#and this pic just. seals it i think

[hejustcancelledit]

*inhale*

I am completely normal about a French toplaner

Yeah

[greycatbird]

The sands and seas of coastal Massachusetts, and some of the wildlife that live there. We walked along a trail through and up Pitch Pine, Beach Heather, and Chokecherry-covered dunes above the Atlantic where flocks of Black Scoters and Common Eiders dove for fish. Another trail went down to the beach where a Piping Plover foraged along the shore and a number of Least Terns and curious Gray Seals hunted a short way out to sea. We were a good distance outside a restricted shorebird area, but we were happy to give them their space and could see them just fine with a pair of binoculars :)

[mylove-thresher]

Obsessed w doodling seals instead of doing work

[teamdays]

I feel like these past two days with my family have been a very . ‘Does he know’ moment

[5sospenguinqueen]

Mean Left Hook | Charles Leclerc x Ferrari! Reader

Summary: Silly season brings forward more children for Charles and YN. And how best to welcome into the world of F1 than to crochet them a gift. 

2024 silly season. Fluff. Humour

Pinterest pics

Requested: Yes by @illyrianprincess

F1 Masterlist

I have so many fics to finish off but i saw this request and it possessed me lol

This can be read as a standalone but for more fluff, crochet and terrible puns, read Needle Little Love

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

haasf1team just posted

liked by its_ynln, charles_leclerc and others

haasf1team ollie’s on the grid for ‘25

5,027 comments

its_ynln amazing news! well done, ollie

→ olliebearman thanks, y/n/n

charles_leclerc can’t wait to have you on the grid next year, mate

→ olliebearman thank you. i hope to put all your tips to good use

→ user father and son reunited once more  

→ user okay i didn’t know how badly i needed these two to be on the grid until right now

→ user yes! we know she’d take such good care of him

→ its_ynln @/charles_leclerc we’ve got another child

→ charles_leclerc well, you did agree to a big family

→ user they’ve talked about kids!! 

oscarpiastri well done, ollie. looking forward to spending time with you on the grid and at family dinner

user poor ollie is going to find out just how slow that haas is 

jackdoohan congratulations, mate

→ user @/alpinef1team jack announcement next?

→ its_ynln yes, please 

→ jackdoohan being nice doesn’t erase the fact that i still don’t have a dinosaur 

→ its_ynln 🖕🏻🖕🏻

its_ynln just posted

liked by olliebearman, pierregasly and others

its_ynln welcome to the grid, ollie BEARman. you must be BEARy excited to be joining the world of f1

3,316 comments

its_ynln i tried to make him haas style but turns out i didn’t have red, white or black

→ scuderiaferrari no red?! where’s your team pride? where’s your forza ferrari sempre

→ user girly isn’t gonna get renewed after this scandal 

olliebearman thank you, y/n! now my most prized possession. Fluff Von Haas will be attending every race weekend

→ user fluff von haas 😍

user charles and yn really are his parents lol

arthur_leclerc good luck @/olliebearman, you’re going to need it dealing with her puns

→ its_ynln charles doesn’t do the dad jokes so i have to

→ oscarpiastri she’s the dad who stepped up 

→ charles_leclerc whoa, stop trying to take my role in this family 

user look at how sweet she is @/scuderiaferrari. now renew her contract 

user you can’t break up the family @/scuderiaferrari. announce her seat for next year

jackdoohan okay, i see how it is. i’ve got to get an f1 seat to get a dinosaur 

→ user haha poor jack still doesn’t have his dinosaur

→ user i bet it’s because he said he couldn't wait to get rid of her before she was announced for ferrari last year 

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scuderiaferrari just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and others

scuderiaferrari signed, sealed and delivered. ferrari are pleased to announce @/its_ynln has renewed her contract. we look forward to racing with you for seasons to come

5,547 comments

user finally! 

user seasons?! queen got that multi-year contract

→ user she’s not going ANYWHERE

charles_leclerc oh mon dieu, i’m going to have to deal with her for many years

→ its_ynln don’t act like you didn’t know before me

→ oscarpiastri oh fuck, i’m going to have to deal with her for many years

→ arthur_leclerc @/oscarpiastri try having her be part of your family 

→ user i think arthur is forgetting that oscar is their son 

→ user not the leclercs acting like she won't be with them forever. we've seen the way charles looks at her, he ain't ever letting her go liked by charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc i couldn't imagine anyone else being my teammate ❤️

→ pierregasly it’s because no one else can “cheer you up” after they beat you 

→ its_ynln well, they could but i can’t imagine i’ll forgive him for cheating on me with one of you

user omg charles and yn racing side by side for multi years

→ user il predestinato and la principessa

olliebearman yay! can’t wait to share the track with you next year

→ its_ynln me too! it was so hard not to comment that when haas announced you 

→ user excuse me, you’ve known for a month and you let us suffer! 

arthur_leclerc like they would ever pick anybody else for that seat

→ its_ynln is this you being nice to me?

→ arthur_leclerc no. it’s just the forza ferrari running through me

francisca.cgomes woo! that’s my girl. i’d have built you a team myself if they hadn’t taken you back

→ pierregasly you’ve never offered to build me a team

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alpinef1team just posted

liked by its_ynln, pierregasly and others

alpinef1team dreams doo come true jack doohan will complete our line-up for 2025

3,310 comments

its_ynln and you thought you were rid of me! 

→ its_ynln although it’s on you this time because you’ve followed me to f1

user i swear yn was the first like

→ user and comment

→ its_ynln shh, i’m secretly really proud and happy, but don't tell him that

→ user i love how she went from “i’m not babysitting” to getting charles to adopt more grid kids

pierregasly félicitations, jack. welcome to the team

oscarpiastri aussie aussie aussie

→ jackdoohan oi oi oi

→ danielricciardo oi oi oi

→ user they’ve been summoned 

user yn’s been liking these rookie announcement posts so fast 

→ user gotta ensure she’s up-to-date on her grid kids 

user omg guys do you think jack will finally get his dinosaur now

→ its_ynln no

→ jackdoohan can you tell i’m the least favourite child

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charles_leclerc just posted

liked by lilymhe, scuderiaferrari and others

charles_insta weekend away with mon amour, without the kids (and the crochet needles)

2,211 comments

arthur_leclerc it sickens me how much you love each other 

→ charles_leclerc you were the one begging me to tell her how i feel 

→ its_ynln and you were the one constantly telling me how attractive he was, and how funny, and how kind, and blah blah

oscarpiastri come back, the other two scare me

→ olliebearman oi

→ jackdoohan i resent that statement

→ user when did they adopt jack?

user love how the only relationship content we get is from charles 

carlossainz55 wow, did she let you drive?

→ its_ynln yes, and i tell you, death himself was riding in the back seat 

→ charles_leclerc oi! 

→ user we've all seen the hairpin video charles

user always forget how stunning yn is until charles posts her liked by charles_leclerc 

francisca.cgomes the prettiest girl 

→ charles_leclerc yes, yes she is

→ its_ynln love you lots

→ user i love how we can’t tell whether she’s talking to kika or charles

→ pierregasly definitely kiks 

its_ynln i could spend forever with you and never get bored 

→ charles_leclerc tu es tout mon cœur

→ user the perfect couple on and off the track

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jackdoohan just posted

liked by its_ynln, alpinef1team and others 

jackdoohan fucking finally i said getting a seat would be when i got a dinosaur, didn't i

1,647 comments

it’s_ynln will you leave me alone now? i made you three!

→ jackdoohan i mean, i saw a really cool crochet koala the other day ;)

→ its_ynln you know, i have a mean left hook 🪡

→ oscarpiastri i thought getting to f1 meant i was free from your bickering but you’ve followed me 

→ scuderiaferrari @/its_ynln you were told last year that you’re not allowed to publicly threaten drivers. do we have to make you sit through the powerpoint presentation again?

user at least you didn’t have to sleep with her

→ jackdoohan i thought i deleted that comment

→ charles_leclerc ha, like he could do a better job than me

its_ynln seriously though, congrats jack. It’ll be totally ROARsome to have you on the grid next year 

→ jackdoohan thanks mum

→ charles_leclerc mum? is there something you’re not telling me?

→ jackdoohan you’re my dad, boogie woogie woogie

→ user f1 rookies, getting adopted by the ferrari power couple since 2023

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Requests open! Just delayed lol

Tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119

[luveline]

hotch’s daughter and him looking thru baby n childhood pics n realizing just how much they missed angst (her missing out on having a present father n him missing out on raising her)

Aaron’s winded when he sees you that morning. You’re smiling, in sweatpants and a hoodie with a bag on your shoulder that promises an overnight stay, but what hits hardest is the way you light up when he opens the front door. He sees you coming through the window and can’t wait for you to knock. 

“Hey, honey, you’re early!” he says. 

“I know,” you say, stopping just a paving stone away, “but I got this magic jigsaw for Jack that I thought he’d like. Once you complete it you can move it around and create a new jigsaw in the middle.” You smile. “You look happy. Good breakfast?” 

“I’m happy to see you, that’s all.” 

You cross that last step. “Thanks, dad.” You bite your bottom lip, ever so slightly bashful. 

He literally couldn’t be happier. “Did you eat?” 

Aaron brings you inside. Jack is already awake and eating his second breakfast in a meandering picking by the TV. 

You love being a big sister. It’s all the more endearing. “Hey, babe. What are you upto?” you ask. 

Jack whirls and sends a couple of grapes flying. “Oh my gosh yes!” he says, to your laughter and Aaron’s disbelief. He races across the rug in a blur of blue pyjamas to wrap himself around your thighs, face pressed to your hip. “You’re here!” 

“We said Saturday sleepover, right?” 

You get down on your knees to hug him. Your arms around his back, your face to his, you aren’t as rough as you could be —how do sisters hug their brothers? Aaron doesn’t know. But you rub his back in a gentle up and down and lower your voice to say hello. “Hi, Jack. You’re happy to see me?” 

“I’m so happy.” 

“Me too, I’m so happy. I brought you something.” 

“A present?” Jack asks, leaning out of your arms. 

“Not really, it’s for me and you, but I brought you cookies too.” 

“Dad,” Jack says, “can we have some?” 

Aaron holds up a finger. One cookie is enough sugar for the morning. “We can have a couple more after dinner tonight, okay?” 

You take the cookies from your bag, a huge box of palm-sized cookies, chocolate chips shaped like stars, the best kind of indulgence from the bakery not far from here. Aaron catches a look at the inside of your bag, spying a slim white photo album against your weekly medication divider and the plastic wrapped jigsaw puzzle. 

“What’s the album?” he asks. 

“Oh.” You slide your thumb along the sticker that seals the cookies and crack them open for Jack to take his spoils. “They’re my baby photos.” 

He stills. “They are?” 

“And some of me growing up.” You tip your head at him and smile. A little shy, more happy. “I was thinking about Jack, how we both do that chokey laugh when we’re tired, and I wondered if we had any other similarities. And then I realised you’ve never actually seen any of my photos. Would you want to look at them?” 

“Please,” he says immediately. “Yes. I’d love to see them.” 

You lay the album out on the coffee table. Aaron sits beside you on the couch, and Jack sits on his feet, and together you look through your baby album one page at a time. At first, he’s quiet. He has no idea what to say. You are a beautiful kid, you’re perfect, little baby you with a pacifier on your tummy, or in the summer sun with mud on your little hands, wearing a pink dress with matching canvas shoes and a smile so wide he can see all your baby teeth, or sitting beside a fish tank with a party hat on. 

His favourite is a photograph of you that’s been printed oddly, more sepia than colour, where you look to be eight or nine years old. He can see everything in your adult face right there in ink, your smile, the trusting warmth in your eyes when you love the person it’s directed at. Maybe he’s full of himself, but he swears it’s his smile, and Jack’s smile. Hotchner through and through. 

“I wish I’d seen you in person,” he says quietly. “Just once.” 

You tease the photograph from the plastic sleeve and offer it to him. “Sorry.” 

He doesn’t want you to be sorry. Aaron takes the photograph and stares at it against his leg, your little face, your hands behind your back, your left knee wrapped in a bandage. “We missed out on so much,” he says softly. 

“I know.” 

He places the photo on the armrest, precious and needing a frame. You melt into his arm as he wraps it around your shoulder, and you let him kiss your temple, even if he doesn’t deserve to do it yet. He’s polite about it, he knows his sincerity might feel gratuitous to you —after all, he missed out on so much. But you don’t go rigid at his affection, you just breathe. 

“I would’ve loved to have seen it,” he says, too old for tears, and yet a warmth collects behind his eyes anyhow. He won’t cry, only the feeling is there and aching as you move back and give him a typical Hotchner smile. Like he’s being silly, and like you love him. 

“It’ll be okay,” you say, “you’ve got, what, a good ten years left? You can see my golden years.” 

He laughs suddenly. “Ten? How old do you think I am?” 

“You act like you’re nearing seventy.” 

“Oh, I do?” 

You roll your eyes and lean across the photo album for another cookie. “You do! I wish we didn’t have to wait so long to meet, but it’s not like I’m going anywhere. You won’t find me so charming in a few years, so don’t worry. Now, could you leave me and Jack alone for a bit? I’m trying to sneak him another cookie and you’re getting in the way.” 

Aaron hugs you whether you want him to or not, a tight squeeze that you always seem to enjoy, before doing as you’ve asked, promising to find the jigsaw board in the garage so you and Jack can start the newest one. 

