#fave x reader

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

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kinktober 2022

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ʚ Fave x GN Reader ɞ

Day 5: Biting

❥ CW: male fave (he/him pronouns, has a dick), gn reader (no pronouns, no genitalia described), penetrative sex (reader receiving)

The first time you bit him was an accident.

You two had just started being intimate with one another, exploring each others' bodies, figuring out how to make the other person melt. He had hit a particularly sensitive spot deep inside you and you gasped, instinctually biting down on the space between his neck and shoulder. He shouted in surprise, pulling back after you released him. You apologized a hundred times, asking for forgiveness, saying that you weren't thinking or paying attention, that you didn't mean to. You soothed the area with kisses and soon went back to making love, but you were careful after that. You tried staying mindful of your mouth, biting your lip or your fist so as to avoid biting him. The last thing you wanted was a repeat of that first time, worried that another accident like that would make him question your relationship.

What you didn't know was that your boyfriend was trying to get you to bite him again.

He admits that the first time you bit him was a shock, your blunt teeth digging into his flesh like you were a carnivore latching onto its prey. He'd had people nibble on him before, but nothing as powerful and primal as what you had done. Before he could process how he felt about it, you were already letting him go, apologizing for letting loose like that. The entire interaction happened so fast that he couldn't even begin to understand how he felt.

It wasn't until later on, when you were tucked into his side and fast asleep, that he realized that he liked it.

He wanted you to do it again.

But how could he ask you to do that? He was so embarrassed by his newfound kink that he didn't have the courage to ask you to participate, no matter how badly he wanted it.

The only solution he could come up with to this festering problem was to overstimulate you to the point where you no longer had the brain power to stop yourself from biting him.

This was tricky to do, of course. You two still didn't know each others' bodies down to a science yet. He didn't even know all your sweet spots let alone how to overstimulate you. But he was determined and willing, hyping himself up enough so that he would be able to fuck you until you were brainless.

And that's exactly what he was doing right now. Your knees were resting on his shoulders, legs pushed down to your chest so you were folded in half. His body kept you pinned in that position, hips thrusting deep inside you, leaving you little room to breathe or recuperate. You had already cum a handful of times, the result of which was littered on both of your lower halves, leaving you wet and sticky. You were losing your ability to think clearly, the only thoughts in your head centered around your boyfriend's cock pounding your insides.

"That feel good?" he asked, already knowing the answer. You moaned weakly, eyes starting to cross from the overwhelming pleasure you felt. He pressed his lips against yours, leading the kiss as you struggled to stay conscious. His kisses trailed across your cheek, down your neck, gracing your shoulder as you tucked your chin into his neck.

You keened as his hips rubbed against you, his pelvis providing just the right amount of friction to make you go crazy. You could already feel another climax building, causing you to bare your teeth, pressing them into his skin with the lightest amount of pressure. You turned your head before you could bite down, resorting to chewing your lip instead. Your boyfriend huffed, wrapping his arms around you and thrusting faster.

"P-Please," you whimpered, too overwhelmed to speak above a whisper. "Slo—slow down. 's too much, t-too much!"

"It's okay," he breathed in your ear, bringing a hand up to cradle your head, guiding you back to his shoulder. "Just relax. Let go, baby. Just let go."

"I-I… I can't—"

"Yes, you can," he interrupted, leaving encouraging kisses along your jaw. "You can. I don't mind. Just let go for me, okay? Just let it all out for me."

You opened your mouth to protest again, but a particularly hard thrust made you cry out, teeth unconsciously finding his shoulder and biting down. Your boyfriend whined, mumbling praise as he continued his assault on your poor hole, urging you to keep going. You were certain you were going to be sore for the next few days, but you couldn't care if you tried. You were high on cloud nine, chewing on his shoulder like a dog with a bone, occasionally wrapping your lips around the sensitive spot and sucking harshly. Your tongue laved his tender flesh, soothing the bruise you were giving him before biting down an inch to the side, creating another painful patch.

"Oh fuck! Yes, fuck, yes! Oh baby, fuck, that's it. Keep going, k-keep it up, let it out, let it alllll out—"

Your mind grew hazy as your orgasm approached, instincts filling your head as you rose higher and higher. You finally met your peak, crying out as you came once more, clamping down on him and making his hips stutter. Your teeth dug into his flesh, almost breaking skin as you rode out your high, hips bucking wildly. Your boyfriend's hips lost their pace, a feral groan muffled into your neck as he stilled, filling the condom he wore. His hips twitched as your climax fizzled out, brain foggy as you came down from your final high. Your mouth was still latched onto him, sucking away at the raw patch of skin, failing to nurse it back to its prime.

Your boyfriend pulled out slowly, the two of you hissing at the release of pressure once he was out. He breathed heavily as he removed the condom, tying it off and tossing it in the waste bin. He slumped on the bed beside you, an arm wrapping around you, pulling you close as the two of you settled down. You didn't speak for a few moments, the only sound in the room being a fan and your breathing.

"'m sorry," you mumbled quietly, already on the verge of falling asleep. Your boyfriend hummed, his hazy eyes falling on you.

"Hm? What for?"

"For biting you. Shoulda been more careful." You frowned when he started laughing tiredly, pulling you close and kissing your forehead.

"You have nothing to apologize for. It was hot. It felt great." You blinked, looking up at him, shocked and a bit unsure.

"Really? You actually liked it?"

"Mm-hm," he mumbled, his hand rubbing your back, lulling you into a sense of calm. "I really liked it. I kinda want you to do it all the time now."

Your cheeks burned, body warming up suddenly and leaving you flustered. You squirmed nervously, burying yourself in his chest so you wouldn't have to meet his honest gaze.

"...I'll think about it," you muttered a minute later, growing hot once he let out a hearty chuckle.

"Sounds good to me," he replied, wrapping his arms around you and finally dozing off.

[truedove]

midnight caller

word count - 994

content warning - smut (minors dni), f!reader insert, pervy behavior, extremely dubious consent, somnophilia, frottage

♡ your best friend's pervy older brother who's eyes always seem to bore into you whenever you come over to their house. you always make sure to forgo the pretty skirts and dresses you have in your closet, instead opting for the most baggy jeans and sweatshirts you can find.

♡ your best friend's pervy older brother who constantly invades your personal space, pressing up against you in the most inappropriate ways. you've grown accustomed to the feeling of his breath on your neck whenever he stands too close, the way his hands seem to linger just a little too long on your shoulders or hips when he guides you out of his way.

♡ your best friend's pervy older brother who never misses an opportunity to tease you until you're red in the face. he has a way of making even the most innocent comments sound dirty. when he's not doing that, he's trying to get you alone. always asking you to help him 'study' even though you know he's top of his class. it's a thin excuse to get you into his room, where he can finally have you all to himself.

♡ your best friend's pervy older brother who takes to jerking off to the innocent selfies he's found of you on your social media. he envisions all of the ways he could touch you, ruin you. he pretends the tight grip of his hand is your mouth instead, imagines how pretty you'd look on your knees for him, petal soft lips stretched around his cock as you look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes of yours.

♡ your best friend's pervy older brother who sneaks into the room one night during your sleepover, his sister fast asleep next to you. he makes his way over to your side of the bed and carefully climbs in beside you, pressing his aching cock against your bottom and relieving some of the pressure. he's never had you this close before, all of his attempts being thwarted by your iron-clad will to deny him. not tonight though.

his free hand make its way under your nightshirt and he revels in the feel of your soft skin, the warmth that emanates from your body. he's waited so long for this and he wants to savor it, take his time in exploring every inch of you, learning all of the ways he can make you feel good - he truly does - but he's also itching to just finally have you. with a hushed groan, he tentatively begins to rut against you, harsh pants dampening the crook of your neck. his hand wanders from underneath your shirt to inside your panties and he feels a rush of triumph when his fingers find you warm and wet. he should feel guilty, violating you like this, but it's not like he was hurting you, right? you're so wet for him and whether you wanted to admit it or not, he knows that you want him too. you were a bashful little thing, always playing so hard to get. the only way that this was ever going to happen was if he took some initiative. he strokes your clit lightly, feeling it pulse under his touch and you stir slightly in your sleep. your body responds to his touch, betraying your feigned innocence and his cock twitches in anticipation, pressing more insistently against your backside. the pressure builds and his rutting grows clumsy, erratic, his fingers faltering momentarily before he finds his rhythm once more, determined to make you come for him. so caught up as he is, he doesn't notice your eyes slowly opening, the haze of sleep dissipating as the realization of what's happening sets in. your body twitches under his touch before tightening as pleasure overwhelms you. you fail to stifle your whimpers and a hand shoots up to cover your mouth, the grip firm, just teetering on the edge of painful. a chuckle rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your back. "shh, shh, shh." he hushes you, a certain lilt to his tone that makes it sound like he's amused. "it's alright, sweetheart. just relax." your eyes are wide with shock, the sight of your friend’s resting face just a few inches away from you rising a fierce blush to your cheeks. he continues to grind against you and against your better judgement - you let him. a low groan tickles your ears when he comes, his body tensing for a brief moment before going slack. his grip on you remains firm as he catches his breath, heaving heavily. you’re having a hard time processing what just happened. your heart races in your chest, the sound of it an uneasy accompaniment to the siblings contrast in breaths. one steady and peaceful, the other ragged and heavy with satisfaction. a kiss pressed to your temple catches you by surprise, gentle and warm, affectionate. he seems to have no plans of moving at all, hand still nestled between your thighs and his gentle petting causes you to shudder. your eyes shut of their own accord - you have so many emotions swirling inside you. anger, confusion, lingering desire, weariness. the weight of his body against yours is comforting in a backwards sort of way, and you find yourself relaxing back into the warmth of his touch, the solidity of his form. "hm, that's it. get some sleep, pretty girl." he coos, his voice low and saited, before trailing off into a yawn. you try to fight your own fatigue, but soon feel the warmth of sleep creeping up on you once more, your eyes growing heavy. the next morning, he'll be gone from the bed. your clothes will be righted but your panties still uncomfortably soaked through. and when he pulls you into his lap - his sister none the wiser as she scarfs down breakfast in the dining room - you don't protest that time.

[xxirena]

0.7k, 18+ content ; afab!reader, hard fucking, hitting from the back/doggystyle, so many iterations of ‘fuck’, hints of dumbification, extreme dirty talk, one (1) use of slut, ‘good girl’, lots of ‘baby’s’, d/s dynamics, possessiveness, brat-taming(ish), just filth because your girl is OVULATING.

schlup. schlip. slap. schlurp—

it’s hot, it’s heavy, it’s messy, it’s desperate, it’s angry, it’s animalistic — it’s everything you ever fucking needed.

face smooshed into the mattress, ass up in the air, cheeks wet with tears, lips swollen and sore, skin raw and red from the tantalizing abuse inflicted upon it — and, finally, your achy cunt filled with the best fucking cock you’ve ever had the privilege of taking.

“such a fuckin’ slut, baby. look at you, so desperate and wet. ‘s’this what you needed, hm? just needed a good fuckin’ pounding?” his words are spat with aroused venom, anger from your previous antics still lingering beneath his skin.

between a mouthful of silk sheets and a brain fucked to jelly, you quite literally can’t respond — but you don’t need to. your cunt talks plenty, the wet slurps and squelches telling him everything he needs to know.

“yeah, you did. were bein’ such a fuckin’ brat all day — god, my babygirl jus’ wanted my dick, didn’t she?”

the mixture of degradation and adoration gives your fucked-out brain the most pleasant case of whiplash — he’s always been so good at saying the things that had your cunt clenching over him like a vice. you can faintly hear him hiss when your walls do just that in response to his statement.

and god, the whine you release only spurs him to handle you rougher, the hand tangled in your hair and the one gripping your waist both tightening as he uses the leverage to pull your sloppy cunt back onto his cock, the blunt head slamming into your cervix and pulling a yelp from your lips.

“jus’ don’t know how to fuckin’ ask, oh no. gotta piss me off instead. gotta piss me off so i fuck this pussy the way you really want, yeah? so i can put you in your fuckin’ place?”

your tongue seems to have a mind of its own when it lolls out past your lips, drool slipping down your chin and wetting your skin and the sheets.

your pussy aches, stuffed so full and fucked right into overstimulation, but it feels so fucking good — your head is empty, ravaged only by the sheer dominance he’s asserting over you. you can’t fucking think at all, can only sit there and take his cock over and over, like a limp doll built solely for him to fuck.

“are y’gonna answer me? or do i need to stop so you can actually fuckin’ think, doll?”

his hips slow, coming to a near complete stop and shooting pure misery up your spine. your fingers grapple against the bed and suddenly your hips have feeling in them again — you rock them back, desperate to feel the slide of his thick cock against your wet tender walls.

but he stops you! ugh, fuck him and his strength, fuck his attitude, fuck his glorious, mind-numbing, addicting fucking cock —

“you just have to use your words, baby. tell me; tell me how you want me to fuck you and i promise i’ll do it.” he soothes, as if he can hear your thoughts, or feel your desperate irritation crackling in the air. “c’mon, i know y’can do it.”

you whimper low and swallow hard; your brain feels scrambled, overrun by the desperation, horniness, and neediness in your body — that’s why you’re actually surprised when you manage to eek out a halfway coherent sentence.

