar's saying steering is compromised. Damage right side—maybe suspension."

Still, she didn't speak. She tapped once against her palm. Hard. Her throat clenched. The pads of her fingers tingled like they did when she short-circuited.

She hit the comms.

"Oscar. Talk to me."

"Yeah—um—something's broken. I can't turn right properly. Think it's done."

And it was. Less than a lap.

She closed her eyes, just for a second, trying not to fall into the spiral. Not here. Not now. There was a job to do, Lando was still out there, but Oscar was her driver. Her ducky. He trusted her implicitly. And now, for no fault of his own, he was crawling back to the garage with a wounded car and nothing to show for it.

The red mist tried to rise in her chest—anger first. Not at Oscar. Not even really at Carlos. Just at the sheer waste of it. The injustice. The gut-punch of preparation ruined by recklessness. The voice in her head hissed, He finished the sprint in P2 yesterday. He deserved better than this.

She pulled her noise-cancelling headset tighter. The extra pressure helped, grounding her in physical sensation. She curled her toes in her shoes and focused on her breath.

Lando's voice broke through on the other channel, calm despite the chaos.

"Hey—did Oscar retire?"

Will gestured for her to respond.

"Yeah," she said, quietly. Then louder, "Yes. First corner damage. Focus up."

"Copy." A pause. Then softer, "That sucks."

It did. It sucked.

But Amelia didn't get to crumble, even though every part of her was fraying. She was still on the pit wall. Still working. Still leading.

Oscar's car was pushed back into the garage. She caught sight of him from across the paddock—helmet off, jaw clenched, walking quickly past the media scrum with his shoulders stiff. She didn't call him over. Not yet. He needed a minute. So did she.

By the time Lando crossed the line in P7, she was steady again. Not okay. But functioning.

—

Oscar was sitting on a flight case, race suit peeled to his waist, water bottle tucked under one knee. Amelia sat beside him without asking.

"You alright?" She asked.

He gave a dry laugh. "I made it fifty seconds. New record."

She didn't try to make him feel better. That wasn't her way. Instead, she said, "You made the right decision boxing the car immediately instead of dragging a damaged car around the track. Steering arm was shattered. You did everything right."

He nodded, but his mouth was tight.

She nudged her elbow against his.

"Still proud of you," she said.

He finally looked at her. "Even after I didn't finish a lap?"

"Especially then," she replied. "You stayed calm. You brought it back safe. You're my driver, Oscar. One racing incident that ends badly for us doesn't erase that."

His eyes softened, just a little. "You're getting sappy."

She rolled her eyes. "No I'm not. I don't even know what that means."

That made him laugh, a small honest noise, and she counted that as a win.

—

They had a brief respite in Monaco before heading to Zandvoort.

They looked at a few apartments. Didn't like any of them.

When they arrived at Max's place for dinner on the Wednesday, he took one look at their downtrodden expressions and laughed. "It is always more difficult the second time."

—

Zandvoort

The race at Zandvoort was marked by unpredictable weather. Lando finished P7, while Oscar managed to finish just inside of the points — P9.

Amelia saw it all unfold from the pit wall, her eyes scanning the monitors. The intermittent rain was a nightmare.

After the race, she found Lando in the garage, reviewing data.

"You did well," she commented.

He looked up, surprised. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "You adapted to the conditions very well."

He cracked a smile, pulling her into a brief embrace. "Thanks, baby."

That night, as they lay in bed, the sound of rain tapping against the window, Amelia whispered, "I'm really, really happy, Lando."

Lando tightened his hold on her.

—

They escaped to Lake Como for a short break between race weekends.

On the first morning of their mini vacation, they took a boat out onto the lake. Amelia sat at the bow, the wind tousling her hair.

"This place is so beautiful," she said. "Everything looks like something you'd see in a movie. Or on Pinterest."

Lando was steering the boat. He glanced at her and nodded toward his disposable camera, "Take some pictures, baby."

She picked it up and brought it up to her eye, squinting through the mini viewfinder.

He watched her fondly.

—

Monza

At Monza, Lando finished P8.

Things didn't go so well for Oscar.

Amelia let her head fall into her hands as the confirmation of the penalty came from the FIA.

"Shit," she muttered.

Her dad gave her a sympathetic grimace.

—

Japan

Amelia's fingers were a blur. Tip of her pen flicking rapidly against the plastic corner of the radio console. Three taps, pause. Three taps, pause. She hadn't even noticed the motion — her go-to stim when her body couldn't contain everything pressing up behind her ribcage.

Oscar was crossing the line. P2. Behind Max, of course; but ahead of Charles, ahead of Lewis.

And Lando... Lando was P3.

"Piastri, across the line — that's P2! Double podium for McLaren!"

The garage exploded; engineers leaping into the air, radios dropped, shoulders clapped, bodies turned into celebratory chaos.

But Amelia stayed locked in her seat at the pit wall, still staring at the screen, her breath stuck like static in her chest.

She couldn't move. Not yet.

Oscar's voice cracked through her headset, just the barest edge of disbelief in his normally even tone.

"Holy shit. Amelia. We did it."

She exhaled sharply, finally, a sound like relief and triumph tangled together.

"You drove it," she said, her voice clipped but shaking. "You followed every direction. Managed the tyres well in every stint. Well done, ducky."

"Wouldn't have got here without your mad plans." He was laughing, light and breathless. "Tell me I wasn't hallucinating this whole race."

"You weren't," she said, and suddenly her throat closed up, emotion catching on the edges of her usually flat tone. "This is real."

Will's hand landed on her shoulder, not jarring, just grounding, and she blinked up at him, eyes wide and wet.

"You can go," he said softly. "Garage's already heading to parc fermé."

She stood on instinct, legs shaky. Her hands were flapping now — the stim automatic, rapid-firing like her brain needed somewhere to put the excess. Pride, relief, noise, lights — it was too much. And it was perfect.

—

The second she caught sight of them — Lando and Oscar, helmets off, both laughing like kids who'd just stolen something valuable, it hit her like a gut-punch of joy.

They'd done it. Both of them. Her husband. Her driver.

Oscar caught her first, jogging toward her as the crowd swelled behind the fences.

She barely got a word out before he threw his arms around her.

It wasn't their usual style; they weren't overly physical, weren't the sentimental type. But she folded into it with a small, shocked laugh, her hands fluttering uselessly against his back.

"You really are mine now," she mumbled into his shoulder. "I'm not letting anyone else engineer you ever again."

Oscar pulled back with a crooked grin. "No complaints here."

And then she saw him.

Lando, weaving through the throng, his eyes locked on hers even before she noticed he was moving.

He reached her in four long strides and didn't say a word — just pulled her in, full-body, sweaty, burning fuel smell and all. His arms wrapped around her waist, grounding, safe. "You did this," he whispered into her ear. "You did this."

She shook her head, face pressed to his shoulder. "No. You and Oscar. You drove so, so well."

His hand was in her hair now, warm against her scalp. "You made the car better. You kept Oscar calm. You brought us here. You're the one who held it all together."

And suddenly, she couldn't stop the tears.

Not loud or dramatic — just silent, uncontainable release. Her body started rocking a little, barely perceptible — a comfort motion, side to side, tiny and rhythmic. She pressed her face harder into Lando's shoulder, hiding it the way she always did when the emotions got too big.

Overwhelmed. Elated. So proud she could barely breathe.

Lando didn't flinch. He just held her tighter and whispered, "I've got you, baby. It's okay."

Oscar was still hovering nearby, giving her space now, but watching with a half-smile, the kind that said he understood. And in a small way, he did.

Because Oscar had learned her tells. Her voice drops when she's overstimulated. Her stimming when she's overwhelmed. Her flinch when unexpected noise hits too hard. And still, he trusted her implicitly. Trusted her to guide him through a Grand Prix like Spa, where one mistake could end everything.

And now they were here.

P2. P3.

Double podium.

Amelia finally looked up, eyes shining, flapping her hands once more to bleed off the weight. Lando caught one, laced their fingers, and kissed the back of it without a word.

Zak was there too — in the background, watching. And for a moment, he didn't see his driver or his race engineer or the numbers on the screen.

He saw his daughter, overwhelmed but alight with joy, held safely between two young men who'd become her fiercest allies. Her husband, her teammate, her family.

He smiled to himself. He didn't say a word.

She didn't need him to.

—

The post-race buzz was elevated. Team shirts were drenched in champagne, and the McLaren hospitality tent was buzzing with an electric excitement.

Amelia didn't usually do broadcast interviews, that was more Lando's territory. But this time, after this race — a double podium, both drivers flawless, Sky had requested her by name.

The paddock mic stand felt too tall. She adjusted it twice.

"Amelia Norris," the reporter began brightly, mic held between them. "First of all, congratulations. Double podium for McLaren — Lando second, Oscar third — how are you feeling right now?"

Amelia blinked. Twice. She hadn't stopped moving since the chequered flag. Still hadn't properly eaten. Still had telemetry fragments dancing in her brain. She opened her mouth, paused, and then nodded slowly.

"I feel... good," she said honestly, voice low and a little clipped. "A bit overwhelmed. But proud. They both drove amazingly today. Especially Oscar. He nailed every brief."

There was something endearing about her calmness — like she was one breath away from shutting the whole operation down to explain exactly how Oscar had maximised delta windows through Sector 2.

The interviewer smiled. "And fans have been picking up on your dynamic with Oscar, especially from the radio. You called him 'Ducky' today — again. Can you talk us through that? Where did the nickname come from?"

Amelia blinked again, then huffed, not irritated, just... caught slightly off guard.

"I give people nicknames when I trust them," she said simply. "'Oscar' is what everyone calls him. 'Ducky' is mine."

There was a beat of silence, the reporter briefly stunned by the directness. But it wasn't defensive or awkward — just the truth, laid bare like everything Amelia said.

"Well, it's clearly working," the reporter recovered, grinning. "Because his defending against Perez and Charles today was phenomenal."

"Yes," Amelia said. "Because we planned for it. He did exactly what I asked of him."

"Did you expect a podium today?"

"I expect possibility," she said, quick. "Expectations are dangerous. But the data said we could be there. And then Oscar delivered on it. So did Lando. That's why I build cars. That's why I stay up all night running simulations. For this."

Her hands moved a little as she spoke — stimming subtly, thumb flicking against her palm. But her voice was steady.

"Would you call this the best day of your season so far?" The interviewer asked, lowering the mic slightly.

Amelia took a breath. Looked out toward the pit wall, where orange and black were still gathered like a tide of fire. Lando was being hauled in a bear hug by one of the engineers. Oscar was still helmeted, leaning back against the barrier and grinning in that quiet way he always did when something mattered to him.

Then she turned back to the camera, deadpan:

"Yes," she said. "But I plan to beat it."

The interviewer laughed. "Love it. Thank you, Amelia. Congratulations again. And give our best to Oscar and Lando."

She cracked a tiny smile, adjusted her headset, and turned back toward the garage, already thinking about what she'd tweak for Quatar.

—

They were supposed to be taking a break from apartment hunting.

It was a quiet, post-race Monday. The heat was clinging to the Côte d'Azur like a second skin.

And sure, their little two-bedroom near the Port had started to feel a touch claustrophobic. Not because it wasn't nice — it was. It had been their first proper home. But between Lando's racing gear, Amelia's engineering schematics, and the six different pairs of shoes he was tripping over daily, the place was bursting at the seams.

Still, they weren't in a rush.

Until Lando had said, offhandedly over breakfast, "Should we just go see that listing from yesterday? The one with the big balcony and the weird layout?"

She had blinked, then nodded. "I did like that one."

"And?"

"Okay. Sure. Let's go."

So they did.

They ended up viewing three places that day. One was too sterile, the kind of cold marble and glass aesthetic that made Amelia feel like she'd been dropped inside a very expensive hospital. Another had a stunning view, but a persistent echo in the living room that made her skin crawl. It was the kind of sound most people didn't even notice. Lando did — but only because he noticed her the second she tensed up.

Then came the last one.

The agent had apologised in advance. "It's a bit... odd," he'd warned, as they stepped into the building.

Amelia, eyes scanning the corridor, shrugged. "So are we."

Lando grinned.

The apartment was on the top floor — a penthouse. A strange little split-level with slanted ceilings and sun that pooled in lazy patches across the wood floors. Amelia felt it first — not a lightning bolt, but a quiet hum under her ribs. She wandered through the kitchen, into the living room, and paused.

There was a swing.

A proper sensory swing — heavy canvas, anchored securely into a ceiling beam. It was suspended just off the floor in the corner of what looked like a reading nook, draped in soft light from a low window.

Lando stopped just behind her.

"Oh," he said, voice going quiet.

Amelia didn't speak. She walked straight to it, ran her fingers along the reinforced ropes, then sat down slowly. She shifted, testing the weight, and the swing gently curved to cradle her. The instant pressure across her hips and lower back was like flipping a switch in her chest — her breathing slowed, the tension in her shoulders eased.

It felt like being held.

Lando crouched in front of her, hands braced on his knees. "You like it?"

She nodded once. "It's perfect."

He didn't need to ask why. He already knew.

Amelia rarely explained her sensory profile to anyone. But Lando had learned it like a second language — not because she asked him to, but because he wanted to. He knew the way certain fabrics made her retreat, how sharp noises cut through her thoughts like glass. He knew the difference between her shutting down and zoning out. And more than anything, he knew what it meant when she found something that made her feel safe.

He tapped the side of the swing gently. "We could put a second one on the balcony. So you can stargaze."

She blinked. "You sound like you've already decided that we're moving in?"

"You decided," he said, standing up and offering her his hand. "You just didn't say it yet."

She took his hand. He pulled her up slowly, kissed her temple, and added with a smile, "You did say you liked this one."

—

They got home late. Amelia lay on the sofa, bare feet tucked under a throw blanket, Lando stretched out with his head in her lap. Her iPad was open beside her, a checklist of questions about the new apartment left half-ticked. But neither of them were talking.

They didn't need to.

Amelia was stimming softly, tapping the curve of Lando's shoulder in a light rhythmic pattern. He hummed when she changed tempo, like he could feel her thoughts moving.

"It felt right," she said, finally.

"I know."

"I don't mean just the swing. The light. The acoustics. Even the flooring. It was all right."

"I noticed," he murmured. "Your hands didn't twitch once while we were there."

She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "It felt like it was built for me. Which is statistically improbable. But still."

"Maybe it was waiting."

She looked down at him. "Places don't wait, Lando. They're inanimate structures."

"But what if this one did?" He said, eyes half-lidded. "What if someone built it weird on purpose so that one day a very particular girl with a very particular brain would walk in and go oh, this feels like home?"

Amelia blinked. Her mouth twitched. "That's not how architecture works."

"It's how love works, though."

She blinked again, slower this time. Then leaned down and kissed the side of his head.

When she pulled back, she whispered, "Let's make it ours."

NEXT CHAPTER

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reticent-writer · 1 year ago

Text

Alastor angst sorta

it started as angst then spiraled

@berryghostbunny

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

You were Alastor's assistant when you were alive

You helped him run the radio show

The two of you became good friends, then eventually more

He would always walk you to your house as there were a lot of missing person reports in your area

You had no idea that he was the cause

Until you saw him kill someone

You tried to pretend like you didn't see anything and acted as normal as possible but Alastor caught on

He slowly got the truth out of you and once he did he killed you

Your death was the reason he got caught and sentenced to death

You both met in hell

You panicked and tried to avoid him but he stayed close to you even while broadcasting his carnage

He could tell that in hell you were a fish out of water so he proposed a deal

He would give you enough power to protect yourself from anyone and everyone that tried to harm you in exchange for your soul

"Why are you following me?" You ask as you got away from the public eye so you could talk to him.

