#folded like a damn lawn chair

[jjsgirly]

wanna come over n' do sum blow? read at 2am … dealer!rafe cameron ! 18+, mdni. ༄.°

all over kildare you were deemed a "sweetheart" and an "angel" by anyone who knew you. you were poised and graceful, always dressed in pastels, your makeup light, and your hair always done up with pretty ornaments. your personality matched your looks—as sweet as sugar, helpful, and kind—vastly different from most of the people that resided in kildare. you were innocent to most. well, almost.

beneath the lily-white façade, you were a fiend. a coke addict. and rafe cameron knew. he was your best friend's older brother, and you barely knew him, really. whenever you hung out with sarah, you only caught glimpses of him as he was off living his own life, doing his own things, not that you cared, as when he was around, he treated you as "one of sarah's little friends" and picked on you a little bit. playful banter, you supposed, if it wasn't for the small jabs at your purity, mocking you.

it was honestly a mistake, one of those offhand coincidences. you had been doing so well hiding your little habit from everyone who was close to you, remaining as your usual as-pure-as-the-driven-snow self in front of them. that was until sarah had invited you to one of rafe's infamous parties, and you couldn't decline when she looked at you like that. how could you? she promised that there wasn't going to be any drugs or alcohol, but you knew better. drugs and alcohol were synonymous with rafe's name, so you decided to suck it up and play along.

the party was wild as always when you had shown up. sarah immediately led you through the estate and into the kitchen, crowded with teenagers doing god knows what. you tried to keep your eyes ahead of you and focused on the back of the blonde's head. she handed you a glass of water, nursing on her own cup with an amused smile gracing her pretty lips, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes and nudge her, causing her to bubble up a laugh.

admittedly, as the party went on and you had gotten separated from sarah at some point throughout it, looking around you made you start to withdraw. people were shameless in their illicit acts, doing substances so openly for everyone to see, but it was kildare. everyone and their mama had their habits, whether or not they cared to share them freely with prying eyes. of course, you were no different, and it was getting increasingly harder to control your urges.

you decided to relieve yourself by going upstairs, wanting to go into sarah's room to calm down and put yourself in order. as you made it down the hall, you noticed her older brother's door slightly ajar, which captured your interest and piqued your curiosity, moving towards it and pushing it open more, like something had overtaken you that you couldn't quite control.

the door opened more and revealed the dirty-blond's bedroom; you had never seen it before; sleek and clean for the most part, as expected of a rich boy, but the more it opened, the more you saw, eventually leading you to see rafe himself standing up against his balcony, doing a line with both doors open.

you were paralyzed, staring at it, praying to god that he didn't turn around and see you standing there practically salivating for it. to snort a line. to let go and relax. to get out of those fucking heels because, christ, they were killing you. unfortunately, god didn't hear those prayers, and as if he could feel your intense staring, he turned to look over his shoulder and at his now more than ajar door, your small, unexpected frame lurking in the doorway with the most bemused expression plastered across your delicate face, eyes wide and lips parted slightly.

oh, fuck, he thought, what a pleasant surprise. 

reading your face and demeanor as if he were a psychic, he nodded with his chin for you to come over, an invitation that didn't at all go unnoticed, and you accepted it naturally, walking into his room and closing the door behind you with a soft click, making your way over to him with small, tentative steps until you crossed the threshold and out onto the balcony with him, your eyes glancing at the cocaine laid out along the eloquent railing, tempting you.

"who knew that you of all people would be so interested in something like this, miss delicate flower, who never so much as raises 'er voice or does anything improper?" the dirty-blond sneered, his eyes gazing down at you with mirth as he so casually gestured towards what you wanted, and for the first time since he's known you, you furrowed your brows at him, irked.

"oho, fuck, princess. don't look at me like that; just messin' with you; i don't really care. honestly, i saw through your little bullshit act right away, but you seemed so invested in my sister, so i left it alone." he chuckled, shaking his head and turning to look out below the balcony and propped his elbow onto the railing with his head in his hand.

"s'not an act." you futilely tried to protest even despite being caught red-handed in your longstanding lie, nervously grabbing at the hem of your dress and fidgeting with it, uncomfortable with yourself, especially with the way rafe cocked his head and gave you a once over before settling his eyes back on yours, peering into them like he could see into the deepest part of your soul, where all of your deceptions lied underneath the wholesome appearance.

"sure s'not. if it isn't, walk out of here then. i don't need one of sarah's stuck-up, prissy friends in my room givin' me a goddamn headache when all i'm tryna do is relax." he stated, glancing at his door, as forthright and dickish as he always was, shrugging his shoulders with a smug look carved into his sharp features.

it annoyed you how standoffish he was, especially right then. you knew that he knew that you weren't going to leave, not when the metaphorical card was already laid out on the table, calling your name with its honey-toned voice, and you scrunched up your nose, eyes squinting at him, bunching up the edge of your pristine skirt into your fists. you hated that he knew, that he could see through you—some part of you really did want to leave, to call his bluff, make him look like an idiot for thinking of you any differently than what you presented yourself as, but you wouldn't. you couldn't.

when you didn't move an inch from where you were boring your eyes into him, rafe's cocky ass smirk only widened in response, and he hummed, amused by you, like you were some undomesticated, rabid animal seeking out your fix with crazed eyes. though, he had to admit, it was beautifully wild in a way, how you looked right then. he swore he could see the desperation lurking behind your eyes, feeling himself relent just a bit and shaking his head.

