#and then you barely show him OR the guy!!!!!!!

[simpforboys]

Frat!perv!manipulator!Rafe that finally gets a taste of topper’s dumb gf…

(Warnings: oral f receiving, manipulation, drunk/dubcon, cursing, praise, fingering, cheating)

series masterlist

Fuck.

Is all Rafe could think of when he saw you, wearing that white shirt that had your tits spilling out and showing off your tummy.

Not even mentioning that denim skirt you always seemed to wore. All he wanted to do was fold it up and dry hump the shit out of you like he did two weeks ago.

How was Topper such a lucky bastard?

You had a warm smile on your face, a red solo cup in your fingers as you giggled at something your boyfriend was drunkenly rambling on about.

It was a big party night at Outer Banks University, specifically for Alpha Sigma Phi. One where every frat guy got laid, except Rafe tonight. He couldn’t care less about the other girls’ eyes on him.

Not when your eyes weren’t on him.

Rafe was tipsy. He would prefer to be drunk, but he knew he should probably be somewhat aware of his actions. Especially since you were dressed so fucking deliciously.

As soon as Topper left your side, though, Rafe stalked over to you like a predator.

“Hi, sweetness.” He coos, blue eyes locked on your tits before flickering back up to that pretty face he’s so obsessed with.

“Hi, Rafey.” You drunkenly giggle, barely standing on your own two feet.

“Y’look like a mess, baby.” He teases, his big fingers moving to gently poke where the fabric of your shirt is exposing your soft tummy.

You squirmed a bit at the action, almost falling over. Which, Rafe clearly planned for, since his big arms caught you.

“Woah, y/n. Maybe I should take ya upstairs, huh? Back t’mine and Top’s room?”

He was acting like a concerned friend, but in reality, he wanted to get you away from all the prying eyes. Alone.

“Uhmm…” you just hummed unsurely, but didn’t protest when Rafe wrapped his arm around your waist and started guiding you through the crowded house, all the way upstairs into his and Topper’s shared bedroom.

He helped you slip your shoes off, your legs stumbling over to your boyfriend’s twin xl bed before Rafe’s big hands lifted your hips to set you down carefully on it.

“There ya go, good girl.” He murmurs softly, although his cock is painfully hard in his jeans.

“Thank you, Rafey.” You mumble out drunkenly, laying back on the mattress, angling your head so it’s not propped up against the wall while your hips still face the side of the bed.

“Anythin’ f’you, sweet girl. Y’know that.” He coos, his perverted eyes automatically drifting down to where your thighs are spread a bit, revealing a damp spot on your pretty panties.

“Oh, babygirl… look a’ya. All wet ‘n needy f’me. S’your boyfriend takin’ proper care o’ya?”

His thumb came over to start rubbing against your clothed clit, blue irises flickering back up to watch your face.

“A-ah, Rafey.” You mewl softly, lifting your head to watch with half-lidded eyes.

“Shhh, be a good girl f’me, yeah? Rafey s��jus’ helpin’ ya out.”

He gently grasps your thighs and pulls them to where he’s standing next to the side of the bed, fingers hooking into the cotton material of your panties as he tugged them down your legs.

You just laid back against the shitty mattress, mind spinning. But you trusted Rafe. He is your boyfriend’s best friend, after all.

Rafe almost came in his underwear at the sight of your drenched pussy. How long have you been left aching during the party? His poor girl.

He’s had so many wet dreams and fantasies about this moment, and it takes everything in him to not pull his own pants down and fuck you senseless on Topper’s bed while there’s a party downstairs.

But, somehow, he refrains as he spreads your thighs a bit more as he leans down a bit, resting his toned chest against the edge of the mattress.

“S’pretty… such a pretty baby.”

You went to respond, brain fuzzy from alcohol. But then a warm, wet tongue met your bare clit, and the only thing that escaped you was a soft moan.

“Fuckkkkk…” Rafe grunted, already leaking precum in his boxer briefs just from his tongue flicking out to sample your hardened bud.

Just the little taste already had him even more addicted.

He couldn’t help himself, he’s been fucking his fist to this thought for months. His mouth latches onto your drenched cunt, tongue swiping through your folds and over your clit.

“R-Rafe!” You cry out, fingers digging into your boyfriend’s sheets.

“Shh, sweet girl. Shut up.”

He lifted two fingers and slid them through your parted lips, your mouth instinctively starting to suck on the long digits. His cock twitched at the sight and he let out a small moan against your pretty pussy.

He watched you suck on his fingers for a minute before he reluctantly pulled them out, a string of saliva connecting your lips from his soaked digits.

“Good girl, baby. Such a good girl f’Rafey.” He praises softly, his middle and ring finger gently sliding into your quivering hole.

“A-agh…” was all that left you, unable to form words in your drunken, pleasure-filled mind.

He swore under his breath again, watching how your greedy cunt swallowed his fingers. He looked back up at you as he began to slowly slide his fingers in and out, his tongue moving back to slide circles around your throbbing clit.

You were panting, back arching, hips bucking. All for him.

“Such a sweet cunt, babygirl. Knew I called ya sweetness f’a reason.”

He crooks his fingers against that spongy spot inside of your walls, his own stomach feeling warm when he heard you whimper out.

“Rafey…”

Rafe felt like such a fucking loser, because all it took was you moaning his name before he’s cumming in his underwear, sensitive cock completely untouched.

“Shittt, y/n. G’nna let m’eat this pussy whenever I want?” He practically whimpers.

Your tummy was feeling tight as the pleasure was getting overwhelmingly good, better than any time Topper tried to eat your cunt.

He could feel your walls fluttering around him, your eyes squeezed shut, pretty lips parted.

“Cum f’me, sweet girl. Cum all over Rafey.”

His command was enough to send you over the edge, soft mewls and noises leaving you as your body trembled for a good ten seconds.

Which sent Rafe into another orgasm, his underwear and jeans completely ruined from his sticky, leaking cock.

And Rafe has never been able to cum without getting any friction on his dick before, but here you were, making him cream himself twice back to back while he ate you out.

“S’good… S’good.” He coos softly, lapping up your release, his own legs shaking a bit.

He was feeling overwhelmed, beyond grateful his chest is leaning against his best friend’s bed.

You let out another little whimper when he pulled his fingers out of your cunt, your eyes still fluttered shut.

Rafe sucked on his own fingers, feeling his dick twitch again at your addictive taste.

And there was no way Rafe was going to be able to last much longer before he fucked your perfect cunt.

[fireinmoonshot]

touchy | joaquin torres x reader

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader Summary: Joaquin has a thing where he always likes to have a hand on you whenever you're together – holding your waist, holding your hand, a hand resting on your thigh. You finally decide to confront him about why. Warnings: Mentions of food, a kind of spicy make-out scene. Word Count: 1.6k A/N: I had this idea and I just had to write it. It's shorter than my other Joaquin fics but I had so much fun writing it and I really just wanted to get something else for Joaquin out for you guys! Please send in requests for him if you have any! 💗

One thing you never expected when you started dating Joaquin Torres was how touchy the man was – there was barely any time when the two of you were together when he wasn’t touching you in some way. 

It surprised you at first. He never came across as that kind of person. He was the definition of a Golden Retriever boyfriend. But then you’d be standing with him at a party and you’d feel his hand wrap around your waist, or whenever you had to cross the road, he’d hold your hand (not unlike your parents used to do when you were a child), or when you were at home watching a movie on the couch, his hand would rest on your thigh.

After several months of this, you finally decided to ask him why.

“Joaquin, can I ask you something?” You call from where you’re sitting in the living room, your eyes flickering up from the book that was on your lap – the one you’ve been trying to read and failing, owing to the fact that your boyfriend has been strutting around your apartment shirtless ever since he got out of the shower.

“Course you can, angel,” he calls back from the kitchen.

Out of the two of you, Joaquin is the cook of the family. You hadn’t trusted him in the kitchen at first – he had always seemed the type of person to accidentally chop off a finger because he was too distracted. But so far, no such accidents had occured and he was much better at making a delicious meal than you were.

You were quick to close your book and get up from the couch, padding through the hallway into the kitchen to see him standing at the bench, chopping something up on a cutting board in front of him – still irritatingly shirtless.

“Cooking shirtless is dangerous, you know,” you say, announcing your presence. 

His eyes flicker up towards you. “For you or for me?”

You give him a look. “For you, pretty boy. I’m not the one holding the knife.” 

Joaquin grins at you before putting the knife down, wiping his hands on the cloth on the bench beside him and grabbing the apron hanging over the back of one of your bar stools. “Should I put this on then? Someone clearly isn’t enjoying the show.” 

“Baby,” you roll your eyes at him jokingly, crossing the room and snatching the apron out of his hands. “You know that’s not what I meant. I meant you could get burned by oil or slip and cut yourself or… well… there are plenty of dangers to cooking shirtless.” 

Joaquin smirks, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to his chest so you’re pressed together. “Angel, all those things you just listed are also things that could happen to me if I were wearing a shirt. You know that, right?”

You can’t help the way you pout at him. “Not my point, Joaquin.”

He grins and presses a quick peck to your lips. “Was that what you were coming in here to talk about?” He asks, his thumb swiping gently back and forth over your waist. 

“No, actually,” you hum. “I was coming here to talk about this.” You motion in-between the two of you, at the contact between your bodies. You’re not not a fan of it – of course you love it – but it does amuse you, the fact that your boyfriend always wants to have a hand on you at all times. 

Joaquin raises his eyebrows. “We playin’ charades? Am I meant to guess?”

You laugh a little. “No, silly. This. The way I walked into the kitchen and you swept me up into your arms immediately. The way you always have a hand on my back when we walk somewhere. The way you put your hand on my thigh when we’re on the couch. The way you’re touching me all the time.” 

Irritatingly, your words have the opposite effect than intended and Joaquin steps away from you, removing his hand from your waist. You immediately miss the warmth of his body, the feeling of his hand on your waist, and almost reach back out for him. 

“You don’t like it?” Joaquin asks, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

You hate the look on his face – the way he looks like a wounded puppy. His usually playful eyes look sad, full of fear and you can read his expression immediately. He thinks that by doing these things, he’s made you uncomfortable.

“Baby, no – I love it!” You attempt to rectify the situation. “I just was curious about why.”

Unable to keep looking at his sad puppy dog eyes anymore, you step forward, cupping his cheeks in your hands gently. His hands tentatively rest on your waist, as if he’s afraid you’re going to move away at any second but he simply can’t help but to touch you, just a little.

“You’re so touchy and I love it, Joaquin. I love having your hands on me all the time, I swear. Just now when you took your hands off my waist it was like… like it was suddenly winter and I was freezing cold without them. I just wanna know why you do it,” you explain further, making sure you keep eye contact with him.

Joaquin frowns a little. “I guess I never really thought about it,” he replies. “I think I kinda just do it without meaning to. I just love the feeling of having my hands on you, feeling your warmth, reminding myself that you’re beside me. And I mean…” He clears his throat. “Have you seen yourself, angel? Why would I not wanna touch you at any given opportunity?”

It’s like his confidence makes a return to his body, then. His grip on your waist gets tighter and he pulls you closer, forcing you to drop your hands from his face. They rest on his shoulders instead as he backs you up a little so you’re leaning against the counter. His body is pressed against yours again, like it was only minutes ago. The warmth you’d missed before falls over you like a sheet of pure comfort.

You can’t keep the smile off your face at his words and actions. “That’s kinda cute, Joaquin,” you admit. “That you do it without thinking about it. Like I said, I love the feeling of you having your hands on me too.”

“Cute?” Joaquin looks at you with raised eyebrows. “You think I’m cute?”

It’s hard not to smile at his tone. “Yeah, adorable. You’re like a little puppy. You were looking at me before with the most puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen on a person. You looked so sad, I just wanted to pick you up and–”

Before you can finish speaking, Joaquin cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours. You moan at the sudden feeling of his lips, the feeling of his tongue swiping against your bottom lip. The way that his hands grip your waist tighter, one of them roaming up your back to grasp at the back of your neck so he can kiss you deeper.

The edge of the counter digs into your back but you barely even notice the feeling. One of your hands moves to run through Joaquin’s hair – it’s short, but long enough for you to grip, the other on his back. The feeling of his muscles against your palm only makes you want to kiss him more. The last thing you want to do is break apart for air.

Your breath hitches as he squeezes your waist again, forcing your lips apart. Both of you are breathing heavily, though the break doesn’t last long. Joaquin wastes no time in kissing you again, but this time his lips move from yours to your jaw. He presses soft, gentle kisses along the side of your jaw and down your neck. You tilt your head backwards, giving him better access. When your hand grasps onto his hip, he gasps a little and you can’t help but smile at the sound. 

“See?” You mutter breathlessly, tilting your head forward again to meet his eyes. “I told you that cooking while shirtless was dangerous.”

Joaquin laughs at that, a gorgeous smile finding its way onto his face. You look at him, at the sweat on his forehead, the look of lust and love in his eyes, the way his chest moves up and down quickly, his breath still heavy from your small make out session. He’s easily the most gorgeous man you’ve ever laid eyes on… and he’s all yours.

He moves his hands down to your waist again and before you can do anything about it, he’s lifting you up so you’re sitting on the counter and pushing your legs apart so he can stand in-between them. At this angle, you’re basically the same height.

“I see no problems here, angel,” he flashes that gorgeous grin again before messily pressing his lips to yours again. He pulls away quickly though, much to your disappointment. “Now that we’ve established that I’m not cute, I am going to continue cooking you dinner. I’ll let you go back to your book.”

“Oh no,” you shake your head, turning to watch him as he returns to the cutting board. “I have a much better view right here than I do in the living room, baby. Besides, someone has to supervise you to make sure you stay safe while cooking like that… it’s bound to be a hard job but I’m pretty certain I’m up to the challenge...”

[akashirl]

- mi ♡ sei ship questions !!

↓↓ (beware the long post)

ps: i used both first and third person. i am my s/i, after all.

I. PRE-RELATIONSHIP

1. they first met on sei's first year and mi's second year of middle school, during basketball practice. it was the second practice miguel had attended, sei didn't show up on the first day.

2. miguel's first impression of sei was that he was an angel on earth, like some sort of divine being. it was absolute love at first sight. seijuro's first impression of miguel was that he was tall and a good player. he didn't think much of him at that time.

3. miguel was the one who felt romantic feelings first. it was immediate.

4. both of them tried to repress their feelings. miguel because he felt like he wasn't worthy of sei's admiration, and sei because he knows that being with another guy would be simply impossible due to his role as the only heir of the akashi lineage.

5. sei's life would have been ruled by his father's decisions. he wouldn't play in the nba, rather follow business like intended and put his dreams aside. his life would be quite monotonous. as for miguel, he would have succumbed to his disorder and just straight up would have died, without any kind of strength to keep going and no one to stay alive for.

6. they never left the flirting stage. sei is quite flirty in private, and it flusters miguel easily, who always tries to flirt back but fails miserably (marinette core).

7. OH BOY. miguel doesn't have a good relationship with his mother so he's living in the rakuzan dorms. his parents like sei, but they pretend to be unaware about miguel's feelings for him. as for sei's family, oh god. miguel is familiar with sei's nanny and driver, but he hasn't met masaomi personally. he's not exactly fond of him, either. so basically, neither families know that they're a "thing".

II. GENERAL

1. it was sei who initiated it. it was after my second practice at rakuzan after the absolute storm that was having to deal with my disorder... (i get way too shy talking about this) sei promptly told me that he already knew about my feelings for him, and kissed me when we were all alone and the lights were low. i didn't even have to say anything, he could read my thoughts effortlessly.

2. they didn't have an "official first date" but rather lots of casual hang outs. they spend all their free time together, be it playing basketball together or chess, studying together or going out during lunch break at rakuzan. they go to the movies together and sometimes bring the rakuzan gang along.

3. i am going to EXPLODE. this was on my first misei lore post but here it goes: it was after practice and miguel went to clean up in the locker room. sei followed him. they were all alone. mi didn't realize he was even there until he turned around; he asked if sei needed everything and seijuro simply went up to him, cupped his face with his hands and brought him down for a kiss. it all happened so fast that miguel felt like he was close to passing out. then sei pulled back, looked him in the eyes and said "don't ever scare me like that again.". how romantic, huh? crazy.

4. sei was mi's first crush, love, "relationship", and pretty much everything. mi was NOT sei's first crush (i see you, nijimura) but he was his first true love, "relationship" and whatever else.

5. back in middle school, sei was 152cm (4'11) and miguel was 167cm (5'5), that's a 15cm (5.9 inches) difference. now, sei is 173cm (5'8) and miguel is 177cm (5'9). i suppose sei barely caught up. as for the age gap, sei is 16 going on 17, while miguel is 17 going on 18.

6. well, both miguel and seijuro have an emotionally distant approach to others, albeit for different reasons. while quite literally everyone follows sei unquestioningly, miguel's reluctance provides an unusual pushback. he doesn't like being ordered around, and makes sure seijuro knows that. he keeps him on his feet, not ever putting him on a pedestal (and then fanboying about him in private but that's another story). they're like a king and his knight -- except the knight refuses to submit to the king and his shenanigans. dog lover × cat lover. milk person × black coffee person.

7. miguel's parents like sei and find him an "excellent role model" for their son. sei's father, however, thinks of miguel as just one of sei's friends from school. that is not masaomi's main focus. miguel resents him.

8. sei takes the lead in social situations, often being the one who initiates chats (he's secretly a yapper.). they're both introverts, but miguel is way more introverted than sei is. they share the same friends at rakuzan (mibuchi, kotaro, nebuya and chihiro) but miguel is strangely uneasy when it comes to being with the rest of the kiseki. he is friends with midorima and momoi, but finds it difficult to strike a conversation with the others. they're not on the same level basketball wise and it makes miguel feel a little bit out of it.

9. that depends on who's fronting. oresei is not the jealous type, but bokusei is extremely possessive. he matches miguel's freak, i suppose. oresei is confident enough not to mind that kind of thing...miguel is extremely insecure. bokusei is just naturally jealous. they're working through it.

10. [i don't quite understand what this question means. apologies.]

11. seijuro. seijuro does that. no questions asked.

12. they're extremely open about pretty much anything, sei can always tell when miguel is hiding something from him, and when it's the other way around, miguel always gets a gut feeling. though they're not the type to hide things.

13. miguel. he feels as if sei is just wasting his time on him and will eventually move on and find someone better, which he knows he wouldn't be able to handle -- but that's how he feels anyway. i mean, have you seen akashi seijuro? how did i even manage to pull such a human...? of course, he doesn't let sei know about this insecurity of his. but he doesn't need to. seijuro knows and reassures him all the time.

14. "once more to see you" by mitski, "amor de ganga" by miguel luz, "once upon a dream" by lana del rey are some of the songs in our playlist...

15. there's not a recurring argument but miguel often gets very worried with how much pressure seijuro puts on himself. he doesn't like it when sei stays at school until dawn working or when he has no time even to eat...they've had an argument before about sei's perfectionism and how it's affecting his life negatively and sei took notes. he's trying to fulfill his duties in a healthier way...

III. LOVE

1. miguel said "i love you" first, (ore)sei is the one saying it more often. i have a strange relationship with the word "love" so i don't go around saying it without meaning it...miguel is trying to become more confident in using strong words.

2. quality time, acts of service and words of affirmation.

3. miguel tries to make pick-up lines land and fails miserably. when it comes to cheesy gestures, he likes buying sei flower bouquets. after the game against jabberwock, miguel went up to seijuro and gave him a bouquet with red camellias, dahlias, white roses, red gladiolus and white chrysanthemums.

4. they cuddle almost every night at the rakuzan dorms, when everyone else is asleep. it's like the world has stopped spinning and they have all the time in the world to give to eachother. when it comes to pda, they don't do it much due to the private nature of their relationship.

5. it's often sei who initiates the kisses. sei's favorite spots to kiss: miguel's nape (where he has the tattoo), cheek, lips, shoulder. miguel's favorite spots to kiss: forehead, knuckles, lips and neck.

6. they like playing basketball, watching movies together, trying different restaurants together and playing chess against eachother.

7. sei is better at providing comfort. neither of them are very emotional, but sei always manages to make miguel feel safe -- he also tried to give advices to "solve" whatever problem miguel is facing. miguel, on the other hand, tries to distract sei whenever he's feeling down. he knows that sei's head can be quite the dark place to be living in, so he tries his best to get him to focus on something else.

8. they prefer verbal affection because it's something that they're able to do wherever, no matter the circumstances; but they've grown to appreciate physical affection too, even though it's mostly just hands on one's shoulder, slight hand brushing and timid hand holding. they're afraid of society ok. let them be.

9. what reminds miguel of sei: the sun, cats, the color red, gems / stones, gold, roses, the smell of cinnamon. what reminds seijuro of miguel: paintbrushes, silver, the ocean, clouds, the moon, apples and the smell of vanilla.

10. they like everything about eachother. they admire especially eachother's mental strength -- since both of them have disorders and are sort of "fighting their own demons", god knows what that means. seijuro likes the way miguel looks absolutely done with everything and everyone at all times, something about his aura just screams "i want to go home" and sei lowkey digs that. on the other hand, miguel likes seijuro's imposing nature and leadership. he admires the way he is confident about who he is -- and wishes he could be as confident as sei.

11. what miguel calls seijuro: sei, captain, aka-chan (when it's bokusei), or simply seijuro. he is kind of shy with petnames. what sei calls miguel: dear, my love, my knight, miguel-senpai or simply senpai.

12. sei has the memory of an elephant. miguel has the memory of a goldfish. he cannot remember anything.

13. miguel tends to be the first apologizing -- probably because he usually is the one in the wrong. sei has his arms crossed with an imposing expression, but he relaxes, gives him a faint smile and walks up to him, kissing his cheek. "alright. that's better."

14. the protectiveness scale would probably look like: bokusei > miguel > oresei. both miguel and seijuro tend to eachother's wounds...

15. miguel buys sei flowers (that seijuro keeps hidden in his room) and books, since sei likes reading a lot. sei likes getting miguel art supplies and he bought him a designer pen once. miguel can't even mention that he likes something without sei IMMEDIATELY wanting to buy it.

IV - DOMESTIC LIFE

[ au where they're 19 and 20 in college, and sei plays in the nba (lakers)]

1. both of them have a say in the decorations, but sei is quite minimalistic and miguel is into way too many medias not to decorate the fridge with shadow the hedgehog magnets. their house has some portraits of them together as well as some pictures of shiori, paintings that miguel has done all over the walls and pictures from places they've visited together.

2, 3 & 4: questions about marriage, weddings and children make me extremely flustered so i'm afraid i cannot answer them. might make a separate post about this au...

5. they're both breadwinners. sei makes loads of money from playing in the nba and miguel also makes a decent amount from his job as a psychologist. miguel cleans and sei cooks.

6. hmmm, i don't know...i don't think so. the pets stayed at miguel's parents' house and they often visit them.

7. miguel worries the most. seijuro is quite calm most of the time. he knows not to stress himself.

8. seijuro really dislikes bugs and quite literally demands for miguel to kill them.

9. that obviously depends on the holidays but (boku)sei is VERY festive as we know. months before the holidays, he is already prepared. be it dressing up, decorating the house, whatever, sei is absolutely ready. don't even mention christmas near him.

10. seijuro wakes up early and mi always convinces him to return to bed. seijuro succumbs, obviously.