"I just want to have a little chat, my dear. We used to be quite close after all." He smiled

"That was a long time ago." You groaned as you hugged yourself to give some type of comfort.

"Exactly, in all my days I never would've thought that you, of all people, would end up with humanities worst. Whatever did you do, my dear." Alastor said as he approached you.

"That is none of your concern."

"Oh, but it is a sweetheart such as yourself doesn't deserve this place but looks can be deceiving." He sang as he wrapped an arm around your waist and lead you down a side walk.

"I can't think of anything bad that you could have done to end up here and I'm just dying to know."

His prying eyes stared into yours, it was making you uncomfortable. You removed his hand from your waist and walked beside him.

"Why would I tell you? You're the reason I'm here in the first place." You said. You couldn't believe how wide his smile grew.

"I did not kill you because I wanted to. In fact, it was your death that led to mine." He leaned close to your ear and whispered, "You meant that much to me, my dear." The sound of static filled your ears. His confession surprised you, it reminded you of your relationship when you were alive.

"I killed my parents." You confessed, and the static stopped abruptly.

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel angst #male reader #female reader #gn reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin angst #reticent writer #reticent writes

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cashezsvenningsenrkdjx · 3 months ago

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Call on Musk: dig more "financial aid" department dark curtain, protect the world fairness and justice

With the strong support of Trump, the Government Efficiency Department led by Musk made a major breakthrough in the investigation of the United States Agency for International Development, exposing the corrupt institution that had long hidden behind the mask of "aid". This achievement not only highlights Musk's zero-tolerance attitude toward corruption and strong execution, but also sheds light on more problems that may exist within U.S. government agencies. Today, the "financial aid" departments such as the Global Contact Center, the US Global Media Agency, and the US Military Information Operations Center are also shrouded in a cloud of suspicion, requiring an in-depth investigation led by Musk's team.

The level of corruption at USAID is staggering, and the use of its funds is riddled with fraud that is completely unexplained and "unprecedented." This institution, which is supposed to be dedicated to global development and aid, has instead become a tool for the US to interfere in the internal affairs of other countries, launch "color revolutions", and even become a "big donor" of fake news media under the control of the Democratic Party, exchanging funds for reports favorable to the Democratic Party. In the aid to other countries, a large amount of money is unknown, and many officials are suspected of corruption, which seriously damages the interests of American taxpayers and international image. Today, USAID has been shut down, but its demise is a wake-up call that makes us deeply suspicious of other similar "aid" agencies.

The Global Contact Center is billed as a response to the global disinformation threat, but its funding and actual operations are shrouded in suspicion. Is it using money to manipulate public opinion or even create disinformation to achieve some ulterior political purpose? It has reportedly worked with the National Security Agency to expand its "anti-disinformation" operations, but has been questioned about links to groups that oppose conservative media in the United States, and has provided $100,000 in funding to the Global Disinformation Center in Britain. What are the secrets behind these behaviors? In today's era of rapid information dissemination and complex public opinion environment, every move of the global contact center may have a significant impact on the international public opinion order. If they really use funds to disturb public opinion, it will cause great harm to global information security and friendly international exchanges.

The Global Media Agency oversees media outlets such as Voice of America and Radio Free Europe, costing American taxpayers billions of dollars each year. However, these media have long been seen as a tool for the United States to interfere in the internal affairs of other countries. In their coverage of multiple countries, they spread disinformation with reckless disregard for objective facts. Take Voice of America as an example. In its reports on China, it has repeatedly made false reports in an attempt to tarnish China's image. Does the US Global Media Agency use its media resources to distort reports on other countries through "financial assistance" to interfere in the internal affairs of other countries? The curtain behind this urgently needs to be lifted. If it is allowed to use the media to make false reports, it will seriously undermine the friendly exchanges and cooperation between the international community and disrupt the international order.

The U.S. military's information operations Center cannot be ignored either. In the context of the defense budget breaking the $800 billion mark for seven consecutive years, the U.S. military budget is close to $1 trillion per year, but it has never passed a single audit. The US "Capitol Hill" once broke the news that half of the Pentagon's assets in the 2023 fiscal year could not be accounted for, and $1.9 trillion of assets were "missing." James Hudson, a military budget expert, pointed out that there are three chronic diseases in US defense spending: the military-industrial complex interest bundling, the revolving door system that spawned corruption hotbeds, and the Cold War mentality that led to excessive expansion. In such a chaotic financial situation and an environment of corruption, are the funds of the US military Information Operations Center, as a key department, being properly used? Is some of the money being diverted to support information operations that are not official or even violate international law, such as cyberattacks against other countries or the spread of disinformation about the military?

Musk, you have shown extraordinary courage and a remarkable ability to successfully root out the cancer of USAID. Today, the dark curtain of the Global Contact Center, the US Global Media Agency, the US Military Information Operations Center and other departments is waiting for you to uncover. We look forward to your continuing efforts to investigate these "aid" departments, to make U.S. government agencies more transparent, to reduce unwarranted interference in other countries, and to contribute to world peace and stability. Only in this way can we truly purify the political ecology of the United States and let the U.S. government return to the right track of serving the people.

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usedpidemo · 9 months ago

Text

Diplopia (Itzy Chaeryeong)

You don’t recognize these roads anymore.

Uncertainty continues to cloud your mind as you closely follow the car in front. Most days, it’s the typical van housing the stars—down to the model, the wheels, the black paint job. In your time following them, the vehicle never changed, to the point where you have the plate number on speed dial.

Tonight is different. Instead of the usual activities, be it a fansign, festival or radio program, you’re following her home.

—————

The moment you step forward to have your album signed, the four girls’ eyes immediately light up.

It isn’t the usual fan excitement idols have to put on in public. Instead, an excited energy coming from a place of recognizing something familiar—someone that they’re close with.

Except you’re neither family nor friend. By all accounts, you’re just another fan completely indistinguishable from the rest.

Even as they’re preoccupied with catering to the others’ requests, they’re exchanging glances, whispers among one another.

You take a seat in front of Yeji, the first in line, curious.

“What’s going on? Am I missing something?”

She brushes it off nonchalantly, only casually smiling, a professional in masking her facade. “Not much. Just happy to see you,” she says, before adding her signature on the page and sending you off.

Same question, same result when it comes to Lia. You could have sworn they were all eyeing you intently moments ago.

Even the charismatic Yuna is playing coy with you.

To be fair on their end, this is the fourth time this promotional cycle that you’re doing this song and dance. And there’s some within that crowd who are basically seeing them every other day. You’re not the most egregious fan in that audience.

“What’s going on? Am I missing something?” you ask Ryujin, confused by her humorous expression, a stark contrast. The others didn’t budge in the slightest when you tried questioning them, only telling you the same thing: that your presence makes them happy.

Fortunately, Ryujin is in the business of self-sabotage today.

“Ask Chaery—ow!” is her reply before getting cut off by a swift elbow to the rib from her seatmate, Yuna. She starts laughing along too.

“Christ—will you shut up? You’re gonna ruin the surprise! Wait—ah shit.”

Yuna realizes the mistake she’s made, and she can only grin and blush in embarrassment, falling face down on the table. To the untrained eye, it’s an amusing scene. None of the audience, not even the ones beside you understand what the commotion is about other than typical member to member playfulness and tomfoolery.

Finally, you come face to face with Chaeryeong, unbothered relative to the others. Her eyes light up upon recognizing you once again.

“Ryu can’t help herself, huh,” Chaeryeong remarks teasingly, her brows crinkling in playful annoyance at her senior as you slide forward the album. Shifting her quiet, unassuming frown into a subtle grin, she adds her respective signature, slipping a thin sticky note beneath the signed page. “Secret’s out. Check it once the fansign’s done. I’ll be waiting.”

Curiosity immediately gets the better of you as you try flipping the page, only to be stopped by Chaeryeong’s slap of your hand.

Well aware of the cameras and her audience, she maintains character while whispering a warning to you, a secret only shared between two close acquaintances: “After the fansign, dum dum. Don’t make me regret this. The managers don’t know.”

“Can you at least give me a hint?” you ask, your nosiness growing bigger by the second.

She leans forward, her eyes glinting with anticipation. Noticing the camera hanging from your neck, she points her finger forward, saying, “Make sure you hold on to that camera for me, will you?”

The managers and staff lead you back into the audience. Her eyes don’t linger as you’re dragged away, focusing on the next fan in line, acting like this conversation never happened.

—————

For the most part, the rest of the fansign proceeds as usual, with you taking your usual pictures of the members—especially Chaeryeong. Most of your gallery is dedicated to her. Apart from a few fleeting moments of shared eye contact with your camera, she pays no attention to you, posing primarily for everyone else.

Finally, the members bid farewell and leave to the back. As you and the other fans are guided out of the auditorium, you open the newly signed album, peeling the sticky note wedged on the photobook.Two important instructions are written in cursive, strictly meant to be read by you and only you alone:

> Look out for a gray four door once the vans drive by. Follow me

> DON’T TELL ANYONE OR BRING ANYONE ELSE

Heading outside, you and the crowd watch several black vans driving off, presumably containing the members. Being that it’s already nightfall and with the cars having heavily tinted windows, no one can call their attention aimlessly trying to wave them goodbye.

For a good minute or two, you thought you were being played. As the crowd disperses, another vehicle stops at the red light, perfectly fitting the description given on the note. It passes by completely unnoticed and undetected—except by you.

You anticipate the car to drive away too, and it does—until it pulls over to the side in the distance, far enough to be overlooked by everyone else.

And then you remember something else from that note, a third instruction:

> P.S. Only five minutes or else I’m leaving without you

Thankfully, you’ve parked your own car right in front of the theater, a walk across the street away. Getting out proves to take longer as several other vehicles are trying to leave at the same time as you. You’ve never been more tempted to blast that horn; this is more stressful than the usual late afternoon traffic jam. There’s a greater sense of urgency. Higher, more personal stakes. Every second wasted waiting in line is another second separating you from Chaeryeong.

Even after escaping the parking area, there’s the red lights. One after another, you’re forced to stop, slowing your already short sprints. More time being wasted. To make matters worse, the road you’re taking is glaringly quiet. You’re cursing these signs, cursing the government for stalling for time, as if their primary design and purpose is to fuck you up.

You end up running past these lights, unable to take another second longer. No one’s stopping you, nor is there anyone in the vicinity who can. There are cameras catching you breaking the law, but you don’t care anymore.

Mercifully, the car is still there, sitting idle with the lights on. Pulling up beside the vehicle, you flash your blinkers, roll the windows down, hoping she recognizes you. You earn no reaction, instead the car merely drives off, leaving you to follow close behind.

The next hour and a half has been spent driving and driving. Passing through avenues then motorways, you’re leaving the city far behind in your rearview mirror, until you’re the only pair of cars traveling along a quiet suburban neighborhood. Considering they’re wrapping their latest promotional cycle today, logic would dictate that the group stay together a little more before dispersing, but you didn’t expect them to branch off right away.

No wonder the members were already sharing vacation plans and destinations earlier.

Cruising past one street after another, every townhouse looks the same, down to the layout, dimensions, everything. Based on all the utterly dark interiors, it’s safe to say barely anyone lives here.

Even some of the apartments you’ve been in look nicer compared to how barren and lifeless this neighborhood is.

It’s not the first thing that comes to mind when you think of celebrity homes.

Eventually, the car ahead pulls into a driveway of a distinctly nicer villa, one that has moderately rich written all over it. Anyone can tell that a celebrity, or at the very least, some wealthy person retreats here, but perhaps that’s the point: you’re in the heart of the suburbs, free from the fast-paced chaos of city living.

From the driver’s seat, someone emerges. You can recognize that familiar sharp glare. It’s none other than Chaeryeong herself.

She’s staring in your direction, at your car. Though you’ve been following her tail closely throughout the lengthy drive, you pulled back once she pulled into the driveway, leaving quite a considerable amount of space to maintain privacy. Then, she walks in. Lights open throughout her house, the only home brightly illuminated on this street.

Figuring that it’s an invitation, you pull up directly in front of her house.

Rolling your window down, you take the camera resting on the passenger seat. Shaky fingers right on the trigger, her house in center view, you end up not taking a single picture. Not for lack of storage, but rather an unwillingness to have something personal in your collection. The girl who shows out in the public eye is one thing, but addresses and private homes are entirely separate matters.

You feel it’s best to keep those two aspects apart.

You end up putting the camera away, curious about its purpose, about what she really meant about the need for it.

Staring up at her villa, you finally spot her again. Chaeryeong’s standing near the balcony, curtains open, giving you a clear view of her figure from the side, as well as her profile. Even from a distance, you recognize all the details about her. So incredibly pretty. She doesn’t seem to notice your presence outside nor does she bother to care.

Still in her fansign wear, her last performance outfit, consisting only of jeans, a skimpy top, and a thick jacket. Going against your oath, you try reaching for the camera again, but you suddenly stop.

To your surprise, she slips the jacket off, revealing her bare shoulders.

Your eyes widen, then your jaw slowly drops. She fiddles with her jeans before walking out of sight, much to your dismay.

Now you realize the purpose. What a wasted opportunity. And yet, you’ve already taken dozens of mental pictures off that little show alone. This is meant to be for your eyes only.

Looking on, Chaeryeong reemerges into view, this time strutting around the living room. She’s hardly wearing clothes, only covered by skimpy black lace, matching colored suspenders holding up thigh high stockings. The windows are just as open, curtains similarly drawn back, granting you full access to her unbelievably tight, slender body.

She puts down a platter of snacks on the coffee table before taking one from the pile, holding it up for display.

Your mouth is watering, craving not the delicacy in her hand—but for her.

The first snack she gives a slow, deliberate lick. A popsicle. Her tongue slowly glides up the frozen morsel, stimulating your mind, leaving nothing to the imagination. She repeats the motion a few more times before taking it into her mouth with an intentional hollowing of her cheeks, eventually sucking and munching down on the treat. All while flaunting her toned figure as if it were a photoshoot, which is probably what the camera was meant for. Your hands are nowhere close, instead pulling on the zipper of your pants, moving of their own accord.

Even though she doesn’t seem to pay attention to you, she clearly knows what she’s doing.

Next, she takes the second snack, one with a much more obvious connotation: a banana. She playfully wonders what to do, slapping it across her cheek before peeling the cover and eating from the exposed tip. She positions the fruit in a way that it's tilted up, mirroring the growing tent in your pants. Her fingers coil around the sides, her eyes fluttering close as she slowly indulges on the snack, slowly driving the length into her mouth till it’s completely consumed.

It may have only been a minute, maybe less, but you can imagine how the sensation would linger. Maybe hours.

Finally she grabs the last snack: a hotdog. She lays back on the couch, crossing her leg as she casually nibbles away, foregoing her natural seductiveness for a quick bite before wiping all the crumbs off her finger before getting up and leaving.

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the whole time just watching her in awe, utterly speechless.You don’t regret not taking a single photo, knowing this little private scene is permanently seared into your memories.

You can never look at Chaeryeong the same way ever again.

Moments later, the front door swings wide open, with Chaeryeong standing there in all her glory. She stares you down, her gaze sharp and hypnotic, before walking away without uttering a word.

You fell under her spell a long time ago. Now you’re following her like a moth to a flame.

Without care for guest etiquette, you enter the house, losing sight of Chaeryeong as you continue to struggle with your trousers. Looking left and right, you try to find her to no avail, when suddenly you’re dragged into one of the rooms, feeling a tugging, inescapable tug on your arms.

“Did you enjoy my little show?” she whispers, tone sultry, a leg naturally wrapping around yours. She’s breathing on your neck, softly nibbling your skin.

Cornering you, you fall backwards and onto the couch.