“Did you miss him?” he hears Jack asks inexplicably. 

“Who, dad?” Aaron watches you from the door that leads into the garage. He can only see your hands from this angle, your left one landing on Jack’s shoulder for a small squeeze. “I missed him so much you couldn’t believe it.” 

“Thank you for the cookie.” 

“You’re welcome! I missed you too, you know? I have to make up for all my lost time being your big sister. Here, you can hide this one in your pocket, if you want. Just don’t forget it’s there.” 

[yungistiny]

camgirl ═ chapter three

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter three: beautiful mess

╚═════════

summary: mingi just really needs some cash and he was told all he had to do was hold a camera. simple enough. he just didn’t anticipate the type of content he’d be helping to create

warning: emo mingi, stoner mingi, switch mingi, switch reader, mingi is hung, creampie, unprotected sex, choking, spanking, masturbation, rough sex, degradation, size kink, spitting, deep throating

pairing: mingi x afab/reader

genre: smut, angst, drama, romance

word count: 5.2k

chapter one

chapter two

chapter four

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Wooyoung let himself inside y/n house with the spare key she had given him. Rain poured outside as he kicked his shoes off, dragging his feet into the living room where his best friend sat on the couch, Gladiolus, the giant cat perched on the back of it.

Y/N glanced up at Wooyoung from where she sat with her favorite hot pink grinder in her hand. “Did you get any?” She arched a brow at him. Wooyoung grinned, pulling the neon green baggy from his hoodie pocket.

“Come on, you took all day!” Y/N had been waiting for Wooyoung for hours, it was Wednesday, his off day, and he always went to see her on his off days. Always bringing her some of Johnny’s best stuff.

“I had to wait for Johnny to get back forever.” Wooyoung pouted. It’s not his fault Johnny had to go pick up some new stuff from the main man. Kim Hongjoong was not the dealer to piss off so Johnny certainly wasn’t going to keep him waiting.

Y/N rolled the sleeves of her old oversized black Fall Out Boy shirt up, grabbing the black rolling tray off the glass coffee table. Wooyoung grabbed the tv remote as she started to roll a blunt, waiting for the tv to connect to the wifi before going to netflix.

Y/N grinded up a couple of buds, rolling them up into the blueberry wrap in her hands, tongue darting out to lick and seal it. “You sent Mingi to me on purpose, didn’t you?”

Wooyoung smirked, finding some horror movie to turn on. He knew y/n would realize the second she layed eyes on Mingi, that Wooyoung purposely chose him for a reason. That reason being, Mingi was exactly her type. “I didn’t see you complaining last night.”

Y/N lit and took a long hit from the blunt before passing it to Wooyoung. “You even named him.” He giggled. “Like a puppy.”

“Shut up!” Y/N shoved him, face flushed. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Mingi since she met him. It hasn’t even been a full 24 hours yet. 23 and 45 minutes to be exact.

She had texted him last night, asking him if he’s been tested recently, both of them sending each other a pic of proof. She even mentioned how she was on birth control.

Y/N only wanted to take Mingi one way and the thought alone had her needing Friday to hurry up and get there.

“My friends are having a party tonight,” Wooyoung hit the blunt, the smoke exhaling slowly out of his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick at his lip ring. “San’s gonna be there and I want a round two.” He grinned causing y/n to roll her eyes at him.

She hadn’t met this San guy yet but Wooyoung never shut up about him, especially after they had hooked up like a month ago at……

“Wait a minute…” She remembers now, she had thought Mingi’s name was familiar to her when Wooyoung had texted her about him helping her. “It was Mingi’s birthday where the two of you hooked up!”

“Yeah, I told you that.” Wooyoung shrugged hitting the blunt again as y/n was now distracted. “So…. San is his roommate?” She also remembers Wooyoung mentioning something about it when he had practically skipped into her house the day after all giddy.

“Best friend actually and also, yes.” Wooyoung cursed, hissing like a cat when he dropped a fiery ash on his pants, smacking at it. “Will Mingi be there?” Y/N hoped she didn’t sound that interested but clearly she did from the way Wooyoung smirked at her knowingly. “Mingi never misses a party.”

Y/N grabbed the blunt back from him, heart racing at the thought of seeing Mingi outside of… well, what he was helping her with. “We should go.”

Wooyoung giggled. “Of course we should!”

What he failed to mention however was that the friend throwing a party was Mingi.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

“Hoshi and Dk just got here and they’ve already almost caught the bathroom trash on fire.” San sounded exasperated after getting back from locking Byeol up in his bedroom.

Mingi snorted from where he was pouring himself and Jaehyun shots of soju. “It’s not funny.” San huffed as he shoved past an already drunk Boo Seungkwan who was busy singing loudly over the song blasting from the tv, the remote working as a microphone.

“Put that down!” San pointed a finger at Hoshi who had picked up a stool from the small kitchen island, holding it over his head as loud knocking banged at the front door of the apartment. He walked over, shaking his head at the chaos of their friends and opening the door, face flushing red at the sight of Wooyoung.

“Sannie!” Wooyoung beamed at him, throwing his arms around him dramatically. San caught him, gaze now catching sight of the girl behind Wooyoung. “Hi.” He greeted her politely, never having met her before. She was dressed in ripped skinny jeans, black converse, the black lacy bralette visible under the sheer black shirt and cropped dark red leather jacket.

“Y/N, this is San!” Wooyoung pulled away from him, reaching back and grabbing y/n hand, pulling her with him inside the apartment. “Here,” San helped her out of her jacket, hanging it up in the small closet beside the door.

Y/N thanked him, removing her shoes, eying the apartment, taking in the scent of strawberry coming from the pink candle lit on the coffee table in the open living room where Seungkwan was singing along with a girl she didn’t know.

“Y/N…” Seungkwan froze when he saw her, blushing and fidgeting. “I…. I didn’t know you would be here.” Last time he saw her he had dropped her camera, stuttering and hard in his pants before she could even get started on her stream.

“Hi,” the other girl waved at her, flaming red hair up in two pigtails. “I’m Yuqi, it’s nice to finally have another girl around these idiots.”

“Hey!” San pouted causing Yuqi to roll her eyes. “Except you San.” San beamed at her then, looking proud he wasn’t considered a complete and total idiot like the rest of his friends. “Trust me I’d much rather be down the hall in my room right now.”

“Wait..” y/n furrowed her brows. “this is your apartment?” San was Mingi’s roommate which meant this was where Mingi lived, not just some party he’d might be at.

San nodded at her as Wooyoung started trailing his hand up his arm. “You didn’t tell me that.” She gave a pointed look at Wooyoung who shrugged. “Must of slipped my mind.”

“Oh, hello,” Hoshi slid up in front of y/n seemingly out of nowhere. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he grinned at her, his platinum blonde hair standing out. “I’m Hoshi.”

“And I’m DK!” Seokmin appeared beside Hoshi, smirking. “We’re like a two for one special.”

Seungkwan snorted and Yuqi had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. Hoshi glared at his best friend as y/n smirked at them, the same smirk she’d given her viewers. “Not in this lifetime.”

Wooyoung cackled and San had to bite his bottom lip to retain himself from laughing. “Y/N, you want a drink?” He motioned for her to follow him towards the kitchen, leaving a now annoyed Hoshi behind to smack his best friend in the back of the head. “Why the hell would you say that?”

Mingi had his head thrown back, downing a shot of everclear, Choi Jongho and Mark Lee’s idea. The alcohol burned, his eyes closing shut and a cough leaving him. “Fuck…” he blinked his eyes back open, shaking his head.

“San,” he smirked when he saw him appear. “Take a shot,” he grinned, his best friend was a light weight. “I want to see how red your face can get.”

San glared at him, pushing Mark out of the way a little to reach the fridge. “We have a little mix of everything..” San gestured for y/n to look in the fridge and choose herself something cold to drink.

Mingi froze. His eyes following her, taking in every inch of her. She certainly looked different without all the pink. His gaze lingered at the exposed skin under the sheer black long sleeved shirt. The lacy bralette so tempting, his fingers itching to grip the black silky choker around her neck. “What are you doing here?”

“You two know each other?” San looked between them, the tension suddenly thick, heavy and hot. “Holy shit!” Jaehyun sort of whispered, semi shouted. Jongho and Mark stared at her, gulping, mouths slightly open because they all knew, well except San apparently, who y/n was.

Y/N smirked at Mingi, arching a brow at him as Wooyoung interrupted them. “She’s my friend Mingi’s working with.”

Jaehyun choked beside Mingi on his own shot of everclear. Oh, Mingi was certainly working with her.

“Oh,” San looked from Wooyoung and around everyone else in the kitchen. He had a feeling there was something he was missing. Like an inside joke he wasn’t apart of. “Please don’t fire him.”

San was a nice guy, a genuinely nice guy and y/n gave him a genuine smile in return. “Hi, y/n!” Jaehyun, Mark and Jongho all greeted her in unison causing Mingi to glare at them.

Mingi had learned quickly after his friends had arrived that all three of them plus seungkwan were failed cameramen for y/n. There was a part of Mingi that didn’t like the thought of his friends being with her, even if they had only held a camera for a short while.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about y/n all day. It was starting to drive him crazy. It’s why he had called his friends to all come over, he needed a distraction.

Now, here she was, in his apartment invading all his walls he was trying to put up which is crazy considering he’d only met her just the day before.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Mingi never got attached. He didn’t do relationships and dating. Not that he was getting attached to y/n or anything.

He was avoiding her the rest of the night and he had no idea why. At one point he had to clench his jaw and grab another bottle of soju when both Hoshi and Seokmin kept flirting with her.

Mingi needed a blunt, and not the sharing kind either. He slipped off, disappearing into his room. He slid his glasses off, placing them on his bedside table, the only light in the room coming from the red shaded lamp that sat there too.

His door left open like usual as he grabbed his stash out from under his mattress. Long fingers rolling the blunt expertly, darting his tongue out to lick and seal it.

The first exhale mixed with the alcohol in his system was already relaxing him. The second hit exhaled through his nose as he got comfortable on his bed, sitting back against the black headboard, eyes closed.

The third hit had him choking when a voice interrupted his daze.

“Are you avoiding me?” Y/N stood in the doorway of his room after asking San and using the bathroom. Mingi’s room was right across the hall, door open and he looked very enticing, very tempting the way he relaxed in his bed, blunt in hand, the scent of the weed mixing with his own.

“I’m not…” Mingi had to catch his breath from the smoke catching in his lungs. “avoiding you.” He was such a fucking liar and the way y/n arched a brow at him, lips tugging into a slight amused smirk, he knew she knew he was lying.

Y/N should definitely just get back to where everyone else was, being alone with Mingi, no camera, no one watching, was dangerous for her. He was everything she was attracted to and everything she tried to avoid.

“You want a hit?” Mingi let the words leave him before he could think. And y/n responded just as quickly before she could stop herself. “Sure.”

Y/N stepped into his room, eying the shadowed corners and the dark gray painted walls. A black record player sat atop a dark mahogany dresser. A black three tier shelf was perched on the wall with records.

A light gray ipad in a clear case sat on a small wooden desk in the corner along with a stereo and an orange tinted glass bong. A small bookshelf made out of the same dark mahogany as his dresser held mangas, some weathered at the creases indicating that Mingi loved them most.

Mingi himself watched her as she observed his sanctuary as he liked to call it before she crawled onto his bed, the black comforter pulling and twisting with her movement. He swore she did it on purpose.

Y/N got herself comfortable next to him, sitting against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of herself as she took in the gray sweatpants he wore. They left little to the imagination as her gaze lingered farther down.

“You sure you want everyone to see how much of a mess I’ll make you?”

His words had been playing in her head since he said it to her.

She knew he had to be big, he was tall, his hands were huge, his shoulders broad under his baggy shirts. And y/n didn’t know if he just wasn’t wearing any underwear or if he really was just big enough to be noticeable in sweats. It was probably both.

Mingi offered her the blunt, his black painted nails already chipping again. His hand brushed hers and he realized the last time he touched her had been when his fingers were buried inside of her.

He watched her, eyes not able to look away from her as she brought the blunt to her lips. Fuck! Why was this turning him on? He tried to shift his focus on the music echoing from the living room where now it was Hoshi and Jongho singing.

“You look different.” Mingi didn’t mean to say that out loud, he had just been thinking about it a lot though since he first saw her in the kitchen earlier.

Y/N passed the blunt back to Mingi, noticing the way he didn’t look at her, head leaned back against the headboard, eyes closed as he hit the blunt.

“What?” She arched a brow at him, accepting the pass of the blunt back to her. “Did you think I dressed head to toe in pink everyday?”

Y/N hated how attractive he was, especially the way he opened his eyes, side eyeing her. Mingi’s voice had dropped an octave deeper due to the high he was now on and y/n really hated the way it made her slightly clench her thighs together.

“Your house has pink everywhere.” Mingi argued causing y/n to roll her eyes as she handed him the blunt back. “I like pink, it’s my favorite color. It also helps people not to recognize me easily when I look the exact opposite offscreen.”

Mingi faced her then, letting his eyes travel from her eyes that were outlined with the darkest black eyeliner to the valley of her breast he could see displayed in the bralette under the sheer shirt.

Y/N felt her breath hitch when his finger dipped between her skin and the black choker around her neck, curving his index finger to tug at the choker a little, it tightening with his intrusion. “You should wear this Friday.”