“f-fuck me hard, please, hah — god, please, need it hard!”

a low, almost cavernous growl slips past his lips and his hand retreats from your hair; it’s placed around your other hip, and anticipation assaults your belly when he adjusts himself behind you slightly. fuck, you needed it so goddamn bad—

“that’s a good fuckin’ girl.” he croons, hips slapping into yours when he starts to fuck into your cunt with brutal thrusts. they jolt your entire body, steal your breath, and fuck, if he keeps going like this you’re going to cum all over the place —

“now fuckin’ take this dick,” he starts, fingers digging into your skin and pulling you back to fuck his cock in time with his thrusts. “and don’t go beggin’ me t’stop later — i won’t until i’ve fucked every last thought out of your pretty fuckin’ head… until all you can think about is how good my cock makes your little pussy feel.”

so i rewatched haikyuu recently and uh.. suna gripped my pussy again (i wrote this with him in mind but wanted to make it inclusive to other characters/fandoms because they’re all hot hello). thank you for reading!! <3

[bnuyy2]

The First Snow

Gn! Reader x Masc! Fave

Synopsis: Your lover wakes to find the bed cold. He doesn't need to look long to find you seated at the window sill watching as the world goes white.

Word Count: 641

Warnings: fluff, domesticity, no pronouns for reader

Note: this is really short and just came to me as i was falling asleep like idk where this came from anyways i wrote this with many characters in mind, particularly the ones who are a little grumpy and jaded but so full of love 🩵

Something had woken you out of your sleep, and you opened your eyes to face the window.

It took you a moment to realise the brightness did not come from the sun rising at 1 o’clock in the morning, but from the street lights illuminating the sparkling snow layered on nearly every surface. You are careful not to wake your lover as you raise yourself from the bed and pad over to the scene, seating yourself on the wide windowsill to watch the cascading bits of fluff up close.

You had only meant to be away from bed for a moment, but you were thoroughly captivated and stuck in place. It took just a few minutes for the man you’d left behind to begin unconsciously searching for your warmth, scooching his body closer to your side and reaching out his arm.

When he realises there is none to find, he begrudgingly opens an eye in search of you, and finds your form sitting entirely too far away from him. He quietly grunts your name which coaxes a hum from you, but you don't face him.

"Come back to me," He mumbles, his eye drifting closed again as he awaits what he hopes will be your swift return to his side.

"In a minute," You respond, and there is no way he can sleep now.

He sighs, lifting himself from the mattress and trudging over to the ledge where you sit pressed against the cool glass, pulling close a chair to sit by you. Now you turn your attention to him and smile.

His hair is tousled in a way that only you are allowed to see, and though he would never admit it, his mouth has formed a pout. You reach your hand out to caress his cheek, and your smile grows as he snuggles his face into your palm, his stubble mildly abrasive on your skin.

"It's snowing," You quietly point out, and he nods. Only you thought in his exhaustion he wouldn't have noticed.

"Hurts my eyes," He mumbles, and you can feel his lips move against your hand, supple and warm. The brightness of the snow would surely sting eyes just woken from sleep.

You lean down and kiss his eyelids to soothe the ache, and he huffs a sigh from deep in his chest. When you straighten up again, you see the corners of his mouth have lifted a bit into a small grin.

"It looks lovely though," You reason, turning your eyes back towards the window.

He watches you, the shirt you slept in slipping to expose more of your shoulder. He sees the content look of your glowing face and your eyes sparkling with wonder.

"Yes. Very lovely."

Eventually he does move his gaze from you to the rest of the world, watching the first glimpse of winter.

From this, he sees roads made more difficult, a driveway that will need shovelling, and skin chapped with cold, and he doesn't doubt you are aware of those things as well.

What he loves about you is the space you make for beauty, letting your appreciation for it cushion you from whatever hurts may come. He has begun to learn to do so through you, his greatest beauty.

He will carry your sweet concerned voice in his mind as he drives with care and let you fret over his large frozen hands when he comes inside, frantically rubbing them between your own in an attempt to warm them before you go to fix him a hot drink. He also loves to see how your eyelashes catch the frost, and the endearing traditions you indulge in for the season.

"My love," You whisper. He had fallen asleep with his head on your thigh. You pat his hair down as you watch him shift at the sound of your voice.

"Let's go to bed."

You rise from the window sill and he lets you take his hand to return to each other's arms. There will be time enough to experience the pains and joys of winter in the morning.

[gluttonousgirls]

men who need consistent consent. men who push you into the bed and ask you “you like that? yeah? yeah, baby, you like that, baby?” I’m dead. bonus points if he pushes you but not with ALL his weight…

god

[softaestluv]

obsessed with the idea of onlyfans model! reader x Simon

Maybe you’re one of the biggest creators on the platform and you’re very well known after doing it for a few years. Except, you only do solo content, despite your peers constantly asking to collab or getting requests from fans to see you getting fucked.

Then, one day you post a video showing off some new panties and Simon’s tattooed and scarred hand just appears, squeezing the meat of your ass, claiming and possessive. A subtle message he’s sending to your audience as he spreads your cheeks apart, sliding your panties to the side and shows off your pretty pussy dripping with his cum.

[leislibrary]

[skz] how they accidentally reveal your relationship

pairing: maknae line x reader hyung line here! genre: fluff, hints of angst wc: 2.8k, between 500 - 800 each

Han - on Bubble

“Hannie, are you aware you’re dating another idol?” Minho asks, eyes trained on his phone screen, legs thrown over Han’s lap. 

“Yes, you’ve been my boyfriend for years now. Don’t tell Y/N,” Han remarks. He continues scrolling through his Bubble messages. He’s trying to respond to as many people as he can to make up for his recent inactivity. 

“That too. But look,” Minho shoves his phone in Han’s face. There, on screen, a headline reads: HAN of Stray Kids Dating ITZY Member?? 

Han scoffs. Idols constantly have dating rumors about each other. Very rarely does it mean anything at all. In this case, a camera captured Han and Chaeryeong talking while waiting for their drinks from JYP’s cafe. The picture crops out Chan standing right next to Han. 

At dinner that night, Seungmin asks, “Hey Han, do you think you can get us tickets to an ITZY concert soon?” 

“Yeah!” Hyunjin chimes in, “I bet it would be so easy now that we have connections!”

“Haven’t you known Yeji longer than you’ve known us?” I.N laughs, earning a flick of water his way from Hyunjin. The table quickly descends into chaos as I.N. tries to hit Hyunjin back but misses and hits Changbin instead. 

Nights like this are rare for them - being able to enjoy each other’s company without cameras documenting their group dynamics or worrying about their rigid schedules. It’s relaxing. Freeing. 

Minho silently hands him a beer. Han accepts. 

The night progresses in comfortability and laughter. The boys pile into the living room for a Tekken-tournament-slash-drinking game. Han scrolls through social media, sending you posts he knows will make you laugh. 

He takes a sip from his third beer and opens Bubble again. He never finished answering everyone earlier. 

An idea forms. Chan and Felix are great at recounting amusing stories or sharing their thoughts with Stay. Why can’t he do that too? He’s positive that his fans will appreciate him making light of the dating rumors. 

He types:

Did you guys see I’m dating someone new? Apparently I’m close with ITZY hahaha I don’t think my girlfriend will be happy about it

He smiles and leans back - drinks affecting him more than he’d like to admit - and imagines your sweet laughter when he can tell you in person tomorrow. He loves the fact you never take rumors seriously. He loves how the silliness of some of them become jokes between you. He loves you. 

The room is quieter than it should be. He opens one eye, and is met with seven pairs of eyes staring back at him. 

“Hm?” 

Chan speaks. “You told Bubble you have a girlfriend.”

“You have my Bubble?” Han unlocks his phone. Rereads the words he sent. I don’t think my girlfriend will be happy about it. 

My girlfriend. 

My girlfriend. 

Everybody starts talking at once. 

“I’m like 70% sure you can convince them you meant Minho!” “You should put your phone in a different room when you drink.” “You’re one to talk! Last week you stole my phone and posted my WORST picture ever!” “Yeah, but that was on purpose.”  “Getting a new tattoo would distract people from this.” “Get a tattoo of Y/N’s face!!” 

Han does not hear them. 

My girlfriend. 

Chan’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Have you and Y/N ever talked about going public?”

Silence. Again. Seven pairs of eyes on Han. Again. 

Of course you’ve talked about it. He tried to convince you to hard launch by posting cosplays. You shut him down, and he made a huge show of how he loves you more than you love him. 

You wanted to protect your privacy for a little longer. He would do anything you asked. 

Except the one thing you asked, apparently. His breathing quickens. He doesn’t register Seungmin asking if he’s okay. 

You’re going to break up with him. His careless words cost him the best thing he’s ever had. 

His phone buzzes. On screen:

Y/Nie 🤍:

Baby I know you’re probably spiraling Chan texted me when you sent it I could never be mad at you for this I love you so much Granted, not the most ideal way to announce it Okay yeah you’re definitely spiraling …we can do your fuckass cosplay idea ONLY if it will help you feel better about this

He loves you. 

Felix - Anniversary Dinner

Felix had insisted on taking you out for your one-year anniversary. He claimed he wanted to properly show you off - the most ”showing off” you two get is hurried moments backstage, fearful of lurking fans or the wrong person’s eyes on you. 

Now, excitement overtakes nerves as you adjust the dress Felix bought you for the occasion. You can hardly even remember the last time you went out without wearing a random SKZ Staff lanyard and toting along a third member. 

JYPE placed that safeguard - nobody would question why Felix was hanging out with staff and at least one of the boys. 

Felix appears behind you in the mirror to wrap his arms around you. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down and resting his head on your shoulder. His hair tickles your cheek. “Really beautiful,” he adds, dragging his eyes down your reflection. 

Your eyes sparkle as you smile back at him. “I’m happy we get to do this.” 

His fingers lace through yours. He places a soft kiss on your forehead, allowing you time to breathe in his cologne. Its scent reminds you of home. Of being in his arms. 

“You’re sure nobody will recognize you?” You ask, worried about what his managers will say if one of their biggest idols’ relationship is unveiled through paparazzi photos. You can’t imagine they would be thrilled. 

“The restaurant is dark, and I’ve booked us a private table. We should be fine,” he murmurs against your skin. 

“What if we aren’t?”

He pulls away, keeping his body pressed against yours, to lock eyes with you. “We will be fine no matter what happens.” His eyes search yours, still seeing your hesitancy. “If ‘what happens’ is our relationship goes public,” he brushes some hair out of your face, “then the world will finally see how lucky I am.” 

Dinner went better than you could have imagined. You hardly recall the food. Just the feeling of what it was like to be out with your boyfriend. To hold his hand. To laugh at his jokes. To admire him across the table. 

To have people recognize you two as a couple in love, rather than writing you off as “an idol and his staff”. 

You are still giddy about last night as you pad into the kitchen. Felix is already leaning on a counter, sipping coffee and scrolling his phone. 

“Morning, baby,” he says. 

You stop in your tracks. “What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“You only call me normal pet names when something’s wrong.” 

He sighs, taking a couple steps closer. “You’re too observant. It’s nothing bad, I promise.” He pauses, then adds, “Pookiebear.” 

You lean into him. “What’s wrong?” 

His chest rises and falls against your cheek when he sighs again. Wordlessly, he turns his phone to show you his screen. 

An Instagram account you’ve never seen before has posted pictures of you two at dinner. 

Felix lets you scroll through the photos at your own pace. Due to the angle they were taken at, most of them show the back of Felix’s head, with an unobstructed view of your face. You laughing. You mid-bite. You gazing at him like he hung the stars just for you. A couple towards the end capture his face as you leave. 

He takes his phone back. “The good news is you look gorgeous in every single one.” 

You remember one in which you overestimated how much pasta could fit in your mouth. 

He continues. “The bad news is we couldn’t control how everyone sees my gorgeous girl for the first time.”

Your heart flutters at his words. You know this is a huge deal, and his company will be upset, but right now, leaning into him, all you can think about is how much you love him. You two will be okay no matter what, because in the end you will still have each other. 

Seungmin shuffles into the kitchen, staring at his phone, and takes one look at you before deadpanning, “You should take smaller bites. This is gross to look at.” 

Felix lets you go to chase him through the dorm - Seungmin’s screams echoing against your reflection on your life with Felix. 

Seungmin - on a walk

You had a shit day. 

A coworker spilled coffee on your white shirt. Your boss pushed up an already-impossible deadline. You had to cancel dinner with Seungmin the singular night this week he gets out at a reasonable hour. Public transportation shut down - seemingly just to make your day worse. Rain soaked you on your walk home. 

Seungmin darts toward you when you push open the door to your apartment, dripping like a wet rat. 

You smile weakly at him. “Forgot my umbrella,” your voice cracks, betraying any sense of humor you tried to muster. 

“Oh, baby..” his voice trails off as he wraps you in his arms. “Let me take care of you.”

And he does. 

He runs you a hot shower, puts your towel in the dryer so it will be warm and fluffy, and lights your favorite candle - the one he claims smells like the bottom of I.N’s shoe but keeps repurchasing for you anyway. He’s queuing up the next episode of your show when you step into the living room. 

All the emotions you tampered down flood into you when you see him, perfect, waiting for you. Your heart clenches in your chest. Your shoulders shake, and before you know it, tears are streaming down your face as you sit down next to him. 

Seungmin pulls you into him. “Hey, what’s wrong? I thought I did well,” he questions.

