#guys I really feel so ?/!/&-?:&:$&*[+€|~€|¥\!\!

[technically-human]

5 PhDs + 1

@lalalaurieart happy birthday! I offer you one of my silly headcanons

None of Robotnik's degrees are in medicine. Why should he care about that? His interest in the human body ends with his own. That is, until one time when Stone got really hurt, and the Doctor could do nothing. He coped by... teaching himself everything there is to know about medicine! He's very normal like that. Never bothered getting a degree for that one though.

[earlgraytay]

So the "don't call trans women dude" discourse is back on my dash, and I just read something that might explain why it's such a frustrating argument for everyone involved.

TLDR: There's gender-cultural differences that explain why people are arguing about this- and a reason it hurts trans women more than you might think if you were raised on the other side of the cultural divide.

I'll admit, I used to be very much on team "I won't call you 'dude' if it feels like misgendering, but also I don't really grok why it feels like I'm misgendering you, especially if I'm not addressing you directly." But then I read an academic paper that really unpicked how people used the word 'dude' (it's Kiesling (2004) if you're curious) and I realized that the way I was taught to use the word was different from the way most trans women were taught.

... So the thing about the word 'dude' that's really interesting is that it's used differently a) by people of different genders and b) across gender lines. This study is, obviously, 20 years old, but a lot of the conclusions hold up. The gist is, there's ~5 different ways that people use the word "dude":

marking discourse structure- AKA separating thoughts. You can use the word 'dude' to signal that you're changing the subject or going on a different train of thought.

exclamation. You can use the word "dude" the way you'd use another interjection like "oh my god" or "god damn".

confrontational stance mitigation. When you're getting in an argument with someone, you can address them as 'dude' to de-escalate. If you're both the same gender, it's homosocial bonding. If you're different genders, it's an attempt to weaken the gender-related power dynamic.

marking affiliation and connection. Kiesling calls this 'cool solidarity'- the idea is, "I'm a dude, you're a dude. We're just guys being dudes." This is often a greeting or a form of address (aka directly calling someone dude).

signaling agreement. "Dude, you are soooo right", kind of deal.

Now, here's the important part.

When [cis] men use the word 'dude', they are overwhelmingly using it as a form of address to mark affiliation and connection- "hey, we're all bros here, dude"- to mitigate a confrontational stance, or to signal agreement.

When [cis] women use the word 'dude', they're often commiserating about something bad (and marking affiliation/connection), mitigating a confrontational stance, or giving someone a direct order. (Anecdotally, I'd guess cis women also use it as an exclamation - this is how I most often use it.)

Cis men use the word 'dude' to say 'we're all guys here'. It is a direct form of male bonding. If a cis man uses the word 'dude' in your presence, he is generally calling you one of the guys.

Cis women use the word 'dude' to say 'we're on the same level as you; we're peers'- especially to de-escalate an argument with a cis man. Between women, it's an expression of ~cool solidarity~; when a woman's addressing a man, it's a way to say 'I'm as good as you, knock it off'.

So you've got this cultural difference, depending on how you were raised and where you spent time in your formative years. If you were assigned female at birth, you're probably used to thinking of the word 'dude' as something that isn't a direct form of address- and, if you're addressing it to someone you see as a girl, you're probably thinking of it as 'cool solidarity'! You're not trying to tell the person you're talking to that they're a man- you're trying to convey that they're a cool person that you relate to as a peer.

Meanwhile, if you were assigned male at birth and spent your teens surrounded by cis guys, you're used to thinking of 'dude' as an expression of "we're all guys here", and specifically as homosocial male bonding. Someone using the word 'dude' extensively in your presence, even if they're not calling you 'dude' directly, feels like they're trying to put you in the Man Box, regardless of how they mean it.*

So what you get is this horrible, neverending argument, where everyone's lightly triggered and no one's happy.

The takeaway here: Obviously, don't call people things they don't want to be called, regardless of gender! But no one in this argument is coming to it in bad faith.

If you were raised as a cis woman and you're using the word the way a cis woman is, it is a gender-neutral term for you (with some subconscious gendered connotations you might not have realized). But if you were raised as a cis man and you're using the word the way a cis man uses it, the word dude is inherently gendered.

Don't pick this fight; it's as pointless as a French person and an American person arguing whether cheek kisses are an acceptable greeting. To one person, they might be. To another person, they aren't. Accept that your worldview is different, move on, and again, don't call people things they don't want to be called.

*(There is, of course, also the secret third thing, where someone who is trying to misgender a trans woman uses the word 'dude' to a trans woman the way they'd use it to a man. This absolutely happens. But I think the other dynamic is the reason we keep having this argument.)

[nikiluv]

vibes

or in which what turns riki on

you in his clothes

PROVIDER MINDSET RIKIII RAHHHH, he’s a big guy okay, tall, broad, and muscular, his clothes would definitely be big on you no doubt ( see what I did there 😉), he loves making sure that everything is comfortable and easy for you and what would be better than his oversized clothes also I think he’s somewhat possesive ?? in like a really subtle way, like it really and I mean really turns him on when there are subtle signs that you are his, since he can’t really show it off being an idol you know, so like you in his clothes gets him going because it’s a sure sign for him that, you are his and I’m just saying but the first time he saw you wearing his clothes….. boner alert ‼️

playing with his hair

he loves you so much that even a slight touch sends shivers down his spine in a good way, I think the area from his neck to his scalp is somewhat sensitive and like it can be really and I mean REALLY, stimulating and enjoyable if done correctly, and the feeling of your hands running through his hair and massaging his scalp, his blood just runs hot and rushes south

feeling loved

I know this seems dumb but HEY HES A LOVER BOY THROUGH AND THROUGH…. so like I mentioned earlier, he gets this really warm and fuzzy feeling when he can “feel” your love like through acts of service etc etc and like somehow that blood just flows all the way down south, like when you help him pick out his clothes, or like when you give him massage after long day, whew his hormones goes into overdrive

making out

cmon who doesn’t love a good make out session, I think riki loves the tension, the build up, the noises, the breathy whimpers and most of all your lips, he loves the feeling of your lips on him (he feels so seduced by your lips), he just loves the game of dominance with you, like the slight tugging of his hair, little nips here and there, sucking, the taste of you, it just gets him going, like a makeout session never fails to make him horny, and also have u seen his lips, SO KISSABLE and suckable (I’m tweaking, I need him so bad)

messed up make up

i think for him it’s just something about the smudged mascara and lip tint from the heated make out session that gets him going and main point is that he was the one that caused this, he was the one that made you look so delicious that he couldn’t help but devour you (in more ways than one if u get my hint 😏😏😏)

hickies

LIKE I MENTIONED !!! Possesive riki 🤤🤤🤤 like he wants to mark you UPPPP like he’s yours and you’re his, simple as that he also LOVES the process of giving you hickies, especially the sounds you make when he sucks on that one spot, when he sees the red and purple blooming on your skin, it feels like he “tainted” you with him

Thighs

My man’s a artiste and your thighs are his blank canvas, he just thinks that you are so soft and fluffy compared to him and the contrast is SO YUMMY to him, and like I mentioned earlier how hickies turns him on, this is related because he’s marking you up with bites, hickies and kisses on your thighs, ALSO thigh grabbing OH MY GAWDD he loves loves loves your thighs, like he’ll always be touching your thighs or caressing them always

Boobies

what can I say, he’s a straightforward guy, and which guy doesn’t like tits? Also LIKE I SAID, the contrast, it’s just so soft and like it doesn’t help his case that you make the most beautiful sound to him, he also loves to play with your boobs, it’s his emotional support toy, talking about playing with your boobs, never let him watch you bra-less it’s over for you when he does, he’ll immediately put his face into your tits and start playing with your nips until you are turned on, what can I say, those nips poking out turns him on

Whimpers

HE LOVES YOUR VOICE, he thinks it’s so soothing and when you stretch you make that lil sound, OO LALA, blood just rushes south for him, he thinks you make so much beautiful sounds and especially when you make those whimpers or nngh sound U GET IT (he doesn’t like exaggerated moans tho… who does…)

SIZE KINK SIZE KINKKK

I feel very passionate about this, HES A BIG GUY OKAY, I know I keep repeating this but it’s not because you are exactly small, just smaller than him and he feels this need to protect you and to use it to his advantage, and use it to his advantage he does, he manhandles you in the bedroom, but GENTLE MANHANDLING, that make you giggle, and maybe it’s a ego thing but when he’s like hovering over you and you seem so small in his eyes and just so precious he feels the need to protect you, also LIKE I SAID, he’s pretty big which brings me to my next point

Overstimulation / Dacryphillia

BEFORE ANYONE SAYS ANYTHING … HEAR ME OUT, I feel like I’ve said this before, but he gets really turned on with the sole fact that he is pleasuring you to the point of tears, LIKE DAMM HE’S THAT GOOD ??!!? There’s also the factor of him providing for you and meeting your needs which he is really proud of you, he HATES seeing you cry, but when you are crying out of pleasure, that’s a different situation altogether, especially when he’s overstimulating you and making sure you feel so much pleasure that the tears just come

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

A/n: sorry gang, I know I said I was gonna cook smth then dipped but it’s here LOL🙏, I honestly don’t know if ate…. I’m lowk lost towards the end but lmk how I did in my inbox 😏

[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: jack says some things he doesn’t mean after meeting your neighbor. the two of you somehow manage to quickly make up, though

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23), unplanned pregnancy, jack is divorced, not a widower, slight angst, they argue (LIGHT term LOL), jack insecure and says some things he doesn’t mean out of jealousy, (probably poorly written) smut, unprotected sex (she’s already pregnant so 🤷🏻‍♀️), creampie, i think that’s all??? minors DNI.

notes: ahhh okay finally!!!! ugh sorry this took so long! there will be a slight timeskip between this part and the next part. i think i have this drafted where there will be 15 parts in the main story, as of this moment, with lots of side drabbles and future drabbles/one shots!! i am SO excited! unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!

wc: 1.4k

prev next

The last thing Jack expects when he gets to your apartment is to find some guy standing in your doorway talking to you.

You’ve got a smile on your face that makes Jack almost stop in his tracks, an uneasy feeling creeping in his stomach.

He must catch your eye, because you look in his direction, and the smile on your face widens.

“Hey!”

He gives you a half smile before glancing back at your friend, who looks at him with furrowed brows.

“Oh! This is my neighbor's son. Jack, this is Dan. Dan this is Jack, my,” You pause briefly, “friend?”

It comes out a question, and he doesn’t have the right to get upset and he knows that, but it stings.

Dan glances at Jack, “Hey, man. She mentioned she was expecting company, so I was just leaving,”

Jack looks at you as Dan turns back to you, “If your computer keeps giving you a hard time, just shoot me a text or give me a call,”

Dan leaves with a wave, and Jack has no right to, but he feels out of place in the doorway of your apartment for the first time.

You don’t notice how quiet he’s being as he follows you into your apartment, talking animatedly as you tell him about your day.

He stops in the entryway to the kitchen, still silent as you put your oven mitts on to take whatever you have baking in the oven out.

“But anyway,” You sigh, setting the pie you made on the counter, “How was your day?”

You look at him, slightly taken aback by the look on his face.

“Jack, are you okay?”

Brown eyes finally meet yours, “Who was that guy?”

You frown, “Dan? He’s my neighbor’s son, like I said. They helped me get the desk up here, and he offered to just help me get it put together since he didn’t have anything to do this afternoon. I took him up on his offer, since I figured you would be really tired after a long day,”

He looks at you, half amazed you would even consider that, but half annoyed that you assume he’d be too tired to help you.