Mingi was losing himself, it felt like he was under some kind of spell around her. He took another hit of the blunt, holding it back out to her and smirking when she froze for a second, she really wanted him to pull at her choker again.

Y/N grabbed the blunt, it was pretty much gone, and took a long last hit, the smoke filling her lungs as Mingi pouted. “You finished it.” He always liked to get the last hit.

Mingi sat up abruptly when y/n crawled into his lap, straddling him, the blunt now burnt out and placed on his rolling tray on his bedside table. “What are you doing?” His hands instantly went to her hips, gripping them and stifling a moan when her ass practically grinded against him.

Now he really wished he would have worn some underwear under the sweatpants he had on because he was sure there was no way she wasn’t feeling his length, the hardness of him against her.

And she certainly did feel it, certainly big like she had suspected. Y/N gripped Mingi’s chin, moving her face closer, lips brushing his.

Mingi realized what she was doing, opening his mouth a little to allow her to blow the smoke she had kept locked in her own and fuck did he get harder.

“Mingi? Have you seen…” San gasped, avoiding his eyes from them. Why did Mingi never shut his damn door? “Y/N, Seungkwan and Yuqi are looking for you, wondering if they can catch a ride with you back to your side of the city.”

Mingi could slap the shit out of his best friend in that moment. “Sure.” Y/N voice sounded so much like it had the day before on the livestream, all breathy, full of lust and Mingi felt his dick twitch.

Y/N crawled out of his lap, sliding off his bed, smiling at San and turning to smirk back at Mingi. “I’ll see you Friday.”

San watched y/n walk back up the hall and into the living room, turning his amused and slightly exasperated gaze back onto his best friend. “I thought I told you not to sleep with her?”

Mingi groaned, his dick aching in his sweats. “I haven’t.” He sighed, a small lopsided smile pulling at his lips.

“Yet.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

By the time Friday had arrived both Mingi and Y/N were so sexually frustrated that they both woke up in a bad mood.

First, Thursday, Mingi’s dad pissed him off. He had found out that Mingi’s mom sent him money, money he sent back mind you!

Then he had to do the one thing that really pissed Mingi off. Compare him to his older brother.

”You’re 25 years old Mingi. By the time your brother was your age he was already married and helping me run the restaurant.”

Mingi was not his older brother and never would be. And he hated when someone compared them. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his older brother but he had been compared to him his entire life.

Second, Thursday, Y/N step mother decided to visit her. Of course, like always, her step mother had to scold and berate her over every little thing.

“I swear, this is your father’s fault! He spoiled you too much, him and your grandmother. Every choice you make is in poor taste. Always dressed so dreary, not even trying to settle down! You’re 25 years old, don’t you think it’s time to grow up?”

By the time it was time for them to meet up, Mingi was running late, sleeping half the day away and then waking up to jump into the shower. He didn’t even have time to get high before leaving, no time to relax his irritation.

Y/N was growing irritated with Mingi now, huffing when he was becoming well of half an hour late. She started to think that maybe he had changed his mind, perhaps he wouldn’t show up at all?

But of course he showed up. Mingi needed to lose himself, cloud his mind and y/n was the perfect distraction. “You’re late.” Y/N had her arms folded across her chest that was covered by an oversized vintage Metallica shirt. Her voice having a bite to it that only turned Mingi on.

“Well let’s get started then.” He kicked his shoes off, pulling his oversized black Diesel hoodie off, tossing it onto her couch where her cat decided to curl up into it.

Y/N gaze lingered on his arms and the way the black tank top fit him, ascentiuating his waist. And y/n could have sworn he had the sluttiest waist she’s ever seen on a man.

Mingi followed her up to her room, smirking when he noticed she had worn the choker just like he had made sure to wear those gray sweatpants he noticed she liked.

Being in her room made Mingi realize what was going to happen and fuck did he need it. He could feel himself growing harder just thinking about being in her mouth.

“You can sit the camera up over there.” Y/N gestured towards a stand that was angled towards her bed.

Mingi waited for y/n to finishing getting ready, his eyes not leaving her once as she pulled her underwear down her legs, this time a black lacy pair.

His gaze was so dark, filled with so much need and lust it was suffocating as he watched her grab the same little pink vibrator she had used the last time. Mingi knew the second she had him in her mouth he was gonna lose it.

There’s no way he was gonna be able to just let her suck his dick and then go home. Mingi felt like he was on a high when he was around her. Getting that same euphoric haze he got after smoking weed or eating a handful of edibles.

He felt like he was on autopilot turning the camera on, getting the stream started, anxious to have her already and didn’t give a shit how many watched.

Y/N greeted the viewers, that sweet, innocent smile on her face. Fuck, Mingi wanted to ruin her. He wanted to mark her. He wanted to feel her so good she’d be drunk on him for days.

Mingi watched her, easing closer towards her with the camera, his gaze not leaving her breasts hidden behind the black lacy bra she had on.

“Spike?”

Mingi blinked, meeting her gaze and realizing she had been talking to him amidst his daze. “What?” His voice was deep, unrecognizable to his own ears.

Y/N had to keep from glaring at him. He had been distracted the entire time, like her words were going through one ear and out the other. “Are you joining me or not?” There was a bite to her voice again and Mingi seemed to snap out of his daze.

Y/N watched him take the camera over to the stand, moving it closer towards the bed and angling, zooming in slightly.

She felt some of her irritation leave her when Mingi pulled his black tank top off, tossing it in the computer chair. He was so toned, his abs perfectly outlined, a light happy trail from his belly button disappeared under the waistband of his sweats.

Mingi didn’t even try hiding his face, he didn’t care who saw him. He actually felt a bit of adrenaline at all those watching would see him have her.

Y/N felt her heart start racing when Mingi kneeled on the bed in front of her, still towering over her as he slipped two of his fingers under her choker, pulling her towards him.

“You know…” Mingi tugged at the choker and used his other hand to grip her chin, thumb brushing her bottom lip. “I don’t think you can fit me in there.”

Y/N clenched her thighs together, forgetting about the stream as soon he touched her. A moan escaped her when the little pink vibrator started, the viewers already sending in, ready for them to get started.

“First…” Mingi pulled both his hands back, fingers tracing the straps of her bra before sneaking around and unhooking it expertly. He wanted to dive in, take his time for both of her perfect fucking tits but right now he was needy.

He smirked at the dazed look in y/n eyes, her hand reaching for the waistband of his sweats. He wasn’t the only needy one. Her breathy words that came tumbling from her lips made Mingi lose it. “Please fuck my face.”

Mingi stepped off the bed, standing right at the foot of it and held y/n gaze as he pulled his sweats down, pooling at his feet. He was big, y/n felt herself clenching around nothing, aching suddenly, aching to know what it would feel for him to stretch her. To fill her.

Y/N slid across the bed to him, the vibrator suddenly pulsing faster as she laid down before him on her stomach and elbows, looking up at him, face level with his hard dick.

Mingi tangled a hand into her hair, pulling her head back further. “Open your mouth.” His voice was deep and dominant. She did as he told her to in an embarrassing quickness. Instantly doing as he commanded.

She blinked, gasping, when he spit down into her mouth. “Show me.” Mingi tugged at her hair and y/n moaned, holding her tongue out where his spit was.

“I’m gonna make sure you fit every single inch,” he gripped himself in his free hand. “and I’m not gonna stop until you feel me…” he let his grip in her hair go, trailing his fingers to the back of her neck inching up to where the back of her throat would be. “right here.”

Y/N wasted no more time with his slight teasing, tongue darting out to lick up the length of him, tracing the veins of his dick like she was trying to paint a masterpiece.

“Fuck.” Mingi once again gripped her hair, tugging it a little harsher then before, his dick twitching, precum leaking from the tip which y/n licked clean. “Stop teasing.”

Y/N reached out, gripping at his thighs to brace herself as she brought his tip into her mouth, sucking and lapping at it with her tongue. A guttural moan left Mingi as he now tangled both his hands into her hair, gripping tightly as he pulled her head back. “Remember what I told you when you asked for this?”

“You sure you want everyone to see how much of a mess I’ll make you?”

Of course y/n remembered! She couldn’t get his teasing words out of her head. “Then make a fucking mess out of me.” She snapped at him, bratty and impatient. Mingi groaned, his dick twitching and bobbing at her chin. Well, if that’s what she wants….

She gagged as soon as he thrusted himself into her mouth, his tip pushing past her gag reflex, tapping the back of her throat and y/n had to take a moment to breathe through her nose, his dick heavy on her tongue, filling her mouth and throat full.

Mingi swore right then and there he’d never again see anything better then y/n choking on him. “Look at you, Princess….” Y/n felt the vibrator hit the highest pulse, sending her into a moaning mess around him, tears pooling into her eyes by the stretch of him. “are you struggling?”

He was teasing her now, pulling his length almost all the way back out of her mouth only to thrust it back in.

Mingi was a fucking menace and y/n had never been more turned on.

He allowed her a little time, a few more thrusts and strokes to adjust to him before Mingi started a fast pace, dick buried as far in her throat as it could go, her nose meeting his pelvis every time, spit drooling out the creases of her mouth. The most sinful and lewd noises echoing from the constant gag and Mingi’s deep moans.

Y/N felt herself close, the vibrator and Mingi’s moans about to send her over the edge and her poor aching clit hadn’t even been touched yet.

Mingi bit his bottom lip, looking down at her as he continued to do what she wanted and fuck her face. He was also doing what he said and was making a complete mess out of her.

It was taking everything in him to not pull his dick out of her mouth, spread her out on her bed and sink himself all the way inside her, as far as he could go. As far as she could take him.

Y/N gasped, breathing deeply and panting when Mingi pulled her head back, his dick popping from her mouth. He untangled his hands from her hair, pulling her up to her knees by her choker.

And then he was kissing her, tasting himself on her, both of them moaning into each other.“Can I fuck you?” Mingi was practically begging, his forehead resting down against her own as he pulled back from her lips.

Y/N hadn’t planned on it, not yet, but fuck she needed him. She smirked, loving the way he gripped at her choker tighter. “Do you want to ruin me, Mingi?”

She spoke just loud enough that he could hear, so those watching wouldn’t hear. Mingi didn’t answer her, crashing his lips back to her own and wrapping his arms around her.

Hands gripped her thighs, Mingi spreading her legs open, breaking the kiss and stared down at her. She was the most beautiful mess he’d ever seen.

Y/N let out a whimper as he removed the vibrator from her, dropping it onto the bed. Mingi slid one hand up her body, wrapping it around her throat as he used his other to guide himself into her soaked and aching pussy.

She was tight, so tight Mingi was fucking whimpering. Y/N choked back a sob when he thrusted, filling her and bottoming out.

It was only painful for a split second, Mingi pausing, freezing his movements to let her adjust to him, his length and width stretching her but as soon as he started to move, the most intoxicating moan Mingi had ever heard left her.

His grip on her throat tightened only slightly as his other hand moved to grab her leg, gripping at her ankle as he brought it up to rest over his shoulder.

Y/N eyes, pupils blown, caught sight of his cross pendant chain dangling above her and Mingi literally growled when she arched up, pulling the cross pendant into her mouth with her teeth.

“You’re so fucking dirty.” Mingi grinned, his thrust fast, hard and making y/n a moaning, crying mess. “Pussy fucking perfect…” he pulled all the way out, a white ring of cream coating his length as his tip brushed her clit. “And all these people watching get to see me make it mine.”

“MINGI…” y/n couldn’t help the loud slip of his name, it escaping her in the loudest cry she’d ever heard come from herself.

Mingi was pounding into her now, letting his grip on her throat go to bring his hand down to pull her other leg up, both now draped over his shoulders.

Y/N was coming the second one of his hands reached down and his thumb started rubbing her clit. Her orgasm hit her with shaking legs, clenching Mingi’s dick tightly as she squirted with every last sloppy thrust of his own before he too came, filling her up and collapsing against her, panting.

Mingi knew he was fucked now. He was already addicted. On a high that was nothing but her and there was no way he was gonna be able to let it go.

He was so fucked.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @dejatiny @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @hannahlilibet411 @dawn-iscozy @winxmia @milkfromacow @pearltinyy @wooyoungsbrat @seonghwasslytherin

[piastrixpole]

vroom vroom ~ oscar piastri & alex albon

pairing: oscar piastri x alex albon x dj!reader

genre: smau

faceclaim: charli xcx

F1updates just posted!

liked by user35, user29 and 13,478 others

DJ Y/N L/N spotted in the paddock for the third race weekend in a row 👀 Rumours are swirling about why she’s here, with some fans speculating she’s dating someone on the grid. Thoughts?

view all comments

user1: Why is she even there? Bet she doesn’t even know what DRS is🙄

user2: Not another celeb using F1 for clout…💀

user3: She’s been at three races in a row? That’s suspicious. Who’s she with?! 👀

->user12: She was a guest of Ferrari, dk about this time

user4: I swear if she’s dating one of the drivers… girl, leave😒

->user14: If it's Lando I'm gonna riot

user5: Y/N L/N as an F1 wag is the most random thing I’ve heard all year 🤔

user6: Can’t even imagine her fitting into the F1 world. This feels so out of place

user16: have you ever heard her music

user7: She probably thinks the McLaren is just a sports car and not a team😬

->user17: No, because that’s EXACTLY the vibe she gives 😂

user8: Honestly, it’s kinda refreshing. Better than another influencer or model wag. At least she has a real career

->user18: A real career? Be for real, mate. She’s a DJ

yourusername posted a story!