"go on. i don't mind sharin'." he sighed, moving a bit out of the way as he raised his brows, watching the way your whole attitude shifted, your eyes immediately lighting up like fireworks had just gone off inside of them, your body visibly relaxing, and the smallest hint of a smile forming along your glossy lips.

you turned gracefully on your heels and faced the railing of the balcony, eyeing the two powdery lines, residue from the one rafe had already snorted lingering by them, and looked around for something to use to inhale it with but came up short, letting out a huff, but, oh well, at least you were getting the relief you craved. reaching your hand behind your head, you grabbed onto your hair and formed it into a makeshift ponytail before leaning over and positioning yourself closest to the line towards the edge, using your free hand to plug one of your nostrils before swiping across, inhaling the drug, and pulling back, fluttering your lashes and sniffling.

rafe watched with eyes like a hawk, enjoying the unintentional show you were putting on for him. he felt elated to know that you had dropped the whole goody two-shoes act, finally showing your true colors, which he found to be much more appealing than that fake ass miss prim shit, masquerading as some proper angel when deep down you were just like everyone else, no longer hiding it from his prying eyes. he'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't find you attractive at all in the moment, his gaze drifting towards your ass when you had bent over, wetting his lips, and following you intently when you rose back up.

he couldn't help himself; really, you were too fucking beautiful right then in your natural element, turning your head to look up at him with goddamn doe eyes, dainty lashes fluttering, the color of yours becoming greedily swallowed up by your pupils as the coke settled in your system, lips parting as you became more and more lax, simple-minded. you were easy now, and what you didn't know was that rafe did, indeed, not mind sharing, but that came with a price that he purposefully hid underneath his charitable tone, a price you were now going to pay for.

his arm dropped from the railing and stalked back closer to you, his eyes drinking you in like a fine wine as you tilted your head back inch by inch to look up at him properly, your features soft and graceful, some of your hair falling in front of your face.

he leaned his head down, his lips hovering close to your ear and eliciting a small, surprised noise from you, shivering a bit as you felt his warm breath fan over the sensitive skin. every sensation now heightened thanks to the angel dust coursing through your body, a bit dizzy and lightheaded.

"usually i'd ask you to pay me money for that sampler, but, y'know, i'm sure there's another way you'd be willing to pay me back, hm?" he whispered into your ear, his hand finding purchase on your hip and drawing you in, his warmth seeping through the silk fabric of your dress and making you stiffen.

your high made any rational thoughts leave your spinning head, so obediently you nodded your head and craned your neck back more, rafe leaving the side of your head with a wicked smile split across his face, sapphire eyes darkened, and he extended his other hand out towards his bedroom. "be my guest," and you did, having been piledrived into his mattress while clawing at him from overstimulation all the while he degraded you for being such a dirty fucking coke whore.

it was around 2am and you were up, sitting in front of your vanity and combing through your hair, having not been able to sleep for some reason, so you decided to doll yourself up just for yourself.

a buzz from your phone drew your attention away from your reflection and looked to it atop your desk, placing down your brush and grabbing ahold of it, unlocking it with a small scowl as you saw you had a notification from rafe cameron—your dealer. after that one night, you'll never forget.

he promised to give you good cocaine on account of you being the most perfect, pliant hole he's ever had the pleasure of fucking into, like his own personal fleshlight, so as long as you continue doing so, to which you agreed because it was a pretty good deal, but you made the condition of him not spilling your secret. he accepted.

> wanna come over n' do sum blow?

that was the text message. straightforward. you rolled your eyes and hovered your thumbs over the keyboard that had materialized within the chat, contemplating. no doubt this was a booty call, but you had been craving for that euphoric release for a few weeks now, having been preoccupied with other stuff.

is sarah home?

> no. at a friend's house. sleepover or sum shit.

you sighed. you didn't have an excuse not to go, so with tentative fingers, you gave him your answer.

be there in 20.

"r—a—fe!" you squeaked out as you dug your perfectly manicured nails into the dirty-blond's muscled back, fat, pearly tears streaming down your face as he folded you in half on top of his bed, driving his fat cock in and out of your weeping, overstimulated, puffy pussy, his hands keeping your legs secure with your knees pressed to your chest.

"take it, take it, take it. oh, god, yeah. so fucking good, sucking in my dick so well, huh?" he rasped, his thrusts relentless as he pistoned himself into you over and over and over and over again, your body trembling as it felt like you were getting electrocuted with shockwave after shockwave, rippling through your fucked-out body, not even moaning anymore, just crying.

the mushroom tip of his cock bullied your cervix with each mindnumbing thrust he delivered, not letting up even after the three rounds you had already been subjected to, your insides mushy and gooey, the base of rafe's dick coated with a creamy ring, answered for by your orgasms, each one being pulled from you that enraptured your whole body and left you cumming around his cock, milking him for everything you were worth.

"can't—take it—anymore! 'm too sens'tive! stop rafe! please, ple—ase!" you choked out through incessant whimpers and cries, back arching off the bed as he ground his dick into you, pushing you to your next orgasm rapidly, toes curling and your nails digging in even deeper, drawing groans from his kiss-bitten lips.

"nonono, baby. i gave you the sweet release you wanted, right? so, 'm gonna fuckin' get mine," he grunted, pushing down on your legs further, your body that of a contortionist with the way he had you bent like a goddamn lawn chair. "every," he pounded once harshly, "single," and again. "fucking," and again. "one." he picked his speed back up and threw his head back, strings of curses pouring from his lips.

your head was entirely blank, nothing in it, simply riding out your incredible high as rafe absolutely destroyed you, approaching your climax. with a final pump, you were sent tumbling over the edge and cried out his name like it was a prayer, your body lifting from the bed, head lolling back against his pillows, tidal waves crashing over you as your vision blacked out.

the dirty-blond simply gazed down as you convulsed around him, your petals fluttering around him and greedily clenching, cum sticking to his length as he slowed down his motions, mouth agape with pride as he watched himself fuck it back into you, your hole spent and aching, being overstimulated again, and through your delirium, you tried to push away, whimpering pathetically, to which he simply laughed in your face.

"uh-uh, coke whore. not done yet, haven't even come," he crooned bittersweetly, starting to pick up his pace again, leaning in close to press a few soft kisses to your knee, followed by a bite, causing you to jolt, his smirk widening. "stay still, yeah? i'll give you extra if you be good, and let me fuck you some more."

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likes, comments, & reblogs are very much appreciated. ♡

[blackeaglelesbian]

Gilbert: Come, Dimitri. It’s time you addressed your people.

Dimitri: What? They will never accept me! I am a bloodstained monster, entirely unworthy to face them! I killed soldiers from my homeland 5 years ago, men who had families and were simply doing their duties. How can I ever atone for those sins?? I looked upon my hands and all I see is blood red, I hear the cries of-

Byleth: We’re going.

Dimitri: Yes, ma’am.