11. sei doesn't move an inch when sleeping. it's almost as if he's dead (he sleeps like a man in a coffin) and miguel moves while being asleep, hogging the blanket to himself. by that time though, seijuro is already asleep and doesn't feel the cold. miguel is also the one brushing his cold feet on sei's leg. still sei doesn't move an inch. he looks as dead as a rock. and when it comes to cuddling, they tend to switch! (boku)sei has a preference for being the little spoon but other than that, they're pretty versatile.

12. miguel, he really likes to dance at parties and drags sei around. it really isn't like miguel to be so hyped up about anything, so sei dances along with him with a content smile on his face. they sing their favorite songs. it's their happily ever after.

13. they often visit sei's mother at the graveyard and leave her flowers -- then they return to water them everyday. it's common for sei to do this after he wins a game. also, after a game, sei and miguel go to a restaurant to celebrate the victory. then they walk at night while they talk about whatever's their heart's content. playing chess against eachother has also sort of became tradition to them.

14. miguel's the type to do that. "i don't know, you choose" even though he does have a place in mind and simply wants sei to guess. and seijuro always gets it right.

15. miguel drives, seijuro gives directions.

oh my GOD, this was long.

— ship questions redux (by myself + @newbordeaux)

I. PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet?

What was their first impression of each other?

Who felt romantic feelings first?

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

What would their lives be like if they had never met?

What was their "flirting stage" like?

How do their friends and family feel about them as a couple?

II. GENERAL

Who initiated the relationship, and how did they go about it?

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

What was their first kiss like?

Were they each other's first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

What is their height difference? Age difference? Do either matter to them?

How do their personalities complement each other? How do they clash?

What is their relationship with each other's families like?

Who takes the lead in social situations? How are they around each other's friends?

Who gets jealous easier?

What are their parallels, whether in their personalities or their histories?

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other's ear in public?

Do they hide anything from each other, big or small?

Which one thinks they aren't good enough for the other, if at all?

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

What is their most common argument about?

III. LOVE

Who said "I love you" first, and what was the situation?

What are their primary love languages?

Who uses the cheesy pick-up lines, or does corny gestures?

How often do they cuddle or engage in PDA?

Who initiates kisses? Where is their favorite spot to kiss each other?

What are their favorite things to do together?

Who is better at comforting the other? How do they usually comfort each other?

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

What reminds them of each other?

What do they like best about each other?

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

Who remembers the little things?

How do they make up after an argument? Who is the first one to apologize?

Who is more protective? Who would get into a fight to defend the other? Who tends to the other's wounds?

What gifts do they typically give each other?

IV. DOMESTIC LIFE

When they move in together, who gets the most say in decorations? What do they each have to have in the house?

If they get married, who proposes, and how do they do it? Would they change their surnames?

What is the wedding like? Who attends?

How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like as parents? What are the kids like?

Are either of them the "breadwinner"? Who cooks? Who cleans?

Do they have any pets?

Who worries the most?

Who kills the bugs in the house?

How do they celebrate holidays?

Who is more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

Who hogs the blankets or takes up more than their fair share of the bed? Who puts their cold feet on the other? Who are the big and little spoons?

Who likes to dance with, or sing for, the other?

Do they have any "couple traditions", or family traditions?

Who is the one who always says "I don't know" when the other asks where they want to eat?

Who would drive, and who would give directions?

[sheepispink]

THE TRUTH. (super soldier au part 2)

cw: mentions of telling someone to commit suicide, threats, bullying

guys idk how i feel about this one but here u go 🙏

PART ONE

———-

Happy Birthday

freak.

A present stopped you from walking out at your usual time. It was a week until your birthday, and usually no one remembered other than those who had your file. Although that mostly consisted of blacked out paragraphs now.

It’s wrapped a little messily, not the worst, and you slowly pick it up, noticing a weight inside. You had never got a present before, much less more than a small timeframe to have some sort of celebration— not that you ever took that opportunity anyway. Most years you were too busy hung up with wires and drowning in your mind from drugs. Your thumb brushes over the paper curiously, looking for a name tag but finding nothing to mark the sender. Neatly, you rip a line through the paper which reveals a cardboard box. It’s blank, no branding or anything to attach itself to. When you open it though, you’re quickly greeted by a strange sight; a gun.

A handgun to be more specific, a Browning L941 if you wanted details. It sits neatly in the box, looking clean but you can tell by the small nicks in metal it’s not new. There’s a note beside it, typed— never handwritten.

“If your aim is as good as they say, surely you can prove it by putting it to your head.”

You’re not too surprised, at least more than the initial eye widening. After all, you did deal with the piece of paper on your designated breakfast table every morning. Your eyes flicker down, to the sentence beneath.

“If you’re too scared, we’ll just have to deliver the gift in person.”

That makes you blink, the implications of the clear threat not lost on you. It wasn't the first time you’ve heard them; enemies swore that they’d tear you apart limb by limb, Ghost promised he’d douse you in cold water the next time you caused a bloodbath and even the scientists taunted you with those syringes. The difference was, those were.. well threats you couldn't exactly avoid. Ghost would always get mad at you for making a mess, and you used to be far more rebellious against the scientists— or was that fear? Enemies threatening you was just a farce anyway, you’d have their bodies by your feet soon enough that it wasn't even worth thinking over twice. But this? Comrades, or well they’re supposed to be, who want to kill you? Teammates who would live happier knowing they put you to the grave. It’s no longer the opposing team, no longer the one Ghost points his finger at, no longer the ones that destroy humanity.

No, they only want to destroy you.

For the first few days, you tried to shake it, but you were feeling the weight of the words even more than usual. The stab of pain in your back when they threw the bread roll at you; that could be a bullet next time. Your shoes in the toilet could be your body next time. The fox who whines and whimpers would be you when you were deemed useless.

The truth was, you didnt care about the damn movie, or the cake you were promised, nor even the words “happy birthday” being said to you. It was an excuse, a white lie even, to get the Captain, or Ghost, hoping one of them would actually come into your room. Never have they stepped foot in since your first arrival, never feeling the need to either. The Captain only had time to care when you emailed him, but even that seemed too risky, what if he laughed it off and the surrounding soldiers heard? Ghost barely ever gave you time to talk anyway, and when you did get a moment, there were too many around.

So you invited them over, tried your best act as if you really wanted a birthday to celebrate with them. They’d come, you’d show them the note, the gun. If they laughed, it’d be fine, hidden in your room— you could find a solution before they told the others and it spread around the base. If they didn't laugh, you’d be safe, guaranteed that no one would really try what would happen on that piece of paper.

But you hadn't anticipated that neither of them would come at all. Your eyes brim with tears, unsure how that is even possible as you step into your room, a tenseness sinking into your bones and spreading across your body. With them completely out of the picture, you’re left by yourself until your end surely comes. Maybe you should’ve known, especially when you remember what soldiers call you— a monster.

But it wasn’t in your coding, in your genes or even near your thought process to harm those that threaten you— at least not first anyways, and especially when they’re not explicitly enemies. This was a moral dilemma your tampered mind wasn't capable of handling. Despite the sick growing in your stomach, you had a plan. There were outdoor training rooms, more specifically small cabins that were sometimes used to punish soldiers if they acted up too much.

The gift remains untouched on the dresser, a silent promise watching you at all times. It’s almost four o clock now, and the day isn't getting any brighter in the middle of winter. Opening your closet, your hands pass over the many uniforms there. That’s all they give you, uniforms, it’s why yours are always clean— your only purpose is to fight. So you grab the jacket in the furthest corner, the one usually saved for extreme weather conditions and slip that on. It disguises your figure enough and the hiking boots are exactly what you need to be a new person.

Your hand grazes the knives in your old belt, and you take a few, sliding them into the new holster behind the jacket. Just in case. There’s nothing else to take now, apart from your small radio that you sometimes keep on your person— you dont really use a phone either since it was seen to be a distraction. You’ll likely have to starve for the rest of the day, though with your knowledge you could probably find some sort of food out there. Just in case, you grab an MRE, a spare that stays around in the off chance you get dizzy from eating nothing all day.

Slowly you step out in the hallway, looking around for anyone before closing your door shut again. You didnt dare make it suspicious with a backpack, so your bottle is stuffed into your jacket pocket instead. Same for the untampered gift on the table, they’d assume you’d be back later to open it.

This was your best bet.

You head down the corridors, keeping a confident pace so people wouldn’t even try suspect you— that’s the key to everything, after all. Ironically, that wasn’t the situation at all, in fact they were.. friendly? A few soldiers gave you a nod as you walked past, which wasn’t the craziest thing but, considering no one’s ever done that before, it was exhilarating. You nod in turn, a mask hiked up to your nose but it just looks like you’re keeping your face warm for when you go outside— not that anyone here is phased by a mere mask anyway. Infact, a few soldiers who look particularly boisterous even go as far to fist bump you, likely thinking you’re someone they know. You don't care in the slightest; you’re just happy that for once you get to experience what your life should’ve been like.

The giddiness is temporary though, as you turn the corner to see Ghost stepping out of a room with two crates of drinks in his hands. You falter, stopping in your tracks as he closes the door behind him.

Is this really the right idea? Running away like this?

It’s only for the day, at least that was the idea, but what after that? What if they didn't stop at your birthday— what if it continued? You could tell him right now, pull the mask down that covers your face and confess every little detail running through your head. What would you do if he got in trouble for your foolish decisions? He had shown his stance when he chose not to show up at your birthday party; he clearly didn't care at all.. right?

“Do you need something?” He says lowly, clearly having realised that you’ve frozen in your tracks before him, and giving you a narrowed stare for that reason. Surprisingly, it’s less demeaning and more questioning, considering how harsh his eyes usually go when looking at you. It gives you a bit of hope.

”D-do you need any help with that, sir?” You’re not sure why your voice stuttered, not particularly wanting to think much about the matter either. Instead, you stare right back at him, your eyes widened as you stare in his pupils moving around like it’s searching you.

Did he recognise you?

“No, that’s alright.” It’s gruff, and harsh and yet far more nicer than he’s ever spoken to you before. You manage to force yourself to nod in response, giving a small salute before hurrying off down the corridor.

Trekking through the forest is a little bit of an effort but you eventually meet the small cabin that’s there. It’s almost never used in winter, but in the summer they might do their training in these areas and keep the lunch here. Slowly you step inside, recognising from the get go that there’s not particularly much. There’s a few bedrolls for wilderness training, albeit a bit torn and some dry firewood left discarded on the little fireplace. That’s good, at least you won't freeze anymore than you already have. It’s not like you can use it though— it’s too risky. If anyone sees smoke out here you’re bound to get caught in seconds, and possibly even by your predators.

You lock the cabin door, placing a chair beneath the handle as you let out a sigh and slump against the wall. This would be a long, painstaking night and you cant help but wonder if it’d been better to just defend yourself when they came. But what if you lost control? What if you seriously hurt someone? Even if they were trying to harm you?

The thought makes you shudder, even more than the thoughts you’ve been desperately pushing back. But when there is nothing else to do in this cold place, it’s hard to keep your mind focused. The only way you survived these past three months with Ghost is by not thinking about your situation— at all. It’s probably why he hates you. From how he reacts anyway, you’re more like a robot than you’ve ever been a human. You’ve been monitored all your life, since before you were born you were made for the cause. No clue of who your mother was, you were genetically modified as an embryo for all the traits they wished for you to have. Other children in the program had the same, of course, and for the first years of your life you were blissfully unaware. You didn’t understand that the kids you ran around and giggled with would end up being your own enemies, despising that you turned out to be the successful experiment and not them. It wasn't as glamorous as it sounded, but they complained, saying you didnt have to be sent away like they did, to be fostered and deal with the pain of the experiments for the rest of their lives.

That’s exactly what you had though. You were split from them altogether, coddled by scientists and doctors, personal trainers who felt more like drill sergeants than anyone that wanted to help you. Of course, you were tampered with too, drugged up on strange substances as they tampered with your nerves, always changing you to be better because you were never enough for them. They were supposed to enforce rationality within you by erasing anything that could get you worked up, and so your emotions became suppressed, pushed down and piled with the weight of responsibilities to keep them down. But it clearly wasn't successful, at least when you’re not on the battlefield. When you entered that place, it was like a switch had turned on in your brain, all morality slipping out as you only followed the orders of whoever the handler was. Your mind always enters a haze after you snap out of it and come back from hours of combat, leaving you feeling sick to the core.

But now, things are changing— too fast. You had cried, because they didn't come to your birthday party. For once, your stomach felt sickly with misery and your breath had caught in your throat when you’ve never stopped breathing before, ever. Your hand reaches into your pocket, pulling out a small fox toy. It was a gift from a younger scientist who had just been a mere intern. He had been put forward for the menial task of looking after your post-experimentation state, making sure your vitals were fine. You didnt get to talk to him that much, considering you mostly were deep in sleep, recovering from the new strain on your body. But he stayed beside you, making sure you were okay. When you left to get tested on the field with Ghost, he gave you a small plush, just the size of your hand.

“A little gift.” He chuckled, smiling gently as he rubbed your bandaged arm. “Don't give me that look. I know you’re not actually that unbothered, they just made you that way. You can say you like it, you know, that it makes you happy.”

You could only nod in return, it was the truth, you were very happy.

The sky was already growing dark and without the determination that kept your body distracted from your needs, you were actually feeling your hunger full force for once. The little fox is clenched deep in your hands, a natural predator and yet it’s more common to see them die out in the wild than thriving. Just like you. Your stomach growls, and so you reach for your MRE, eyeing the food within. You were probably supposed to warm it up first, but you’d just have to eat it like this for now. You rip the first packet open, and just try to scarf it down without thinking about the taste too much. It wasn’t the best to say the least. But you’re used to it now; you barely got proper meals apart from missions, and often had to eat one of these after an unsuccessful trip to the mess hall.

You’re about to inspect the other packet when a low scratching noise is heard against the door. Instantly, you pause, mind shifting into something akin to a battle mode already. Slowly, you approach the door, pressing your ear as your hand reaches in your belt for the knife. The windows were frosted up, so it’s unlikely they could see in when it was already pretty dark in here. A low whine echoes out and you realise who's actually stalking you, quickly removing the chair and opening the door. The little fox stands there, looking up at you as it slowly steps inside the cabin.

For once, you let your guard down and just sigh, closing the door and securing it again. “C’mere.” You rarely fear anything, and so you scoop the little fox up without a second thought, even as it squirms initially and its claws are sharp on you. You settle in the warmest area of the room again, next to your mre pack and grab the fork, scooping out some of the food. You didn't need the rest, but he could use it. The fox reluctantly eats the food, and you giggle when you realise it probably doesn't taste much better to him either despite being starving. You took it off by letting him drink half the bottle of your water, which he greedily takes along with a few fruits you packed.

“Your fur is matted, and you’re all banged up but you’re still adorable.” The thought makes you sniffle, a bittersweet smile rising on your lips. The fox rests its head on your lap as you run your hand over its fur, gently scratching every now and then. Why couldn’t people see the truth in you as you did right now? You’ve trained for so long, fought to keep all of them safe on their missions and all you got in return was a scared look, disgust and sometimes even anger. It hurt, more than you allowed yourself to feel.

But this is the first time you’ve been alone without the battlefield before you, or a supervisor staring you down. You could have a gun to your head tonight, and no one will find out until the morning, so for now you just begged that the soldiers were joking, for the sake of everyone involved.

You just wish Ghost and Price would’ve listened, so you could be safe and warm back there, at least getting an early sleep on your birthday. The scientist promised, he said it’d get better, he said there would be others who would care like he did. He said only the higherups were this bad; he lied to you. The tears drip again, unable to stop this time and you bury your face in your hands, mourning everything you’ve lost, and everything you’ve yet to lose. Dead or alive, you may lose it all.

————————-

Taglist:

@mellohimmku94 @rafaelacallinybbay

[xaer1s]

ㅤㅤ ❛ ㅤ✿ ──────​ cuteness clad in silk ⸝⸝

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ 최산 ] ─── ​CHOI SAN​ ⨾ ATEEZ

ㅤㅤ synopsis:ㅤsan was always a calm and collected guy, not riling himself up easily but this simple change you made tonight, unexpectedly -especially for him- had him feeling a bit too excited.ㅤ⨾ㅤwarnings:ㅤnsfw!!, spooning sex, unprotected sex (guys don't do it), needy-dom!san, fem!reader, sub!reader, clit play, p in v, cream pie, lil begging?, pwp??, pet names, slight overstim, lil swearing, praisingㅤ;ㅤword count:ㅤ1,8kㅤ;ㅤa/n.: after my other account with the name of xa3r1s got shadow-banned and i didn't really get help from the staff, i decided to make another blog. i probably won't reupload all of my works. happy reading

ㅤㅤ › ARCHiVE ; NAViGATiON ・・・・・; ✉︎ message me on: @smnxi ; please reblog and follow if you like my posts! do not spam likes, or you'll be blocked, sorry! ♡

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ• . ˚ ⋆ . ｡.

. . . having to lay your head on the pillow at the most boiling hot night in mid august was just straight up torture, so you decided to change sleepwear. placing the soft cotton shorts and thin, plain tops aside, for an even thinner, pure white nightgown. it actually looked very cute if we’re gonna be honest and very practical too. you never once thought about wearing one but when you finally gave it a try and it wasn’t that bad at all.

the silky fabric clung to your skin because of the after shower steam in all the right places, pronouncing your hips as the material stretched deliciously. showing the faint outline of your nipples and the straps occasionally slipping down on your bare shoulders, made your boyfriend attention perk up. it had san already in a frenzy.

experiencing you like this first in his whole lifetime was a game changer for him, he just got so used to seeing you in your usual night wear that he didn’t really pay attention to it anymore. not to misunderstand, you were absolutely cute like that too.

now turning off the lights, making your way from the bathroom to sit on the edge of the bed, your bare feet quietly thumping on the cold wooden floor, the harsh feeling sent goosebumps over your skin. the bedroom was quiet and dark aside from the lamp’s small, orange tinted light providing the only source of light, placed on the bedside table. still, you felt his sharp eyes tracking over you. the window wide open, the gentle summer breeze tickling your skin and the sky foggy.

he was already under the warm, fluffy duvet, his dark eyes drinking in the sight in front of him just within his reach, and at this point he was just struggling to keep himself composed and his actions in check. he itched to reach out to tug the inviting material off of you, he had so easy access it made him go nuts.

of course you noticed, his gaze quite literally burning holes into your back as you made yourself comfortable under the blankets, pulling it over you as you curled against his side, as he continued to stare shamelessly. a content sigh escaping you and a gentle smile made itself clear on your lips.

“hug me..” just like you asked, one of his arm draped over your shoulder to pull you flush against him, his palm splayed out flat on your waist as his fingertips caressed you gently over the shiny fabric.

he already saw you in every way he possibly could by now after spending years with you and knew every inch and crevice of your soft body like the back of his hand. still, the innocence you carried in wearing a simple white nightgown with nothing but panties underneath just send tingles of excitement through his body, straight to his cock and made his heart thump faster. you seemed so pure and adorable in his embrace, soft locks falling forward and framing your cheeks, eyes ready to flutter close to drift off to sleep, knowing nothing about his inner turmoil.

the cute little flares adorning the hem where it rode up your thighs, made his tummy hot. after some time, now deep in slumber, you turned to your other side, presenting your back to him. he managed to force himself to sleep too but as soon as you moved, it shook him awake. his tired gaze traveling to your frame and gulping down a big lump in his throat.

adjusting himself after you, missing the feeling of your body against his, san wrapped his arms around your mid section, his front pushing against your back. he was already struggling real bad at this point, but the quiet whine you let slip out in your sleep and the way you wriggled your butt against his crotch in the search of his warmth just did the work.

his hold now tighter as each second passed, hips bucking into you, just slowly and lazily grinding himself through his sleeping shorts. making sure you were still asleep and snoring softly, his face found its home in the back of your neck, your hair brushing against his face as he made incredible effort to muffle his whiny moans while rutting himself against you.

in a futile attempt to keep quiet, his teeth sank into his plump lower lip almost drawing out blood and god he was ashamed of himself for being so fucking horny just from lying next to you. his embarrassment from the absurdity of the situation slowly seeped into pleasure as a small wet patch made itself visible in his already tight underwear.

you stirring awake, a quiet whine escaped from deep within your throat, blinking your weary eyes open to meet with darkness. it took a few seconds to realize what’s going on behind you, your lips parted with an exhausted sigh.

“san..” but he continued, you didn’t protest, not when he was so adorably needy, you knew he simply just wouldn’t let you until he’s satisfied.

“darling.. i’m sorry- you’re just-..” he tries to explain, his voice coming in quick and unsteady pants, his palm flat on your hips now and fingertips flicking over the hem of your clothing. “can I, please?.. the tip.. only the tip, i swear, baby..” even while asking for permission, he didn’t seem to stop grinding so instead you just appreciated the effort of him pleading so desperate for you. reluctantly, you mumbled a small and very exhausted ‘yeah’ and gave the green light.

you were tired but you still weren’t so cruel to leave your handsome boyfriend wanting so of course you gave in even if it meant sacrificing a little sleep. feeling his hands inch higher on your sides, pushing the material with them, giving himself more place to reach. one of his hand rested on your ass and the other moved to pull the waistband of his shorts just under his member, letting it lewdly slap against his firm abdomen, eliciting a quiet hiss from san.

taking himself into his grip, his fingers tightened around the flushed red tip and his thumb smeared the sticky pre-cum across his already pulsing erection with a low groan before giving it a few squelching pumps quickly for an easier slide. his breathing heavy and actions unsteady, he managed to hook his fingers into the elastic band of your panties, tugging it down your thighs just enough for him to finally reach your most sensitive places. this was all it took for him to get to you, hiking up your nightgown and simply just pulling off your underwear. the thought alone made him twitch in his firm grasp, making his hold tighten around it.

his fingers grazed your dripping slit, feeling the evidence of your excitement on the pads of his fingers, so slimy and warm, it made his mouth water, his tasting buds aching to just lick it off. pushing those fantasies aside, he felt like he’d explode if he’s not in you in the next two minutes. he moved flush against your back, his other hand guiding his throbbing erection to nudge your entrance, sinking slowly in with a stretched out moan, breathing it against the back of your neck.

he bottomed out, just savoring the exquisite feeling of your warmth surrounding him, you clenching down tightly in response, feeling the small ridges and veins running along his cock against your wet walls, it made your needy hole gush too. his digits dug into your plush hips, his nails forming small, red half circles as he squeezed your flesh to guide you slowly. his other hand sneaked its way around your torso aiming to have you as close as humanly possible while he was taking you from behind.

“so warm and snug.. you feel so good, baby.. bet you love feeling me inside you so fucking deep..” he seethed through gritted teeth, pulling out to quickly slam himself back, his tip kissing your cervix, your body jerking forward with a sudden gasp from the force, his arm keeping you safe and still, pressing you back against his broad chest.

your juices dripped down along his shaft, coating it thickly, sweet droplets landing on the sheets beneath you, your hole fluttering crazy, sucking him in subconsciously. his cock dragged along your gummy walls lazily, his eyes closed down as delicate whines left your plump lips.

one of his hand slipped between your thighs, nudging them further apart, the pads of his index and middle finger drawing circles furiously on your puffy, throbbing clit as he continued to thrust away, pace only picking up slightly. the pleasure had your muscles tense and your back arch, instinctively squirming from him while he shushed you, trying to keep you there with force and helping to guide your movements.