[pic 1: thanks for the invite @mclaren ] [pic2: 🧡]

messages!

yourusername just posted!

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, alexalbon, carlossainz and 547,390 others

Speedin like Piastri just to crash your party

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user22: yn hosting the afterparty is sooo iconic

user37: Imagine being cool enough to hang out with THE YN LN😭

user24: Wait, who are the guys in the last pic?👀

->user30: I swear that’s Alex Albon in the back?? Or am I losing it?

->user4: No, you’re right, that’s definitely him. Who’s the guy next to him though??

user15: Not Alex, Lando and Oscar showing up to her set. This feels surreal

-> user10: Oscar at a club? My day is made. 😂

-> user8: Honestly, the plot twist of the year

yourbsf: hottieee

->yourusername: wish you were there

oscarpiastri: great set

->yourusername: happy to have the winner's seal of approval

landonorris: we need to do a set together soon

->yourusername: win again and you have a deal norris

twitter!

alexalbon just posted!

liked by georgerussell, landonorris, charlesleclerc and 420,531 others

la dolce vita

georgerussell: Thirst trap era? Proud of you mate -> alex_albon: You taught me well

landonorris: alex.jpg when

oscarpiastri: nice pics mate

user39: Alex posting thirst traps to distract from the tea is so iconic

-> user51: It’s working because I forgot the tea immediately

user45: Oscar took these pics, didn’t he? You can’t convince me otherwise

-> user29: It’s giving boyfriend energy

yourusername posted a story!

[pic 1: favourite place]

ynlnupdates just posted!

williamsracing just posted!

liked by alexalbon, logansargeant, landonorris and 78,903 others

After a well deserved summer break our boys get back on track and we're joined by a special guest Yn Ln

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alex_albon: Who invited her?

-> yourusername: Who invited you?

-> williamsracing: Play nice albono

logansargeant: So good to meet you!

->yourusername: you too logie💙

user89: “Special guest” lmao as if she hasn’t been spotted at every other paddock recently🙄

user45: DJ, paddock favourite, and apparently besties with half the grid. What CAN’T she do?

user82: Special guest, huh? She’s been around the paddock more than some reserve drivers. Let’s be real

user99: How tf did Williams bag Yn💀

yourusername just posted!

liked by alexalbon, oscarpiastri and 679,345 others

someone's getting head tonight

view all comments

oscarpiastri: Can’t wait for our little celebration later 🧡

alexalbon: I’m not the only one 👀

user6: Did she just drop that bomb???

user8: Well, we can’t say she’s not direct

user3: I don’t even know what to say anymore. This is wild

user14: The Alex/Oscar/Yn Throuple rumours being confirmed was not on my bingo card 😅

user2: Did they just admit it?? I need a moment

user13: I know their PR teams are freaking out rn

->yourusername: let them my man dragged that shitbox into p3 AND got to see my boys drench each other in champagne🤭

[slattlicker]

absolutely need jschlatt with a gf who loves taking pictures. i'm talking digi cam and phone pictures just of anything and everything but especially her big handsome boyfriend

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * flash me, baby ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: you’re obsessed with taking pictures of your boyfriend. he pretends to be annoyed. he’s not. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: thank you to the lovely anon who requested this ♡ because of you, i now present this soft and slightly spicy scrapbook of domestic pda and boyfriend worship.

warning: digital love letters via camera. pics of big boyfriend ahead.

enjoy! ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

✧✧✧

✧✧✧

you were somewhere in osaka. or maybe yokohama. one of the quieter shopping strips with too many stalls and not enough sidewalk. your camera kept bouncing against your ribs with every step, but you didn’t mind. you were too busy watching him weave through the tables like he knew exactly what he was looking for.

he didn’t.

he stopped in front of a folding table covered in chopstick holders—tiny ceramic animals in little baskets.

he picked one up immediately. a beige cat hugging a pair of dark chopsticks like it was hanging on for dear life.

"look at this guy," he said. "this is you when you think i’m gonna steal your fries."

"that’s you when you realize i did."

he turned toward you, hand still holding the cat up like an offering. the look on his face was smug—half-challenge, half-invite. the kind of look that always made your hands itch for the shutter button.

"don’t," he said, seeing your fingers twitch toward the lens.

"say cheese."

you lifted the camera and caught him mid-eye roll. caught the curve of his mouth, the sun on his face, the slight shift in his expression when he saw you smile behind the viewfinder.

click.

he sighed, dropped the cat gently on the table, and muttered, "you're gonna owe me for that one."

"you buying it for me?"

"are you buying it for me? that's the real question."

you didn’t say anything. just grinned, walked up to him, and brushed past him, looking among the other vendors' goods with a shake of your head.

later, you found it on your desk, along with a bowl of dressed up ramen noodles, with a bowl covered in similar beige-colored bears.

✧✧✧

✧✧✧

you’d promised yourselves you were just going in for drinks.

it was almost midnight. you were both tired, a little sweaty from the walk, and your feet had started to ache in that way that made you pretend they didn’t. but the convenience store was glowing like a little plastic oasis—too bright, too cold, absolutely irresistible.

he made a beeline for the hot food section like he’d been thinking about it all day.

"they’ve got... meat tubes?" he said, pressing his hands to the glass like a child. "wait. is that... a pizza bun?"

"you’re not eating that," you said, pulling him gently by the sleeve.

"you don’t control me."

you did, but he still grabbed one of those vacuum-sealed sandwiches with the crusts cut off like it was a gourmet dinner. he also picked up something labeled “egg salad but more mysterious” (your words), two types of onigiri neither of you could confidently identify, and a soft drink that, according to Google Translate, said “please shake gently before love.”

you bought it anyway.

you sat outside on a low concrete step next to the trash bins—him with the sandwich, you with your camera balanced on your knees. the old one. the cheap little digi cam you dug out of your parents’ closet. it made everything look warm and grainy, like a memory before it even happened.

he unwrapped the sandwich like it was a relic.

"jesus christ," he mumbled, full-mouthed. "this is terrible."

"i told you," you laughed. "let me take a picture."

he turned toward you, mouth open, still mid-chew, eyes half-lidded in betrayal.

"are you serious?"

"deadly."

click.

he groaned through a mouthful of bread.

"you’re gonna show people that, aren’t you."

"maybe."

"it’s food crime. i look like i’m eating drywall."

you flopped onto the bed with a rice ball in one hand and your phone in the other. "you chose that sandwich. you chose this life."

"i chose you too," he groaned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, still chewing.

you leaned your head against his shoulder, balancing your camera on your thigh, and quietly enjoyed one of the onigiri you still couldn't identify.

✧✧✧

✧✧✧

you should’ve known he was up to something.

you were only gone for five minutes—just went to wash your face, swap your jeans for sweats, nothing serious. but when you came back into the hotel room, there he was:

on the bed. fully clothed.

propped up like it was a fucking modeling shoot.

"what," he said, like he hadn’t clearly posed himself. "you’re looking at me weird."

you blinked. he had one of those ridiculous round pillows pressed to his chest, hands spread over it like he was about to pitch it at your head—or dare you to come wrestle it from him.

"you’re about to start shit," you said.

he smirked. "depends. you bringing that camera over or not?"

you did. obviously.

he watched you cross the room like he was bored. like he wasn’t arching his back just a little. like he didn’t know his shirt had ridden up slightly, waistband showing, belt askew. his shoes were still on. his eyes followed you the entire time.

you raised the camera.

click.

he grinned at you, lazy and mean and gorgeous.

"hope you’re printing that one for your little shrine."

"it’s going in my folder," you said, checking the screen.

"yeah? label it 'daddy issues' while you’re at it."

you threw another pillow at his head. he caught it one-handed. didn’t break eye contact.

you didn’t take any more pictures after that.

your hands were busy.

✧✧✧

✧✧✧

you found it by accident.

you weren’t snooping—you were just digging through his suitcase looking for your hoodie. he was still in the shower, humming something that sounded suspiciously like the Wii theme. but the zipper was half-undone, and something inside caught your eye.

you thought it was one of your notebooks. but when you tugged it out—spiral-bound, soft cover, a little bent at the edges—it wasn’t yours at all.

you opened it to reveal...

photos.

not just of him—though there were plenty of those, ones you’d taken with your digi cam and others pulled from your phone. there were little receipts from your outings, handwritten notes scribbled in by him.

but the further you flipped, the more things changed.

your photos stopped.

his photos started.

they were different—grainier, less composed. less frequent. like he was trying to take the picture, but then got caught up in the moment of it all to care about framing or

one of you cooking in his kitchen, back turned. one of you at the window in your hoodie, lit up by the vending machine glow. a blurry one of you asleep with your mouth open and a candy wrapper stuck to your cheek.

"you weren’t supposed to find that yet."

his voice came from the doorway. towel slung low around his neck, hair damp, face unreadable. you hadn’t even heard the water shut off.

you looked up, startled. "you took pictures of me."

"yeah," he said, slow. "didn’t think you’d mind."

you swallowed. turned another page.

the hotel bed again, but this time you were in it. sprawled on your stomach, still in your clothes from the day before, one hand buried under your cheek. the light was low—soft, orange, early morning. you could tell he’d taken it while you were still asleep.

underneath, scribbled in his handwriting:

my sleepy girl...pretty even with drool <3

you felt your chest tighten.

“there aren’t as many of me,” you said, quieter now.

he stepped closer. “you move too fast.”

you turned to look at him.

he was closer than before, towel slung over the back of a chair now, shirt damp where it clung to his collarbone. but his face—open, warm, that rare brand of sincere—was what made your pulse skip.

“you’re always the one behind the camera,” he said. “thought maybe i could be the one to memorialize us...you, for once.”

"...memorialize?"

"uh...commemorate. remember. preserve..." he glanced away, then back at you, eyes flicking down to the open album in your lap. “but hey...you’re always catching me when i’m not looking. you ever notice that?” he said. “eating something gross, in a stupid pose...”

“...you make it easy.”

"you make life easy."

your breath caught.

that one hit different—unexpected in how simple it was. how true it sounded coming from him.

he shifted forward, just slightly, like it pulled at him to say it. like he couldn’t not.

“seriously,” he said, voice low. “you make it easy to be... seen. i know i act like i hate the camera, but i don’t. not when it’s you.”

you stared at him, the photo album forgotten in your lap. his hair was still damp. his shirt clung to his chest. and that look—soft, wrecked, like he meant every word—made you ache a little.

“you want more pictures of me?” you asked, just to tease.

“i want all of you,” he said. then, after a beat: “in every light. every season. every angle. even the ones you hate.”

you smiled. small, stunned. maybe a little shy.

“...you’re such a sap.”

"good thing maple is my favorite flavor." his grin cracked wide at that—boyish, stupid, all teeth.

“gross,” you said, nudging your foot against his.

“romantic,” he corrected, stepping in close enough that your knees brushed.

you didn’t back up. didn’t look away. just let him lean down until his forehead bumped yours, until the air between you got syrupy with something warm and dumb and dangerous.

“go get the camera,” you said, breath barely above a whisper.

his hands slid to your waist.

"i don't think we'll need the camera for this next part, babe." he leaned in, smile brushing against your jaw.

"oh yeah?" you breathed, tilting your head in an attempt to chase his smile.

"some things are better in motion."

[starcurtain]

A (Silly) Look at that Chimera Tiktok

Since Castorice's magazine marketing basically confirms that Mydei is, in fact, the account owner behind "Fig Stew is so Yummy!" which posts hand-drawn chimera videos on the Amphorean equivalent of TikTok, I thought it would be funny to take a look at everything the meme-y video can tell us about Mydei (and Phainon) if we choose to take it at face value.

(Do I think it's actually meant to be taken that way? No, not really, but it's definitely more fun!)

A) Mydei likes to sleep in (or at the very least, to nap). In the video, Phainon forcibly wakes Mydei up at "third quint of Action Hour"--that's mid-afternoon, for us real world folks.

B) Mydei's impression of Phainon versus his impression of himself is a hilarious reverse of the fandom's stereotype: In Mydei's eyes, Mydei is the victim of Phainon's grumpiness.

To be fair to Mydei, that is what he looks like sometimes...

C) Phainon not only knows where Mydei lives, but has the ability to enter Mydei's room even when Mydei is asleep. Mydei is so either so confident he doesn't lock his front door... Or Phainon has a key???

D) Uhhhh, make of this whatever you will. Maybe Mydei gives Phainon piggy-back rides when we're not looking. Actually, maybe this is just Mydei's shorthand way of saying they rode Kokopo III to the baths!

E) Despite being all about Kremnoans bathing in boiling sword-forging water, Mydei prefers cold baths and likes bathing when not too many other people are present. Phainon, on the other hand, is not a fan of cold water, lol.

F) If Mydei curses, he won't say "By Nikador!" he'll say "By Kephale!" I'm not sure who would be pissed off more about a Kremnoan cursing using Kephale's name--the Okhemans or the Kremnoans?

G) Mydei thinks Phainon has "sensitive skin and tender flesh"... Or perhaps Phainon has admitted as much? Just normal things tough dude bros talk about while soaking in the baths together, you know.

H) Mydei's profile pic is Phagousa's sacred beast, the seal, and there's a matching seal with him in the baths the whole time. Apparently, he's a big fan! But this makes sense, given that he lived in the Sea of Souls for nine years--maybe we will one day learn that he had a whole colony of seal friends in the depths of the sea lol.