[leopardmuffinxo]

saw Sten in the DA art book and now i can’t focus 🫦

[hungharrington]

I naturally run cold but currently idk my hands r colder than usual and I'm just imagining Steve's lil hiss wen I wrap my hand around him like it feels good but also "honey damn your hands r cold"

imagining the pure hilarity of reaching into his sweatpants during a makeout and like wrapping your hand around his cock and steve folding like a wet napkin, hips going backward as he goes ‘oh ah fuck shit damn your hands are cold’ and having to make it up to you bcos you get all pouty :)

[ladyzirkonia]

I'm so exhausted after today. I just wanna join these Mandalorians. Playing ball and having a damn camping trip.

Sitting with this handsome modern Mandalorian guy in a folding lawn chair and drinking some pog soup.

Thank you @fulcrum-art-fox

[rhulkspetscreeb]

2030 kills and 228 deaths

For one emblem

[dressycobra7]

@oracleact @consumedwithtrust @ryomen-sukuna-1-0

v1

im not okay

not Jin but you know, what if his twin had been born too

[truly-quirkless]

@mutherless asked:

"all might." / from izuku

[Ways to respond when someone says 'I'm okay'. || Accepting.]

He let out a breath. The rest of 1-A was easy to fool- well. Easy to mislead, at least in regards to how he was doing. He'd barely made it to the end of the class, that day- wheezing, hacking globs of crimson as he tried to recover. The strain he'd put on One for All's embers was a bit much- he'd felt as though his entire body was being compressed, forced down to nothing for most of the class. It had been all he could do to laugh and smile and pray the kids didn't need any reprimands.

Though he'd paused the briefest moment- seeing a taller version of the youth he knew so well. More scarred, but- something about him just rang with experience. Undoubtedly- another traveler. Another lost soul he'd try to help find his way back...though the blond would be lying if he said it wasn't nice to see a version of the kid that had grown up,...

Become a Hero.

"...I will be." He finally managed to answer. 'I'm fine'- one of the only lies Toshinori permitted himself to ever say- and even then, it was because it was a half truth. After all- wasn't he above ground? Didn't that constitute as fine? "...I just....overextended myself....it's nothing you need to worry about, kid. Promise." Not yet. Not ever, hopefully. "...you should be a little more concerned about yourself, right now..."

He had to keep the other out of sight of 1-A....had to find another Door. (When had they started popping up more commonly on campus?) He'd have to discuss this with Endeavor, later... He tried to stand up straight- feeling his body protest, another round of coughs nearly folding him again.

Damn his injuries...

[forlix]

· . ˚ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞

— the little mannerisms you pick up from the members of stray kids over the course of your relationship.

words・3.7k / pairings・ot8 x gn!reader / genres・fluff, humor, borderline crack, intentional lowercase, established relationship(s) / warnings・minsung’s are suggestive, touch of anxiety in felix's, jeongin's is lowkey gross LMFAO

a/n・massive shoutout to @/http.dwaekkii on tiktok for their edits about the boys' habits, which i consulted for chan, changbin, seungmin, and jeongin (and to @astraystayyh for beta reading hehe. what would i do without u). these were sooooo fun to write, hope u guys enjoy (｡˃ ��� ˂ )

chan + getting shy easily. poor thing gets embarrassed so quickly as it is. throw you into the mix and it’s just critical hit after critical hit. defense lowered. no health potions left. he folds like a lawn chair with a massive smile and a whiny “stooooop” every time you say something even remotely affectionate. the habit is adorable, and you love it to pieces.

but you like poking fun at it even more. “god forbid i find my literal underwear model of a boyfriend attractive,” you’d say, or something along those lines, which of course only triples his embarrassment and on more than one occasion results in him starfishing on your kitchen floor, his hood pulled over his face.

fast forward however many months. he’s still the worst compliment-receiver you know, but you discover one arbitrary afternoon that it’s rubbed off on you.

the two of you are cuddled together on the living room couch in your usual fashion, your legs thrown over his thighs and his hands tracing absently over your shins as you relay to him something you overheard on the subway. the conversation is painfully normal. you’re almost bored. you pause to take a breath, and he murmurs, out of nowhere, in the dreamiest tone: “so damn beautiful.”

“wha—huh? what is?”

“you. your voice, your face, everything. i‘m lucky.”

your expression of bewilderment persists for around ten seconds, and then slowly, so slowly, you begin to sandwich your head between your knees, balling yourself up like a spooked armadillo. chan wonders if he should call an ambulance.

“love?” no response. “what, uh, what’s happening right now, exactly?”

no response. no response. then, hoarsely, “you can’t...say shit like that…randomly.”

he notices two things after that. one, your skin is burning hot enough to fry something upon, and two, you’ve formed a fist in the fabric of his hoodie, which you only do when you’re pretending to be annoyed at him. the puzzle pieces fall into place, and he starts grinning like a madman.

“you’re…embarrassed?”

the guttural groan you emit is more than enough of an answer, and the cute aggression that overcomes chan is fucking debilitating. he wraps his arms around you and hauls you entirely off the couch and onto his lap, littering kisses over your face until it finally resigns into a matching smile. all intent to continue feigning grumpiness erased with the drop of a hat. you drape an arm over his neck.

“you’re so good to me, channie,” you sigh helplessly. “i love you.”

“love you more, baby.” he imprints these words directly upon your lips, then pulls away, giggles. “that was very me of you, by the way.”

“i know, right? i was just about to say.”

minho + butt touching. it’s quite simple, really. if lee minho is within proximity of someone’s buttocks, he will, as he lives and breathes, make it known. will it be a coy little swat or a yelp-eliciting, full-bodied grab? nobody ever knows, not even him. the unpredictability is what makes it exciting.

but it takes a while before this starts applying to you, because the way minho touches you is…different. doting. there’s no other way to describe how he always holds the nape of your neck while kissing you, how he rests a hand against the small of your back whenever he leads you somewhere, how during the nights you can’t sleep he guides you to the place on his chest where he knows his heartbeat is loudest. he even drags you into his trademark headlocks the same way one would hold an invaluable treasure. he’s so obsessed with all of you that he never thinks to pay just your butt special attention (though it is, indeed, a special butt).

you take it into your own hands. literally.

you don’t know what prompts it—maybe you’ve simply seen minho slap his members’ asses one too many times, or maybe you’re still thinking of the specific time minho slapped changbin’s ass in passing and it fucking echoed, or maybe minho just looks especially fine in this practice outfit, a skintight tee and washed sweatpants that hug him in all the right places—but you feel a new urge today as your boyfriend swings his duffel over his shoulder, circles around the kitchen counter.

he puckers up as he nears you, silently requesting his goodbye; you give it to him, relishing for a moment in the familiar, soft plush of his lips beneath yours. then he pulls away and turns to leave, and your hand acquires its target.

