#Writing 𝜗𝜚˚ !

[written4u]

CATCHING STRAYS ✴︎ LN04

There's a stray child in the McLaren garage, and of course, Lando is the one who has to deal with it.

━━━ 🔗 LN4 MASTERLIST

PAIRING.   Lando Norris x Single Mother!FemReader WORDS.   1k TAGS.   Tooth-rotting Fluff. NOTE.   The cutest thing I've ever written ( yet ). This drabble is about another pairing I had in mind... <33

Likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Something tugged at Lando’s race suit.

Amid the paddock frenzy, that subtle touch⏤so gentle he first thought he’d imagined it⏤startled him enough to abandon his pre-race ritual.

He looked down.

And found himself nose-to-nose with a pair of big amber eyes.

Lando blinked.

The child blinked back.

“What the—?” he murmured before crouching to her level. “What are you doing here, muppet? Where are your parents?”

She let go of his leg, stuffed her fist into her mouth—long enough for drool to glisten down her chin and wrist—and dropped onto the ground with a soft oomph.

She smacked her lips a few times—undoubtedly mimicking someone—and then clapped her hands, giggling.

“Mama!”

Lando cast a desperate glance around him, but the engineers and mechanics paid him no mind, wholly absorbed in their final adjustments to the car.

“I don’t know where your mama is.”

He ran a hand through his curls as stress began to rise. The girl looked at him with wide, hopeful eyes, only fuelling the tsunami building in his chest.

Of course it had to happen to him.

“Well... what am I supposed to do with you now?”

For a fleeting moment, he considered calling Oscar, who was probably still holed up in his room, but the Aussie driver was just as hopeless in situations like this—if not worse. His mother’s face flashed through his mind, and he suppressed a shiver at the thought of her scolding him.

That’s when he noticed it.

Tucked between the girl’s overalls and t-shirt, a lanyard.

Carefully, Lando pulled it free and let out a sigh of relief when he saw the pass. He flipped it over, softened momentarily at the ID photo, and read the name printed in bold.

“Apolline L/N? Well, at least we know you're not a paddock intruder, muppet.”

She giggled as if she understood him, then tipped forward—still figuring out her balance, clearly. Lando caught her before she hit the ground, muttering a quiet thanks for his fast reflexes.

As he resumed reading, he absentmindedly rubbed her back. Shaken by her near tumble, she had settled her head against his chest, sucking on her thumb.

Apolline L/N VIP ACCESS A guest of: SCUDERIA FERRARI

“Well, I guess your mama’s probably over at Ferrari. What do you say, Apolline?” He leaned back to meet her gaze. “Shall we go for a walk?”

He stood, a child in his arms and tiny fingers clinging to his fireproofs.

Together, they set off.

Eyes lingered on the duo as they passed by. Whispers soon followed. What was Lando Norris doing with a small girl in his arms? Was that his sister? His daughter from a past fling?

He could already imagine the headlines, always eager to twist the narrative. Watching warily as a cameraman aimed his lens at them, he tucked Apolline's head into his neck and tightened his embrace before quickening his pace.

He passed Williams, then Mercedes—ignoring George’s raised eyebrow—and finally stopped in front of the red garage.

The usual Monaco frenzy took on a different flavour here. Lando could almost taste the tension soaked into every inch of the garage.

Ferrari wasn’t swept up in Monaco mania, no; they were drowning in Chaos.

A Charles in full race gear paced, his phone pressed to his ear, while a flustered Alexandra—so far removed from her usual elegance—tried to comfort a woman in tears.

Her sobs drowned out the frantic conversations of the team, whose faces all wore the same expression: that of pure dread.

In his arms, Apolline began to wriggle.

“Mama!”

At the sound, the woman spun around. She tore herself from Alexandra’s arms and ran to Lando.

The latter remained frozen as he took in the woman before him. His eyes darted between her sparkling gaze and her intoxicating mouth. They would have travelled further down—drawn to the delicious lines of her figure in that dress—had she not spoken, brows furrowed.

“May I have my daughter back?”

Her French accent nearly made him faint.

“What? Your daughter… Oh—uh—yeah! Of course!” he stammered. “She’s yours. Right. Obviously.”

Clumsily, he transferred Apolline into her mother’s arms. She hugged the girl tightly before setting her down and checking her over.

“Mon ange! You scared me to death! Don't ever do that again. If you want to go wandering, we’ll go together. Understood?”

The little girl just laughed, unfazed by the turmoil she’d caused, and dashed off into the garage. Lando watched her wrap herself around Alexandra’s legs, and then—

Vanilla.

Lando instinctively hugged the woman back. He buried his nose in her hair and breathed in the sweet scent as his hands tightened on her back.

“Thank you,” she whispered with the kind of gratitude only a mother could convey.

When she stepped back, Lando was already mourning the warmth of her body against his. Flushing, he rubbed the back of his neck to chase the thought away and shrugged.

Control yourself, she has a child.

“It’s nothing. Anyone would’ve done the same.”

“Still. It means a lot.”

She offered her hand.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Lando.”

Alexandra called her over. Y/N gave him a small, apologetic smile—one that did something strange to his chest—and turned to walk away, tossing a final “thank you” over her shoulder.

Lando stayed there, a little dazed.

A throat cleared, breaking the spell.

Fred Vasseur stood in front of him with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. Only then did Lando realize half the garage was staring at him.

Knowing he had overstayed his welcome, he turned on his heel and headed back toward the McLaren garage—but not without grabbing Charles by the collar. The Monegasque struggled against his hold before freezing as Lando leaned in and whispered:

“Give me Y/N’s number, or I’m crashing into you at turn one, constructors’ championship be damned.”

[qiyuearning]

your first time with caleb and he is so, so… how can he even describe it?

“you’re— you’re— i can’t even . . . ohmygod? just wow.” he says all in one breath, eyes struggling to focus on just one part of you. his hands hover just over your torso, tracing the air over eager skin. he doesn’t know if he can handle even a second more of this. is he dreaming right now? is he allowed to?

god, let him have this. finally, his hands find their way to your hips, slender fingers flexing against smooth curves. he could feel your body pressed against his, warm and solid. real.

he always had a snarky quip or a teasing remark to lighten the mood, but right now, all that escapes his lips is an uncharacteristically pathetic sound he doesn’t mean to let slip.

“pip— you’re gorgeous. i mean you’re always gorgeous! o-obviously. always have been,” he sputters, his breathing almost erratic as he chastises himself in an attempt to chase after what little shred of common sense and control he has left. “can i? i mean, will you let me . . . ? no— god, if i could just—“

caleb babbles perhaps a million things per minute—prayers most likely, so fast that it makes your head spin. it isn’t until he feels your touch on his chest that he calms down, your hand warm and solid. real.

“slow down.” you sigh from your place in his lap. he looks like he’s about to burst into tears— or flames. “use your words, caleb.”

he was a man on the edge, a man finally acknowledging his need. his lips found the sensitive spot on your collarbone, teeth scraping against tender flesh lightly.

he looks at you for further permission, a violet gaze that is screaming please, please, please, let me have this. hesitantly, he places an experimental kiss along your jaw. then one to your lips. then another, and another until he can’t remember a feeling that could ever be better than this. it’s desperate, rushed, and a little clumsy, a culmination of years spent holding back.

“. . . words are the last thing on my mind right now, pipsqueak.”

he feels the heat of your body through the thin fabric of your clothes, the weight of your thighs pressed against his. his fingers find the edge of your shirt, slipping underneath to ghost over your skin. his touch is both gentle and possessive, as if claiming something long overdue as his.

[isasweetie]

in which you’re forced into having a talk with your ex-boyfriend, rafe cameron, on the boat ride to morocco.

being a pogue and rafe cameron’s ex was not easy. although you dated shortly before he killed peterkin, and you were sure he barely even remembered your favourite colour, seeing him blatanly disrespect you and his friends, and go down a path you tried so hard to prevent him from, was hard to watch. but now he’s picked himself up since ward died. you thought you had another chance to at least be on good terms. sending flowers and a card to tanneyhill when ward died, smiling at him when you’d see him around. it didn’t work, he still hated you and your friends.

fortunately, he redeemed himself ever so slightly by volunteering to take the pogues to morocco. rafe had to find chandler groff, you guys wanted the blue crown. it was perfect.

until jj punched him, that is. he knocked him out cold. with a scolding “jj!” coming from majority of the pogues, including you, jj carries him down into the downstairs washroom and ties his wrists to a pole. they don’t trust him, which is fair. you don’t either — you shouldn’t, anyway.

rafe was down there quietly for a mere half hour until he woke up with a groan from his head hitting the ground earlier, followed up with yelling once he realizes he was stuck down there.

all touching your noses and saying ‘not it’ the minute pope suggests someone going down there to check on him, you’re the unlucky one who said it last. shutting up your protests, john b gently coaxes you downstairs, saying things like, “you used to mack on him”, “this is good, you know him”, “he won’t hurt you,” john b leaves you downstairs once you make it to the door of the bathroom. knocking gently, you timidly ask, “can i come in?”

there’s no answer. you can picture him. wrists tied, brows furrowed, eyes closed tightly as his head leans against the wall and towards the ceiling. his gorgeous stressed face. you slowly open the door, peeking your head in. “hi,” you say gently, timid around the scary and aggressive man you have the curse of calling your ex.

“…hey,” rafe says, voice rough as he shuts his eyes tight.

unsure what to say, you awkwardly stand there and stare down at him. “um, i brought asprin,”

“right, right, like i can fuckin’ swallow it. what, you gonna throw it in my mouth like a.. seal or something?” sassy, his upper lip lifts a bit as he thinks about it and isn’t very fond of the idea.

a second of silence as you figure out what to say. “…um, ill just set it down here,” you say, putting the container down beside him. “sorry about your head.”

“yeah, uh, your little boyfriend can’t control his fists, huh?”