I) "Fig Stew" is a foreign dish in Okhema, but it's not from Kremnos, which tells us Mydei probably enjoys experimenting with foreign foods, trying the dishes of the many different cultures that have found refuge in Okhema, and also that he's a fan of Kyros's restaurant in Marmoreal Market, the only place in-game that sells Fig Stew.

J) There aren't any figs in Okhema's version of Fig Stew though; the restaurant responsible for selling Fig Stew in Okhema actually just substitutes "milkberries" (possibly Lowveld Milkberry) instead. Milkberry fruits look somewhat similar to figs but are known for having a vanilla-like flavor--Fig Stew is described in-game as a very sweet dish with a creamy and refreshing texture. The Trailblazer is also a fan!

And, finally K) The description of the video "Shopping day chronicles with friends in Okhema be like--" not only implies that Mydei somehow knows far more meme lingo that he's willing to let on in real in-game conversations... but also that he's made so many of these little daily chronicle videos that he's got FIVE VOLUMES of stories just about his days shopping with friends in Okhema. This is a whole visual diary, guys.

...And then it loops back into depressing when you imagine Mydei happily posting a video each day of the mundane events of his life in Okhema, light-hearted and playful chronicles of himself with friends--MY MAN JUST WANTED TO LIVE AND PLAY WITH SEALS AND EAT SWEETS, Hoyo, whyyyyyyyy?!!

[stillalivebydemand893]

I MISS YOU

18+(repost)

Story:Erik’s gone for three months, and suddenly his hoodie is your new soulmate. You’re surviving on dirty texts, bad jokes, and way too many tears (plus a few too many Polaroids). Long distance sucks, but somehow, it’s only made him even more ridiculous in love.

“Do you really have to leave? Can’t I just sneak into your suitcase and smuggle myself out with you?” You pouted—sad was an understatement.

“You know I’d love that, baby,” Erik chuckled, “but I’d rather not end up on human trafficking posters across the country.” He laughed, but you could tell it was just as hard for him.

Erik Campbell—aka your boyfriend of two years, your personal heater, your serotonin provider—was being shipped off to Buttfuck Nowhere for some tattoo workshop his boss had bullied him into. And yeah, you were happy for him (or at least trying to be), but the thought of your apartment without him in it? Bleak. Depressing. Borderline illegal.

“Can you at least leave your dick at home? I don’t think I’ll survive without it. I’ll miss him too much.” You flopped onto the bed as he packed,  tossing clothes into his backpack like a man on the run.

He cackled. God, how were you supposed to go three whole months without that sound? You were going to go fully, irreversibly numb.

“Him? Really?” Erik raised an eyebrow. “Me and my dick are a sealed package, sweets. I’m sorry.” He hovered over you, pinning your wrists playfully above your head.

His cologne hit you first—warm, musky, stupidly good. Then the mint on his breath. Your body was already mourning his absence, and he hadn’t even left yet.

“I’ll miss you like crazy, you know that?” he whispered, kissing your neck, biting and sucking like he was trying to tattoo himself into your skin. You let out a soft moan. “Oh look,” he grinned, pulling back slightly and gesturing to the very visible bulge in his jeans, “your buddy already misses you.”

You smirked. “That’s my boy.” Two dorks, stupidly in love, laughing through the ache.

“I’ll call you when I get there, okay? And please, for the love of all things holy, send me some nudes. I’m about to be trapped with ten other dudes and exactly zero porn material.”

“You such a dork. I will.” You winked.

The moment stretched—just you and him, eye to eye, your heart already splintering down the middle.

Then his phone buzzed.

“Shit. I’m late,” he muttered, checking the screen and throwing his backpack over one shoulder. You ruffled his hair, trying not to crumple into a mess of snot and tears.

“I love you. Have a safe trip. And Erik—no dick pics while I’m at work. I’m serious. Last time, my patient saw it and nearly had another stroke.”

He smirked. “That was a great angle, to be fair. Maybe the piercing triggered it.”

You pinched his arm. “I’m serious.”

“Aww, okay okay—only balls, no cock.” He dropped his bag and leaned in, cradling your face. His lips met yours, slow and greedy, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. His tongue grazed your lips, parting them. You melted. You bit his bottom lip, dragging a low whimper out of him. When the kiss broke, he gave you one last peck on the cheek.

“I love you, Peach.”

You squeezed his hands. “I love you too, dumbass. Now go before I change my mind and tie you to this bed forever.”

He grinned. “Honestly? Not the worst idea. Maybe I’ll stay—”

You cut him off with a finger to his lips. You knew if you let this play out another second, you’d snap and lock him in the bedroom for life. But you had to let him go. At least before the ugly crying started.

“Bye, baby.” You kissed him one last time.

“Bye, sweets.”

And just like that, he was gone. Leaving you horny, breathless, and heartbreakingly alone.

After Erik left, you got dressed and dragged yourself to work. You had the night shift at the hospital—thank god. Maybe if you kept busy, it would stop your brain from spiraling. Distraction. That was the plan. That was the only plan.

Twenty-four hours later, you were officially dead on your feet. The ER had chewed you up and spit you out. You peeled yourself out of your scrubs, took a scalding shower, pulled on one of Erik’s oversized T-shirts, and collapsed into bed.

His scent still clung to the pillow. Your eyes stung before you even realized you were crying. The ache in your chest felt like it was trying to climb up your throat and crush your windpipe.

Panic attacks were easier when Erik was around. He always knew what to do—what to say, how to hold you, how to make the world feel just a little less heavy.

Your phone buzzed. You picked it up before it could ring twice.

And just like that, the chaos in your brain quieted the moment you heard his voice.

“Hey, baby. What’re you doing? How was your shift?”

You exhaled. The knot in your chest loosened. Maybe three months wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe.

“It was fine. A ton of paperwork and, like, maybe two hours of sleep,” you murmured, already drifting.

“Oh fuck—did I wake you? I’m such an idiot. Sorry, Peach.”

You could practically hear him facepalming. Even through a speaker, he was stupidly adorable.

“No, babe. It’s okay. I just got into bed. I’m wearing your shirt, by the way,” you added with a sleepy giggle.

“You brat. You miss me that much, you’ve resorted to theft?” he laughed.

“Shut up. I left you a present in your inside pocket, by the way. Thank me later,” you mumbled, voice going soft.

“Wait—what? Hold on—” You heard frantic rustling through his bag, and smiled. He was always such a mess when he unpacked.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT—ARE YOU SERIOUS?”

You couldn’t hold in your giggles. His reaction had you grinning like an idiot, your heart doing little summersaults.

“You’re welcome, dummy.”

While he was distracted, you’d managed to sneak in a couple of sexy Polaroids—tastefully shot, high heat, and very not iMessage-appropriate. You’d even included the lace panties you wore in the photos. Classy, thoughtful, terrifyingly effective.

“How do I tattoo this on my eyeballs? Jesus Christ,” he whispered like he was in church.

You yawned, blinking back tears—this time the tired kind.

“Go to sleep, babe,” he said gently. “I love you.”

His voice was so soft, so close, you couldn’t tell if he was on the phone or just in your head.

“I love you more,” you whispered.

And just like that, you were gone— floating in the scent of him, wrapped in his shirt, with the ghost of his voice holding you through the night.

ERIK’S POV

The call ended, and for a moment, Erik just sat there—on the shitty motel bed in the middle of Nowhere, USA—staring at the Polaroid in his hand like it was sacred text.

Jesus. You were unreal.

He set the photo on the nightstand, very gently, like it might self-destruct if he moved too fast. The panties were tucked safely in his hoodie pocket now—he was never taking that hoodie off again. Not even for fire safety.

He leaned back, running a hand through his already-messy hair, exhaling like he'd just survived a war.

Three months.

What the hell had he done agreeing to this stupid workshop? Oh right—his boss, with that whole “it’ll be good exposure, Erik” crap. If exposure meant sharing a bunkhouse with ten other tattoo artists who all snored like dying lawnmowers and argued about needle brands at 6 a.m., then yeah. Exposure was thriving.

But you? You were home.

Even over the phone, he could hear how tired you were. He could practically see you curled up in bed wearing his shirt, all soft and sleepy, with those barely-there moans when you yawned. It made something ache deep in his chest.

He missed you. Already. Stupid hard. And not just in the horny way (though, let's be clear, he was one lace-panty whiff away from going feral).

No, he missed the tiny things.

Your awful morning coffee that somehow always tasted like burnt hope and yet he still drank it. The way you’d steal all the blankets and then wrap yourself around him like a very needy, very warm octopus. The way you'd hum under your breath when you were concentrating—he swore it was his favorite sound on Earth.

He stared at the ceiling. This room felt too empty. Too quiet.

The pillow didn’t smell like you. That alone should’ve been illegal.

He rolled onto his side, pulled out his phone, and opened his camera. Snapped a blurry, shirtless selfie with the Polaroid blurred in the background and his dumb smirk front and center.

Caption: Missing you so bad I’m talking to your panties. Pray for me.

He saved it, didn’t send it. Not yet. You were asleep. He didn’t want to risk waking you again, even if part of him wanted to keep hearing your voice on loop.

Instead, he opened his Notes app and typed:

“Things to Do When I Get Back:” – Binge-watch that shitty detective show you love (no complaints, even during the sex scenes) – Take you to that sushi place you keep hinting about – Let you steal all my shirts, no arguments – Make up for three months of lost time in bed. (Bring Gatorade.) – Tell you again and again and again: I love you, I missed you, you’re it for me

He looked at it for a moment. Smiled to himself like a complete idiot.

Then he buried his face in your panties and groaned dramatically into the pillow.

This was going to be the longest three months of his entire goddamn life.

It had only been three weeks.

JUST THREE FUCKING WEEKS.

You thought keeping busy would help. You picked up extra shifts, reorganized the kitchen (twice), binge-watched two seasons of that drama Erik hated (“They’re not even real detectives, babe”), and even tried meditating. You lasted five minutes before crying yourself to reality.

Everywhere you looked, Erik was there—in the dent he left on the couch, the stupid chipped mug he insisted was “aesthetic,” the half-full cologne bottle by the sink that you kept sniffing like it was cocaine.

You missed him so bad your bones hurt.

Even worse? Nights.

You couldn't sleep. Not properly. The bed was too big, the silence too loud, and your body too used to being wrapped in his stupid, clingy octopus limbs. Without him breathing next to you, it felt like the world was slightly tilted. Off-balance. Wrong.

And the panic attacks? Yeah. Those were back. You had one in the breakroom on day five. Curled up in your locker like a wet cat, texting Erik things like “I hate this” and “I need you” while tears smudged your eyeliner into raccoon territory.

He texted back instantly, always did. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t him.

You even started talking to his pillow like it was an actual person.

"God, I’m losing it,” you muttered one night, clutching your phone, hoping he'd call before you completely short-circuited.

And when he finally did, you answered on the first ring, voice cracked and sleepy and desperate.

ERIK’S POV – ONE MONTH WITHOUT YOU

He was unraveling.

Every day was hell, and not even in a dramatic, poetic way. Just... mundane, miserable hell. The bunkhouse smelled like Axe body spray and chili dogs, some dude named Kyle snored like a freight train, and someone stole his shampoo. Twice.

He hadn’t eaten a vegetable in two weeks.

But none of that compared to the you-shaped void following him everywhere.

He missed you in the morning when he didn’t get to kiss your temple before you rushed off to save lives. He missed you at night when he lay in bed scrolling through your old texts, rereading them like they were scripture. He missed you in the shower, where the water was too hot and no longer smelled like your vanilla conditioner.

He was being weird. Fully aware. He was sleeping in the hoodie you gave him even though it was 80 degrees in the room. He kissed the Polaroid you gave him goodnight. Once, in a moment of weakness, he pulled the panties out just to feel closer to you, then immediately scolded himself like, “Jesus, Erik, get a grip. This isn’t a damn romance novel.”

But then he got your texts. The ones where you sounded small. Frayed. Like you were falling apart just like he was.

And he cracked.

He called you even though it was late. He couldn’t go another night without hearing your voice. When you picked up and whispered a broken, “Hey,” he wanted to climb through the phone and hold you so tight the world disappeared.

“Baby,” he breathed. “I miss you so fucking much.”

You sniffled. “I think I’m going insane. I cried in the freezer aisle today. I saw your favorite ice cream and lost it.”

He smiled softly, eyes stinging. “That’s fair. I saw someone wearing your perfume at the grocery store and almost proposed.”

You both laughed, a little brokenly, through the ache.

He lay on his bed, listening to your breathing even after you fell asleep, your voice fading mid-sentence. He didn’t hang up. Just pressed the phone to his chest like a lifeline.

SEXTING & SOBBING (A MASTERCLASS IN FAILING AT LONG-DISTANCE)

You: You were curled up on the couch, swaddled in a blanket like a burrito of despair, eating peanut butter straight out of the jar with a baby spoon. Erik hadn’t texted in two hours—two whole hours. That was basically a week in long-distance time.

Finally, your phone buzzed. Erik : “Hey sexy. You alone?”

You raised an eyebrow, wiped a peanut butter smudge from your lip. You knew that tone.

You: “Alone, pantsless, and dangerously close to crying to a rom-com.”

Erik : “Hot. Let’s pretend I’m there. What would you do if I was?”

Okay. So that’s what we’re doing.

You squirmed a little, warmth blooming in your belly. You wanted him so bad it physically hurt. So you gave in.