“go get ‘em, tiger.” thwack!

minho jumps a foot into the air. clutches his pearls and his left butt cheek. becomes the splitting image of that perplexed blonde lady surrounded by geometry.

but when he turns around to stare at you, the smirk melting across his face betrays how he really feels about what you’ve just done. good. really good.

you, meanwhile, look genuinely confused. “it’s like it moved on its own.”

minho beams. steps towards you daintily, intentionally, like a cat catching sight of a laser beam. brings a hand to your hip, murmurs, “that’s what we’re doing now?” kisses you again, for longer this time.

you fully foresee his fingers wandering to your ass to give it a gentle squeeze, but you reach up to cuff his shoulder when it happens anyways, and his laugh vibrates against your mouth. it seems you’ll be reaping what you’ve sown from now on.

(good luck.)

changbin + the Cackle™. yes, you said something exceptionally funny. yes, you expected changbin to find it funny too. but you couldn’t expect the godforsaken noise that left his mouth as he threw himself straight into the tree planter behind you.

your mind spun with frantic questions as you helped him out of the dirt. had the spirit of spongebob just usurped his vocal cords? were you on a date with the wicked witch of the west? most importantly—

“are you well?” you sputtered, which only made him laugh harder and his laugh so much crazier, so you started laughing, too. and you were goners, falling over each other until you’d been reduced to watery eyes and sore cheeks, your giggling interrupted only by the sound of you slapping his thigh every so often, heartily enough to reverberate around the little park in which you concluded your second date.

that’s how you fall for seo changbin: laughing. with a reckless, breathless abandon you didn’t think possible. stumbling across empty sidewalks, spitting noodles across dining tables, begging for mercy on studio couches. wrestling under tear-stained comforters, starting (and re-starting) silly stories, huffing into beaming kisses. the list goes on.

you never quite get used to that chortle of his, too busy enjoying its insanity to notice how your own chuckles grow shorter and shriller, how they gradually develop an edge like the chittering of a forest dweller.

you complete your transformation on your ninety-eighth date. 

no, changbin doesn’t say anything exceptionally funny. no, he doesn’t expect you to find it exceptionally funny, either. he expects least of all for you to fold over the kitchen island and start cackling like cruella de vil on helium.

jisung turns around from his seat on the couch. chan’s footsteps come to a halt as he emerges from the bathroom. both of them have fear in their eyes as they witness your undoing.

the only thing on changbin’s face, though, is unfettered delight.

“b-baby,” he sputters with a growing smile. “are you—”

you lift your face off the marble surface and turn to face him. the entirety of your forehead and the point of your nose is covered in flour. you blow a cloud of the stuff out of your mouth like a dragon awoken from slumber.

he loses it.

the two of you make your way onto the floor in slow motion, ending in a tangled heap against the side of the counter. changbin tries to clean off the flour and smears it all over your cheeks instead. you are zero help whatsoever, smacking his bicep like that’ll help you catch your breath. your synchronized, diabolical laughter reaches every corner of the apartment. your happiness reaches every nerve ending.

chan and jisung look at each other and sigh. jisung takes a video.

hyunjin + side-eyeing. this man is so god awful at controlling his face, bless him…and DAMN HIM.

on one hand, you love how in tune with his emotions he is, how confidently he puts them on display. and you love your synergy. you come closer to believing in soulmates every time you glance his way and discover your exact feelings written all over his features; it’s a special type of happiness, sharing a brain with your favorite person in the world.

on the other hand, you think there’s a time and place for candor, and he tends, well, not to think at all. during many a precarious situation, you’ll catch him wearing an expression so transparent that he might as well arrange the words THIS IS STUPID AND I HATE ALL OF YOU over his head in neon lights. cue a dig of your heel into his toe, a hiss of pain cut short by your piercing glare. if you’d known ahead of time that dating hwang hyunjin would have you doing so much damage control…you’d still date him, let’s be real. but you do get stressed at times.

the night the tables turn, you’re at a celebratory dinner for your coworker’s birthday. small caveat: you can’t stand her. she’s the type to spontaneously combust if she goes two minutes without talking about herself. certainly doesn’t help that she’s downing champagne like water, and her lips are looser than ever.

hyunjin comes with you, fortunately. or not. he spends the whole evening trying so hard not to laugh: snorting into his bread, excusing himself to “cough.” you think he actually starts doing breathing exercises at some point. you’re so, so grateful that he’s here, but you’re also deathly afraid that he’s gonna bring out those neon lights in front of your entire office.

then, she flirts with him.

from the opposite end of the table. perfectly wasted but still knowing perfectly well that he’s yours. the whole patio goes silent. hyunjin’s jaw hits the table.

your fork clatters to your plate.

FUCK time and place.

the side-eye you give her is devastating. truly masterful. your brow furrows. your eyes turn to slits. your gaze does the up-down-up of unadulterated incredulity. hyunjin recognizes the motions straightaway and starts smiling so hard his whole face hurts.

you take your boyfriend’s wrist and stand up. he follows suit. you don’t say a thing as you leave the restaurant, and you don’t have to. the intensity of your disdain was more than enough; anything more and she might’ve started crying.

once you’re on the curb outside, hyunjin pulls on your interlocked hands, brings you close. his lips brush against the shell of your ear. you hear laughter and his smirk in his voice: “you might be the sexiest person on earth."

jisung + how he applies lip balm. that han jisung is the pioneer of modern day babygirlism is the worst kept secret in the world. that han jisung applies lip balm the riveting way he does, however, is unknown even to you. until one morning.

you pop into the bathroom and make your usual beeline for your toothbrush, only to end up motionless in front of the sink, staring. jisung is a bit off to the side, hair pinned back by a cinnamoroll headband, eyes glued to his phone, hand holding a tube of chapstick that you can actually see getting shorter in real time. he looks so pensive, so concentrated. how long has it been since he last blinked? you’ve half a mind to pull out a stopwatch.

finally, he rubs his lips together, recaps the chapstick, and makes eye contact with you in the mirror. a smile crosses his face, equal parts confused and amused.