“You’re amazing. It’s everything else, I guess,” your voice shakes with the reply. 

“It’s over now, baby. We can decompress - take all the time you need.” He rubs circles on your back, grounding you as you try to stop sobbing. You feel silly crying like this, but it’s hard to stop once you start. It has been so long since you cried, you’re not even sure what you’re crying about anymore. 

“Hey, the rain stopped,” He brings his hand under your chin and gently pushes upwards, forcing you to look at him. He’s right - you no longer hear raindrops tapping against the window. “You want to go on a walk with me? The city will be dark and pretty. And you’re getting my favorite shirt wet.” 

The fresh air will help. You nod. 

The fresh air does help. Puddles reflect neon lights off the ground, and the air smells like rain. Hardly anybody else is out at this hour. It feels as if you and Seungmin have the whole city to yourself. 

Seungmin keeps talking to lift your spirits. You’re walking hand-in-hand as he recounts how both Hyunjin and Han kept messing up the choreo during their practice today. 

“Lee Know was getting so frustrated but taking it out on Hyunjin because you know he can’t stay angry with Han - even though Han was doing worse than Hyunjin. I thought Hyunjin would quit, honestly. But then, Lee Know missed a step and -”

“Seungmin??”

Both of you freeze. 

“Oh my god! Look, it’s Seungmin from Stray Kids!!” a girl on the sidewalk screeches, followed by the sound of her slapping her friend’s arm.

You try to drop his hand. He squeezes yours tighter. 

His management reminds you about the importance of secrecy every single time you see them. It was already risky just to hold hands in the first place, but continuing to do so when he’s approached by fans? They’ll kill you. It’s not even your fault. 

The girls trot over and seem to notice you for the first time. Their squeals overlap, “OHMYGOD I love you!!!” coupled with “Isthisyourgirlfriend??” 

“No,” you two reply in sync, well-rehearsed from practicing with his management team and other close calls. Except, this time, Seungmin is blowing right past “close call” territory. 

He has not let go of your hand. 

As Seungmin begins making conversation with the first girl, the other is staring at her phone, angling her camera towards where you two are connected. She’s filming. You pretend not to notice. Any attention you draw will make it worse when the video is inevitably posted.

Seungmin glances at you, then at the camera. He noticed too. 

He rests his arm over your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

Eventually, finally, the girls leave. The girls never told you they were videoing, but it became exceedingly obvious the more comfortable they got with him. Seungmin never mentioned it, but he also never took his hands off you. 

“What was that?” You ask when they’re out of earshot. “Your company will have a heart attack when that’s posted.”

Seungmin shrugs. “I wanted them to know I’m yours,” he states simply. “Besides, I don’t want JYP to control my personal life. He does not make good decisions.”

I.N - Backstage

The atmosphere is addicting. The electric air. The screaming fans. Your boyfriend on stage like he was born for it. No matter how many concerts you attend, you always crave more when it’s over. 

The crowd surrounding you cheers as they finish their last encore. The group will stay on for a bit after the song is over, but you want to be waiting for your boyfriend as soon as he gets off stage. No matter what time they end, he’s always practically vibrating with energy after performing - especially to sold-out stadiums. 

You push through the crowd, making your way towards a backstage entrance. Along the way, a group of girls is holding up signs, shouting for your boyfriend’s attention. You glance up at him just in time to see him smile back at you. The girls behind you go crazy. 

You fish a backstage pass I.N gave you long ago out of your bag, but the familiar security guard just smiles and waves you through. Since they are playing at a baseball stadium, this “backstage” is still outdoors, but mostly hidden from the seats.

Quiet chaos awaits you. Staff is rushing around, trying to get everything finalized in their dressing rooms, and for the rides back to the hotel, and to make sure everyone has food after the show. The stadium’s staff is planning out the logistics of doing this all over again tomorrow. 

You find a quiet spot in eyesight of where your boyfriend will be coming back to you. A cool breeze blows against your back. 

Soon enough, the boys are filing off stage, each causing the entire stadium to cheer with their unique sign-offs projected onto screens. 

The energy transforms into full-blown chaos in an instant. Hyunjin jumps up and down, unable to contain his energy. Seungmin dramatically collapses and shouts that he can’t get up for another week. Changbin picks him up bridal-style and twirls him until Seungmin screams. 

I.N appears. His eyes search for you, a smile overtaking his face when he spots you. He sprints over, barrelling into you and lifting you up to avoid falling. You still almost lose your balance to avoid crashing into Chan. 

“Baby!! Did you like it?? Did you have a good time??”

Your giggle matches his own as he sets you down, still holding you close and pressing his forehead against yours. You squeal at his sweatiness, but that only pushes him to try to smush your faces together as much as humanly possible. 

With everything happening around you, you two don’t notice the fans filing out of the venue beside you. 

The clamor grows when fans realize it’s I.N that’s holding you like he never wants to leave. 

I.N leans in and kisses you hungrily, exerting some leftover energy into showing his love. 

Chatter erupts into screams. He pulls away and stares into your eyes. A wall of sound blocked you two from even hearing each other. 

Through the corner of your eye, you can see the band members still in the vicinity all staring at the scene: You and I.N, holding each other, all smiles, while an audience grows in the stands behind you. 

[bluukive]

MDNI - Sukuna x Aphrodisiac

an - I lied im dropping it now

Insatiable!Sukuna, who summons you to your shared chambers one evening with a voice that's low and rasping. There's a heat in his tone that's enough to make your heart beat that little bit faster. But there’s something off in the way he speaks. It's slurred just slightly. Feral.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who’s half sprawled across the bed when you arrive, red eyes glowing dimly in the intimate lighting of the chambers. His muscular thighs are spread open, and you can see the clear bulge of his twin cọcks from beneath his robes. His skin is flushed, glistening with sweat. Droplets of the liquid create a clear path down the broad expanse of his plush pecs which his robes fail to cover.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who didn’t realise there was something in the drink until it was too late, until his cọcks were painfully hard and leaking, until there was only one thing on his pụssy-drunk mind. You.

“It refuses to go down,” his low hisses are all you can focus on whilst his eyes bore into yours. “Not unless you take it.”

Insatiable!Sukuna, whose hips twitch when your eyes flick down to his crotch. A guttural noise leaves his parted mouth when you do so, sounding inhuman (even for him). Eventually, he can't handle the way you're eyeing him in all of his glory, large fists twitching by his side until he finally gets up and stalks over to you. He's slightly hunched over, as if weighed down by the sheer need to breed you.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who's already dragged you onto the large bed you both have spent countless nights ruining. He's rutting against your thigh before he's even shed your robes.

“Too slow,” he practically snarls, tongue slithering out to accompany the sharp nips he leaves on the shell of your ear and throat.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who's made your knees buckle with the way he's manhandled you onto his lap. Crescent-shaped marks litter your hips the way he's pawing at you with such urgency, and his own hips roll up in response so that you can feel him smear his pre-cụm all over your inner thighs.

"Leaking. Like a fucking animal."

Insatiable!Sukuna, who lets out an obscene grunt when you wrap a hand around one of his cọcks. His head falls back, pink hair splayed out like some sort of corrupted halo. A broken hiss of your name spills out of his mouth as if even your touch is too much for him to handle.

“More,” he pants. “Do not tease, not now."

Insatiable!Sukuna, who licks and bites at your throat as he fụcks your hand, hips bucking with a desperation so filthy that it borders on utterly pathetic. His tongue dragging over your pulse, feeling it quicken under his reverent attention.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who's so terribly indecisive. Does he want to split you open or drag this on for longer? Eventually, he strokes one of his thickened cọcks with a purr. One of his hands fists in your hair, another holds his second length to rub obscenely between your sticky folds before he pushed into that palpable heat he's addicted to. His other two harms hold you in place, with such desperation that you'd think he'd die without you.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who loses whatever shred of miniscule restraint he had the moment he sinks in. His eyes roll back for an nth time before he fụcks up into you, almost using you like a sėx toy. Sukuna doesn't stop once he's inside you. He just doesn't know how to. The aphrodisiac is all that is running through his veins. He’s muttering complete filth under his breath, words almost lost between wet thrusts.

“Sh-shit...gonna fill you until you are leaking for days-"

Insatiable!Sukuna, who’s drooling down your neck as he fụcks you like he's moulding your pụssy once more to remember the shape of his cọck. His fingers dig into your waist, dragging you back to meet each nasty thrust with his hips slapping against the tender curve of your ąss.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who bites into the crook of your neck when the first orgąsm hits him. His first cọck twitches, throbbing as it spurts out thick wads of his cụm. But it’s not enough. He doesn’t soften, and nor does he stop. He's making sure you can take the other cọck after flipping you onto your stomach, large hands already spreading your ąss open.

Insatiable!Sukuna, who ruts into both holes once he deems you ready after thoroughly eating your ąss out relentlessly. As if he was starved. One cọck is still buried in your spent cụnt while he stretches your asshọle around the other, like you've done countless times before. He keeps on going whilst one trembling hand tweaks at your aching clit.

Insatiable!Sukuna doesn't stop, not until he's fụcked the aphrodisiac out of his system.

[hanafubukki]

Thinking of feral Malleus and Lilia, those darker aspects of the fae showing; the more beast side unleashed, especially when someone tries to hurt you.

Thinking of Malleus’ hands sharpening into claws. His teeth sharpening. You can feel the vibrations in his growls as he holds you close. You can see his eyes become sharper. Tail appearing and spikes growing through the back of his clothes. He’s the form of a beast rather than humanoid fae. Anyone who dares to get close to you is either sliced in half by his tail or ripped apart by his hands and teeth. The room is bathed in blood. But you? You are cradled in his arms, safe and sound. He wouldn’t let anyone touch his precious one.

Now Lilia, is similar yet not to Malleus. I love to believe he has wings that unfurls from his back and his hands become into claws. His fangs become longer. The red iris of his eyes enlarges until there is no black or white to be seen. The very shadows in the room can’t be trusted from the way they move in his anger. The laugh he gives sends shivers down the enemies’ backs. Lilia doesn’t hold back. The screams could be heard as assailants are dragged into shadows. Those that get close enough? Lilia is ripping their hearts out of their chests. And when he’s done? He’s cupping your face in his bloodied hands, still warm from the fresh blood. Don’t worry precious. He has you.

[Feral Sebek and Silver Ver.]

[ridox]

yes zayne is hot and sexy but can we talk about how his entire life that man has lived by the book, following the rules, adhering to a strict regime that allowed him to graduate top of his class and be recognized as one of linkon’s, if not the world’s, best cardiac surgeon and how he’s subconsciously been forced to live under control control control because one small mistake could lead to devastating effects especially when your job entails being entrusted with the life of another yet when it comes to mc he just couldn’t do it anymore no matter how hard he tries, no matter how hard he suppresses his need, he just can’t help but lose control and finally be selfish for once to get what he desires the most and he desires her so much because she’s sweeter than any nectar this world could offer, she’s the air he so willingly breathes, she’s the only reason why it’s even hard for him to maintain his composure in the first place and if not for mc then zayne could’ve probably continued on living his day to day life following his habitual routine, obsessing over self-control and being the trustworthy doctor that saves lives but when it comes to mc all he sees himself as is but a human who’s willing to risk it all just to get a taste, just to get a little breath of her air, just for her to let him exist as a person worthy of devoting himself to her

[percabething]

Reading the same fanfic every 5 hours

[truedove]

wanna play a game?

word count - 2,742

content - smut (minors dni), f!reader insert, extremely dubious consent, basically fuck or die, unprotected piv, slight breeding kink, twisted and fluffy feelings

synopsis - a dangerous escapee finds refuge in a haunted house and blends in seamlessly with the crowd of costumed goers. he continues his deadly spree only to run into you.

a/n - i honestly have no idea what this is :/

this was a terrible idea. the thought runs through your mind on repeat as you stand in line for the haunted house, the chill in the october air doing nothing to cool your nerves. your best friend had begged you to come along, promising it would be a night of laughs and good scares. but as the line inched closer to the gaping maw of the house, with its flickering lights and eerie sound effects, you felt less amused and more…trapped.

you weren't a scaredy-cat, no. you were an avid horror movie watcher and only just slightly quickened your steps when the lights were off at home. but this was different. you weren't watching from the safety of your sofa, plush sheets tucked tight under your chin; you were walking into the very heart of it.

in the recesses of your mind, you knew everything around you wasn't real, that the monsters masquerading in the shadows were just actors paid to make you scream. but as you stepped through the creaking doorway and into a dimly lit corridor, the rational part of you took a backseat to the instinctive fear that pumped adrenaline through your veins. the walls closed in around you, painted with scenes of gore that seemed a little too vivid.

your friend lets out a giddy laugh after one of the actors pops out from behind a curtain, a plastic chainsaw buzzing in his hand.