“I wouldn’t have offered if it was going to be any sort of issue,”

A pout forms on your lips, “Well, I know that, but I just,” You sigh, picking at your fingernails, “I hated the thought of you working all day and then coming here and dealing with all that mess,” You gesture with your hands towards your office

He sighs, feeling like an asshole, “I’m sorry. I had a hard day and…” He trails off, not sure what exactly to say.

You smile softly, “No worries,”

He gives you a half smile, “Do you know your neighbor well?”

You bite your lip in thought, “Well, I’ve known Carl since I moved in. But I didn’t meet Dan until almost a year ago,” You laugh to yourself, “He used to work in Philadelphia, but moved back here to take care of his dad. Carl actually did try to set us up once,”

Jack tenses up again, “He did?”

You nod, moving to plate the pasta you made, “Yeah, right after my ex and I broke up actually,” You frown at the thought for a brief moment, then shake the thought away, “but I wasn’t ready to date. And Dan isn’t really my type anyway,”

The statement makes Jack feel slightly better, but his mouth moves quicker than his head before he can stop himself, “So, just a dad that tried to set you guys up? Nothing else?”

You frown at his tone, at what he’s implying, gently setting the plate of pasta down and turning your whole body towards him, “Yes? What would make you think there was more to it than that?”

He looks away from you, “Don’t know. Jus’ felt like I should ask,”

All of a sudden you’re angry, “We’ve already had this conversation. And I already told you. You were the first guy I slept with in almost a year,”

He knows he shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t let this blow up, “Well, I don’t know. You could’ve lied for all I know,”

The anger leaves your eyes as quickly as it appeared, hurt being the only thing remaining.

“I think you should leave,” You try to keep your voice firm. Steady. But all that comes out is a whisper.

He instantly regrets it, but to avoid upsetting you further, he leaves. He stops at the front door, mind screaming at him to turn around.

He closes the door quietly behind him.

Two hours later, you’ve finally finished cleaning your apartment. Between the mess with the desk, piled up laundry, and the dinner you didn’t even eat, the place needed a good clean.

Just as you're about to go to bed, there’s a knock at the door.

Sighing, you answer it without checking, shocked to find Jack there, hands in his pockets.

“I’m sorry,” His eyes don’t leave yours, “I don’t know what came over me earlier. I-“

He sighs, cutting himself off, “I don’t have any right, or claim on you, to act like that. I know this situation isn’t ideal for either of us but,” He shoves his hands in his pockets, “I think we have this connection, outside of the obvious,” head tilting towards your stomach, “But we don’t know each other, and I, fuck I don’t know,”

You’re softer and kinder than he deserves, “You got jealous?”

He huffs out a laugh, “I’m too old for that shit,”

You open the door wider, allowing him to come in, “You don’t deny it, though,”

He sighs as the two of you make your way to the couch, “The thought of you being pregnant but us never meeting again has been really eating at me. The idea of you, somewhere out there, pregnant with my baby, raising my baby, alone or with some other guy,” A pitiful chuckle leaves his mouth, “it makes me sick to my fucking stomach.”

You hum, fingers moving to his curls, scratching at his scalp. He closes his eyes at the sensation.

“You never said anything,”

He opens one eye and huffs out a laugh, “We’ve just started getting to know each other. This is a delicate situation. Plus,” He sighs, hand grabbing your wrist, “I don’t want to make you more uncomfortable than you might already be.”

Now it’s your turn to huff out a laugh, “If I was uncomfortable with any of this, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

He looks at you with both eyes open now, “Yeah?”

You just nod, causing him to let out a sigh of relief.

The two of you just sit there, looking at each other, for a few minutes.

Jack isn’t sure who moves first, but the next thing he knows, your mouth is on his with your hands in his hair. One of his hands cradles the back of your head while the other finds purchase on your hip, pulling you closer to him.

He groans into your mouth when you tug at his hair. His tongue licks the seam of your lips, begging for you to open them.

You comply, and he moans at the taste of cherries as your tongue tries to fight his for dominance of this moment.

He pulls you into his lap as you begin to tug at his shirt, begging him oh so sweetly to please take it off.

Who is he to deny you.

Clothes are removed quickly. Next thing you know, his pants are pulled down just enough to free his cock, and you’re down to just your bra.

You don’t even give him the chance to feel how wet you are, how badly you want him, before you sink down on him.

You both gasp into the kiss at the feeling of your cunt gripping his cock tightly.

Your hands fist his hair as his gently hold your waist, helping guide you up and down, hips thrusting up to meet you in the middle.

It would be embarrassing, how quickly you manage to make him cum, if you didn’t cum at the same time, a whiney whimper of his name leaving your lips as his fingernails dig almost too tightly into your hips as his seed paints your walls white.

There’s a lot, an obscene amount of him inside of you. He can feel it sliding out of you and dripping down his balls and onto your couch as you lay slumped against his chest.

Jack runs his hand up and down your spine, trying to catch his breath.

After a few minutes, you finally sit up straight, his cock still inside you.

“Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?”

He huffs out a laugh before nodding, grabbing your jaw and bringing your mouth back to his, fighting off a groan as you grind your hips against his when you start to deepen the kiss.

[kekewrites]

Tw. dark content, noncon, obsession, toxic, possessiveness, abandonment issues, sloppy blowjob, throat fucking, manipulation, size kink, overstimulation, name calling (cock-sleeve/warmer/bitch), multiple creampies, cunnilingus, slapping (baby slap though), baby-trapping, angst(?), coercion, dead dove do not eat

***

Thinking about being the manager of a yandere!Idol

You found him wandering in the streets, empty eyes and blank expression on his pretty face. If you didn't look hard you might've missed his tall figure. Being a newbie, you were finding it hard to recruit people but as you were about to go home, you caught sight of his attractive yet hopeless face.

The first time you approach him, he was wary and suspicious of you. Naturally so. But you persevere, introducing yourself as an agent recruiting handsome guys like him in the streets for a chance to become a trainee and become an idol.

"Fuck off. Scram."

That was the first words he said. Harsh. But he was all bark and no bite, like a puppy being defensive. After scuffling for a few minutes you managed to give him your card and phone number, convincing him to at least try.

Then a week later, he called and said yes. His voice was low, hesitant—like he didn’t fully believe in what he was doing, but was too tired of the streets to keep saying no.

You met up with him that same evening, in the same place you first found him. He looked cleaner, but still lost. You took him in without question, gave him food, a place to sleep, and most importantly, a reason to wake up.

For the first few days, he barely spoke. He just slept, ate, and stared at the ceiling like he was trying to remember who he was. You didn’t push. You just stayed nearby, gave him space, but made sure he knew, he wasn’t alone anymore.

Weeks turned into months. Slowly, he started coming back to life. You took care of him, through the bad days when he’d lock himself in his room, through the training sessions where he’d collapse from pushing too hard, through the nights he’d wake up in a cold sweat and pretend he was fine.

And you were always there. With water, with snacks, with a shoulder to lean on.

You watched him grow. From that broken boy on the street into someone who sang with soul, danced with fire, and spoke to crowds with a confidence he never had before.

He became an idol. And every time he stood under the lights, every time fans screamed his name, he always looked for you in the crowd.

Because you didn’t just recruit him.

You saved him.

And that’s when it went wrong.

At first, it was subtle. His smiles came more often when you were around, his tone soft and sugary. He’d cling to your side during breaks, crack jokes, brush your hair out of your face with that charming little smirk. You thought maybe he was just grateful, maybe he was trying to show affection in his own awkward way. After all, he’d been through a lot.

But then, it turned into something else.

He started showing up unannounced. Hovering around your office when he had no schedule. Getting visibly annoyed when you spoke too long with other trainees or staff. The sweet words never stopped, but they started feeling… off. Like they were laced with something heavier. Something darker.

The possessiveness crept in like a slow poison. At meetings, he’d glare at anyone who tried to sit next to you. He'd interrupt your conversations, redirect your attention, cut in with sharp remarks masked as jokes.

You tried to keep it professional, gently reminding him of boundaries, of roles, but he didn't like that.

"Why are you always talking to him?"

"Do you really need to be with them all the time?"

"I'm the reason you’re even doing well now, aren't I?"

And you saw it, in the way other staff avoided him, how they started whispering when he walked by. He was getting harder to work with. More demanding. More unpredictable.

But in front of cameras? He was perfect. The golden boy. Smiling, dazzling, every fan’s dream. But behind the scenes… the boy you once saved was slowly becoming someone else. Or maybe this was who he had been all along, buried beneath the brokenness.

And now, you weren’t sure if you had saved him…

Or created something you couldn’t control.

As his fame skyrocketed, managing him became nearly impossible.

He was everywhere, magazine covers, variety shows, drama cameos. His schedule was packed from sunrise to well past midnight, and you were running yourself ragged trying to keep up. But more than the logistics, it was him. His moods became harder to predict. Some days he was gentle, clinging to you like he used to when he was scared. Other days, he’d snap, throw things, or go cold for no reason.

You were still new to the game. Everyone could see you were trying your best, but it wasn’t enough, not for the industry, and definitely not for him.

The company made the call.

“We think it’s best to assign him a senior manager. Someone with more experience managing top-tier idols.”

They dressed it up as a strategic decision. And honestly? You agreed. Things had gotten too messy. Your once-close relationship had turned into something twisted, confusing, and emotionally draining. You told yourself it was for his own good, that maybe distance would help him reset.

“I’ll still be around,” you told him, forcing a smile. “But someone else will be taking care of your day-to-day.”

He stared at you. Didn’t say anything for a long while. Just stared.

Then, softly, too softly, he said, “You’re leaving me.”

You shook your head. “No. I’m just stepping back. This is better for you. For both of us.”

But he didn’t believe you. You could see it in his eyes. Something in him snapped that day, not outwardly, not immediately but you felt it. Like a quiet storm gathering behind the clouds.

You thought giving him space would help him unwind. Hoping he can finally indulge in the fame he had, probably get a secret girlfriend

You didn’t expect it to be the thing that finally made him unravel.

***

After that, you finally left.

Your first real break in years. You cashed your paycheck, packed your bags, and disappeared for a while, far from rehearsals, stress, and the boy you once pulled off the streets. It felt… weird at first. Empty. But you told yourself it was needed. Long overdue.

You didn’t keep in touch. Not because you didn’t want to but because it felt like the cleanest way to let go. Still, everywhere you went, there he was. His face lit up LED billboards with that same smile the one from when he had just debuted. Back when things were simpler. Sweeter.

You’d stop and stare sometimes, stuck between nostalgia and guilt. Wondering where it all went wrong. Was it the fame? The past he never healed from? Or… was it you?

But even through the ache, you hoped he was doing better. Independent. Stable. Happy. He wouldn’t have a hard time finding a girlfriend, not with that face, that charm, and a fanbase that worshipped the ground he walked on.

You were walking home from a quiet dinner one night, city lights buzzing around you, when you passed another ad of him huge and perfect lighting up the side of a building. You paused without meaning to, lost in your head.

That’s when your phone rang.

You didn’t even check the caller ID. Just answered, out of habit.

“…Hello?”

Silence. Then a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

“I missed you.”

You froze.

And then, a shadow stepped up behind you.

A cap pulled low, sunglasses covering most of his face but you knew. You felt it.

He leaned close, his breath warm against your ear.

“You think you’re gonna escape from me?”

Your heart dropped.

Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, firm, but not violent. Still, it sent your pulse racing. People were around, but no one looked twice. Just a couple under the lights.

“Wait—what are you doing?!” you whispered, trying to pull away.