“baby, your mouth is open.”

you close it. then you open it again, and your words come out in a barely-contained laugh: “what on earth did you just do?”

“what do you mean?”

“the—” you point at his mouth, then do your best impression of an elementary schooler trying to color inside the lines. “—that.”

jisung looks aghast. “that was LIP BALM.”

“no, i know what it—you’re so—i meant, why do you apply it like that?”

jisung continues to look aghast. “like what?”

“like you’re one of socrates’ prized pupils and the answer to the universe’s formation lies at the bottom of—” you step in close, reach into the pocket of his sweatpants. “—this tube!”

it might be the craziest thing you’ve ever said to him. he bursts into laughter, the kind that leaves him no recollection of what he does with his limbs, and when he can see straight again he discovers he’s pressed you gently against the counter. his fingers latched around the hem of your top, his grin inches away from yours. can’t stay away from you to save his life, this one.

“do i actually?”

“yes! holy shit, it’s so cute.” your arms circle around his neck, also without an ounce of thought, also through a fit of giggles. “no way you’ve always done that, right?”

“i don’t know. i’ve never thought about it.” a pause. a tilt of his head, with purpose. “am i…doing it wrong?”

the question is a trap and you realize it too late. your gaze drops from his eyes to his lips—a ray of sunlight glistens off the pink plush like a paid actor—then back to his eyes. let’s find out.

you lean in. so does he. and his mouth tastes and feels like melted fucking sugar. it’s such a pleasant surprise that you actually moan, and he chuckles against you. lifts you onto the edge of the sink. your mind really goes empty after that, save for one thought. i have to start doing that.

felix + checking his own pulse. you saw it from afar, the first time.

he stood by the stage’s entrance just before curtain up, pointer and middle finger pressed against the side of his neck. eyelids sealed closed, chest heaving. you tilted your head, puzzled. worried. then the concert began, and you pushed the image to the back of your mind.

it returned to the forefront right before bed.

“you do it when you’re nervous?”

“yeah. forces me to ground myself. turns off the world for a bit.” the hand rubbing circles into your back paused. “wanna give it a go?”

“what, checking my pulse?”

“mine.”

you lifted your head off the pillow. felix took your hand from where it sat upon his ribs, isolating two fingers and nestling them over his jugular. his quickened heartbeat pressed into your skin like the world’s gentlest tattoo.

the sixty seconds began and concluded in total silence.

“well?” he whispered.

“ninety-three,” you answered, lightheaded from the sheer intimacy of it all. “you’re nervous right now?”

“something like that,” he hummed. pulled you down, kissed you deeply. there were no more words exchanged that night.

the habit surfaced more than you knew. while driving to visit your parents. after a stupid argument with a bouquet of flowers tucked beneath his free arm. you started doing it for him in the times he couldn’t, and he’d cover your hand with his own and kiss the top of your head silently, gratefully.

two years have passed since, and you’ve vanished from the dinner table.

felix asks the nearest waiter for directions to the restrooms. you don’t notice when the door swings open, unmoving in your spot over the sink, your pointer and middle finger pressed against the side of your neck. 

his hand finds your hip. you let him turn you around and bring you to his chest; he glances at the crystalline droplets studding your lashes and falling from your cheeks. his eyes convey what his mouth doesn’t need to, not anymore.

let me.

you do.

his fingers replace yours the moment you drop them from under your jaw, the movement like clockwork. he counts your every heartbeat with unblinking concentration, his heart growing heavier the higher the number climbs.

the sixty seconds begin and conclude in total silence. 

“well?” you whisper.

“hundred and six,” he answers. to his confusion, a smile pulls at your lips. 

he wonders if it’s a trick of the bathroom lights when he sees the tiny box you pluck from your pocket, but there’s no mistaking the reality of the diamond ring that sits behind its open lid.

the earth slants under his feet.

“crazy.” you giggle through your tears, run your thumb over his cheekbone. “that’s how many years i want with you.”

seungmin + poking eyes(?) he’s hardly touched puppym when your voice is slicing through the living room air like a fucking beyblade. 

“KIM SEUNGMIN, UNHAND HIM THIS INSTANT.”

do you have a sixth sense just for this? he throws his hands up in exasperation. “he’s literally me. i’m allowed to do whatever i want with me.”

“he’s not you, he’s our son.” you pop out of nowhere to swipe the plushie from over your boyfriend’s shoulder. “my son, if you keep this up.”

“just say you hate me and my preferred avenues of self expression.”

upside-down, he watches you dust off puppym’s face and smooch his forehead with a tenderness that makes seungmin unhappier than he lets on. you then tuck him into your jacket pocket. the little shit’s expression looks strangely smug poking out of its cotton capsule.

“i’m asking you to not gauge his eyes out, not to deliver me the holy grail,” you say. “you’ll survive.”

but then he feels your hands on either side of his face, and you lean over him like the mj to his peter, leave a kiss on the space between his eyes, too. he has zero say in the bashful smile this brings to his face.

“but why do you do that, seriously?” you mutter.

“i have no idea,” he replies. “but it’s fun. try it.”

“i’ll think about it.” you lean in again, and he nearly forgets what you were talking about in the first place when you kiss him on the lips this time. “okay, i’ve thought about it. no.”

“hate you,” he says despite the literal hearts in his eyes, and then you’re off to work.

puppym takes strikingly after his father. they have the same bangs. the same compulsively squeezable quality. the same little :3 that can only allude to sinister plottings. you’d be loath to admit that you sort of comprehend seungmin’s poking predisposition.

one night, seungmin falls asleep before you even finish your nighttime routine, and you spot in his peaceful, upturned face an opportunity.

you lie belly-down on your side of the bed. your fingers splay into a peace-sign in the air. your smile stretches further into a cheshire grin the closer you bring your hand. you’re just about to reach the ends of his eyelashes when—

“I KNEW IT!”

you almost catapult into the ceiling. then you try to make a mad dash for the bathroom. but seungmin shoots a hand around your wrist like he’s actually peter parker and pins you down before you so much as take a step. your only remaining option is to sulk about your foiled plans. (and blush, because, well, you’re under him.)

“amateur,” he tsks. “you gotta test my breathing to make sure i’m asleep first. shit’s foolproof.”

you blink at him for a few seconds. his words finally click.

now you almost catapult him into the ceiling.