You: “I’d sit on your lap and grind real slow, just to torture you.”

Erik : “Fuck. Keep going.”

You giggled, slipping a hand under your shirt, playing with your own chest like he would.

You: “Then I’d pull off your shirt, kiss down your chest, tongue over that tattoo I love…”

Erik : “I’m getting hard. Jesus. My roommate just walked in, I’m going to kill him.”

You laughed, then bit your lip, typing out something hotter—

But then you saw his jacket hanging by the door.The one that smelled like him. And just like that, your throat tightened, your eyes welled up, and the tears started leaking without permission.

You: “I miss you.” “Like… ache-in-my-ribs miss you.”

Erik : Typing... then nothing. Then: “Babe…”

You: “I want to fuck you but I also want to cry into your chest and eat pasta while we watch cartoons.”

Erik : “Same.”

You: “I’m a disaster.”

Erik : “You’re MY disaster.” “Let’s just cry and masturbate in sync. Soulmates shit.”

And that’s how your sexy night ended—with a mutual emotional breakdown, one ruined vibrator, and Erik softly whispering “I love you” through FaceTime while you wore his jacket and ugly-sobbed into your pillow.

10/10. Romance is alive and well.

ERIK: It was a Thursday. A normal, boring-ass Thursday. Until it wasn’t.

It started with him dropping his machine mid-session. His hand was shaking. Because the last text he got from you was: “I had a panic attack in the breakroom again. I just want to go home. But home feels empty without you.”

He’d read it twelve times.

Then Kyle—the human garbage disposal who he shared a room with—made some offhand joke about “you still being hot without the crying,” and Erik nearly decked him.

That was it. That was the breaking point.

He walked out of the studio, got into his rental car, and drove straight to the airport. No plan. No luggage. No return ticket.

He got as far as the ticket counter.

“Where to?” the airline clerk asked.

“Home,” he said. His voice cracked on it. He coughed. “I mean—Boston.”

The lady raised an eyebrow, tapped the keyboard. “Next flight’s in three hours. ID and card?”

Erik stood there, frozen. Three hours. That was nothing. He could do it. He could surprise you, show up at your door with a bag of takeout and that dumb grin you always called “trouble face.”

His phone buzzed.

It was a selfie from you—no makeup, eyes puffy, holding a cup of instant noodles and wearing his hoodie. Caption: “I miss you like air. Be proud—I haven’t fallen apart today. Yet.”

He stared at the screen. His grip tightened.

And then he turned around.

Back to the car. Back to the bunkhouse. Back to the fucking chili dog–scented nightmare.

Because he loved you enough to keep going. To not blow it all up just because he was hurting. Because you needed him to finish this. To prove that you were both strong enough to survive three months apart.

He could cry later.

Right now, he needed to send you a text.

Erik : “I was literally about to board a plane. Your hoodie photo saved me from losing my job.” “I love you, Peach. You’re my home. I’ll be back soon. Promise.”

BAD OMENS, “WHO ARE YOU,” AND A GODDAMN MIRACLE

It had been two and a half months.

You weren’t sure how you’d made it this far without Erik. Probably a combo of sheer willpower, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and late-night FaceTimes that ended in “I love you more, no I love you more,” until one of you passed out.

Then the Bad Omens tickets came.

Your favorite band. His favorite band.

You’d bought them together, months ago, on the floor of your apartment, high on pizza and each other, screaming when you saw the pre-sale went live. You were supposed to go together. You couldn’t imagine it any other way.

But now?

Now he was 1,200 miles away. Still stuck in Tattoo Bootcamp.

You almost didn’t go. You’d sat on your bed for hours, the ticket clutched in your hand, crying into his hoodie and whispering, “I’ll go next time. When he’s here.”

Then your phone buzzed.

Erik : “Baby, you HAVE to go.” “I know it hurts, but you need this. I’m there with you, in every fucking beat, okay?” “Scream for me. Cry if you want. Just go. Don’t let us miss this.”

So you went.

Alone.

The arena was packed, vibrating with energy, everyone screaming lyrics and losing their minds. But you felt like a ghost—surrounded, but alone.

Then the lights dimmed. Smoke curled around the stage. The crowd started to hush.

You felt it before you heard it.

The first soft, aching chords of “Who Are You” started to play.

Your chest cracked wide open.

That was your song. The one that played in the background the first night Erik said he loved you, voice shaking. The one that always made you look at each other like no one else in the world existed.

And now, it was playing without him.

Tears slipped down your cheeks. You tried to wipe them away, but the flood was coming. Your lip trembled. You wrapped your arms around yourself.

Then— A hand brushed lightly against your waist. Warm. Familiar.

And a voice, low and rough, whispered in your ear:

“I told you I’d be with you in every beat. I just didn’t say it’d be in person.”

Your heart stopped.

Your brain screamed.

You whipped around so fast you almost fell. And there he was.

Erik.

Grinning like a damn fool, eyes glassy, hair messy from travel, wearing the same hoodie you used to cry into.

“I—I thought you couldn’t—I mean—you were—” You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe.

He grabbed your face with both hands and kissed you like the world was on fire and you were the last safe place.

The crowd exploded around you, but in that moment, it was just you and him and Noah Sebastian’s voice echoing the exact pain and love sitting in your chest.

When he finally pulled back, breathless, he whispered against your lips:

“I couldn’t miss this. Couldn’t miss you. I got on a red-eye the moment they let me go early. I’d have walked here if I had to.”

You were full-on sobbing now, holding onto him like he might disappear again.

“I hate you,” you whispered into his chest. “I love you. But I hate you.”

He laughed, kissed the top of your head.

“I love you too, Peach. So much it made me stupid.”

Then you screamed the rest of the song together, wrapped up in each other, lost in the music and the madness and the miracle of finding home again—right there, in the middle of a crowd of strangers, with your hearts finally back in the same place.

POST-CRY DINER CUDDLES & EMOTIONAL WORD VOMIT

You didn’t let go of Erik’s hand for a second.

Not through the crowd.

Not down the sidewalk, past buzzing post-show fans.

Not even when you slid into the squeaky red booth at the all-night diner down the street.

You were still in your concert high and emotional coma all at once. Erik looked just as wrecked—eyeliner smudged (yes, he wore eyeliner for your concert), hoodie stained with some kind of beer, eyes still pink.

You both just stared at each other across the booth for a minute, breathing like two people who had survived something massive. Because you had.

He reached across the table and grabbed your hand.

“Do you know,” he said, voice hoarse, “how close I was to completely falling apart when you turned around? Like, actual chest-cracking-level shit.”

You laughed. “You? I nearly blacked out. I thought I was hallucinating you from emotional dehydration and raw vocals.”

You both laughed—half-giddy, half on the verge of another breakdown. The waitress came by and neither of you could read the menu, so you just mumbled “fries, milkshake, whatever you got, please help us.”

Erik scooted around to your side of the booth and pulled you into him, arms around your shoulders, forehead against your temple.

“I watched that whole song from behind you,” he whispered. “I saw the way your shoulders shook, how you clenched your fists.”

You didn’t say anything. Just buried your face into his hoodie.

“I had to hold back so hard not to grab you the second it started,” he added. “But then you cried, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t let you stand there like that anymore.”

You whispered into his chest, “That was the worst and best surprise of my entire life. You realize I’m going to propose to you one day purely because of this, right?”

“Peach,” he murmured, eyes wide. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You both laughed, but the air around you had shifted.

The ache was still there, but the relief of having him here—real, warm, smelling like sweat and salvation—was washing over it.

Then the fries arrived. And you devoured them like two wolves who’d just survived an apocalypse.

LATER – RECKLESS, EMOTIONAL, STARVING-FOR-TOUCH SEX

You barely made it through your apartment door.

Erik kicked it shut behind you, pressing you against it with all the desperation of someone who hadn’t felt you in seventy-five days and some change.

Your hands were already under his hoodie. His mouth was on your neck. It wasn’t slow or gentle. It was messy. Clumsy. Starved.

Clothes came off like they were on fire. You tripped over each other trying to make it to the bed but collapsed halfway there, tangled in limbs and kisses and breathless moans.

“I missed you,” you gasped as he kissed down your chest.

“I dreamed of this,” he whispered into your skin. “Every night. I’d wake up hard and aching and alone—fuck, I missed you.”

He took his time, even in the chaos. Mouth on every inch of skin he could reach. Hands like he was relearning you from memory, mapping every curve, every scar, every place that made you gasp.

You clawed at his back, pulled him in closer, whispering his name like a prayer between moans.

When he finally slid inside you, you both froze.

It was too much. Too good. Too real.

You locked eyes, tears threatening again—not from sadness this time, but the overwhelming weight of having each other again. Of surviving the storm.

Erik held your face like it was holy. “I love you. I’m so fucking in love with you, it hurts.”

“I love you more,” you whispered, voice breaking as he started to move. “Don’t let go. Please don’t let go.”

“Never,” he promised, and sealed it with a kiss so deep you forgot where your body ended and his began.

The rest of the night blurred—slow, then fast, breathy laughter between filthy moans, skin slapping, hands gripping, hips grinding, and love thick in the air like smoke.

You came apart under him with a cry of his name. He followed not long after, trembling against your chest, whispering “home, home, home,” over and over.

AFTERMATH – THE SILENCE THAT MEANT EVERYTHING

You lay tangled in the sheets, both sticky and breathless, limbs draped across each other like anchors.

Erik kissed your forehead.

You whispered, “Please don’t leave again.”

He looked you in the eyes, tired but glowing.

“Never. Not unless you’re coming with me next time.”

And in that silence that followed, you both just breathed.

Together. Whole. Home.

THE MORNING AFTER – DOMESTIC, STUPIDLY IN LOVE, & STARVING FOR PANCAKES

You woke up slowly, the way you do when everything finally feels safe again.

Warm breath tickled your neck. A heavy arm was draped across your waist, a leg thrown haphazardly over yours, and someone—Erik—was dead-asleep, mouth slightly open, mumbling nonsense against your skin.

You turned slowly to face him.

He was a mess.

Hair everywhere, lashes resting on flushed cheeks, a faint mark from your pillow across his forehead, and a little trail of dried drool on the corner of his mouth.

You smiled. You were done for.

His eyes cracked open just enough to catch you staring.

“Are you watching me sleep like a creep?” he rasped, voice wrecked and gravelly and—god help you—stupidly hot.

You whispered, “No. Shut up.”

He smirked, then kissed your nose like it was his religion. “I love you.”

“You’re disgusting,” you said, but it came out as, I missed you so much I could explode right now.

You lay there like that for a while. No rush. No alarms. Just skin on skin and fingers tracing lazy patterns on backs and hips and arms. Erik kissed your shoulder every few minutes like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Eventually, your stomach growled like a wild animal.

He chuckled, eyes still half-closed. “Is that your soul leaving your body?”

“I need pancakes. Or you’ll lose me forever.”

He groaned and rolled out of bed dramatically. “Fine. But only because I need to rehydrate after that olympic-level sex marathon you subjected me to.”

You threw a pillow at him. He dodged, naked and proud. “I’ll wear an apron and nothing else. It’s what you deserve.”

“You’ll burn your dick on the stove again.”

“That happened once.”

You followed him into the kitchen, both of you in underwear, looking like half-conscious trash goblins and feeling like the happiest idiots alive.

While Erik clumsily whipped together pancake batter (spilling flour like it was glitter), you leaned against the doorway and just watched him.

Then your eyes landed on the shelf near the fridge. A frame sat there now, small and unassuming.

The Polaroid.

The one you’d snuck into his backpack—the reason he almost got kicked out of the workshop for “inappropriate groaning during team breakfast.” The one he’d kissed every night like a love letter.

He noticed your gaze and followed it.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, walking over. “You framed it?”

You nodded shyly. “It reminded me of you. Of us. Even when we were apart.”

He picked it up, held it to his chest like it was a heartbeat. Then he kissed you, slow and gentle.

“You’re a menace,” he murmured. “And I want to be married to that menace someday.”

You blinked. “Wait. Was that a proposal?”

He shrugged with a grin. “Maybe. Who knows. Could’ve just been pancake brain talking.”

You grabbed a spoon. “Say it again and I’ll make sure pancake brain never walks again.”

He cackled, hands up in surrender.

And just like that, you were dancing in your tiny kitchen, tangled in each other, burning pancakes on the stove, completely in love, and entirely whole again.

A FEW WEEKS LATER – THE PROPOSAL (OR, “HOW ERIK COULD NOT Wait Another Second”)

You weren’t expecting anything.

It was just another lazy Sunday—your favorite kind. You and Erik were on the couch, tangled up in a sea of blankets, your legs on his lap, both pretending to watch a movie but mostly just trading forehead kisses and dumb jokes.

You had a mouthful of popcorn when he said it:

“So I’ve been carrying this ring around like an absolute psycho.”

You froze mid-chew. Slowly turned toward him.

“What?”

He was dead serious. Too serious. Like you’d caught him confessing to murder.

He pulled something out of his front pocket. Small. Velvet. Box-shaped.

You choked. “Are you—”

“I was gonna wait,” he said quickly, nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like, for something cool. On the beach. Or with fireworks. Or whatever Pinterest says you’re supposed to do.”

You just blinked. Popcorn halfway to your mouth.

“But I can’t,” he admitted, eyes locked on yours. “I literally can’t wait. I think about it every night when you fall asleep with your mouth open next to me. I think about it when you steal all the hot water and call it feminism. I think about it when you wear my hoodie backwards like a gremlin and ask me if your butt looks good while brushing your teeth.”