“‘m close!-.. s-san!..”

“yeah.. go ahead, my sweet girl..” to his reassurance wrapped words, the knot in your tummy tightened further, heat spreading all over your body from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, your skin tingling. “you deserve it, let go.. let me feel you come over my cock. can you do that for me?..”

with a sharp pinch and a quick tug on your swelled nub, a loud moan rippled from your heaving chest as your release hit you like a tidal wave, clamping on his shaft as he continued to piston into you from behind. fucking you through your orgasm turning into chasing his own high when he moved even faster. it was almost as if he didn’t hear your protest. you reached behind, pushing on his chest with your palm and legs closing on his hand still between yours. he resisted well, by just easily keeping you in place.

“it’s okay- i know, love, i know.. a little-.. just a little more, yeah? gonna be good for me and make me cum too, hm?” his sweet and comforting tone made you relax, stopping all your earlier resistance. his abdominal muscles flexed and with a stinging bite in the nape of your neck, he shot his hot ropes of thick seed deep into your waiting womb, your fucked out body shuddering at the sensations.

after a few, sloppy thrust, he finally stilled inside you completely with his spent cock. catching his breath while he peppered soft kisses to the reddened marking he left just now.

his hands sliding to your sides now, soothing your heated up and flushed skin as your eyes fluttered down close, ears already starting to block out his quiet words targeted towards you.

“‘love you.. so grateful for you, baby..” a small, genuine smile threatened to stretch on his lips as he just followed you to sleep soundly, pulling the duvet over you to tuck you in again, keeping you in his strong yet so caring and gentle grip, making the clean up tomorrow’s problem.

plagiarism is strictly forbidden, do not translate my works, copy them or publish them on another site ; @xaer1s

[rafes-slut]

You send your best friend nudes on aciddent

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader (Best Friends)

Summary: you wanted ro send nudes to guy you were talking to and without even realizing you sended them to rafe. He shows up at your house and he fucks you pretty

Warnings:(Explicit sexual content (18+), Rough, raw, and unprotected sex, Best friends-to-lovers tension, Possessiveness/jealousy, Strong language, Slight dominance themes, Mentions of nudes/sexting, Brief edging/denial)

-------------------------------------------------------

Your house was too quiet. Too empty. The kind of silence that made you restless, forcing you to find something—anything—to keep yourself occupied.

You had already scrolled through every possible social media feed, tried binge-watching a show, and even considered taking a nap, but nothing seemed to cure the boredom eating at you. The guy you’d been talking to—the one you had a… thing with—hadn't texted you all day, and for some reason, that only annoyed you more.

With a sigh, you plopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling before an idea popped into your head. A reckless, stupid idea. But an exciting one.

Grabbing your phone, you opened the camera app, biting your lip as you hesitated. Then, without thinking too hard about it, you started posing, taking pictures of yourself—fully naked.

The longer you did it, the more confident you became, experimenting with angles, capturing the way the dim lighting cast shadows over your skin. By the time you finished, you were beyond pleased with how good you looked.

Your finger hovered over the screen as you scrolled through the pictures, feeling the rush of power that came with it. Maybe if you sent them to him—the guy you’d been talking to—he’d finally give you the attention you deserved.

Without another thought, you selected a few of your best shots and hit send.

The moment was thrilling. You smirked to yourself, placing your phone aside as you basked in the satisfaction of it all. You left your phone unattended for a while, assuming he’d take his time responding, so you didn’t bother checking right away.

It wasn’t until an hour later, when you absentmindedly picked up your phone to see if he had replied, that your stomach dropped.

36 new messages.

But they weren’t from him.

They were from Rafe.

Your heart stopped. Your entire body froze as dread crept up your spine. Confusion clouded your mind until you clicked on his name, your blood running cold as you read the first message.

Rafe: Tell me you didn’t just send that to me.

Your breath hitched. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you scrolled.

Rafe: Are you serious right now?

Rafe: Fucking answer me.

Rafe: Jesus Christ, what the fuck?

Rafe: Are you out of your mind?

Panic overtook your senses as you finally understood what had happened. Your fingers shook as you scrolled up, only to confirm your worst nightmare.

You hadn’t sent those pictures to the guy you’d been talking to.

You had sent them to Rafe.

Your best friend.

The same Rafe who had seen you at your worst, who had been there through everything, who—until now—had never seen you like that.

You felt sick.

Rafe: I swear to fucking God, tell me that was a mistake.

Rafe: Are you ignoring me on purpose?

Rafe: Do you even realize what you just did?

You stared at the messages, paralyzed with horror, your mind racing with what to do. There was no taking it back. No pretending it never happened.

Your phone buzzed again, and another text popped up.

Rafe: I’m coming over.

Your stomach flipped.

Oh. Fuck.

You barely had time to process the messages before loud, impatient knocking shook your front door. Your heart jumped into your throat.

Shit.

Rafe was already here.

Panic surged through you as you scrambled off your bed. You weren’t even dressed—still completely bare from your little photoshoot. With no time to properly throw on clothes, you grabbed the first thing within reach—an oversized shirt that smelled faintly of cologne. Rafe’s cologne. It was probably his shirt, one he had left behind on one of the countless nights he crashed at your place.

You barely managed to pull it over your head, the hem brushing mid-thigh, before the knocking got louder.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Open the damn door."

His voice was sharp, edged with something you couldn’t quite place—urgency, frustration… something more.

Taking a deep breath, you smoothed out the shirt, schooling your expression into something nonchalant. Like you didn’t just send your best friend a full spread of naked pictures. Like you weren’t freaking the fuck out inside.

You swung the door open, greeting him with a bright, innocent smile. "Hey, Rafe."

His eyes flickered over you immediately, scanning your barely covered frame. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. "You’re fucking joking."

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. "About what?"

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling a sharp breath before stepping inside, shutting the door behind him with more force than necessary. "Don't do that. Don't act like you didn't just—" He stopped himself, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as his eyes dragged down your body again, lingering on your bare legs.

You crossed your arms, biting back a smirk. "Didn't just what?"

His jaw ticked. "Send me those pictures."

You shrugged. "It was an accident."

His blue eyes snapped to yours, dark and dangerous. "An accident?" He took a step closer, forcing you back slightly. "Tell me, how exactly do you 'accidentally' send someone half a dozen nude pictures?"

You swallowed hard, nerves creeping up your spine, but you refused to back down. You weren’t about to let him see how flustered you were. "I meant to send them to someone else."

His expression darkened, something flickering behind his eyes at your words. His voice dropped, lower, rougher. "Yeah? Who?"

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You weren’t sure why, but suddenly, saying his name—the guy you’d been talking to—felt wrong. The way Rafe was looking at you, staring through you like he was barely holding himself together, made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t prepared for.

His fingers twitched at his side. "Who were they meant for?"

You hesitated. "It doesn’t matter."

"Like hell it doesn’t," Rafe snapped, stepping in again, this time leaving no space between you. Your breath hitched. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his chest barely brushing yours. His gaze flicked to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking onto your eyes again. "You were really about to send those to some other guy?"

Your mouth felt dry. You blinked up at him, struggling to find your voice. "It’s not a big deal—"

His laugh was humorless. "Not a big deal?" His fingers curled at his sides like he was physically restraining himself. "You seriously don’t get it, do you?"

"Get what?" You whispered.

Rafe exhaled sharply, his jaw clenched so tightly you swore he might break his teeth. Then, in one swift motion, he grabbed your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to look at him. Your breath caught in your throat.

"Don’t ever send shit like that to another guy." His voice was low, dangerously soft. "Not when you have me."

Your heart stuttered. "Rafe—"

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly like he was at war with himself. His grip on your chin tightened just enough to make you dizzy. "Do you have any idea what you just did to me?"

You swallowed, your skin buzzing under his touch. "I—"

"You think I didn’t like it?" He scoffed, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "You think I’m mad because I didn’t want to see you like that?"

Your stomach flipped.

He leaned in, his lips just barely grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered, "I’m mad because now I can't stop fucking thinking about it."

A sharp breath left your lungs.

His other hand trailed down, gripping the hem of your—his—shirt. His fingers brushed against your bare thigh, sending shivers up your spine.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The second you didn’t tell him to stop, Rafe took that as a green light.

Before you could process it, his hands gripped your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifted you off the floor. A startled gasp left your lips as he placed you on the nearest surface—the hallway counter—knocking over a few things in the process.

Your legs instinctively spread, your oversized shirt riding up your thighs, exposing just how bare you were beneath it.

Rafe wasn’t blind. He saw everything.

And fuck, he wasn’t about to pretend he didn’t notice how worked up you already were.

A dark smirk tugged at his lips as his hands slid up your thighs, fingers tracing your soft skin. "You didn’t even think about putting something on, huh?" His voice was low, teasing. "Almost like you wanted me to see you like this."

Heat crawled up your neck, but before you could snap back, his fingers were already moving.

Without hesitation, he slipped between your thighs, brushing against your slick heat. A breathy moan slipped past your lips as he ran two fingers through your folds, feeling just how wet you were for him.

"Shit," Rafe groaned under his breath. "Look at you."

Your head tilted back slightly, hands gripping the edge of the counter as he teased you, his fingers barely dipping into you before pulling away again. Your hips bucked slightly, chasing the friction, and he chuckled.

"Needy, huh?"

"Rafe—" Your voice was a quiet plea, but he wasn’t feeling merciful tonight.

He pushed two fingers inside you with ease, the stretch making you gasp. He wasted no time, his fingers curling just right, pressing against that spot that made your entire body shudder.

"That’s it, baby," he murmured, his free hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread for him. "Fuck, you’re already squeezing me."

Your legs twitched, the pleasure overwhelming as he pumped his fingers inside you, slow but deliberate. His thumb found your clit, rubbing small, calculated circles that made you whimper.

"Bet you weren’t even thinking about that guy when you took those pictures," he taunted, his pace never faltering. "Bet you were thinking about me."

You didn’t answer, but your body betrayed you—the way you clenched around his fingers, the way your thighs trembled.

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours, but never closing the distance. "Say it," he murmured. "Tell me who you really wanted to send them to."

Your pride held on, but your body was already giving him the answer.

You didn’t answer his question. You couldn’t. Saying it out loud would mean admitting it—to him, to yourself. That you never meant for those pictures to go to anyone but him. That the only person you wanted to see you like this, touch you like this, was Rafe.

But your silence didn’t matter. Your body told him everything he needed to know.

You gasped, yanking his wrist, pulling his fingers out of you before you could tumble over the edge. Rafe’s brows furrowed, his fingers glistening in the dim light, but before he could question it, your hands found his waistband, tugging at his jeans.

He let out a low chuckle, but it was rough, almost breathless. "That desperate, huh?"

You ignored him, too focused on shoving his jeans down. The second they pooled around his ankles, you took a moment—your breath hitching as you took him in.

Fuck.

You already knew he was big, but seeing it—thick, hard, already leaking at the tip—had you swallowing hard.

Rafe didn’t give you time to think. He grabbed your hips, dragging you to the edge of the counter, spreading you wider. He didn’t bother with teasing or stretching you any further—he knew you could take it.

And you did.

The moment he pushed inside, a strangled moan left your lips, your hands flying to grip his shoulders.

"Shit," Rafe gritted, his fingers digging into your skin as he bottomed out in one sharp thrust.

It was rough. Raw. Deep.

He didn’t give you time to adjust—he pulled back just enough before slamming into you again, knocking the breath from your lungs. The counter rattled beneath you with every thrust, his grip bruising, his pace relentless.

"Look at you," he groaned, watching the way your body took him, how you clenched around him with every movement. "This is what you wanted, huh? Not him—me."

Your nails scraped down his back, a broken moan escaping as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot that had you seeing stars.

"You feel that?" Rafe panted, his forehead pressing against yours. "This is mine. You're mine."

You couldn’t even argue.

Not when you were falling apart around him, your body trembling as you came, his name spilling from your lips like it was the only thing you knew.

And Rafe? He followed right after, burying himself deep, groaning your name as he spilled inside you, claiming you in every way possible.

[theonottsbxtch]

LOW LIFE | LN4

an: LMAO DID I JUST ACCIDENTLY WRITE MY OWN FIRST SMUT LMAO @iimplicitt IS STILL IN SHOCK BUT IT JUST HAPPENED.

wc: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT MDNI (18+), drug use, cheating, graphic? sex

LANDO NORRIS WAS THE KING OF THE ICE—MVP, team captain, the kind of player scouts drooled over. Fast, ruthless, unstoppable. On the rink, he was untouchable. Off it? He was a ticking time bomb.

The parties, the girls, the drugs—it all blurred together in a haze of neon lights and bad decisions. He lived for the rush, for the next high, for the next night he wouldn’t remember. And then came her.

She was off-limits. Oscar’s girl.

Oscar, his teammate, his so-called best mate, the one guy who still believed Lando had a shot at going pro if he could just get his act together. And she was his. The perfect hockey girlfriend—pretty, polished, and loyal, at least in theory.

But Lando saw the cracks. The way her gaze lingered when Oscar wasn’t looking. The way she bit her lip when he got too close. She wasn’t as untouchable as she wanted to be. And Lando? He never turned down a challenge.

One night, a club. Oscar was out of town. She was bored. One too many drinks, a little bit of molly, and suddenly, she wasn’t resisting anymore.

Lando didn’t love her. He didn’t even know if he liked her. But he knew she’d come back. They always did.

Their affair was a game, a sick addiction—sneaking around, pretending there were rules when there weren’t. She hated him. She wanted him. She swore it would stop, but it never did.

Then the cracks shattered.

A video. A night they couldn’t take back. It spread through the team like wildfire, through the uni, through Oscar.

Lando never claimed to be a good guy. He never pretended to play fair. And now? Now, he was about to lose everything—his captaincy, his shot at the league, his best mate.

But the worst part?

He still wanted her.

And he was willing to burn the whole fucking world down to keep her.

7 months ago:

The first time Lando really noticed her, she was wearing Oscar’s jersey.

She was standing just outside the rink after a game, her hair still damp from the cold, laughing at something Oscar had said. Lando should’ve kept walking, but something about the way she smiled made him pause. It wasn’t just pretty—it was effortless, like she wasn’t even trying.

And then she looked at him.

Just a flicker, a half-second too long, before she turned back to Oscar. But Lando felt it. That awareness.

He ignored it. At least at first.

It wasn’t like he needed another complication. His whole life was a balancing act—keeping his grades just high enough to stay eligible, keeping his nose clean enough for the scouts to stay interested, keeping his habits in check enough that the coaches didn’t start asking too many questions.

Besides, he had options. Plenty of them. Girls who didn’t come with consequences.

But she was different.

Not just because she was Oscar’s, but because she wasn’t like the others. She didn’t throw herself at him. She barely looked at him when Oscar was around. She should have been safe.

She wasn’t.

The first mistake was at a party. 

The whole team was celebrating a win, the kind of night that blurred into neon lights and sticky floors. Lando had already taken something by the time she showed up, a slow burn in his veins, turning everything soft around the edges.

He saw her first.

She was wearing something tight, something short. Not for him, but it didn’t matter. Because he saw the way her eyes flicked to him when she thought Oscar wasn’t watching. The way her breath hitched when he brushed past her.

She stayed close that night. Close enough that he could smell her perfume, close enough that when she reached for a drink, her fingers skimmed his.

Oscar left early. She didn’t.

Neither did Lando.

It wasn’t planned. He wouldn’t even call it intentional. But the second they were alone, the tension cracked like a shot to the glass.

“You’re drunk,” she murmured when he backed her against the wall.

“So are you.”

She should’ve pushed him away. She didn’t.

And when he kissed her, she kissed him back.

It was a mistake. One they should’ve never repeated.

But they did.

It became a pattern.

It became an addiction. 

Oscar would go to bed early after a game, and she’d stay up just a little longer. Oscar would go grab drinks, and she’d glance at Lando across the room. It was never enough to prove anything—but it was enough.

Enough to make it impossible to stop.

The first time he fucked her, it was after another party, both of them high, half-drunk, caught between a hotel room door and a terrible decision. She was gasping his name, fingers digging into his back, and he didn’t even feel guilty.

Because it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt like something that had been waiting to happen all along.

He told himself it wouldn’t happen again.

But it did.

Again. And again. And again.

She never left Oscar. She never tried. Maybe she told herself it wasn’t real, that Lando was just another bad habit, another high she couldn’t quit.

But Lando knew better.

Because she wasn’t the only one addicted.

He should’ve stopped before it got messy. Before the video. Before Oscar found out.

But Lando never stopped anything.

Not until it was too late.

And by then, it wasn’t just his career on the line.

It was everything.

The morning before the end of her world, she woke up to a pounding headache and a sinking feeling in her stomach.

The room was too bright, the hotel curtains half-open, letting in the early morning light that made everything look too real. A slow, creeping nausea settled in as she forced herself to blink.

The sheets weren’t hers.

The bed wasn’t hers.

The shirt she was wearing sure as hell wasn’t hers.

Fuck.

She sat up too fast, the room tilting as last night hit her in flashes - booze, a long drive, Lando’s hand on her thigh in the car, his breath against her neck in the elevator. The taste of him still on her tongue.

Panic clawed up her throat.

And more importantly- where was Oscar?

Her heart was hammering as she shoved the sheets away, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, but before she could move, a lazy voice cut through the silence.

“Relax.”

She turned, pulse spiking, to find Lando sprawled on the other side of the bed. Shirtless, half covered in the sheets, arm thrown over his forehead like he didn’t have a single fucking care in the world.

Like this wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened.

“You look like you’re about to be sick,” he muttered, blinking at her through heavy lidded eyes. His voice was hoarse from sleep, slow and thick, and so fucking casual it made her skin craw.

She was about to be sick.

“Where the fuck are we?” she snapped, voice sharper than she meant it to be.

Lando groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair before reaching for something on the nightstand. “Couple hours out. Middle of nowhere. You insisted we get away before Oscar got home, remember?”

She didn’t. But she believed it.

Her fingers clenched around the hem of the shirt, his shirt, realising she wasn’t wearing anything else beneath it. Her stomach twisted.

“This is bad,” she whispered. “This is really fucking bad.”

Lando just hummed, reaching for the little plastic bag sitting next to his phone. She watched in muted horror as he dipped his pinky finger into the powder and brought it to his nose, inhaling it like it was nothing. Like this wasn’t a complete fucking disaster.

“Chill,” he muttered, voice nasally as he sniffed again. “You'll give yourself wrinkles stressing like that. Shit, you’re stressing me out.”

She stared at him, breath coming too fast, too shallow. “Lando, Oscar is going to kill me.”

At that, he actually laughed.

“Kill you?” He scoffed, shaking his head before leaning back against the pillows, watching her through hooded eyes. “No, sweetheart. If anything, he’s gonna kill me.” He tapped a finger against his chest, smirking. “And I don’t plan on dying today, so…”

He reached for her wrist before she could move, tugging her back onto the bed like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Stay.”

She resisted, barely, fingers digging into the sheets, trying to hold onto whatever little self-control she had left.

“I need to go,” she muttered.

Lando tugged her closer. Not hard, not rough. Just enough to make it impossible to leave.

“Not yet.”

Her breath caught.

“Land-”

His lips brushed her bare shoulder. Just a ghost of a touch. Just enough to make her shiver.

“You made your choice last night,” he murmured. “Might as well enjoy it.”

She wanted to push him away.

She didn’t.

Because Lando was right.

She had already made her choice.

And deep down, they both knew-

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Lando’s breath was warm against her skin, his lips ghosting over her shoulder, lazy but deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he knew she wasn’t going to pull away.

And she should.

She should push him off, grab her things, and get the fuck out of this hotel room before it got even worse.

But his fingers were already sliding up her thigh beneath the sheets, slow and teasing, his grip just firm enough to make her breath hitch.

“Lando…” Her voice came out weaker than she wanted, barley a whisper.

“Mm?” He hummed against her skin, his mouth brushing the side of her neck now, his stubble scratching just enough to make her shiver.

She swallowed hard. “I need to go.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, his fingers tightening on her thigh as he pulled her fully into his lap, pressing her back against his bare chest.

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, nosing along the curve of her jaw. His other hand came up to push her hair aside, exposing more of her neck. “But you’re still here.” 

She clenched her thighs together, but Lando’s hand was already between them, fingers tracing just under the hem of his oversized shirt.

She hated how easily he could do this - how he could make her body betray her even when her brain was screaming at her to stop.

Hated how much she wanted him.

His hand slid higher, his fingers grazing just over the lace of her panties, a teasing brush that sent heat curling through her stomach.

“You’re fucking dangerous,” she breathed.

Lando grinned against her neck, his teeth catching just enough skin to make her gasp.

“And yet…” His fingers hooked into the waistband of her underwear, dragging them down, his voice dropping to a rough whisper.

“You’re still in my bed.”

And just like that- she stopped fighting it.

She let him pull her back down, let herself sink into the sheets, into him, into the inevitable.

Because she knew the truth. 

She was never leaving.

Not really.

Lando’s hands were everywhere.

Sliding up the curve of her thighs, gripping her hips as he pulled her back against him, his breath hot and slow against her neck. She could feel him - hard and insistent, pressing against her.

She should stop this.

She should.

But then his fingers were slipping up higher beneath her borrowed shirt, skimming over her stomach, higher-

Her breath hitched.

He smirked against her skin.

“See?” His voice was low, rough with sleep and something darker. “I knew you weren’t in a rush to leave.”

She wasn’t.

Not when his lips were trailing down her neck, his hands gripping her like he owned her. Like there was no point in pretending she was anyone else’s.

Because wasn’t that the truth?

Oscar might have had her first. 

Might still think he had her now.

But this?

This was Lando’s.

And she fucking hated herself for it.

He nudged her thighs further apart, his fingers dragging back down her stomach, slow, teasing-

Then the phone rang.

A shrill vibration from the nightstand, cutting through the thick haze of heat and need.

She froze.

Lando didn’t.

His fingers kept moving, sliding lower, dipping into her, his mouth brushing her ear.

“Don’t answer it.”

She swallowed, pulse hammering in her throat.

The phone kept ringing.

Lando let out a slow, exasperated sigh before reaching past her, grabbing it off the table without properly looking at the screen.

And then he smirked.

“You should probably get this,” he murmured, turning the screen towards her.

Her stomach dropped.

Oscar.

Her hands were shaking as she took the phone from him, but before she could sit up properly, Lando grabbed her wrist, dragging her back down against him.

“Don’t move,” he muttered.

She shot him a glare, but he just grinned, fingers now idly tracing circles against her bare thigh and she hesitated- then answered.

“H-hey,” she said, voice strained.

Oscar’s voice came through the line, casual. Trusting.

“Hey, darling. Can we talk when you’re back from your mum’s?”

Lando grinned.

She felt sick.

Oscar exhaled a slow breath. “The boys showed me this video, and I want to talk about it.”

Her heart stopped.

“I don’t think it’s you, but it’s best we clear the air with what the guys are saying, it’s silly I know.” Oscar continued while she struggled to catch her breath.

Lando must’ve felt her tense, because he laughed - low and lazy, dragging his fingers back up her thigh and in between them, completely unbothered as her entire fucking world crumbles aroundher.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t speak.

Because she knew.