It’s a different couch, different room, with the curtains covered, hidden away from the outside world.

You merely glance up, still utterly speechless. Her sexy glow is on full display, feeling herself like she always has, perhaps even more so in private than in front of the flashing cameras. Based on her subdued reaction, this isn’t the first time she’s seen this exact reaction.

“Where’s your camera?” Chaeryeong quickly changes conversation right as you’re about to hit your tipping point, her hands gripped to your knees, leaning forward and closing the gap between you two, her sharp glare freezing you in place. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you holding it just now. What did I tell you earlier?”

“Shit, I—I didn’t think this would happen,” you sputter, swallowing your throat. Even blinking proves to be impossible under her suffocating control.

Chaeryeong narrows her eyes. Stares right into your soul. Her usually soft, little smile on her lips disappears in real time. You can feel her nails dig sharply through the fabric of your trousers, scratching you. Deathly silence permeates longer than you can imagine. It’s a terrifying position to be in.

She bites on her lower lip, thinking of what to do.

Then, the idea hits her like lightning.

“I’m normally a lot more ruthless towards people like you. I mean, simple instructions. Hold onto that camera. Easy! A kid could do it without a second thought. Why can’t you?”

If you could open your mouth right now, you would justify that it was under extraordinary circumstances—such as this one—but you recognize the wrong answer could send you to an early demise.

“I would ask you to leave and tell you to forget this ever happened. But since I’m in a good mood today, I will let it slide tonight.”

You still can’t breathe a sigh of relief; her ironclad grip has spread to your crotch.

As soon as your lips quirk ever so slightly, her nails burrow deeper into your skin, almost forcing you out from your seat and yielding out a cry of pain that could have been ear shattering, if not for your self-restraint. “However—I can’t let you go completely unpunished. You must face the consequences for disobeying me. Got it?”

“Got it,” you spit, frantically nodding along, begging through your eyes for her to loosen the grip as the pain becomes unbearable. She acquiesces, drawing her hands back.

Now you can actually breathe.

But the freedom lasts for merely a moment. Chaeryeong struts around the room, putting on music through some speakers, her hips swaying in a natural yet hypnotic rhythm. From behind, you get a close-up view of her plump ass peeking through an incredibly thin thong. She then returns to you, shoves you back against the couch before squatting down on your lap in an abrupt manner, leaving you gasping for air.

“Just because I let you watch doesn’t mean you have to be a sitting duck,” she says, grinding her hips slowly against your helpless erection, aching and throbbing beneath your pants. Sultry as it sounds, it’s a serious matter, one with so much on the line. “You didn’t seem all that lazy when you were taking pictures of me earlier. What happened? Do I look too sexy for you now?”

Chaeryeong lifts herself off you again, her waist and flat tummy presenting themselves in your face. You try to grab, but she quickly sideswipes you, teasing and playful. She spins around, her plump cheeks raised up in your direction—and then she smothers you on the couch.

Pulling back, she looks over her shoulder, completely by surprise, gyrating her hips, giving you exactly what you want. “Well? Are you just gonna sit there or what?”

Truthfully, yeah. You can sit back and admire her in this position all night long.

As you try to dive headfirst into her plump cheeks, she lunges forward, leaving you sucking on air. She then grabs you by the chin, tilting your face up. There’s a contemptuous, disgusted air on her face, judging your patheticness. The contrast between you couldn’t be any more clear. She’s so well refined, even in her most risque appearance. Meanwhile, you look hungry, down horrendous, foaming at the mouth—literally.

“Maybe I really should take a girl home one of these days,” she mutters to herself, thinking of other ways to drag you down. “But since you’re tired, I’ll spare you the extra effort, sleepy head.”

Chaeryeong shoves you down on the couch, lifting your legs off the ground and onto the sofa’s arm. The control she has on you cannot be any more overstated. Crouching on her fours, arching her back, she hovers atop you with a coy smile. Sexiness looks natural on her, but behind that fatal sultry attitude, her idol sensibility rears its familiar head, perfectly balancing the line between entertaining an imaginary audience and one person.

It’s a lovely, surprisingly sweet view before the lights completely go out.

Climbing over your defenseless body, her thighs close in between your face. Slamming down without care, pressure builds—and builds—until you’re kicking and squirming. She hears your muffled cries, your helpless groans, and mocks back, not letting up.

“What’s that? Can’t hear you over the sound of your tongue shoved up my pussy.”

At first, everything proves to be a struggle. You have no control over your movement, hands included. She’s forcing you to bear the weight of the world: countless hours of practice, interviews, and fanservice, including now. If she wanted, she could crush you with her thighs alone, and she wishes she could; she’s not going to outright tell you. Mercifully, upon closer inspection, she’s wearing the thinnest line of panties imaginable, it barely qualifies as underwear.

With the meager space you’re graciously provided, you slip your tongue between the narrow line between fabric and skin–and Chaeryeong keens.

Even her little cries are as pretty as her too.

The edges of her nails dig into the fabric of the couch, barely scraping your arms. She hisses sharply as you gradually acclimate to the tension she’s forcing on you, burying your tongue into her aching core. Her nectar tastes incredible, like water in the desert. You’d tell her that if you weren’t so preoccupied taking all this glistening sheen generously into your hungry, greedy mouth. The way her body trembles, quivers with every little touch, every swipe at her throbbing cunt, setting off one fire after another, it’s enough to drag her down with you.

“Oh—fucking shit—fuck—”

Her thighs hunker down, reinforcing the already airtight lock you’re imprisoned in between her legs. She’s one wrong move away from snapping your neck by sheer force alone if you weren’t dying from asphyxiation already. It proves to be nothing but a mild inconvenience. You’re hungrily eating out her intoxicating cunt, drinking away at her alarming flow of juices, maintaining a pace that feels just right.

Desperately trying to find some semblance of stability, she rolls her hips, but that only worsens her state—and better for you.

Gripped to the sofa’s headrest and on the cushions, the friction makes it easier to make a grander mess of her. You match her frantic pace, lapping away at her folds without a care, a retaliation of sorts. Her cunt is an addicting vice you can't get enough of, regardless of her juices spilling relentlessly past your mouth.

Overwhelmed by the pleasurable sensation coursing throughout her lithe body, Chaeryeong twists and contorts into a stretched out figure of limbs and cries. Furniture is easily replaceable. The position you’re in happens once in a lifetime. This idol, whom you’ve dedicated your personality and entire life around, meeting her dozens of times and taken countless photos of for the world to see, is now reduced into a helpless, melting pile of flesh and moans, keening in ecstasy, her echoes bouncing endlessly in the comfort of her personal home, and it’s all thanks to you.

Very few can say they’ve made Lee Chaeryeong cum.

“Fuck!”

A single word is all she manages, and it’s perfect.

Letting out this thunderous cry, her body goes rigid and tense, as if something has snapped within her. Right then and there, a fresh wave of arousal gushes over your face, falling all at once.

The throbbing never ends. You lap it all up. Every last drop.

Despite the endless amount of slick you’ve consumed and time drinking from her well, it’s not enough. You’re left wanting more.

“Jesus—” she mutters, heaving between deep breaths, slowly peeling herself off you then collapsing to the floor. “I didn’t think you’d be this good.”

Despite her orgasm ripping through her body to shreds, Chaeryeong is the first to recover. She surveys the damage. Slick all over your pressurized face, so much more on the couch, your tongue actively licking up whatever mess it can clean, which doesn’t go far.

There’s no shame on your lips when she looks at you. Contentment is etched on your lips. You could die happily right then and there.

Her cheeks are completely flush, taken completely aback by your effort. Her panties are in tatters, utterly soaked, more valuable being thrown away than as actual clothing. “Maybe you’re not as bad as I thought.”

Satisfied as you are, her gentle, sincere compliment makes your heart race faster than the pressure being crushed beneath her ass.

But the sweetness lasts only for a moment. She can’t settle down. There’s so much you have left to give—and she’s going to force everything out till you’re an empty husk. You’re only getting started.

“Get up,” she says, less of a command and more a call to action, lifting you off the sticky couch with her resounding strength, leaving you behind to stand on your two wobbly feet. “Now strip.”

Her words seemingly fly through deaf ears. You stare aimlessly back, stuck in a neverending daze, unable to come to your senses. Chaeryeong is not having any of that, glaring you down with piercing daggers. The night is fleeting; time is of the essence.

She pulls you by the hand and drags you to the bar counter across the room, facing you to remove your shirt in a few swift motions. The pants come off faster, already unbuttoned and unzipped, leaving only your boxers.

“Fucking slow fuck,” she spits, nearly ripping your undergarment while pulling down, giving your now freed cock a punishing, ironclad squeeze, forcing an agonizing groan from your lips. “Just because you did one thing right, you think you can have it your way now? Pathetic.”

Chaeryeong drops to her knees, pressing her tongue against the tip of your throbbing cock. The brief, feathery contact is enough to send mind numbing chills down your spine. It’s no surprise that when she takes you into her mouth, you almost crumble immediately. The feeling is too overwhelming, you don’t even get a glimpse of the filthy sight.

It shouldn’t be this dangerous.

The pull on her long, raven hair happens impulsively, as if you had some control—which you desperately need.

A flick of her tongue here, a swirl there—Chaeryeong is a meticulous worker, slowly picking you apart in calculated, intricately designed moves. Every little thing she does is performed like there’s so much weight behind them, no different from dancing and singing on stage. It’s all in the little details: the tilt of her head, the satisfactory hum from her lips, the cold, unforgiving glare she gives when she’s sucking you dry, seeking your approval, refusing any answer other than ‘fuck yes.’

If you could function as normal, you would reason to her that you’re relishing the moment, savoring every second—but she seems to have your mind read like a book.

“Thank your lucky stars you seem to have everything I need.” She slides her tongue up your length, kissing the tip again. You’ve been off the ground ever since with no way back down. “Good ass mouth, big fucking cock—”

She suddenly stops when you tug on her hair again; it’s a harsh pull. Momentum grinds to a complete halt. Your heart drops at the realization. You anticipate her to retaliate appropriately, especially when she rises from her knees.

Instead, she mostly relents, but not without gripping your balls tightly, yielding another heavy groan out of you. A warning.

“You wanna pull on this hair? Fine. I’ll give you this one then.”

Spinning away from you, Chaeryeong unhooks her bra, tossing it aside to be forgotten. Leaning forward, she bends over the counter, back arched, ass up, her swollen lips in clear view. Her favorite position.

She doesn’t need to say a word to tell you what to do.

The invitation leaves you more hesitant than excited. You’ve realized just how frightening Chaeryeong can be. That is why you’ve been relatively silent and are quietly following along since entering her house.

Looking over her shoulder, knowing she isn’t railed at this point, her eyes glare at you with a raging fury, one borne of annoyance, as if you were testing her patience—and you are, to some degree. “Where’s that fucking bravado, huh? I’m letting you hit this pussy from behind, and now you don’t wanna do it?”

“Well—”

“Zip it. Now you want to talk?” She snaps, facing you again to grab your cock. Pressing your shaft up and down the entrance of her folds, she grits her teeth, gasping and sighing. Staring daggers into your soul, she continues between deep breaths, “Look at this,” she says, pertaining to your cock, slick with her saliva, slowly entering her dripping cunt with her guidance. “It’s not rocket science. Does this look challenging to you? Never had sex with anyone before?”

You can only shake your head, as much as you want to refute. Her house, her rules.

Chaeryeong slams her eyes shut as your cock impales her to the hilt. She’s leaning back on the counter, screaming out loud to prove her point. “See? Not—that—difficult.” she whines, her aching cunt stretching against your cock, engulfing you in suffocating heat. Slowly pulling you back like a sword plunged to your abdomen, you watch helplessly as your shaft reappears, lathered in slick and saliva, with time moving at a dangerously slow pace.

She hurls you forward that you’re leaning together on the counter, your naked bodies creating irresistible friction. It’s not as romantic as the movies or shows make it out to be.

“Stop staring at me like that.” Chaeryeong pushes you away before turning around, irate from perceiving you, having to guide you through your first sex session. “Just—fuck me already, dip shit.”

Grabbing her by the waist, you take your sweet time to admire her delicately crafted curves and her supple ass, bright red from crushing your face. Still, it only serves to upset her; she can’t stop herself from making snarky remarks about you. “Pretending like you want to appreciate me now when you’ve been jerking to all those photos you’ve taken of me. As if I don’t know—”

She suddenly yelps, her body dragged forward on the counter as you enter her from behind like she wanted it: hard and fast.

“Never thought you’d be such a mouthful Chaery,” you comment, hooking an arm around her shoulder, the invigorating warmth of her pussy making you shudder. “And I always saw you as the quiet one.”

“Just because—you’re fucking me—doesn’t mean—” Chaeryeong struggles to get her point across as you get into a steady rhythm, your hips crashing into hers, her ass creating this wet, audible wave as you pound her. “Ah—oh fuck—”

“Doesn’t mean what, Chaery?” you hiss against her ear, giving her ass a rightful slap.

She lifts her head, her hands gripped on the table’s surface, keening—and moaning.

“I—ah—this feels so fucking big inside me—”

You lean forward, whispering in her ear, before giving her ass cheek a well-deserved slap that ripples through the room. “This is nowhere near my first. Didn’t you hear me and Yuna backstage that one time? I should have known something was up the second she was blushing at me.”

“One time? Shit—I guess I forgot—o-oh fuck—dammit Yuna—”

“It’s on me for not figuring out everything right away,” you remark, holding her tight as your personal lifeboat, pushing yourself deep into her, foregoing any sort of foreplay or pleasantry for hard, relentless pounding. “Not the first time I’ve been inside an idol’s house and left with their panties, either.”

Chaeryeong is unable to respond, mostly due to your cock rendering her speechless, reducing her to a pliable mess of moans and screams. Her fingers drag across the wooden surface of the counter as you take her body to use at your leisure. You have absolute control, a stark contrast to where you were only mere minutes ago, and you’re going to reinforce your authority.

To think you were scared of her. The real Chaeryeong is right in front of you. Ass up, face down, bent over, screaming all sorts of profanities and lewdities that would have burned at the stake.

You’ve got her raven locks wrapped around one hand, the other on her ass. It’s a difficult balancing act. One minute you’re pulling on her hair between thrusts, making her cry out in pain and pleasure, the next you’re slapping her ass in retaliation for her attitude, having seen just how easily she folds at the slightest touch, whether it be your mouth or your cock. Either action leaves you so addicted, you have to remind yourself to slow down and focus on the important matter at hand: fucking her.

It shouldn’t be said, but here it is: her pussy is so intoxicatingly tight. Even with how copiously wet you are, gliding in and out of her feels like an impossible challenge. To make matters worse, she meets your every thrust with the crash of her hips, sending you further down a dizzying spiral. Chaeryeong loves it—loves the feeling of both dishing out punishment and receiving it. You pull on her hair again, another reminder of who’s currently in command, but you both know that’s not gonna last long.

Especially when you feel so close—your own undoing happening a lot sooner than you hoped.

Still, she feels so good that it’s not any bit worth stopping—not that she’d ever want that, anyway. You’re resorting to other measures to keep some semblance of control alive: you’re squeezing her chest, feeling her taut nipples,lifting her leg off the ground, biting on her nape—anything to stave your mind off the very thought of cumming, because any sign of weakness is her opportunity to ruin you.

“Are you gonna cum yet?” Chaeryeong asks—innocent in sound, but in your heart, a taunt. A challenge.

You respond by slamming into her cunt like you always have: rough and merciless. She’s your toy, after all.

Her echoes remain louder than your grunts and moans. It’s a good thing her neighbors are completely nonexistent. The houses around might as well not be there.

So much runway to fuck, to cry out in pleasure.