He smiled, too calm, too practiced.

“Let’s talk. Somewhere quieter.”

***

He didn’t say a word as he dragged you through the maze of streets, only tightening his grip whenever you slowed down. You wanted to pull away, to yell, but something in his silence kept you frozen.

Eventually, he led you into a sleek hotel, one of those high-end discreet places celebrities used when they wanted to disappear. You were too stunned to resist, your mind racing with every step.

The elevator ride was silent.

He pushed the door open, guided you inside, and shut it behind you with a soft click. The curtains were drawn. City lights barely filtered through the fabric.

He finally let go of your wrist and walked ahead, pulling off his cap and tossing it to the couch, glasses following. You watched as he ran a hand through his hair, agitated, pacing the room like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I looked for you,” he finally said, voice tight. “Every day.”

You said nothing. He turned to face you.

“Why didn’t you call? Text? Anything?”

“It wasn’t my place anymore,” you answered softly. “We needed space. You needed to grow.”

He laughed bitterly. “Grow into what? A product?”

You flinched.

He stepped closer. “So that’s all it was, huh? A business deal? Get the pretty boy off the streets, polish him up, sell him to the world then cut him off once he gets too hard to manage?”

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. “It was never just business. I cared about you. But things got—”

“Complicated?” he snapped. “Yeah. You left when things got complicated.” His voice cracked, the anger just barely covering the hurt underneath. “So your life with me,” he said, slower this time, like each word hurt, “was really just a job?”

You took a step forward, your chest tightening.

“No. It was real. I-I just... you changed.”

“And you didn’t?” he whispered, eyes shining with something fragile anger, betrayal, desperation. “You walked away like I meant nothing.”

"You matter to me—"

“That’s what it felt like. You gave me everything, then took it all back the second I started needing you too much.”

“I didn’t take anything back,” you said, stepping back instinctively. “I was trying to help you. You were becoming... unstable. You needed someone more experienced. I just wanted you to be okay.”

His hands balled into fists.

“Okay? I was only okay when you were there. You made me." His voice rising with desperate anger. In a flash, he grabbed your wrists and dragged you towards the bed, forcing you down onto the plush mattress. Before you could react, he climbed on top of you, straddling your waist and pinning your arms above your head.

"G-Get off me..." you gasped, struggling beneath him. But he was too strong, too determined. His eyes burned into yours, wild and unpredictable.

"No," he growled, one hand still gripping your wrists while the other tugged at his belt. "You don't get to leave me. I won't let you."

He yanked his belt off and tossed it to the side. Then his fingers were at your pants, popping the button and dragging the zipper down. You tried to close your legs, but he forced them open, settling himself between your thighs.

"No, wait-" you started to protest, but he silenced you with a brutal kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, claiming you. His cock was hard and insistent against your stomach, and you knew he wouldn't stop.

"Please," you whimpered when he let you catch your breath. But it was a lie and you both knew it. He'd never listened to your pleas before.

"Shut up. Shut up... Shut up."

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, forcing you to look up at him as he undid his jeans and shoved them down just enough to get his cock out. It bobbed in front of you, angry and hungry and so fucking hard.

"Open," he commanded, his grip on your hair tightening painfully.

You hesitated, your lips pressed firmly together. He cursed and slapped your cheek lightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to sting.

"Open your fucking mouth," he snarled.

Tears stung your eyes at the sharp crack against your cheek, but you parted your lips just as he slammed forward, shoving his cock past your teeth and into your mouth. He didn't wait for you to adjust, just started fucking your face with hard, brutal thrusts.

Hurts... He's hurting me...

You choked on his cock, gagging and sputtering as he forced himself deeper and deeper down your throat. Saliva flooded your mouth and spilled out over your lips as he used your mouth like a fuckhole, grunting and groaning above you.

Why is he always... mad at me?

He fucked your face hard and fast, not caring about your comfort, only chasing his own pleasure. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you gagged and choked around him, your throat constricting around his pistoning cock.

He used your mouth ruthlessly, slamming into your throat and pulling out just long enough to catch his breath before plunging back in.

You knew he wouldn't stop until he was satisfied, until he'd emptied his balls down your throat. All you could do was try to breathe through your nose and pray it would be over quickly.

Mine. Mine.

He chanted it desperately under his breath, eyes glazed over with lust and obsession as he continued to viciously fuck your face. His hips slammed against your chin with each brutal thrust, your neck bulging obscenely each time he hilts inside you.

"Gonna...fucking...ruin this...cunt of a mouth..."

He was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face, lost in his own manic pursuit of release. He needed this, needed to take back control, to reclaim you. You had left him, abandoned him, but now...now you were his again. His to use, his to ruin.

Always wanted...to fuck this...painted whore mouth...of yours...

He could feel his balls tightening, his climax building from the base of his spine. He was going to come, going to fill your belly with his seed, mark you from the inside out. You were going to choke on his cum, swallow it all, and maybe then you'd understand. Maybe then you'd realize you belonged to him, and him alone.

"Fuck! Take it all, you...cock sleeve!"

His fingers tightened in your hair, yanking your head back even further as his hips slammed forward one last time. He hilts inside you, his cock pulsing and jerking as he started to come, flooding your throat and mouth with string after string of hot, thick cum.

Manager... Manager. Manager. I fucking love you.

He groaned long and low, his eyes rolling back in his head as he emptied his balls inside you. His cock jerked and spasmed as he pumped load after load of semen directly into your stomach, your throat bulging obscenely.

"Fuck!" he roared, his voice echoing in the room. "Fuck, yes! Take it all, you fucking...cock warmer!"

He held you in place, forcing you to swallow every last drop, his grip on your hair almost painfully tight. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he pulled out, his softening cock slipping from your abused lips with a wet pop.

He collapsed next to you, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling. You turned your head to the side, gasping for air, your throat sore and raw. Tears and saliva and his own essence coated your face.

"I...I'm sorry," you whimpered, voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to leave you. Please...forgive me..."

He turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. But his eyes, ah his eyes...they were haunted, desperate. Lost.

"Forgive you?"

He reached out and grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, smearing his own cum back into your mouth. You flinched at the taste, but he held you firm.

Forgive you?

His other hand slid down your body, over your breasts, your stomach, to cup your mound possessively. He squeezed, fingers digging into your tender flesh.

"You'd have to do more than that if you want me to forgive you. I won't let you go again. Ever."

H-Huh?

Before you could catch your breath, he yank your hips up and pulls down your pants and panty. You felt the cool air on your exposed ass and pussy.

"No, wait-" you started to protest, trying to crawl away. But he grabbed your hips in a bruising grip, pulling you back onto his still-hard cock. He rubbed the thick head up and down your slit, coating it in a mix of your spit and his own cum.

"Shut up," he snarled, voice ragged with lust and desperation. "Stop fucking fighting me. Stop resisting!"

With one brutal thrust, he slammed forward, spearing your cunt on his throbbing shaft. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, your walls clamping down around him like a vice. He was too big, too hard, splitting you open.

Hurts... He's being... cruel.

"Fuck!" he roared, starting to piston in and out of your helpless pussy. "Take it! Take my fucking cock!"

He set a punishing pace, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Each thrust jolted you forward, your tits swaying beneath you. Tears poured down your face as he used you, brutalized you, his hips slamming against your ass with every stroke.

But then, he slowed. His grip gentled, fingers kneading your ass almost lovingly as he rolled his hips into yours. He leaned down, lips brushing the nape of your neck, breathing raggedly against your skin.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he murmured, voice hoarse. "So tight. Like you were made for me..."

He peppered kisses along your shoulder blades, his touch almost tender. You shuddered, confused, not understanding the sudden change. He rocked into you, each thrust measured, deliberate, like he was savoring the feeling of your tight cunt gripping his cock. Fuck, so fucking perfect.

"Manager... You're mine, ok? No one... No one can touch you but me!"

But just as suddenly, he changed again. His hips started moving faster, harder, the room echoing with the slap of skin and the creak of the mattress. He hooked an arm under your waist, hauling you back onto every stroke, forcing you to take every fucking inch.

"Yes, fuck!" he bellowed, sweat dripping onto your back. "Gonna...fucking ruin this pussy. Gonna make it mine."

He was panting harshly, his rhythm faltering. You could feel him growing even harder inside you, his cock throbbing erratically against your battered walls. You knew he was close, that he was going to come again.

But then he paused, buried deep inside you, cock pulsing urgently. He gripped your hips, fingers sinking into your skin hard enough to bruise.

"Gonna...fucking...knock you up," he growled. "Breed this cunt. Pump you full of my fucking seed."

You shook your head frantically, a strangled cry escaping your lips at the thought. "No! No, please...don't..."

He ignored you, starting to move again, thrusts growing more intense, more desperate. "Yes," he hissed. "Yes, gonna make you...mine. Gonna keep you...swollen with my child..."

His voice rose with each word, until he was nearly screaming. You could feel his cock jerk and twitch, his climax approaching. He was going to do it, going to come inside you, maybe even...

"Take it!" he roared. "Fucking take it, you bitch! Gonna...fucking...breed you!"

He slammed into you with a last, brutal thrust, his cock erupting deep inside your unprotected womb. You screamed as you felt the hot flood of his seed gushing into you, painting your insides with his come. He groaned long and low, body shuddering, emptying himself inside you.

He panted against your neck, sweat-soaked and sated.

"Manager... You won't be able to run away from me now."

You lay still beneath him, tears leaking from your eyes, a sense of dread washing over you.

He rolled you over, cradling you against his chest, your tear-stained face pressed to his sweat-slicked skin. His arms wrapped around you, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe.

Tilting your chin up, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart clench. Gone was the wild, crazed look from before. Now there was only a solemn, almost reverent expression on his handsome face.

"Manager, you're the only one for me," he murmured, voice low and intense. "My heart, my soul... it all belongs to you. Don't leave me again, alright? All the luxuries, all the fame and wealth... it's meaningless without you here with me."

His thumb brushed over your cheek, catching the tears that still leaked from the corners of your eyes. He leaned in closer, forehead pressed against yours, breath mingling with your own.

You want to refuse. Want to push him away, but you're eyes gets blurry with tears, getting overwhelmed. Why you?

He pressed open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your shoulder, your spine, worshipping every inch of your skin like the devoted disciple he claimed to be. Tears leaked from your eyes at the tenderness of his touches, the heartfelt sincerity in his tone.

It's like the old him...

But even as you lost yourself in the gentle glide of his lips, you could feel the desperation radiating off him in waves. This calm, this tenderness...it was a fragile thing.

He's always been such a fragile boy.

His hands roamed your body with a hunger that was almost painful in its intensity. He was trying to memorize you, to burn every dip and curve into his mind.

He hitched your leg up over his hip, opening you to him. You could feel his cock, already hard and ready again, nudging against your thigh, making you freeze.

He... He's still ready?

He was insatiable, this man. He would never be satisfied, would never have enough of you.

His eyes were wild again, pupils blown wide with renewed lust. He notched himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pushing demandingly at your folds.

"Feel this, Manager?" he whispered hotly, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. "Feel what you do to me? How much I just want to... Fuck you, need you..."

"I-I'm still sore... Please, I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that and just let me in your cunt, ok?"

He surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You cried out, back arching off the bed, your nails digging into his shoulders. He was so deep, so hard, stretching you in ways that made you see stars. He's deeper this time?

"Wah... Your cunt still so tight, you're squeezing me dry~"

He started to move, hips rolling into yours with a force that shook the headboard. Each thrust punched the air from your lungs, left you gasping and mewling beneath him. He was lost in the heat of you, in the way your cunt gripped him.