“HOW MANY TIMES?”

jeongin + eating food in one bite. so you might be an instigator.

“hwuck,” he grumbles around the whole ice cream cone in his mouth, face scrunched up in a brain-freeze-induced wince. “ayee ith waz a bah iyeah.” (translation: fuck, maybe this was a bad idea.)

“you got this. just take it slow,” you urge, except he’s stopped moving and speaking and closed his eyes as if he’s descending into a deep sleep. you’re actually concerned for about two seconds, and then his jaw begins to oscillate leisurely like an elderly cow in his favorite pasture. false alarm.

after some time, he swallows, beams. “so am i the fucking best or what.”

“yeah you are,” you echo, and he swings an arm over your shoulder, plants a chocolatey kiss on your temple. the two of you celebrate his daesangs with less enthusiasm.

“when are you doing that with me, by the way?”

“the one-bite thing?” he nods. “mmm, coaches don’t play.”

“mmm, this one will.”

“doubtful.”

fast forward a few weeks and you, jeongin, and his younger brother are sitting cross-legged on the porch in his backyard. three full-sized oranges rest in the center of your makeshift circle. damn is yoon hard to say no to. (runs in the family.)

“the rules!” he declares. “eat the orange whole! first to swallow it wins! you can’t spit it out!”

you wait. “is that it?”

“yes!”

why was the delivery so grand?

jeongin places a fond hand atop his brother’s head. “i’ve brought you a new loser, yoonie. get excited.”

you feign an indifferent scoff, but jeongin spots the fire that ignites behind your eyes like that of an anime protagonist, the resolute grip with which you palm your orange. he smirks. he’s never known you to take trash talk sitting down. or sitting cross-legged on his porch.

yoon counts you off. “ready…”

“good luck, coach,” jeongin sings.

“shut up, pipsqueak.”

“set…GO!”

in amusing unison, you and yoon try and fail to fasten your teeth around even half of the fruit. jeongin, meanwhile, fits the whole thing into his black hole of an oral cavity and launches into that dumb cow impression again.

desperate times call for desperate measures.

you rip the orange from your lips. “yoon! your brother’s ticklish, right?”

both yang siblings’ eyes widen—the younger’s in growing delight, the older’s in impending horror.

the latter reacts first. “ay, ay, ay, ah ahes eh ooles!” (translation: wait, wait, wait, that’s against the rules!)

but the former moves first, and you’re right behind him.

jeongin weakens when the younger boy assaults his sides, crumples when you target the back of his neck, the sounds leaving his mouth getting progressively louder and somehow even less intelligible.

he eventually has to spit out the orange to avoid death by pulp going down the wrong pipe and spins around in indignation, wiping at his chin with the back of his hand. but his annoyance—

you’re back on the floor, gnawing hopelessly at the the orange again. “ih ih eawahin, ooh.” (translation: this is embarrassing, yoon.)

yoon replies, “huh?” (translation: huh?)

—dissipates, immediately.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp ・ @automaticpersonabatpaper

© forlix (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[shallowseeker]

via @flowers-jn-her-hair

Dean, who sometimes fantasized about being admired, about getting real meaningful attention, like how in Tall Tales he romanticized a love interest saying: “looking at you is like staring into the sun”

God I mean

no one talks like that outside of cheap romance novels probably but but but—

If Cas did get flowery

if he did happen to break out the poetry

Or words like beautiful

Dean would’ve never recovered

[starboye]

imagine fratboy!rafe just trying to survive no nut november, he made a stupid bet with his other frat bros in the beginning of the month that he could survive the whole of november without jerking off but damn it was becoming hard (pun intended) especially when you came over to the frat house, dressed up all sexy for him not knowing the bet he had

fuck why did you have to come over on today of all days, looking so good for him, he sat on the couch trying to keep his eyes from lingering to long on your ass but that came to a full halt when you sat down next to him, hands rubbing at his thigh, slowly moving higher and higher until it got to his crotch usually this would get a rise out of him but his time it didn't

so you ask him what's wrong and he admits he's participating in no nut november and you let out a little snicker of disbelief, the fratboy who you know as the horniest man alive is doing NNN so what would be the harm in a little teasing, kissing down his neck a little and moving your hand up his shirt before unzipping his pants a little

you ask him if he wants to keep going and he folds quicker than a lawn chair, letting out a breathy yes and you take him up to his room, he's quick to strip himself of his clothes and lay on the bed, your hand wrapped around his dick, slowly jerking him off until he quickly blew his load, you cant blame the man, he hasn't jerked off in eleven days

and what would be the harm in helping him out a little more, making him cum again and again and again until his balls were nice and empty and his moans could be heard through the walls, seems to me like he lost this bet

[moonmutt]

the words "good puppy" flips a switch in my brain real quick

[killakalx]

17+ content, blank blogs dnf

overstim (again. oops), begging (again! oops), light impact play, dumbification if you squint, mating press, dickie boy’s a lil mean

dick grayson is always pushing you to your limits. he says it’s his job, as your amazing and supportive boyfriend, yk? telling you how good you’re doing, how proud he is, how honored he is to call such a strong and determined woman his girlfriend. in his eyes, it’s only right that he keeps pushing you. even when you’re tired and overstimulated, feeling like you couldn’t possibly give him anything more, and he still pulls it out of you like it should be nothing.

“mm… dick,” you pout, legs trembling and barely able to remain wrapped around his torso. you keep him close, hands curled deep into his hair and whining into his ear with each agonizingly deep thrust. he pants into the shimmering skin of your neck with a hm, as if he doesn’t know he’s got you near tears. “dick- i can’t…”

“don’t be like that, baby,” he huffs, positioning a leg over his shoulder to get his cock deeper in your weeping cunt. the cry you let out has him writhing, moaning with you as another orgasm is forced out of you. his pace refuses to falter, though- and his mouth is on yours before you can beg for any mercy. “look at that, sweetheart- you can.” you’re both sticky with sweat and the sheets are disgustingly soaked, yet he’s convinced his stamina as an acrobatic vigilante should speak for your stamina as well. you’ve yet to distinguish this between a punishment or a reward, and he probably hasn’t either.

the begging, the way you cling to him- he feels needed. relied on. he can’t get enough of it. hence why he’d rather watch your sore and aching pussy continue to suck him in, all puffy and creamed out with his cum. dick grayson, fucking you into his mattress and folding you like a lawn chair. strong grip on a handful of your hair just to force your chin to your chest, making you watch as your cunt squelches around the girth of his cock; cooing at you, telling you how pretty you look, drawing out all those cute noises- and he wouldn't have you looking any other way, just for him.

and just to embarrass you, he's waiting on you to string together words other than your pathetic pleas of his name. "what is it, doll? just talk to me," he teases, "c’mon- look at me while i fuck you, baby." he knows damn well you're fucked beyond words and comprehension and he uses it like the evil motherfuker he is, leaning until his chest meets yours and pulling out another one of those pretty whines. fixing your gaze to look up at him is the last thing on your mind, and your cries for him hardly suffice. “you hear me, sweetheart?”