“…not my boyfriend,” you correct softly, though you’re not sure why you feel the need to tell him that. “but no one really.. trusts you, rafe, so you kind of brought this on yourself—“

he quickly interrupts you. “bullshit. you know why that’s bullshit? because i was helping. who got you this boat, huh? me. i did. rafe. i’m the reason that you guys aren’t swimming, or some shit, to north africa. i’m being helpful and understanding, and this is what i get. you think that’s fair?” when you’re stood there in silence at his sudden raised voice, he repeats, “you think that’s fucking fair, y/n!?” he kicks a can in anger.

it’s like you’re his girlfriend again as you sit down next to him instantly instead of running. you get deja vu to the time three years ago when he was high on coke and got kicked out of the house. everyone ignored him except for you. “..um, okay, i’m gonna give you some asprin,” you say softly. “help your head. open,” you tell him, grabbing a pill as he gives you a look but opens his mouth. you pop it in his mouth and he dry swallows. “there.”

you two share a look. you don’t think it’s a bad look by any means. he looks frustrated still, but there’s an underlying gentleness in his eyes, as if he registers you’re still the same girl you were when you two were together. “…and, um, for the record, i don’t think it’s fair that you’re down here. you helped us, thats.. nice.”

the word ‘us’ when referring to you and the pogues makes him feel weird. “i don’t get why you hang out with them,” he mutters as he looks at the ground. “tried so fucking hard to keep you away from them when we were.. together.”

“i know,” you whisper, your gaze dropping as well, to his tied wrists. you feel awful. “trust me, your warnings still play in my head when i’m with them sometimes,”

“you remind me of sarah.” he says. you’re not sure what that means.

“you hate sarah,”

“nah, nah— i don’t hate her. hate who she’s turned into,” he adjusts himself. “she makes me sad. i’m sad for her, alright? she had so much potential.“ he shrugs. “but there’s no saving her. she’s in too deep,” he looks back up at you again. “i think there’s saving you, though,”

“…this is weird, rafe,”

“how?” he asks.

“because in the years we’ve been broken up, you’ve never talked to me about this. feels like it’s a… trick or something,”

“it’s not a trick,” he assures, voice still rough. “look, i’m out half a mill, i’m tied up in a bathroom, i’m probably gonna.. die or something. i got nothing to lose, may as well tell you my concern,”

“um, i appreciate it,” you say gently, unsure how to respond. “and i’m gonna go back upstairs.”

“hey— no, woah, woah, woah,” he stops you quickly. “stay. okay?”

“i should go up and help with dinner, though—“

“no, stay. i— i want you to stay, okay? i don’t wanna be down here alone, and i want you away from the pogues,”

he doesn’t wanna be alone. you feel bad for him all over again, nodding gently as you sit back down beside him. you always were so good for rafe.

you’re not sure how long you’ll be down here with him. maybe until it’s late at night and he’s asleep. so gently, after about five minutes of silence, to ease some of the tension and pass the time, you murmur a, “truth or dare?”

rafe just smiles.

[shelovesmytears]

"Did you just take a picture of me?"

You blink at Cater.

He blinks back, grin spreading as his phone stays up like some sort of paparazzi.

"Do you mind?"

"Well, no, but you could've—"

"Then it's totally going on my Magicam Story!" He cuts you off, thumbs flying across the screen.

His voice cheerfully pitches up as he reads aloud, "Quality time with my best friend forever! #Trending, #TotalFriendship, #BFF4EVER, #SheDoesntKnowILikeHer—"

"What's that?" You drop onto the seat next to Cater, peering over his shoulder. "What did you—"

The last hashtag vanishes, deleted with the sheer speed of someone getting rid of political evidences. Cater then posts the photo and tucks his phone behind him.

"What's what?" He sing-songs.

"Oh, that's how it is?" You tilt your head, smirking, and reach for his phone anyway.

Cater effortlessly twists away, leans down to plant a feather-light kiss on your forehead and retreats with a carefree, "Haha, see ya later, best friend!"

You lean back in your chair, shaking your head. Cater being Cater—nothing new. Though you still find yourself reaching for the spot he just kissed, fingers gently brushing over it.

Meanwhile, Cater's confident facade has slipped and shattered on the ground into thousands of pieces as he hurries away. Hands frantically raking through his hair, he mutters under his breath and presses both palms to his face.

"Why... in the Sevens, did I do that?!"

[seobluuu]

𓂃 ࣪⋆🪞˚ ༘ the replacement game ⋆ 유지민

in which the cold, untouchable heiress to the yu group is used to getting what she wants and never letting anyone see her weaknesses. but when her ex-girlfriend flaunts her new relationship, karina does something reckless: she asks the cute barista from her favorite cafe to pretend to be her new girlfriend.

starring. chaebol!yu jimin x barista!reader

word count. 2.5k

genre. kinda rebound??!reader , fake dating , angst , non idol au , a little bit of fluff

part 1 part 2

the espresso machine hisses like an angry cat as you wipe down the counter. the café's afternoon lull has settled in, sunlight streaming through the windows in lazy golden streaks. you're restocking the cinnamon when the bell chimes with an unusual violence.

karina storms in, her usually perfect appearance disheveled — hair slightly messy, the collar of her black dior blazer crooked. her louboutons click sharply against the tile as she struts towards the counter.

"double espresso. now." her voice sharp.

you raise an eyebrow but say nothing, turning to prepare her usual. the silence stretches, thick with tension. when you slide the cup toward her, you notice her hands are trembling. 

"someone woke up on the wrong side of their penthouse this morning," you tease.

karina's dark eyes flash as she flicks up from her phone.  "do I pay you to psychoanalyze me?"  

"no, you pay me for overpriced caffeine," you counter, nodding to the untouched croissant from her last visit still sitting in the display case. "though apparently not to actually eat anything."  

"not hungry," she mutters, taking a sip and immediately wincing. "christ, that's bitter."  

you raise an eyebrow. "you order the same thing every time. since when do you care about bitter?"  

"my ex is dating someone new," she blurts out.

oh.

you quickly close your mouth before things get too awkward and nod sympathetically.

"ah. how long were you two—"

"four days." she slams the cup down, espresso sloshing over the rim. "it's been four fucking days since we broke up."

the raw pain in her voice makes you pause. you're about to respond when the door chimes again. karina goes rigid, her spine straightening like she's been electrocuted.

"well well, look who's here."

the voice drips with venom. you turn to see a stunning woman in head-to-toe chanel saunter in, arm linked with a gorgeous girl who looks fresh off a runway. 

"yuna, this is where jimin drowns her sorrows," soojin announces loudly, stroking her new girlfriend's arm. "the coffee's mediocre but it's... cute, i guess."

karina's fingers tighten around her cup so hard you hear the porcelain creak. you see it then — the moment her heartbreak curdles into something darker, sharper. 

an idea sparks in her eyes. before you can react, karina's hand shoots out to grasp yours across the counter, her grip almost painful. 

"jagiya," she says suddenly, too loud, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "didn't you say you were off at three?" her thumb strokes your knuckles in a mockery of affection. "let's get out of here."

soojin's perfectly sculpted eyebrows shoot up. "oh how cute. you replaced me already?" she tsks, examining you like a piece of flawed merchandise. "though i'd expected better from you, jimin."

you open your mouth to protest, but karina beats you to it. 

"actually," she purrs, leaning into your space until you catch the scent of her expensive perfume — rose and something darker, "we've been seeing each other for weeks." her smile is all sharp edges. "guess i wasn't as broken up about us as you thought."

the lie hangs in the air, thick as the coffee grounds clogging the espresso filter. you should pull away. you should call her out. 

but karina’s fingers were shaking, and her eyes — god, her eyes looked so hurt. 

soojin's laughter rings hollow. "pathetic." she drags her girlfriend toward the door, tossing over her shoulder, "have fun with your... little barista."

the bell jingles. 

silence descends as karina's grip goes slack, her carefully constructed mask crumbling. 

"i'm sorry," she mutters, avoiding your eyes. "that was— i shouldn’t have—"  

you study her. the smudged mascara she'd tried to fix in haste, the way her bottom lip quivers before she bites it still. 

"four days, huh?" you say softly. 

karina nods, her throat working. "she was with this girl before we even..." her voice breaks. 

a beat of silence passes. then you make your decision. 

"well," you sigh, grabbing a pen and scribbling your number on a napkin, "if we're going to sell this, you'll need to actually take me out." you slide it toward her. "dinner. tomorrow. and you're paying."

karina stares at the napkin like it might bite her. when she finally looks up, there's something like hope warring with the hurt in her dark eyes. 

"eight o'clock," she says, her voice regaining some of its usual steel. "don't be late." 

as she strides out, you realize two things: 

one, you've just agreed to the worst idea in dating history. 

two, the way your heart races when she smiles at you — really smiles — is going to be a problem. 

the bell chimes again as the door closes, leaving you alone with the bitter aftertaste of coffee and the sinking feeling you've just made a deal with the karina yu.

you stand in front of your closet for forty five minutes, which is ridiculous.

it isn’t a real date. karina is just using you to make her ex jealous.

yet here you are, holding up your only nice dress, wondering if the black one makes you look too serious.

a car horn blares outside.

you peek through the curtains — a sleek black town car idles at the curb, its windows tinted so dark you can’t see inside. your stomach flips.

the intercom buzzes.

"are you coming down," karina’s voice crackles through the speaker, "or should i send the driver up to drag you out?"

you roll your eyes but grab your jacket, taking one last look in the mirror and adjusting the neckline of your dress for the twentieth time.

karina leans against the car door when you step outside, dressed in a fitted black dress that probably costs more than your rent. her hair is perfectly styled again, her lips painted that same dangerous red. back to her untouchable self.

except — her fingers tap nervously against her thigh.

"you’re late," she says.

you check your phone. "it’s 7:59."

"exactly." she opens the car door. "get in."

the interior smells like leather and her perfume. you slide onto the seat, hyper-aware of how close she is.

karina eyes your outfit — the dark green dress you’ve finally picked, the boots you’ve shined just for this.

"you look…" she pauses. "nice."

you raise an eyebrow. "nice? that’s all?"

a smirk tugs at her lips. "don’t push your luck."

-

the restaurant is the kind of place you've only seen in movies — crystal chandeliers, waiters in tuxedos, tables so far apart they afford complete privacy. your platforms sink into the plush carpet as the waiter leads you both to a secluded corner table with a view of the city lights.

karina orders for both of you without asking.