She knew exactly what video he was talking about.

And it sure as fuck wasn’t a highlight reel.

It was the video that made her call Lando last night.

It was the video that led her to this hotel room.

Her hand tightened around the phone.

Her mouth had gone dry, her stomach twisting into a brutal knot, but she forced a weak, “Yeah, sure.”

Oscar exhaled, oblivious. “Cool. I love you.”

She hung up.

Didn’t say it back.

The second the call disconnected, Lando plucked the phone from her fingers and tossed it onto the nightstand.

Then he laughed again.

A low, smug, wicked sound as his hand made itself comfortable in between her thighs, his mouth ghosting over her neck.

“Well,” he murmured, dragging his teeth over her skin. “That’s unfortunate.”

She clenched her jaw. “You’re a fucking dick.”

He hummed. “Yup.” His fingers teasing over her already aching core.

She wasn’t meant to be feeling this way.

“But as I said before, you’re still here.”

She should leave.

She should be horrified.

Instead, her body betrayed her.

She gasped as his fingers stroked slow, deliberate circles against her, her back arching as heat curled through her stomach.

Guilt tangled with need, twisting into something dangerous, something irresistible.

Her boyfriend had just told her he loved her.

And here she was- spreading her legs for his fucking teammate.

She hated herself.

But she didn’t stop.

Didn’t fight it when Lando rolled her onto her back, his dark eyes burning with amusement, with something possessive.

“You feel guilty,” he murmured, pulling her shirt off.

She didn’t answer.

He smirked. “Good.”

Then he was inside her, stretching her open in one slow, merciless thrust.

She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

“Fuck-”

Lando groaned, his hands gripping her thighs as he pulled her closer, deeper, his mouth brushing over hers in something that wasn’t quite a kiss.

“You think about him?” he whispered, rolling his hips, making her whimper. “You think about your boyfriend while you let his teammate fuck you?”

Her nails dug into his back. “Shut up.”

He chuckled, slow and sinful before grabbing her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

“Say my name.”

She shook her head, panting, her body trembling beneath him.

“Say it,” he demanded, thrusting deeper.

She broke.

“Lando.”

His smirk was pure sin.

“Good girl.”

And then she stopped thinking.

Stopped caring.

Let herself drown in the feeling of him, in the way he ruined her, in the way she let him.

And the guilt?

It only made it better.

Her body was betraying her.

Pleasure coiled tight in her stomach, hotter, sharper, with every brutal thrust. She could feel it building, could feel herself unraveling under Lando’s hands, under his weight, under the way he was destroying her.

And he knew it.

He could feel it.

His smirk was pure sin as he drove into her, as he dragged his teeth over her neck, sucking a hickey just where Oscar would see it later.

“You gonna come for me?” His voice was dark, teasing, bruising on her hips. “Gonna let me fuck you out of every last bit of guilt?”

She shook her head, a whimper escaping her lips, but he just chuckled.

“Liar.”

He dropped his hand between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing slow, devastating circles that made her back arch, her body tightening around him.

“Come on,” he whispered, voice dripping with wicked amusement. “Be a good girl and let go. Let him hear it when he calls back.”

Her breath hitched.

God, she hated him.

Hated the way he knew exactly how to push her, how to twist the knife in her guilt, how to make her body betray her completely.

Because she was close.

So fucking close.

And the Lando pressed his forehead against hers, chain dangling between the two of them, his breath hot, his voice a low growl-

“Come for me, cheater.”

She broke.

Her entire body tense, pleasure ripping through her in waves so intense she thought she might black out. She gasped, nails sinking into his shoulders, a wrecked moan spilling from her lips-

And Lando fucking laughed.

Low, sinister, utterly satisfied.

“That’s my girl.”

He didn’t slow. Didn’t give her a second to recover before he took her again, chasing his own release, using her for it, dragging her deeper into his twisted, fucked-up world.

And she let him

Because at this point, there was no coming back.

Her body was wrecked.

Still trembling, still pulsing around him, her mind fogged with the aftershocks of her orgasm- but Lando wasn’t stopping.

He wasn’t done with her.

He gripped her thighs and pushed them wider, dragging her even deeper onto his cock, making her whimper from the sensitivity.

“Too much?” His voice was teasing, smug, but there was something cruel under it, something that enjoyed watching her squirm.

She nodded, breathless, her whole body shivering-

But he just smirked.

“Too bad.”

His thrusts slowed, but they were deep, drawn out, dragging against every sensitive nerve inside her. She gasped, her legs twitching, hands gripping at his biceps, trying to ground herself, but Lando was relentless. 

“You can take it,” he muttered, dragging a hand up her stomach, hand pressing down on her lower belly. “You’re already so fucked out, but I bet you’ll come for me again.”

She shook her head, biting her lip hard enough to hurt, trying to fight the pleasure that was already creeping back in-

He chuckled darkly.

“Cute that you think you have a choice.”

Then his hand slid between them, fingers finding her overstimulated clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles.

Her whole body jerked, a strangled sound leaving her throat.

“L-Lando.”

“I love hearing you say my name like that,” he murmured, brushing his lips over her ear. “All soft. All fucked out.”

She whimpered, a tear slipping down her cheek from the intensity, but he just licked it off her skin, laughing under his breath.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, his voice mocking, his fingers never stopping. “Feeling guilty?”

Yes.

So fuckign much.

But her body didn’t care.

Because she was close again, pleasure building fast, even more devastating than before.

Lando felt it. He felt the way she clenched around him, the way her thighs trembled, the way she was completely at his mercy.

And he loved it.

“Come for me again, cheater,” he whispered, his thrusts getting sharper and faster. “Come while your boyfriend is waiting to talk to you.”

That broke her.

Her second orgasm hit like a gunshot, pleasure searing through her like white-hot lightning. She cried out, body locking up, vision blurring, and Lando groaned as she clenched around him, taking everything he gave her.

Her mind went blank.

She couldn’t think.

Could barely breathe.

And Lando?

He just grinned.

Because she knew why she came back to him every time.

Because she was completely his now.

And there was no going back.

Poor Oscar.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore @driverlando

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

Your work is amazing, I love the way you interpret Simon’s personality and speech patterns in the prosthetic arm Simon fic.❤️

hello, anon! thank you so much for the kind words. i just wanted to take this opportunity to post this deleted part of prosthetic arm simon.

sfw. angst (?). highschool dropout simon. shame.

the prosthetic is finished.

it fits like a second skin. moves smooth, seamless, with no lag between thought and motion. it’s perfect. better than anything he could’ve gotten himself. better than the overpriced models he looked at years ago, wondering if he could stomach the debt just to feel normal again.

and for a moment, as he flexes his fingers, as he watches the metal articulate like flesh, he feels… proud. proud of you, of your work, of the precision in every detail. he turns his hand over, watching the way the joints move, the faint hum of technology so advanced he still doesn’t fully understand it.

but then— the thought creeps in, unbidden, unwelcome.

his throat tightens.

does this mean he doesn’t have an excuse to see you anymore?

his fingers still, mid-motion.

the past few months have been good. better than he expected. seeing you, talking to you, getting to know you beyond the surface-level interactions he usually keeps with people.

but now?

now there’s no more check-ups. no more adjustments. no more need for him to stop by so you can make small tweaks, run diagnostics, ensure everything’s running smoothly.

simon swallows, something cold curling in his chest. he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. that if he really wanted to see you, he could just— just call, just text, just ask.

but that’s not how he works.

he’s spent so long just coasting with people. staying at arm’s length, keeping interactions simple, necessary, easy to walk away from.

but you? you’re not easy to walk away from.

“you did good,” he says, and he means it. he just hopes you can’t hear everything else under it.

you don’t seem to notice his unease, too excited as you bounce on your heels, practically beaming.

“oh- i have news!”

he blinks. tries to steady himself. “yeah?"

“my thesis got picked to be presented at congress!”

it takes him a second. longer than it should. he hears the words, knows what they mean, but they feel far away, like his mind is still caught in the spiral from before.

but then he sees the way you’re looking at him, the pure joy on your face, and something inside him lurches

“shit,” he breathes. “that’s- that’s incredible.”

and it is. you deserve this. you deserve more than this.

he shows up to the congress.

he doesn’t tell you he’s coming. he doesn’t even decide until the last minute, standing in front of his closet, staring at the one half-decent button-up he owns.

but then he’s there, standing outside the venue, and he brings flowers.

he’s never done that before. never even bought flowers before, really. but he stands outside the venue, fingers tight around the cheap bouquet, feeling ridiculous and out of place.

he feels out of place.

too big, too rough, too obviously not part of the sleek, academic crowd milling around in suits and dresses. he tugs at his sleeves, shifting his weight, half-ready to just leave the flowers somewhere and go before—

then he sees you. scanning the crowd, eyes searching.

and when you spot him— you light up.

like he’s supposed to be here. like he’s not just some guy who stumbled in, unsure if he even belongs in moments like these.

you rush over, practically colliding into him, and he barely has time to react before you’re grabbing the flowers, pressing your face into them, laughing breathlessly.

“you came.”

his throat works. he clears it, rubbing the back of his neck.

“’course i did,” he mutters.

you smile.

…

he knew this was a bad idea.

he knew from the moment he walked into the restaurant, stiff in his chair, palm sweating against the napkin in his lap.

knew when you slid into the seat across from him, looking bright and effortless and so at ease, still glowing from your big presentation, still beaming about the congress.

knew when he looked down at the menu and realized he didn’t recognize half the words on it.

simon’s spent years in places like this— quiet, dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of good food and low conversation. but he’s always been alone. always sat in a corner with his back to the wall, a meal in front of him and no one expecting him to talk.

but now— now there’s you.

and you’re talking, telling him about the congress, about the people you met, the questions they asked. you sound so fucking excited, like the whole world is opening up in front of you, and simon—

simon just nods.

he doesn’t know what to say. doesn’t know how to keep up.

he’s never been smart like you. never been the type to sit in lecture halls, to write papers, to stand in front of a room full of academics and present something that matters.

he barely finished school. left home at sixteen, signed his life away at eighteen, spent more years holding a gun than a pen.

he doesn’t belong in places like this. doesn’t belong next to you.

you’re all bright ideas and ambition, the kind of person who builds things, who makes the world better.

simon’s just good at breaking it.

he shifts in his seat, hyper-aware of how he looks— broad shoulders hunched awkwardly, big hands clumsy against the silverware, a goddamn mutt at a dinner table.

he wonders if you notice. if you see it. if you realize you could do better.

your food arrives. you thank the waiter, pick up your fork—

and before you can even take a bite, it slips out.

“i-”

you pause, fork halfway to your mouth.

simon grips his napkin under the table, flexes his fingers, heart thudding heavy in his ribs.

he shouldn’t ask. should just let this be a nice dinner, let you go home, let you move on.

but—

“would you…” he swallows, throat dry, stomach tight.

he shouldn’t ask.

“would you want to go on a date with me?”

the words hit the table like lead.

silence.

he doesn’t breathe. doesn’t move. because fuck, he actually said it.

and now there’s nothing but the space between you, the quiet hum of conversation around you, the faint clink of cutlery against plates—

and you. staring at him.

he braces for rejection. tells himself it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s—

“yeah,” you say, voice light with something he can’t name. “i would.”

his stomach drops.

relief. disbelief. something dangerously close to hope.

he exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders. nods, just once, like he’s acknowledging an order. like his hands aren’t trembling under the table.

“okay,” he mutters.

then, quieter—

“good.”

[ryuucam]

C U GIRL!

⋆｡𖦹°‧ desperate men as exes who want u back ^_^ including toji && nanami

contains open ending (me personally i’d fold) (don’t do this irl), suggestive, drinking (toji) emotional unavailability, poor communication, brief non sexual nudity (nanami) you’re the one breaking up with them!!

notes everybody say thank u to my ex bc he wont stop dming me on ig and inspired me to do this (leave me alone)

TOJI FUSHIGURO

breaking up with him was not an easy choice. not because you were in a long term relationship - it was more like occasional hook ups and stay at home dates - but because toji can get clingy, angry, irrational. you’re not afraid of him, but alas, he is a bomb waiting to explode, and you really don’t want to tick him off. when you do break up with him, you do it over text, immediately blocking his number after. you keep telling yourself it’s the best choice. he’s no good for you, and you’re just protecting your peace. you don’t hear from him again, and in a few weeks you already put this all behind you.

toji is devastated. he wants to scream (he did that), to punch a hole in the wall out of sheer frustration and anger (he did that, too) - he’s not angry at you though, of course not. how could he? you’re so sweet, always caring for him, despite him only ever seeing you for occasional sex and cheap beer. he should’ve seen it coming: you deserve better than this. so really, toji can’t bring himself to hate you. instead, he drinks himself half to death, much to shiu’s dismain, spending most of his time cooped up in a small bar, scrolling through the blurry, messy pics of you on his phone.

while you’re healing (you’re not: you miss him just as much, but your pride is too big to handle), toji downs beer after beer, hoping to numb whatever feelings he still has for you (shame: he’s ashamed of himself. that’s why he hasn’t shaven his stubble, hasn’t trimmed his hair, hasn’t taken up any more jobs). a month, maybe two, after your break up, shiu can’t take it anymore. he’s losing clients, and he sure as hell isn’t going to be babysitting a grown man any longer. so, he shows up to toji’s small apartment (he isn’t used to staying there. your place is much comfier), and gives him a pep talk, telling him to just get his shit together, for fuck’s sake, toji just lays on his couch, barely registering his friend’s words, but he really is sick of moping around, doing nothing. something awakens in him (maybe it’s just a sense of responsibility, ever heard of that?), motivating him to clean himself up, look for his last 20, 30 bucks and getting out of the house for what feels like the first time in ages.

meanwhile, you’re at home, unaware that you’re mirroring toji’s behavior. sprawled on your couch, scrolling through your past texts and photos, chewing on your lower lip. this is all for the best, you remind yourself. so why are you sobbing your eyes out over a man who hasn’t even reached out to you? sure, you’ve blocked him, but it’s not like you would’ve minded seeing him under your balcony, asking for an explanation. it is toji you’re talking about, though. you should’ve never lead him on like that, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten so hurt over a bare-minimum kind of dude.

your train of thought gets interrupted by the ring of your doorbell. you groggily get up - it’s probably just a delivery guy. you don’t bother fixing up your appearance in the mirror (you’d just be met with a more hollow version of you, hair messy and eyes swollen). when you open the door, however, you’re met with toji’s sturdy chest standing right in your face. wait, toji? you look up, only to find his grey eyes staring right back at you, a frown on his face. he’s holding a bouquet of tulips (by the looks of it, way out of his budget), and he can’t seem to still himself.

“‘m sorry.” his voice breaks the silence. “for not comin’ here sooner. and for treatin’ you like shit.”

it’s not much, but this is the first time you’ve ever heard toji mutter an apology - a sincere one at that. your heartstrings are tugging at your chest, screaming at you to do something. you can’t do anything, vision blurred with tears you barely notice. toji is still: too afraid to move, too afraid to scare you off again. he doesn’t have to move though, because you throw yourself in his arms a few seconds later.

“you’re an asshole.” “i know, ya don’t have to forgive me, i-“ “leave me alone for now.”

so toji leaves, and comes back the day after, a new bouquet in hand. you kick him out again, and he shows up again. relentlessly. he knows he looks like an idiot, but he’s willing to stay as one if it means getting to see you. how longer can you stay mad at him?

NANAMI KENTO

after a year or so of dating nanami, he started getting comfortable with you - which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, given that he’s rather stiff most of the time, but makes him go back to his usual ways. he doesn’t hurry to get back home, doesn’t stop to get you “just because” flowers and gifts, doesn’t cuddle up with you on the couch anymore. he’s irritable, closed off, but maybe that’s just how he truly is. of course, he never raises his voice at you, but he never stops for idle conversations and such. so, after countless nights spent crying in your friend’s arms, you decide to take her advice, and just break up with him.

you do it after he’s had a long week at work, after he came back home at midnight again, barely caring enough to send you a quick text of notice (he doesn’t see anything wrong with this: you should’ve known his habits by now). you’re waiting on the couch, legs crossed and fidgeting with your hands. he takes off his shoes (he doesn’t even call out for you anymore), and makes his way in the living room. nanami asks you why you’re still up (he still cares about you), and you just look at him. “i want to break up”. he doesn’t fight - how could he?, and he just nods. he sleeps in the guest room, cold and empty, while you toss and turn in the main bedroom.

by the next day, you’re gone, and so is all the warmth left in your shared home. nanami keeps showing up at work in pristine condition, suit ironed to perfection and a neat lunchbox prepared, working full hours almost every day of the week. on his days off, when yaga literally kicks him out of the school, he doesn’t know what to do. nanami sits at the dinner table in his kitchen, arms crossed and staring into the void, not knowing what to do. a few months ago, he’d spend his days off at home with you, watching movie after movie, with you in his arms kissing him all over his face, room filled with giggles and hushed “i love you”s.

it’s over now though, and nanami isn’t a man too keen on reminiscing his past. maybe it’s time to change his habits. he knows they’re the reason you left him, and he’s very well aware that he isn’t perfect. he sighs, tangling his hands in his hair (just a few weeks ago, you’d do the same thing when you showered together. saving water, you said, but he knew better: he still humored you). his phone lights up, and he jolts out of his seat to grab it, even if the rational part of him knows you won’t do that. you have no reason to do so. he’s right, of course, but the way the threw himself at his phone made him hyper aware of how pathetic he truly is.

meanwhile, you’re in your old apartment, tearing the whole place apart. it’s a saturday evening (nanami and you used to go out for dinner on saturdays), and you’ve been waiting the whole week to do a self care night. all your products are sitting patiently on your bathroom sink, all except for that damn clay mask you bought yourself a few months ago, used once, and then forgot about it. after emptying all of your cupboards, drawers, pouches, it’s still nowhere to be found. suddenly, you feel an imaginary light bulb lightning up. you can’t actually have left that at kento’s place (your old home), right? when you left, you triple checked everywhere for your belongings. but still, you’re not going to waste money on an overpriced face mask. so you swallow your pride and drive over to his house.

it’s not like he’ll tell you no (he didn’t say that even when you broke up with him). you knock on his front door, suddenly feeling embarrassed about being here. when nanami opens the door, he feels like fainting (did he manifest you? no, he doesn’t believe in those things). “oh, hi”, you both say at the same time. your eyes are wide open, and he feels his heart rate quickening by the second. as you mutter about the reason of your visit, you can’t help but notice your face heating up, and the way he’s just so docile, so attentive while he accompanies you to the bathroom to look for.. well, whatever’s that you need. you don’t remember.

when you’re about to leave, nanami speaks up. “i’m sorry for spending so much time at the office. i know it’s my fault for the break up. but i can’t deny that i still love you. please, let me try to win you back.”

you turn around, taking in how soft his expression looks, how deep his eye bags run, how in love he looks. will you let him back in your heart? he swears he’s a changed man.

[waynes-multiverse]

Already so in love with the start of this chapter! A girl who can eat is a girl after my heart 🫶 (and apparently Russell's lol)

“Good god. You have never been more attractive to me, which is saying something.” You slurped again, Russell letting his curiosity in your eating habits fade away in favor of the elephant in the room.

Girl, you and I have the same headcanon about this! He needs someone with super weird food habits 😂🫶

And I loved her then suddenly trying to get rid of him and coming up with the lamest excuse in the book before threathening him lol. Glad he saw right through that! And this made me melt 🫠:

“Forget I said anything.” You stood up, Russell matching the movement and catching your bicep before you could take a step. Yes, he was injured but even one armed, he had enough raw strength in him to keep you from leaving. “Tell me or I dig on my own and make things a lot riskier for both of us.” He dropped his hand, nodding to the seat. Russell sighed. “I trusted you. You can do the same.”

Oh, and it is a mafia thing! 👀 Phew, that's a tough job for Russell (not that I doubt his abilities, but she is right – he's only one man. You're not planning on breaking my heart, are you? 😅)

“Like my home?” He stared blankly, eyes drifting down to your chest. “The flirting was cute. Eye-fucking me in my kitchen, not so much.” “You have sauce all over your shirt.”

Oh, he got real lucky there, didn't he? He must've loved this 😂😂

“Because knowing how to get stains out of all types of fabrics is kind of necessary in my line of work,” he said, opening a few cabinets before finding the one with the plates. “Now. Can you put the knife you thought you grabbed without me seeing back and we have a civilized conversation over pizza?”

I'm so in love with this characterization of him here! Behind all the goofiness and bad flirting still hides that smart killing machine, and you portray that so well throughout their entire conversation 🖤

“The paranoia got to dad. He would take me on these weekend hunting trips all the time and teach me survival skills and medical stuff and I was a fucking kid, Russell. I didn’t want to do that shit but dad was…twitchy.

I love reading more of her backstory, and obviously Russell can relate since he grew up similarily. I see some romance brewing and bonding happening here 😍

You’re going to park in the visitors lot and go to the airstream in lot 4. It’ll be isolated. You knock on the door and there’ll be a guy inside. Colter. You stay with him, go wherever he goes and do whatever he tells you to without question. You don’t leave his side until I come and get you, understand?”

Knowing her, I don't see this working out well for Colter. Poor guy will have his hands full with her 😂

You woke up around six thirty, jolting up in your bed to find a very wet and nearly naked Colter trying to pick up a mug he’d dropped.  “Well good morning,” you said, his hand in a death grip on the towel just barely concealing him away.

I don't mind this at all 😏

The commitment to him being shirtless on this show is for real, tho 🫠 (And PS: I saw you wrote for Colter too! I totally have to check that out! Justin Hartley had me in a chokehold since This Is Us. He rows right into the "lovable and stupidly hot idiot" category that I've fallen victim to lol.)

And not only did she bond with Russell in this part but also with Colter. Seriously loved every minute of their conversation! And considering Russell sent her to his brother, who he hasn't spoken to in so long, speaks volumes how much he trusts Colter. Colter seeing that too was such a precious moment 😭🫶

Sure, Colter was hot but Russell…well the image of that man in nothing but a towel as water dripped down his body…

Agree! The ruggedness and roughness (the beard) certainly adds a few plus points 🔥😏

“And? What am I saying?” you asked, staring him down.

I was gonna say, she should be careful with that challenge, and his answer did not disappoint! It was gold 🤣🤣🤣

And I totally didn't expect her to stay with Colter for days, drive across the country, and join him on a case! This is such a cool twists and I'm loving their hangout dynamic 😁 I do have an inkling Russell will be jealous of their bonding and probably scold Colter for taking her on a case lmao

“He knows what he’s doing. A job like this, he’s got to do a lot of prep work and he’s got to put a crew together. Trusted friends. Try not to worry.”

Ooooh I know you read the books and this reminded me so much of the crew book!Russell worked with!!! 👏

I was so relieved when he came back in one piece! And that little present for her was so sweet and thoughtful 🥹 The note, on the other hand, was hilarious 😂

But why the angst at the end there? No they were supposed to be happy! Sunset, rainbows, unicorns, glitter!!! I will suffer in the next part, won't I? 😅

This was such an amazing chapter from start to finish! I thoroughly enjoyed all their conversations, their dynamics, the humor mixed with seriousness and feelings. Loved every second of this! 🩵

He's My Man (Part 2)

Summary: The reader isn't quite so sure if she can trust Russell with her secrets but he's decided she's going to get his help, whether she wants it or not. Reluctantly she accepts but in the process realizes she might actually be starting to care about him...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 4,500ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury mention, mentions of death, angst, fluff

A/N: Ooooh things are heating up! Please enjoy!