You laughed, heart racing, mouth dry.

“Babe—”

“Peach,” he cut in, softer now. “I’m in love with every single version of you. The broken ones. The brilliant ones. The panic-attack-in-the-grocery-aisle ones. All of them. And I don’t want another day where I don’t get to call you my actual, legal, fully-recognized-by-the-state dumbass partner in life.”

He opened the box.

Inside: a ring.

Simple. Silver. A black diamond. Classic Erik—bold, not flashy, beautiful in its own way.

“Will you marry me?” he whispered. “Like, for real? As in, I get to legally be the guy who brings you soup when you’re sick and kisses you before you yell at customer service?”

You were crying before he even finished.

You tackled him onto the couch, kissing him so hard he dropped the ring box between the cushions. You didn't care.

“Yes,” you breathed against his lips, smiling through your tears. “Yes, you absolute idiot. Of course I’ll marry you.”

“Fuck,” he grinned, pulling you tighter. “I was so scared. I thought you were gonna say, ‘I’m too young to be a wife, I barely keep my plants alive.’”

“I don’t keep my plants alive,” you sniffled. “That’s why I need you. You’re the adult in this relationship.”

“Oh god help us,” he groaned.

You both laughed, wrapped in each other, fully in love, half-covered in popcorn.

Somewhere under the couch, the ring glinted between the cushions—waiting for one of you to retrieve it.

But right now? You were too busy making out with your future husband to care.

[nerdy-novelist017]

that picture with benny and the baby ohhhh bunny would be so heart eyes for him and would try and stop herself picturing that WITH him because its just not his life at all.........but benny had seen you with the same baby earlier and wanted to try it out for himself....he'd felt Something thinking 'what if' ........the possibilities are endless

Baby Fever (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader)

Ohhh just imagine the possibilities! 🥰😍 Based on this pic! (I might have to make a Benny x Bunny x Baby series now)

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 1k+ (lil fella)

******

Deep in a conversation with Gail and Betty standing by the food table, you perked up at the sound of tiny giggling baby coos. You looked over your shoulder, trying to locate that adorable baby that one of the wives brought along to the picnic today. You'd already held the sweet little baby, being one of the first people to approach the family when they arrived.

But what you saw now, you had to blink a few times to make sure it wasn't a dream. That tiny baby girl was in the strong, tanned arms of none other than Benny Cross. You weren't sure you'd ever seen Benny hold a baby before, and the sight alone filled your belly with fluttering butterflies. You lowered your plate, having discovered a new appetite, and your eyes were positively drinking in the view before you. You were vaguely aware of the giggling from Gail and Betty behind you, but that didn't seem to bother you much. Your mind was too preoccupied in visions of Benny holding your own children like that someday. And you tried to not let your imagination run wild because you and Benny had already discussed the possibility of children someday -- a topic that left you covering your disappointment.

"You're not him. You're not your father, Benny," you had told him as you laid in bed next to him, hand running through his hair soothingly. You had woken to his arm tightening around your waist and the sound of his nightmare manifesting through his soft whimpers. It was another nightmare of his father. "You are never going to be him."

"You don't know that," he had replied, voice uncharacteristically weak, and though neither of you had turned on a light, you knew he was staring at that crack in the ceiling above you, something he did when he was deep in his thoughts.

"Yes, I do," you whispered as you planted a kiss to his temple. "Because I won't let you become him."

Because of Benny's childhood and the rough household he grew up in, he didn't think he'd be a good father. How could he, since all he knew was how horrible of a father he had? It didn't matter that you told him he was wrong, that you could see the goodness in him. He never seemed to believe you, and he certainly never saw it in himself. So the conversation ended in an uncomfortable draw after you both realized that the other had different plans for that aspect of your lives.

Watching Benny, with his calloused hands that you'd seen inflict so much damage, hold this baby so gently, so carefully . . . it clenched at your heart almost painfully, and you wondered how he could possibly see so little of his true character. A bitterness overtook you at the thought of his selfish parents ruining not only his childhood, but the future potential of becoming a father himself some day.

But maybe there was still a chance, you thought as you watched Benny lift the baby girl above his head, her tiny giggles growing increasingly louder at the excitement. Maybe, if you held his hand through the challenges, encouraging him when he had his doubts, maybe if you could be patient enough that could be your baby Benny would hold in his arms one day.

******

Benny had known the second his eyes found that baby sitting across the yard, that it would cause him trouble today. He knew that this would open a can of worms he had so carefully sealed back up. Because of course it was you who raced over to poke those chubby cheeks and rub its little socked feet. He had tried not to notice the way you seemed to beam at the baby, tried to look away when he saw you immediately reaching to hold the infant. He kissed the top of your head before he grabbed a beer from Johnny and purposely turned his back to the sight of you because everything in him wanted to see it, but he couldn't. He followed the guys as they made their way across the field to where the race would be held, knowing that if he put physical distance between you, it always seemed to help him think more rationally. That way he didn't have to look into your silent but expressive eyes, and he didn't have to hear the bittersweet longing in your voice as you played with the baby. No, that required a considerably strong will, and Benny often lost all sense of his when you wanted something.

Benny didn't want to be a father, he could never do that to a child, could never take the chance of letting a child be broken by their own father. He needed to break the cycle of abuse he'd inherited from generations of men in his family, and the only way he knew how would be to never become a father. It was as simple and as difficult as that. Simple because anytime he thought about becoming a father, he'd just have to remember what his own childhood was like. Difficult because he knew you wanted to be a mother some day. Simple because he knew he shouldn't be a father. Difficult because he knew that you would be a good mother. Difficult because he was selfish, he knew that. You deserved to be with a man who was better than him, who would want to have children. Simple because you were the one good thing Benny had in his life, and he couldn't let you go.

And as the men began to set up a race on the bikes, Benny couldn't help but let his gaze wander back to where you sat across the field, baby bouncing gently on your lap. He zoned out, not really bringing himself to care about the race anymore. How could he when you looked so beautiful as you smiled brightly at that baby, the afternoon sun basking you both in a warm glow. You only laughed as those pudgy fingers tugged at your pin-curled hair, and Benny's brows pinched together because you were just so sweet, so patient. You were perfect, so perfect. You were everything Benny wasn't, in fact, he was far from even being considered a good man. But watching you with that damned baby? It stirred something conflicting in him, something he thought he had closed off a long time ago, and he wondered if maybe he could make you a mother some day.

-Tag List-

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[maureenjohnsonbooks]

A friendly hello in an unfriendly time

(The following was the content of my most recent newsletter, which you can get for yourself if you like.)

HELLO FRIENDS So. Um. What a time, huh? Things are not great. I really hope you are doing okay. I went a bit quiet on social media after the election (at least on IG--I am on Bluesky ALL THE TIME). It felt weird to be talking about my own books, so for a few months I didn't. But I was making them! I am currently well into the sixth STEVIE BELL MYSTERY, and I have finished (along with my friend Jay Cooper) a MYSTERY that is coming out in September! It is called You Are the Detective: The Creeping Hand Murder. The book is a dossier, a collection of documents and pictures. You are the detective and Scotland Yard has handed YOU the case file. You have to solve the mystery. When you think you have the answer, you open a SEALED ENVELOPE IN THE BACK WITH THE SOLUTION.

Here is a Proof of Life pic of us working on page proofs:

Working on this side by side on art and design to put together a GREAT MYSTERY has been amazing. It looks REALLY, REALLY GOOD. I cannot wait to show it to you.

MORE BOOK STUFF. I am thrilled beyond belief say that Death at Morning Househas been nominated for an Edgar Award by the Mystery Writers of America. As a mystery person, this is very meaningful to me. I don't know if I will get that little Poe head, but I'm just happy to be invited. Death at Morning House is a story about a few things that are relevant right now. It's about how our American past informs our American present, which is currently a tire fire. Our history isn't buried that deep. It's just that people don't want to acknowledge it, and they don't want you acknowledging it either. They will take every book out of the library rather than let history be told. A few things in the book that are ringing some bells right now. Two things I knew about while writing it and one I did not. 1. America's history with eugenics. Whoooo. We loved eugenics and Nazism (the literal kind) was WAY TOO POPULAR. We need to know this history--and this is the story book banners are trying to retell or erase. The backstory of the book involves a family, the Ralstons, who are regarded as the ideal American family. Look at them! They are rich! They wear matching outfits and live in a mansion! And they love eugenics! (Well, some of them do.) In creating the Ralstons, I kept things very close to historical reality. I actually had to tone things down for the book because the reality would have become so overwhelming that the story would tilt off balance. But we built a lot of things on the back of eugenics and racism and those things cannot stand.

2. Queer joy is important and needs to be front and center! Marlowe, the main character in Death at Morning House, is proudly and cheerfully queer and in love! She is romantic! And sure, her timing isn't always great, but love will prevail! Affirm queer lives. Protect trans kids. Never, ever, ever back down from this. 3. Canada is our friend. This one, I didn't see coming. I didn't think we were going to get into a TRADE WAR WITH CANADA because I don't drink bleach and hallucinate weird events. Ralston Island is on the imaginary line that squiggles through the St. Lawrence River that separates America and Canada. We are intertwined. WE LOVE CANADA. (Bonus fact: my grandfather was Canadian. He was born in British Columbia, in Nanaimo, and my aunt there made the best Nanaimo bars. If you have never had one, don't sleep on this. Try one now. Here are dairy and vegan versions. GO CANADA!) Whether you read my books or not--reading ANY books, supporting libraries, talking about books, sharing books--THAT IS WHAT IS IMPORTANT. Use your library. It really, really helps them to get footfall. Ask the librarian how they are doing. Aside from books (though books will help you through just about anything), I wanted to recommend a few silly and life-affirming things I enjoy. Just some stuff you can watch or listen to that are a guaranteed GOOD TIME. 1. I'm a recent and massive fan of Watcher TV, specifically Shane and Ryan (who used to do Buzzfeed Unsolved). They have a few shows out there, but I am going to recommend Puppet History, which is spectacular. You can get started maybe with this episode on the straw hat riot, but they are all funny. MAKE SURE TO WATCH THE SONGS. 2. I'm a long time fan of The Dollop history podcast, which is a comedy podcast that gets very, very real! But is also comedy? They get into the reality of American history and talk about a lot of the things I mentioned above. But they also have some absolute classics that are just VERY FUNNY. A quick playlist of pure absurdity: the Egg Nog Riot, the 1908 New York to Paris Car Race, and Action Park. 3. I can't speak highly enough of Anxious People, which you can watch on Netflix. A mysterious person runs into an open house apartment viewing and takes a group of people hostage--then vanishes? And no one saw a thing? This locked room mystery turns into something magical and will reaffirm your faith in other people. IT'S SO GOOD. 4. Two UK shows that own my heart (well, many do, but these will fix you): Ghosts and Ludwig. (Note: NOT the Ghosts on CBS. I am strict about this.) You can see Ghosts some US streaming services, but come closer...I will whisper something to you...*looks around*...you can get into BBC iPlayer by using a VPN and then entering some random UK post code and saying that you have a TV license. They won't come after you. You may have to try a few VPNs but one will work. Using this method, you can also watch Channel 4 online. GET YOURSELF SOME UK COMEDY. UK, WE NEED YOU. 5. If I only have three minutes to dispel the vapors I watch this. If I have five, I do a Murdle. If I have ten, I do this thing where you look at art for ten minutes. If I have fifteen I play Splendor Duel on board game arena. Whenever you are, whatever is going on, I hope you are okay. Remember, the answer has always been and will always be taking care of each other. None of this is easy. With love, I remain, Maureen Johnson, author

[jikooklove9795]

I don't even know where to begin with this Jikook live. Ever since they came back, it's like they made a secret pact to drive us all insane. I'm barely hanging on here. But I'm loving every second of it!

Let’s start with the exact day they chose to go live. July 14th SK time. Silver Day. A couple’s day. A quick glance through the years and it’s giving "nothing is accidental with these two":

2019 Silver Day

Jungkook posts a Jikook pic with the caption “Jimin hyung’s big smile”.

2022 Silver Day

Jimin casually crashes the JITB party wearing that Maison Margiela necklace, tied to the 11/8 Jikook code.

2023 Silver Day

Jimin hops on a flight from SK to the US to go see Jungkook. And guess what? That very trip gave us the first two episodes of AYS.

And now, 2025 Silver Day, guess who’s back? Going live. Causing emotional collapse across Jikook nation. Like clockwork.

So is it a stretch to say I scratched the word coincidence out of my dictionary long ago when it comes to Jikook?

These two know exactly what they’re doing. And when it happens year after year after year… at some point you’ve got to admit: They’re not hinting anymore. They’re declaring. Loudly. They want to be seen, they want to be acknowledged, as a couple. In this together. For life.

Let’s start with that hug. So soft, so full of quiet warmth and Jungkook's smile while being hugged

The next moment?? Jimin just casually drops the fact that Jungkook comes into his room while he’s sleeping, stands there in total silence, films him, and then just… leaves???

And Jungkook just followed it up with singing "I'll go to you. I promise you" directly to Jimin and sealed it with a pinky promise.

HELLO??? Watching someone sleep while taking videos of them. That’s not normal behavior unless you’re that person's bf/gf, partner, or some soft-core vampire in love.