"wooh-boy!" your friend exclaims, leaning into your side as she catches her breath from the jump scare. "that was a good one."

all you can offer her is a strained smile as you will your heart to slow down. the corridor opens into a grim room filled with cobwebs and the scent of fake decay fills your nose. a scream echoes from somewhere deep in the house and you jump, your hand shooting to your chest.

a buzz starts from your toes to the very tips of your fingers, light at first but growing stronger with each step you take into the house. your friend grabs your hand, pulling you deeper into the maze of horrors, her excitement palpable. you swallow hard and try to keep up, the floorboards groaning beneath you as if the house itself were alive and aware of your fear.

suddenly, a strobe light flashes on and a multitude of figures lunge out of a rusty side doorway, your friend's grip on your hand slips away. for a moment, you're lost in the chaos of flashing lights and ghastly shrieks, searching for her familiar form amidst the strangers dressed as creatures of the night. your breath catches in your throat as the strobe light dances off the walls, casting eerie shadows that twist and distort the space around you. you're dizzy, disoriented, and utterly terrified.

you veer off the given path in a panic, stumbling through a foggy hallway that seems to stretch on forever. your eyes strain to make out the way forward, faux cobwebs sticking to your face like a clingy mist that makes you cringe. the air is thick with the smell of fake smoke, and somewhere, distant thunder rumbles. your heart is racing, and the adrenaline is making it difficult to think straight. you call out for your friend, but the echoes of your own voice are the only response.

a cold hand brushes against your arm, and you jump. you whirl around, ready to face whatever horror lurks in the fog, only to find a grinning skeleton, its plastic bones rattling with every jerky movement. a laugh bubbles up in your throat, part relief and part embarrassment.

heavy footsteps begin to approach from the other end of the foggy hallway you find yourself in, growing louder with each echoing thud and your chuckle dies in your throat. the faint flickering lights go out, plunging you into a sudden and absolute darkness.

whoever is on the other end of the hallway is slow in their approach, seemingly not in any rush to get to you. maybe it's a fellow patron lost like you, you convince yourself, but the muted glint of a machete in the person's hand suggests otherwise. you try to rationalize, it's probably just another actor, trying to build suspense before the next jump scare. but the darkness is thick, a velvet shroud that blocks out all other sounds except for the methodical steps.

all logical thought leaves you as the footsteps creep closer and you bolt.

if this was an act, it was one of the best you've ever encountered. the footsteps follow you, unyielding and deliberate before they start to speed up and the person behind you is full on chasing you through this creepy ass haunted house. you can't see a thing in front of you, your eyes having not fully adjusted to the sudden blackout. all you can do is feel your way through the cold, clammy walls, your hands sticking to the damp residue of who-knows-what as you go.

you trip over something—because of course you do—and go sprawling, the wind knocked out of you. the footsteps are closer now, and you can hear the raspy breathing of the person with the machete, their excitement apparent in every exhale. your own breath comes in short, sharp bursts, the sound of your own fear amplified in the silence.

you manage to find your footing only to slam into an apparent dead end. panic sets in as the footsteps are now right behind you. your palms sweat against the flaking wallpaper, searching for any sort of out. there's no escape, no hidden door, no exit sign. trapped, you're trapped.

as you whirl around to face your pursuer, the overhead fluorescents flicker and you're met with the sight of a towering, hulking man with a machete in hand. your mind reels—hoping this is when the actor breaks character with a cheesy grin and a 'gotcha'. but there's no grin, only a wild-eyed stare through a botched halloween mask that sends a jolt of terror down your spine. you're frozen, unable to move or even scream. so terrified that your body seems to have turned to stone, you watch as the man approaches, his machete glinting in the sporadic light.

the man's hot breath fans across your face. he brings with him the scent of sweat and something else—something metallic—that sends your stomach roiling.

was he an actor gone rogue, some deranged psycho who liked to take things too far? you squeeze your eyes shut, tears pricking at the corners, and brace for the worst.

instead of a painful blow, you feel the man's ragged breath inch towards your face and then a pair of chapped lips press upon the damp skin of your cheeks. they're scorching, and you flinch when his tongue snakes out to taste the salt of your terror. your eyes fly open to see his masked visage only an inch away, his eyes low lidded and a furrow to his brows just barely visible through the slits of the mask.

he crowds you, his armed hand coming up to steady himself against the wall, the other finding it's place on the wall beside your head, trapping you in a prison of cold plaster and sweaty latex. you attempt to scream, but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper, your throat constricting with fear. you're acutely aware of the weight of the machete's tip pressing against your ribs, a silent reminder of the power he holds over you.

a grin forms against your skin and the man idles closer, his teeth scraping against your cheek like the sharpened edge of a serrated blade. with his bulk pinning your frozen body to the wall, you feel a suspicious lump press against your navel, and panic shoots through you anew.

no, no, no. this couldn't be happening to you right now.

there was no way you were lost in some haunted house with a disturbed, possibly murderous stranger grinding his erection against your stomach. it just couldn't be.

you let out a plaintive cry as the gravity of your situation sinks in and the man coos, a sound meant to be soothing but only makes your tears fall faster.

he seems genuinely distressed at your tears, his shoulders slumping slightly as he hunches in on himself. but his grip doesn't lessen, nor does the pressure of his body against yours. if anything he presses closer, seemingly trying to comfort you in the most perverse way he knows how. but that was crazy, right? this monster couldn't actually be trying to console you. right?

when your cries only continue to escalate, the hulking man silences you in the only way he knows how to. he covers your mouth with his own and swallows your sobs greedily. you squirm, the 'fight' part of 'fight or flight' finally kicking in. your hands push against his chest, feeling the solidity of his frame beneath his grimy costume. but your efforts are futile, like trying to move a mountain with your bare hands. the man's kiss is wet and sloppy, his tongue pushing against your teeth as if he's trying to taste the very depth of you.

his hand snakes down from the wall, gripping your waist and pulling you closer, his machete now digging into your spine. your muffled protests are ignored in favor of his deepening of the kiss and you feel his other hand move to the back of your head, his fingers weaving through your hair as if he's trying to cradle your skull.

growing increasingly frustrated with your constant struggling, he slams his hand into the wall beside your head, making the plaster crack and sending a spray of dust into the stale air. the sound is deafening in the enclosed space, and you feel the vibration in your teeth. you flinch— hard—and the sudden stillness of your body seems to be what he's been waiting for. his grip on you grows less punishing and more consuming, his tongue sliding against yours with a fervor that turns your stomach.

you force yourself to calm down enough to finally take stock of your situation. this man, this monster, chased you down and seemed pretty intent on killing you before apparently deciding you'd make a better paramour than a corpse. was it your tears? did the sight of them get this sick fuck hard and he allotted you a different, more twisted fate?

you don't know and frankly don't care to. all you know is that you have to make it out of this alive, even if it meant playing into his twisted games. so, with trembling hands, you tentatively wrap your arms around his neck, feigning compliance. your stomach turns with every touch, but you force yourself to respond to his kiss, moving your mouth against his with as much passion as you can muster. he groans, a low guttural sound that makes your blood run cold, and abruptly lifts you off the floor, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to keep from falling.

"little lamb." he croons into your mouth, his voice thick with undeniable lust.

terror is a living thing inside of you, desperate to escape, but you keep it buried deep. your body goes rigid as he starts to grind his cock against your clothed cunt, mere fabric the only barrier between his sick desires and your trembling flesh.

he's quick to rectify that though, impatience getting the better of him as he full on tears the denim of your pants open with one swift motion. the sound of the fabric ripping echoes in the small space, making your heart stutter. the cold air hits your exposed skin, the difference between the chilly room and his burning hands a veritable assault on your senses.

his own pants are next and you feel the heat of his cock pressing against you. the heavy, leaden weight of him pokes you through the fabric of your underwear and he grunts, hips rutting against you. your eyes widen in horror and you squeeze them shut, trying to think of anything but the reality of what's happening. you can't help the whine that escapes your throat as he starts to tug at your underwear, ripping them away with a sickening sound.

some fumbling occurs and you feel the tip of his cock pushing at your entrance, and fuck. he's big, stupidly so, and you know there's no way he's fitting without tearing you apart. you pant at the thought, cold fear making your cunt clench tight around him. he seems to like this, though, because his grunts turn to growls and he shoves harder, pushing through your tightly wound muscles until you're forced to open for him.

there's a sharp, burning pain as he breaches you and you bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying out. you relish in the wince he gives, the bitter sap of his blood that fills your mouth when you bite down just that little harder. he's oblivious to your silent rebellion as he starts to fuck you, his strokes rough and unyielding; desperate. the wall bites into your back with every frenzied thrust, sending shocks of pain throughout your body that you don't mind as much as you should. this whole thing isn't revolting you as much as it should, which in itself is a horror to grapple with. you fervently try to ignore how good his strokes feel inside of you and the way your body seems to be betraying you with every shiver of pleasure that races through your veins.

his cock stretches you wide and broken moans escape you unbidden, muffled into the crook of his neck. you hate the way your body responds to the intrusion, the way your hips instinctively rock to meet his thrusts as if seeking the relief it knows is on the other end of this. he seems to notice your shift in demeanor, a smug grin spreading beneath the mask. his tongue traces the line of your jaw, teeth scraping against your skin and leaving little indents in his wake.

"you like this." he says with a definitive air, his voice deep and sure like he's simply stating a fact. an irrevocable truth.

your head shakes instinctively—the act slipping for a moment—but even you're not sure if it's in protest or in response to the dark thrill his claim sends through you.

when his groans lower in pitch and his already desperate rutting becomes more frantic, you realize with a jolt that he must be close. a swooping sensation fills your stomach—part fear, part relief—knowing that this might soon be over. but you can't just wait for him to finish and hope he lets you go, you need a plan. especially since the idea of him coming inside of you is too much to bear. you're not on birth control and nothing is shielding him from painting your insides white with his seed.

your barely-formed plans for escape are promptly cut off and interrupted by your own impeding climax, the alarm in your veins mixing with the sudden, not totally unwanted bliss.

it's blinding, all-consuming and leaves you feeling more than a little light-headed when it hits. the whole of you tenses around him, muscles clenching, and you can't help the cry that's torn from deep within your chest. the man grins into your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as he lets himself go, filling you with a thick, hot rush of his cum.

the only sound that fills the space between the two of you for a long while is his labored breaths and your own shaky ones. his cum drips down from between your legs, viscous and pooling in the crevices of your inner thighs, your body still trembling with the aftershocks. when your head clears, you register the soft nips and kisses he's pressing against your neck and shoulders, as if he's trying to be sweet in the aftermath of his violation. aftercare, you think with slight hysteria.

it's silent, too quiet, and this is where your supposed to do something, get him while he's open and exposed but your body is a traitor, limp and spent against the wall. worse yet, his cock is still lodged inside of you, pulsing with the last of his orgasm and you feel his weight shift, his chest rumbling slightly as he murmurs, "again?"

[partiallysame]

Gaz is a dom. Mans will not sub for you. And if somehow you can convince him to give you an ounce of control he takes it away from you in no more than 4 minutes. But you are a switch and talked about that at the beginning of your relationship even if you have no chance to show it off. Skip to when you meet the 141 and the second you see Johnny you are eating him alive with your eyes. And maybe every time you hang out with them you come back home a lil more horny than usual. A little more bratty trying to force dominance than usual. Only after the second or third time you spend time with Johnny and then drag Kyle back to your bed does he put a few pieces together. He’s not sure whether to be mad that Johnny turns you on or thank him for the sex he gets after you see his team member. So he brings it up with you, his lips trailing up your neck to whisper in your ear “so you want my mate to fuck you?” And the laugh you let out disarms him. Bc what? So you turn to look at him “no Kyle. I don’t want Johnny to fuck me” and he’s questioning everything he knows he’s seen, all the looks. “I want to put Johnny on his knees. Make him cry. Make him beg to be touched.” And your boyfriend is choking on his spit. You can see the wheels turning. All the times you two came back home and you pushed him down on the bed just for him to flip you over. All the times you told him to “ask nicely” just for him to gag you. Ahhhhhhh. Now it’s clicking. And now it’s his turn to laugh because he knows you could break Johnny and he’d love every second of it. You know what, actually let’s call MacTavish rn.

[gluttonousgirls]

<<<<child-like and misogynistic descriptions of women in writing

[shy-writer-999]

1-800-LONELYCHEF . ₊ ⊹ .

Summary: The same man calls you every Friday at 11:30PM. It seems like he has nothing better to do. After months of the same routine, you've started to take a liking to him, which is a problem, considering that he's your client... and you work at a phone sex hot line. WC: ~7k. CW: NSFW content! ANGSTY! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Masturbation, oral sex. MDNI plz!

“Hello?”

You’re very familiar with the caller on the other end of the line. He calls you once a week—every Friday, after his shift at the bougie restaurant he works at, 11:30PM on the dot.

He must be very attractive, or at least that’s what you’ve garnered over talking to him for many months.

At first, he was evidently too shy to make use of your more… explicit services. This is a phone sex hotline, after all.

He honestly sounded like he just needed someone to vent to. So, you listened, as was your job. After the first few months, you both got more accustomed to one another. His shyness melted away. He got friendlier.

It’s been six or seven months since he first called. You’ve become very fond of him, but you have no idea what he looks like. So, one day, you decide to ask.

“Your voice is so sexy,” you start, giving him a line that you gave everyone, except this time you mean it. “I can’t help but wonder what you look like, Sanji.”

With other callers, you’d have to check what their name is before you say it. But you’re far past that point with him, and every time you say his name it makes his heart flutter.

“Well,” he says. “I’m blonde. And my eyebrows have a little… curl to them. I’m a decent height and I have a bit of a goatee.”

“And what color are your eyes?” You ask, trying to get the full picture.

He notes that question. It’s a thoughtful one. You’re thoughtful, in general. He knows that you are just being nice to him because, well, it’s your job, but also… he can’t shake the feeling that you have a soft spot for him. Do you talk to everyone like this?