"Tell me you need it, Manager," he urged, his cock slamming home and stilling, pulsing urgently inside you. "Tell me you want this... want me... as much as I need and want you!"

He pumped harder, faster, chasing his pleasure, his release. The room filled with the crude slap of skin against skin, with your choked cries and his grunts. He was going to come again, you could feel it in the erratic jerk of his hips, in the way his cock pulsed and throbbed inside you.

"Fuck!" he roared, slamming into you one last time. "Fuck, Manager, fuck!"

"N-no! Don't do it inside again!"

You bit your lips, muffling your ecstasy as you felt the hot rush of his come flooding your womb, your own orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your vision swam, your body shaking with the force of it.

He's gonna come inside... I'll get pregnant at this rate...

And then, with a long, guttural groan, he was coming again. His cock erupted like a fountain, pumping spurt after spurt of his hot cum deep into your hungry womb. The sensation was too much... too intense... and you felt yourself plummeting into oblivion, the darkness claiming you as his release seemed to go on and on.

The last thing you heard as you drifted off was his ragged voice, panting your name like a prayer.

"Manager... Manager... Manager! I love you! I love you! I fucking love you!"

***

You stared up at the ceiling, the memories of the past playing out like a movie reel in your mind. You could see him there, a young and nervous pop sensation, gripping your hands tightly as you offered him words of encouragement and support.

"You've got this," you had said, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. "Go out there and give them the performance of a lifetime. They're waiting for you."

"Okay," he nodded, squaring his shoulders with newfound determination. "Okay, Manager. I can do this. With you by my side, I can do anything."

He stepped out onto the stage. The crowd had gone wild, their screams and cheers a tangible force that seemed to lift him up and carry him forward. He had shone under the hot lights, his voice ringing out clear and strong, his movements confident and sure.

And you had watched from the wings, your heart swelling with pride and love as you beheld the man you had helped to create. He was more than just your client, more than just your star - he was your greatest achievement, your crowning glory. You had taken a scared and scrawny boy and molded him into a god among men, a king among the elite.

But now, as you lay there in the dim light of the bedroom, you could feel the weight of that responsibility crushing down on you. It was your fault, after all, that he had become this twisted and broken creature, this monster who would dare to touch you without your consent, to hold you against your will.

His arms tightened around you, crushing you against his chest, his breath hot and heavy against the back of your neck. He was saying all the right things, murmuring all the right words, but you could feel the dark intent behind them. The gentleness was a lie, a mask he wore to hide the cruelty that lurked beneath.

"Shh, it's alright," he cooed, his lips brushing your ear. "Don't cry, I'm here now. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

But you didn't want him here. You didn't want his comfort or his affection or his twisted version of love. You wanted him to let you go, to release you from the nightmare that had become your life. You wanted to be free of him, to run until you couldn't run anymore, to disappear and never be found again.

But you knew it was impossible. He would never let you go, would never allow you to leave him. He needed you too much, depended on you for his every breath and his every heartbeat. And as long as you remained by his side, as long as you stayed in his life… he would never stop hunting you, never stop pursuing you until he had claimed you completely.

It was a bitter realization, a cruel twist of fate that left you feeling hollow and empty inside. You had once believed that you could save him, that your love and your guidance could be enough to keep the darkness at bay. But now… now you knew the truth. You knew that you had been the one to nurture the seeds of his madness, to feed the flames of his obsession until it had grown into an all-consuming inferno.

And so you lay there, trapped in his embrace, tears leaking down your face as you prayed silently for a miracle, for some way out of this nightmare. But deep down, you knew that there would be no miracle, no divine intervention to come rescue you from the man you had once called your star.

You had been his manager, his guide, his friend… and his downfall. And now, you would bear the consequences of your choice for the rest of your days.

With a sob catching in your throat, you closed your eyes and surrendered to the darkness, praying that when you opened them again… you would be somewhere, anywhere else. But far away from here, and far away from him.

Though, you only have yourself to blame.

You were the one who scouted him after all~

Stupid manager.

[dannyriccsystem]

so random but could you do one where the reader flashes the driver 😭 during a podium, at home, wherever you feel like lol xx

TAKE A LOOK AT ME!

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

SUMMARY: You flash the drivers

WARNINGS: Mature, nudity, Y/N usage, not proofread

FEATURING: MV1, DR3, LN4, CL16, YT22, LH44, CS55, GR63, OP81

No Kimi or Ollie just because I feel a bit awkward writing them in this scenario 😇

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

Max was a busy guy. As your boyfriend, he always tried to make sure you were a part of his schedule one way or another. He didn’t want the two of you to grow distant, especially considering you were an anchor of sanity for him. Without you, he’d be a madman by now.

You always tried to reward him, whether it be with a gift or your undying love. He didn’t need these prizes, but Max certainly wouldn’t be complaining when he came home to a warm body to worship, or a good meal to keep himself full and happy. You took care of him just as much.

Today, he wanted to surprise you. It was a week off, and he woke up extra early to cook you breakfast. It was simple, nothing that required lots of skill or practice, but he knew you’d be happy nonetheless.

Indeed you were. You came waddling out into the kitchen, still partially asleep. One hand slid up your shirt to scratch your own stomach as you snatched a piece of bacon, humming in delight. “Max, baby,” You pointed to your half eaten bacon. “Cooked to perfection.”

He laughed and shook his head lightly, but you weren’t done. You held the piece between your teeth, using both hands to pull your pajama top up, letting your breasts spill free. His gaze dropped instantly, and he stared silently for what felt like hours.

He finally reached out to lift you, hoisting you up onto the counter. Max gently tugged your shirt back down. “That’s certainly one way to say thanks.” He kissed your lips, and then went back to cooking, leaving you to sit there. “Quit distracting me.” You both laughed.

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

Danny always went all out for you. He pulled out all the stops, and that included date night. You were at the highest rated restaurant in all of Monaco currently— The waitlist was months long, but Danny managed to weasel his way into an earlier reservation. You didn’t know how to show your thanks.

When he left to quickly use the restroom, you got to scheming. You couldn’t just repay him with sex, because you did that anyway. It had to be something new— Something that surprised him. He had all the money in the world, so gifts were a lost cause. What did you get for someone who had nearly everything?

When he returned, you had an idea in the back of your mind. You were both securely tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, with your back to the rest of the room. He sat down, giving you a quick smile before picking up his menu again. There was lots to look at, but the menu wasn’t your biggest concern.

“Danny,” His head snapped up at your voice, and his jaw dropped. You had quickly pulled down the neckline of your dress, and your boobs popped out. He leaped over the table, careful to not knock anything over, and pulled your dress back up to cover your chest.

“Woah!” He settled back down, eyes still wide. “In public? Baby you know I love your tits, and it was a great surprise, but maybe we should keep those for my eyes only.” You laughed, straightening your dress out.

“Alright, alright. I just wanted to surprise you.” You winked, and he huffed a dramatic sigh, his hand over his heart.

“You certainly surprised me.”

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

Even if it was meant to be silly, and he’d never admit it, the nickname ‘Lando Nowins’ had weighed heavily on your boyfriend’s performance. He really loathed it, and was practically seething every time someone dared to call him the mean name. It started way back when you guys first began dating, meaning that throughout his Lando Nowins era, you were still there to support him.

Years ago you made a promise with him that once he made it to P1, you’d flash him while he was up there. Now, in 2024, you were certain he had forgotten that silly little deal, which would make it all the more fun considering he’s just finished first in the Miami Grand Prix. He was already ecstatic with his win, unable to completely process the glory.

You waited until he made it to the top step, holding up his trophy with a victorious stance. Then, as his eyes locked with yours, you made the move. You grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, only for a split second, but he for sure got a view of your breasts.

He suddenly fell silent, a look of disbelief on his face as Charles and Max sprayed him with champagne. Nobody but him noticed, including the thousands of people watching from the stands. That was a moment for just him, displayed to the public.

He snapped out of it and joined the others in his celebration, but he couldn’t seem to get the image of your topless body out of his mind.

He found you in his drivers room afterwards, and immediately pushed you back up against the door, pulling your shirt up just enough to slide his head underneath, followed by your giggles.

“Did you forget about that promise?” You asked, holding back your laughter as he buried his face between your boobs.

“I did, and I’m glad I did.” He hummed, breathing you in. “A pleasant surprise.”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

Charles was in one of his slumps lately. Ferrari had not been performing to his liking, and it was taking a toll on his mental state. It was obvious with the way he moped around the house, usually cuddling with Leo in silence.

You tried various things to cheer him up. You offered to go on a walk with him and Leo, made his favorite food, put on his favorite movie— Everything. You even tried terrible jokes, which usually just made him pity laugh. You finally decided to pull out your trump card— Something you had been saving for dire situations. You planned on using it to get out of an argument, or persuade him into doing you a favor, but this was more important.

You approached him during one of his moping sessions. He was sitting on the couch watching TV, that same frown that’s been haunting him the past week ever so present. You stood right in front of him, blocking his view. As he looked up, you pulled your shirt up, effectively flashing your tits.

He couldn’t help but smile, a laugh leaving his lips as he covered his eyes with one hand. “Mon ange, what are you doing?!”

“Cheering you up,” You replied before putting the hem of your shirt between your teeth, and climbing on his lap. He lowered his hands to your hips, staring down at your chest without shame.

“It worked. It definitely worked.” Yeah, you could feel that it worked.

—

YUKI TSUNODA - YT22

Yuki was not a morning person. It took forever to get that man out of bed, and then for the following thirty minutes he’d just complain about how he wanted to go back to sleep. Eventually he’d shut up and carry on with his day, but the whole ordeal was no fun for either of you.

“Yuuuukkki, wake up.” You were sat on your knees hunched over him, shaking his side. He groaned, grabbing his pillow and putting it over his ears— Acting like a drama queen, that’s for sure. “Yuki, it’s time to wake up! Quick, there’s a fire in the house!” No response. This guy had zero survival instincts.

You tried for probably another five minutes, using various tactics to wake him up. You even tried wafting the smell of his favorite food in front of his nose, but it didn’t work. You were finally starting to give up, deciding he could just sleep some more, when you suddenly remembered his greatest weakness: Your boobs.

“Yuki, my tits are out-” You were gonna finish your sentence by saying ‘you have to wake up to see’ but he immediately sat up, staring directly at you. You sat on your knees on the bed, your pajama top lifted to reveal your chest.

“I’m up.”

“I can’t believe that worked…”

—

LEWIS HAMILTON - LH44

Lewis was a guy who loved nature. He was always dragging you along on hikes, despite the fact they weren’t your favorite thing. He wanted to share his passions with you, and since racing wasn’t something you could quickly join in on, he figured hiking would be just as good.

You complained half the time, but then would be super ecstatic when you came back, like it was the best hike of your life. He didn’t really get your weird way of showing enthusiasm, but he found it entertaining nonetheless.

Today, you were extremely tired, but Lewis just kept pushing the limit. Every time you’d stop to catch your breath, he’d tell you “just a bit further.” Every. Single. Time.

You finally got sick of his nonsensical behavior, and decided to give him a reason to turn around. You stopped, taking a moment to catch your breath before calling out to him. He turned around to face you, and then you quickly lifted your shirt, leaving him speechless.

“Can we turn back now?” You asked as you lowered your shirt, leaning over to continue with your deep breathing.

You could hear him swallow, loud as hell. “Yes. Yes we can.” Good use of free will.

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

You actually had a good reason for this. Ever since the move to Williams, Carlos hadn’t been feeling quite like himself. He was struggling with the major downgrade, even with the immense amount of support he was receiving. From you, from his new co-workers, from the fans. It certainly made the blow less harsh.