"you’re bossy," you mutter.

she sips her wine. "you’ll live."

the food comes in tiny, artistic portions that somehow fill you up.

between courses, karina surprises you by actually asking questions — about your job, your family, even your stupid obsession with that baking competition show. the more she drinks, the softer her edges become. you catch her smiling at one of your dumb jokes, her cold facade cracking to reveal someone warm and quick-witted beneath.

halfway through dinner, your phone buzzes.

a text from your coworker:

jiheon dude. soojin just walked into the cafe asking where you were she looks PISSED 19:34

you show karina. her grip on her fork tightens.

"perfect," she says, too calm.

you frown. "you knew she’d go there?"

karina doesn’t answer. just flags down the waiter. "we’ll take dessert to go."

-

the car ride back was quiet.

when you pull up to your apartment, karina finally speaks.

"tomorrow. lunch at the hotel by her office." she won’t look at you. "she eats there every friday."

you cross your arms. "so this is just a game to you?"

karina’s jaw clenches. "you knew what this was."

"yeah. i did." you reach for the door handle. "but you could at least pretend i’m a person and not just a prop."

her head snaps up. for a second, she looks genuinely startled. then —

"i’m sorry." the words come out quiet, rough. "i… don’t do this often."

you pause. "do what?"

"any of it." she finally meets your eyes. "thank you. for tonight."

the sincerity throws you off balance.

karina reaches into her purse and pulls out a small box. "here."

inside is a delicate rose gold bracelet.

"too much?" she asks when you don’t speak.

you snort. "a little." but you put it on anyway.

karina smiles — a real one, small and unsure. it makes her look younger. softer.

"tomorrow," she says. "noon."

you get out of the car, but before you can walk away, she rolls down the window.

"wear the bracelet," she calls. then, quieter: "it looks good on you."

as the car pulls away, leaving you standing on the sidewalk, tracing the cool metal at your wrist. the bracelet is real. the dinner had been real. the way your heart raced when she smiled at you — that was terrifyingly real.

the bathroom lights at the grand hyatt are too bright, bouncing off the polished marble surfaces until everything feels too much, too exposed. you lean against the cool counter, adjusting the rose gold bracelet around your wrist — the one karina gave you last night. the tiny blue stones catch the light as you turn your wrist, sparkling like fragments of a secret.

the door swings open without warning.

soojin's reflection appears beside you in the mirror, her designer heels clicking sharply against the tile, her crimson lips curling into a smirk.

"that's a pretty bracelet," she muses, her voice dripping with false sweetness. she reaches out before you can react, her manicured fingers tracing the delicate silver chain. "jimin always did have good taste."

you force yourself to stay still, to not pull away. "it was a gift."

soojin's dark eyes flick up to meet yours in the mirror. her smile is all teeth. "of course it was. she gave me one just like it, you know." her nail taps against the largest diamond. "right before she got bored."

the words land like a punch to the gut, but you refuse to let it show. "wow," you deadpan, turning on the faucet just to have something to do with your hands. "how original of her."

soojin's smirk falters for just a second before she recovers. "i'm just trying to help you, sweetheart. jimin doesn't do real relationships." she leans closer, her perfume overwhelming your senses. "she'll toss you aside the second this little game of hers stops being—"

the door bursts open with enough force to make both of you jump.

karina stands framed in the doorway, her black dress a stark contrast against the bright bathroom. her chest rises and falls rapidly, like she ran here. her dark eyes dart between you and soojin, and something dangerous flashes across her face.

"am i interrupting?" her voice is low, controlled.

soojin straightens, smoothing her already perfect hair. "just having a little chat with your… what was it again? girlfriend?" she scoffs. "please."

karina steps forward, her heels echoing sharply in the tiled room. she doesn't break eye contact with soojin as she reaches for your hand, her fingers intertwining with yours. they're warm and slightly trembling.

"yes," karina says, the word final. "my girlfriend. and we're leaving."

she pulls you out before soojin can respond, her grip almost painfully tight as she leads you through the restaurant. the other diners' curious glances burn against your skin as you hurry past.

"jimin—" you start, using her real name without thinking.

she freezes midstep, her shoulders tensing. when she turns, her expression is unreadable. "you've never called me that before."

the valet brings the car around. karina doesn't let go of your hand until you're both inside, the door shutting with a quiet thud that feels too loud in the sudden silence.

the divider between you and the driver is up, sealing you in your own private world. the city lights streak past the tinted windows as the car pulls away, turning everything outside into a blur of color.

karina sits stiffly beside you, her fingers twisting the rings on her left hand — a nervous habit you've started to notice.

"whatever she told you," she finally says, her voice rough, "it's bullshit."

you study her profile in the dim light — the sharp line of her jaw, the way her long lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. "you don't owe me an explanation," you say softly. "this is fake, remember?"

karina turns then, her dark eyes searching yours. there's something raw in her gaze, something vulnerable that makes your breath catch. "is it?"

the question hangs between you, fragile and terrifying.

the car pulls up to your apartment building. neither of you moves.

karina exhales sharply through her nose. "i should go."

"yeah," you agree, but make no move to leave.

she doesn't call the driver. doesn't tell him to leave.

your fingers find the bracelet again, the metal warm from your skin.

"stay," you whisper before you can stop yourself.

karina stills. for a long moment, the only sound is the quiet hum of the car's engine.

"okay."

the word is so quiet you almost miss it.

she murmurs something to the driver, who nods and steps out of the car, giving you privacy. the streetlights outside flicker through the windows, painting karina's face in alternating gold and shadow.

"call me jimin," she whispers. "when it's just us… call me jimin."

the moment stretches, suspended in the quiet darkness of the car. karina jimin has never looked at you like this before. her dark eyes are unguarded, vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache. her fingertips hover just inches from your cheek, trembling slightly, as if she’s afraid to bridge that final distance.

you don’t let her hesitate.

slowly, deliberately, you tilt your face into her palm.

the second your skin meets hers, she inhales sharply, her breath hitching. her touch is warm, her fingers smooth against your cheek —but there’s a rawness to the way she holds you, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she presses too hard.

her thumb brushes the curve of your cheekbone, feather-light. "you’re real," she murmurs, more to herself than to you.

you lean further into her hand, your eyes fluttering shut for just a second. "yeah," you whisper. "i am."

something in her expression fractures.

and then, she kisses you.

it’s not gentle. it’s not sweet. it’s desperate, like she’s been holding her breath for years and only now remembers how to breathe. her fingers slide into your hair, cradling the back of your head as she pulls you closer. you taste the wine from dinner on her lips, the faintest hint of something bitter underneath — regret, maybe, or fear.

when she finally pulls back, her breathing is uneven. her forehead rests against yours, her eyes still closed.

"tell me this is real," she whispers.

your fingers find the collar of her dress, gripping the fabric like an anchor. "it’s real."

she exhales, long and shaky, before kissing you again.

seobluuu speaks 💬 lowk didnt realize this all happened within 2 days until i finished but let's just assume they went on more dates between the bracelet scene nd the soojin bathroom scene... i wrote this with a part 2 (maybe 3 as well) in mind so dont worry :ppp ok maybe worry since i'll take forever to upload the next part but u get what i mean 🥀

[etclouie]

“huh, you like that darlin’?”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 — summary; fucking your boyfriend when another member of samcro walks in, but you both find something out about you in that moment (Jax Teller x fem!reader)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 — warnings; smut with little plot, minors do not interact!!!, poorly written smut, unprotected sex, soft sex, p in v, creampie, established relationship, chibs walks in on them(he does knock they just don’t hear it), readers described as drunk the night before(is this a warning??), jax teases reader about chibs walking in, lmk if i missed any !

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 — word count; 939

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 — a/n; yeah, uhm anyways (thinking of early seasons jax)

soa masterlist | main masterlist like jax? join my taglist !

you’d spent the night at the clubhouse with Jax, having drunk a little too much for Jax to have taken you home on his bike. 

you’d woken up alone in his bed and hearing the shower in the next room. eyeing him when he walked back into the room, and his towel wrapped lowly on his hips. 

knowing the look you were giving him had a chuckle spilling from his lips, leading to now. 

he had you sprawled out on your back, arms bracing himself on the pillows around your head, hips rocking against yours at a steady pace.

his voice soft and small, gentle coos leaving his lips. mumbled ‘i knows’ into your ear, while your legs wrapped around his waist and feet locked at the small of his back. arms loosely wrapped around his neck, and fingers tangled in his hair. 

this was more intimate than sex ever normally was between you, it was softer and a lot more gentle. 

tilting your head to capture his lips in a kiss and humming as he deepened it, his tongue pushing past your lips and meddling with yours. 

each thrust of his hips had more moans falling from your lips, breaking the kiss and laying back against the one lone pillow on the bed. your eyes flicking across his face and admiring him, reaching a hand up to cradle his jaw while your thumb soothed across his cheek. 

giggling softly as he tilted his head to press a kiss to your palm before leaning down to capture your lips again, both of you lost in the moment and missing the knock at the door. 

Jax’s thrusts continued at a steady past, coaxing soft moans from your lips. dropping his head to the crook of your neck again and peppering kisses across the skin, back arching up into him. 

with no response from Jax the door opened cautiously, and a familiar Scottish accent sounded in surprise and slight disgust. 

“jesus christ Jackie”

feeling your face heat at the sudden intrusion and hiding your face in your hands, feeling Jax pull away from your neck and glance back at Chibs. 

glancing up cautiously at Jax as he pulled the blankets up to cover your body, remaining inside you as he spoke, his tone laced in faint irritation and your walls fluttering around him causing a muffled groan to bubble in his throat. 

“this is on you brother”

his eyes locked with Chibs’ before nodding towards the door in a silent ask to leave, hearing the Scotsman chuckle before leaving; the door slamming behind him while Jax’s attention turned back to you. 

“sorry bout that, darlin’”

his hands pulling yours further away from your face, and loosely wrapping your arms around his neck once more. feeling the pillows dip on either side of your head while he braced himself again, the slow drag of his hips starting again. 

“felt you clench down on me, hm sweetheart?”

despite the softness of the moment, even if momentarily disrupted, Jax’s tone held a little teasing to it once again. thrusts continuing and low mewls falling from your lips, eyes hooded and keeping hold of his gaze. 