__________

Russell stared at you with what one could only describe as a look of wonder. You didn’t exactly blame him. Eating four large cheese danishes and chugging back a week’s worth of coffee in the span of fifteen minutes was enough to make anyone’s eyes widen.

You tossed your trash in his motel waste bin when you finished and returned to your seat at the tiny corner table. With an obnoxiously loud slurp of even more coffee, Russell titled his head, shaking it slightly.

“Good god. You have never been more attractive to me, which is saying something.” You slurped again, Russell letting his curiosity in your eating habits fade away in favor of the elephant in the room. He straightened in his seat, pausing a beat. “So. What’s this long story?”

Your fingertips rattled against the side of the large styrofoam cup, a small amount of heat radiating through. Now that you’d had some time to think, or rather stress eat, you knew this was a mistake. A big one. You needed to kick Russell out of your life and the sooner the better.

“I think you have the wrong idea about what’s going on and I thought it better we talk in private,” you said. Russell wore a weary expression, his eyes dissecting your every micro-movement. “I’m not interested in a relationship or a date or conversation. I don’t do that considering my line of work and I imagine you keep things casual with yours. So you take your money and consider this a warning. Contact me again and I will have you dealt with, understand?”

Russell leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a clenched jaw. You narrowed your eyes in response, Russell picking at his bandage without realizing. 

“Stop that,” you mumbled when he kept doing it, his lip twitching up in a not so friendly way.

“You threaten me and in the next breath are worried about my damn stitches? I don’t think you realize just how good I am at my job,” he said, placing both hands on the table, folding them together. You swallowed, Russell staring so intently you had to glance away. “Alright. Back at the coffee shop, that was a moment of bravery and now it’s passed? Tough shit. We’re in the weeds now and we ain’t leaving until I know you do your job of your own free will. Understand?”

“Forget I said anything.” You stood up, Russell matching the movement and catching your bicep before you could take a step. Yes, he was injured but even one armed, he had enough raw strength in him to keep you from leaving.

“Tell me or I dig on my own and make things a lot riskier for both of us.” He dropped his hand, nodding to the seat. Russell sighed. “I trusted you. You can do the same.”

“You’re one guy.” You shook your head. “Drop this or you’ll wind up dead or worse.”

“I made my living doing jobs where if I fucked up I’d wish I were dead over the alternative. I know how to keep a secret. Maybe I can help, maybe I can’t. But you opened the box. You can’t just close it again.”

“Yes, I can. Goodbye, Russell.” You grabbed your coffee and headed for the door, pausing when you had a hand on the handle.

But what if he could help…he was ex-special ops…

Russell’s hand slid over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. You frowned, a reassuring smile greeting you.

“Do you like your job?” he asked. 

“S’complicated,” you whispered.

“How complicated?”

“Jobs like yours…that’s up to me to do that stuff but I…I work for someone else.” You found Russell’s unreadable green eyes and sighed. “I’m a fixer for the local mafia. It’s not a job you get to quit and stay alive very long.”

Russell contemplated your words, lips forming a thin line before he nodded. “I can take care of that assuming your story checks out.”

“My story?” you asked, Russell humming. “Why would I lie-”

“You could be playing me for any number of reasons. Like I said, I’m going to check your story out and if it’s all kosher, we’ll figure out where to go from there. Capiche?”

“Fine,” you grit out, shaking his hand away. “But do it quietly. You got three days.”

Late Evening

Your eye actually twitched when you answered your front door that night to find not your pizza delivery man before you but Russell fucking Shaw. He wore a deep navy utility jacket that hung loosely around his trim waist and a pair of black jeans. You weren’t sure why but his shift from lighter colored clothing this morning to this dark, edgy look made him look as dangerous as you expected he was.

“Russell,” you said. He didn’t bother hiding his smirk, eyes roaming over your body. You glanced down at your soft pale yellow pajama shirt and matching shorts set, huffing when he slipped past you inside.

“You totally are the kind of woman to having matching jammies,” he chuckled. You gripped the door tight, ready to kick him out just as your delivery driver pulled up.

“Just…take off your boots.” Two minutes later you had your pizza and garlic knots on your kitchen counter while Russell leaned back against it, his jacket since removed and tossed on the back of your couch. He wore a black zip up that was undone over a black t-shirt, Russell shifting at your growing unease.

“Listen,” he said, holding up his hands. “You got questions but first off, I’m not here to hurt you. This is just what I wear when I need to go…looking around places I ain’t exactly invited into.”

“Like my home?” He stared blankly, eyes drifting down to your chest. “The flirting was cute. Eye-fucking me in my kitchen, not so much.”

“You have sauce all over your shirt.” You glanced down, spotting marinara drops all over your short sleeve button up top from where you’d had the edge of the pizza box pressed against your torso as you’d carried it in. “Thanks for thinking so highly of me, though. Makes a guy feel special.”

“I’m on edge, alright?” you snapped, grabbing a towel and trying to get most of the sauce out. “Plus I just ruined a two hundred dollar shirt.”

“Figured you for a oversized men’s t-shirts kind of gal but little sets from french boutiques suites you.” You froze, Russell dropping his hands. “I know all about your shopping habits. You have high quality taste, much richer than the average suburbanite.”

“And?” you said, tossing the towel down, hands going to your hips. “Are you about to kidnap me and turn me over to the mafia or what?”

Russell approached you slowly, gently picking up the towel from the floor and dabbing it with some dish soap. 

“If I had wanted to hurt you or take you or whatever else is going through your head, you wouldn’t have seen me coming.” He rubbed the towel against the damp spot on your shirt, letting the fabric get soapy. “Let that soak for a few minutes and then after you have some dinner, toss it in the wash. It’ll come out good as new.”

“How do you know that?” you asked, Russell hanging your towel on the oven handle. 

“Because knowing how to get stains out of all types of fabrics is kind of necessary in my line of work,” he said, opening a few cabinets before finding the one with the plates. “Now. Can you put the knife you thought you grabbed without me seeing back and we have a civilized conversation over pizza?”

You weren’t sure how he’d seen you swipe the knife from the butchers block but figured he had a point. If he’d wanted to screw you over, he would have done it already. After excusing yourself, you returned in a pair of skinny black joggers and a slightly cropped gray AC/DC shirt to find Russell had already plated two sizeable portions for yourselves. 

“See? Now that’s a look more fitting for the princess of darkness,” he chuckled.

“That’s queen of darkness to you,” you said, taking a seat at the island in front of one of the plates. “Do me a favor, lover boy. Grab me a guinness from the fridge.”

“Dark stout. Always a good choice.” He got out two, removing the cap for you before retreating to the other side of the island.

“As much as I love uninvited house guests who welcome themselves to my food and beer, why are you here, Russell?” You took a large bite of pizza, Russell long necking his beer for a moment. 

“Yet I don’t see you kicking me out. It’s okay to admit you’ve fallen for me, Y/N,” he teased. You growled, Russell’s eyebrows raising in amusement. “Hot damn, woman. I love when you get all grr. Tells me you are a force to be reckoned with.”

You rolled your eyes, Russell taking an extra large bite. “Stop flirting and talk.”

“Why can’t I do both?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. “But to answer your original question, I’m here because your story checked out and that’s kind of a problem.”

“Excuse me? Why is that an issue?”

He set his plate down and gripped the island, leaning over it slightly. “Y/N. I can call up a few friends and wipe out a local mafia family no problem.”

“Awesome. Then what’s the fucking problem?” Russell tilted his head, like you’d just walked into some kind of trap he’d set.

“Y/N. Despite all the obvious sexual tension brewing between us, you failed to mention that you have a boyfriend. You know, the head of this fucking mafia family. The boyfriend that buys you those fancy french pajama sets? The one that bought that espresso machine over there? Girl, you better explain yourself because I am not a hired gun.”

You chewed quietly for a few moments under the heated scrutiny of Russell’s gaze before you pushed the plate away.

“My dad was an accomplished doctor. He was very well respected. I grew up very comfortably until I was about eight.” Russell loosened his stance and began to eat while you decided what he needed to absolutely know. “My dad unknowingly saved a mobster’s life one night in the ER. Mr. Lauter.”

“The former head of the mafia and this guy, Owen, your supposed boyfriend’s dad?” You nodded before taking a big swig from your bottle.

“Well, that pissed off Mr. Elpine who had almost had a successful hit on Mr. Lauter. Elpine tried to get my dad to kill Lauter. Dad refused and the next morning on the way to school, the brake lines in our car didn’t work. Dad and I walked away. Mom and my brother didn’t. Dad was scared Elpine would come after me again.”

“Your father went to Lauter for protection,” said Russell. You picked up your pizza as he put together the rest of the pieces. “Lauter offers him protection for saving his life but something happens and your dad ends up working for Lauter as his fixer.”

“The paranoia got to dad. He would take me on these weekend hunting trips all the time and teach me survival skills and medical stuff and I was a fucking kid, Russell. I didn’t want to do that shit but dad was…twitchy. PTSD for sure, a mental break too. I always guessed there was some brain trauma after the accident that never healed. He got real bad when I went to college. Bad enough that Lauter stepped in when my dad attacked me when I came home for the holidays. Lauter killed him and the fucked up part was I wasn’t even upset. My real dad had died when I was a kid. But…when a mob boss kills for you whether you wanted them to or not-”

“They think they own you for life.” You nodded. “So you became the fixer.”

“They let me finish college under the condition I come back and work for the family. They leave me be except for when I need to patch someone in the crew up. It’s honestly not that bad. They gave me a lot of money over the years. I hate to say this but Mr. Lauter was pretty good to me.”

Russell cleared his throat. “You do know how fucked up what he did to you is, right?”

“Of course I do,” you said, closing your eyes. “But compared to my dad and Owen, he was the lesser evil.”

“I came across the fact Mr. Lauter died about three weeks ago from heart disease.” You hummed. “Tell me about this fuckface, Owen.”

“Dude has had a crush on me since he was fucking twelve. He has it in his head that the family owns me, literally. Lauter always reined him in but since he’s been gone, Owen’s been…pushy. Telling the crew I’m his girlfriend, asking them to follow me. Thankfully, and this is why this is so weird, I grew up around a lot of the guys. Making me work and fix people, fine. But some kind of forced romance? They aren’t cool with it, at least they’re kind of ignoring Owen. I’ve kept Owen off my back because he’s grieving and busy trying to take over but he’s going to back on my ass soon. This time, those guys will have to listen to their new boss.”

“So…I take out Owen and you think you’re in the clear. You could have just said that.” He finished off his beer and washed his hands at the sink. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going grab essentials, and I mean essentials, while I pack up your dinner in what I expect is some color coordinated tupperware. Then you’re going to take my car and drive to Elmhurst Camping Grounds. It’s about four hours north of here and no, you will stop for anything so use the bathroom before you go and I’ll pack you a snack. You’re going to park in the visitors lot and go to the airstream in lot 4. It’ll be isolated. You knock on the door and there’ll be a guy inside. Colter. You stay with him, go wherever he goes and do whatever he tells you to without question. You don’t leave his side until I come and get you, understand?”

“I feel like if I ask questions you’ll just tell me I don’t want to know.” Russell smirked.

“I love that big brain of yours.” You rolled your eyes but felt a tiny smile on your face. “Warming up to me are we?”

“Fuck no. But uh, who the hell are you sending me to?”

“My baby brother. Don’t worry. His ugly mug will keep you safe.”

Four Hours Later

“Uh, hi,” you said, practically bouncing up and down at midnight in front of a strange tall man at a very nice airstream RV. 

“Y/N,” he said as you forced a smile. “Bathroom is right there-”

You darted past him and into the small cubby bathroom, grateful after the long drive. The man was waiting leaned against a small counter space when you exited, a temporary bed made up behind him in what looked like a breakfast nook.

“Sorry to barge in. Russell said not to stop for anything.” 

“S’alright,” he said. “Bed’s made up if you want to crash. I’m going to stay up a bit longer by the fire. You’re welcome to join if you like.”

“Thanks, uh…” you said, a very brief smile on his face as you tried to remember what Russell had called him.

“Colter. It’s not a problem.” He skirted by you and outside, taking a seat in a foldable camping chair. You had questions but for the moment, all you wanted was to get some rest. 

You woke up around six thirty, jolting up in your bed to find a very wet and nearly naked Colter trying to pick up a mug he’d dropped. 

“Well good morning,” you said, his hand in a death grip on the towel just barely concealing him away.

“Morning,” he said, slowly backing up to the bedroom. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Not a problem,” you said, catching a whiff of coffee. 

“Mug are in the first cabinet if you want a cup. I’ll be out in a minute,” he said. He excused himself to his room and slid the divider shut, leaving you to the rest of the airstreamer. 

A moment later you were outside in front of a small fire, sitting in a chair with warm coffee in your hands. It was cool and you wished you’d thought to pack a jacket in your haste last night.

You were rubbing your arms when something was draped over your shoulders, a thick heavy hoodie. 

“Russell got you out of there pretty quick, huh?” asked Colter, taking the mug while you shrugged into the warm fleece.

“Yeah. All I grabbed was my wallet, some cash and my computer. He told me I could buy clothes here,” you said. Colter handed you back the mug and took a seat beside you.

“I checked his car. He had a duffel full of his clothes in there I brought inside. You can use his stuff, or mine, until we can hit a store.”

“Thanks,” you said, smelling Russell’s deodorant on the fabric. Colter saw you tug the hood up, a question on the tip of his tongue but he decided against it. The air was still and quiet apart from the crackle of fire and morning birds. 

“So,” said Colter, not looking at you as he drank. “You and Russell…you like, his girlfriend-”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I just met the guy yesterday. All I did was patch him up.”

“Right.” You sunk lower in your chair, slurping loudly.

“Were you special ops like him?” you asked. Colter shook his head.

“Civilian. Never had any formal training, just what we grew up with.” Well, that was an interesting statement. What the hell did it mean though? “Our father was a survivalist, taught us things.”

“Oh. My dad was a little out there too.” Was that why Russell was so adamant about helping you out of your situation? No. Maybe it played a part, but no. He’d wanted to help before you told him that. “Does Russell do this sort of thing often?”

“No clue. First time I talked to him in years was two days ago. I helped him find a friend of his. I was there when he got that bullet hole in him you fixed.”

Alrighty then. Russell was becoming more and more intriguing by the second. 

“So you don’t know a lot about him then,” you said. Colter shrugged.

“I guess I’m figuring him out too but he’s a good guy. He’s somebody you want as a friend.” You hummed, finishing your coffee off. Colter excused himself to get you more and returned with a fresh cup, steam billowing from within. 

“You trail run?” you asked, Colter’s eyes showing a flash of surprise. “Muddy sneakers by the door. I did cross country in school.”

“I try to get out most mornings. The hot water should be good to go in about five minutes if you want a shower.” 

“Thanks.” You licked your lips as you remembered the sight of him exiting the bathroom not long ago. Sure, Colter was hot but Russell…well the image of that man in nothing but a towel as water dripped down his body…You shifted in your seat, squeezing your legs together to try and get a hold of yourself. Colter smirked slightly in his seat. “What?”

“I’m good at reading people is all.”

“And? What am I saying?” you asked, staring him down. Colter only smiled as he looked away to the fire.

“You’re wondering if Russell works out and picturing him naked.” You glared at him but it did nothing to hide the heat radiating off your cheeks. “Hey, you’re a grown woman. You can do as you please.”

“I think I will take that shower now.” You stood and set the mug down on the ground, shooting Colter one last look. There’d been no malice or teasing in his voice. He was simply being straight with you. “Listen. I just…I haven’t exactly been around good guys much, or ever. I’m not saying there’s anything there beyond physical attraction, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, looking at you like you were the worst liar in the world. “Whatever you say.”

You grumbled and went inside to take a very cold shower.

Three Days Later - Spokane, Washington

“Hey, Colt,” you said, pushing up the long sleeves of Russell’s gray henley you wore. Colter hummed around the piece of grilled chicken in his mouth as you spun your laptop around from the other side of the airstream’s dining table. “Could she have gone here? Looks like a decommissioned game trail.”

“Yeah, yeah that fits,” he said with his mouth full, chewing and swallowing quickly so he could take a closer look. You returned to your own dinner, Colter mentioning he was going to take a look after dark. 

Things had fallen into an easy pattern with the two of you. Colter was very different than his brother but it wasn’t a bad thing. He didn’t talk much and worked as a rewardist. He’d planned on sticking around the east coast for when Russell met up with you again but an urgent case in Washington popped up. You’d spent most of the past three days driving cross-country behind Colter’s truck and the airstreamer, learning what the hell a rewardist was.

Colter had told you about the case at first to keep your mind off of Russell but you’d reluctantly taken an interest and now were deep in the weeds of helping him locate a missing young woman.

“You want to come look with me?” asked Colter, breaking you out of your train of thought. You blinked, a small smile on his face. “Come on. It’ll get you some experience with rewardest work and stop you from doom scrolling.”

“Alright,” you sighed. While you appreciated Colter’s attempts to make you feel better, you were starting to get very concerned. You hadn’t heard from Russell since you left your house a few days ago and there was nothing in the news about the local mafia members being killed. Or him.

Colter rubbed your back when you helped him unhook it from the airstream. He tended to do that when you started to get stressed out. He hadn’t been lying before. He really was good at reading people. 

“Colter,” you said in the dark truck, the hum of the vehicle quiet in the cab as he drove. “What if something happened to him and he needs our help?”

“He knows what he’s doing. A job like this, he’s got to do a lot of prep work and he’s got to put a crew together. Trusted friends. Try not to worry.” You bit your bottom lip as you stared out the window, trees passing by. 

If only it were that simple.

It was two in the morning by the time you and Colter made it back to the camping grounds. You’d found Martha in not too great of shape but she was alive and the doctors said she’d make a full recovery with time. Colter has tried to give you some of the reward money for helping but you hadn’t done all that much in your opinion. 

“Stay here,” he said when he turned the truck into your lot and you spotted a dark figure sitting by the fire. He took his gun from the back of jeans and got out, pausing halfway out the door. He smiled over at you and you caught the dark figure give an awkward little wave. “Should I tell him how much you’ve been worried?”

“Not. A. Word. Colter,” you said before hopping out and happily rushing over to where Russell rose to his feet. You didn’t realize you were giving him a hug until he was laughing, returning it and lifting you off the ground. 

“I missed my queen of darkness too,” he chuckled, setting you down with a smirk. You scoffed, Russell’s eyebrows raising at your attire. “Is that my jacket? And shirt?”

“Why waste the money on new stuff,” you shrugged, Russell grinning like an idiot. “Stop that.”

“I’m sure that was the reason.” Colter came over, the boys sharing a nod. “You keep my little delinquent out of trouble?”

“She’s a breeze,” said Colter, taking a seat. “Even helped with my latest case. She should try the rewardist thing. She’s good at it.”

“Maybe. All I want to know is am I good?” you asked. Russell took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He nodded, the tension running of out your body. “Thank you, Russell. Thank your friends too. I’ll pay you guys-”

“No payment. This was because you’re my friend, plain and simple. Just knowing you’re safe is more than enough.” You smiled, letting yourself rest your head against his shoulder. “You should rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“How-”

“In the morning. I need to catch up with my little brother.” You nodded, enjoying the feel of his heavy hand as it ran over your head. “Go sleep, Y/N. You’re exhausted.”

You reluctantly peeled yourself away and went inside to find your makeshift bed had been done up for you already. You didn’t even try to fight the flutters in your stomach when you spotted a yellow pajama shirt and shorts set neatly folded on top. There was a note beside it, a stupid ass smile finding it’s way onto your face.

Brand new. Imported from France. Don’t get used to fancy ass presents like these. I ain’t made of money. Even if these are soft as fuck and I totally wish they made these for men. I still think you’d look better wearing a band tee to bed.

Russ

P.S. They had a sale so I got you something else too. Check your backpack.

You shook your head and grabbed your bag from the floor, taking out a very elegant black bag. You undid the tissue paper and went wide eyed. 

Inside was a very, very, fancy black lace bra and multiple pairs of gorgeous bikini style undies in soft muted colors. There was another note waiting for you inside, your heart stilling.

No strings attached. Hopefully these will cover you for a little while until you can get settled again.

“Oh, Russell,” you said quietly, thumbing over the bag, smiling to yourself as your insides did very happy backflips.

He wasn’t just a pretty and protective face. He was thoughtful too.

And you were starting to fall for a guy that’d most likely be gone by this time tomorrow.

Fuck.

__________

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

[bluemusickid]

It's a good day to think about Gym Trainer!Joel, methinks.

Tw: some body talk, confidence issues.

GymTrainer!Joel who sees you in the corner of the gym, clearly intimidated by all the equipment and weights, tugging at your gym clothes to hide yourself more.

GymTrainer!Joel who gently asks if you need any help, and enquires about your goals, making it a mental goal to help you any way he can.

GymTrainer!Joel who starts off slow, admiring how well you take instructions and his gentle cajoling. "Great set, sweetheart." He drawls, as he sees your pupils dilate and breathing quicken.

GymTrainer!Joel, whose gym shorts get a little tighter whenever he sees your ample ass whenever you take a deep squat. He has to focus on not getting a boner everytime you go down.

GymTrainer!Joel who sees you sigh wistfully as you check your body out in the gym mirror, eyes sad. He wants you to see him through his eyes: a gorgeous person who is oozing sex appeal; but just hasn't seen it yet.

GymTrainer!Joel who holds your waist everytime you do deep squats, his hardness rubbing into you as you gasp. "There we go, hun. That was great." He rasps, his eyes not leaving yours. You stare at him, gulping a bit as you see the unbridled lust in his eyes, causing your core to throb. A lot.

GymTrainer!Joel whose eyes keep running through your head, even in your dreams, as you wake up with vivid and erotic scenarios.

GymTrainer!Joel who calls you to the gym for a private session and gets so hot and bothered watching you stretch and squat that he pulls off your yoga pants and eats you out like a man starved. You can barely protest that you're sweaty before the man has you spread out and gorges on you like a royal feast. He pounds you into the gym floor (laying you down on a yoga mat first because he's a gentleman of course), holding your legs up till he hits your sweet spot that has your screams echoing through the gym. Who cares, though, when you have the hottest guy making you cum till you can't feel your legs anymore.

GymTrainer!Joel who insists on a special sports massage after workout to "help with the muscle release", but really only wants a reason to feel your body and show you how beautiful you are to him. He goes over every curve, every small bulge, groaning a bit as his hands trace your body. It obviously ends with him insisting that you ride him (and his face, which you politely decline but he ends up pulling you onto his face anyway).

GymTrainer!Joel who helps you regain your confidence in yourself again and in turn, be a happier and more confident version of yourself. You did it yourself, but with him by your side, helping you through it all, it made the journey extra special.

Pedro Pascal you make me so fckin horny and it is SO NOT FAIR.