“dick- oh my god, dick, please…” you’re babbling now, bleary-eyes losing focus as you give up on clinging to him and you aren’t even sure what you’re begging for. his poor girl, so fucked out on his cock and he doesn’t even consider being nicer.

“don’t even know what you want,” dick grunts, little slaps against your cheek seemingly meant to bring you back. they’re gentle but firm, making your eyes shoot back open when his hand grabs your face before you drift back off. “d’you even know what i said? tell me.” and all you can give him is a slurred cry of his name.

if you weren’t stuck between operational and fucked into unconsciousness, you’d tell him you’re done, that you can’t take anymore. mascara running, legs sore and trembling, arms limp behind your head rather than holding onto him. it’s at this point that you figure he just wants a pretty little sex toy to use over and over- and the realization is evident when dick flips you over without pulling out, holding your ass up and letting your upper body rest against the mattress as a courtesy.

“I can go for one more,” he assures, as if his exhaustion was the issue. if only you could give him a piece of your mind and let him know he’s getting an earful when you wake up- since there’s no doubt in either of your minds that you’re near passing out. “my poor girl, fucked all dumb on my dick. let me know when you need a break, mkay?” ❧

[lovebugism]

heyy i have a request <33

just read ur shy reader x steve fic where she gives him his phone number back and then hits her head and he’s just so 🥰🥰🥰 abt it all. i know it’s a prequel to a fic where they’re finally together but could i politely request a fic from when they did get together. maybe tommy tries picking on her again but steve actually stops him that time🩷🩷🩷

thanks for requesting :D part of the king!steve universe! — steve defends you from his asshole friends (shy!fem!r established relationship, hurt/comfort | 1k)

The air smells overwhelmingly of the late summer season. Of nighttime and dewy grass and chlorine and Steve The Hair Harrington. 

The boy himself lazes in the lawn chair next to yours, much too far for your liking. The warm scent of his cologne lingers between you and cradles you in his absence. 

You tilt your chin to your shoulder and admire the sharp edges of Steve’s profile in silence. Your heavy eyes fall from his pronounced browbone, to the slope of his chiseled nose, and finally to the plush of his pink lips. Too pretty for his own good.

“You can swim if you want to,” you murmur when you catch him eyeing Tommy and Carol splashing each other in the steaming pool. “You know that, right?”

Steve’s brows furrow, as though offended by the question. “I’m okay here.”

“I just don’t want you to think you have to stay here with me—”

“I don’t care about swimming with those two shitheads, alright? Honest,” the boy interjects, then turns to look at you fully. Honey glitters in his dark eyes, which melt with a quiet adoration. In a similarly warm tone, he confesses, “I just wanna spend time with you.” 

A petaled smile blooms on your mouth. You purse your lips to the side in a futile attempt to conceal it, which only makes Steve’s smug grin grow. He knows what he’s doing to you. And it’s maddening.

“You can flirt with your girlfriend without being an asshole, you know?” Tommy calls from the shallow end of the pool, freckled arms folded along the concrete edge. He shakes wet hair from his face and jokes, “Dissing your friends isn’t exactly a turn-on. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

Your face burns when he turns to you. The unwanted attention makes your throat catch and your stomach do backflips. ‘Cause no matter how many times Steve invites you to these hangouts, you know you’ll never truly fit in. Not here. Not with them.

Steve, seemingly sensing your discomfort as you shift in your seat, calls back. “Hey, Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

"Dick,” the darker-haired boy chuckles. 

Carol swims over to him, then, and mounts his back. She wraps all her dainty limbs around him like a koala. Tommy accommodates her weight with little effort. “Hey, Wallflower. Why don’t you hop in? The water’s warm.”

As if you didn’t already know that you were less than friends, the use of the horrid nickname was further confirmation.

“I don’t know how to swim,” you confess in a mousy voice.

“I could always teach ya,” he offers, mostly polite, but still distantly creepy in his way. “You’ve got a bathing suit under all that, right?”

“Uh… Yeah?”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a faint smirk. His dark eyes flit up and down your form like he can see right through your oversized t-shirt. “Nice,” he hums.

Carol scoffs and swats his arm. “You’re such a boy.”

Tommy’s freckled face swirls with a boyish offense. “I just wanna know what she looks like under all those clothes! That’s all!” he argues like it’s normal. Like you aren’t there at all.

“Okay, Tommy,” Steve spits. “That’s just gross.”

“What?” he laughs

“You can’t— You can’t just say that!” the boy beside you retorts, talking wildly with his hands. “That’s, like, super sexist, dude.”

Even stewing in your red-hot embarrassment, he manages to get a smile out of you. Not that he’s trying to, anyway. He’s trying to stand up for you — the best he can, at least. It’s not his fault his boyishness is so damn adorable.

“Don’t act like you haven’t said worse shit, Harrington!” 

“Yeah, but I grew up! It’s not my fault you’re still fourteen!”

Tommy rears his arm back to splash him. The warm droplets of the heated pool land mostly on the boy beside you, dampening his sweatshirt in rogue places. A few fall gently on your arm when you flinch away.

“See. Now you’re just proving my point,” Steve deadpans.

“Hey, Wallflower!” Tommy shouts, if only to further provoke his best friend. “If you ever want a break from this hardass, give us a call, alright?”

Carol gasps in offense. “You’re so gross,” she giggles before splashing him with a lighthearted hand. To which Tommy responds with a much bigger, much more dramatic splash of his own. 

The two of them roughhouse like they hate each other and forget you were ever there, while you drown in a riptide of thoughts.