He just kept getting in his head about things. He wasn’t the smooth operator anymore— He was just your average racer, trying to drag a less than perfect car to the finish line. You could tell he wasn’t suffering on the track, so you chose to surprise him.

One day you came home a little later than normal, and he greeted you with a confused expression, along with his normal forehead kiss. “Where were you?” Coming home late typically meant you were running errands, but your hands were empty.

You didn’t give a proper reply. Instead, you lifted your shirt. Your breasts spilled free, but that’s not what he was focused on. Nestled between them was the number 55– His number. He melted on the spot, grabbing your hips.

“Do you like it?” He nodded, unable to say anything. He leaned down, but you gently pushed his head back. “I just got it done, so no kisses there.”

“Fine,” He grumbled begrudgingly, instead opting to kiss both breasts tenderly. “Your support means everything to me…”

—

GEORGE RUSSELL - GR63

Your boyfriend was always without his damn shirt. At home, after races, on his instagram— The world got to see his abs. At first you were always startled when he paraded around your home without a top on, but eventually it became part of the norm.

You could only wonder how he’d react if the roles were reversed. What if one day you just started to walk around with a shirt or bra? The curiosity got to be too much, so one day when you excused yourself to the bathroom, you stripped down to just your pants, letting everything up top hang loose.

You came back, flaunting yourself as if it were nothing abnormal. George noticed immediately, his eyes shamefully staring at your assets as your strutted by. He kept his firm gaze, jaw clenched and all, trained on you. Finally, he couldn’t keep silent anymore and addressed the elephant in the room.

“What are you doing?” You bit back a laugh, turning around to face him. He didn’t seem to mind, but it was definitely out of the ordinary.

“You walk around shirtless all the time. I just wanted to join.” He nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t even seem that fazed by your behavior.

George shrugged, “You got me there.”

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

Oscar Piastri was a gentleman at heart. He knew you were a capable person, but he always held doors open for you, pulled your seat out, offered you his jacket— Everything. He wasn’t stuck up about it, though. If the roles happened to be reversed, he’d politely accept your kind behavior.

Oscar is the type of guy to ask you if you want to come back to his house at the end of the date because he sincerely just wants to continue being around you, not because he’s looking for a quick fuck. He was the perfect guy— You, on the other hand, were his more devious match that paired with his gentlemanly demeanor perfectly.

He could tell you had something up your sleeve all night, because you were abnormally giggly. He just didn’t expect it to quite literally be up the sleeve of your jean jacket, which topped the nice dress you wore to the date nicely.

“A gift for you,” You held out a small photo, face down for him. He raised a brow, and hesitantly took the polaroid picture from you. His cheeks flared up in a bright red cover and he quickly laid it back down on the table, covering it with his hand.

“Why do you have that?!” It was a photo of you, wearing only a pair of heels and his racing helmet. You laughed at his dramatic reaction, sliding the photo back into your own grasp.

“Did you not like it?” You asked, faking a pout as you tucked it back into your bra.

“Well- Obviously I did, but why-?!” He shook his head, laughing at your antics.

“Why not?” Evil laughter ensued.

[bambisnc]

(   ➴ ) 𝖪𝖨𝖲𝖲 𝖧𝖨𝖬, 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖬𝖤! ♡

୨ৎ. 𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 .. 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌.

### . STARRING ⌢ p.sh ⋆ oneshot + 1.2k // kissing + reader has an ex + i need you guys to j trust me on this please ˖ ✧

[ 陰 🤍 ] ─── i have nawt read the manga before anyone asks; i found the name super funny & then a little lightbulb in my head went "!!" ㅤㅤㅤㅤ‹ FILE.ZIP 𝟹

park sunghoon usually prides himself on being a man of dignity and honor.

he’s heard people around him say this; multiple remarks of how his moral conduct seems totally unshakable. a pillar whose boundaries not one single temptation could consider breaking, they'd say.

but, he finds himself thinking, if all that were really true, he wouldn’t really be in this position—with heeseung's girlfriend all pretty in front of him, pinned up against a wall—would he?

not that he's complaining about the sight in front of him, of course. 

you are nothing less of a divine vision with slightly swollen and spit slicked lips, your delicately applied gloss now smudged from the earlier … activities.

his eyes take in the loose strands of hair framing your features, the way your eyes are delectably glazed over and the lightest sheen of sweat highlighting it all. it’s a wonder he’s able to resist diving right back in and claiming your lips in another kiss, really.

heeseung should've known better. 

he should've known that leaving you alone with sunghoon could not possibly lead to any good outcomes.

one doesn't harbour unrequited feelings for months and leave scott-free, with zero after effects. there’s bound to be some catches.

sunghoon blamed many other things too.

firstly, the sun. for subjecting him to its sweltering heat and for rendering him into a half-dazed stupor. for being the reason you were wearing that gorgeous sundress, casual but enough to catch the attention of all the others lazily roaming around the open shopping complex.

secondly, he blamed ni-ki. like, did the boy really have to drag heeseung away because he saw a michael jackson DVD (limited versions only) on display?

granted, that particular compilation was seemingly not available anywhere else without having to pay a price so scandalous that it hurt to think about. and the singer did happen to be ni-ki's favorite.

but gosh, how selfish could people be?

most importantly, though, he blamed your ex.

for? his mere existence.

it had been going just fine, peachy even, right until that person showed up, he recalls, absentmindedly tracing your lower lip—doing his best to ignore the expectant gaze you were directing towards him lest he end up doing something he'd regret.

well. regret more than he does already, that is.

when your previously cheery smile had suddenly been replaced by a pall of worry, he couldn’t help but immediately mirror your concern. you had anxiously clutched the edge of his sleeve, murmuring that you had just happened to see song eunseok. also known as your ex. 

“i just… i really don’t want to face him right now.”

that was understandable. sunghoon wouldn’t want to see the face of the man who had been such a horrible boyfriend to you (your words, not his; circa last july, pre-heeseung era) either, lest he end up lobbing a punch his way.

“do you think you could hide me?” he could practically see the unease wrapped in a sheath around you from the way you chewed on your lip, “please?...”

what was sunghoon supposed to reply to that? say no to your plea? as if he could ever.

so he did what any dutiful friend would do. he let you use him. 

an arm braced against the wall and another awkwardly fidgeting by his side—he wasn’t sure where it was considered appropriate to keep one’s hand while helping their friend’s girlfriend hide from an ex—he stood leaning towards you. 

his broader, taller frame could cover yours with laughable ease. should the ex boyfriend happen to glance your way, he wouldn’t even realize there was another person there.

it was fine even up until that point. it wasn’t like sunghoon couldn’t control himself and immediately took advantage of the situation. no matter how much he really, really wanted to.

he would never do that to heeseung or you. 

all he needed to do, he thought determinedly, was to not make eye contact and hope that this was over soon. 

but suddenly, you were tugging him closer, saying the position seemed way too odd, too awkward. and now he was closer to you than ever, and quite aware of the fact that he was sweating bullets. 

“hoon?... are you okay?” you had piped up, voice slightly muffled due to quite literally being pressed up against him, “you seem so flushed… is it because of the sun?”

no, it was most definitely not because of the sun.

he vaguely recalls replying back with some offhanded agreement to your words. you, bless your heart, had immediately brushed the back of your hand against his forehead, checking if he was truly okay.

sunghoon swore his breath hitched at the contact. noticeably.

only then did it sink in. the reduced proximity, the charged air brewing between your bodies. he really shouldn’t be getting any ideas.

"?..."

“i’m fine.” his voice was low, cautious. he ran his tongue across his lips, wetting them—a nervous tick of his. “you need to stop this.. a guy can get the wrong idea, you know?” 

you had only giggled at that airily, “no wrong ideas here, i promise.”

then, as if it was the most natural thing to do—it might as well have been, with how perfect it was—you had tipped your head upwards, placing a soft kiss right at the corner of his mouth.

“am i still being unclear?” your head was tilted at a 45° angle, playing off a cute innocence. 

... there was no way he could say no to that, rationality and morals be damned.

and so instead of gracing your teasing remark with a dignified comeback, he simply let you close the distance between your lips once again.

-

park sunghoon usually prides himself on being a man of dignity and honor, sure. but right now? right now, the only thing he’s sure of is that he’s fucked up. big time.

heeseung… one can only imagine how his friend would react to this information. none of the possible scenarios that run through his head are any good.

with a jolt, he jerks away; the hurt look on your face doing nothing to break his resolve. (mostly.) 

“this isn’t—this isn’t right. you have a boyfriend, heeseung… he—he’ll be devastated.”

“what?” confusion spreads across your face, genuine enough if he stopped to take it in. “sunghoon, no that’s not it—”

“we—it’s best we forget this happened. i, um,.. i won’t say anything to him.”

a blink. and you’re laughing. wait what?

“ah…” the way your head is thrown back as you struggle to keep a straight face almost distracts him. “heeseung is actually going to burst out laughing, oh my god.”

before he can even comprehend what that could mean, you show him your phone screen opened to a chat between you and your boyfriend (?).

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : dude if you’re planning on making out w/ hoon rn do NOT do it in front of me and niki i beg.

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : cause like it’s one thing having to hear ab how u bad u want him 24/7 (it gets to a point oh my god?)

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : go get ur man by all means but i do nawt need to be seeing allat !!!!!

“see? i only made him pretend we were together because eunseok was being a little bitch. it was super funny seeing his reaction, if that helps!”

sunghoon’s not sure if he wants to now laugh himself or instead cry. maybe both at the same time? he would rather not scare you off already though. hence, he does the next best thing. 

he kisses you once again. softer this time, as if he’s taking the time to savor the moment.

you part for air only when it becomes an absolute necessity. “what was that about?”

“i need to make up for lost time. all this while, i really thought i had no chance. and…” a pause that indicates he’s struggling to find the right words.

his tone is sheepish when he finally says what’s on his mind. 

“and... i could’ve been a better fake boyfriend, by the way. for the record.”

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[graywaynewriter]

Boyfriend Blurbs 2

⚠️Warnings: this one contains NSFW 👀 tread carefully; fem reader.

Bf! Mark! Who will keep his costume/mask on during sex if you asked. Flying in after a quick mission, keep it on and bend you over. This may or may not have lead him into some role play with you 👀

“Invincible how could I repay you for saving me?” You start to kneel down, your hands sliding down his thighs

“I’m just doing my job ma’am, but…I wouldn’t mind a little thank you~”

Bf! Mark! who will indulge in your fantasy and kinks if it gives you pleasure.

Bf!Mark who is a MUNCH! All I’m saying is once he tried going down on you he couldn’t stop. Every chance he got, anytime you would have sex he HAD TO eat you out. Holding your thighs open as he licked and sucked. It drove him crazy. Definitely moans when he eats you out.

Bf! Mark who makes you sit on his face completely when you hover. And since this man has super strength you’re really not going anywhere. You have no choice but to ride his face until your came on his tongue. And he was in heaven, if this is how the great hero invincible goes out then so be it.

Bf! Mark who loves public sex in high places. Nothing like flying over Paris and landing on the top of the Eiffel Tower and being fuck against the wall. Carrying you, fucking you slow and deep, leaving those pretty bruises on your neck, he just loves it.

“Fuck babe…you’re wetter than usual. Does the idea of being seen turn you on? Hm?” (Exhibitionist fic idea???)

Bf! Mark who will fly over to your place if you text him about feeling a bit horny. Hell show up in only his pink boxers and knock on your window.