[loveesiren]

𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖬𝗒 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖯𝗍.2)

Choi Seunghyun x f!reader x Kwon Jiyong | Masterlist

a/n: Here's part two! I feel like this part is slightly boring but I needed to write it to continue lol. I've also just been off the past few days and I'm trying to get back into the right mood so I'm sorry if this sucks. I'll try to have part 3 out ASAP!

synopsis: Y/n struggles escape her guilty conscience of the secret her and Jiyong carry. Meanwhile, Seunghyun is oblivious and head over heels for Y/n.

warnings: Language, angst, mention of sex, some fluff at the end

wc: 2.2k+

The shrill blare of your alarm yanked you from the depths of sleep, your body aching, your mind groggy with exhaustion. Your hand instinctively shot out, fumbling blindly until you slammed the snooze button, plunging the room back into an uneasy silence. A tired groan slipped from your lips as you shifted under the sheets, ready to drift back into oblivion—until you felt it.

A warmth beside you.

Your stomach twisted violently as you rolled over, your pulse spiking when your eyes landed on the figure sprawled out next to you. Jiyong.

His bare torso was partially covered by the sheets, the same sheets that reeked of sweat, sex, and the mistakes of last night. His face was relaxed in sleep, lips slightly parted, dark lashes fanned against his cheeks. Without the cocky smirk, without the biting words, he almost looked…peaceful. Almost.

But the moment you registered the ache between your legs, the bruises forming on your hips, the ghost of his hands still lingering on your skin, shame crashed over you like a tidal wave.

Last night came rushing back in a flood of memories—Seunghyun’s gentle smile, the way he looked at you with admiration and patience. The way you had laughed, talked, felt like a real person again, not just some dirty little secret. And then Jiyong. His scent. His touch. His words whispered against your lips as he dragged you back into the cycle of ruin.

You squeezed your eyes shut. God, you hated yourself.

With a sharp inhale, you grabbed your phone, your fingers moving on autopilot as you typed out a text to your boss.

Can’t come in today. Migraine.

It was a weak excuse, but you prayed he wouldn’t question it. You never took a day off. Maybe he’d let this one slide.

Your phone buzzed almost immediately.

Fine, but I need the final drafts by midnight tomorrow.

Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. You set the phone down and turned to face the bigger issue at hand.

“Jiyong, get up,” you snapped, your voice ice-cold as you slammed your foot into his calf.

He groaned in protest, rolling onto his side with a sleepy scowl. “What the fuck, Y/n?”

“Get out.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the morning stillness like a blade.

Jiyong blinked at you, disoriented but quickly catching on. His smirk returned, lazy and infuriating. “Is that really how you treat the guy who made you cum three times last night?” His voice was drenched in amusement, in satisfaction. In ownership.

Your stomach churned, your skin burning with humiliation. You turned away, grabbing your clothes off the floor, yanking them on in a frenzy. Jiyong propped himself up on one elbow, watching you with that infuriating smirk still lingering on his lips.

“You look tense.” he teased, stretching his arms above his head, his toned stomach flexing. “You wanna fuck it out?”

You clenched your jaw. “I’m not coming in today. And this—this is over. So get up and get out of my house.”

Jiyong tilted his head, his long, fading orange hair falling into his eyes. The same hair you were responsible for touching up, though the thought of being that close to him again made bile rise in your throat.

“Why aren’t you coming in?” His tone was nonchalant, but there was something else lurking beneath it.

“I need a fucking day off—from you. From everything.” Your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it. “I had a nice time with Seunghyun last night. And then you just—you just showed up and ruined it.”

He scoffed. “Ruined it? You were begging me to fuck you, Y/n.”

You flinched. He always knew exactly where to strike.

“That was the last fucking time, Jiyong. I’m serious.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then, his gaze flickered to the bedside table, to the black dahlia wilting from neglect. His smirk curled slightly.

“I helped him pick that out, you know.” He gestured lazily toward the flower. “Told him you liked dahlias. He doesn’t know shit about you, Y/n. Not like I do.”

Your breath hitched. “Still don’t know why you did that,” you murmured, your voice laced with suspicion. “Maybe just stay out of our business.”

His eyes darkened. “He’s my best friend. He comes to me for advice.” A cruel chuckle escaped his lips. “I mean, next time I could just tell him how to fuck you right—since I know all about that.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Don’t you dare tell him,” you seethed.

Jiyong raised an eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Your chest heaved. “Why do you even care, Jiyong?! You hate me. I hate you. This was all just meaningless fucking sex!”

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

Jiyong’s jaw tightened. His nostrils flared, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. For the first time, he had nothing to say.

“I like Seunghyun. I really do,” you continued, your voice shaking. “And I’d like to see him again. But I can’t do that if you’re still lurking around, so just—just fuck off! Find someone else to fuck!”

Something flashed in his eyes, something raw, something dangerous—but then it was gone.

“Fine,” he spat, his smirk returning, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve got plenty of girls. I don’t need you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Never needed you.” You mumbled, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. 

Jiyong let out a bitter laugh, but it was hollow. Without another word, he grabbed his clothes, yanked them on, and stormed toward the door. The slam of it rattled the walls.

The moment he was gone, your legs gave out. You sank to the floor, your hands clutching at your hair, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The weight of it all came crashing down, pressing against your chest like a thousand bricks.

It was over.

And yet—you knew it wasn’t. Not completely.

You crawled toward the bathroom, your limbs feeling like lead. The moment you stepped into the shower, you let the scorching water cascade over your skin, washing away the remnants of last night. You sat against the tile, knees pulled to your chest, silent sobs wracking your body.

You had never felt so disgusted with yourself.

Two hours passed before you finally emerged, your body scrubbed raw, but the filth of Jiyong still clung to you like a second skin. You numbly went through your routine, pulling on sweats and a tank top, throwing your sheets into the wash.

Your phone sat untouched on the counter. You braced yourself before picking it up, expecting an onslaught of messages—Jiyong’s wrath, Seunghyun’s confusion, your boss demanding answers.

Instead, there was just one.

Seunghyun: Hey, I heard you weren’t feeling good. Hopefully it’s not from the restaurant. I hope you feel better soon! It’s boring without you here.

Your chest ached. He didn’t know. Not yet.

No, it’s not from the restaurant. Just a headache. I had a great time last night!

You lied.

Not about having a great time with Seunghyun—you had. Those few hours with him had felt like stepping into a life you wanted so desperately to claim as your own. A life that was simple, warm, untouched by the filth of your past mistakes. But the reason you weren’t at work? That was a lie.

You weren’t sick.

You were avoiding the inevitable.

Jiyong knew how to be cruel when he wanted to be. And if he decided to open his mouth, your world would come crumbling down. Your stomach twisted at the thought of it. Everyone would know. Your boss, your coworkers, Seunghyun.

Seunghyun.

You didn’t even want to think about how he would react. The betrayal in his eyes, the disappointment. Would he hate you? Would he turn his back on you? On his best friend?

You pushed the thought away, forcing yourself into work. You needed a distraction, something to pull you away from the anxiety chewing at your insides. Music blared from the speakers, filling the silence as you lost yourself in sketching, your pencil moving in sharp, deliberate strokes.

You had finished Daesung’s outfit first, moving onto Taeyang’s and Seungri’s with ease. Designing for them was simple, almost soothing. You knew their style, their personalities, the energy they brought to the stage. It was second nature to you.

But then came the last two pages of your sketchbook.

Seunghyun and Jiyong.

Your fingers lingered on Seunghyun’s page, your pencil tracing meaningless details—adding unnecessary stitching to his jacket, shading in areas that didn’t need shading, elongating the shape of the silhouette. You knew you were procrastinating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to flip the page just yet.

You liked being on this page. Here, there was no shame, no regret, no mistakes. Just clean lines and the promise of something new.

But eventually, you had to move forward.

The moment you flipped to Jiyong’s page, your stomach clenched.

You stared at the half finished sketch you’d started, your fingers tightening around your pencil. Designing for him was always easy. You knew his style better than anyone, could predict his fashion choices before he even made them. But now, looking at this page, it felt impossible.

How could you design something for a man you wanted so desperately to erase from your memory?

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to sketch. You kept it simple, precise—dark, sleek lines, something effortlessly cool and arrogant, just like him. Just like the man his fans adored. Not the man who whispered filthy things into your ear, not the man who knew exactly how to ruin you, over and over again.

But even as you sketched, his voice echoed in your head.

"He doesn’t know shit about you, Y/n. Not like I do."

Your grip on the pencil tightened. God, you hated him.

And yet, the memory of last night still clung to your skin. The bruises on your hips, the soreness between your legs. You hated how good he made you feel, how easy it was to fall into bed with him, how no matter how hard you tried to move on, he always found a way to pull you back in.

You shook your head, biting down on your lip hard enough to taste copper.

You just had to finish this.

Just as you were adding the final touches, the doorbell rang.

You jolted upright, blinking down at your sketchbook as if just realizing where you were. Pushing it aside, you stood, rubbing the stiffness from your neck before making your way to the door.

You weren’t expecting company.

When you swung the door open, the sight before you made your breath hitch.

Seunghyun.

He stood there, a bag of takeout in one hand and yet another flower in the other. This time, a purple tulip, its petals delicate between his fingers.

“Seunghyun!” you breathed, your voice laced with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I felt bad you weren’t feeling well today, so I thought maybe some ramen would help?” He lifted the bag slightly before extending the flower. “And, uh… I picked this from someone’s garden on the way here.”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it.

"You stole a flower for me?"

He chuckled, his ears turning pink. "Borrowed. I’ll return it if they notice."

Your fingers curled around the stem, bringing the tulip to your nose as you giggled, the gesture so undeniably him. "This is really sweet, Seunghyun."

“If you’d like some company, I’m free.” He paused, suddenly unsure. “But if you’re not up for it, I totally understand.”

You didn’t hesitate. “No, I am!”

His face brightened at your enthusiasm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Come in.” You needed the distraction.

Seunghyun followed you inside, his presence filling your small apartment with warmth. As he placed the food on the counter, you searched for a vase, already feeling guilty about the black dahlia wilting in your bedroom.

Then, he spoke again.

“Oh, and this was outside your door.”

You turned just as he pulled a white envelope from his pocket, holding it out to you.

“I promise I didn’t look at it,” he added quickly. “I just picked it up so you wouldn’t miss it. Could be something important.”

Your fingers hesitated before taking it from him. It was blank. No address, no name.

Your stomach twisted.

“Uh, Seunghyun… do me a favor?” You tried to keep your voice steady. “Take all this to the living room? Pick us a movie to watch.”

“Sure!” He grinned, easily distracted. “What kind of movie do you want to watch?”

“Something scary!” you called back, waiting until he was out of sight before your fingers pried open the envelope.

Inside, there was something small, cold.

A key.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Not just any key. Your key.

Your heart pounded as you pulled out the folded note tucked inside.

You didn’t need to open it to know who it was from. The handwriting was unmistakable, messy and familiar, like it had been scribbled in a rush.

With trembling fingers, you unfolded it, your eyes scanning the words.

I won’t tell him.

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[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Self-On Kode with Johnny ⋆⭒˚.⋆

idol!Johnny x f!famous!reader

summary: you should be comfortable around Johnny considering you've already interviewed with him before, right? Well, you're not.

(cw: f!reader, famous!reader, mentions of getting drunk but no alcohol consumption, reader is an internet talk show host like Youngji)

a/n: I am not currently accepting any new self-on kode requests

Johnny sat back comfortably in the blue chair, extending his legs as he waved at the camera with a polite smile, "hello, I'm Johnny from NCT. I'm so ready to figure out who my partner will be today, I'm going to figure it out easily."

He nods smugly at the camera, popping his earbuds into his ears to listen to his music while you walked across the blue wall and sat back in the pink chair. You excitedly wiggled your legs, looking around at the set with wonder, "wow, you guys have a pretty good budget over here."

The staff behind the camera laughed and the producer prompted you to introduce yourself. You nodded, bowing to the camera as you introduced yourself, "in case you don't know me I have my own YouTube channel where I get drunk and interview celebrities." Your manager face palms behind the camera and you furrow your brows, "I can't say we get drunk? But we do! It's so obvious!"

Your music has barely started to play through your headphones when your phone buzzes in your hold. "Amazon?" You mutter as you read the screen name. Your eyes flit to the camera, "is it Jeff Bezos? Amazon is such a weird name."

On the other side of the wall Johnny laughs as he reads your message asking him if he is Jeff Bezos. "No," he types back, "it comes from a nickname."

"You have weird friends, do you shop a lot or something?" You message back.

He smiles down at the screen, "it's not my actual nickname, I can't give you my real nickname or I might give myself away."

You nod to yourself, "smart, smart."

The both of you make small talk, getting used to talking to your anonymous partners while trying to pick up on any little detail about who they are. So far, you have nothing beside an unbased idea that your partner could be a guy purely based on the fact that he's quite straightforward. However, he does match your excited energy. It feels vaguely familiar but hard to place based on mere words on a screen.

You may not have any idea why your partner seems familiar, but both your managers and the fans certainly know. A month ago you had released an interview on your channel that went viral almost overnight. It was your most watched interview in all your years of having your channel. It was your most chaotic interview yet, the video beginning with you taking stressed shots as you admitted to thinking your guest was handsome. After being kind of cold and aloof toward your guest, you both eventually started to succumb to the affects of the alcohol. You both end up slurring your words and laughing so hard while leaning against each other with drunken flirty words exchanged until he stumbles out of your apartment with rosy cheeks and a flirty wiggle of his fingers. The person you were interviewing? Johnny Suh, the very same Johnny Suh sitting in his own matching chair on the other side of the set.

Kode, of course, acted on the virality of the video and all the hype of the fans. All the edits that would consequently come from this interview would send more fans to their channel. Subscribers that already watched Kode, would be sent to your channel to see your interview with Johnny. It was a simple, win-win situation. That's why you and Johnny were sitting opposite each other.

The staff instruct you both to send a screenshot of your homescreens to your partners. You face palm, looking at your mess of a homescreen, thousands of unread emails, hundreds of unread messages, and a widget of your notes app with a note of questions to ask your next guest. You couldn't have made it more obvious with the note titled, 'questions to ask Jisung'. Your only saving grace is that there is more than one Jisung in the kpop industry.

Johnny's jaw drops as he looks at the picture you've sent him, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he freaks out over the insane amount of unread texts and emails. "That doesn't bother you? How do you live like this? Wait a second... 'questions for Jisung?' Which Jisung?" He sends text after text.

You look up at the camera with wide eyes, "I messed up. I really messed up." You bite your lip as you reply, "what are you, some kind of cop? What about your phone, huh?"

Johnny laughs, "what about it?"

Your jaw drops, "so sassy! I don't know! Just stop questioning me! I didn't have time to fix up my phone because I woke up late. Sorry for being honest." Realistically, there is nothing weird about his homescreen at all, just a default screen and a couple folders with normal apps. It looks clean and orderly, no notifications and nothing particularly telling.

Johnny laughs again, reading your dramatic messages and continuing to pick on you until the staff prompt you both to send your YouTube history. Yours is rather boring, some cooking videos, but the picture sent to you has you first, going silent with your eyes wide with shock and second, screaming with excitement. You're screaming so loud that Johnny can hear you on the other side of the set with the noise-cancelling feature activated on his earbuds.

What has you so excited? Well, your partner was watching your video! Your most viral video with Johnny. It's always exciting to see that people watch your videos and enjoy them, it shows you that you and your team's hard work pays off.

"I heard you scream," Johnny texts you, "I know you're a girl."

Your screams quiet immediately as you frown, "dang it." You zoom in on the screenshot and smirk victoriously as you catch sight of the small circle on the bottom right hand corner with a simple J in a circle. A hint.

"And I know you speak English and your name starts with a J," you message back with a smug smile on your face.

"Dang it," Johnny repeats with a defeated laugh.

"I've almost got him," you nod at the camera, drawing laughs from the crew.

Johnny somehow manages to move the conversation along, distracting you from thinking too hard about idols who have English names that start with J. Eventually the last prompt comes up, and you send off a picture of you as a newborn. It's impossible to tell who you are from the picture and Johnny tells you that it's not fair.

Not fair, especially considering he sent you a picture of him as a young child. A picture where he's already kind of developed his face.

But the picture on the screen isn't nearly as telling as he thinks it is, the little boy on your screen has his face screwed up in some kind of scream or laugh. You can't get a whole lot of the picture, but the house in the background doesn't look like the homes you see around here.

"You grew up in America, didn't you?" You ask.

But right after you send the message you slowly loft your gaze from your phone to the camera and crew, "no... you didn't." An American, with a J name, a male. You narrow your eyes at your manager who stands with the Kode crew, "did no one watch the interview? Did no one see the amount of liquid courage I needed to talk to him? This better be Jeff Bezos!"

But even as the interview comes to an end and you stand in front of the bright blue wall, you feel nervous. Yes, you've met him. Yes, you've both bonded and maybe even become friends but that doesn't make him any less intimidating! He watched your interview! He had seen you freak out about him being so tall and handsome and having crush on him!

You see him before you've even had a chance to think of moving your feet. His handsome face breaks out in a smile and he pulls you into a warm hug before your brain can focus on panicking too much. It's a brief hug, friendly. Why does he smell so good?

"Well, well, well, look who it is!" He teases with a bright smile.

"Look at you! You can't get enough of me can you?" You tease back with a playful smile.

You both sit at the high top table and you make sure there is ample amount of room between the two of you. A tasteful, friendly, yet professional distance between the two of you.

His smile is still as radiant as the second he saw you, "Looks like the internet wants to see more of us together."

"Right," you nod slowly, turning to stare pointedly at the group standing behind the camera, "just the internet."

He laughs loudly, his head thrown back with a laugh, "so, did you guess it was me? I didn't think it was you, honestly."

"I did, actually. You know, the J name, the American house, the YouTube history— who knew you were such a big fan of my channel?"

"You didn't get it from Amazon?"

You cock your head to the side, "How would I have guessed that?"

"You know... Amazon, Ama-John," he explains, nodding slowly like he really wants you to get it.

"Oh, I get it," you nod slowly, "You're a lot more funny in person, you know?"

"And you seem more chilled out this time. I'm kind of glad you can actually look at me now even though it's only been 5 minutes. I'm also very glad there's no alcohol involved this time. Did you know that I was hungover for a full day after your interview?" Johnny asks with a laugh.

You're glad that he's so easy to talk to, the awkwardness dies down the more you two talk and laugh. Though the more you talk to Johnny, the more you realize all the awkward was coming from you.

Johnny's eyes widen as he starts his next thought, "I can't let this go, sorry. But over three thousand unread emails and almost two hundred texts, seriously, how do you live like this?"

"Johnny, I'm very busy. Plus, most of the emails are promotional anyway and it's a pain to sit there and delete them one by one," you dramatically groan.

"I can make some free time to help you out," Johnny slips in so casually that it takes your brain a second to understand that he's blatantly flirting.

Knowing that you can be around him now without the liquid courage, you have your confidence back. You're even proud of yourself as you reply, "well, you know where to reach me and you know where I live."

You can see what you think is an outline of your manager fist pumping triumphantly as you and Johnny both pose for your selfie. A selfie with the two of you both smiling at the camera, though Johnny's eyes are clearly on you.

Johnny ends up not only in your DMs a few days later, but a few days later also in your apartment. There are no cameras this time, no liquid courage, just two adults who get to know each other and kiss a little, but the internet doesn't need to know about that.

[leclercsixteen]

𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒂 ! ᶜˡ¹⁶ ᵐᵛ¹

you don't have to be sorry for leaving and growing up ⋆˚࿔

𝓬harles leclerc + 𝓶ax verstappen x 𝓶ale reader synopsis: reader was the rookie in the upcoming formula 1 season. his name was in everyone’s mouth and on everyone’s social media page. but, he’s still a person who has homework, feelings, and two nonbiological older brothers—or nonbiological dads, however you want to look at it.

genre: familial, smau and irl, hurt/comfort, fluff warnings: lestappen is shipped but theyre not together, stressed reader, reader replaces liam

author's note: not intended for female readers & not written for female readers. this came to me in a dream.

masterlist. navigation.

Y/N WAS A force to be reckoned with on the track. His talented overtakes and passes on the track helped him climb up the ranks easily. He quickly made his way up to Formula 1, skipping over Formula 2, and became the youngest rookie for the upcoming season. It was no surprise that he was all everyone talked about; Red Bull dropping Liam Lawson to pick up an inexperienced rookie who was still in high school.

He was a high school student by day and a Formula 1 driver, also by day. His schedule was the definition of stressful and he had no competition for the most stressed award. Y/n took online classes seeing as there was no way for him to go to a school while flying all over the world for races. It was surprising to the drivers around him that he was able to do everything, including perform well in his car when it really mattered, and not show any signs of stress.

It was surprising to y/n too; he was covered up to his ears in stress and he felt as though he was drowning every second of the day.

liked by f1, redbullracing, charles_leclerc, and others tagged: charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1

youruser life recently

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userone god i really need to lock in bros life looks amazing and he's younger than me

usertwo i think we're forgetting the fact that he's a student AND formula 1 driver? like i can barely get through just school but he's a double agent liked by youruser

charles_leclerc why that picture :( ⤷ youruser my parents obviously

maxverstappen1 you couldn't've picked a picture that i took with you? ⤷ youruser of course not :)

redbullracing 🔥🔥 liked by youruser

userthree can't wait to watch you kill it this season! ⤷ userfour alr he aint that good bro ⤷ userthree he skipped f2 and red bull literally dropped liam lawson for him ??????? okay ...

charles_leclerc maxverstappen1 why are you looking at me like that ⤷ maxverstappen1 that's how i look at all of my friends ⤷ youruser you guys don't even follow each other still stop flirting in my comments

userfive red bull check on your driver challenge ⤷ usersix wdym? ⤷ userfive i saw y/n recently with max and charles and he just looked so tired and so out of it. it doesnt look like red bull is doing much to help him out with schooling and his mental health liked by youruser ⤷ usersix nah you're reaching 😭😭 ⤷ userfive y/n literally liked my comment but whatever

Y/N THOUGHT F4 and F3 were bad, but F1 was a whole different rodeo. Their schedule wasn't as hectic during F4 and F3 as it is in F1, but it was still pretty stressful having to do homework on the road when you couldn't talk to anybody about it since most of the drivers dropped out of school. F1 was worse; nobody was in school or they dropped out before they could graduate so nobody understood what he was going through, he was shipped around the world on a weekly basis, he had training day in and day out, and he had to do calculus homework in between practices.

He held his forehead in his hand as he leaned his elbow against the table in front of him. Y/n was currently looking at his math homework like it had 5 heads instead of 0 since it was a piece of paper. The eraser of his pencil tapped against the table that distracted him away from his homework momentarily. The problem he was stuck on stared back at him as he felt almost guilty for not being able to solve this problem.

"You okay?"

Max.

When it was announced that y/n would be taking Liam's spot, y/n had already met with Max multiple times. They were trying to see if the team chemistry would be there between a seasoned driver and an unseasoned one. Their relationship formed quickly as Max became an older brother figure to y/n. Max connected him to Charles, both having some idea what y/n was going through. From there, Max and Charles became y/n's mentor's in Formula 1 and helped him through everything he needed to know.

Y/n turned his head away from the worksheet and he looked over at Max, who was walking over in his race suit as he just got done with his FP2. He wore a worried look as y/n was tucked into the corner of the Red Bull hospitality with a confused and frustrated look on his face.

The rookie sighed as he dropped his pencil and hid his face in his hands. "Not really," he groaned as both his arms and head dropped onto the table; his head laying on his folded arms. "Calculus is going to be the death of me, Max. I can't do this," there was a slight waver to his voice, but he refused to cry in front of his teammate.