“huh, you like that darlin’? you like the thrill of getting caught like this?”

words escaping you, and a lewd moan coming out in response. eyes fluttering shut as he leaned down to capture your lips again, his blond locks toppling into your face. 

the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room again as he chased both of your climaxes, forehead resting against yours and arms crossing above your head. 

his body blanketing yours and moving impossibly closer to you, peaking up at him to find his gaze already on you. 

“you gonna cum f’me sweetheart? or you want Chibs back in here?”

choking back a whine at his proposition, walls fluttering around him again as the words reeled in your head. 

mind feeling fuzzy and body flooding with heat, the familiar pool of warmth settling in the pit of your belly as his thumb pressed to your clit. 

“fuck, that turn you on? shit- cum f’me sweetheart, that’s it”

the words came out in a groan, his head dropping to your shoulder and his thrusts faltering. lips pressing soft kisses across your sweat dampened skin, and his soft coos flooded your ear. thumb pressing tighter circles to your clit and pushing you over the edge, the coil in your belly snapping as you came with a cry of his name. 

arms tightening around his neck and pulling him down impossibly closer, moaning into his ear while your cheeks pressed together. moans turning into whines, and whines turning into incoherent babbles as his thrusts continued; once met with precision now left sloppy as he chased his high. 

“fuck, that’s my girl. such a good girl f’me darlin’”

the possessive tone in his words had another lewd moan tumbling past your lips, nails scratching across his back and into the sons tattoo. 

a barely coherent cry of his name was his undoing, hips stuttering before stilling completely against you. a jagged rock of his hips and a guttural moan past his lips signified his climax, his cock throbbing in your warmth and his release shooting into you. 

the constant flutter of your walls around him had him spilling every drop, the tightness surrounding him milking him for all he had. 

staying connected and limbs intertwined, his breathing heavy against your shoulder as he slowly started to come down from his high. lifting his head enough to meet your gaze before grumbling out to you. 

“my little exhibitionist, hm?“

requests are open here !

[777sturn]

⟢ 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 flirtybbf!chris . . .

suggestive. mature language.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ jules’ message. bye this is so short 😕😕💔 these are so fun to make im def gonna make more in the future as well as part twooooo

© 777sturn

[lacydaydream]

Plans Be Damned

⤷ conrad fisher

conrad fisher x fem!reader

summary: A sweet and cozy morning after your first time with Conrad

cw: no use of y/n. no detailed description of reader’s appearance. very slight recall to sexual situations. tooth rotting fluff. connie is literally the sweetest.

estelle yaps: i know this isn’t my usual content but I needed to write this

word count: 800

“Hey.” The sound of your voice drifts through the air, soft and delicate.

Conrad turns, his face flushing slightly. His eyes sparkle when they land on you, glinting like seafoam in the sun. A faint flush rises on his cheeks– just a kiss of color on his pale skin.

His gaze trails down your form– you’re still in the pink satin babydoll dress. The same one he’d gently stripped from you the night before, kissing every inch of your skin in worship. Conrad looks at you like you individually hung each star in the sky.

A smile breaks across his face as he stands. He’s over the threshold in a second, his hand settling around your waist.

“I was waiting on coffee to wake you up,” he murmurs softly, his thumb rubbing lazy circles on your hipbone. He juts his head toward the counter, where the coffee pot quietly whirs.

“Well, consider your plan spoiled.” A smile pulls at your lips.

You rise on your tiptoes, arms linking around his neck. His scent clings to your skin– ocean air and fabric softener, dizzying and familiar. He’s warm. The kind of warm that keeps you safe on a cold winter night.

When your arms wrap around him, his eyes soften. It’s a look that speaks thousands of words– the kind of look you used to pray he’d send your way.

And now… here he was. Finally doing it.

Even better? You’d woken up in Conrad Fisher’s bed. His scent still lingered like a comfort, and now his arms are around you– holding you like a precious jewel that might crumble if he wasn't careful.

He grins. One of those rare smiles he used to only give Belly. The kind of smile he’s finally giving you. Warmth spreads beneath your skin where he touches you.

“You can always spoil my plans.” He says it softly, like he doesn’t realize it’ll send your heart summersaulting in your chest. He says it like he means it.

Your eyes drift to his lips– still slightly bruised from last night, dark pink from being bitten. They look soft. And they are– tentative and sacred when they move against yours.

His hand lifts to your cheek, thumb gently brushing your cheekbone. Your breath catches.

Conrad’s eyes flutter shut as he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss. It’s a simple kiss. Gentle. Soft in a way that tears you apart and stitches you whole again. Your lips mold like puzzle pieces as they move with his.

It feels like hours before he pulls away, his forehead resting against yours. A smile breaks loose on your face, joy sparking through every nerve. Kissing Conrad feels exactly how you always dreamt it would– fireworks dancing across your skin and somehow still the most natural thing in the world.

A hum escapes your lips. “What if they’re super important plans?”

Conrad pretends to think, brows pulling together, lips pursing. When he decides he’s waited long enough, his other hand finds your hip. In a swift motion, you’re lifted and gently settled onto the counter.

The cold surface meeting your bare thighs earns a surprised yelp. Conrad chuckles, stepping between your knees. His grip stays gentle on your waist.

“Then plans be damned.” His voice is sincere, the words drifting out like smoke. “I…” His thought trails off, a sleepy smile cracking through his usual gruffness. “Am going to get your coffee.”

There’s a long moment before he turns toward the counter.

Plans be damned. He’d said that once before– years ago. He was fifteen and you were thirteen. The day was supposed to be filled with boardwalk games and Suzannah’s laughter drifting down the pier. But you’d fallen ill, and Conrad had stayed behind at the beach house with you. You’d apologized for ruining his day, and he’d just said it– plans be damned.

“Thanks,” you murmur when he places a mug into your hands, the ceramic instantly warming your skin.

A comfortable silence settles between you. The coffee is warm. Conrad’s gaze is even warmer.

Pink creeps across your cheeks, an awkward smile cracking through. “What?”

“Nothing.” Conrad smiles, shaking his head. “I’m just… I’m happy. That’s all.”

estelle yaps some more: hi, my angel babies! my other works can be found here. my requests are currently open. if you’d like, join the taglist! :)

[marioandluigigi]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ | The lady and the tramp

⌗ Jock Nat x cheerleader reader

⌗ Summary: In which you and Nat are the stereotypical Jock x cheerleader couple with a twist (a gay twist).

⌗ warnings: internalised homophobia, secret relationship.

⌗ Word count: 2.6k

⌗ Author's note: The people have chosen! Although I’ll probably do the spider-man AU one as well when I get the motivation.

It was 6 AM on a Thursday, and the only people in school at this time of day. Were the schools two most popular clubs. The Wiskayok cheerleading team, who had been sweeping nationals since the 1970’s thanks to your coach who had been drilling and building cheerleaders since before you were born. And the Yellowjackets girls soccer team who had recently been qualified to go to nationals.

You weren’t too keen on the details, but as captain of the cheerleading team, you were aware that coach Ben managed to persuade, beg, your coach to let him borrow her cheerleaders to present during that days pep rally, as a way to lift school spirit and get the student body excited for the Yellowjackets girls soccer team going to nationals, after all it was the first time a soccer team from Wiskayok, girls or boys had ever made it that far with outside competition.

Your coach wasn’t too thrilled in fact, she despised the idea, she was used to her cheerleaders being the center of attention, of the teachers and staff bowing to her for her success— and incredibly intimidating attitude. So having to split the spotlight with a soccer team wasn’t exactly her dream come true.

You and your friends wondered what coach Ben could possibly have on her for her to allow such a collaboration, the two most popular theories were that they were either sleeping together, or he managed to find some obscure photo of her from the 60s and was using it as blackmail. You believed the latter. After all, you had the inside scoop of what was going on, on the Yellowjackets team, on a daily basis, thanks to a certain lucky number 7 winger that liked to talk your ear off. And according to her, their beloved coach Ben batted for the other team, because he never looked at their boobs, and they all had great boobs, according to her.

Your relationship with Natalie was a secretive one born out of an unlikely friendship, after the two of you got paired up together for an English assignment.

Since than, it had flourished from shared cigarettes and stolen kisses, to something real and solid. You soon found out that Natalie was that kind of person, the real kind, honest, yes she could be a little blunt and a little rough around the edges, which you don’t condemn, after she, little by little, started sharing with you stories of her home life, how she grew up, how her father used to beat her mother, and how the same still blames Natalie for her husband’s death after little 14 year old Natalie was only attempting to defend her mother from yet another beating. No, Natalie was the real deal, solid, she never made you uncomfortable, never pressured you into anything, never made you feel like she’d betray your trust.

Which helped a lot, the two of you started dating officially two months ago, after you spent the night at her place for the first time, and woke up intertwined with her, the setting intimate, as you breathed in her scent while the soft morning light entered through the tiny window of her trailer and illuminated her features. The two of you made it official that day but just for yourselves, because you weren’t ready to tell people not yet, at least. Much too afraid of the reactions, the stares, the crumpled social structure and disappointment of your parents.

All your life you were the perfect doting daughter, a role that was thrusted upon you without your permission. Since first grade, you were a “pleasure to have in class”, straight As, polite, darling of the teachers.

In freshman year you joined the cheerleading team, at the time you didn’t think much of it, it would look good on college applications, you reasoned, but in junior year you were made captain which came with a lot more hours, a lot more dedication and sudden popularity and attention from your fellow classmates that you never expected.

Still you felt off, especially as you grew older, you were what every girl wanted to be, and the one every guy wanted to date, so why couldn’t you feel anything? You had been asked out, sure and lusted over, but you’d never had a crush on a boy, the first time you kissed one you reasoned you just didn’t like kissing, you felt alone, the conversations the girls on your team had about boys bored you, and you simply could not understand why their behaviour changed so much around them, in your head it was like a disease, a disease you desperately wanted to catch.

You remember confessing this to Natalie, when you were just friends, how you felt like something was broken inside you, that maybe you just didn’t have the ability to feel attraction like the rest of the girls, that you feared ending up alone or trapped in a marriage where you didn’t feel anything.