“Did someone call for a midnight dicking?” And he has this smug look on his face whenever he pulls a smooth line like that. You just chuckle and wave your finger for him to come in and live up to his promises

Bf! Mark who had accidentally run into a building because your sent him the absolute sexiest picture of yourself (every picture you send) while he was patrolling.

Bf! Mark who’s go to positions are doggy, missionary or cowgirl. He loves to pin you down and just pound into you, watching your ass jiggle with every thrust. But make is also a boob kind of guy and loves to squeeze, suck and lick your boobs any chance he had. Especially if you’re on top and he’s sucking and slightly biting your nipples as they perk in his mouth. He could finish right on the spot.

Bf! Mark who has an oral fixation. He had finished once while sucking your boobs. Flicking his tongue over your nipples, sucking and kissing on them, marking them up as well while he pumped himself / or you pump him. He had never cum that hard from jacking off until he had you in his mouth

Bf! Mark who after a long day really appreciates you on your knees for him. His fingers fisting your hair into a ponytail while your mouth glides up and down his cock. The little gag sound when you choke just a bit made him twitch in your mouth. His hips thrusting just slightly. Focusing on his cock moving in and out of on your pretty eyes that looked at him like a good girl

“Yeah that’s right baby….oh fuck you’re so good….so good baby,”

-🧚🏼

@hhoneylemon 👀

[jjjosiy6]

I really LOVE suits, and they're so stylish and cool, but I'm the weird one if I put one on for a special occasion? God forbid, and a girl wants to look handsome. 😔 I wore a fake suit for my middle school dance, which was my white soft school uniform shirt with a collar, my black uniform pants, a suit jacket that was small and didn't even match the pants and a glittery black bow tie that I got from a Halloween costume.

Now I actually have suit stuff, and I can wear a suit for fancy occasions, but it feels weird because "oOo that's for guys ughhh". One of these days, I'm going to buy a whole suit that fits me loose and perfectly, bind my chest, cut my hair really short, and look completely like a man. 😍 I did dress up as Gomez Addams for Halloween (my bestie was Mortica), and I used the excuse of "its Halloween so you can dress however you like" so that I won't get judged to harshly lol-

legitimately my first feminist awakening as a ten year old child was realizing that girls were expected to respect “boy stuff” but boys were never expected to respect “girl stuff”

[itsnesss]

𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | max, who always claimed to dislike public displays of affection, starts finding subtle excuses to touch you

warnings | fluff, light romance, implied public affection

word count | 1.1 k

🖇 more mv1 🖇 f1 masterlist

Max Verstappen always said that public displays of affection weren’t his thing. He said it with that serious face, almost impassive, that he mastered so well. The one he used in front of cameras, fans, and almost everyone. Except with you.

“It’s not my thing,” he had said once, crossing his arms in a defensive gesture when you saw Checo kiss his wife in the paddock. “I feel uncomfortable, I don’t like the attention. Besides, those things should be done in private.”

You shrugged. It wasn’t something that kept you up at night. You didn’t need him to hold your hand in front of everyone to know that he cared. Or at least that’s what you told yourself every time the days passed and his gestures remained cool. Polite, kind, but contained.

Until it wasn’t.

The transformation was so subtle that you didn’t even notice at first. Or maybe you didn’t want to notice. It all started with small gestures, easy to disguise. A touch on the back when no one was looking. A hand on your leg under the table. An excuse to touch you.

“You’ve got something in your hair,” he said one day, while sitting in the press room after a race.

Before you could ask, his hand was already tangled in your hair, pulling out a supposed misplaced strand. No one said anything. Neither did you.

“See?” he added, smiling as if it were nothing.

You blushed, not because the gesture was too obvious, but because you knew it wasn’t necessary. There was absolutely *nothing* in your hair. Just an excuse.

That was the beginning of the end.

Sometimes, it seemed like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. Like that time in the hotel, after the team dinner, when you got off the elevator and said your feet hurt from walking too much.

“Really?” he asked with a crooked smile.

Before you could nod, he already had his arm around your shoulders. Almost as if it were second nature. Almost as if he always did it.

“Let me walk you to your room.”

You laughed, confused.

“Since when do you do this?”

He shrugged, not letting go of you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you knew exactly what you were talking about. Max Verstappen, the guy who preferred to keep his distance, who said he hated unnecessary contact, now seemed to find reasons to touch you all the time. And you, deep down, started to expect it.

The most obvious moment came in Monaco. It was mid-morning, and the atmosphere was the usual: chaotic, full of press, fans, and cameras. You were standing next to him while he talked to his engineer. You listened in silence, not wanting to interrupt.

A gust of wind swept between you, lifting a few papers, and without thinking, Max stretched his arm and pulled you toward him by the waist. He pressed you against him like he was afraid you might fly away.

“Everything okay?” he asked, almost without looking at you, his hand firmly on your side.

You could only nod.

“I’m fine.”

His engineer, thankfully, didn’t react. Neither did anyone else. But you felt the world stop for a second. And the worst part was that he didn’t pull away. He kept you close for the rest of the conversation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And then came Silverstone.

The rain had wreaked havoc that weekend, and you were soaked, despite your raincoat. You ran through the downpour to reach his motorhome, seeking refuge. You entered without thinking, without knocking.

Max was sitting on the couch, hair tousled and a tired expression on his face. But when he saw you, he immediately stood up.

“Are you crazy?” he said, taking your hands to help you remove your soaked jacket. “You’re going to get sick.”

“It was just a little rain,” you replied, shivering.

He huffed, took off his dry jacket, and put it over you. Then, without thinking, he hugged you. It wasn’t a quick hug. It was long. Intimate. Warm.

“I don’t like you being like this,” he murmured into your hair.

“Like what?”

“Cold. Wet. Far away.”

That last part made you look up.

“I’m right here.”

“I know,” he whispered, and this time, he looked you in the eyes. “But sometimes I have to remind myself.”

Since that day, everything changed.

He no longer hid it. He no longer made excuses. He no longer said “I don’t like affection in public.” Instead, he’d say things like “you were cold, weren’t you?” while wrapping you in his jacket. Or “let me help you with that,” while taking your hand to cross through the crowd.

The press started to notice. Fans did too. The videos of “casual” moments between you two multiplied. Hands intertwined, shared glances, small stolen smiles.

But the confirmation came in Zandvoort.

Your favorite country. His favorite track. A sea of orange everywhere. Perfect chaos.

You were watching qualifying from the pit wall, biting your nails. He had had problems during practice. He was tense, focused, cold. Or so you thought.

When the session ended, Max had taken pole. And the first thing he did when he got out of the car, even before speaking to the media, was to look for you with his eyes.

And when he found you… he ran toward you.

Without hesitation. Without looking around. Without caring about the cameras. He lifted you in a hug that took your breath away.

“You did it,” you whispered, tears in your eyes.

“You too,” he said, kissing your forehead, your hair, your lips.

And then, in the middle of thousands of people, cameras, and noise, Max Verstappen —the same one who said he was allergic to romance— kissed you as if the world didn’t matter.

And it didn’t.

That night, in the hotel room, while you watched the race replay, he appeared behind you with a tired but honest smile. He lay down next to you on the bed, resting his head on your lap.

“You know?” he murmured. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not good at this. Not like other drivers. I’m not tender, or romantic, or…”

“You don’t have to be like anyone else,” you interrupted. “I like you as you are. Even when you make silly excuses to hug me.”

Max laughed softly.

“Excuses? Me? Never.”

“And the ‘you’ve got something in your hair’?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You had something,” he replied, kissing your hand. “Something I needed to touch.”

You looked at him in silence. He returned your gaze, softer than ever.

“I’m learning,” he confessed. “Not to be romantic. To be brave. With you.”

And in that moment, you knew it didn’t matter how “allergic” he claimed to be to romance.

Because with you, Max Verstappen was learning to love in his own way.

And that was more than enough.

[yanyannica]

it's not like ushijima wakatoshi to get jealous over anything, but the one time you heavily suspect he does...

"oh? you jealous?"

your tall hunk of a boyfriend stares you down with a mild crease between his eyebrows. you stare back just as intensely with a dopey grin, waiting for an admission from your ever-stoic boyfriend.

it's not everyday you get to see him react like this, so you practically jump the opportunity.

you watch tentatively as he brings up a hand to his chest, clutching his shirt as his gaze drops to the ground — expression stoned not much unlike a rock as he contemplates your words. he never fails to look so serious.

"...am i?"

the blatant confusion on his face couldn't be any more funnier, and you had to stifle your laugh into your hand lest you hurt his feelings.

you really should've known better — of course he wouldn't know what to call it even if it slapped him in the face. we were talking about the guy who went up to you during a random tuesday and confessed that he had an constant urge to kiss you, and innocently asked if you knew anything about it like he was inquiring about homework.

(for an entire week before you officially got together, you had to convince him that no — you were most definitely not hypnotizing him.)

"you're such an idiot, you know?" you nudge his side teasingly, leaning your weight against him as you struggle to keep your giggles at bay.

your hulk of a boyfriend is way too adorable sometimes.

"i'm not quite sure what jealousy feels like. my apologies."

you grimace a bit at his response, now hyper-aware of the way his athletic body feels against your side.

he's never had to be jealous of anything because everyone else is busy being jealous of him!

you pout at him, before poking his side. softly, of course. you might break a finger or two if you went any harder.

you turn back to the matter at hand before it completely derails — you need full details on this rare side of him. "well, what did it feel like when you saw me talking to that guy?"

ushijima takes a moment before his eyes clear up.

"something felt weird here," he gently patted the spot over his heart and your eyes widen in surprise, pulling away to look at him more firmly. "like it got pinched. it didn’t hurt physically, but it made me... sad."

your heart clenches, hard. you swear you heard it crack within your chest too. oh my god. it was one hundred percent your fault! no questions asked!

you reach out to his arms as your eyes turn glassy, "oh, baby. i'm so sor —"

"my muscles contracted by themselves too, like how it feels when i want to hit a spike."

... ha?

your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. the romantic air disperses in a matter of miliseconds, crashing down to earth.

a spike?!

what the hell? well, good thing you kept the conversation short, or else that guy would've had his head blown off...

a shudder runs down your spine.

you sweat profusely at his profound statement, "n-next time you feel bothered by something like that, make sure you approach me first before doing anything, okay?" for safety purposes!

ushijima blinks at you, completely none the wiser to your inner turmoil.

"alright," he pauses, as if there's something else he wants to say, contemplating it for a few moments before speaking up again. "i don't like feeling jealous. is that a bad thing?"

reallyyyyy such a baby. your baby.

"i'm really sorry for making you feel that way, toshi," leaning up on your tippy toes, you coerce him to lean down into your hold — placing a chaste kiss to his cheek. "you do know that you're the only one i have eyes for, yes?"

he nods affirmatively, like an obedient child heeding their parents' words like it's gospel.

"you trust me, right?"

another truthful nod of approval. you sigh in utter relief as you let him go for him to resume his practice, satisfied at how you were able to prevent a major crisis from occurring.

"i will make sure to consult you first before spiking."

you feel a tear form.