What did she mean by that? your mind races. Does the mere thought of you disgust her? Or does she realize how pervy her boyfriend is? Maybe it’s both. But the thought is still stomach-turning.

Steve looks over at you and softens all over again. “Sorry about him,” he mumbles.

His honeyed voice cuts through all the mean voices in your head. You blink hard and turn to him with less glazed-over eyes. “You’re real cute, you know?” you say with a wavering, mostly sincere grin.

He only shrugs and swipes an anxious hand through his hair, ducking away when his cheeks start to speckle a burning pink color. The chocolate strands fall back over his forehead once more. 

“He doesn’t get to talk to you like that,” he murmurs sheepishly. “Or anyone, but… Especially you.”

“Hardass,” you quip with a mischievous squint.

Steve sends you a playful glare in return. You cave with a pretty laugh. He grins at the sound of it and settles back in his plastic lounge chair, blinking up at the velvet night sky.

“It’s feel good, though,” he mutters with his arms folded over his stomach.

Your brows pinch. “What does?”

“Being the only one who gets to see you under all that.”

Steve flashes you a smirk — pretty, pink, and lopsided. You meet the petaled expression with a lighthearted glower despite the sparkles burning like embers in your chest. 

“Does it?” you monotone.

“Yep,” he answers, popping the p. “It’s an honor, really.”

“Shut up.”

“I feel like I deserve a medal, honestly.”

“Shut up.”

[ma1dita]

luke castellan x iris!reader kinda based off of charlie's recent photoshoot

reader asks luke if he wants to be the subject of her first shoot with her first camera. he says yes, and long story short: he poses so slutty and reader calls him that and he's acting offended but likes it at the same time 🤭

luke castellan x gn!iris!reader

wc: 663

“Slut,” you cough. 

Luke almost misses it, too busy flexing for the camera as he stands atop the firepit like a modern Hercules. It’s almost criminal, the way his camp shirt is the slightest bit too tight on his biceps (you could wonder what they feed this boy but you sit next to him at mealtimes—this shouldn’t come as a surprise, really), and the sliver of tanned skin and happy trail that peeks out from the worn fabric when he stretches his arms over his head.

The clicks of your camera are in tune with his laughter, shuttering through the silence of the forest. He’d only do this for you after all—if any of the other campers saw him like this he’d fold into himself like the super hot but still awkward guy he is.

“Babe, you wanted this!” he chuckles, cheeks warming up and not because of the summer sun. Sweat trickles off his brow and it frames his face so perfectly you sigh loudly. It’s both a blessing and a curse that your boyfriend is catastrophically hot (literally too, Long Island humidity never treats him well).

“Yeah, but who let you look this damn good. Sheesh,” you mumble, snapping photos as fast as you can. The light filters through his hair and makes his cheeks glisten as you move him along to drape himself over a lawn chair. It’s almost too much, even for him, and he starts turning away until you tut, biting your lip and nodding when he readjusts the drawstring of his cargos.

“You’d make good money as a model baby,” you grin, touching his chin gently to the position you want him in, “we’ll be set for life once we get out of here.” Luke huffs, scratching at the nape of his neck and tugging at a dark curl which makes you gasp, “yes, yes, yes! Exactly like that!”

“Babe…” he laughs, slightly bashful as he reaches for your waist. He’s used to giving you compliments, tongue-in-cheek at the way you make him feel like the luckiest guy in the world. You’re a wonder yourself, speckled with sunlight and a golden grin—and if this is what it feels like to walk on clouds, he’ll let you practice taking pictures of him anytime you want.

There’s a rustle in the trees, making him jump up slightly, tugging you onto his lap with a yelp.

“Luke! You’re ruining the shot!”

He presses a kiss against your neck and smiles into your skin, “Got nervous. Can I see how they look?”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you settle against him sideways, leaning over to show him the screen but— “Oh!”

“What’s wrong?” His eyebrows furrow at the embarrassment that dances across your face and then you say, “I was clicking the wrong button. Sorry, can we take more?” The son of Hermes laughs with his whole body, shaking you up until you start laughing too.

“Only until the rest of this period. I swear Chris won’t ever let me hear the end of this if he sees me…” 

Luke gets to his feet and props himself against a tree, sweat dripping from his lip, and he drags a fistful of his shirt up to wipe it away. You’re staring at him shamelessly through the viewfinder, mouth agape at the sight of his toned abdomen.

“What a whore,” you mumble lowly, zooming into his chiseled frame.

He laughs again, throwing his head back as he walks toward you. No wonder his muscles look larger than life.

“Baby.”

“Hmm?” You mumble, eyes unfocused as he comes closer and nudges the camera away.

“You gotta turn the camera on.” 

An evil grin smiles across your face at his words, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt, leaning up to him for a kiss, “Only if you take your shirt off.” He looks at you with a raised brow and shakes his head at your next words.

“What! It’s in the name of art!”

[chrisevansonly]

𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜

✯social media post

✯charles leclerc x female reader

✯you and charles are obsessed with each other and you make sure everyone knows it

✯back with another little charles post cause he’s my #1 🥹

yninstagram

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let’s go back so we can make out in the ocean more 😁

tagged charles_leclerc

see 87,000 comments

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username thirsty on the main hours

lilyhme BODY!!!!!

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arthur_leclerc deleting instagram now

>yninstagram YOU CAN RUN BUT YOU CANNOT HIDE

charles_leclerc added to their story!

*comments disabled*

yninstagram

liked by wagsoff1, charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari and 1M others

monaco gp weekend lets go, forza charles!! (and ferrari too ofc) thanks for looking so yummy all the time baby♥️

tagged charles_leclerc

see 198,000 comments

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username CHARLES HAHAHAHA

username y/n makes charles fold like a lawn chair every time

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yninstagram added to their story!

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charles_leclerc

liked by yninstagram, carlossainz55, joris_trouche and 2M others

only the best views in Monaco❤️

tagged yninstagram

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yninstagram god you’re lucky i’m obsessed with you…cause i am and i love you a lot you sneaky devil ❤️

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arthur_leclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, f1gossip, yninstagram and 768,000 others

don’t worry everyone i’m taking charles and y/n’s phones away so we can all feel safe scrolling again, thank me later 😁

tagged charles_leclerc and yninstagram

username HAHAHA ARTHUR

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liked by charles_leclerc

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username PLEASE IM DEAD