She was the first to point out that you might be into girls, you almost screamed, denied it with every bone in your body because of course you didn’t, you? Perfectly edged you? Queer? There was no way. You didn’t look gay, you didn’t dress like you were either, and you definitely never thought about girls like that or did you? Does looking at Natalie’s mouth while she smoked a cigarette count as looking? No, no way.

Until she kissed you, suddenly, sloppy as if to prove a point, your face felt on fire as her calloused hands grabbed your cheek, as her thumb caressed the area under your eyes. And, it turns out, you liked kissing after all.

You leave the school bathroom, pom-poms in hand, after adjusting the bow on your ponytail in the mirror. As you walk through the empty corridor you listen, as a pair of cleats echo through the school hallway, that’s when you catch a glimpse of a bright yellow number 7 and a sweaty head of bleach blonde hair, your heart skips a beat, as you imagine running your fingers through those same sweaty blonde locks.

You stop, before looking around to see if the two of you are alone, and she does the same, before approaching you and looking you up and down, admiring how your short cheer skirt makes your legs look.

“Tough practice?” You ask tentatively, sensing the tension on her freckled shoulders and admiring the singular drop of sweat that runs through the pale sweaty skin of her face.

“Tell me about it. Coach Martinez is possessed he isn��t getting any at home I’m sure of it.” She jokes, teasing smirk in place with that same provocative edge and fearless tongue that you adore so much. “What are you doing here at the ass crack of dawn?” She questions. “I mean shit— not that I mind…” she comments before shamelessly gawking at you like she’s been starved for 7 days.

“Get your mind out of the gutter Scatorccio.” You warn. Still feeling anxious about the possibility of someone walking in on the two of you. “And we’re rehearsing for the pep rally. You know the one you’re also going to?”

“Shit coach Ben managed to convince your coach after all?” She asks her smirk softening at the possibility of seeing you, but still in place nonetheless.

“Apparently so… The girls on the team still think they’re sleeping together.”

“Nah, there’s something way more sinister going on for him to accomplish that, I vote witchcraft.” She says serious, confident, as if the two of are discussing world politics and not shitty pep rally plans.

“First it was blackmail, now it’s witchcraft?” You counter, calling her out on her change of mind.

“Hey! I evolve.” She protests. “So… I get to see you dancing and tumbling around, now I’m definitely not missing the dumb pep rally.”

“It’s not dumb, you won! You’re going to nationals it’s a big thing! And coach would totally kill you if you missed the rally.” You tell her, it was true she already missed practice enough, sometimes to hang out with you, but that’s not the point, she definitely should not miss the rally.

“Can’t kill the top player.” She provokes her confidence never faltering.

“You’re so full of yourself.” You laugh.

“Yes and you love it.” She whispers in your ear, her voice extra raspy knowing the effect it has on you.

You don’t like being provoked, so naturally you throw a yellow pompom at her face.

"Hey! What the hell, that's a cheap shot." She almost splutters with surprise as the fluffy yellow thing smacks her right across the face.

“You asked for it.” You conter, as you grab the pompom from the ground.

“I did not ask for a goddamn pompom to the face.” She complains, while rubbing her cheek as if the yellow piece of soft plastic had actually made a dent.

She’s about to protest or tease you a little further when you see a redheaded figure cross the corridor, Van you recognise, one of Natalie’s closest friends, you panic technically the two of you didn’t do anything, at most she saw you attacking Natalie with your pompom. But you were close, too close for strangers too close for friends. You feel your throat tightening, a cold shiver running through your entire body as you stare at the both of them. So you leave, you run, before the situation gets worse. You turn a corner hiding near the blue lockers when you hear the redhead teasing your girlfriend.

“Since when are you best friends with cheerleaders Nat?” Van teases, they’re ever optimistic and teasing demeanour always in place.

Natalie looks at the place where you left and just shrugs. “I’m not, just asking her what time the stupid pep rally was... Let’s go coach is waiting.” And she leaves. But you catch the hint of disappointment in her voice.

You’re getting ready in your room, rather than in the locker room with the rest of the cheerleaders, opting to drive there 10 minutes earlier rather than engage in the cheerful atmosphere.

But you can’t stop thinking about what happened earlier. How you ran away, too afraid to feed into the rumours that already questioned your sexuality, the hint of disappointment if not sadness in Nats voice, your Nat, as she was forced to deny your relationship, yet again.

As you comb your hair for the 57th time, you wonder why you’re even hiding it so much in the first place, sure your parents aren’t the biggest supporters but you don’t think they’d kick you out, and they wouldn’t have to know. No, your fear resided at school, wondering what your friends would think of their captain being gay.

But, the more you think about it, the more pointless it feels, the hiding, the guilt, hurting Nat in the process. You know she told you she was fine with the whole secret thing, but you also know she’d rather be able to run to you after she scored a goal rather than looking in your general direction. So why are you hiding? Because of your friends? Are they really your friends if they’d drop you over something so trivial as falling in love? You know you wouldn’t lose your spot in the cheer team, you were the best, not in a cocky way just in a general factual way.

So, you make a split second decision, you’re not gonna hide anymore, screw what the other popular kids think. Nat makes you happy, happier than you’ve ever been and she deserves better than a girlfriend that acts like she’s embarrassed of her.

You get in your car and drive over to the pep rally, you skip the cheerleaders entirely and make your way to the Yellowjackets locker room, where you hear faint music playing and the sound of excited girls singing and dancing to the lyrics.

You suddenly stop, you feel a cold shiver run down your spine, but you have to do it, plus it’s 4 minutes before the rally none of them are naked they’re just hanging out so you step in.

When you step in the atmosphere shifts, in the way your presence usually commands, the slight respect that comes with being at the top of the high school social scene.

A couple of the younger girls just stare at you in awe. After all, what was the captain of the cheerleading team doing in the locker room? Jackie says hi to you, you say hi back, and that’s when Nat, who had been sitting alone in the back tying her shoelaces, looks at you with a confused expression.

You make your way to her and stop right in front of her. “Hi Nat.” You say as you start fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

“H-Hey hmm…” she fumbles slightly. “What are you doing her?” She questions eyeing you up and down.

“I came to wish you good luck.” You offer.

“Oh um thank you that’s—“

But you don’t let her finish her sentence, before you grab her face and lock your lips with hers.

And Nat ever unable to resist your ministrations, your touch, your presence, the slight tingle she felt under her skin anytime the tip of your fingertips made contact with the skin of her face, kisses you back, slow, deep and practiced, taking her time to savour the warmth of your skin and the softness of your lips, because for the first time, you weren’t embarrassed, you weren’t afraid to be seen with her, to be hers. So she keeps kissing you as your arms make their way around her neck and her hands grip your waist like they were born to be there. She kisses you in front of her teammates, until she hears the whispers and the excited slash shocked and indignant screams that follow. Because she, Natalie Scatorccio, school burnout, just made out with the captain of the cheerleading team, the most popular girl in school in front of her team.

“Good luck.” You say again as you caress her cheek and plant a soft kiss in the corner of her mouth.

“Good luck girls.” You shout as you leave the locker room.

And that’s when screams explode. Lots of “WHAT.” “WHAT DID JUST HAPPEN.” Erupt.

“Nat since when are you two together?” Laura Lee enquires ever so sweetly.

“Who cares. How did she pull her? I mean what?” Jackie interjects. A shocked expression adorning her tan face.

“I agree she’s way of your league” Tai joins in.

“Wait, now I want a cheerleader girlfriend that’s so cute it’s like that jock and cheerleader dynamic.” Mari says, joining in, a moping expression on her face.

The locker room erupts with laughter once again in response to Mari's antics.

“But Mari you’re straight.” Van finally interjects while unable to contain their laughter.

“I would totally be gay for her. I mean have you seen her? Damn.” Mari continues her rant.

“Stop ogling my girlfriend.” Nat finally speaks, begrudgingly, as if the words are slightly stuck in her throat, but her naturally pale cheeks are now adorning a rosy tint she knows she won’t be able to kick before the presentation.

The cheerleaders do the opening act and then the soccer teams walk in. All receiving standing ovations from the school, but you barely listen to it, more preoccupied with making eye contact with a blushing and smiling Nat.

You see Lottie bumping her shoulder with Nat as if to alert her that she’s starting to look like a drooling mess.

“You two are really cute.” She offers.

“Tell her I said she’s way out of your league.” Tai teases once again.

Once the applause dies down, you make your way to Nat, and let her wrap her arms around you as you lean your head against her shoulder, unable to wipe the ever present smile off your face. Natalie leans her head against yours not bothering to dignify Tai’s commentary with a response, not right now anyway, not when you’re looking at her like that, not when you’re finally officially hers.

[loganspet]

౨ৎ ‎ ♡₊˚・₊✧ I’m Imagining a extremely submissive Logan 🤍 ౨ৎ ‎ ♡₊˚・₊✧

Sprawled out, his hair a wild, messy framing his flushed face. His chest rises and falls erratically, each shaky breath betraying how undone he’s become. His Adam’s apple bobs with every hard swallow, the motion drawing your attention as his throat works through a plea he’s too proud to fully voice.

“Please,” he whines , voice raw, a mix of frustration and desperation. His dark, heavy-lidded eyes lock onto yours, glinting with something feral, something needy. They roam over you like he can’t decide where to focus, lingering just long enough to make your skin burn under the weight of his gaze. His lips are swollen, slick from where he’s been nervously biting and licking at them, the sharp edge of his teeth catching faintly in the dim light.

He shifts beneath you, his body trembling as he fights against the vulnerability, his pride warring with the primal need etched across his features. His hips twitch slightly, seeking relief but unable to find it, his hands still gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering him to reality. The way his fingers flex and curl betrays how much he’s struggling to keep from losing himself completely.

“Baby don’t… tease me,” he whimpered through clenched words come out slurred, a little broken, but there’s no mistaking the desperation behind them. It lingers in the way his breath catches mid-sentence, how his lips curl just slightly around the words as though it pains him to say them out loud. His Adam’s apple bobs again when he swallows hard, his messy hair falling over his forehead, casting shadows across his face. His eyes flicker between defiance and surrender, his chest heaving as his breath catches, a strangled sound slipping from his throat.