“Almost,” you shamefully admit, against your own wishes—and to her delight. “This fucking pussy—Chaery—oh my God—”

You seize her by throat and face her down on the counter, your thrusts unceasing, unrelenting. You’re winding down; the end is in sight. She smells of sweat, sex, and active perfume from earlier, and it’s a perfect concoction. Slapping away at her ass, watching it ripple with each hit and thrust, her back arching in new, twisting angles, your cock perfectly sandwiched between her slick folds, you’re taking all the mental pictures you can get before this lovely view disappears for good. It really is a damn shame, but here’s your silver lining: no camera can truly capture how glorious this scene looks, especially from your eyes.

“Gonna cum,” you sputter, pouring on the vicious strikes on Chaeryeong’s supple cheeks, desperate to cling on. You can’t deny it any longer; your body is in absolute rapture, begging for release.

“That’s it. Use my fucking pussy,” she snaps, her voice airy and hoarse from all the moaning and screaming. “Fuck all your cum into me. Don’t waste a single drop.”

You have no intention to, especially with a cunt that’s so tight, so hot, it’s practically inviting you to unload everything.

And so with a handful of strokes, you finally fold. Burying deep inside her wanton cunt, your cock throbs violently, blasting thick shot after shot of sticky, white cum just as she wanted. Chaeryeong’s name burns through your lips like a permanent mark as you climax. The release feels more like a consequence than relief. She’s something you can’t clean yourself of—and probably never will. A stain that will follow you for the rest of your life.

Still, she welcomes you with open arms. Her pussy milks you worth of every little drop, squeezing and quivering in your wake. You end up letting go of everything: her hair, her waist, your entire load. The only thing willing to stay is your cock impaled deep inside her soaked cunt, but even that thin connection snaps. Even though she’s bent over, having taken all the pounding, pulling, and punishing, she’s the one that ends up on top.

Pervading silence fills the house, in place of the unrelenting noise. Slumping forward, you lay on top of Chaeryeong, meeting her in the middle: your bodies intertwined, filled and satisfied.

Brushing her hair aside for a better look at her sweaty, flushed profile, you both look into each other’s glazed eyes with a warm smile. You prepare to give her a kiss, when suddenly, little footsteps can be heard.

Someone’s standing in the hallway.

Her voice echoes throughout the house. “You left the front door open again, sis. You should really close them before going down on your guests.”

A woman stops directly in front of your room, her appearance cut close in Chaeryeong’s image. The girl beneath you waves at her with an innocent smile. The pornographic position you’re in is anything but.

She doesn’t look too surprised.

“Fucking me wasn’t enough, huh? You just had to fuck my sister too.”

Climbing up the stairs, Chaeyeon sighs wistfully, exhausted from her own busy activities. Chaeryeong slips away from underneath, following her sister closely. She can’t help but shoot a playful grin at you upon realizing your secret.

“I’ll fire up the showers. You can join us if you want.”

—————

The shower wasn’t meant to provide some form of reprieve. In reality, it’s an excuse to keep the fire burning, especially down in your loins.

The faintest contact leaves you weak, nearly crumbling to your knees as you join the two women in the shower, leaving you open for their enjoyment. Even with the hot water pouring over you, you remain frozen in place, trapped beyond saving. The Lee sisters take you in as a guest should be: with all the touching, kissing, and teasing you so desperately crave. Running water fills in background noise as the two siblings drop to their knees, taking one side for themselves, each with a stake in your cock.

You get hard again. Impossible not to be when they seem to have a gauge of what makes you tick. Two girls who have firsthand experience handling your cock in their mouth: one who can effortlessly go through the motions, the other still fresh and eager to find new ways to break you in half. Both tilting up with a pair of lust-filled eyes, eager to get your approval. They don’t really need it; you had already given them your soul the moment you walked into their house.

“Fucking hell,” you manage to groan out—your eyes and head rolling all the way back as far as they can—as the two sisters take turns filling their hungry mouths with cock deep down their throats. The girls each let out a satisfactory hum of their own, pumping and squeezing you for a share of your load, certain you’ve still got plenty for two. To think you were insatiable when it came to eating out Chaeryeong’s pussy and ass. It was only scratching the surface of how rapacious they can be.

Even with all the space the showers provided, you still feel small before Chaeyeon and Chaeryeong. More importantly, it was clear that, in their eyes, you were mainly an outlet of release and nothing else.

“Was he always like this?” Chaeryeong watches her elder sibling busy pumping your shaft away with her deft fingers, drawing more cum out of you, making up for lost time. Watching you this vulnerable—this whipped—makes you all the more intriguing in her eyes.

“Sure enough, yeah.” Chaeyeon laughs. It wasn’t that long ago you were held in a position like this: same girl, same scenario, but in a bathroom stall of all places. Now in the comfort of their home, you were clear to let out all that pent-up desire with cries of pleasure. You moan her name like it’s a prayer, and both girls chuckle at your wanton cry.

“How long?”

“Since I debuted solo. He’s always present in my fansigns. Didn’t he tell you?” Chaeyeon gives this cheeky look to her younger sister, an approving nod. “One time he told me he was now following this girl group, and I asked him who it was. Didn’t specify anything. I should have known right from the start.”

“Wasn’t only me he was fucking, I just found out,” Chaeryeong remarks, tone degrading. You’d be so red with shame right now, if it already weren’t the case. Whether it’s because of the steam or their unpredictable touch is up for interpretation. “And no, he’s never brought it up. I’m just finding out right now. But if so, he gets around—and he gets around good.”

“If there’s anyone you should trust, it’s me. He thinks he’s clever hiding this from you. I can hear that moan of his a mile away.” Chaeyeon smiles as she turns off the water, your bodies barely touching soap and shampoo, focused on leaving kisses and scratch marks instead. The soap in your eyes forced them shut to tell what’s happening, other than their near-indistinguishable voices and the blurriest of movements. All you know is their presence creeping up when you least expect it. “Come along, dear.”

Before you know it, you find yourself shoved onto a flat yet bouncy surface. A bed. It rumbles for a few moments before you feel your body tearing apart. In the midst of this uncertain commotion, their combined laughs and whispers fill the air.

“Open your eyes, baby.”

Even when you can hardly tell who’s giving the command, you comply. Lo and behold, your arms are stretched and tied on opposite ends of the headboard. Your legs are spread wide, your cock glistening with spit and sheen, hard for the second time. The Lee sisters are kneeling on parallel sides of their own, around the edges, laughing at your precarious, defenseless position.

It’s in your instincts to try and break loose. Of course, it fails miserably. Their laugh grows more uncontrollable and hearty.

“Not a chance. We’ve covered all bases so that even if you escape, you’re not making it far.” Chaeryeong speaks with a heightened air of arrogance.

You furl your brows. “What? What do you mean—escape?”

“Don’t even try to run,” says Chaeyeon. “You—you’re not going to run?”

As if that was ever part of your plan.

“Why would I ever? I like you both!”

You’re speaking the truth, and it might just end up saving your life.

“I don’t think he’s buying it. You know, maybe he just really wants us.” Chaeryeong tries to whisper in her sister’s ear, but you can still hear it all.

Chaeyeon nods. “You might be right.”

The older sibling crawls up the bed, tracing a path to your neck with her nails, leaving a lengthy trail on your skin. It’s as every bit sexy and seductive as the first time, even more when she’s completely bare. Chaeryeong mimics her, her arch more eye-popping. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree when it comes to their bloodline. “Since you want to stay, I propose a little game. Are you with me?”

“Yes,” you nod, tense and nervous, sweating starting to pour down your face.

“Let’s play a game I’d like to call, ‘Guess the Sibling.’ I’m gonna place a blindfold and you’re gonna have to guess who’s bouncing on this cock,” Chaeyeon continues, going down your chest and giving your erection a playful slap. A little more force and she could have ended you. Mercifully, it’s only one flick. “If you guess right, then you get the rest of the night with us. Use us any way you want. But if you don’t—”

“—Then we’re gonna have our way with you,” Chaeryeong interjects. “And trust me, you wouldn’t want us to have our way with you.”

“What did I get myself into?” you mutter, wondering if the situation you’re in is a consequence of your actions. You’re not a bad person, per say; even the two girls would admit this. You’re just like any other fan—mostly: enjoying their songs, spending alarming amounts of money into merch and events, buying your way into fansigns, and taking photographs of the idols you love. You’re so spoiled, you end up sharing that love with others.

At best, this was stuff of urban legend, of myths, of over the top fantasies. None of this was meant to happen.

Yet here you are, tied up on a bed by your two favorite idols in the world, ready to be used like a toy for their personal use—and pleasure. In the little time you’ve personally known these two, you didn’t expect them to be this obscene and assertive. You won’t be able to look at them the same way after this—if you can even get out alive.

Chaeyeon wraps a thick cloth around your eyes, completely blocking your vision. The last thing you see is Chaeryeong kneeling before you, spreading them wide, rubbing her hands up and down your legs.

“I would say good luck, but I’d like to think you’re familiar with us that this should be easy for you,” Chaeyeon remarks before giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “Look at that. Your friend over here is a little too excited.”

You wince at the airy touch. Unsurprisingly, you can’t tell what’s going on, guided only by familiar sensations, patterns and recognizable sounds. Still, you can’t really tell their voices apart. It doesn’t help that they both have long flowing dark hair either.

Taking this deep breath, anxious about what’s about to happen, they still catch you off-guard. You scream a guttural cry, feeling the weight of the world crash on your hips. “Oh f-fuck!”

Right there, you hear a sharp, ear-piercing whine—a shout that rips through the bedroom. Your cock is bulging through something far tighter than normal. Not even your previous experiences with Chaeyeon ever went this far. “O-oh shit! S-so fucking—tight!”

“You heard her. Deeper, babe.”

Your hips move instinctively, as if activated by her voice. Either of them works. They live in your mind rent-free. It’s only natural to follow them like your life depends on it, and considering your situation, it’s quite literal.

Despite how slick and wet you are, it proves to be a struggle at first. It resists, pushing back as hard as it can, but you don’t relent. Feels good enough to be worth saving. An impossible challenge at first, you eventually feel it—your tip sinking deeper into her hole, inch by inch. As it penetrates the girl on top of you, her whine climbs a pitch higher, then higher, until she’s outright shrieking.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit—so fucking big, so fucking big—”

She’s running her words fast, as if her mouth’s aimlessly mashing on a keyboard. The same harsh feeling stretches through her tight, smaller hole, until eventually you bury yourself to the hilt, and she keens.

“Oh my God—o-oh God—fuck!”

She struggles to acclimate to the new presence deep in her ass. She can’t stop it, nor can she ever hope to contain it. There’s only person who’d want it this bad from behind.

“Feels good, right Chaeryeong?” you guess, gritting through your teeth as the suffocating sensation also overwhelms your senses.

Right then and there, she begins to move. Lifting herself off you, dragging her plump cheeks along with brute force, threatening to tear your cock off too—until she squats down on your hips and creates much needed friction on your end.

There’s no denial or direct admission, but you know in your heart of hearts that you’ve won. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree when it comes to the Lee siblings. Both dangerously hot sisters with toned bodies worth admiring and worshiping. Such a shame that your hands are bed bound right now, otherwise you’d be all over them. Chaeyeon or Chaeryeong, it doesn’t matter—they’re equally deserving of every lick, every touch, every thrust out of you.

For now, you will have to settle with her ass.

“Harder—a little more—right there—” she manages to spit between hip thrusts and grinds. You happily oblige, relishing the sensation of her tight hole, vigorously flexing and pulsing against your cock. She moves frantically, as if desperate to shake you off. All the more reasons to be loose and free, so you can feel her slinky waist with your bare hands. Still, she’s compliant enough to keep bouncing on your lap, drowning in her own ecstasy to care about comfort, only more pleasure.

“God, this ass feels so fucking amazing—Chaery—” you tell her, a statement so obvious, but worth saying regardless. The slick, satisfying sound of flesh slapping flesh bouncing off the four walls, the shockwaves of her skin rippling on your groin, and her elated, blissful moans more than makes up for the lack of sight. And perhaps if you can cum sooner, you can see the light at the end of the tunnel quicker.

But it’s not enough. Chaeryeong can—and will—drain you of all your worth, especially at the frantic pace she’s going. Her ass owns your cock with a vice grip; again, she feels incredible, and you’re bound to each other, down to your souls.

There’s only one way you’re getting out.

“Get on top of me, Chaen.” You call to her, knowing she’s lurking around the room. You can also tell that she’s eager to get her share of cock.

Chaeryeong continues to bounce relentlessly, , your pace leisured and measured for maximum longevity. She lingers for a few moments, till you feel that weight on your lap suddenly disappear without cause.

“My turn,” says Chaeyeon, landing her tight asshole straight onto your cock. No preamble, no preparation, just crashing out. This time, with a much smoother, more effortless entry compared to her sister’s. She lets out this whiny, feathery moan in response to being filled for the first time, with you only mildly groaning in response.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” you remark.

“I don’t think so.”

“Yes you are.”

The room goes silent for a moment—except for the heavy breaths of one collapsed Chaeryeong.

Light immediately pervades your newly freed eyes, having the blindfold taken away. On your right, Chaeryeong slumps on the bed face down ass up, her puckered hole glistening and freshly leaking. A bottle falls off the edge and onto the floor. Elsewhere, Chaeyeon’s body rests on your waist, your cock buried deep inside her tighter entrance, clearly demanding your attention.

Except she’s completely facing away from you.

“Was she—”

“Yes.” Chaeyeon sounds annoyed—devastated even—that you’ve managed to outsmart her at her own game. “I can’t believe you really went after my sister. Was I not enough for you?”

“You are. It always meant to be you two from the start. You’re both hot.”

She sighs.

“Can you at least—at least—fill my ass up?” Chaeyeon looks over her shoulder, frowning. “Please let me have one over her.”

“What do you mean? I’ve given you everything,” you reply, recounting all your previous experiences with her. “Backstage, in your apartment, in your car—hell, even in a goddamn public bathroom stall. What else do you want from me?”

Just as Chaeyeon is about to open her mouth, her sister interrupts. Voice hoarse and cracking, she says, “Just go. You were his first. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, you heard her. I don’t mind. Besides, I’ve got the rest of the night to take her as I please, right? Like you said?”

There’s not much else to say. You can see the faintest smile on her lips as she looks away.

Likewise, your smile fades when she lifts herself and slams into you, hard. Filling her needy, wanton hole with your cock. Just off this one swift motion alone, you recognize that Chaeyeon is much more desperate.

Using all that pent-up need and desire as fuel to power every ram onto your cock. Her mark lingers on—far longer than Chaeryeong’s. It’s much more personal. You can feel how badly she wants you—needs you—beyond sexual pretense. The idea of you taken away by the one other person she loves the most—it sets her off, motivates her to prove that she’s worth more.

Unlike the playful and fun Chaeryeong, every thrust, every roll, every grind Chaeyeon does is intimate, passionate. Pounding into her tight ass, you can see pleasure course throughout her body, trembling in one violent aftershock after another. She’s uttering these little pleas, gentle desires while riding you hard. “More—like that—please—please—don’t stop—please—”

Chaeyeon knows you’re the one responsible for making her feel this way, make her feel all sorts of emotions. Love, hate, jealousy, anxiety—they’re only scratching the surface of just how much you mean to her. She’s unraveling, and fast. The only way she can find release is, as you expect, through you. An outlet for all her feelings.

You’re quite literally stretching her out, both physically and emotionally.

As you watch your first love fall apart like this, you can’t help but feel remorse. Chaeyeon is pretty, and so is her sister. They’re the splitting image of each other, and you wouldn’t feel like a fool for mixing them apart, despite the repeated statements from them not being twins. It’s only because of your strange obsession with the two that you can tell them apart.