“My eyes? Hmm. It depends on who you ask. I don’t know, really. Some people say they’re black, other people say grey, I’ve had a few tell me they’re blue. I’m not sure.”

You hum in response. There’s a beat of silence.

“What sort of eyes do you like?” He asks. He’s cheeky like that. You have the feeling that he has a real soft spot for you, too. Why else would he call you every week? There are plenty of others he could call. But he just sticks with you every time.

You respond. “It depends on who you ask. But historically I have liked guys with black, grey, or blue eyes. Do you happen to know anyone who fits the bill?”

He can tell that you’re smiling. He finds himself blushing, getting giddy for a few moments before he realizes that oh, right, you are at work, and oh, right, he is paying you to talk to him, like the loser he is.

His voice falters a bit the next time he speaks, a couple of seconds later. You know the exact thought that just went through his head. It’s something you are well aware of but… it does make you a bit sad with him. You like him far too much for your own good.

You wonder if you would like the look of him in real life, painfully single as you are. You wonder if he would like the look of you.

You might have a teeny tiny crush on this guy you’ve never met. Teeny tiny is a massive understatement. Just because he’s so consistent—you’ve never met a man as consistent as him—and so kind, and such a gentleman, even on the phone.

But tonight, the call ends earlier than usual. It seems that your open flirtation was a bit too genuine for him. Hit a bit too close to home. He finishes the conversation and dodges your attempt to take it farther.

“Thank you as always, beautiful. It’s a pleasure to talk to you. See you next week.” The phone hangs up abruptly. He’s gone now.

He always calls you beautiful, like everyone else does, but… it just means something coming from him. Maybe because he’s the only caller who has ever wanted to truly know something about you. And every time he hangs up, he says ‘see you next week,’ even though you never see each other. It’s cute.

You find yourself wishing he was still on the line. You’re a bit bummed that he hung up this early, not because you’re going to be left wanting for money (he always overpays), but because you always look forward to talking to him.

When you take the next caller, you’re quickly reminded that Sanji is by far the youngest and kindest of anyone who has ever called you.

---

“Hello?”

He’s on the line again. It’s Friday again, 11:30PM sharp.

You respond, tone warmer than it needs to be, given that you’re speaking to a client. “Hi.”

You’re glad to talk to him. Very realistically, this is the only interesting thing you have to look forward to—it’s not like you can afford to go out and party on the weekends. Or any day, for that matter. He’s your Friday night date every week. That doesn’t escape him.

“How was your week?” He asks, like he always does. He’s the only client who has ever asked you that.

You respond as frankly as you can without overstepping. “Hmmm. It was alright. Pretty boring, in general. It could have been better. How was your week?”

He pauses for a moment. “It was pretty good.”

“Tell me about it.” You prompt, and he begins detailing his week for you, as is your routine.

The things you know about this man’s life are random and vast, among them, you know that he lives in the city next to yours, he eats oats every morning for breakfast, and that he chain smokes as often as he can get away with (which is almost 24/7). You’ve been privy to him trying to cut back on his nicotine intake more than a few times, and he has never forgotten that you cheer him on every time he tries.

Among other things, this week he had to go to work on his usual day off (Wednesday) because the sous-chef called out (again). You can hear him roll his eyes when he says that. You roll them too, even though he can’t see.

He vents about that, and you hear him out.

“The sous-chef sounds like a real asshole,” you say. “Always has. Didn’t he call out a couple weeks ago?”

He laughs out loud at your honesty. “I fucking know, right? And yes, he did. It’s ridiculous.” Then his heart skips a beat. You really do pay attention to what he says.

“They don’t appreciate you as much as they should, Sanji. I bet I could talk some sense into them.” You say, and you both chuckle for a moment.

“What else happened this week?” You follow up, genuinely wanting to know. This man fascinates you. With how charming and sweet he is, it’s a wonder to you that he’s single. Also, the life he lives is quaint. He is a man of routine, a hard worker, and he’s driven. He has a strong and warm personality.

When he replies to your question, you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice—is that reluctance? Hesitation? Shyness? Or awkwardness? It’s hard to tell.

He responds to your question. “Well… I went on a date last night.”

Before you can wonder why, your heart starts to sink. Fuck. You really do have a crush on this guy, don’t you?

You regrettably (internally) acknowledge your disappointment. You do have a massive crush on this guy. And he’s your client. So, get a grip.

Your acting skills have to be excellent for this job. You make good use of them now. “Oh, a date?” You emanate the pinnacle of excitement for him. “How was it?”

This has happened maybe half a dozen times before. The dates always go well but the follow through rate is bad. Obviously. Or else he wouldn’t be here. But every time it has happened, your heart always sinks. Not a fun feeling.

“It went really, really well.” Sanji’s voice is happy. “Might have been the best date I’ve ever been on.” You know he’s smiling right now. Positively beaming. Your heart breaks a bit before you reprimand yourself. You have no right to like this man the way that you do.

He probably wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole if he met you in real life (you tell yourself this, and you know it is a lie, but you try to say it to make yourself get a grip… needless to say, this strategy doesn’t work.)

“How was she?” You ask because you know he wants to talk about it.

“She was thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Very sweet. Kind of like you, actually.” He says, not realizing how much those words make your smile fall. “One of the cooks set us up. Like a blind date. I had no idea what to expect but she was gorgeous. Wow. So funny, too.”

His voice trails off. It’s your turn to talk.

“Awh, Sanji, I’m so glad. You deserve some attention.” Your voice is sugar coated like usual and his heart patters.

The conversation wanders into various topics. The woman he went on a date with is a veterinarian. That sours your mood. She must be real swell. Caring for sick animals and all that stuff. Ugh. The whole topic is forcing you to accept the fact that you like this guy wayyyy more than you should. You have no business having this intense of a crush on him, having this intense of a crush on a man who is, ostensibly, and for all intents and purposes, using you as his rent-a-girlfriend.

The pair of you then talk about relationships—has he ever been in one? (Yes, ages ago.) What is his love language? (Physical touch and acts of service.) What’s his type? (Essentially, you.) You ask him questions and he asks you them back. It’s a nice conversation, an intimate one, one that would have you feeling better if not for the fact that he just happened to have an amazing date.

After a while, the conversation dwindles. You know that he’s in the mood to do what this whole thing is really about—phone sex. When Sanji is in a really good mood or a really bad mood, he takes advantage of your expertise in this area. Tonight is the former.

“Is there anything else on your mind, handsome?” You ask, gauging what he’s up to tonight.

“Mmmm, there is. What are you wearing, gorgeous?”

You smile. He’s cute. Usually, you lie when men ask you this question. But with Sanji you tend to be a bit more truthful. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel like he’s going to get taken off the market soon and never call you again one day, or maybe it’s something else, but you’re getting the urge to be more candid and flirtier with him than you’ve ever been before. Real flirty, not work flirty. You’re getting the urge to step out of whatever character you put on when you pick up the phone.

“Do you want the regular client answer, or the Sanji answer?” You say, bold and not giving a fuck. Why not? He can have the real answer, hell, he can have some realness because you’ve talked for so long, and because you like him so much. Like you said, he deserves some attention.

“Oh. How about both?” He’s tickled and intrigued. “I’m flattered that I have my own option.”

“You always do. Well, the regular client answer would be that I’m wearing a babydoll slip dress made of black mesh… with a black lace thong and thigh-high black stockings. Do you like that?” Your voice starts to transform; it starts to drip pure lust, candied in honey and flattery. It’s a well-trained skill. Sanji gets hard almost immediately, tenting his pants and widening his thighs.

“I like it very much.” His voice is getting huskier, thicker. You love it when he sounds like that. His voice really is sexy. He continues. “Now, tell me the Sanji answer.”

“It isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

He nods, but it’s not like you can see him. “Of course.”

“I’m wearing a black tank top and blue plaid sweatpants. No bra, but I actually am wearing a black lace thong.” You laugh. “Very sexy, right?”

His voice comes out raspier this time. “It is, though. I much prefer the Sanji answer.”

“You’re sweet.” You say, and he can tell you mean it. “Now, what are you wearing?”

Sanji blushes and his erection strains against the fabric of his boxers. “Do you want the regular client answer, or the You answer?”

You laugh again. “How about both?”

“Well,” he continues. “The regular client answer is that I’m in black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone and my sleeves are rolled up to my forearms. I’m wearing black loafers and black socks. Now, the You answer isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t have a shirt on and I am coincidentally wearing blue plaid sweatpants as well. Can you believe that?”

“No way. Really?”

“Yep.”

“Anything underneath?” Your voice is coy and his erection pulses.

“Yep. I have boxers on. Boring black ones.”

“And what’s going on underneath of those?”

He dryly chuckles and reaches down to rub his hard on for a second. “A lot.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” You practically purr and he runs his palm over his bulge in response.

He lets out a soft groan that make you feel some sort of way. “Oh yeah? Y’know, even though I don’t really know what you look like, I just know that you’re looking sexy in your pajama outfit right now.”

Your witty reply is stopped short. He’s the only one who is this real with you. Most of the men on the other line tend to be creepy, old, and just downright weird. This is a dying profession, after all. Sometimes the other clients are rude and dismissive, too. But Sanji… you know he really means what he says.

“You’re adorable, Sanji,” you say. “I’d venture a guess that you look pretty good right now, too.”

“Mmmm.” He hums, heartbeat rising as he continues to palm himself. “I wish I could see you right now.”

You can’t tell if this is part of the fantasy. You really did wish you could see him, though.

“What would you do to me…” your voice is smooth as silk. “If I peeled off my tanktop and shimmied out of my sweatpants?”

Sanji’s breath hitches. Something feels realer than usual about this—knowing what you’re wearing right now, what you’re really wearing, is turning him on beyond belief (assuming that you’re telling the truth, but he always chooses to believe that you are).

“If I was there, I’d kiss you, actually.”

His answer catches you off guard. You’re not sure he’s said something like this before.

There is silence for a second. You don’t know how to respond, really. You decide to just respond honestly, without appearances. Fuck it. He’d probably be off the market soon if his amazing date was anything to tell for it, so might as well.

“Wow, that’s really sweet. I’m not sure anyone has said something that nice to me in years.”

He tuts. “That’s my lowest bar of sweetness. I can go much sweeter than that, my love.”

He’s never called you that before, either. You’re starting to forget that this is a work call. It feels distinctly different than one.

“I’d like to see how sweet you can get, Sanji.”

His cock twitches again. Fuck. You really have a way with words. You get him more riled up than anyone he’s ever met before.

You continue. “After you kiss me, what would you do to me?”

“I would kiss every inch of you.”

Your heart melts. Fuck. Is this guy a saint? Where does he get off being so suave?

“Mmmm. That sounds nice. I’d like to return the favor.” Your tone, to Sanji, is effortlessly erotic. The thought of you kissing every inch of him—yes, even those inches—has him grinding the palm of his hand over his cock.

“Sounds even better. Then, if you let me, I’d go down on you.” The blonde is starting to get worked up. You can tell from his voice—when it gets all husky like this, you know he’s about to start touching himself, if he isn’t already.

Also, the fact that he said ‘if you let me’ really struck you. No one had ever said that before in your line of work. He has the tendency to say things you’ve never heard before, and he always surprises you.

“Of course I’d let you go down on me,” your voice gets softer. “What exactly would you do?” You wonder if he’d be any good. Maybe his answer will be elucidative.

“I’d start by kissing up your thighs, one at a time. Then I’d very slowly, very gently kiss your clit. Hopefully it would feel good. After a while, I think I’d be able to tell if you liked it. I’d run my tongue downwards and taste you. And tease you as much as you’re willing to put up with.”

“Mmmm. I think I could put up with a lot.” You let out a breathy sigh. You’re starting to warm up between the legs. With that voice, and those words, and that mental image… it sounds divine. You’re about to let yourself get carried away. It’s tempting.

“Is that so?” Sanji decides to keep going with the fantasy as long as you’d let him. Frequently, this happens the other way around. You usually describe to him, in great detail, what you would do to him. Apparently tonight it would be the other way around.

“In that case,” Sanji continues, “I’d take my time with you. I’d push my tongue inside of you delicately at first, then harder, and switch between that and licking your clit.”

You can feel that you’re getting wet. It has only ever been with Sanji that you’ve actually gotten aroused while talking to a client. Usually, you’re as dry as the Sahara when talking to clients. But this man does things to you. Sinful things.

“What else?” You ask, biting your lip and sneaking your hand lower. You decide that, just this once, it’s okay to get carried away.

He can hear it in your voice. The synthetic, sugary (but still very much erotic) tone is dissipating and he’s hearing, for the first time, your voice bathed in genuine arousal. Your breaths are quicker than usual, your tone is less composed, and he can tell that you’re hanging onto his every word.

At the same time that his hand goes under the waistband of his boxers, yours goes under your underwear. He starts to stroke himself, relishing the first ripples of pleasure from his hand, and you do something similar. Each movement of your fingers is accompanied by his voice, by some filthy image he puts in your head.

“When you’re moaning loud enough, I’d press my middle finger into you slowly, to make sure you’re comfortable. After a moment, I’d move my finger and caress you inside a bit, and if it seemed like you liked it, I would press my ring finger into you.”