“You’re killing me,” he groans, his voice rough and slurred, thick with the weight of his surrender. His gaze locks onto yours, dark and smoldering, like he’s trying to burn this moment into his memory.

“Just… take care of me, baby please” Logan says again, eyebrows furrowed the words trembling as they leave his lips, less a command and more a plea, steeped in desperation and trust. “Oh, God,” continued oh my gods him a broken record that sent shivers down your spine. His head fell back, his hips faster, harder, completely losing any rhythm in his desperation as he chased that release. His hand, already gripping yours, tightened, fingers interlocking with yours, his grasp growing harder with each movement, each frantic push. The pressure of his grip was almost enough to bruise, but he couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t pull away. His need was consuming him.

“You feel so damn good,” he growled his accent bleeding through and making the confession even more intoxicating. His dark, half-lidded eyes locked onto yours, pupils blown wide, a flicker of frustration mingling with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him.

His body trembled, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, his muscles taut as if straining against the intensity of it all. Every motion, every sound he made was desperate, primal, like he couldn’t hold anything back even if he tried. “Goddamn it,” he spoke again, the words barely audible, swallowed by the heat of the moment. There’s nothing left of , his body trembling as he gives himself over to you completely.

[written4u]

BITTER LEMONADES ✴︎ LN04

A stranger gives you his number and, suddenly, Lando's lemonade tastes bitter.

━━━ 🔗 LN4 MASTERLIST

PAIRING.   Lando Norris x Girlfriend!FemReader WORDS.   1k TAGS.   Fluff. Established Relationship. Jealousy. Summer Setting. Not proof-read.

Likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The few droplets still sprinkled across your legs—salty remnants of your last swim—no longer sufficed to fend off the Italian sun.

You sighed and adjusted your grip on your novel. Reading had lost all its charm. The cover clung unpleasantly to your sweaty thighs, the bookmark you were now using as a fan stirred only hot air, and for several paragraphs now, the words had blurred into one another.

No one left unscathed from the torpor of a scorching summer.

After struggling with two more paragraphs, you snapped the book shut and tossed it in the general direction of your beach bag before reaching for the drink menu.

Its sun-faded illustrations and absurd cocktail names made your mouth water; the saltwater-stained piece of cardboard had become a true oasis you were eager to indulge in.

Salivating at the thought of a freshly pressed juice, you turned your head to the left. “I’m going to get a drink. Want something?”

Stretched out on the lounger beside you, arms folded behind his head and eyelids half-closed beneath his sunglasses, Lando was dealing with the unbearable heat far better than you.

Like a lizard basking in the sun, you thought, watching him doze off. Your gaze lingered for a second on his sun-kissed skin and defined abs, but the cool promise of a cocktail quickly overrode all other thoughts and melted away the last of your patience.

You shook him unceremoniously.

“Hm? Sorry, love, what did you say?”

“I’m getting myself a drink,” you repeated. “Want one?”

“A lemonade, please. Thank you.”

Your feet wove their way through the scorching sand.

Lando gave your backside a playful squeeze in thanks, watching you walk away before closing his eyes again, lulled by the coastal din.

Down by the water, children were gleefully smashing and rebuilding sandcastles; further off, teenagers kept up a lively rhythm in a game of beach volleyball, punctuated by bursts of laughter. Adults and elders, meanwhile, sank into a hypnotic chorus of snores and whispered conversations.

Lando dozed for a few minutes, or perhaps longer.

He rubbed his eyes to chase away the drowsiness and reached out to stroke your thigh, only to find your towel instead.

He frowned and scanned the surroundings, suddenly alert.

How long could it take to order two juices?

His green eyes swept across the vibrant scene until, at last, he spotted you. You were standing near the bar, your two drinks in hand. In front of you stood a shirtless and tanned man—the cliché personification of a Greek (or Roman, in that case) statue.

He spoke with his hands, like all the locals.

And you were laughing.

Lando sat up abruptly, his gaze locked on you.

Jealousy didn’t erupt in his chest. No. It seeped in like sand in a shoe, malicious and never-ending.

The man brushed your arm and slipped a scrap of paper into your hand. Lando removed his sunglasses.

Somewhere in the distance, a seagull mocked him, cruel and shrill.

He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to get up. You wouldn’t appreciate him causing a scene in front of everyone, so he stayed put, jaw tight, mentally willing you to come back.

It felt like hours before you finally bid the man goodbye and walked toward him, cocktails in hand, cheeks warm from the sun, that damn slip of paper between your fingers.

Lando took the drink you offered and gave a terse nod of thanks, eyes fixed on the white scrap.

His silence didn’t seem to faze you, as you launched into an animated recounting of the events, nearly sloshing your cocktail with every wide gesture.

“I talked to a guy. He’s a diving instructor. He spotted stingrays nearby yesterday and gave me his number to show us!”

You waved the paper around, beaming. Lando wasted no time and snatched it from your hand, tearing it up before taking a sip of his drink as if nothing had happened.

Your wide eyes flicked to his face, scanning the feigned indifference that suited him poorly.

You narrowed your eyes. Lando shifted under your gaze.

“What?” he muttered.

“What’s gotten into you?”

He scowled deeper.

“Nothing…”

He took another sip, avoiding your eyes. The lemonade tasted bitter.

“Lando.”

“It’s just—he could’ve given you his website. I don’t know. Not his number. I mean–Who gives out their number like that? Seriously.”

You blinked, and slowly, a smirk began to tug at the corner of your lips.

“Lando... are you jealous?”

“I’m not,” he said quickly. “Just... surprised by how unprofessional some people can be. Are you sure he’s licensed?”

You sat beside him, settling onto his towel, your fingers cool and damp from condensation as they found his.

“So I guess we’re not seeing the stingrays tomorrow?”

Lando turned his head to look at you, and his gaze softened. Summer suited you—never were you more radiant than bathed in sunlight, as if Mother Nature herself had sculpted a pedestal just for you.

He couldn’t help but lift your hand to his lips and kiss it, overwhelmed by his love for you.

“Of course we’ll go see the stingrays, my love.”

A beat.

“With a real instructor,” he added. “Preferably over sixty.”

You laughed softly and set your glass down before sprawling across his chest, heat and sweat be damned.

His fingers immediately began tracing lazy lines up and down your spine.

“I’m hotter than him, though, right?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

You burst into laughter and kissed him. His lemonade spilled into the sand, unnoticed, as his hands roamed your body before squeezing your ass.

All of Italy could try to seduce you, Lando would always be here to remind you who exactly your summers belonged to.

[cayleeuhithinknott]

— mean!chris’s ego is threatening to crack. . .

you’re not sure how long you’ve been waiting for this moment.

the moment chris’s ego starts to crack.

the moment he falls apart for you.

you’re on your knees now, lips stretched beautifully around his cock, his grip tight in your hair—but it’s not the control he wants you to think it is. not when his breathing’s ragged, not when he’s brutally face-fucking you, not when the smallest whimper escapes him and his jaw clenches like he’s trying to swallow it down.

he’s losing it. you know it. he knows it.

and God, it’s addictive.

“i—fuck—that all you got?” he chuckles darkly—shakily. he’s crumbling. trying to stay all tough and mean. “don’t get all cocky jus’ ‘cause i made a noise…n-not like it’s that good.” he rasps through gritted teeth, clearly lying.

you peer up at him through your lashes and—oh. you could tell he was really struggling. his hand tightens in your hair as you remove one of yours from his thigh and move it to cup his balls. his hips stutter, betraying the quick, steady pace he’d set when this all started.

“jesus, wh-why does that feel so—“ chris cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, yanking his hand out of your hair in favor of covering his mouth with it to stifle a whimper. you take the opportunity to pull your mouth off of his length, latching your lips solely around his tip, sucking on it momentarily. you pull away and give it a soft kiss, to which he jerks his hips. “shit—don’t—don’t do that again, i—well, maybe—“ his babbling is cut off by yet another gasp.

you’re given a rush of confidence at how quickly he’s crumbling. he pushes back into your mouth, your warm throat constricting around his length once again. you lift your eyes to his face pridefully, and you’d giggle at his wrecked appearance if his dick wasn’t shoved down your throat. “r-real proud of yourself, huh?” he grunts, reaching his hand back down to your scalp, tangling his nimble fingers in the wisps at the nape of your neck.

chris’s tip repeatedly hits the bruised spot in the back of your throat, quickening his rough pace. he was always rough with you, but you didn’t mind. in fact, you happened to thoroughly enjoy being treated like his little ragdoll.

fat, hot tears drip down your cheeks, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth and trickling down onto your bare chest. the both of you were a mess. but only one of you had an ego threatening to crack. and you both know which one it is.

chris squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a pathetic groan as he tosses his head back in ecstasy. he was close. he’s never finished this fast, so you were proud to say the least. “fuuck, you’re gonna make me—shit.” he grunts, tilting your head downward so he can get a deeper angle down your throat.

choked, garbled noises bubble up from your throat as you gag on his length. your knees are burning against the carpet you’re knelt on, and you can feel yourself drenching your panties, throbbing with need already. chris looks back down at your wrecked appearance in awe.

you could feel his cock pulsing against your tongue with each thrust of his hips, the string inside of him threatening to snap any second. he tilts his head back once again, but then jolts forward again, like he can’t decide if he wants to hold it in a little longer or give in.

but, ultimately, his body works faster than his brain, making the decision for him. you drag your nails up his tensing thigh, then grip it to steady yourself as his climax hits him. “fuuuck…swallow it all, c’mon…” he holds your head at the base of his cock, his hot release painting the walls of your throat white. he pulls out slowly, to which you lick his length clean of any remaining cum.

chris taps your chin with 2 fingers, signaling you to show him you swallowed it all. you do as you’re told, sticking your tongue out and showing that you did. “good girl,” chris rasps, his lips curling up into a menacing smirk.

he drags his thumb across your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly as his breathing steadies. there’s a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes—just for a second—but it’s gone as fast as it came.