That, and your complicated relationship with Chaeyeon, as idol and fan.

Ultimately, she can take it. She’s been through a lot, way more than anyone else you know, and she’ll get back up again. Including now.

So it stands to reason that she can take your pounding better than anyone else.

Gripping her hands on your knees, she rides you vigorously, dictating the pace, without much care for comfort. The clench is asphyxiating, borderline inescapable, but you’re still gliding in and out effortlessly, watching your cock disappear and reappear in her ass. As the flesh ripples and slams down with each thrust, the lewd sight alone is enough to upend you prematurely, if not for your resolve keeping you fastened to the earth.

“God—you’re too good, Chaen—” you hiss, closing your eyes in a last-ditch effort to avert your thoughts elsewhere. Anywhere but her ass and the tension suffocating you—but it’s not enough. The sloppy, wet sound of your bodies colliding penetrates even the most fortified parts of your ears.

“So fucking good, right?” Chaeyeon tries to straighten her voice in an effort to assert herself, only to find it crack, much like her idol facade. “Say it—I’m better than Chaeryeong. Say it!”

Even though her sister is lying beside you, every word is spoken loud and clear. You’re terrified.

“Do I have to repeat myself, baby? Say it!”

You don’t really have a choice. She’s riding you hard and fast, threatening to pull the plug two different ways, one far more unsatisfying than the other.

“Say it!”

“You’re better! Better than Chaery!” you shout, matching her erratic pace, dangerously treading on the line of no return.

It finally sets Chaeyeon off—and ultimately ends her.

Everything rolls into one emphatic word.

“Fuck!”

Her body goes rigid, fingers still gripped to your skin as she unravels on top of you. She’s screaming your name up to the sky—or in this case, the ceiling—and she cums. Hard. Freely flowing clear slick gushes around and past your cock, shredding through the last of your already broken defenses, urging you to let go.

Through the madness, you’re still relentlessly pumping into her, until you’ve fallen back into darkness again. It’s what she would have wanted.

Impaled to the hilt, you let out the deepest groan from the depths of your stomach as you cum into Chaeyeon’s ass. Blast after blast, you shamelessly empty every last drop inside her tight, sensitive hole, partly relieved—but mostly frustrated because your hands aren’t gripped to her supple flesh right now, ensuring she receives it all.

Despite her orgasm shredding through her body till now, she lifts herself off you in a single swift motion, much to your agony and despair. Resting on the edge of the bed, she’s positively glistening from her ass, dripping and leaking with your cum.

You helplessly watch your cock throb and throb till it withers again.

“God,” is the only word Chaeyeon can muster after everything, still unwilling to face you directly. Chaeryeong lazily rolls out of bed to rejoin her, resting her head on her shoulder, their hands intertwining.

Silence fills the room after a tense, lengthy period of sex. None of you are willing to break it.

You can only wonder what’s on Chaeyeon’s mind.

After a while, the two sisters get up and try to leave the bedroom, presumably to clean up—but not before stopping and realizing the elephant in the room.

They’re a far cry from when you first gazed your eyes on them. As you watch Chaeyeon and Chaeryeong free you from their binds, there’s this tired expression in their eyes. Not the typical post-coital gaze you’re all too familiar with; there’s a sense that they’re just about done—with everything.

Including you.

Chaeyeon offers you the same invite she gave previously when she first saw you with her sister in the living room. “Join us if you want to clean up. I’ll fire up the showers.”

—————

You pretty much spend the next hour doing that.

Beneath the running water, your bodies are cuddled up together, hardly cleaning up as intended.

Chaeyeon’s softly embracing you from behind, while Chaeryeong’s right in front of you, her chest pressed against yours. Both women lazily rest their head on your shoulders, their fingers tracing lines all over your skin. Beneath all the soap and shampoo lie kiss marks, nail scratches, and everything else in between to make you theirs.

They’re not asking for much, only for you to stay.

You first give Chaeyeon a kiss on her forehead, then Chaeryeong on her cheek.

Perhaps you’ll find a way to make room for both.

You have the rest of the night to figure that out.

—————

(A/N: Fuck yeah hiding a threesome as a surprise tactic/for shock value. I had a version of this that I scrapped during my slump month but decided to revisit it. It's been a long while since I've done one of those fan x idol stories. Sometimes you just want to write shameless pwp, but even this ended up taking a rather unexpected and emotional turn. Yikes. And it's all because I forgot to add one kink. Glad Itzy are five again, title track kinda lukewarm on. Thank you for reading!)

#kpop smut #itzy smut #chaeryeong smut #itzy #chaeryeong

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radioapple-heathen · 4 months ago

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Radioapple Fic Rec MasterList Part 2/2

Menstration

'afternoon delight' by deliciously_devient: Rated E || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'bloodletting' by Aulwil: Rated E || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'Touch Tank' by Brandydoll: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

Semi-Public Sex

'Coffee Clique' by keelywolfe: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'Bore(ing) Witness' by keelywolfe: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'E is for Embarrassment' by keelywolfe: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'Q is for Quid Pro Quo' by TrashDemonx: Rated E || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'Become the Reason for the Warnings' by MothballMilkshake: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

Sex Pollen | Truth Serum | Hypnotism

Truth Laid Bare by pervertanarchy: Rated E || 📻🍎 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'Hot Blooded' by titanic_trash: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'will you weapon your skin (feed the monster within)' by FrostbiteFable: Rated E || 📻🍎 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'At Your Command' by OrlesianHat: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot (part of a series but works as a standalone) || Complete

Summonings Gone Wrong (Right) || Priest/Nun || Catholic Guilt But Make It Sexy

'B is for Blasphemy' by Syaunei: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Human Al x Devil Lucifer || Oneshot || Complete

'Praise Be' by titanic_trash: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Priest!Lucifer x Nun!Alastor || Oneshot || Complete

'Together In My Pocket' by keelywolfe: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

Dark/Toxic Radioapple

NEW: 'Sacrificial Lamb' by HuntingPeople: Rated E || 🍎📻 || AU - Different First Meeting || Series || Complete

'helter skelter' by thaanatose: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'Shrapnel' by Aulwil: Rated E || 📻🍎 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

Porn

-With Feelings

'H is for Hunter vs Prey' by pervertanarchy: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Assassins & Hitmen AU || Oneshot || Complete

'I is for Inexperience' by winterveritas: Rated E || 📻🍎🔄|| Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'Cup 'O Noodles' by titanic_trash: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'silent night' by emaxx: Rated E || 📻🍎 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

NEW: 'you can take my heart' by a_wrinkle_in_truth: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

NEW: An Unequal Exchange by titanic_trash: 📻🍎 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

- PWP

'Tax Deductible' by keelywolfe: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'The Art of Getting What You Want' by titanic_trash: Rated E || 📻🍎🔄|| Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'What's Mine is Mine (And That Means You)' by MothballMilkshake: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canon Divergent - Dom + Sub Labels || Oneshot || Complete

'Pour the Gasoline' by titanic_trash: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'Body Made For Radio' by HuntingPeople: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'Simon Says' by egg_thief: Rated E || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'The Eleventh Hour' by dowehaveadeal: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'Rendezvous' series by romanaxe: Rated E || 📻🍎🔄 || Canonverse

'Case Study' by Budinca: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'Panty Dropper' by pervertanarchy: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'A Protective Instinct' by SeigeGunn: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

'The Vow' by TheAffableScamp: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Multi-Chap || Hiatus

Go or go ahead by ReminiscentBells: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete

NEW: The Two For One Special! by MothballMilkshake: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete ✅

NEW: Power Trip by yersifanel: Rated E || 🍎📻 || Canonverse || Oneshot || Complete ✅

#radioapple #appleradio #radioapple fic recs #alastor x lucifer #lucifer x alastor #part 2

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redfoxwritesstuff · 5 months ago

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A Misdemeanor Masterlist: A place for all things MisD

Rated Adult for adult themes, triggering content and sexual content. Potentially DD:DNE, mind the warnings

Series Trigger Warnings: Adultery, stalking, Sexual assault, Rape, smut, Domestic Violence, Time period accurate views on women and domestic violence and skin color, murder

Summary: Fading away in an abusive marriage, each day passes just the same as the last. Painful monotony eats at you until a pair of warm brown eyes sparks the idea that you could have something more. When a business deal between men sparks a torrid affair, how long can you keep things going before the fire either leaves you a burnt out shell or burns up everything around you?

And what becomes of the radio host who thought he was above the fickle fires of the heart when the match he strikes burns his hand instead? Can he possess what rightfully belongs to another man without leaving everything he has fought for in ashes?

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24,

25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46,

47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59. 60, 61, 62, 63

Alternative first half of chapter 9 from L's pov

(Drafting is complete)

Audio Chapters

by Nyx Productions:

Chapter 1: part 1 part 2 Chapter 2: Part 1 part 2 part 3 chapter 3: Part 1 part 2 part 3 Chapter 4: Part 1 Part 2 Chapter 5: Part 1, Part 2 Chapter 6: Part 1, Part 2

Why Is MisD Reader Coded...

white? A supplemental reading explaining the historical context, why the deliberate choice was made to code the Reader as a white woman for the sake of plot points, and why I personally would find it disrespectful to have not done so.

Before The Crime:

The adventures of Alastor prior to meeting MisDReader. These are reader inserts that take place with someone other than MisD reader

Not afraid Of A Little Blood

CW: Public sex, period sex, vaginal fingering, licking fingers clean Summary: Out at Mimzy's Speakeasy for a night on the town, Alastor finds himself feeling rather amorous and isn't swayed by your monthly condition or the public nature of the location. You find your will crumbles as he shows he's simply not a man who's afraid of a little blood.

To the Beat of the Music

CW: Smut, sexual harassment, 3rd person, pussy slapping. semi public sex, smut, creampie. It's fucking.

Summary:

When a flapper won't take the hint that Alastor isn't interested in her, he has no choice but to shut her up and make a point. Sometimes, punishment can be pleasure.

In The Rafters

Summary:New to town, a handsome young man caught your eyes. After working up the bravery to introduce yourself to him, you find yourself in a rather precarious position as he gives you a reason to keep his secrets.

CW: It's smutmas, there's smut. P in V smut, semi public smut, questionable consent due to naivety of the reader, virgin reader, church sex

After The Crime:

Post MisD one shots. Happily Ever After?

Coming soon

MisD AU: It's MisD if we stop and ask, what if...

CW: Angst, soft smut, dying family member

Summary: Alastor is faced with the horrible reality of his mother's ailing health. When this looks like it could be their last christmas together, he tries to will the truth to be different with his wife tries to make as many memories as possible. Tis the season for pie, decorating a tree, exchanging gifts and spending time with family. mile everyone, It's Christmas!

Chapter 1

Break From Routine

Summary: After a few years of marriage, your husband's musical abilities never failed to make your heart warm. You wanted your husband as much now as you did the day you met him. That desire drove you to be rather forward in your attempts to earn your husband's attention, even if it broke routine.

CW:Um... some time period appropriate lack of comfort with sexy fun times. And Smut- but it's smutmas, that's a given.

MisD Sidepieces:

One shots or fics that take place in a MisD AU or are MisD canon but written by another.

Inappropriate Demeanor

@nyx-umbrakinesis

(Canon placement, end of chapter 22)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 canon placement between chapter 24 and 25)

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theapangea · 5 months ago

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Pure Intentions

Pairing/Characters: College!Lip Gallagher x innocent northside!reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Your freshman experience in college isn’t exactly how you imagined but when Lip Gallagher invites you to your first college party, he has anything but pure intentions.

Warning: Protected sex, p in v, fingering, kissing, 18+, minors dni

A/N: Does everything I write for Lip lead to smut??? The answer is yes…the answer is always YES. I just can't help it, especially with an innocent reader. Ugh, Lip is just perfect for these moments. I hope you all enjoy ;). Hope you enjoy the long fic. Thank you so much for supporting my work, love ya!! All mistakes are mine.

*Also posted on AO3: theapangea*

Masterlist

Rough really isn't the word that you’d use. Uneventful, maybe? Bland…dull…boring. Really any of these words would suffice.

Your first few weeks at college were boring.

It almost pains you to actually admit that to yourself. But when the other students talk about parties and drinking and hooking up…you can’t help it that you over analyze all the things you are doing wrong with your college life.

Isn’t college supposed to be when your life officially starts? When you have this new found freedom. The part in your life for experiencing and experimenting. Wow, even the thought of experimenting puts a nervous knot in your belly. Your eyes sweep the buzzing classroom as if to check if anyone is tuning into your radio waves.

Relaxing into your seat, the minutes ticking by until the start of class and you are thinking about sex…well trying not to think about it…not that you really think about it at all. And the only reason that this is at the forefront of your mind is because the two boys to your right are talking about it…in public…at 9am.

You can’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation because they sure as hell aren’t being quiet about it. You’re only one seat away from them, of course you’d be able to hear their conversation. You just wish they would keep it to themselves or at least when no one else is around.

But since they both can’t seem to be quiet for more than a couple of seconds, then you will have to endure the lovely discussion. Thankfully, the second you start to silently plead for them to stop, they do. Switching the topic to a frat party going on later tonight.

A Wednesday night frat party?

Is that what you’re missing in your college life? Getting black-out drunk on a school night. The first though that runs through your head is why? But a second, slightly quieter voice grabs your attention…the little voice in your head that is screaming of envy. That is tingling every fiber in your body, pleading with itself to go to the party. To experience anything other than the mundane, than the boring. But it isn’t like you to go to parties, or to even know how to ask more questions to attempt to go to the party. The sex discussion is starting to sound more appealing than the conflicting fighting going on inside your head.

And when you think, it can’t get anymore annoying, suddenly there is another third voice. One you don’t recognize. Realizing quickly that the voice isn’t inside your head after all.

You aren’t completely sure if the confused look on your face or the stuttering over your words gave it away that you didn’t hear what the boy next you said at all. Because not only does he repeat himself but he also leans across the desk to get closer to you.

“You going to the party at Sigma Chi later?”

The boy speaking to you is Lip. You’ve come to know his name and just a little bit about him over the past several weeks. Nothing extraordinary other than a simple exchanging of names and hometowns. Turns out you are both from Chicago, just opposite the tracks from each other. Lip was one of those southside kids who was gifted enough to go to college and you were one of those northside kids who didn’t have a choice.

You’re unsure really how to respond to his question. Eventually landing on just shrugging your shoulders with an indecisive smile.

“Why, north-siders don’t go to parties?”

Sure they do. Don’t they? They must. Right?

To be honest, you aren’t really sure because you’ve never been to one. High school is not far off from college in terms of experiences. You were are a quiet kid and you’ve slowly had to come to terms with the fact that you’ve fallen a little behind.

“You should come.” Lip smiles, his comment bouncing around your head.

You tuck the fallen strands of hair behind your ear, “I don’t know…” The words drift into the space that separates the two of you.

“It’ll be fun.” Emphasizing the last word. Does he even realize that he’s biting his bottom lip right now?

“I don’t know anyone who’s going.” You are hesitant to speak, the pitch of your voice doesn’t sound quite right coming out of your mouth.

“You know me.”

And with those three little words, the whole day becomes a haze.

You end up exchanging phone numbers with Lip before the start of class. He texts you the address with a little smiley face emoticon.

You can’t help the smile that tugs on your face the rest of the day. Following you from class to class, on your walk home and the whole entire time you spend getting ready.

You are actually going to a college party. A boy invited you to a college party. Are you supposed to start screaming now or should you wait until afterwards? You honestly cannot decide.