"toshi — baby, no —"

oh yes */smirks deviously

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ when i feel you (from within), i exist. : second half.

wnba!paige x wnba!azzi. men & minors dni.

hey, sugar. read the first part here.

cw: that weird blurring of lines in your friendship when you’re both in love with each other, light sexual content, mentions of weed, love confessions, avoiding each other at public events, the embarrassment of wanting someone so badly you'd do anything for it, being mean to each other because it's easier than taking the leap.

notes: i hope you guys enjoy this. i feel a bit kinder about it than the first part. still giving credit to where credit is due. dedicated to the beautiful @loeysoi simply because i love her and appreciate her warm, creative spirit so much.

anyway, i hope you all enjoy. all my love. always.

they don’t talk about it, but it consumes them. it almost seems to up the stakes. they think about it all the time. 

paige thinks about it, gasping and shuddering underneath the ho,t spraying shame of the shower. azzi thinks about it, lying on her side in the dark with her eyes pressed shut and her mouth parted. 

they both get invited to the same athletic philanthropy event. something clean and public and charitable, which makes it worse, somehow.

azzi sees paige first. she always does. paige is near the drinks table, talking with her teammates, backlit by the golden wash of some fake candlelight. when paige finally sees azzi, it’s later, deliberately so. she has that practiced distance, the kind that makes you feel childish for wanting anything. the realization, once made, makes azzi’s face flush with the salt-heat that comes with tears. 

she turns to go three hours in, her blown-out curls now flat and devoid of any further interest to beautify her tonight. she looks beautiful as she leaves (she comes to this conclusion later via an instagram fan page) in her gown: blue leopard, cut down to her belly like an incision. her chest peeks out delicately, something azzi often feels she isn’t, and she’s careful to be camera-aware as she bends to scoop teammates and friends into loose, departing side hugs. 

she makes it down the long velvet hallway on her own. it smells like mildew. old money and old fabric. it’s a museum, so there are exhibits to catch her eye. she’s calling her driver. she’s almost out. but it’s on the stairs that she finally falls. 

she trips over air, or maybe all of her carefully built emotional architecture, built just for this evening, has found the crack in its foundation. 

either way, she’s going down. one step, one twist of the foot. 

she lands hard. hits the middle spread of the staircase, the step wide enough for her to bring her knees to stone and crack the front of her foot against the edge before rolling over with a sick little cry. she winces as she examines the sole of her foot, the awkward roll and bend of her ankle. lets out a mewl of pain as she presses into the center. 

there’s a sharp cut there, beading with blood like a stigmata. there’s not a lot, but there’s just enough to embarrass her. 

and then paige is there. of course. not running, not even striding. just appearing, like she’d been there all along. she’s at the bottom of the stairs, hands in her pockets, mouth drawn into something unreadable. 

her eyes move over azzi’s body. assessing, maybe. amused. azzi feels the salt-heat climb back into her face. she wants to get up on her own, to say something casual, to pretend none of this matters. 

she wasn’t going to say anything, really. she wasn’t. she was going to be good about it with a slight grimace and roll of her eyes as if to say god, i’m so clumsy, even though they both know it’s not true. but instead, her skin-brain connection is corrupted, and the pain wins out, and she says it before she means to.

“fuck you.”

it comes out low and neat. not thrown, not spat. in the same way her flatmate in london used to drink whiskey during that one semester abroad. measured and burning. it seems to hit paige like a slap. 

one light eyebrow lifts, then both. cartoonish surprise. azzi tries to push herself up, mortified, but her ankle screams and she crashes back down, dress blooming around her like a wave.

somewhere in the distance, someone puts on “empires” by niki and the dove like a sick joke.

nothing stays the same i've learned my lesson well if you wish too hard it eludes you just the same but my love is young, it's young it burns the edges of my heart i'm dying for ya

her scream gets swallowed up by the synths. it’s grotesque and a little funny. she hates that.

paige moves then, her body always responding to azzi’s own, and practically flies up the steps to where her best friend is heaving hard through her nose. azzi isn’t in any position to refuse her help, but she digs her nails into paige’s pale shoulder when she bends and smiles, sharp and bittersweet, at the pained grunt she gets in response. 

maybe that’s why paige is purposefully so slow when she picks her up, strong hands sliding up beneath azzi’s clenched thighs and gathering up every bit of her dress as she swings her off the ground. it’s definitely that and not the fact that there’s love between them threatening to be lost. love, along with the memory of their bodies wet and pressed together in the sanctity of that dallas shower. 

her face gets rushed with that burst of tears again, and she tries to turn away, but once again paige proves that she knows her innately, is so intimately involved with the fabric of who azzi is. paige slows, a hand coming up to tenderly bring azzi’s face into the open by the base of her neck. 

“hey,” she says, and azzi begins blinking fast because everything is fine. it is. “hey. azzi, mama, look at me. does it hurt?”

azzi lies, but not really. “yeah.”

“shit, maybe we should take you to the er. they can—“

“charge me thousands for what i already know?” azzi snaps. “i just need to put ice on it.”

paige is quiet for a moment, and then she says, “okay, princess.”

and azzi knows when they get to her car, paige is going to climb right in after her and sit with her hands curled around the delicate bridge of her calf as she keeps her foot elevated. and then they’re going to arrive at azzi’s apartment. 

and then paige will never leave. 

which azzi used to want. but since the kiss, she’s not sure anymore. because paige let her leave. well, maybe azzi could’ve—

the car pulls round and azzi looks right into the headlights, lets the mean shine bleach out all of her doubts.

✈︎

“god, are you trying to kill me?” 

paige looks up from where she’s bandaging azzi’s foot. 

“i don’t know,” she answers drily, and azzi rolls her eyes. “i could be asking you the same question.” 

azzi flushes then. 

when they’d entered her apartment she’d immediately demanded paige put her down and had shimmied out of her dress until she only had her ass tucked into a pair of deep blue briefs and a bare chest. she’d ignored the hitch of paige’s breath from behind her and hobbled into her bedroom to grab an oversized loewe cotton tee. 

she’d planned to hobble her way back out, but paige had come into the room with a hard look and swung her back up until she could dump her onto the l-shaped sectional.  

“bitch,” azzi mutters and paige presses her thumb into the bruise right above her ankle. 

azzi cracks her jaw with the clench of it, and paige’s mouth quirks up. 

“watch your mouth, az.”

and just like that, she’s back in doctor mode. her hands are clinical, confident. azzi watches her and aches.

it reminds her of high school, college. when bruises were an invitation. when paige used to press into her softest spots, those mottled blooms of gold and violet, under tables and behind closed doors, pushing until azzi broke. her eyes or her cunt, one of them always leaking. 

they never talked about that either.

god forbid. 

paige’s eyes are still trained on the swelling like it’s got secrets. if she keeps pressing it, something’s going to speak.

so, she presses again. slower this time. thumb dragging just slightly across the indigo strip of pain swatched across azzi’s brown skin like she’s testing ripeness. like she’s wondering: which one is wet?

something in azzi’s stomach flips.

it’s not a question out loud, but it hangs in the room like steam. and azzi knows what she means. or doesn’t mean. or can’t say. her thighs twitch a little, involuntarily, and she hates herself for it. hates how paige notices. how her steel blue eyes flick up, fast and sharp.

“does that hurt?” she asks, the words so soft they’re nearly a coo. her thumb stills, warm and heavy against the throb.

azzi nods. lies again. or maybe doesn’t.

“here?” paige asks, sliding the edge of her thumb lower, closer to the hinge of azzi’s ankle. slower this time, like she’s waiting for the wince, or the breath hitch. like she wants to feel it in her teeth.

“paige,” azzi says, and it’s not a protest. it’s a warning. or a plea.

“hmm?”

azzi leans back against the couch like she’s trying to melt into it. tries to tilt her face away, but paige’s free hand catches her at the neck again, not rough but definite. they’re always like this: somewhere between a chokehold and a cradle.

“you’re flushed,” paige murmurs, the thumb still circling now in a pattern azzi can’t ignore. “you hot?”

“you know i am,” azzi says, and it’s an irritated whisper.

paige hums again and lets the sentence curl in her mouth before she licks it clean and says, “yeah. i know.”

she shifts forward, her hand never leaving azzi’s ankle, and the other trailing up her calf now, slow and reverent. “still wanna ice it?”

azzi can’t answer. 

doesn’t want to. 

she just lets her legs part a little wider and watches the way paige’s mouth changes when she notices. but then. but then paige gets closer, and once again, azzi just blurts it out, her mouth a river with no dam. 

“will we always be like this? just pressing?” 

and it’s so revealing. the ache persists in the way she says “just pressing.” it’s tactile and vague and brutal all at once. it reveals how their bodies are always so close but never aligned, always almost.

paige doesn’t answer. maybe her hand presses just a little harder, and azzi gasps. 

her whole body folds in on itself like a piece of fruit bruising from the inside out, and paige—sweet, stubborn, unbearable, in love paige—presses again like she’s asking something with her hands that she doesn’t have the language for. 

and azzi, caught in that taut place between wanting and wincing, kicks out reflexively. not hard, not really, but it’s the wounded foot. the one she’d been babying. the one paige had carried her because of.

the contact is enough. it doesn’t injure, but it startles. azzi’s ankle throbs, and her chest feels worse, like it’s been punctured. when paige reaches out again, softly this time, carefully now, azzi jerks away, and her eyes are welling, and they both realize they’re standing on the edge of something they can’t unknow.

azzi is tearing up and trying not to, and it’s worse because she knows what it means now. knows that pressing can’t be only “play” anymore. not if it makes her cry. not when it’s been echoing in her chest since they were kids, since bruises under tables and reverent touching on court.

paige opens her mouth to say something. another sorry, maybe. azzi just shakes her head and says, quietly and shaking:

“we can’t keep doing this. it’s not just touching anymore.”

paige seems to drop like a body in a fall, and she bends until her forehead is on azzi’s shin and she can smell the thick slather of coconut oil and honey cream on the skin. she gathers strength that quickly dissipates as she thinks of what azzi may say if they do talk about it. 

“i asked you,” azzi continues, “not to be sorry. and then i texted you to talk about it because i knew we would end up just like this.”

“you broke the rule,” paige mumbles, and azzi pulls her bun so that the other woman lets out a hiss of pain. 

“it’s a stupid rule, madison.”

paige sits up then, her middle name coaxing out the meaner part of her that azzi secretly likes.

“don’t fucking call me that, azzi.”

“then stop being mean.”

“is this what you wanna do?” paige asks, squaring her shoulders. “because i can get real mean.”

“oh, fuck you, bueckers,” azzi huffs, and she tries to swing her legs off of the couch but paige holds her down with a warm palm on her good ankle. “always so big and bad.”

“nah, because you know that’s not the first time we’ve done that, but you want to talk about this one.”

something about that makes azzi feel as though she’s backed into a corner, so she verbally lunges with venom sweet and dripping from her teeth.