You start to mimic what Sanji is describing. It feels dangerously good. A barely audible sort of gasping sound falls out of your lips and Sanji hears it. His fist goes faster. He hasn’t ever heard you make that sort of noise before—he’s heard fake moans, sure, they were still hot (and he always told himself they were real). Anything you did was hot. But this sort of noise was the sort that could only be caused by one thing—pleasure.

Sanji’s fist goes a bit faster when he concludes that you may be touching yourself. The idea makes him feel like he’s on fire.

“I’d curl my fingers inside of you and find your g-spot… draw circles around it and press it while I place some kisses on your clit. Would you like that?”

His question catches you off guard—you’re getting lost in the act of fingering yourself.

“Mmmm. I would like that, Sanji.”

“How would I know that you liked it?”

“I’d, fuck,” another soft moan slips out of your lips and Sanji squeezes his cock tighter. “I’d run my fingers through your hair and pull you closer. Buck my hips into your tongue so you, ah, get deeper.”

“What would you say?” His voice is low now, and you can hear a faint sound in the background. He’s fisting his cock to your conversation, which is nothing new, but it brings you more of a rush than usual right now because you’re touching yourself too. “What would you say if you liked how I ate you out?”

“Don’t stop,” you shudder, and it sounds like it would if he was actually eating you out. The noise makes his heart flip. He can hear wet sounds from your end of the phone, too. He can hardly believe his ears, but sure enough, he can make out the noises of you bringing your fingers in and out of yourself.

“I wouldn’t,” Sanji says and then groans. The obscene noise goes straight to your aching core. You’re going to orgasm soon. “I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my face and I licked you clean.”

“Fuck,” you mewl. “That sounds, ah, sounds like it would feel good, Sanji.”

“Does it feel good?” He counters, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. His fist brings down the precum that has been beading at his tip, and the sensation makes his hips rock up inadvertently.

“Mmmmphhh, I—yes, it feels good, Sanji. Feels so good.”

You curl your fingers inside, searching for the spot that Sanji mentioned before. You press on it as you speak. You know he’s going to love the noise you make.

He grunts and throws his head back. He’s going to cum soon. He’s going to cum if you say his name some more. He wants it. “Say that again.”

“Fucckkk, Sanji. Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say my name. I’m—hah—‘m gonna cum if you do it again.”

“Sanji. Sanji. Sanji, fuck, Saannnjjjiii.” On repeat, you moan his name through your orgasm, which you finally allow to wash over you. He can hear it in your voice, can hear you trying to force his name out of your mouth between keens.

Your voice has never sounded so good. He’s sure now, sure sure, that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time and that you just came. It’s a first for him. He’s suspected your arousal at other times, but this time, it’s a confirmed fact. In an instant, the fantasy fades and he can see the moment for what it is—you’ve thrown away the pretenses, acting skills, and flattery, and, for a handful of minutes, you’ve been 100% yourself with him, more so than ever before.

That’s what makes him cum. Your unreserved sincerity and desire. It’s the hardest he’s cum in a long time—and that’s a high bar, considering the fact that any time he broaches these activities with you he cums hard.

When you’re both panting in the euphoric aftershocks of your orgasms, Sanji whistles. “Damn.”

You hum in agreement. “Wow.”

He cracks a joke. “So, am I supposed to send you an invoice after this one?”

He’s hilarious in general, and this one makes you laugh. “I might allow it.” Your tone is uncharacteristically bashful. You’re about to say something you’ll later regret. “I think you’re the only person who has ever gotten me off over the phone.”

Sanji is taken aback for a second. “Really? I’m honored. And surprised.”

You almost instantly wish you didn't overshare, chuckling awkwardly before you realize that this is a work call, and you should act accordingly. But it’s hard to pull yourself out of the intimacy of this moment and you don’t want to. So… against your better judgment, you don’t.

“I’m impressed, Sanji. Maybe we should do this more often,” you say, and Sanji’s heart thumps again. “You don’t have to only call me once a week, you know.”

“As long as you won’t get sick of me, I would love to. And we can do this again any time, gorgeous. It’s seriously my pleasure. You don’t know what you do to me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

While he’s saying the last part, Sanji realizes that this isn’t a favor, really. He tries to brush off that sad feeling for a moment but finds himself wondering what you really think of him.

It’s time for him to go to sleep, he concludes. He’s exhausted after a long shift and a hard orgasm.

“So, same time next week?” His voice is chipper.

“Mhm. I look forward to it, Sanji. See you later.” When the words leave your mouth, you wonder if he feels butterflies, too.

“See you later, sweetheart.”

Sanji hangs up the phone.

In your respective bedrooms, you’re both wondering what the fuck just happened. This call was full of lots of firsts and, little do you two know, the other feels elated.

But Sanji thinks about it more. He weighs his feelings for you against the practical understanding that he is, presumably, nothing more than a client to you. His heart aches at the thought.

And then he looks at his phone. The person who he went on a date with texted him while he was on the phone with you—she’s asking for another date. She says she looks forward to seeing him.

---

A week passes.

It’s Friday again.

11:30PM comes and goes. No call from Sanji.

In a span of over six months, this is the first time he hasn’t called you.

As you sit and wait for him, passing off other phone calls in case he decides he wants to speak to you tonight, your heart starts to sink.

Was last time a mistake?

Ten minutes go by.

Twenty minutes go by.

Many minutes go by. The time is now 12:30AM.

You’re left to conclude that last time was, indeed, a mistake.

You decide to take the night off. Your tears are making it hard to get any work done. You can’t put on that sultry voice and moan at old men in your current state.

There’s no denying it—his absence hurts you. Bad. Especially after last week. Especially after you admitted to him that you had never orgasmed over the phone before, and that you wanted to talk to him more often.

Why hadn’t he called you?

You wrack your brain for possibilities, but one major thing stands out. That date he went on. Maybe he went on another one and decided he liked them better.

Liked them better? You ask yourself after realizing what you just thought. He’s paying you to talk to him on the phone. Get over it. He isn’t going to keep calling you forever. What did you expect after last week? That he would just confess his love, offer to pay all of your bills, and that would be it?

You frown harder, hurting yourself deeper with your own rhetoric. The tears won’t stop.

It’s excruciating to realize that you like Sanji this much. You really like him. You know almost everything there is to know about him, too. And as much as you generally try to avoid giving out personal information, he knows a large chunk about you. Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.

No, you tell yourself. Don’t kid yourself. You know it hurts this bad because you were hoping he liked you for real. You were hoping that this man, who you had never truly met before, who you had never seen, would, against all odds, decide that he wants you, even if he hadn’t seen you.

Fat chance, you tell yourself. Never do that with a client again, and this will never be a problem again.

---

Sanji does not call you back the next week.

Or the next week.

Or the week after that.

Or the month after that.

You are over it by the time the second month rolls around.

It’s pretty good timing, on your behalf. You think you’re really over this huge crush on a man you’ve never seen before. By the fifth month, you’re still telling yourself that you’re over this “crush”.

But that’s a delusion—any time you’re in public and there’s a blonde man, you find yourself scanning his face. Does he have a goatee? Could those eyebrows be considered curly? What color are those eyes?

When you see one that you think might be him, you always work up the courage to speak to them. But it never is Sanji. You would recognize that voice anywhere.

You wonder what you will say to him if he ever calls you again. Or if you see him in person. You decide that if he ever calls you again, you’ll either curse him out or break into tears.

In your most down-bad-hour, you contemplate showing up at the restaurant he is the chef at. You contemplate asking if you can see the kitchen. You just want a glance at him. A glance will keep your heart quiet.

But the joke’s on you—his restaurant is too expensive for you. Truly. You couldn’t afford a drink there if you tried. Okay, maybe just one. But you refuse to stoop to that level of desperation.

You’re a call away from him. He just has to dial your number.

You, on the other hand, have no way of calling or texting him. The service you work through scrambles client numbers before they’re patched through to you. The only way you know it’s Sanji is when he calls, at 11:30PM on the dot, on Friday nights. That’s Sanji time.

But it seems like Sanji time has come and gone.

You can’t shake the feeling that he did you dirty—but then you remember that he doesn’t owe you anything. This is your line of work. Phone sex. And that’s what you had. You just stepped over a boundary that you usually stay far away from. Whose fault is that?

No amount of logic can shake that feeling, though. You develop a little grudge against this man who you will never meet.

That’s what you tell yourself—that you’ll never meet him. But there’s a nugget of hope inside that, someday, he’ll call you. Someday he’ll kiss you. You try to obliterate that nugget though, as it is antithetical to the remedy to your lovesickness that you’re seeking.

Which will come first, him calling you, or you quitting this job that you’ve been meaning to quit for months at this point?

You hate to admit this to yourself, but he’s the only thing that was keeping the thoughts of quitting at bay. Maybe you really will quit this time around.

---

It is a Saturday night and you’re working again. It’s an unfortunately slow night, which sucks, because you really could use the money.

You’re scrolling on your phone, waiting for the next call to come in. It has been three hours with no calls. Guess all the creepy old men have plans tonight, which is such a shame because you need to pay rent soon. Sigh.

Time passes. You check the clock. It’s almost 11:30PM. The time doesn’t remind you of him anymore (well, much).

Maybe if you channel some of your good karma, ask the universe to cut a check of it right now, someone will call you for one long, lengthy conversation. You can help get them off as many times as they want. Five times in a row. You’ll break that record and go for six times if they just pay you. No questions asked.

Sure enough, a call comes through. You check the clock again. It’s been moving at a snail’s pace tonight. It’s 11:35PM. Hopefully whoever this is feels like talking.

“Hello?”

Your heart stops.

It sounds like Sanji for a second. But there’s no way. It’s been five fucking months.

“Hi.” You respond in your sugared up, sultry voice.

“It’s been a long time, gorgeous.”

It is Sanji.

Your heart flutters and your stomach flips. You’re speechless.

Don’t forget your game plans: curse him out or cry. But you can’t bring yourself to do either now that he’s waiting on the other line. You’re about to hang up the phone. You owe this man nothing and he owes you nothing—it’s that simple.

As you go to press the end call button, he speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears start now. The dam inside of you breaks. Hot tears pour out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

You didn’t think that hearing his voice would have this strong of an effect on you. But the heartbreak that you once thought faded away is now back in full force.

He’s waiting for a response before he hears shuddering breaths from you as you cry. Your tears are all the confirmation he needs—he knows that he was right months ago when he worked up the courage to confess to you. He should have done it. He knows that he was wrong to take the coward’s way out. And he knows he was wrong to tell himself that you didn’t care about him and wouldn’t care when he disappeared, because he was just a client to you. He was so terribly wrong. The sound of your sobs shatters him.

“I should have called you before. I’m so sorry. And maybe you hate me for waiting this long to call you again. I understand if you do. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, I—”

“Where the fuck were you?” You cut him off. Your anger is starting to seep through the tears. Maybe the first game plan can still happen. “I waited for you, Sanji.”

He doesn’t even try to think of a comeback or excuse. He tells you plainly what happened and, even though it breaks your heart some more, it makes sense.

“Well… I finally found someone. Last time, after I hung up, I had another date with that person I mentioned, and it went really well. So, we just kept going on dates. It didn’t feel right to keep calling you when things with her were progressing so quickly. We got together, and—”

“I understand, Sanji. That’s all I wanted to hear. Thanks.”

You slam your finger down on the hang up button. Your heart is broken enough as it is. He can keep all that yapping to himself. Good for nothing heartbreaker.

So what, he was with whoever that was. So what, they love each other and have been together almost half a year at this point. So what, he was just a client the whole time and you had gotten your hopes up for nothing and—your catastrophizing is stopped in its tracks when your phone starts to buzz again. You feel like it’s Sanji.

You pick up the phone. It is.

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up, please let me finish, please.”

“What, so you can tell me how much you love your girlfriend? I get it, Sanji. You paid me to talk to you for so long that of course you got sick of it and finally got what you had been after the whole time, a loving, very real partner. I understand that I’m just a service to be used and discarded later. That’s fine. Goodbye.”

“No. Listen to me.” Sanji’s voice is stern and harsh, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. “We got together and then she very quickly dumped me. Do you know what she kept saying to me? She said I was too absentminded. She thought I was thinking about someone else. Dumped me after two months because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Absentminded.”

His words hang in the air for a few moments while you try to process why the fuck he’s explaining any of this to you and why it matters. He continues. His voice is emphatic, hurried, and nervous sounding.

“And if I’m being honest, I was absentminded. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know this sounds fucking ridiculous because we’ve never met, and I understand if you tell me to go fuck off because I’m sure this happens to you all the time, but… I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve tried to for months. Three months. I told myself that I was an idiot for falling for someone out of my league. And the crazy thing is, I don’t even have to see you to know you’re out of my league. The way you act is out of my league. YOU are out of my league. You’re thoughtful, and kind, and considerate, and you pause before you respond whenever you talk because I can tell you’re really thinking over your response. And you’re funny. And witty, and charming, and you never once made me feel weird or less than for calling and finding solace in you. I’ve been lonely for years. I make the first move all the time, but it never works out. And I know I fucked this one up, and I know I didn’t have a chance in hell with you to begin with, but I just, fuck, I had to get this off my chest. I love you. I fell for you the first conversation we had. Now please tell me to fuck off.”

You can tell that every word he is saying is sincere and earnest. You can hear the emotion in his voice. While you wipe your tears dry and mend your heart together, you take deep breaths. He can wait for your response. Like he just said, you’re intentional about your responses to people. Every word matters. Especially with Sanji.