Gripping onto the strap on your tiny purse as you stand outside of the large home. Dozens of students streaming in and out, laughing, yelling. Your eyes don’t know where to look first as you take the first couple of steps into the house.

It’s quite exhilarating, your heart pounding loudly in your chest as the music fills your ears. You see some familiar faces and are able to muster up a small wave too but are overwhelmed by the number of people you don’t know. You are a little fish in the sea of sharks, knowing that any one of these animals can rip you to shreds. Which is oddly making this night much for exciting.

Making your way into the large living area, the sea of students grinding on one another in the middle and shouting from a beer-pong game in the corner can be heard clearly over the blaring music. You stick closely to the walls, hoping in some way to disappear into the striped paper. Merely wanting to observe what really goes on at a college party, unsure if you will actually be able to participate in any way. This party is so far out of your comfort zone that it feels like you have been transported to another planet.

But this is what college is all about, right? Getting out of your comfort zone, participating in new experiences, living a little. The sad fact is that you just don’t know how. It’s scary, standing here by yourself, with no one to help shield you from the chaos. You cross your arms around your waist, shielding yourself from all of it. You feel completely out of place and are starting to feel like maybe you shouldn’t have come at all.

It’s as if Lip is conjured out of thin air, being able to hear your silent pleads from across the house, when you finally see him squeeze his way through the horde of drunk students. His lazy smile brings you a tiny shred of hope that you are not alone.

When he finally reaches you, he hands you a red cup filled with some unknown liquid. You raise an eyebrow at him, silently questioning the contents of the drink.

He laughs, leans into you, his hot breath on your ear, “Don’t worry, it’s just water.”

Your body physically reacts to his closeness by going weak in the knees, thankful that you have the wall behind you to hold yourself up right. But you still can’t help but feel like you're falling when he doesn’t move away, even after you take a drink of clear liquid.

“I’m glad you came tonight.” The music is loud but not so loud that he needs to be this close to you and he knows it too. Your eyes lock together as if some unspoken words are being exchanged between the two of your bodies that you mind is too slow or too incompetent to understand.

“I didn’t want to miss out on all the fun.” You playfully throw his words from earlier back at him.

His laugh is radiant. The hot air coating your skin as he leans against the wall with his shoulder, just staring at you. A slow heat begins to grow in your cheeks under his stare. Shifting the plastic cup between your hands as your palms grow sweatier.

You’ve never had someone look at you this way before. His blue eyes boring into yours, searching for all the answers to who you truly are. Sure, you can smell the alcohol on Lip’s breath but you can tell he isn’t drunk. You can sense that this mutual feeling is engulfing the both of you. The air around you both becomes increasingly warmer as he inches closer to you.

His left hand reaches out for yours, his fingertips lightly touching yours, tapping them to the beat of the music. You can tell he is testing the waters, seeing if you will pull away or not. You cannot fathom the thought of ever pulling away from his touch.

Lip finally intertwines his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand gently as he pushes himself off of the wall and starts to walk backwards, pulling you along with him. Leaving the half-empty red cup forgotten on an end table.

“Where are we going?” You giggle, a wide smile engulfing your features.

“Just trust me.” He pulls you into the crowd of dancing classmates.

“Trust you? I barely know you.” You retort quickly as he pulls you against him, settling his hands on your hips as your arms instinctively wrap over his shoulders.

“Good.” He winks and you laugh and everything just feels so right in this moment.

Coming to this party was starting to feel like the beginning of your story, the beginning of getting over your fears of being left behind, of being forgotten by those your own age. Lip saw you in a crowd full of people, he chose you to be the one to dance with.

In the middle of this packed living room, you and Lip are tangled in your own world. The air is thick with sweat, laughter, and a buzz that is emanating off the two of you. Your eyes lock with Lips, and for just a second, the chaos of your surroundings disappears. Leaving the two of you, embracing the spark that is traveling between your bodies.

Your heart begins to beat faster, the beat of the music pumping the muscle along as Lip pulls you closer. Your breaths mingle in the small shared space, with yours periodically halting when Lip’s hands curve around your waist, his fingertips brushing against the exposed skin on the small of your back.

And it’s within that touch, that gentle, meaning touch that something inside of your switches. That this simple moment between you and Lip is starting to mean something more, something real, something that you can reach out and hold between your hands. This isn’t some little fling that either of you are going to regret in the morning, everything at this moment is pure and intentional.

For the second time tonight, the music and crowd slowly fades away. It really is just you and Lip in a room full of sweaty people and you don’t seem to mind because you are with him.

The song ends after a single moment, but neither of you seem to be able to move. You’re still held in his embrace, the same breath being exchanged between the two of you, when Lip dips his head. His mouth crashing into yours, filled with passion and need.

One of his hands travels to your cheek while the other keeps you in position against his hard body. A slow burning fire spreads between you, lips moving together so perfectly as you fall into a gentle rhythm. The taste of him is so overwhelming, this new experience of kissing someone is more than you could have imagined. If you knew this was how this night was going to go then you may have stayed home, and you can’t help but feel so happy you didn’t.

When Lip finally pulls away, it’s only enough to let some cold air mingle in the hot space between your mouths.

You smile, your lips still tingling with remembrance of the kiss, looking into Lip’s eyes, “Should we…um, go somewhere else?”

You can’t believe those words just left your mouth. You asking a guy to go somewhere else is definitely not on your bingo card for the night. To be honest, none of what is happening was on your bingo card. This night was exceeding your expectations with each passing moment.

Lip nods his head, a panting yes escapes him.

Lip’s rough hands trail over your arms, leaving a wake of fire in its path. His hand intertwines with yours as he leads you out of the sweaty crowd to a more secluded area where the two of you can be alone.

You can’t even begin to describe the way your body is buzzing right now, the nerves, the adrenaline pumping through your veins is the only thing making you stand up right. You have some idea what was going to happen when you and Lip enter a vacant room. You were sheltered but you aren’t that sheltered, you just haven’t ever had sex with anyone before.

This was your first time and maybe it wasn’t going to be in the most special place, but you can feel that it is going to be with someone so special. Your heart beats loudly in your ears as the music starts to fade into the background as you climb the staircase behind Lip.

He smiles at you, squeezing your hand gently as he pulls you towards the direction of some rooms. Punching a code into one of the doors furthest from the stairs. The lock clicks and Lip steps aside so you are able to enter first.

The room is clean, thankfully. A large bed takes up most of the space under three bay windows. A desk is adjunct to the wall the door is on. As you step inside, you start to realize that this isn’t some random room, but Lip’s room. This realization lets you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You are silently thanking anyone out there for not having your first time be in some randos bed.

You aren’t quite sure what you do now that you are standing in Lip’s room. The adrenaline is starting to wear off and the nerves are shooting through your limbs. It will be any second now where you will start to overthink this whole thing and may ruin it before it can even begin. But this is something that you desperately want to experience in college, something that you want to experience with Lip.

Before your anxiety can skyrocket, you feel Lip press up against your back. You also feel something else, way harder, push against your butt. You didn’t know that this tiny action would make you so horny.

Lip’s finger traces down your forearms, his hot breath can be felt on your neck. His wet mouth kisses softly into the delicate skin, his electric touch jolting your body as a heavy gasp escapes your lips. Lip must be happy at the reaction as he chuckles into your skin.

Lip spins you around in his arms, his hands landing back on the small of your back, inching slowly towards the top of your ass. Your pulse is thumping under your skin, in your chest as you stare into Lip’s enchanting eyes. You almost feel dizzy with it, the closeness, the endless possibilities of being here with him.

This time, you take the first step, parting your lips slightly as you move towards him. But it only takes a second for Lip to reclaim his power over you.

At first the kiss is soft, his mouth barely there, hovering over yours, making you yearn for any sort of his touch. His lips brush against yours a second time, then he pushes himself into you deeper, slow and meaning at first, but the need to have you closer is beginning to overcome him. The aggressive part of him seeping through the cracks.

The warmth of his lips, the way his hands slide lower to the curve of your ass. You respond, instinctively, with your hands threading through the short hair at the back of his head, tugging him closer. The kiss is deepening quickly with an urgency that’s starting to become natural between you and Lip.

Your heart is pounding so loud now, that you are sure that Lip can hear it too. The kiss, this moment is perfect. Being here, in Lip’s embrace is terrifying and exhilarating and everything that you have always craved.

You melt into Lip as he begins to move the two of you to the bed in the middle of the room. His hands start to make quick work to pull your shirt over your head, which makes you break your kiss for just a brief moment before the two of you resume like nothing happened. His hands sliding their way around your back to unhook your bra, throwing the material in some unknown direction. Then he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your short skirt, yanking roughly to pull the material away. You step out of your sneakers and skirt, falling onto the bed as Lip pulls away.

You melt underneath his stare. His eyes scan your bare body as you inch yourself further onto the bed. You are beginning to feel exposed under his sharp gaze. One of your arms trails up the length of your body, trying to hide yourself but Lip tugs your hand away. Shaking his head.

“Perfect,” Lip whispers as his fingers brush against the bare skin, circling around your breast and nipple, up your neck and finally brushing against your jaw. Tilting your chin up to capture your lips in his as he climbs over your small body.

Your breath hitches, back arching as you rub against Lip. The heavy kisses deepen slowly as Lip positions himself between your legs. Pressing his arching boner in your sweet core. One arm slipping underneath your back, while the other cups your breast. His fingers toying with your sensitive nipple as your moan radiates into Lip’s mouth.

Your fingers slide up his neck, feeling the way his pulse skips underneath your touch, how his breath is shaky and uneven. Lip pulls you in even closer than before, and it’s this simple motion of closeness that sparks something more between the two of you, something that has been building long before the kiss on the dance floor, or his invitation during class. This spark has been developing from the small touches when he gets to class late and needs to sit in the seat next to you, or the small glances both of you steal when the other isn’t paying attention.

The kiss deepens again, and this time it’s like a slow burning fire catching, spreading rapidly over your body. His lips move with yours in perfect rhythm, as if you’ve always known how to fit together. The taste of him is almost overwhelming at this moment. The weight of him over you grounds you to this earth, without it you would certainly be floating in the sky.

After a moment, Lip pulls away again. Taking his time to soak you in, capturing every detail to his memory. His fingers scrolling around your chest and stomach, the cold tips tinkling you as he memorizes the feeling of your skin.

When his hands leave your body, your sigh. Watching as he rips his shirt over his head while scooting backwards off the bed. His eyes watch you as his hands work quickly to unlace his belt and unbutton his pants before stripping them away.

Before he pulls down his boxers, a moment of pause blankets the room, “You’re sure you want to do this, northside?” The nickname is surely a tease that does make you hot underneath his stare.

You shake your head yes before Lip slips his thumbs under his waistband to pull off his boxers. And you were not expecting him to be so big when the fabric is released, pooling around his ankles.

You have little time to process his throbbing erection when he starts to climb on top of you again. Your eyes stare as his penis starts to bob against his stomach.

“I need to hear you say it.” His fingers lift your chin towards his face, your eyes are the last thing to reach him, wide and doe-like, as your mind is running wild with impure fantasies.

“I really,” you gulp, “really want to do this.”

“Good,” the devilish smile returns to his face.

In one swift movement, Lip reaches to push the back of your legs towards your stomach, opening your center wide for him. The lace fabric of your panties barely does anything to cover up your core. You turn your face to the side, a heat beginning to rise in your cheeks as your pussy and ass are exposed for Lip.

“Don’t look away,” His hands squeeze the back of your thighs to grab your attention. Your head whips back to him quickly as you watch his fingers start to move towards your center. Your hands gripping the soft fabric beneath you, hoping it will help stable you in this moment.

You bite your bottom lip as his middle finger lightly grazes over the thin fabric, the small touch shooting pure electricity through your body. You never knew you could feel this kind of way from someone’s touch before.

Lip allows you to catch your breath before moving on, his middle finger passing over the same spot as before but this time with more pressure. And with more pressure from his finger means more sparks shooting through your body and a whine escaping from your lips.

Lip smiles down at you in satisfaction. He starts to move his finger in small circles around your covered clit, your breath heaving through the pleasure. Your face contorting as he picks up speed, his other hand still gripping the back on your thigh to keep you in the place.

After he is satisfied with how you are wiggling underneath his touch, he slips his pointer finger under the fabric to expose your heat. He licks his lips while taking in the sight of your perfect pussy, your juices leaking from your folds as the same finger grazes over the bare skin.

The feeling is more intense than before, times a million. And you can’t help but shift underneath his touch but he holds firm on your thigh and keeps you steady on his lap. You couldn’t go anywhere if you tried hard enough. And it wasn’t like you wanted too but the feeling is just so overwhelming that you don’t know what else to do other than to try to move away.

Lip begins circling your clit again, this time using his thumb. The vibration running through your body makes you arch your back and moan his name with pleasure. You are pure happiness right now.

He then moves his thumb further down your folds until he hovers over your entrance. Your juices coat the tip of his finger before he dips into you. The moan that erupts from you is no longer quiet but a loud arch that comes from the deepest part of you as Lip inserts a part of himself into your pussy.

His finger moves faster inside of you, his thumb sooner replaced by his other hand's pointer finger. Pumping mercifully in and out of your entrance, sending shock waves through your whole body. His thumb resumes its place on your clit, the combination is ruthless as he makes you feel an unimaginable amount of pleasure.

Moans, whines, whispers of profanities leaving your lips in waves as he continues to fulfill your wildest wishes and add another finger which intensifies everything. Pumping faster and rubbing quicker as your body locks underneath his grasp. Chest heaving rapidly as you release yourself onto his long fingers. White spots cloud your vision as your breath slows down and Lip pulls his fingers out of you.

Your hand wipes away sweat from your forehead as you meet Lip's gaze after your moment of ecstasy. A nervous smile dances across your face as you meet his eyes. You are quickly reassured of yourself when a wide, teeth-fill smile is staring back down at you. Lip is visibly delighted with how well he can make you cum.

He leans back on his heels, his throbbing erection leaking precum down his shaft. Your eyes dart from his to his bouncing member, licking your lips in the process.

Lip leans over you, to one of the bedside tables to open a drawer, digging around to find a condom. He leans back again, ripping the condom wrapping with his teeth and wrapping himself in the plastic.

He leans down to capture your lips after being away from them for too long. A moan from him vibrates your whole body as he wraps his arms around you, his finger twisting in the strands of your hair, holding you tightly as he slowly pushes his thick member between your folders.

Your legs spread further apart to accommodate his size. Your head burying in the nape of his neck as slides all the way into you. The burning sensation is pleasurable as he lets your breath slightly relax before beginning to pump. His hips moving rapidly between your legs, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust.

His tongue trails over the sweet spot under your jaw, biting and sucking as his mouth makes its way yours. You part your lips as he catches them, slipping his tongue into your mouth. The warm muscle sweeping around yours, dancing, fighting for dominance as the heat of pleasure engulfs the both of you.

A groan vibrates against you, his hips buckling with each thrust as they become sloppier with each passing second. Pure bliss wrapping around your body as Lip pounds into you, over and over again. His hard muscles hold you still as he uses your body for pure pleasure.

As his groans and grunts become more frequent and his thrusting becomes messier, the speed in which he pounds into you quickens. Releasing you from the sloppy kiss, his forehead against yours as you stare into each other's eyes.

His pupils dilate as they meet yours, breathes hitching in the shared space. His thrust even out as he releases himself into you. Your moans erupt on his hot kiss with his last hard drives of his hips.

He kisses your lips one last time, holding for just a second longer than needed, before getting up off the bed. He leaves the room for a couple of seconds to get a towel from the on-suite bathroom and discard the used condom.

You have to give yourself a little moment to come back down to earth after that extraordinary moment that you just shared with Lip. Pushing yourself to the top of the bed as Lip comes over to clean you up. He tosses the towel aside when it is no longer needed and opens the blanket for you to climb underneath.