Max pursed his lips and sighed. He looked around the room to see if there was anything he could grab that might be of service to the young driver. When nothing came to mind, Max sat in the chair to y/n's right and he turned it so it faced y/n.

"Hey," Max said softly as he nudged y/n's knee with his own. Y/n's head rolled to the side so he could see Max's face and Max could see his. Y/n's eyes were starting to turn red, but Max paid no attention to it because he knew y/n would hate him for it. "If you need help, or a break, just ask, or talk to me or Charles. We care about you, y/n, and it sucks to see that they," he nodded over to the Red Bull team who was working on Max's car, "don't care about your mental health or school work. But, Charles and I do, okay?"

Y/n pursed his lips and nodded, blinking away tears that threatened to fall from his stinging eyes. He cleared his throat as he leaned back in his chair, his arms falling down into his lap as he looked back at the table

"Yeah. I care about you guys too," y/n started, looking down at his hands which were starting to fold his fingers together as a distraction, "but it's hard. I never liked asking for help and it's still a hard thing for me to do, even if you and Charles are trying to tell me it's okay to do so." Y/n rubbed at his nose as that too was starting to sting. He blinked away tears once more. "I just wish people understood. Fans and reporters. I feel like they only see me as the rookie that got picked up, and not as a high school student who happens to be good at racing," he looked up at Max, who was nodding along to what he was saying, paying attention to every word he said.

Max smiled sadly and nodded. "It sucks, it really does. They never understand and they don't even try to. I'm sorry about that, y/n, I really am," his eyes were wide and filled with sadness and sympathy. "They don't have to understand, though. You don't have to care about what they think, alright?" His eyes turned serious as he leaned forward and put a hand on y/n's knee. "You just need to focus on your school work and driving. Your real fans understand and they care about you too."

Y/n nodded along and he sniffed before wiping his nose on his hoodie sleeve. His FP2 was before Max's, so he slipped out of his race suit and into comfy clothes quickly so he could hide himself in the corner he and Max found themselves in now so he wouldn't be bothered.

Max's eyes narrowed at y/n before they glanced at his worksheet. "When is that due?" He asked as he pointed at the worksheet, which was halfway done.

"Um," y/n hummed as he looked over at the worksheet. He wasn't sure, so he had to double check. "One second," he said as he opened up his computer that was previously closed and shut off as he kept trying to look at the answer key. He pulled up Google Classroom and scrolled to his calculus class. He clicked his tongue a couple of times before saying, "Not until Monday." He looked back at Max, who had a smile on his face. "Why?"

"Tomorrow isn't Monday," Max smiled at y/n. They had a qualifying tomorrow, but an idea was brewing in Max's head already for tonight.

Y/n's brows furrowed, "I'm glad you know your days of the week, Max."

Max laughed. "How about we do something tonight? Invite Charles and we just go hang out around town?" He asked with a smile.

It wasn't unusual for Charles, Max, and y/n to do some adventuring in the town they end up having races in, but it was starting to get rare as y/n's midterms were sneaking up in the next month or two.

Y/n went to deny as he wanted to finish the worksheet, but Max held up a hand and leaned forward in his seat. "Don't try and get out of this because of your homework that isn't due until Monday. You're still young, y/n. You deserve to have some fun in your life, yeah?"

The younger driver scoffed a laugh as he leaned back in his seat. He shook his head, "You're unbelievable and I hate you." Max raised a brow and he held out his hands as he waited for a confirmation. "What the hell, sure," y/n shook his head as Max smiled and hit his shoulder.

"Alright!" Max smiled and stood. His hands hit his thighs as he stood. "You can stay in that if you want," he gestured towards y/n's oversized Red Bull hoodie and matching sweat-shorts, "but I'm going to take a very quick shower and change. I'll text Charles as well."

Then, Max left towards his driver room.

A smile formed on y/n's face. Even if he was close to tears just a minute ago, his eyes were dry as he packed up his calculator, pencil case, and tucked his worksheet into his math folder. It felt nice to be liked and to be needed. While he did have a loving family cheering him on from home, it was hard to be away from them during the season. It was nice to have two people who could fill in those roles while they were away.

Y/n made his way to the couch that was in the Red Bull hospitality, but not before grabbing a Red Bull from the mini fridge that was at the end of the couch. It was nearing dinner time and y/n was sure he would fall asleep on the couch he just sat on if he didn't have at least a couple of sips of Red Bull in his system.

As Max showered and changed, y/n played a mindless game on his phone that Charles downloaded a while ago after his own phone had died and was bored. Y/n remembers it vaguely; he doesn't remember where they were or what they were doing, but Charles's phone had died and he asked y/n id he had games on his phone, to which y/n responded no and Charles acted as if he killed Leo. Then, Charles said that it was his favorite game and was convinced that y/n was living under a rock because he didn't have it downloaded.

He played a couple of rounds before Max came out of his driver's room in a surprising pair of sweatpants and one of his classic Red Bull collard shirts. It wasn't common to see Max in sweatpants, he usually wore jeans with his shirts. Max typed on his phone as he walked, and he almost ran into the couch, but he stopped right in front of it before he could.

"You ready?" Max asked once he looked up from his phone. He chuckled at the sight in front of him; y/n holding his red bull can close as he was curled in on himself in the corner of the couch. His phone was close to his face as he played his game.

Y/n looked up and nodded, quickly unfurling himself. "Yep," he said, popping the 'p'. He stood from the couch and adjusted his hoodie. "Charles already outside?" y/n asked as Max started to lead the way to the door of the hospitality. He didn't get an answer from Max, but his confirmation was Charles standing in front of the door once Max opened up the door.

"Hey you two," Charles smiled at them as y/n and Max bent down to slip on the quickest shoes they could (sneakers for Max and Birkenstock clogs for y/n). Charles wore a red hoodie with a small black Ferrari horse on the heart with white sweatpants and creme Puma suede shoes. "Let's go, yeah?" He nodded his head toward the car park where all of the drivers kept their cars during race weekend.

Max and y/n stepped out of the Red Bull hospitality with smiles on their faces, happy that their trio was back together. Sometimes it's hard for the Red Bull duo to get together with Charles, seeing as their teams want to make sure their secrets aren't being shared with their opponent.

"Where are we going?" Y/n asked as the trio started to walk toward the car park; y/n was in the middle with Max to his right and Charles to his left. He looked from Max and then to Charles, both having smiles on their faces as they looked at each other past y/n's head.

"Seriously guys, where are we going?"

liked by oscarpiastri, redbullracing, maxverstappen1, and others tagged: charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1

youruser had to buy a swimsuit at the store cause they didn't tell me i needed one when we left

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charles_leclerc do people not go streaking anymore? ⤷ youruser you are NASTY! NASTY i tell you

userseven did you get your homework done

usereight alright ..

maxverstappen1 at least you got a new swimsuit out of it, i just got sandy pizza ⤷ charles_leclerc that was your own fault ⤷ youruser maxverstappen1 free protein for quali!!

oscarpiastri whore behavior on main is crazy ⤷ youruser leave me and my whoreiness alone 💔

usernine i wish i had a relationship like y/n and lestappen ⤷ userten so..parents? ⤷ usernine that was unnecessary

usereleven YOU'RE GOING TO GET POLE POSITION TOMORROW Y/N I BELIEVE IN YOU!! ⤷ usertwelve nah he's washed ⤷ userthirteen it's literally his first season 😭😭??????????

lando high school senior & f1 driver by day WHORE by night ⤷ youruser what's up with the mclaren teammates calling me a whore just say you want me and move on ⤷ lando woah alright i touched a nerve there my bad

TURNS OUT WHERE they were going was a beach—actually, first a clothing store, then a pizza restaurant, and then the beach. Charles and Max only told y/n they were going to the beach after pulling out of the car park in Charles's white Ferrari, so he whined and forced them to stop at a clothing store nearby so he could run in and buy a new pair of trunks and even a cover shirt.

Y/n leaned back on the blanket that Charles pulled out of his trunk when they pulled up to the beach. His elbows and heels dig into the sand as he laid back relaxed. He watched as Max and Charles played in the water like children. They had tried to pull him to the water with them, but he just denied and wanted to stay dry. He pulled on his Red Bull sweatshirt from before as the sun was starting to set and it was starting to get windy on the beach.

He must've zoned out, because suddenly both Max and Charles were laughing right next to him and falling down onto towels that they brought. They were sighing and laughing through breaths as they sat on either side of y/n, Max to y/n right and Charles to his left like before.

"You guys have fun?" Y/n asked, a smile on his face as he looked from Max to Charles, and then back to Max, and repeated that a couple of times before he got an answer.

Charles laughed and nodded, "Yeah. It's been so long since I've had fun in the water at a beach. I usually go on my boat, but I haven't been on a beach in so long."

Silence fell onto the three as they watched the sun slowly set and listened to the crashing of the waves and the chatter of birds that were further down the shoreline.

Suddenly, after a beat of staring at y/n and questioning whether he should actually speak up or not, Max asked, "Are you okay, now?" Y/n turned to Max while Charles turned to watch y/n like Max.

Y/n took a breath and looked back out towards the water. He pursed his lips and after a beat, he nodded. "Yeah," he breathed out with a smile on his face. "Yeah, I am. Sometimes I get too caught up in my own head and I act like I never have enough time for a break, and my life is always go, go, go. While it is that way sometimes, I feel like I never ask for help, or for a break." He took a deep breath in, smelling and taking in the smell of the salt water. Y/n looked to Max and then to Charles with a smile, "Thank you guys. Really. This was really nice, and definitely needed."

Charles smiled back at y/n and he glanced to Max quickly before looking back at y/n. "We're always here for you, y/n. Whether it's for school help, driving help, mental help, or even to kill someone," they all let out a chuckle, "we're here for you, okay? You're special, y/n, and we don't want you to lose your young spark just because you're stressed, alright?"

Y/n smiled, teary-eyed. He nodded, "Alright. I love you guys."

"We love you too, but," Max stood and he bent down to pull off y/n hoodie, which went willingly as y/n rolled his eyes, "it's time to get you in the water."

"Maaaax," y/n whined, but they weren't heard as Charles laughed and joined Max in standing. He helped grab y/n and drag him towards the water. Y/n's yells were helpless as he laughed and squirmed in their grip. "I hate you guys!" Y/n yelled before he was tossed into the cold water.

He came back up with a scowl as Charles and Max laughed with each other at y/n. "I know where you sleep."

liked by youruser, maxverstappen1, f1, and others tagged: youruser, maxverstappen1

charles_leclerc much needed quality time before quali 🌊❤️

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userfourteen bro theyre so cute 😭😭

userfifteen they don't want us to ship lestappen then they post pictures of them playing in the water like alright mate

youruser don't be fooled by the smile on my back, i was NOT happy ⤷ charles_leclerc i don't know i remember you telling us you loved us ⤷ maxverstappen1 you know i remember that too ⤷ youruser i told you guys i hated you actually

usersixteen the only family in formula 1

userseventeen can't decide if y/n is their kid or brother ⤷ usereighteen if we're shipping lestappen, kid. if we're not, brother.

maxverstappen1 ❤️ ⤷ charles_leclerc literally just a heart? damn what the hell ⤷ youruser my parents are fighting 💔

oscarpiastri um where was my invite????? ⤷ youruser you can come when you have a mental breakdown over homework ❤️ ⤷ oscarpiastri oh.. hope you're doing okay ⤷ youruser this made me giggle yes i am doing okay thank you oscar 😭😭

lando BAN family's from formula 1 next thing we know they're going to get 1-2-3 positions for the rest of the season ⤷ charles_leclerc no need to be salty lando nowins ⤷ lando I WILL SLASH YOUR TYRES

usernineteen im living for this family we have in f1 like y/n is literally lestappen's son

[regressionschool]

How a Stiffy Earned Him Crinkles

It was a lazy afternoon, and Ethan sat on the floor of the living room, legs spread apart as he absentmindedly played with the colorful stacking rings his girlfriend, Mia, had given him. He was wearing nothing but his baby blue pull-ups and a t-shirt that barely reached his padded bottom. Mia lounged on the couch, watching her "little" boyfriend with an amused smile as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone.

Ethan was supposed to be focused on playing like a good boy, but his eyes kept drifting toward Mia. She had just changed into a pair of tiny shorts and a fitted tank top, her bare legs curled beneath her as she stretched. His gaze lingered a little too long, and before he could stop it, his body reacted. He felt a stirring between his legs, his body reacting instinctively as his pull-up grew uncomfortably snug, the padding pressing back against his growig pee pee in a way that made his breath hitch

Mia noticed immediately. She tilted her head, her lips curling into a smirk as she set her phone down. “Oh my God,” she giggled, sitting up. “Ethan, are you getting excited in your little pull-ups?”

Ethan’s eyes widened in horror. He yanked a nearby plushie to cover himself, but Mia was already crawling over to him, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I—I didn’t mean to!” he whined, his face burning red.

Mia placed a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter. “Oh, baby, this is just too good. You’re supposed to be my little toddler, and here you are with a stiffy like a naughty big boy.”

Ethan squirmed, gripping the plushie tighter. “It’s not my fault! Y-You changed in front of me.”

Mia gasped dramatically. “Oh, so it’s my fault now? I didn’t realize little boys in training pants still had those kinds of reactions.” She leaned closer, her fingers lightly tracing over the padded front of his pull-up. “I think someone’s proving they’re not ready for these at all.”

Ethan let out a mortified whimper. “Mia, please.”

She sat back, stretching leisurely. “Face it, baby boy. Pull-ups are for little ones who are learning, but you just proved you’re not ready for them.” She tapped her chin, feigning deep thought. “Maybe in a few years.”

Ethan’s stomach dropped. “No! I don’t—”

Mia was already up, heading toward the cabinet where she kept his supplies. A moment later, she returned with a thick, pastel-colored diaper in her hands, the crinkly plastic rustling with every movement. She spread out the changing mat on the floor and patted it invitingly. “Lie down, little guy. Let’s get you into something more appropriate.”

Ethan groaned, hiding his face behind his plushie. “Miaaa,” he whined, but he knew there was no way out.

“Come on, baby.” Her voice was sweet, teasing. “We both know you belong in thick, crinkly diapers.”

Slowly, he lowered himself onto the mat, his heart hammering in his chest as Mia knelt beside him. She made a show of tearing open the sides of his pull-up, giggling when his erection was still very obvious.

“Aww,” she cooed, smirking, “look at that little stiffy. Too bad babies don’t get to have those.”

Ethan whimpered, his entire body burning with embarrassment as she slid the thick diaper under him. The moment she pulled it snug around his waist and taped it securely in place, he knew she was never going to let him live this down.

Mia patted the front with a satisfied smile. “There we go. All thick and crinkly, just like a proper baby.” She leaned in, whispering playfully, “Guess we’ll have to keep you padded until you forget all about those naughty big-boy feelings.”

Ethan could only squirm and pout, knowing she meant every word.

[animamii]

Hit Different | Eren Jaeger 𝜗𝜚 part deux

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ Eren meets his match when Ymir's cousin crashes into his life. Classic playboy meets maneater. ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

𖹭.ᐟ modern aot verse! college au!

.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・

The sun is a personal attack. Why the hell does it have to be so damn bright right now? You groan, burrowing deeper into the mess of blankets, only to realize—you don’t remember getting into bed. Hell, you barely even remember leaving the party. Your head throbs in protest as you peel open your eyes, met with unfamiliar floral-patterned sheets and a very judgmental Ymir sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, scrolling through her phone.

“Look who’s finally up,” she monotonously spews, not even glancing at you, just tap, tapping away at her phone. “Thought I was gonna have to throw water on you.”

You blink, sluggish, trying to piece together the events of last night. “Where am I?” Your voice is hoarse, like you swallowed an entire desert. You somehow still taste tequila on your tongue, with the little remnants of your pineapple juice chaser.

"Our guest room, dumb ass. Had to carry your ass in here when you passed out in our bed after I dragged your ass out of that party.” Ymir finally looks up, raising a sharp brow. “Speaking of—what the fuck was that with Eren?”

Your stomach does an annoying little flip, but you mask it with a slow stretch, feigning nonchalance. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

Ymir scoffs. “Oh, please. The sexual tension in that kitchen could’ve powered the whole damn party.” She looks at you with an obvious look on her face, as if to say, 'don't fuckin play in my face like I'm stupid and blind'. “Dude was looking at you like he wanted to either fuck you or fight you. Maybe both.”

You snort, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You notice your lashes were taken off, now on the dresser next to you. “Not my fault he’s got a staring problem.”

"Right. So you just happened to flirt with Jean all night while Eren practically set him on fire with his mind?"

Before you can answer, Historia walks in looking suspiciously awake for someone who was blackout drunk last night. She holds out a bottle of water and some aspirin like she does this every weekend. "You look like shit," she chirps.

"Good morning to you too," you mumble, snatching the water and chugging it.

“Did you check your phone yet?” Historia asks, perching on the bed beside you as she holds out the tiny pain killers. Taking them from her hand, you toss them into your mouth, swallowing quickly.

A slight sense of dread creeps in. “No? Why?”

Ymir smirks, flipping her phone screen toward you, showing a group chat notification. Connie added Eren to 'Brunch, Bitches'. You groan at the sight of the name, flopping back onto the pillows. Of course. Because why wouldn’t fate be a petty little shit?

Meanwhileeee— Eren wakes up to a headache and text from Connie like he does every Sunday morning.

Connie: Lmao, you tryna get brunch? Eren: Why the fuck would I do that? Connie: Bc ur little crushy crush is gonna be there 😉 Eren: Blocked Connie: Damn bro just pull up, it’ll be fun

Eren stares at his phone, jaw tight, remembering the way you looked at him last night—how you didn’t look at him until the very last second. His grip tightens on his phone. Fuck it.

Connie: Yo, brunch at that spot on 3rd? You guys down?

Ymir: I’m always down for food, babe. But don't tell me we're going to that weird place again with the mismatched plates.

Eren: 😑 It’s good. Stop being a snob.

Connie: I’ll pass on the weird plates place if you bring your cousin,, I still don’t have her number lol

Ymir: lmao what do you mean you don’t have her number?

Connie: Yeahhhh I haven't actually talked to her much,, she kinda makes me scared 😅

Eren: 🙄 You mean you're scared she’ll turn you down like the others?

Connie: Stfu says the one who threw a tantrum cuz she was flirting with Jean ✋🏽🤨

Eren: ... I'm bouta leave ts.

Connie: Yeah that's what I thought ho!

Ymir: ugh. you two stop being dramatic. I'll bring her if she's not too dead

Ymir added y/n to Brunch, Bitches

Connie: Sounds good to me. Jean can’t make it,, btw. He has work. Told him to leave his ass at the office 🙄

Eren: His loss. Those pancakes are gonna smack, I'm ready asl.

Ymir: same. you guys better be on time this time. 😒

Connie: No promises 🙈😜😚😚🦧

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"So we're all just showing up in pajamas huh?" Ymir stands in the doorway of the room, watching as you lazily curl your lashes, leaning against the headboard in their room.

"Yup," you answer, picking up your mascara and applying a coat. "Besides, this is a track suit. It's like multipurpose."

Ymir raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she leans against the doorframe. “A track suit, huh? I mean, I guess it does have boujie y2k bitch written all over it...”

You smile, finishing the last stroke of mascara and setting the wand back in the tube with a twist. “Exactly. It's basically brunch attire and I could probably go for a run after if I felt like it. Double duty, extra fruity.”

She snorts, shaking her head as she pushes herself off the door frame. “Yeah, sure, but I’m pretty sure the only thing you’re running for today is the nearest mimosa.”

"And you're running into the nearest Hot Topic wearing that damn flannel and sweats." You playfully quip back, tossing the pillow on your lap at your cousin.

"Somebody say something about my flannel?" Historia's soft voice rings into the room as she steps out of the bathroom, hands busy tying her hair into a messy bun. Her eyes are wide and confused, making you smile at her naivety.

Your eyes dart down to the flannel pajama bottoms she wears. "Can you two get any gayer?? Matching flannel to brunch? Really?"

Ymir lets out a bellow, her hand resting on the back of Historia's neck as she kisses the top of her head, causing Historia's eyes to shut as she beams a content smile. "Mad cause we're in loooooveeee?"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, lesbians. I'd be gay too if I had a choice," you roll your eyes sardonically as you stand up and slip your uggs on.

"Oh hell no, we don't need any evil femmes. Regina George is that cautionary tale. Stay being straight, the male population needs their repercussions."

You laugh, zipping your sweater up halfway. "I think the world is far better off with a few evil femmes, if I’m being honest. Less competition, more fun."

Ymir grins, lazily shoving her feet into her sneakers. "Exactly. You get it."

Historia chuckles softly from where she stands by the bathroom mirror, finishing up with her hair. "You look like you stepped out of a 2000's paparazzi photo."

You shoot her a dirty look but can’t suppress the childish smile that creeps onto your face. "Yeah, well, at least I’m not going out looking like a damn lumberjack." You point a finger between the two girls.

Ymir twirls around dramatically, causing the flannel to swish with her movement. "Heyyy, leave my lumberjack alone, you know she loves to climb trees."

"Gross, I don't wanna hear my cousin say nasty flirty shit with her girlfriend, Miri. Save your kinky lumberjack fantasy for the bedroom." You hold a hand up as you step out of the couple's room.

Ymir bursts out laughing, following you down the hallway, while Historia’s face flushes a soft pink. "You're the one who started it," Ymir teases, nudging you with her elbow.

You groan dramatically. "Yeah, well, I should’ve known better than to walk into this disaster of a relationship." Throwing yourself onto their couch, you mindlessly scroll through your phone. “Why does it always feel like I’m the third wheel?”

"Because you are our third wheel?" Ymir says like it's obvious, which it is really. "But it's okay we don't mind being a tricycle sometimes." Taking a seat at the other end of the couch, she props her feet up on your lap.

Historia follows behind Ymir, still trying to hide her smile. "We’re not that bad, are we?"

"You're like an over-the-top romcom couple," you retort, rolling your eyes playfully. "But like, one of those ones that you can’t fully hate because they’re just so damn cute."

Ymir, who’s still grinning, tosses a pillow at you. "Hey, we’re adorable, and you know it."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." You place the pillow under Ymir's feet, not wanting her beat up converse to dirty the gray cotton sweats you were wearing. You were going for low effort, not slob. "Just don’t bring your cheesy couple energy into brunch. I’m not in the mood to be the only one single at the table."

"Oh, please, you’ll be just fine," Historia says with a wink as she slides her crocs on. "And besides, who says you have to stay single? You’ve got options. Plenty really. If you actually stopped with these maneater shenanigans." She nudges you gently, giving you a look more serious than you'd like.

You scoff, locking your phone and tossing it aside, letting it bounce on the couch before it finds a snug spot by Ymir's leg. "Maneater shenanigans? Excuse me, I prefer to call it ‘strategic non-attachment.’ Sounds way more sophisticated." Your nose sticks up in the air in a playfully bratty way, lips forming into a pout.

Historia rolls her eyes as she zips up her sweater, the ziiiiip sound loud just to be extra dramatic. "Sounds like a fancy way to say ‘terrified of commitment.’"