“Do you know how bad it hurt after our last conversation to not hear from you again?” You start.

He winces. He knew that was coming.

“I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry. It was disrespectful of me, and callous, and if you hang up and never want to speak to me again, I understand and I deserve it.”

“You do deserve it.” You say, regaining some composure. “You really do, Sanji.”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear his frown. It’s a cute one. Fuck. His cute words are playing back in your ears too. So, he loves you?

Should you tell him how you feel? How you’ve felt for a long time?

One part of you is screaming at you to get a grip. But the other part—all the other parts—are finally, finally hearing what you’ve been wanting to hear for around a year at this point. That he likes you for you. That he sees you as you, and not some dolled up object of affection that’s only there to get people off and talk dirty to them. It has never been like that between you.

“If I accept your apology, Sanji, what then?”

“I—I actually didn’t think I would make it this far. But if you accept my apology, my next step is to ask you out to dinner with me. And to ask for your phone number. Your real phone number.”

You let out a long, deep sigh. “Sanji. My love. You could have told me these things months ago. It would have saved both of us so much heartbreak. I was devastated. Do you know that?”

You know that he already profusely apologized but you feel like driving it home a bit more. He deserves it. But while you talk, his hopes start to rise. You’ve never called him ‘my love’ before. Maybe that bodes well?

“I’m so sorry. I really am.” He sounds like he means it. You trust him enough to know that he does. Well, fuck it.

“Don’t think I’ll just forget about this because I’m head over heels for you, okay?”

“You—what?” He’s caught off guard. “You are?”

“Sanji. Yes. And you could have found out ages ago. Now, when are we going to dinner? You can apologize to me again then, too. And even if you don’t like what you see, you have to pay for everything. I’m getting an appetizer, an entrée, a dessert, at least two drinks, and whatever else I want. Okay?”

He laughs in relief. “Yes, okay. Yes. Holy shit, I didn’t think you would say that. I wish I could kiss you.”

“Wait—one last thing. If you decide you don’t like me after our date, Sanji, you have to tell me there on the spot. You can’t leave me waiting for another five months. You just can’t.”

“I promise, I won’t leave you waiting. I promise.”

When you hang up the phone a few minutes later (after more twisting the knife), you’re so thrilled that you can hardly breathe.

You can’t believe this is real life. You also can’t believe how quickly you just forgot your dignity, but you’ll unpack that later.

Dinner is set for tomorrow night. 7:30PM on the dot. Sanji is calling out of work, and he’s taking you to the (second) nicest restaurant in town (his is the first, obviously, and he wants to save that for a night where he can really plan ahead and spoil you).

---

When you get to the restaurant, Sanji is already there, waiting outside with a large bouquet of flowers.

He’s more handsome than you could have imagined. Of course he is. You do have great intuition, and you knew from the start that he was sexy. But… goddamn, he is sexy.

It makes sense now what he meant by curly eyebrows. He’s dressed well, too. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. He has black loafers and black socks. And he smells good. And he smiles good.

He’s so nervous he could puke. He hopes that when he sees you the nerves will melt. But they get 20x worse because he’s enamored with you. You’re beyond his wildest dreams—no number of fantasies could have led him to guess that you look like this.

He’s so obsessed that he starts to stammer before you tell him to calm down, and that he’s making you nervous.

Over dinner, you catch up on everything you’ve missed in the past few months of silence. You fill him in on details in your life that you previously kept to yourself, and he sees a whole new side of you.

At the end of the date, he tells you that he still loves you, that he loves you even more now, and that he’s so so sorry. He says that he’s mesmerized by you, that you’re more than he could have ever dreamed of, and that you can count on him for anything.

You seal the night with a kiss. A long one. It’s so romantic that you feel a bit disturbed with how happy you are after.

And it turns out that yes, this is your big happy ending. You make a perfect pair.

Epilogue: The day that Sanji finally shows off the techniques he told you about long ago, you’re more than satisfied. In fact, it seems like he was actually underselling himself there. You always knew he was the modest type.

thanks for reading! this was inspired by a whole lot of laufey! i hope you liked it. i love sanji so much it hurts me ;(

click here for part 2! also here's my masterlist if you're interested!

[httpsserene]

mama y papa — 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒 & 𝐨𝐩. 𝟖𝟏 lando norris x baker/pastry chef! fem!black!reader & platonic oscar piastri drabbles & smau. fluff & humor. reader owns & works ather bakery in monaco.

synopsis: you and lando are blessed with a beautiful baby boy.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. i took it too far this time. it's long aslllll. but it might be the best thing i've ever offered to f1 tumblr in my entire career. grab a snack, drink, and tuck yourself into a comfortable position xxx

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

imessage • preseason 2023

That’s how you find yourself outside of the MTC in the mid-morning two days later. You’re mildly…exhausted, after commandeering the kitchen in Lando’s Silverstone flat to make a sickening amount of banana bread to feed all of McLaren. After tipping your Uber to the MTC double what the ride costs (for allowing you to stuff his car with a hundred pounds of your decadent treat and helping you unload them into the lobby), you’re greeted with warm welcomes and hungry eyes from the staff. Eager to eat, they’re quick to find you a couple of carts to help you move all the banana bread to the communal area. You’re walking backward to make sure none of your sliced loaves fall, smiling with all the workers as they follow you through the building. Setting up shop, you hand out your sliced banana bread, chatting and catching up with everyone as they sing praises over your sweet treat. Word travels around the MTC quickly when it comes to you bringing baked goods and it comes as no surprise to you when you see a perplexed and overwhelmed Oscar Piastri join the line. You’re bursting with excitement and anticipation by the time he’s picking up his slice.

“Thank you for the banana bread,” Oscar expresses softly, his smile boxy.

“Oh, of course,” you dismiss his gratitude lightly, struggling to keep your cuteness aggression at bay, “I’ve been doing this for the factory since Lando joined–and I figured it would be a good welcoming gift for you!”

“Wait–are you Lando’s girlfriend?” Oscar chokes on his bite of bread.

You rush forward to pat his back, ordering for someone to get him a glass of water; you would hate to be responsible for the death of Mclaren’s rookie driver. When his airways are cleared, you exchange proper greetings and you are quick to make sure Lando has been treating him well. 

“Honestly, I should’ve known it was you” Oscar chuckles, “Lando cannot stop talking about you. Zak had to establish a rule that only allowed him to mention you two times an hour.”

“That must have been rough for him,” you snort dryly, “the rule was five times an hour last year. Anyways, Oscar–who do you main on Mario Kart? This could make or break our friendship.”

You find yourself enamored with Oscar as the conversation goes on. He stands and keeps you company as you continue to hand out banana bread. It’s mostly you doing the talking; Oscar’s quiet, a man of few words but he listens well. He has a sarcastic sense of humor that is similar to Lando’s yet completely different: Lando’s jokes are loud, Oscar’s are hushed. He’s humble, shy even, flustering when you lightly tease him. You’re well past having Oscar as your friend—you’re convinced that he’s achieved little brother or son status.

“Banana Bread!” Zak shouts as he walks up to the two of you, Lando at his side, “Please tell me this is your homemade version?”

“I would never settle for store-bought banana bread,” you gasp dramatically, “It’s homemade as always, Zak. This time I did my grandmother’s recipe instead of my own.”

The CEO practically jumps with glee and rushes to grab a couple of slices–he’s only had this version of the dessert once, and swore it changed his life. Lando walks to you, pressing a kiss to your temple before nodding at Oscar.

“What do you think, love, “Lando hums to you softly, “Did he pass the test?”

You blink up at him and whisper, “I invited him over for dinner tonight—do you think we can use one of the printers here to print out adoption forms?”

bahrain • 2023

After qualifying, it felt like you and Zak were the only people in the garage who remained optimistic for race day. Lando was less than pleased with placing 11th; he parroted words of positivity and hope for improvement but in the privacy of your hotel room he crumbled. He buried his face in your neck muffling just how low his expectations for this season are. You tried to convince him it was too early in the season—the first race weekend—to make that decision but, he was too in his feelings to see reason. 

Oscar was disappointed in himself for placing 18th. When he took off his helmet after returning to the garage, you could see the doubt in his skills lingering through his eyes. You pulled him to sit with you as you continued to wait for the second session to begin and gently reassured him that this wasn’t an accurate representation of his skills; Formula One is a massive change from Formula Two. Oscar nodded at your reassurance but you could tell he was still freshly in shock at his “terrible” performance so your logical advice wasn’t believed. 

On race day, however, you found your positivity dip as well. Oscar DNF’d on lap 13 and rage filled the spot that optimism used to inhabit. The Australian was handling his retirement better than you were; he brushed off everybody’s apologies and went straight to reviewing his data and watching Lando’s race—you, however, wanted to snap at any of his mechanics that walked by. It wasn’t like Lando’s race was any better if you could call what he was doing a race. Slow pit stops, six pit stops at that, the fast lap gamble failure, finishing last, and being two laps down from the race leader…Zak took one glance at you and quickly made himself scarce.

You rode back with both of the boys to the hotel and nearly cried for them with how down the mood was. On the walk to your rooms, Oscar attempted to exchange goodbyes with you and Lando before you cut him off.

“Uh-uh, nope,” you shook your head, “I pre-ordered dinner for us. Come eat?”

Oscar stuttered, “O-oh? I don’t want to intrude–”

“Oscar Jack Piastri,” both he and Lando winced at the sound of his full name, “I’m not going to let either one of you go to bed on an empty stomach. You’re going to eat dinner with me and Lan and you’re going to drink several glasses of water so I can make sure you’re properly rehydrated. Understood?”

“I would love to have dinner with you guys,” Oscar blinked at you in fear, “Also, how do you know my middle name?”

You laughed as you unlocked the door, holding it open for both of the boys as you walked in, “I had a wonderful conversation with your mother, of course.”

“When did you meet my mom?!”

australia • 2023

You were on the edge of losing your voice as you screamed and cheered with Nicole Piastri and Adam Norris for both of the McLaren boys and their double points finishes. The two drivers finishing in the midfield felt like the team had figured something out for Oscar’s home race (if you ignored how almost half of the drivers retired their cars). The Piastri’s invited everyone to a local restaurant to celebrate Oscar’s first points in Formula One, but before you and Lando headed out, the two of you nearly lost your minds.

The two of you forced him to pose with his car and take several pictures with it, strongly suggesting that he smiles big and wide for the camera. Fernando and Lewis walked by and burst into laughter, claiming that you and Lando were treating Oscar like a child. So, obviously, the two of you committed to the bit. You guys cooed and called Oscar’s name, clapping and jumping to pretend like he was a toddler whose attention needed to be grabbed to have him look at the camera. The rookie cringed in embarrassment, cheeks burning red as he tried to convince you guys to stop making a fuss over him.

Lando gasped, sickened at Oscar’s words, “Oscar! How could you say such a thing to your mother and me? We only want to celebrate our boy!”

You nodded furiously in agreement, nearly breaking character at the dumbfounded look that rose to the Australian’s face.

“What the fuck,” Oscar blurted out, yet he continued to smile for your camera.

“Oh my god!” You said appalled, “Lando did you teach our son that foul language?! I told you not to curse in front of the baby!”

instagram • bakewithyn • april 6th • melbourne ⚑

liked by, oscarpiastri, landonorris, mclaren, markwebber, and 413,257 others

bakewithyn: happy birthday oscar 🥳 there’s no birthday gift like scoring your FIRST EVER POINTS in f1 at your HOME race but !!! i’m super happyyy you enjoyed the 🐨 cookies i made for you (lando helped ig 😐) 🤗🤗🤗

tagged oscarpiastri

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📌 yninstagram ps! these are limited edition cookies at my bakery for oscar piastri day!!! first come first serve until sell out! all proceeds go to the australian koala foundation as it was oscar’s personal request 😇

➥ user charitable king shit fr 👑

➥ user FUCK i wish i was rich enough to visit/live in monaco

➥ user don't worry, they're nearly sold out already and the bakery opened three hours ago !!!!

nicolepiastri these were so tasty! i wish i had your baking skills

➥ yninstagram tysm mama piastri !!! i'm blushing

➥ user mama piastri???? im crying

user the koala photo with the bow 😩

➥user what r u talking about?? i only see a picture of oscar with a bow?

➥ user fr i only see oscar 😵‍💫

user "lando helped ig" what did he do? look pretty the entire time you baked LMAO

➥ landonorris actually i was allowed to put the ingredients in the bowls AND preheat the oven too 😤

➥ landonorris and i always look pretty wtf

➥ user omg...yn gave him the toddler tasks 💀💀💀

oscarpiastri the cookies were so good! they nearly tasted better than my first points felt

➥ yninstagram omg high praise from the man himself 🤯

➥ oscarpiastri had to fight my sisters to make sure they didn't only leave me with crumbs

➥ user oh i understand that eldest sibling battle

➥ user my little sisters bite i think they have rabies

➥ user oh what a shame. euthanasia is an option 🤗

miami • 2023

The energy after Miami was rightfully terrible. The car is shit; Lando lost a position from where he qualified to make him P17 and Oscar maintained his P19. It’s hot, and humid, and everyone in the garage is miserable. McLaren is a family. When the boys don’t do good, everybody understands and feels their pain. Nobody likes seeing the boys with frowns on their lips and sadness in their eyes, but it’s becoming a usual appearance during this season. So to turn those frowns upside down, you went on a hunt for some cold treats. You got Lando a frozen lemonade and Oscar an ice cream sandwich—it’s a safe choice, you hadn’t necessarily thought about asking him what kind of ice cream he prefers. 