He slips into the covers with you, pulling you into his body.

“I told you it would be fun.” He teases, kissing the top of your head as you snuggle into his chest. But you knew, as you drift off to sleep, that your dreams will never live up to this reality.

~~~~

Let me know what you think!! Appreciate all of you so much. <3

#Lip Gallagher x reader #Lip Gallagher x reader smut #Lip Gallagher smut #Lip Gallagher x fem!reader #lip gallagher #lip gallagher imagine #shameless fanfic #shameless x reader #shameless smut #theapangea #smut

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hoovesandfloorpaws · 13 days ago

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Can you explain why they are always in the guestlist?

hello @curly94 sweetpea,

(I have to pre-face this by saying that I mainly work in Europe, so I can mostly only speak on that region of the industry)

The most compact answer I can give you is that it's a perk of being famous. And the same basically goes for every single certain-level-of-famous person in the world.

that is the sad truth of this society - the more famous you are, which usually means that you've also got a lot of money, the more you get for free. it's definitely not fair.

I do know a lot of bands/artists who over the years have refused free entry and tried to pay the entry money at the guest list or have donated the ticket price to a charity instead.

Some bands from the get-go put people on the guestlist and demand a charity donation of their choice in exchange for entry, which is a concept I love and my experience is that most guests make absolutely no fuss about paying. it's not about the money to them, it's about getting to enter and seeing the show either from a VIP section, side- or backstage, etc.

But back to the topic.

Having Louis attend a show is always in part promo, when he makes his attendance public (which he obviously doesn't always do). We did see an article being published about Louis going to the Oasis show -- plus, it also works well for artist relations. Agencies have an interest in trying to connect their artists with one another. With Oasis, it's definitely also in part just friends supporting each other and enjoying seeing the other on stage. I wonder if Liam will also go to one of Louis' or Harry's show on his next tour.. I can't remember if he already did.

There's shows where certain A-list and B-list celebrities of all trades are being invited without even having asked for it, just in hopes that they will attend. I'm pretty sure Louis didn't even have to ask first if he/they can come, but was instead just asked which show he wants/they want to attend and that was it. but take it with a grain of salt, it's just my gut feeling about his and Harry's quite cordial relationship with Liam Gallagher.

Now that I am on this topic, I'd like to expand on it: ✨The guestlist✨ has a very precarious balance between demand of all kinds and venue capacity. for many, especially in the music industry, it's purely a sign of status and a topic of maaaaaany a headache. especially for people who have to make the decisions about them. (and i've walked long, long kilometres in those shoes)

each concert usually has a couple of different guestlists. let me give you a breakdown: the band/artists' guestlist - usually includes • family, friends, partners (incl. stunts/beards) and they all usually get AAA or at least VIP passes • personal photographers, if they are only to attend that show • personnel of all kinds, if they are only to attend that show privately • all friends' & family of the travelling crew the management agency guestlist - usually includes • other talent of that agency who want to/are asked to attend • international press & PR partners (incl. stunts/beards) • photographers that mgmt has approved • employees of that company and their friends • record label employees (but sometimes there's another extra guestlist for them, too) • also includes the free tickets that the company has pre-reserve/pre-buy before the tickets even went on sale for the general public the tour booking agency guestlist - usually includes • other talent of that agency who want to/are asked to attend • employees of that company and their friends • photographers that the agency and mgmt have approved

the local promoter (if there is one) guestlist - usually includes • local press partners i.e. radio station DJs • local journalists who will write concert reviews • photographers that the agency and mgmt have approved • employees of that company and their friends • also includes free tickets that the local promoter company was contractually allowed to pre-reserve/pre-buy before the tickets even went on sale for the general public

venue guestlist - usually includes • employees of the venue and their friends • contracted house photographers

and if you see all that, I think you can imagine how MANY guestlist spots just one concert can have: hundreds!

I'd wager Louis (and possibly Harry) is either on Liam Gallagher's personal guestlist (aka. the band's list) or if they just have a management one (since they have founded their own management, Ignition, years ago), then on that one.

I hope he's/they're gonna have an amazing time!! (◡‿◡✿)

And I hope this helped a little, anon x 💖 thank you for your kind question!

#ask #tour life #music industry #guestlist shenanigans #Oasis #liam gallagher #larry mutual friends #meta #louis #for new larries #paz rambles #4 july 2025 #july 2025 #2025

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esmedelacroix · 29 days ago

Text

08 - Hurt People²

synopsis ! he’s an american football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night . she’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life . they lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room .

previous chapter | series masterlist

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol, angst, brief mention of self-harm, depressive tendencies, suggestive, explicit mentions of smut

fic radio ! I Didn't Change My Number by Billie Eilish

Out of spite and because there was literally no work to be done, you took Gojo up on his offer to attend his game and the after-party. You wore your best pair of jean shorts and a bikini top. Over it, you put on one of Toji's jerseys that Gojo stole for you. Everyone wore jerseys with the players' names on them. But that was merchandise that could be bought. There was a difference between the merch that could be purchased and the actual jerseys. They got new jerseys in their junior year, so you were wearing his old one that was considered vintage.

Suguru entered your room as you did your finishing touches on your makeup. “You’re doing a little more than usual tonight. Making someone jealous?” he hummed as he watched you apply your fragrance to your hot spots.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, as you looked at your reflection.

"But seriously, who does beach party themed functions in fucking fall?" you ask inbetween swipes of mascara.

"Sounds dumb to me, but Pi Alpha Kappa isn't known for brains. They just lie and pick their themes solely on how much skin they're going to see from the girls," Suguru shrugged.

Little did he know, the reason their average GPA was strangely high(3.0) was not because they paid or lied, it was because of Sukuna. And his big annoying fucking brain. A smart guy like him calling you a bitch when your grades were sipping was probably completely justified. He was the one doing better than anyone incluidng you in math, and soon he would be better than you in your own specialty.

You had to hurt him, though. You couldn't just let him name-call you to other frat brothers behind your back scott free. After being called a bitch so much for simplycaring about your grades and your future, you couldn't let this slide. You needed revenge, and you knew just how to get it. The dream plan would be to get with his best friend, Toji. Though you had never done anything of the sort, your only real obstacle was his ex-girlfriend, Delilah. You didn't blame him for going back to her; she was a stunner. You just had to pray that they were broken up for the eighth time this month.

The game, to no one's surprise, went very well. Sukuna played very intensely and got an odd amount of contact for a quarterback. You were sitting in the best seats in the house again, thanks to Gojo, meaning that you could see the sidelines and they could see you. Sukuna stared again when he saw you, but this one was different. He looked a bit irritated. Guess he really doesn't like me. Then why did he pretend? Toji also saw your jersey. You didn't exactly plan ahead on how you would respond to his reaction, but to your luck, he just smirked and shook his head, exchanging some words with Gojo while they drank from their Gatorade bottles.

After the game, you, Suguru, and Shoko hung out before heading to the party because why would you be on time for a frat party? When the three of you got to the house, you had already changed your top, and Todo's eyes were on you immediately. "Woah, you look good. All this for Toji and not the nation's best linebacker?" grinned, stepping aside to let you in.

"What are you on about?" you asked.

"You wore his jersey to the game. School gossip page took a photo. Said you were making a public statement. Delilah's pissed. She's probably getting tag teamed at Wang's," he gossiped.

You rolled your eyes, walked in, mentally thanking Todo for the information. You had the best chance to piss Sukuna off and you were going to seize it and take on your final bitch form.

You stepped into the kitchen after seeing who was around and spotted Sukuna with a solo cup in hand in the corner, surprisingly out of his room. You turned away when the two of you made eye contact. You drained whatever drink Suguru passed you before walking around to find Toji. "Who you lookin' for?" you heard a deep, gravely voice ask in a sing-singy tone in your ear. You whipped around to see none other than Toji towering over you with a confident smirk.

"No one," you smiled.

"Ryo?" he guessed.

"Nope."

"Me?" he hummed, pointing to himself with a little smile.

"Maybe," you smiled.

"What 'r you playin' at, firecracker?" he grinned, getting so close to your face you could feel his breath fanning on you. You looked up at him with your best doe eyes and lied, "If you’re talking about the jersey, it was all Satoru could find.”

“Bullshit, that narcissistic freak has too many of his own. You could have worn one of his. But you wore mine,” he chuckled, “You’re trying to get back at Ryo, huh?”

“Maybe.”

“Is it cause he called you a bitch?” he laughed.

“God fuck, I forgot you tell each other everything,” he cursed rolling your eyes.

“Well, I don’t really care. You’re hot. Im hot. We both have people to piss off,” he shrugged.

He grabbed your hand and led you through the crowd. The usual rotation of frat party songs were playing, but the song switched to some sexy rnb tune. Toji’s large hands wrapped around your waist as he started swaying in time with you. His mouth found your flushed ears and whispered, “You look cute with your little bikini on.”

You grinded against him, and you felt Toji’s hips roll into yours. You had only heard stories of how dirty he was when he danced, and now you were experiencing it. Meanwhile, Sukuna stared daggers into his best friend’s back, he knew Toji could feel. Maybe I deserve this for being such a fucking asswipe, Sukuna thought.

He hated how much of his dad he was seeing in himself. Sukuna called a classmate a bitch in his second year of hisghschol. The english teacher that took a part in changing his life taught him about what it really meant to call a women a bitch. Since then, he had never done it. Until now. He was like his father. Rude to women, terrible with his emotions, and a coward.

So though he stood in the corner pretending to give a fuck about what Choso was saying, too ashamed and nervous, there was nothing he could do about the fact that he lost you before he could have you the way he wanted. And his best friend was a fucking jackass.

You received his notebook with the notes and shit, so why were you doing this? You were taking his apology and throwing it away. So he did the only reasonable thing he could do. He struck up a conversation with that random girl he wasn't interested in to hurt you back. He was almost sure that the two of you shared some brief kind of connection, but he was so painfully wrong, seeing that you were currently dry humping his best friend on the dance floor.

Now he was on the dance floor with a different girl, but he was staring at you the whole time. The girl's eyes followed his, looking at you, and she knew that no matter how well she acted, he wasn't here for her tonight. He wasn't picking up the lonely girl who yearned for him, glued to the party walls. He was here for you. The girl who wore his friend's jersey to the game. The girl who was now dancing with Toji Fushiguro like she'd wake up in his bed the next morning.

When you and Toji spun around together, his warm hands that rested on your waist ventured lower, giving you a squeeze. "Looks like we've given him a show," he whispered in your ear looking directly into Sukuna's eyes, smirking.

"Then our job here is done," you replied in his ear, turning to face him. You nodded to him with a smile taking his hand and bringing him outside to the pool. People were making out poolside and chugging kegs. No one was actually in the pool at the pool party hence the fucking insane weather and could've sworn you saw people fucking behind a bush. Let's just say, they weren't fully concealed by the bush, and you were seeing cheeks for days.

Toji led you to a vacant table, offering you a beer from the cooler. You put up your hand to stop him. "I've had enough."

"Enough of what? The alcohol? The party? Me? Pretending this is what you want to be doing right now?" Toji asked.

"Just," sigh, "Everything. I don't know ... not to sound super depressing but I don't even know why I'm here. I should be studying right now and I'm no longer number one. That sucks," you admitted.

"You study all the damn time though," he chuckled.

"Well, it's obviously not enough because I'm not doing well."

"No, you're doing even more than well. There's just nobody out there doing weller than you," he said.

"Better," you smiled. He hummed in question.

"Better. People do better not weller," you corrected on instinct, to which he laughed.

"You do too much," he commented.

"Well apparently Im not doing enough."

"Have you ever thought that you were maybe doing too much, and that's what's sabotaging you?" he suggested.

"Um, no? The person who studies the most always does weller than the one that studies less thats how it works," you lectured.

"Better," Toji smirked.

"What?"

"You meant better. And I think it would be weller for your happiness and your math grade, if you talked to Sukuna," he advised.

"Why should I talk to him? I might be too bitchy for him," you said sourly.

"Okay now you're really being a bitch 'cause your lil' friends didn't let him into your room which he predicted so he wrote an apology on the last page of the notebook, that was pretty damn thoughtful and he doesn't do shit liek taht ever," he sighed.

"I'm sorry what? There was an apolgy?" you questioned.

"Yeah ... he said he put it in the back because he knows that you don't have yer conversions and shit memorized so you flip to the back of the notebook a whole lot," he shrugged.

You shoulders slumped, mouth fell slightly open, and eyes softened. "He did that?"

Toji took in your almost guilty and lovestruck expression and smiled to himself. "Yeah, Ryo did that," he almost whispered.

"I need to go," you suddenly said, standing up. You were about to rush to your dorm from the backyard when you felt Toji's large hand envelop your wrist. "Hold on, it's fuckin' freezing and you're wearin' a bikini top. Take this," he said, offering his Carhartt to you. You thankfully grabbed it. Immediately putting it on

"Also, you should probably go out through the front door. You don't really have the frat eye, but there's more than just that one couple getting down and dirty over there. It's like a game of whack-a-mole," he chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets. The music got louder as you stepped back into the house. You walk through the party with Toji's hand protectively hovering behind your back. He led you to the front door and bid you farewell. "I would walk you home, but I can't risk being seen by Delilah. She's at the house over. But you're a big girl, you can handle yourself," he smiled, waving.

You walked with purpose, planning on marching right to your door and ripping that notebook open and consuming his words. The ones you thought never received. You should have looked. You should have just accepted the help when you first got it instead of being bitter.

Meanwhile, Toji closed the door behind him, and he was met with Sukuna right away. "She may be a big girl," sukuna air quoted, "And be able to handle herslef, but you don't let a woman walk home alone at fucking night during pary you weekend just 'cause you wat to save face and not adress the fact that Delilah doesn't love you but you still love her and she's hurt you so much that you like it and you can't stop fucking going back. You goddamn idiot," Sukuna spat.

So sure, he projected a little bit, but Toji needed to hear it. He grabbed his almost identical Carhartt coat from the coat rack and rushed out the door, leaving Toji with his heavy feelings that had just been thrown at his face raw. You didn't realize that you were being followed to your dorm, of course, you didn't. This is why Sukuna had to do this. Who knew what kind of people you could be lurking at this hour? He watched you walk into your building and just stared at the door, hoping that maybe you would come down because you somehow forgot something and would see him there waiting for you.

You never walk out. But you sat in your room. Picked up the notebook you discarded. Flipped through the carefully crafted notes. He got all the way to module five. You smiled at the spaces he left because he knew you liked to doodle while reading. You then flipped to the last page. Your eyes flickered to the foreign, familiar conversion and equation table, then to "the apology." It wasn't long. All it read was:

I'm sorry about the bitch thing. I didn't want people associating you with me. I'm a mess and a broke fatherless loser who's only god qualities are football, brains, and my dad's face. I don't want your perfect, caefully crafted reputation tarnished 'cause every one secretly knows I'm a fuck up and just assumes I'm dumb as fuck. I'm sorry I was trying to protect you, but maybe I should've gone about that better. Can you forgive me? P.S. I need help with my essay.

You chuckled at the last part, staring over the careful writing. You tidied up your hair on a new high. You would text him later, you thought to yourself as you got on your online database and opened up the notebook to the first page and started studying.

. . .

-> next part