Ymir hums in agreement, stretching her arms behind her head. "Right? Like, you’re out here collecting numbers like Pokémon cards, but let a dude actually like you, and suddenly, it’s ‘ew, feelings.’" She sticks her tongue out in fake disgust as she mocks your tone, making you roll your eyes.

You lazily point at her, feigning offense. "First of all, rude, I don't sound like that at all, cunt. Second of all, you know my philosophy; love is a scam, and I refuse to be a victim."

Historia snorts, grabbing her bag, the plethora of keychains clanging together and making an off-sound symphony of metal, letting anyone in a mile radius know that she picked it up. "Tell that to Eren, who was practically following you around at the party like a lost puppy."

"He’s a player, remember? He’s got a new flavor of the week by now, I’m sure." Your face stays neutral, but the way you grab your phone a little too quickly does not go unnoticed by the girls' sharp eyes. "Anyway," you say, standing up, "we should go before Connie loses his damn mind. He’s already sent, like, three where are you texts."

Ymir smirks, but doesn’t push the topic. "Fine, fine. Let’s roll out, Breakfast Club."

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“Dude, you look like hell.”

Eren groans, standing in Connie’s kitchen, nursing a lukewarm fruit punch Gatorade like it's the last drop of hydration on earth. His hoodie is wrinkled, his hair a mess, and he still reeks faintly of last night’s Hennessy and bad decisions. He'd still be knocked out at home if he wasn't so abruptly woken up by said friend calling him a dozen times.

"Thanks," Eren mutters, feeling like his eye bags were physically weighing him down. "Exactly the kind of encouragement I needed. I shouldn't even be up this damn early."

"It’s literally noon," Connie says flatly, biting into his bagel, cream cheese spilling out of the sides. "And last night? You were gone, man. Like, barely forming sentences. You kept staring at y/n like you wanted to kidnap her ass and lock her in your basement."

Eren scoffs, taking a sip of his drink. "Was not."

"You so were," Connie says, pointing at him with his half-eaten bagel. "And let’s talk about that, actually. You’ve got that look in your eye—like she’s your next target."

Eren rolls his eyes, placing his hands on the counter to steady himself. "She’s not a target, dumbass. She’s just—" He pauses, searching for the words. "She just seems... interesting."

Connie snorts, finding the way Eren stares off into space a tad bit comical and so dramatic in a way only Eren can get away with. "So, what? You wanna wife her up now?"

Eren makes a face. "What? No. I haven’t even talked to her like that yet." He shakes his head as if he's trying to not imagine the thought of him actually, seriously pursuing you. "She’s just… different, y’know? It’s like a challenge."

Connie raises an eyebrow. "So, this is, what, a side quest for you?" Connie would never be one to admit it, but he was rooting for Eren to finally find love, and to finally stop being a damn fuckboy. He was tired of getting at girls only for them to tell him that they had their heart broken by his friend, Eren always leaving a mark on every single one of his hookup's hearts. He just wanted to meet one girl on campus that hadn't fucked Eren.

Eren smirks, leaning his elbows against the counter. "More like a boss level. She’s not like the usual girls. She’s got that whole I don’t give a fuck attitude, and you know I live for that shit." Eren always wanted things he couldn't have.

"So, let me get this straight," Connie says, licking some cream cheese off his thumb. "You’re telling me you spent all night trying to get her attention, and you still couldn’t bag a conversation with her?"

Eren clicks his tongue, looking annoyed and pouty. "It’s not that I couldn’t, it’s just—" He exhales sharply, that familiar frustration from last night coming back for a second. "She was talking to Jean all night. Didn't even glance at me. And then Historia got too drunk, and boom, she was gone before I even got the chance."

Connie bursts out laughing, finally someone was doing what Eren does to him, swooping in on the girl he wants. "Damn. She really curved you before you even got the chance to spit game?"

Eren glares, thick brows furrowing. "Shut up."

"Nah, man, this is hilarious," Connie wheezes. "Playboy Eren Jaeger finally meets a girl who doesn’t immediately fall into his lap? What’s next? Are you gonna start writing music about her?"

Eren rolls his eyes. "You’re so fucking annoying."

"Nah, you’re annoying," Connie shoots back. "’Cause I know you’re gonna spend all brunch trying to get her attention, and if you strike out again, I’m gonna have to sit there and witness the secondhand embarrassment."

Eren smirks, shaking his head. "Not happening."

"Mhmm. So what’s the plan, lover boy?" Connie asks, raising his eyebrows.

Eren grins, finishing his Gatorade and tossing the empty bottle into the trash. "Easy. I just gotta get her to talk to me. Once that happens? Game over."

Connie hums, finding Eren's words a bit deluded. "Man, I dunno. y/n’s like a you but hotter and meaner. You might be out of your league on this one."

Eren just chuckles, grabbing his keys. "There’s no such thing as out of my league, Connie."

Connie shakes his head, shoving the last of his bagel in his mouth. "Aight, bet. Let’s see how that works out for you."

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Connie picked the perfect spot for a hungover brunch, with the diner being less than busy for a Suday afternoon. The last thing you needed was a packed restaurant full of clanking dishes and obnoxious conversations stabbing through your skull. The scent of coffee and syrup lingers in the air, making your tummy rumble since you hadn't eaten since before yesterday's party. The hostess barely looks up from her tablet when Ymir announces the reservation, tapping at the screen with the kind of dead eyed exhaustion that says she’s one wrong order away from walking out mid shift.

"Ugh, why is it so bright in here?" you groan, slipping your sunglasses onto your face as the three of you follow the hostess to your table. Your feet shuffle against the floor, still wishing you were wrapped up in the heavy duvet in Ymir and Historia's guest room.

"Because it’s daytime, dumbass," Ymir snickers, sliding into the booth with Historia next to her. With a sigh you plop yourself beside Historia, slumping against the plush backing of the booth as if it might absorb your exhaustion. The other side is left empty—reserved for the two idiots who were, as expected, late.

"You’re acting like you weren’t up just as late as I was," you shoot back, lazily flipping through the laminated menu before going straight to the real priority: alcohol. "I need a drink. Immediately."

As if on cue, Connie and Eren show up, strolling toward the table with that casual, 'we definitely didn’t wake up on time but we made it' energy. Connie walks with his usual pep in his step, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who failed at punctuality. while Eren lags behind, looking annoyingly good for someone who was supposedly as hungover as you.

"Would you look at this," Connie announces, sliding into the seat across from Ymir. "The brunch bitches, in the flesh."

"You’re late," Historia points out, arching an eyebrow. Leave it to Connie to be late to something he planned.

"I told you no promises that I'd be on time," Connie dismisses with a limp wave. "We’re here now, and that’s what matters."

You don’t miss the way Eren’s eyes flick toward you as he sits across from you, that lazy smirk playing at his lips. Is this boy always smirking? He doesn’t say anything yet, just leans back in his seat, sizing you up like he’s trying to figure out the best way to approach. You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him for more than a second. Instead, you tap your fingers against the menu, eyes scanning over it even though you already know exactly what you want.

"So," you say, flipping the menu shut. "What’s everyone drinking? Because I am not doing this brunch sober." The first thing you do is order a mimosa, needing some sort of substance to numb the shitty feeling your body still harbored.

"Real shit," Ymir agrees, already knowing what's in order. "Mimosas all around?"

"Mimosa tower all around," Historia corrects, already flagging down the waiter with dainty hand.

"That’s my girl," you grin, nudging her shoulder with approval. There’s a silent understanding between you two; brunch isn’t brunch unless you leave a little tipsy.

The server swings by, takes everyone’s orders, and the conversation flows easily—mostly Connie, half-hungover and half-buzzed off life, trying to tell some barely coherent story about a girl he almost picked up last night.

"Bro, she looked just like Jade from Victorious," he insists, hands moving dramatically to prove his point.

Historia gives him a flat look, her usual wide doe eyes now hooded. "You say that about every girl with dark hair and a little eyeliner."

"That’s not even true—"

"It is true," Ymir interjects, rolling her eyes. "Last week it was that bartender at Sina’s. Week before that? The girl at the campus library."

"Okay, but this one really looked like her. Like actually," he tries to defend himself.

"Sure, Connie, sure." Historia nods, knowing how many times he had said this same thing before.

"You have a type," you say in a simple voice, reassuring him . "Own it."

Eren, though? He’s been biding his time, waiting for the right moment. And the second there’s a lull in the conversation, he leans forward, finally addressing you directly.

"So, you," he starts, and you slowly drag your gaze to him. His hair is messy, looking a bit greasy as a few strands fall over his forehead. Who does he think he is? Zayn?

"Me?" you say flatly, feigning disinterest as you take the mimosa flute from the server, keeping your lidded eyes glued on his. Looking away would make Eren feel like he had one up on you in this little staring contest.

"You," he repeats, resting his forearms on the table, emerald eyes locked onto yours. "Tell me something."

"Tell you what, Jaeger?" You take a slow, savoring sip of your drink.

He smirks, realizing you know his name without him ever introducing himself. "Oh, so you do know who I am," Eren smugly drawls, tapping a finger against the table. His posture goes more lax, legs spreading as if he's soaking up the ego that he lost last night.

Your face doesn’t give anything away, but inside, a flicker of irritation sparks. The way he’s looking at you—like he thinks he has the upper hand just because you acknowledged his name—sets something stubborn alight in your chest.

You take a slow sip of your mimosa, letting the bubbles fizz on your tongue before answering. "It’s hard not to when half the girls at that party were either throwing themselves at you or talking about how you used to throw yourself at them." Your memory reels to the blonde girl from last night, calling out Eren's name like he was some sort of damn celebrity.

Connie chokes on his drink, almost spewing his coffee all over the table. Ymir whistles lowly as her eyes dart between you and Eren. Historia presses her lips together, clearly entertained and loving every single moment of this.

Eren tilts his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he chuckles lowly. "Damn. You really came out swinging, huh?" He realizes his reputation precedes him, probably making his conquest of you just a little more difficult.

You lift a shoulder in a lazy shrug, setting your glass down with a soft clink. "Just calling it like I see it."

Historia, biting back a smirk, lifts her mimosa to her lips. Ymir’s grin is damn near feral. And Connie? He’s straight up beaming, like he’s witnessing the most entertaining drama of the century unfold before his very eyes.

Eren doesn’t look deterred, though. If anything, he looks even more interested. His elbow rests on the table as he leans in slightly, his gaze on you even more intense, as if that were even possible. "You keep talking like you’ve got me all figured out."

"Oh, I don’t need to figure you out," you reply smoothly, tilting your head with faux sympathy. "You’re a blueprint, Jaeger. Same old story, different haircut."

Connie loses it. "Bro, she just called you a template! A damn copy-paste ass—"

"Alright, alright," Eren cuts him off, but there’s no real bite to his tone. He’s still smirking, still looking at you like you’re a challenge he's determined to win. "I gotta admit, you got a sharp mouth."

"Comes in handy." You wink, picking up your drink again.

"And here I thought you'd at least pretend to be nice to me."

"Oh, Eren," you sigh dramatically, fluttering your lashes. "I don’t pretend for men."

Ymir wheezes. Historia’s dying. Connie is pounding the table with laughter, while Eren just sits back, shaking his head with that same smirk that hasn't left his face.

"You’re fun," he muses, eyes flicking over you, soaking in every detail. "I like fun." His tongue runs over his teeth as one of his arms slings over the top of the pleather booth lining.

"And I like my mimosa," you quip, raising your glass. "So let’s keep this professional, yeah?" You flash him a toothy smile and he would almost say you looked angelic if your attitude towards him wasn't the opposite.

Eren watches you take a sip, something unreadable flashing across his face. Whatever it is, it disappears quickly, replaced with something more playful. "Yeah, yeah. Sure. We’ll see about that."

Connie wipes a fake tear from his eye. "Goddamn, this brunch was worth it." This is exactly why Connie planned this little get together.

The mimosa tower arrives in all its bubbly glory, and Historia immediately starts pouring like she was born to be a rich housewife. She generously pours champagne from the tower's spout and asks everyone what juice they'd like. With the precision of a seasoned bartender (or maybe just a girl who’s been to one too many brunches), starts pouring everyone their custom mimosas.

“Alright, speak now or forever hold your juice preference,” she announces, tapping the spout like she’s about to make a life changing mixology decision. Large pitchers of different juices are lined up in front of her, waiting to be mixed with the bitter bubbles of champagne.

“Orange, obviously,” Ymir says, leaning back in her habitual manner, she could always get comfortable wherever she was, sprawled out like she's on her living room couch.

“Boring,” Historia mutters but obliges anyway, filling Ymir’s glass with the classic.

“Mango,” you say, watching as she pours the golden liquid. She makes yours strong, basically serving you champagne with a splash of mango flavor. Not that you're complaining though, you wanted to get tipsy.

“Classy,” Historia muses before turning to Connie. “You?”

He grins, his eyes scanning over the line up of juice options. “Mix ‘em. I’m feeling chaotic.” You don't know whether to scrunch your nose up in disgust or be impressed by Connie's idiotically genius idea.

Historia rolls her eyes but does it anyway. “Living on the edge, Springer.” His mimosa turns into a dark muddled purplish color.

“Always,” Connie quips, lifting his glass dramatically before taking a sip and nodding in satisfaction.

Then, finally, it’s Eren’s turn. He’s been quiet, just watching, observing, but now he leans forward slightly, lazily tilting his head toward you. “I’ll take whatever she’s having,” he says, eyes looking at the way you hold the champagne flute, making it wonder how your hand would look wrapped around his—

Ymir snorts. “Of course you will.”

You arch a brow at him over the rim of your glass, your lip curling slightly. “Copy-pasting my drink order too now?”

Eren doesn’t even blink. Just smiles at you, taking the glass Historia hands him. “What can I say? I like good taste.”

Historia fake gags. “God, please don’t flirt in front of my mimosa tower. It deserves better.” She downs half her drink like she’s washing away the secondhand embarrassment before refilling her flute with even more champagne and a splash of pineapple juice.

The table dissolves into laughter, the kind that feels warm and familial—like the collective, unspoken agreement that, yes, all of you may be hungover disasters, but at least you’re in it together. Connie and Historia start arguing over whether brunch food is overrated, with Ymir inserting herself into the debate just to get under Historia’s skin. Meanwhile, you feel Eren’s eyes on you every so often, like he’s still turning your words over in his head, still trying to crack whatever code he thinks you are. But you don’t look at him much. He doesn’t get that satisfaction of holding your attention longer than necessary. Instead, you lean back, sip your mimosa, and let the chaotic symphony of your friends fill the space.

"Alright, let’s toast," Connie raises his frankenstein of a mimosa up in the air.

"To what?" you ask with a lifted brow as you slowly raise your champagne flute.

Connie shrugs, trying to think of something clever. "Surviving another night of our dumbassery. And to, uh… new friendships?" He waggles his eyebrows between you and Eren, clearly trying to stir the pot.

Eren meets your gaze over the rim of his glass. He still has that look—the one that says he’s not done with you yet. You don’t react, just clink your mimosa against his without breaking eye contact. It was fun playing this little push and pull game, even if you were mostly pushing.

"Cheers," you say smoothly, a tiny hint of a sly smile on your face.

"Cheers," Eren echoes, mirroring your expression.

The table drinks, and for a brief moment, everything is peaceful—until Connie decides he needs all the attention again.

"So, get this," Connie starts, already grinning. "Eren and I had the most bullshit morning trying to get here."

"Oh god," Ymir mutters. "This better be good."

Connie rubs his hands together. "Picture this. I wake up, head pounding, mouth drier than the goddamn Sahara. I roll over, check my phone, and see like, five texts from you guys asking if I'm alive, and I’m like, ‘oh shit, we should link up and do brunch!’"

"Five texts isn’t even that much," Historia points out.

"Okay, well, it felt like a lot in my fragile, hungover state," Connie retorts before continuing. "Anyway, Eren comes over looking all tired and shit and heads straight for my couch. I tell 'im I'm gonna shower and to wait for me and guess what?? I come out and he's fuckin' snorin'. I try to wake him up, and this dude is fully knocked the hell out, like a damn corpse." He dramatically makes his head fall back, sticking his tongue out like he's dead to mimic Eren.

Eren exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "I was asleep. That’s normal, dumbass."

"Nah, bro, you were dead," Connie insists. "I had to blast music just to get him up."

"Which was so necessary," Eren drawls sarcastically. He swears his ears are still ringing from how close Connie put the speaker next to his ear.

"Yes, it was!" Connie exclaims, still finding the situation hilarious. "Because then this idiot gets up and takes, like, twenty goddamn minutes to stare at his phone instead of—"

"—Because I was looking at something important," Eren interjects.

"Yeah, sure, 'important'. Bro was probably checking his DMs like his life depended on it." Eren doesn’t confirm or deny this, which only makes Connie cackle harder. "Anyway," Connie continues, "we finally leave, and then tell me why this dumbass forgets his wallet, and we have to turn around—"

"I didn’t forget it," Eren argues, taking a sip of his drink. "I just didn’t know where it was."

Historia shakes her head, eyes squinting in exasperation. "That’s the same thing."

"Exactly!" Connie exclaims, arms flailing animatedly. "So now we’re really late, and when we finally get back in my car, the tire pressure light is on. And at that point, I was about ready to just die in my driveway."

"Honestly? You should’ve just let nature take you," Ymir says, stuffing one of the mini quiches the table ordered into her mouth.

"Rude!" Connie gasps, clutching his chest. "Ya know you would miss me if I actually died. Who else would entertain you at brunch?" He tosses a crumple up used sugar packet at her. You glance at Connie and allow yourself a small smile. He’s like a puppy that can’t stop barking, but you kind of like him that way. His antics help distract you from the tension that Eren never seems to let go of. Every time his gaze flickers your way, it’s like a spark of something you can’t name. Not yet, at least.

You softly laugh, finally giving in to the ridiculousness of it all. "So what I’m hearing is, between the two of you, getting to brunch was a damn odyssey?"

"Basically," Connie nods. "But hey, we made it. Even if Eren had to take his sweet ass time getting pretty for you."

You arch a brow at that, glancing over at Eren, whose lips twitch like he’s trying to suppress another smirk. You know Connie’s just stirring the pot, but you can’t deny there’s a certain… appeal in how Eren carries himself. It’s not that he’s trying—he doesn’t need to. And that's what irritates you.

Eren doesn’t even flinch at Connie's comment, instead leaning into it. "Maybe I did," he says smoothly, taking another slow, deliberate sip of his drink. "But even if I didn't I'd still look good enough for ya." It was something about this boy's ego that seemed to tick you off.

You just tilt your head, resting your chin on your palm as you regard Eren with yet another unimpressed stare. "Pretty bold assumption there, Jaeger."

Eren shrugs, an annoyingly smug grin tugging at his lips. "I make good ones."

"Debatable." You gulp the rest of your mango mimosa, wiping the little droplet that was on the corner of your mouth. "But sure, if you wanna tell yourself that." Reaching for a piece of french toast, you dip it in syrup, taking your time as you chew slowly, almost to taunt him. The silence between you both stretches, and for a moment, you allow yourself to enjoy the satisfaction of the game—your back straight, your expression utterly indifferent while his is all too easy to read: that quiet frustration that you’re just out of reach.

Connie, wiping the fake tears from his eyes, waves a hand between the two of you. "Oh, this is good. This is so good. Keep going. I’m invested." Cause who needs reality television when you have two friends at each other's throats.

"You would be," Historia mutters before popping a piece of fruit into her mouth. Although she's just as invested in this fiasco.

Eren leans forward again, that damn smirk still present. "Alright, since we’re making assumptions—what about you? Took extra time getting ready just in case I showed up?" He wants to make you flustered, wants to see you blush or tense up or show any other emotion besides indifference to him.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, sweetheart, I barely made it out of bed. The only thing I got pretty for was this mimosa tower." There’s no hesitation in your words, no hesitation in the way you look at him. You’ve got to keep your ground. He’s fishing for something, but you’re not biting.

Eren clicks his tongue, feeling stumped. For once he didn't have a clever comeback. "Damn. Shot down again just like that." His fingers tap on the table as he falls back against the back of the booth.

You flash him a mock sympathetic look, plump bottom lip jutting into a pout. "Tragic, really."

Ymir whistles, tearing into yet another one of the quiches like it's popcorn and this is a show. "Alright, this is a slow burn in real time, and I’m loving it." The tension is so thick between you and Eren, it’s almost palpable. Whether it’s sexual, confrontational, or just a game of egos—you’re not sure, but everyone at the table feels it.

Historia leans on her elbow, eyeing you both. The stare down the two of you are having seems almost intimate. "You sure you two haven’t met before? Because this feels... personal."

You roll your eyes, trying to avoid the sudden rush of heat that floods your chest. "Nope. Just have a sixth sense for bullshit." Honestly you were tired of this little act Eren was putting on. From the stories Ymir and Historia had told you he was nowhere near as nice as he's pretending to be right now. You were waiting for his entitlement and attitude to shine through.

Eren huffs out a chuckle at that, shaking his head. "Noted." Despite the sour look you try to put on, Eren can see that flushed look you try to suppress, and although you would deny, deny, deny, he knows that he's slowly but surely gonna get what he wants. With that thing being you.

You take the opportunity to turn away, reclaiming some semblance of control in this little exchange. You busy yourself with refilling your mimosa, making a point to give him nothing else to latch onto. But then you glance over at him again, catching him staring at you, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You’re almost sure he’s trying to figure you out, and maybe it’s working. Maybe he’s getting under your skin more than you’d like to admit. But before you can process it, Ymir’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

"You two are ridiculous," she says, leaning back in her chair, as she watches the two of you basically having a staring contest still. "You know that, right?"

You shoot her a look, but before you can respond, Historia accidentally spills her sixth mimosa, her face flushed, a giggle escaping her lips. "Oopsieeee," she hiccups, taking a french toast stick and sopping up the spilled liquid before taking a bite.

"Uh oh," Connie says, grinning. "Looks like someone had a little too much to drink already." Connie honestly loves when Historia gets like this, she's the definition of white girl wasted, always turning into a completely different person once she gets some alcohol in her system.

Historia leans heavily against Ymir, blinking slowly as she chews. "I’m fine," she slurs. "Just a little tipsy."

The whole table laughs as Ymir grabs her arm to steady her, clearly rolling her eyes but not too bothered by it. As the rest of the group focuses on Historia, you glance back at Eren, only to find him looking at you—his expression unreadable now, though the edge of amusement hasn’t left his eyes. You almost think he's going to say something—almost want him to—when Ymir interrupts, loud and clear.

"Okay, enough of you two and your weird ass tension. You’re both insufferable. Let’s get this one home before she turns into a puddle of bad decisions," Ymir grumbles, throwing Historia’s arm around her shoulder. You almost wonder how Historia got so drunk, but then you realize how tiny she is and just how much she drank. Plus, the girl barely touched any of her food, too focused on downing mimosa after mimosa.

You stand up from the table, shaking your head at the chaos of it all. You’re a little drunk, a little tipsy, but mostly, you’re irritated that the moment was so easily broken. You grab your purse, eyes locking with Eren’s one last time as you follow the others. For a split second, you wonder what he’s thinking—if he’s still amused by you, or if he’s over it. You’re not sure. But whatever it is, it’s a thought that will linger long after this brunch ends. As you step out of the diner the cool air hits you, and the rest of the group’s voices fade into the background. You feel his gaze on your back, and the flutter in your stomach is the only clue you need: this isn’t over.

.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・

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