“getting cocky now, huh?” he mutters, the familiar edge slipping back into his voice like armor protecting his ego.

you stay on your knees, chest still rising and falling, watching as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like he’s not the one who just lost control. like he didn’t almost fall apart in front of you.

he straightens up, tucks himself back in, and flashes you that smug little smirk—the one that used to make you flinch, but now? now it just makes your stomach twist in a different way.

“don’t get it twisted,” he says, jaw tight as he steps back, voice trying to stay cold. “i’m still the one in control.”

but the way his hands are shaking just slightly at his sides?

you know better.

author’s note. . . hi uh this is very short and lowkey buns…not proofread and based off this from twin!

🏷️ : @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @strnilolover @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @paisleyy22 @emely9274 @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses @pasteldreams @matts-wife @courta13 @sugarraez @adorechris @elenayzxsturn @mattybsgroupie @zenithsturniolo @oopsiedaisydeer @bluestriips @grace-sturnz @sturnboos @owenstar @ribbonlovergirl @tweetybaird @tezzzzzzzz @vanteguccir @bernardmatthews @weirdothatwrites @mattsgracie @thighs4evan @lm-a-mirrorball @iluvchr1s @sturnslux3 @cutseylady

© cayleeuhithinknott

[isasweetie]

‎♡‧₊˚ boat days with rafe are always prissy!readers favourite days.

you loved them because it felt like the one moment rafe’s mind wasn’t elsewhere. usually he was a stressed, impatient man, but when he’d find the time to take the yacht out far and just park it there and soak in the sun with you, he was always happy.

rafe was doing his morning workout while you soaked in the sun that reflected from the water, a shirley temple in hand that rafe made you at the bar. peacefully content, your stomach rested on the longue chair as your back tanned, glowing from the tanning oil that rafe had applied for you while complaining about how oily it felt and how he was gonna have to wash his hands.

with a sigh when you realize your drink is empty, you call rafe’s name to get you another one — not in a bratty way, you just knew rafe was always glad to keep you content, so he would make you another, even if he did mutter ‘i’m not your fuckin’ servant’ every time.

he comes over, pausing his workout. “yeah, baby?”

“can i have another drink?” you ask, turning over to lie on your back so you can face him.

“yeah, i got you,” he takes the empty glass and makes you another shirley temple, then brings it back to you. “need anything else?”

“umm..” you try to think, biting on your inner cheek. “dunno if i really want tan lines, can you help me untie my bikini top?”

“this isn’t france, baby, can’t sit outside with your tits out,”

“do you see anyone around? we’re in the middle of the ocean,” you ask. “didn’t know you were such a prude, just wanna tan my chest,”

“m’not a prude. fine, sit up. c’mon,” he relents, and you sit up.

his big hands fidget with the little bow on your triangle bikini, untying both knots. “there you go,” he pats your shoulder. “gotta go back to working out, you good here for like, fifteen minutes? not bored?”

“i’m fine. thank you rafe,” you smile up at him, pecking his lips while he’s still crouched down.

he nods, giving you one last look with his pretty baby blues before turning to go to the back of the boat to finish his workout.

you spend a bit of time on your phone while you’re still sat up, taking photos of the water, and topless selfies to absolutely send to rafe next time he’s at the office, and take sips of your shirley temple. then you apply some tanning oil on your front and tan that side for a little while, putting in an earbud to listen to some lana del rey.

after a while, you’re overheatting, even with your drink. but thankfully, rafe is feeling the exact same way. he finishes his workout and comes back to you all sweaty.

“hey,” he breathes out, taking the earbud out of your ear and stealing a sip of your drink so he can get his breath back.

“rafe!” you whine, swiping your drink back.

“usually when people say hey, you say hi back,” he says sarcastically, teasing you. “anyway, c’mon, we’re going swimming, i’m hot as fuck and you’re coming with me,”

you nod and he helps you up. he takes you to the edge of the boat. “we’re gonna jump, you good with that?”

“nervous,” you admit, staring off the yacht and into the blue water.

“you’ll be all good. i’ll hold your hand,” he assures, grabbing your manicured hand. “on three,”

he counts down, squeezing your hand each time. when he gets to three, he jumps and pulls you with him.

the water feels cold and refreshing against your warm body. you can’t help but think that your blowout is ruined from the water, but rafe will pay for another one if it upsets you. giggling, you resurface, looping your arms around rafe’s neck, topless chest pressed against his. “that was fun!”

“yeah?” he can’t help the little smile that appears at your happiness. “c’mon, let’s go again,”

with an eager nod, he helps you onto the ladder at the back of the boat, and you grab his hand when he walks you to the edge again. he counts down again, and you jump. it continues like that for 7 minutes until you get chilly.

rafe gets you a towel embroidered with his name (of course), and leaves you to warm up in the sun.

at the end of the day, you’ve changed into a spare sundress kept below deck, because rafe is cooking dinner in the mini kitchen on the yacht. you watch him cook, drying your hair off with a towel, then recurling your eyelashes and putting your lipgloss back on that wiped away.

you sit down back outside, both of you eating your dinner as the sky turns into this gorgeous swirl of pink, orange, and yellow while the sun dips down.

with the golden hour highlighting every feature on your boyfriends face, the feeling of your wet hair soaking the back of the dress, and putting the most delicious food in your mouth, you’re absolutely sure you’ll never get sick of this.

“i think the water is gonna tarnish my necklace,” you tell rafe gently as you help him wash the plates after. your hand subconsciously fiddles with said necklace, the one that has his initial on it. rafe’s very proud of that necklace.

“well we can’t have that, yeah?” rafe smiles, putting his hands on your waist. “we’ll buy you a new one tomorrow, hm? real gold this time, no cheaping out,”

you smile and nod, and he kisses you in a way that’s gonna screw you up forever. being with him is like paradise.

[shelovesmytears]

♡ Want to know what happened before?

"I don't get it."

You sigh, dropping your head onto your folded arms.

“What's wrong?” Kalim asks from across the table, lazily doodling in his textbook. “Is it history class? Yeah, I'm kinda lost too. Should we ask Jamil for help?”

“What? No—” You sit up, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. “I found my manual... but I still feel like Riddle's avoiding me…”

Kalim's pen pauses mid-scribble. “Really? I thought you two made up. But, hey, even friends argue sometimes!”

You hesitate.

Sure, you're aware that Riddle's slightly more tolerant with you.

He's the one who taught you croquet, despite your disastrous skills. He helps with your studies—a life saver when you're in need of an academic comeback. You both feed the hedgehogs together in your free time.

You even forced yourself to memorize half of the 810 Queen's of Hearts’ rules—each one more ridiculous than the last, to be honest—just to please him.

And yet, everything fell apart the moment Riddle caught you searching for your manual with Kalim.

“Hey, Ace!” Kalim suddenly calls out, brightening up. “What's up? Wanna study with us?"

"Nope," Ace slides into the seat next to you with the kind of grin that tells you he knows something you don't. “Just heard some wild stuff and figured I'd come check for myself before anyone else~!”

“Well, I also heard people should usually mind their own businesses,” you say, unamused. “I don't feel like gossiping today. Especially when I'm the main topic.”

“C'mon,” Kalim nudges you. “You should tell him! Ace might know what to do—after all, Riddle's his Housewarden!”

Ace’s eyes light up. “So the rumors are true?!” He leans in, steepling his fingers. “Tell me.”

“Get—”

“So, she lost her manual and asked me to help her find it.” Kalim says, cutting in.

Ace fervently nods. “Go on.”

“—lost!” You jump to your feet.

“So Riddle caught us, and he looked very mad—but not about the manual! Even after she found it, he's still acting weird, and she doesn't know what to do!”

Ace instantly breaks into full-on laughter mode, outright mocking you.

You slap your hand on the table, cheeks burning. “I-I don't see what's funny! I'm confused!”

“No, no, you're dense!” Ace gasps, finally calming down. He gets up and sets both hands on your shoulders with the vibes of a disappointed sibling. “Riddle's clearly into you.”

“What?!”

“Damn right! He's just sulking because you went to someone else for help. That's jealousy!"

Kalim snaps his fingers. “Oh! So, that's why he glared at me like that! If I'd realized, I would've apologized!”

Wait—Riddle's into you?

Even though you knocked him flat during croquet?

Even though you mistook salt for sugar in his tea?

Even though you're—let's be honest—a total mess?

You shake your head. “No way.”

“You should confess!” Kalim says, far too enthusiastic.

“No. Way.” You repeat, this time with your face burning up.

“At least, clear things up,” Ace groans. “Please. I'm begging you. Ever since your little dispute, he's been doubling down on the rules. I nearly got the trick of sneaking snacks in my room before this!”

Kalim laughs. “So, that's where the collar comes from! I thought it was just part of your outfit, but it blends in really well!”

“You did NOT have to put it like that, dude! How are you even denser than her?!"

They keep on bickering—but that's far from being what's weighing on your mind.

As much as you want to believe that it's not what it sounds like, you can't stop imagining how Riddle must've felt that day.

That moment when he saw you up on Kalim's shoulders, searching for something you could've simply asked him about. And how must he feel right now?

A forlorn sigh escapes you.

“I messed up…”

“...And I regret everything.”

“Whatever you say,” Ace rolls his eyes and shoves a small plastic container in your hands. Inside rests a slice of strawberry tart. “You better thank Trey for this.”

“Why are you even here?” You ask, suspiciously eyeing the tart. ”Kalim's already in class. We're technically skipping.”

“I'm already collared, anyway,” Ace shrugs. “And, unfortunately, I grew emotionally attached to your little love story with Housewarden Riddle. It'd be a pity not to help~!”

You bite your lower lip.

It's hard not to smack that smug look off his face—but at this point, you can't back out. Your absence has already been recorded, and whether you keep going or not, you're still getting punished.

You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Alright, what's the plan?”

And the next thing you know, you're wandering through the quiet hallways of the academy, tightly clutching your treasured bag.

Inside?

The apology tart.

Your peace offering.

Your lifeline.

And if Ace's intel turns out to be true, Riddle shouldn't be in class right now.

Minutes tick by as you continue down your unfortunate path. You start to question Ace's plan, your judgment, your whole life.

Then, he appears.

Riddle Rosehearts. 