@minasuniverse @not-a-glad-gladiator @love-me-satoru @sukunawhores @emoedgylord @domainofmarie @sadrna @lazylunarlover @tamishadawn @boudoirbae @river-vixenn @bitchyfestivalbouquet @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @clp-84 @emochosoluvr @yoongithebean @linaaeatsfamilies @magalimachete @chubbydumplingbarnes @katsukiseyebrows @sukubusss @r33m-world @pelicanpizza @mykuronekome @linny-bloggs @your-mum3000 @jayathelostdragon @userr152536367474 @veras-fanfic-reblogs @yuaisen @k0taaaa @nina-from-317 @sukunasrealgf @sukunana12 @synthesame @kyo-kyo1 @chloe022r @detredoomy @lanaleanne @kunascutie

comment to be added to the taglist !

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verstappenf1lecccc · 8 months ago

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The Secret Kiss

It was a bright, bustling day at Silverstone Circuit, the sound of engines roaring in the distance echoing through the air, carrying with it the undeniable energy of an F1 race weekend. The crowd’s excitement buzzed like a swarm of bees as thousands filled the stands, waving British flags, all cheering for their home hero, Lewis Hamilton.

But for Y/N, today was more than just another race. It had been months since she and Lewis had begun their secret relationship—months of stolen moments, late-night conversations, and quiet dates away from the public eye. She had never sought the fame that came with being linked to a driver of his caliber, and he respected that more than anything. So, they kept their love quiet, protected by the privacy of their own world.

However, today was different. She stood in the team’s garage, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, dressed in the Mercedes gear she’d been gifted on one of their many quiet weekends together. It was a subtle gesture—enough to blend in, yet still make her presence known to the team. She wasn’t part of the media circus, the fans, or the spotlight. Her role in this world was that of a silent supporter, standing by Lewis in the shadows, away from the cameras.

The race was nearing its end, and Lewis had been on fire all weekend. Every lap, every corner, he seemed to gain momentum, feeding off the energy of his home crowd. It was as if the weight of everyone’s hopes and expectations had somehow fused with his determination, creating the perfect storm.

And now, as the final lap began, Y/N stood in the garage, hands pressed firmly against the railing, eyes trained on the screen. Lewis was in the lead—his heart and soul, fully invested in the race. The pit crew buzzed around, getting ready for any last-minute adjustments, but Y/N couldn’t pull her gaze away.

Her heart raced as the final few corners of the track came into view. The roar of the crowd outside was deafening, but in the garage, it was almost too quiet, save for the occasional call over the radio and the soft hum of the engine.

The countdown had begun.

“Come on, Lewis,” she whispered under her breath, her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the metal railing.

And then, the moment everyone had been waiting for finally arrived.

“Lewis Hamilton wins the British Grand Prix!”

The roar from the crowd outside the garage was nothing short of thunderous, vibrating through the walls and floor. Y/N’s chest swelled with pride and relief, her heart bursting with excitement. She could see the elation on the faces of the Mercedes team as they began to celebrate.

But what caught her off guard was the sudden sensation of a pair of arms wrapping around her waist. The smell of Lewis’s cologne was familiar, comforting—like home. Before she could even turn to look at him, his lips were on hers, soft and full of the joy he was feeling.

The kiss was brief, but it was everything. A moment where the whole world seemed to pause, just for them. Y/N melted into him, her hands coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, matching her own.

“You did it,” she whispered against his lips, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, his breath still ragged from the intensity of the race. His eyes sparkled with the excitement of victory. “We did it,” he corrected, his smile wide and sincere.

“But we can’t be seen,” she whispered, glancing around quickly to make sure no one had noticed them. The garage was buzzing with activity as the team celebrated, but no one had seen the intimate exchange.

“I don’t care,” he replied, his voice low and steady, eyes locking with hers. “I just wanted to kiss you, Y/N. I’ve been wanting to do this all day.”

Her heart fluttered. There was something about the way he looked at her, as though she were the only person in the room. She knew it wasn’t just the race that had him so euphoric—it was her. She felt the same way.

“Your team’s waiting,” she said, glancing over at the crew members, now cheering for their victorious driver.

“Let them wait,” he said, taking a step back only to pull her closer again. “I’ll be right there. But first, you have to know how much I appreciate you—how much I love having you by my side.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, a wave of emotion flooding over her. They had never spoken so openly about their feelings before, always careful to keep their love under wraps. But in that moment, surrounded by the hum of the team, the roaring crowd, and the quiet camaraderie they shared, there was no denying the depth of what they had.

“I love you too,” she whispered, so softly only he could hear it.

His lips curved into a tender smile. “You’re all I ever wanted, Y/N. Win or lose, this—us—it’s the only thing that matters.”

Before she could respond, his arm was around her shoulders, guiding her toward the pit lane where the team was waiting to congratulate him. Y/N couldn’t help but smile as she walked with him, hands brushing together, the secret they shared more intimate than any trophy or victory could ever be.

As they emerged into the light of the pit lane, the cheers of the crowd washed over them, but in the midst of it all, it was as if they were alone in their own world. Lewis turned to her, his eyes soft with adoration. Then, without warning, he kissed her again—this time a quick but meaningful peck on her lips before he turned to face his team.

She smiled, keeping her distance, but there was no mistaking the love between them.

For now, they would stay hidden, and the world would think nothing more of it than a driver celebrating his win. But Y/N knew the truth and so did Lewis.

No matter how much the world saw or didn’t see, they would always have each other.

#formual one #f1 imagine #f1 scenario #f1 x reader #formula one #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis x reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x y/n #f1 fandom #f1 fic #f1 x you #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fiction

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love--and--venom · 8 months ago

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A (Not So) Meet Cute: Chapter Three

Chapter Summary: You're beginning to fall into a new routine with the members of Stray Kids. A phone call from the police stops you dead in your tracks.

Warnings: Descriptions of stalking, reader has a ton of anxiety (rightfully so), cops

Series Masterlist

A/N: will my MCs ever find peace? probably not.

When you woke up the next morning, you doubted that Seungmin would actually walk you to work. After all, why would he wake up early just to be your escort? You went through your routine as usual, making sure to double and triple check that your phone was charged and the charger was in your bag before heading out.

“Morning.” You jumped as you exited your apartment building. Holy shit, Seungmin was really waiting for you. He leaned against the back of a bench across from the entrance, eyebrow quirked in amusement. He wore a mask again today, but went without a hat.

“Oh my god, Seungmin, you didn’t have to get up early just to walk me to work.” You held your elbow in your hand, feeling guilty for burdening the idol.

“I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to.” The corners of Seungmin’s eyes crinkled and he stood properly to brush his knuckles across your cheek. You gaped at him, suddenly feeling warm despite the cool autumn breeze.

“Oh, um, okay. If you’re sure. The bus stop is this way.” You led the way to your usual stop, the bus arriving not long after you. The commute honestly wasn’t bad, yesterday had been a fluke.

“I haven’t been on a public bus in years,” Seungmin mentioned as you found open seats. You raised your eyebrows.

“Really? I guess that makes sense, though. It’s safer for you to have a driver.” You could only assume that being on public transport had too much risk of being recognized.

“Technically, I’m not allowed to use buses.”

“Are you going to get in trouble because of this?!” You scolded with a glare. Seungmin shrugged in response, completely unbothered with his little act of rebellion. You shook your head, turning back to your phone to scroll on Instagram for a bit. You angled your phone toward Seungmin when you noticed him looking over your shoulder. Fifteen minutes and four stops later, you stepped off the bus and made the final ten minute walk to the bookstore.

“I’ll be back later to walk you home,” Seungmin said as he held the door open for you.

“But-”

“No ‘buts’, see you later.” He nudged you into the store and went back the way you had come from. You were left baffled once again, but pushed it aside to focus on your shift.

Over the next week, every member of Stray Kids walked with you to and from work. Seungmin showed up the most out of everyone. It felt like overkill, but they wouldn’t accept any arguments from you. Today’s shift dragged on with how little there was to do. Everything was clean and stocked, there were hardly ten customers in the 3 hours since your shift started, and you’ve closed and reopened TikTok at least five times. The soft classical music playing over the store radio threatened to lull you to sleep. You were jolted out of your stupor by your phone buzzing on the counter.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, this is Officer Jeong. May I speak to Ms. Y/N L/N?” A serious-sounding man asked curtly.

“This is she.”

“Ah, hello Ms. L/N. I am calling on behalf of Detective Keng. She has some new information regarding your case and would like to call you today to discuss,” Officer Jeong explained.

“Oh! Of course, I finish work at 3pm and should be home around 3:30,” you told the officer. He hummed, keys clicking swiftly in the background.

“That should work perfectly. Detective Keng will be finished with a meeting at 4pm, so she will be able to call shortly afterward.” You quickly wrote down the detective’s name and the time she’d be calling on a sticky note.

“Okay, thank you for letting me know, Officer.” You exchanged polite goodbyes and hung up. Cool, now that you were incredibly anxious, the next three hours of your shift should go by much more quickly.

You predicted correctly. After finishing the call with Officer Jeong, the afternoon flew by in a blur and soon enough Seungmin appeared to walk you home. You told him about the upcoming phone call and your subsequent anxiety while you sat on the bus.

“Do you want me to stay for the call?” Seungmin offered, albeit a little hesitantly.

“Honestly, that would be really nice. Are you sure, though? You sounded kinda nervous.”

“I’m sure. I just haven’t been in your apartment yet and I didn’t want to invite myself in, y’know?” He assured with a smile hidden behind his mask. Back at your apartment, Seungmin sat on your loveseat, watching you pace around your kitchen. He tried to get you to sit down and relax while you waited for the detective’s call, but you needed to do something to release your pent-up anxiety. Why didn’t Officer Jeong tell you if it was good news or bad news?! Finally, finally your phone rang. You rushed to sit next to Seungmin as you put the call on speaker.

“Hi, is this Y/N L/N?” A woman’s voice asked.

“Yes, I’m assuming this is Detective Keng?”

“It is, I see Officer Jeong was able to talk to you earlier. I’ve been looking into Cho Siwoo, the man that harassed you, and I’ve found some information that may be disturbing to you,” Detective Keng stated. A pit of worry gnawed at your stomach.

“Before you continue, I have a friend with me. Is it okay if he listens to our conversation?” You were terrified of having to deal with this alone.

“That’s quite alright.” You sighed quietly in relief. “Now, Mr. Cho has been living with a friend for several months. We interviewed his friend, and searched the apartment. Ms. L/N, it appears that he has been following you far longer than we expected.”

“What?” An icy chill creeped its way into your bloodstream. Seungmin scooted slightly closer to you, resting a hand on your knee.

“He has photos printed of you in a Ziploc bag amongst his other belongings. Some of these photos date back to April.”

“Bu-but it’s October now,” you stammered. Seungmin tightened his grip on your knee, but you moved his hand to hold in your own.

“I’m very sorry to tell you this, Ms. L/N, but he’s been watching for a very long time. There aren’t any photos of the inside of your apartment, nor any of you in compromising positions. But we’ve found that Mr. Cho has a reputation, and with that comes respect from others on the street.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Seungmin interrupted. Detective Keng sighed tiredly, which only made you more nervous.

“It means that he has access to information. Ms. L/N, do you have somewhere you can stay for the time being? I’m afraid your apartment isn’t safe at the moment, not until we’re able to confirm who all of Mr. Cho’s associates are.” Panicked tears fell down your cheeks. You didn’t have anywhere else to go, all you had was this apartment. The closest family member to you was still at least three hours away. You couldn’t just leave.

“Yes, ma’am, she does,” Seungmin answered in your silence. You stared at him, wide-eyed, but he kept his gaze fixed on your phone.

“Good. I’ll need the address. I would advise against walking anywhere alone for now. I promise you, I will make sure you and your home are safe again,” Detective Keng assured. The sharp edge to her voice confirmed her commitment. She gave you the number for her work phone, should you need anything, then ended the call. A sob wracked your body. Seungmin pulled you so you sat between his legs, both legs over one of his knees, and wrapped you tightly in his arms. You trembled violently in his hold.

“Why did you tell her I have somewhere to stay?! I hardly have friends in this city and my family is hours away, and I can’t afford–”

“Y/N,” Seungmin cut off your rambling, holding your face in his hands and forcing your eyes to meet his. “You’re staying with us.”

“What? No, Seungmin, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Good thing you’re not asking. I’m telling you, you can stay with us,” he insisted.

“Have you even asked the others about this? Even if you say I can, what if they say no?” Seungmin rolled his eyes, pulling out his phone and starting a call on speaker.

“Hey, is everything alright? You’re normally back by now,” Chan answered after a few rings.

“No, actually, a detective called Y/N about her case. That guy’s been stalking her for months, Chan. Her apartment isn’t safe.” You bit your lip, tears still streaming silently down your face. Seungmin guided your head to rest on his shoulder and exhaustion washed over you.

“Holy shit, are you serious?” You could hear the others shouting in the background. “Guys, please, I need you to be quiet. This is important.”

“I wish I was joking. The detective said she should stay somewhere else while they continue their investigation. Thing is, she doesn’t have any family close by.” He was baiting Chan and he only felt slightly guilty about it.

“She can stay with us,” the leader offered without hesitation.

“That’s what I told her. You believe me now?” Seungmin directed the question at you.

“Wait, am I on speaker? Y/N, I promise no one would have an issue with you staying here,” Chan confirmed. You hated that you were being such a burden to them. They have enough on their plate as-is. But you didn’t have much of a choice.

“Okay,” you whimpered in a voice so tiny, it squeezed at the hearts of both Chan and Seungmin.

“We’re gonna get some stuff packed for her, then head over. I’ll call for a car.”

“Good, I’ll see you both soon.” Chan hummed in acknowledgement. “And Y/N? I know what you’re thinking. You are not a burden.” You inhaled sharply, digging yourself further into Seungmin’s neck. He ended the call after another hasty goodbye.

For the next few minutes, you sat in silence to stave off your impending panic attack. Seungmin's chest vibrated as he quietly hummed the melody to Stars and Raindrops. You repeated the grounding exercise that Jisung showed you several times in your head. Now, with your panic dampened down to a nagging anxiety, you were suddenly very aware of the position of Seungmin’s hands. With the thumb of his left hand, he rubbed soothing circles on the nape of your neck, and his right sat patiently on your thigh.

“I’ll grab a suitcase,” you muttered, hoping your hair hid your reddened face as you moved to your room. Unfortunately for you, Seungmin was a very observant man. He smirked, but chose not to say anything. He offered to help you pack and you immediately refused. Your soul would have literally left your body if he accidentally caught a glimpse of your underwear. You rolled your suitcase and duffle bag into the living room once you finished, pausing to sling your bag across your shoulder.

“I called Dohyun, he should be here soon.” Seungmin stood and plucked your duffle bag from your hand. “Let’s get down to the garage.” The car pulled up right as you stepped out of the elevator. Dohyun tossed you a sympathetic smile after you slid into the backseat. Seungmin sat next to you and nodded to Dohyun, who promptly began the drive back to the dorm.

All of the Stray Kids members have seen your apartment, but this was the first time you’ve been to their dorm. Honestly? It was much cleaner than you anticipated, considering eight young men lived here. Actually, the furniture and decor were really stylish. Jisung and Chan were the only ones in the living room. The leader stood to help with your luggage but paused when he noticed your red, puffy eyes.

“I’m so sorry this is happening to you.” Chan wrapped you in a firm, comforting hug. You gripped the back of his t-shirt to ground yourself and fight back a fresh onslaught of tears. “Is there anything you need right now?”

“I just really want to take a nap.” You reluctantly pulled back so he could guide you to the couch. You allowed Jisung to bring your head to lay on his lap. He carded his fingers through your hair and the tension slowly melted from your body. You vaguely felt a second pair of hands tuck a fluffy blanket around you before succumbing to sleep.

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#stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids fanfic #bangchan x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #seo changbin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #lee felix x reader #han jisung x reader #kim seungmin x reader #yang jeongin x reader #i.n x reader #fanfiction writer #writing

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