You found Oscar staring at the wall, eyes focused forward but his mind somewhere else. You tapped him gently on the shoulder, offering him a small smile when he looked at you. He tried to offer you a smile of his own but couldn’t manage to hold it for more than a couple seconds. You presented the ice cream sandwich to him and he looked at you in surprise, as if he couldn’t believe you would give it to him.

“F-for,” his voice cracks awkwardly, “For me?”

You hummed, ruffling his hair and taking a seat on the couch next to him, “No, for the King of England. Yes–for you Oscar.”

He thanked you shyly and quickly began to unwrap the packaging, munching away happily. You took a second to text Lando your location and inform him of the frozen lemonade waiting for him, and when you turned to look back at Oscar—the kid was a mess. He wasn’t even a quarter of the way through the dessert sandwich and you’re convinced he managed to spill more of it than he ingested. The ice cream was painted across the lower half of his face and dripping down his hands–you caught a drop of it with a napkin before it fell and stained his shirt.

“Jesus, Oscar!” you scolded him, “I look away for two seconds and you make a mess!”

Oscar shrugged at you, feigning innocence, but you saw the staple redness of embarrassment begin to tint his chubby cheeks. You snapped your fingers in remembrance before you moved to rifle through your purse, Oscar staring at you with wide eyes as he continued to snack away. You exclaimed in delight, showing off a pair of wet wipes you remembered to bring with you. Oscar accepted the offered wipes and you watched carefully to make sure he removed all the smudges of ice cream from his hands and face.

“Hi, lovely girl,” Lando approached you, throwing himself onto the sofa next to you. He gave you a soft kiss on the lips and temple before grabbing his now lemonade slushy and taking a look at Oscar.

“Woah, mate,” Lando teased, “Did you lose in a fight against the ice cream sandwich?”

Oscar rolled his eyes and ignored Lando as he finished cleaning up. Once he was done, you gathered all of the dirty wipes on the table to be thrown away. You and Lando both watched Oscar as he ate the rest of his snack in fear of another mess occurring—and, then you had a bright idea. Leaning forward, you took a dry napkin and tucked it into the collar of his McLaren polo, creating a makeshift bib. 

“Lando, remind me to get our son ice cream in a cup from now on!”

twitter • may 14th

instagram • landonorris • may 23rd • monte carlo ⚑

liked by, bakewithyn, charlesleclerc, fernandoalonso, and 502,113 others

landonorris: does it still count as a date night if your boy and his best friend are building legos in the next room🤨

tagged bakewithyn, oscarpiastri, logansargeant

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user "your boy" WTF DOES THAT MEAN ‼️‼️‼️

user they're building legos before the race weekend starts 🤧

user has oscar been staying with lando since last week?

➥ user i thought he was just sleeping over for one night 🧐

adamnorris does this make me a grandfather?

➥ user what the hell is happening

➥ landonorris um? surprise haha 😀

bakewithyn it's a great date night! it's comforting knowing ozzy's in the next room over

➥ bakewithyn i have separation anxiety :)

➥ landonorris me too omg this was my best idea ever

➥ user this is like a reverse 13th reason- it's like my 1st reason i'm glad to be alive

➥ user ozzy 🫠

landonorris logan and osc just went silent. chat, should i be worried?

➥ user i'll bet my life savings that one of them has a lego shoved up their nose 😬

➥ user when kids go quiet it's never good !!!!

qatar • 2023

You cried an embarrassing amount of times this weekend. Your son won his first sprint race in his Formula One career, and his father—your boyfriend—was up there on the podium with him to celebrate. It seems like you have to make another special dessert for your bakery to celebrate both of your boys, but you can worry about brainstorming ideas when you stop crying into Andrea Stella’s shoulder in the middle of the pit lane. You’re sure that your face will be posted all over Twitter in a couple of hours.

A part of you wished that Lando had won the sprint race, just as he probably wanted the same thing. But, as both of you made eye contact with each other over Oscar’s head, the Australian rambling endlessly as he hugged his trophy on your hotel room floor, both of you knew that there was no better outcome this weekend than Oscar getting a taste of victory. Lando’s win will come in due time. A P2, P3 finish on Sunday was just the proof everyone needed of McLaren’s improvement and the threat they may pose to Red Bull next year. 

são paulo • 2023

You had the Grand Prix playing on your phone as you did some prep work for the bakery. The race ended and you couldn’t help but feel happy, yet relieved for the race to be over for different reasons. Lando had a wonderful drive today, and Oscar had the opposite; you were just glad it wasn’t a DNF for him.

You had only just begun wiping down the counters when the sound of the post-race show is interrupted by the ringtone you have set for Oscar. You paused quickly, scooping your phone up to answer.

“Hi, Ozzy,” you cooed gently, “How are you feeling? Sorry about your race buddy, that was unfortunate.”

“It happens, I guess. I feel like shit, mostly. Like I let the team down.”

“No way, Oscar! You’re not letting anybody down. Your race result today wasn’t the result of your skills, it was the result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a racing incident. If anybody tells you differently, let me know. I’ll rip their vocal cords out.”

Oscar’s laugh crackled through the receiver. “Yes, mum. I’ll let you know. I really want some of your chocolate chip cookies, they’re the perfect bad race remedy.”

“Well, I’m flying out in a few hours to meet you guys in Brazil so I can celebrate Lando’s—sorry, excuse me—your father’s birthday with him. I think there may be some time for me in my schedule to make some cookies with you.”

“Really? We should make some for Lando too! Wait, before you leave, I left his birthday gift—”

“—In our apartment, I remember! I already packed it in my luggage, I wouldn’t forget.”

“You’re the best, seriously.”

“Mhm, I know. Also, we should share some of these cookies with Charles too, his radio message made me cry.”

“Okay, he can have one cookie.”

“Oscar Jack,” you said dryly.

“Yes, sharing is caring or whatever. He can have like...two.”

instagram • bakewithyn • november 13th • las vegas ⚑

liked by, mclaren, landonorris, f1, oscarpiastri and 353,764 others

bakewithyn: happy birthday to lando norris. he's a pretty cool guy, a great dad, and the perfect boyfriend. love you lots, baby, and i'll love you forever xxx

tagged landonorris

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user wait is this a pregnancy announcement 😨

user this is giving engagement reveal

charlesleclerc bro. if i didn't know you guys i would think your caption was serious 😣

➥ bakewithyn get pranked LOL XD

➥ user oh i feel like i just got catfished

➥ user wait so lando didn't propose nor did he put a baby in her 😒

➥ user I WANTED A BABY NORRIS

➥ user oscar exists? he's literally their child

oscarpiastri no fr i thought i was about to learn i had a sibling otw from this post

➥ bakewithyn ozzy we would've told you???

➥ landonorris you literally bought the card for me

➥ oscarpiastri a boy can hope for a younger sibling can he not :(

➥ bakewithyn so close 😚 no you can't! hope that helps xo

➥ landonorris sorry osc, it's your mum's decision 🤷‍♂️

➥ user does this mean lando wants an actual kid

mclaren admin was terrified ngl 😅

➥ mclaren i thought you really posted an engagement and pregnancy reveal without letting me know 😭

➥ landonorris sorry admin, i'll keep you in the loop in the future

➥ user landoyn engagement soon??????

twitter • november 18th • las vegas ⚑

twitter • preseason 2024

miami • 2024

Lando had you pinned to the wall in his driver's room, with his hands tangled in your curls and his mouth devouring yours. Your moans are muffled into his lips as you grind against his thigh. You tried to multitask, struggling to pull his driver’s suit down. Lando lifted you slightly, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist and neither of you cared to pull away at the sound of your foot hitting his P1 trophy and knocking it over. One of his hands fell from your hair to grasp at the smooth brown skin of your neck, his palm acting as a warm weighted choker on your throat and you broke away from the kiss to moan. 

“Fuck, Lando—get naked,” you whined desperately, “we don’t have much time for you to tease me right now!”

Lando laughed as he moved to press kisses along your jawline and behind your ear. You felt his lips part on your skin, his breath ghosting over you causing goosebumps to rise, but it’s not his voice you hear.

“Lando, they need us for pictures—OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK,” yelped Oscar, the sound of his hand smacking over his eyes reverberating around the room.

You shrieked in surprise, pushing your boyfriend away from you as you speedily readjusted your clothes. Lando positioned himself in front of you, his back facing you allowing you a little more privacy as he speedily fixed his suit around his waist.

“Learn how to knock, kid,” Lando huffed, no shame found in his words, “You interrupted my winning celebration.”

You screamed in dismay, slapping the back of Lando’s head and Oscar began to stumble out of the room, bumping into the doorframe as he still covered his eyes.

“Yeah, knock in the future, I understand,” Oscar sounds like he’s about to cry, “I feel like I just saw my mum and dad having sex!”

instagram • bakewithyn • may 12th • mama's house ⚑

liked by oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris, and 551,012 others

bakewithyn: LOOK AT MY SON 🥺🥺 PRIDE IS NOT THE WORD IM LOOKING FOR 🗣️🗣️🔊🔊 (happy mother's day to all the beautiful mamas x)

tagged oscarpiastri

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oscarpiastri did dad get you anything 🙃

➥ user 👀👀👀

➥ landonorris well i would've if SOMEBODY told me we were celebrating this year 🤬🤬🤬🤬

➥ oscarpiastri i didn't know i *had* to tell you

➥ user wowwwww lando

➥ user shameful honestly 😕

markwebber happy milf day

➥ markwebber *mother's day sorry typo

➥ bakewithyn what the fuck ☠️☠️☠️

➥ user that was not a typo mark

➥ user sir u are not slick LMAO

➥ bakewithyn i mean...oscar wouldn't mind a step dad, his fatther didn't get me anything today :(

➥ landonorris AYO BABY PLEASE 🧎‍♂️

oscarpiastri you know what would be an even better mother's day gift? getting a puppy 🤭

➥ bakewithyn we are not getting a puppy ozzy.

➥ landonorris should've clued me in osc i might've convinced her for you

➥ oscarpiastri :[

monaco • 2024

You’re about to crash THE FUCK out. At first, it was a little half-joke. Oscar’s home race in Australia, his 1/16th home race in China, and his 3/16th home race in Italy. You originally thought his tweet about “searching for his Monegasque roots” was cute, but you didn’t expect Charles Marc Herve Perceval (Demon Spawn) Leclerc to step into your playing field.

Who the hell does he think he is? Offering to adopt your son? And, Oscar is going along with it? And, the Miami Grand Prix account making a “Certificate of Adoption?” You started to like Miami after Lando won there; and now they’ve betrayed you. Every fan jumped on the bandwagon, thinking that this was the most adorable thing to happen. Like Oscar hasn’t been your child the minute he stepped foot into the MTC in Silverstone. Like he didn’t give you a Mother’s Day present? The Monegasques have some nerve; you were close with Charles and Alex but, now they’ve encroached on your and Lando’s territory. You’re committing several murders today. 

You laughed hysterically when Oscar joined Lando and you for lunch, mentioning that Charles and Alex invited him to eat with the rest of the Leclercs at family dinner after qualifying. You agreed to let him but not without making sure Charles and Alex are qualified for the job. Lando also cornered you in the kitchen and persuaded you to allow Oscar to go; swaying you with the idea of a real date night. You never realized just how much time you guys spend with your son. When’s the last time you guys had a break from being “mum and dad?" It was an appealing offer, but you were serious about clarifying expectations to the thieving couple.

twitter • may 25th • monaco

instagram • bakewithyn • may 25th • date night ⚑

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, nicolepiastri and 236,978 others

bakewithyn: a little night off from parenting was needed x

tagged landonorris

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user okay mamiiiii

user all parents deserve to relax !!!

oscarpiastri do you even miss me ☹️

➥ user damn he goin through it

➥ charlesleclerc i literally just got him to smile and now he's crying again 😒

➥ landonorris your mum and i love you lots osc

➥ oscarpiastri :]

alexandrasaintmleux take full advantage of having no children in the house 😈😈😈

➥ charlesleclerc leo will keep him distracted for as longggg as possible 😏

➥ user lando only needs about three minutes 🥱

➥ user wow that's a really long time fr

oscarpiastri mama y papa

➥ user mama y papa

➥ user mama y papa

➥ user mama y papa

instagram • landonorris • june 16th • daddy's home ⚑

liked by oscarpiastri, angryginge, bakewithyn and 436,812 others

landonorris: father's day done right. my child and his mother made a cake for me, family photo slide two, and my son slide three. what more can a man want.

tagged bakewithyn and oscarpiastri

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user this man never misses a chance to call himself daddy

user too fucking funny 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️

bakewithyn happy father's day, daddy xxx

➥ user OHMYGOD 😖🤢🤮

➥ user on my internet⁉️⁉️⁉️

➥ landonorris even happier now x

user this new wave of parents concerns me...

oscarpiastri the cake was good wasn't it???

➥ landonorris it was perfect, seriously

➥ oscarpiastri i know you both said there's no way we'd get a puppy but hear me out i've thought of something better

➥ oscarpiastri working on giving me a younger sibling :]

➥ user YES BABY NORRIS ‼️‼️‼️

➥ landonorris @/bakewithyn ?

➥ bakewithyn ask me again in a couple of years

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