Your eyes instantly meet, and for a moment, you forget why you're even here—right.

Apologize to him.

Maybe even confront your unresolved feelings.

Easy, right?

Wrong.

Because as soon as he sees you, Riddle instantly turns on his heels and walks away as if he just hit an invisible wall.

Your mouth hangs open.

He's straight-up avoiding you, this time. But now that you finally get why, it doesn't sting as much as before.

Instead, something ignites in you—resolve.

You bolt down another hallway, loop around, and intercept Riddle just as he rounds the corner. He jerks back, clearly not expecting you to materialize out of thin air.

He hesitantly eyes you up and down, clearing his throat.

“Do you need something?” He carefully asks.

You sure do.

You dramatically place a hand on your chest, briefly apologizing to the universe for what you're about to do.

“Oh, Rosehearts,” you declare, loud enough to echo. “Thee come before t-thou… for a matter of utmost importance!”

Somewhere behind you, Ace's wheezing. 

Nearby students slow down near you both in pure disbelief.

Riddle stares, eyes wide in concern. Like he's mentally searching for the spell that'll combust him on the spot.

“Are thou willing to hear thee out?!” You snap, sounding a bit more aggressive than intended.

Then, you offer him your hand.

Poor Riddle visibly short-circuits.

The sudden invitation to physical contact, the countless gazes, and having absolutely no idea of what is going on hit him all at once like a speeding broom.

His face's redder than his hair.

Yet, his shaking fingers slowly intertwine with yours, as if he's afraid that you'll fade out if he dares to let you go this time.

That, for once, things don't have to make sense to feel real.

"Y-You're here—!"

"I am! Now, let's go!"

Without wasting another second, you both race into the nearest empty room—away from the gawking crowd, from Ace.

You slam the door shut.

You only followed that cursed plan because Ace told you that Riddle liked anything theatrical-related, and because you were just naive enough to think that made sense.

But now?

You're just going to be honest.

Regardless of how messy you look and how dumb you sound.

You turn around. "Listen, Riddle, I—!"

"I didn't know what to do!" Riddle blurts, clutching both your hands in his.

You blink. "Huh—?"

His grip trembles. "I-I'm aware there's between us, but when I saw you with Kalim... I thought that, perhaps, I-I imagined it..."

There's a heavy pause.

"Well," you look down. "I thought that... if I acted perfectly enough, you'd return my feelings."

Riddle slowly shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut, as if your words physically hurt him.

"What a stupid reasoning...!"

Another pause. Then—

You start chuckling. Then, laughing. You can't stop.

Riddle's face was already red, but now, you're not sure if there's even a name for that shade.

He tugs at your hands, flustered. "I-I don't see what's funny! I'm confused!"

"No, no, you're dense!" You gasp, calming down. You reach in your bag, pull out the slice of strawberry tart, and hold it out to him. "But it's okay. So am I."

"I-I don't see how that's okay, but—" Riddle sighs—but there's a faint smile on his face now.

He takes the container, gently lifts your hand, and kisses its back.

"—but... let's take it one step at a time."

[seobluuu]

𓂃 ࣪⋆⭐️˚ ༘ SHE LOVES YU ⋆ 유지민

in which karina has always been brave — on stage, in front of cameras, under the spotlight. but when it comes to you, her courage crumbles like a sandcastle at high tide.

she loves you. god, does she love you.

but saying it out loud? terrifying.

so instead, she shows you in a five different quiet ways, until she finally says the three words.

alternatively. five times karina almost said "i love you" (and the one time she finally did !!)

starring. yu jimin x fem!reader

word count. 800

genre. the fluffiest fluff u can ever read , maaaaaybe a little soft angst if u can spot it

#01 when you fell asleep on her shoulder

the movie was just background noise. jimin wasn’t paying attention to it anyway. not when the weight of your head against her shoulder was so much more interesting. the soft rhythm of your breathing, the way your fingers twitched slightly in your sleep, the faint vanilla scent of your shampoo mixing with the warmth of the shared blanket — it all made her chest ache.

she should’ve woken you up. the movie wasn’t even good, and you’d complain tomorrow about missing the ending. but the thought of moving, of disturbing this fragile moment where you trusted her enough to drift off against her, felt impossible.

jimin's fingers hovered near your hair, hesitating before she carefully tucked a loose strand behind your ear.

i love you, she thought, so loud in her own head she was almost afraid you’d hear it.

but you didn’t. you just sighed softly, nuzzling closer, as jimin paused the movie, and draped a blanket over you.

#02 when you laughed at her terrible joke

jimin wasn’t funny. she knew she wasn’t funny. (minjeong had made sure of that by groaning at every single one of her punchlines for years)

but when she mumbled some ridiculous, sleep-deprived pun about bananas —"i find them very… appeeling" — you didn’t just laugh.

you cackled.

it was the kind of laugh that took over your whole body, the kind that made you clutch your stomach like you’d been physically wounded by how bad it was. you eyes squeezed shut, tears gathering at the corners, and jimin swore her heart did something dangerous in her chest.

i love you, she thought, watching you wipe tears from your eyes.

but instead, she just grinned, nudging your shoulder. “see? i am funny.”

#03 when you brought her coffee after a long day

practice had been brutal. jimin's muscles ached, her voice was tired, and all she wanted was to collapse into bed. but when she walked into the dorm, you were there, holding her favorite iced americano, condensation dripping down the sides, extra shot, light ice, just how she liked it.

“come on, drink up” you said softly.

jimin stared at you, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

i love you, her heart screamed.

but she just took the coffee, letting her fingers brush against yours for a second too long. “you're the best,” she mumbled, voice rough.

#04 when you danced with her in the kitchen

it was 2am, and the dorm was quiet. everyone else was asleep, but the two of you were still awake, rummaging through the fridge for snacks when a slow song started playing from your phone.

jimin didn’t think. she just reached for you.

“y/nie, dance with me,” she said, pulling you close before you could protest.

you laughed, but your hands settled on her shoulders, letting her sway you both gently in the dim kitchen light. the song was soft, dreamy, something about love and forever, and jimin's throat tightened.

your forehead bumped against hers, breath warm against her lips.

i love you, she wanted to say.

but the moment felt too fragile, too perfect to ruin with words. so she just closed her eyes and held you tighter.

#05 when you got sick and she took care of you

you were never sick. so when you called in with a fever, jimin panicked.

she showed up at your apartment with enough supplies to stock a small pharmacy — soup, medicine, tissues, even that weird herbal tea you liked but she thought tasted like dirt.

“you didn’t have to come,” you croaked, voice wrecked.

jimin just pressed the back of her hand to your forehead, frowning at the heat. “of course i did.”

she spent the whole day fussing over you — fluffing your pillows, making sure you drank water, even reading to you when your headache got too bad for screens.

at one point, you dozed off mid-sentence, your head lolling against her shoulder. jimin carefully adjusted the blankets around you, brushing your hair back from your face.

i love you, she thought, pressing a kiss to your temple.

she hoped you could feel it, even in your sleep.

bonus when she finally said it

jimin had always been good at holding back.

tonight, the city lights were twinkling outside the window, with some old rom-com playing on the tv that neither of you were really watching. you were telling her a story about your day, hands waving animatedly, and jimin was just —

watching

the way your eyes lit up when you talked about things you loved. the way you bit your lip when you were trying not to laugh at your own jokes. the way you always, always found a reason to touch her — a hand on her arm, a nudge of your knee against hers.

and suddenly, jimin just couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“i love you”

you froze. blinked. “...what?”

jimin's face burned. “i—i mean. you know. i just... i love you.”

for a terrifying second, you didn’t say anything. but then your face split into the brightest smile she’d ever seen.

“took you long enough,” you teased, leaning in.

and when she kissed you, she didn’t hold back at all.

[777sturn]

⟢ 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 | 𝐦att 𝐬turniolo

no plot. smutty smut. pet names (baby, princess). oral (f receiving). touching. fingering (f receiving). boob play. dirty talk. pussydrunk!matt

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ jules’ message. hi cuties merry christmas! this has no plot whatsoever so this will just get straight into it help 😭😭 first ever blurb kinda nervous

“oh my fuck.” you moan softly as your freshly done, french-tipped, nails ran against matt’s scalp and through his brown hair. your eyes were tightly shut as his mouth explored your soft pussy.

“mmm, baby.” he would mumble softly against your wet clit, his tongue darting out to teasingly swipe along your folds— your moans becoming a melody to his ears, “i could do this all fucking night.”

this man was pussy drunk.

as his tongue continued to praise your sore clit by soothing it, his silver ring adorned fingers messed with the delicate lace of your baby pink panties. the cooling effect of those damn rings would occasionally brush against your warm, soft, vanilla scented skin— each time a whimper would escape your lips.

his hands eventually went underneath the white floral tank top you were wearing, finding the same delicate lace of your bra that matched your panties. he smirked against your pussy as his slight stubble brushed over one of your wet folds. his fingers continued to travel under your lacy bra this time, one of his cold rings meeting your hardened nipple.

another soft whimper escaped your glossed lips as your right hand grabbed onto his tatted bicep to somewhat keep yourself together. his thumb and forefinger gently teased your nipple by rolling it, “does that feel good, princess?” he mumbles, his voice breathless and raspy from the excessiveness of everything.

you only manage to nod, feeling like if you used a single word, you’d be losing it. his hand continued to massage your now aching breasts. his mouth finished soothing your cunt before, gently and swiftly taking off the tank top, leaving you in your matching set.

“so fuckin’ beautiful.” he mutters as he dipped his head to the crook of your neck. he peppered soft and gentle kisses along your pulse point and on the sides before gently sucking to create faint red marks. his lips continued the path of red marks on the top of you breasts. as he continued, his hands found their way to the clasp of your bra. he immediately took it off to expose your full tits.

“all mine, baby.” he whispers, before capturing on of your hardened nipples into his mouth. he softly tugged before soothing the stinging sensation with his tongue. his fingers were now in your wet clit that he was praising before, “so good for me.” he whispered, his fingers began to pump teasingly.

“just like that, matt.” you manage to whimper out once more, “fuck.”

“i’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, princess.”

© 777sturn