Because think about it, nothing about it feels casual. If I'm being honest its low key obsessive in the softest way. The level of intimacy, the audacity of Jimin making such a revelation. Ummatched. Once again, Jimin’s out here shoving the “we are not just friends” agenda right in our faces with zero remorse. This moment really took me back to their hickey incident. Different days but same level of jaw dropping energy.

He's been so obsessed with giving out all kinds of TMIs related to their sleep routine. From Jungkook's alarm to his snoring details, seeing his face first thing in the morning to how Jungkook visits Jimin's room often. What's next pillow talk transcripts??!!

So Jimin, how long do we have to wait for you to finally say that you guys are sharing the bed? Because I know what you're trying to do 😭

What even was this??!! And the way Jungkook turned his head real fast to look at Jimin after Jimin used that extra soft baby tone

Next up. Jungkook reads the “you two look good together” comment. He really does love reading the ones that ship them, doesn’t he? I mean, let’s not forget the time he said “Jeon Jimin”, not once, but twice. He's playing his cards very intentionally

Jungkook teasing Jimin with that “So who the hell did you wait for?” while watching WHO was hilarious

Jimin totally didn’t see that coming. He stuttered. It was giving:

Jungkook to Jimin: Oh you thought teasing was your thing? Let’s see how you handle this.

And let’s not forget, they completely skipped over that billboard moment in the MV. Like… we saw it.

MUST TOUCH MUST TOUCH AND FEEL HIM ALL OVER

Jimin: Do you want to get disciplined?

Jungkook: If I get disciplined here, how are you gonna do it, hyung?

BE SO SERIOUS JEON JUNGKOOK??? That was WILD behavior

Okay! When's the wedding, Jungkook??!!

The way Jimin was whiny here wanting to end the live together and go to sleep

The fake sleeping after that and the peeking at each other.

What fanfic was this??!!

At this point all thats left is for them to just lean in and say screw it.

Ending it with this:

[kitty-av]

Heyo! Here's my guy! Introducing himself for day 1 of the OC parade! •^•

I'll give some backstory on my guy (both the design process and lore under the cut!

This right here? My guy? I made him because I wanted a fire/candle dude.

But that's just the beginning of his journey! Allow me to show some earlier sketches just so y'all can see just how much I enjoyed designing this man. I think I've been drawing him for at least a year, though I've rarely shown him off XD

So as you can see by all these sketches, figuring out his colours actually felt really difficult, while his general silhouette got very few changes (a more unique face, he gained an arm, ect.) And I'm honestly really happy with how he currently is, even if he is very bright.

In fact he is so bright that I forgot to check my values when I drew him at 2 AM, and had to mess around in my phone to make the contrast a bit better XD

Using a saturation filter to check the values even after you've finished a piece is actually really useful (just a tip) •^•

Anyway, design history of my guy aside, Ignis had a finished design for maybe a few months (colour aside) but what he didn't have... Was lore.

Yes. For the longest time, to be he was just 'sneaky, conniving meow meow fire man' and I didn't even have a name for him - I just wanted to design a fire man but had no lore attached to him.

But since the DP OC parade? Oh lord, does he have lore. ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ

Basically, Ignis was created when the library of Alexandria was burnt down. He's not entirely sure himself if he manifested as the collective emotions surrounding the event, if he was some unfortunate guy who died there, or if he is the library himself, but when he came to, all he could remember was that one event.

Over the years, he's dedicated himself to preserving information, books, scrolls, paperwork, anything important. His enthusiasm and reliability netted him a spot in the ghost king's court as an advisor, a few rulers before Pariah.

Once Pariah took the throne, Ignis decided that he did not support anything this man did, and 'accidentally' started making poor strategies for him. And leaking a few good ones to the ghost zone resistant groups.

Once this was found out, he was promptly fired, but not before Pariah reimbursed him for his betrayal - an eye for an eye so to speak. And also an arm. He was also forced into hiding, because he was to be hunted down for treason, but he escaped.

Eventually, The ghost king's wife, Hera (might provide a pic of a sketch of her later if asked) decided to divorce Pariah. She didn't do it for the longest time because she was trying to pull legal authority and mitigate damage, but she realised that there's not much more she could do, so she straight up left to openly plan with his enemies.

Unfortunately, her role in the resistance and all the plans and insights she gave proved her a capable leader, and there was one faction that didn't want anybody to be ruling the ghost zone once Pariah fell - The Observants council.

This is relevant because while Ignis was on the run, they did their best to erase all records of all insider dissent in the court, and only give very general statements of fact about people like Ignis and Hera leaving, thus painting them as cowards at best.

Ignis was understandably quite pissed, because he knew that what they were doing is manipulating the people into essentially letting the Council rule. Even if he was technically a free ghost after the ancients sealed Pariah, the Observants basically began another reign of terror based on misinformation and censorship.

Ignis absolutely despises people in power wielding it for terrible purposes, and especially by obstructing information that to him should be available for the people to know and form conclusions off of.

Fortunately his former queen found him and she took him back to her lair with the rest of the surviving court dissenters.

And there, the group plans to if not dismantle the council, then reform it to be an actually functional governing organ with less corruption.

----

Sooo... Yeah! That's my blorbo!

Thank you all for reading through this post •^• I hope people get inspired by this event to make their own OCs, especially other artists. Because really, the last thing my guy got was his lore. So experiment! Create! Make blorbos! ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ

And if you found my guy inspiring enough to draw or write about for Sunday, I'm cool with mild gore and some psychological horror stuff, but nothing too heavy. Like, no copious amounts of ecto, no exposed insides or stuff like that. If you want to give him a mild splatter and focus on his waxed over missing eye and arm, that's chill, just keep it mild.

Honestly though, once again, I'm just glad you made it to the end, whoever you are. I would love any thoughts or feedback on my blorbo/ my guy/ my man (interchangable at this point) if y'all have any •^•

[stevesherdaddynowlover]

we took a polaroid picture [s.h.] 18+

an: hiii just a little something because i was bored and thinking about steve harrington, shocker! hope you enjoy :)

masterlist

summary: you're steve's girl and he loves to show off the polaroid of you he carries in his wallet. but he also has a few he keeps for himself...just himself. (steve harrington x fem!reader)

warnings: cursing, illusions to sex and m masturbation but not really detailed descriptions, naked pics of reader taken with consent, little smutty but not much 18+ MDNI!!!

wc: 1.7k

Steve had a polaroid of you in his wallet. 

It was you in a pale yellow sundress that made Steve’s mouth water as it flowed against your tan skin. You’re sitting in a field against a red checkered blanket with your eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back as you laughed at something Steve had said. A perfect strawberry pinched between your fingers and drops of the sweet red juice on your chest and fingers from the bite you’d taken. It was beautiful, perfect even. He kept it tucked away but would pull it out at any given chance to show anyone that would look how beautiful his girl was. 

At the grocery store? He brought it out at checkout or in the produce aisle to show some teenage cashier who couldn’t care less or some kid restocking who looked at Steve with an eye roll before turning back to his job. He could be walking down the street or out to eat with his friends and if someone said hello or made polite conversation he was tugging his wallet out of his back pocket, whoever he was with letting out a small sigh as he grinned proudly and showed you off. It was cute. Steve was cute. 

Now it wasn’t the only polaroid he had of you, but it was definitely the only one he showed off. 

Under his bed in a pretty pink envelope that had been sealed with your lipstick print was a stack of polaroids that made his cheeks burn and his chest hurt from how pretty you looked. He had brought it up one day, more as an incoherent mumbling when he was inside of you, but the idea had stuck with you and the more you thought about it, the more you decided you wanted it. 

Steve hadn’t thought about it since that night, so it’s a surprise when he’s standing in his kitchen, chopping vegetables for your date night dinner when out of nowhere you bring it up again. 

“Stevie?”

A noncommittal hum left him, too focused on not chopping his fingers off while he worried that the sauce might be burning or the pasta would overcook. “Yeah, baby?”

You weren’t sure why you felt nervous, this was his idea! And realistically you knew that there’s no way he’d ever say no but still a part of you was hesitant. “Remember the other night when you said you wanted to take pictures of me…just for us to see…”

He’s lucky he didn’t lose a finger with the way his hands faltered, back straightening and eyes flying toward you to make sure he wasn’t making this up in his head. “I, uh, I do remember that, yeah,” clearing his throat he put the knife down and walked around to stand between your legs that were open and dangling over the kitchen counter, “that’s something you want, baby? For me to take some pictures of you all fucked out pretty?” 

God how did he get so fucking lucky? He had been with girls before, had been in love before, but nothing could have ever prepared him for you. Everyone in Hawkins fawned over you, the sweet, innocent little girl who wouldn’t hurt a fly and left a trail of fucking glitter and rainbows in he wake. 

But Steve knew better. You had him fooled at first, all shy smiles and red cheeks when he’d so much as look at you. It didn’t take long for him to figure you out. It was only a few months before you’d be in his ear at cookouts begging for him to take you to the bathroom so you could suck him off. You were the princess of Hawkins but at night you’d call him late at night when your families were sleeping and have him listen as you touched yourself to all the things he’d ever said or done to you, little pleas and whines leaving your lips as he listened on the other end of the line with his cock hard and eyes squeezed shut. 

And now here you were, in his kitchen with that look in your eyes as you asked him to take pictures of you naked, fucked out on his cock or his fingers or his mouth. Please god let it be his mouth. 

That was a few months ago and it was the best fucking thing Steve had ever done, the best thing you had ever done. He felt like a horny teenage boy the way he’d reach under his bed for that envelope. He’d grab it after spending the day with you, when he missed you, fuck even when he had you underneath him in his bed. 

Today had been a great day with you. He’d woken up with you wrapped around him and had breakfast in bed, you’ve insisted that you didn’t count as breakfast but he refused to hear it, and the rest of the day was spent watching movies and eating junk food and making out so much his lips were swollen and swore. 

You couldn’t stay with him tonight and after being pressed up against you all day he didn’t have any choice but to pull out the pictures of you, his pretty girl. 

It was hard to focus on what he was doing, looking at you made it difficult for him to do much of anything these days. He remembers when each one was taken and it makes his hands twitch at his sides instinctively, wishing you were here to hold onto. 

The first one is…innocent enough. You sprawled out in the middle of his bed with his favorite t-shirt raised high enough to show a sliver of your tummy and the hem of those goddamn lilac panties that make his head spin. No bra underneath, he’d never forget that and even if he did your pebbled nipples straining against his shirt would remind him.   You’ve got a sly smile, bottom lip between your teeth as he stands over you and has you pose for him. He swears your eyes fucking sparkle looking at him like that. 

The second one is far less innocent, his tummy clenching as he stares down at you, literally stares down because in this one you’re sitting on your knees in front of him. All that’s visible of him is his cock, hard and aching like it always is around you, and his spread thighs you’ve fitted yourself between. You’ve got one hand wrapped around his cock, the other shows your fingers digging into his thighs. What really gets him is that face of yours. Your head is cocked to the side, cheek squished against his thigh and a smirk on your face as you look up at him with those fuck me eyes that only you can do. He remembers how he felt, how he was panting above you and begging for your mouth like his life depended on it. 

“Please please please, baby. I’ll do anything, anything you want I swear on my fuckin’ life. M’all yours just please let me have that pretty mouth, i need it, need you bad.” 

He doesn’t remember when he wrapped a fist around his cock or when his hips started thrusting up, lifting off the bed so urgently it shocked him. He doesn’t remember anything or anyone but you and all he knows is he won’t even get to look at the other pictures tonight because this one, this one is his favorite. It’s hidden in the middle of the stack and he can’t help but smile, knowing you moved it from its spot at the back. You know he won’t last once he sees it and he’d laugh if he wasn’t throbbing so hard and a deep moan wasn’t clawing its way up his throat. 

His favorite picture, his favorite girl. This one is you on your back, shirt gone and tits held between your hands. Your nipples are peaking through your fingers and it makes him whine in the back of his throat. Prettiest fuckin’ tits he’s ever seen. His eyes move lower, one of his hands gripping onto the soft curve of your hip, he remembers you had little fingerprint bruises there for a week or so and it drove you both fucking crazy. The other hand is holding the camera, doing his best not to drop it on you but it’s so hard when you’re looking at him like that and saying the things you were saying…

“Please, Stevie…put it in, just the tip please. I want a picture of it, I need it, please. I’ll be good, promise, won’t move or anything. I just need you.” 

And who was he to tell you no? Especially when you begged so pretty and asked so nicely. “Fuck, ‘course, of course. Anything for you, I'd do anything. You’re my girl, yeah? My good, pretty girl.” It’s hard for him to make sense or think with his cock that close to your dripping cunt, all red and swollen and begging for him. 

He moves past your hips, looking to where the tip of his cock was pressing into you, pushing in with no resistance because you had planned this. Had planned to beg and plead with him for this picture and the idea had turned you on so much you were dripping. 

That was what did it, looking at you all spread out, taking his cock with that smirk on your face and your tits out for him to drool over. His stomach and hand now covered in his cum, head laying back on his pillow and even though he’s sweaty, curls sticking to the back of his neck and his chest is heaving from cumming so hard his vision is blurry, he can’t help but smile. 

You’ll giggle and tease him tomorrow when he tells you he only made it through three of the pictures, giving you a playful smack on your ass for sticking his favorite in the middle of the stack, and he won’t care about that teasing because if you’re smiling and happy, nothing else matters to him. 

Plus he can always save the rest for a rainy day, or tomorrow.