“i want to talk about this one because you can’t be a coward, and justify not talking about it because we're not teammates anymore.”

paige’s eye twitches, and azzi lets her sit there and flinch like she’s been buzzed by an electrical wire. she manages to get up and lets out a thin yelp from between her teeth. paige lets her be in pain, and that almost makes azzi cry. 

almost.

with a drawn-out sigh, she begins to hobble her way to her bedroom because she’s already embarrassed; she might as well commit to the bit. it’s a pitiful, miserable little escape, teeth gritted and eyes shining, and she can feel paige watching her go the same way you’d watch someone walk out into traffic. 

she makes it a few, bumbling, shuffling steps forward before paige pushes off the sectional and dives for her. they’re kids again: two newborn basketball prodigies with a rivalry running under the bone of the friendship. 

paige goes lower as azzi tries to weave out of the way, and snags her leg with an open hand. her fingers curl, long and hard, around the muscle, and azzi can’t pry it loose. so, as expected, she begins to fight. which means she falls. 

azzi yanks her leg up, trying to slide it out of paige’s hand, but paige has never been above playing dirty with her. her palm glides sweetly around azzi’s good ankle and then switches to the other, the one with the bone bruise and thirty thousand leagues of pain. she clutches it, and azzi lets loose a sharp “holy shit!” at the white flash of agony and stumbles.

she loses her balance, begins to plummet toward her shiny apartment flooring. paige catches her without thinking, rolls onto her back underneath her just in time. azzi lands heavy on top of her, her breath knocked out in a sharp, startled gasp.

their faces are too close, and azzi can feel the vibrational echo of the way their ribs knock together. paige’s hair has come loose. azzi can smell the cheap, scentless conditioner she always uses when she’s traveling. azzi plants her hands on paige’s chest to push herself up, but doesn’t.

her best friend’s hand is splayed wide over her spine. she can feel the tremor in it. the heartbeat. she feels it as it moves lower, as it dips to squeeze at the fatty crease of her ass and thighs. it’s less erotic than it would be with anyone else. 

paige always liked the fuller parts of her. azzi thinks it's because it makes her feel comfortable enough to take more. 

azzi narrows her eyes, narrows them further when paige mockingly does the same. she asks, breathless and wrecked,

"if i hadn't booked that flight to dallas, would you have ever called me?"

paige’s eyes widen, blue and startled. azzi’s hands are idly on her tits, and it would be slightly funny if azzi wasn’t desperate for the truth. instead, she presses down on the tissue. thinks of paige’s nipples, rosy pink and hard in the mornings when she takes those frigid showers, and then crushes them like the flowers they remind her of.

paige grunts, and she pushes uncomfortably on the base of azzi’s spine.

“chill,” is all she says, and azzi grabs her face and squeezes.

“i told you not to be sorry. i asked you not to regret it,” she says again.

paige shrugs. “‘nd i didn’t, ma.”

“you didn’t respond to my text message.”

“right, cause imessage is the place to have life-changing conversations. i wonder if our government’s tried that.”

“we could’ve facetimed,” azzi protests, slightly outraged. “you know that i’m always available for you.”

something flickers across paige’s face. azzi seizes it. 

that twitch, that terrified, guilty twitch, like a rabbit’s nose. she can see paige’s beautiful, pink brain begin to expand; she’s finally realizing the full weight of her, sitting on her chest, of how they sit in one another’s lives.

azzi tilts her head, lashes low, almost tender as she says,

"why. wouldn’t. you. call. why were you lying all alone, getting high like the loser you like to pretend to be? say it."

paige's throat bobs. she squeezes the meat of azzi’s thigh like she’s grounding herself there. she mutters, almost inaudibly:

"didn’t know if you wanted me to."

azzi lets out a little sound, high and bitten-off, like it tears straight out of her chest. she fists her hand harder in the collar of paige’s t-shirt.

“why wouldn’t i want you to, p?” paige relaxes slightly, knowing they’re back on softer ground with the use of the nickname. “what exactly was i doing that would’ve ever taken precedence over you?”

“you were in your skims dress,” paige says, and azzi’s face twists with confusion. “you posted a picture on your story. that’s your date dress.”

azzi sits back, eyes fluttering like she’s receiving a premonition. 

“you weren’t mad about losing the game,” she says, and it's not a question.

paige grins against her mouth, that stupid cocky grin azzi wants to punch out and kiss at the same time, and says:

“that’s the point of the game, princess. someone wins and someone loses.”

azzi closes her eyes. 

“there is something seriously wrong with you, paige.” she opens them again and reaches down to pinch the side of her best friend’s neck. "i was at a last minute brand event."

“hey!” paige squeals, and azzi lets a wry smile tug at her mouth. "how was i supposed to know that?"

"by calling me, madison," azzi hisses, sliding off of paige’s stomach to sit on the floor. she sighs.

“would you ever tell me that you loved me, if you did? like loved me. for real.”

she hears paige shifting, sees her rise in the periphery of her eyesight. she’s not sure why it surprises her when paige turns her head by the chin, fingertips fragile enough to allow azzi to pull away if she wants to.

“azzi,” she says, her face so soft it’s like a wound, “i do love you for real.”

azzi’s whole body jerks like she’s been struck. this is the body when it has forgotten how to process tenderness and has spent so long bracing for impact.

she blinks at paige, wide-eyed and trembling, mouth parted. for a second, they just stare at each other.

paige’s hand is still there, cradling the hinge of her jaw, thumb slipping instinctively higher, brushing the soft undercurve of azzi’s lip. she sends it higher, slips it inside. she tastes like azzi’s skin.

“are you into that?” paige murmurs, eyes never leaving her finger on the slick petal of azzi’s tongue. “tasting yourself?”

it’s too much.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” azzi answers.

paige smiles. azzi lets out a noise. it’s hoarse, punched-out, almost feral. she launches forward.

the kiss lands clumsily, all teeth and open mouths, azzi’s hands scrabbling at the loose fabric of paige’s t-shirt like she’s trying to climb inside her. paige catches her like she’s been waiting her whole life to. she’s still conscious of keeping azzi’s foot out of the collision, and that makes azzi kiss her harder.

she fists a hand in azzi’s curls and yanks her closer, chest to chest, hip to hip, until there’s no air left between them.

it’s not delicate. it’s not even sweet.  it’s desperate.

they are both swollen with greed.

azzi pulls back just an inch, just enough to pant against paige’s mouth, to feel her breath coming in hard waves. she searches her face, studies the flushed skin, the slack pink mouth, the wildness in paige’s blue eyes. 

paige must see the same thing reflected in her because she shudders, almost shakes. she grabs azzi’s shirt like she’s ripping off a band-aid. azzi lets it go. the cotton burns up somewhere behind them.

her mouth finds azzi’s breast like instinct, like muscle memory, needling at the peaked nipple with her teeth. azzi spasms so hard she almost tears away.

"mmm," she breathes out.

"yeah," paige answers, voice low and heavy like fruit. “c’mon, mama.”

then paige’s hand is slipping into the elastic of her shorts, blunt fingers dragging through slick, through heat, until they find the saltwater taffy pink of her, the electric pearl right above it. she presses there. not gently, not cruelly, just certain. azzi’s hips chase her touch.

azzi almost bites through her own tongue, trying not to scream. she knows what is wet this time.

she curls over paige like she’s trying to fold them into one person. she cups paige’s jaw, palms the strong lines of her throat and cheeks like she's memorizing them. paige presses her forehead to azzi’s, hand still working slowly, dragging circles, and mouths into the wet, open space between them:

"azzi."

paige lifts her head.

azzi cradles her face in both hands like she’s trying to crush paige and save her at the same time.

"p," she manages, and paige rubs against her with new urgency.

forehead to forehead. breath and blood and everything loud between them.

the wanting’s already unspooling through both of them, irreversible.

it’s good sometimes, azzi thinks, to break the rule.

© hcneymooners.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

i’m such a sucker for sulky jealous jae, so can we get sweets tutoring new incoming brothers (jisung?) and he has a lil crush on her like haechan did, but it’s sweet and innocent, and she sees him as her baby, a sweet younger boy to help out, but to jaehyun he’s a jealous boy bc some little new kid is getting sweets attention

Sweets 🤝 You guys

causing Jae stress

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

[3:01 pm]

(cw: f!reader, threats of violence)

Fratboy!Jaehyun wouldn't have ever thought that he'd be jealous of a freshman. A pledge. A dumb one at that, yet here he was, jealous of Park Jisung. Some pledge that he was hoping would fail every test set before him. Recite every house on Greek Row? More like, recite the address of every school in the city. Recite the Greek Alphabet? Well, why stop at just Greek? Why not every other Mediterranean language while he's at it!

Jaehyun knew that Jisung failing wouldn't be the case though. Stupid Jisung who had been studying with you and stealing your attention for a while week now, so there was clearly no way he was going to fail. He could hear your gorgeous voice now, repeating all the Greek letters in the alphabet, pausing so Jisung's annoying, grating voice could repeat them.

He watches you from the kitchen where you sit cross legged on the nice rug the Nu Chi girlfriends had picked out with Jisung sitting adjacent to you. You smile, far too warmly Jaehyun thinks, at Jisung, "alright now you try."

Jisung blushes, ducking his head as he begins to repeat the alphabet. Even Jaehyun has to admit that he does pretty decent until this little dummy says, "kappa, lambda, M, nu..."

Your giggle rings through the air as you stop Jisung with a gentle hand on his shoulder. He can see Jisung's shoulders raise with bashfulness and his cheeks flush all over again, turning even brighter red as you tell him, "oh, you're just the cutest thing ever! Alright, I know it looks like an M, but its actually mu. You'll be fine though, you just have to recite the letters, not identify them."

Jaehyun can't help but zero in on where your hand touches Jisung, your words echoing in his head, 'cutest thing ever!' How is this scrawny freshman even cuter than your own boyfriend? If anything, it's your fault that he's smart now! He can go back to being dumb if that's what you think is cute! Fine! He'll fail his business classes that he needs to graduate. He'll lose all his muscle too, but you can't complain when the abs are gone or you have no more bicep muscle to bite! You've forced his hand!

Jisung ducks his head nervously, "ha, thank you, Sweets. I-I'm sorry, I know I'm just a pledge. Is it alright if I call you that? I can call you by your name if you'd like. Maybe Sweetheart, or um- I've heard Jaehyun call you Sweet Girl. I mean, that sounds a bit intimate, and you are very sweet. And a girl. I think you're one of the sweetest girls I've ever met and you're really pretty- um. I need to shut up now."

Your face falls into a pout as coo, hands reaching out to squeeze Jisung's cheeks. Jaehyun feels bitter envy bubbling in his stomach. You have only ever squeezed his cheeks like this like four times! That's not even a full hand's worth! And you've been together for like two years now! His body is just itching to move across the room and punch Jisung for flirting with you. He can at least flirt well, it's what you deserve at the very least...

However, as the mature senior that he is, Jaehyun doesn't resort to violence. He knows that you wouldn't choose Jisung over him. You've told him that you just think Jisung is cute like a child, and Jisung is shit at flirting anyway. There's no way his nerdy, awkward, bumbling rambling would ever convince you to leave your Adonis of a boyfriend.

Jaehyun sighs quietly, refocusing his thoughts as he listens to Jisung recite the alphabet slowly, his eyes staring at the ceiling as he tries to recall. As jealous as he feels, Jaehyun also feels a little proud. You're going to be such a great teacher. He knows it. You're doing such a great job helping Jisung, probably employing a bunch of methods from your classes that Jisung hasn't picked up on. Maybe not cooing at your students and squeezing their cheeks... but he knows you mean well.

Jaehyun nearly jumps out of his skin, when he hears, "want me to kill him?"

"Geez! No, Haechan! What the hell is your problem?!"

[no-144444]

꩜ summary: he doesn't listen...

꩜ pairing: carlos sainz x fem! reader

Can’t wait to get you home tonight. You look fucking gorgeous preciosa. 

You couldn’t help the goosebumps jumping up on your skin. You didn't even know he was here but, of course he was. He was here, like always, and you would run back to him, like always. Your eyes lifted to the dance floor in front of you. You scanned the faces, searching for him, hoping you’d spot him before he found you. You couldn’t find those familiar brown eyes, at least, not with the lack of light and amount of people in there. 

Carlos was great, he was nice when he needed to be, a good fuck, and a guy who was into a bit of aftercare. He was… yeah. It was fine. You were looking for a relationship and had landed yourself into a fuck-buddies situation, which was fine. It just wasn’t what you wanted. And he didn’t want anything else. He just wanted someone to fuck casually, and you wanted a boyfriend who would listen to you, who would hold you, who would care. That wasn’t Carlos. Men like him didn’t settle for a girlfriend, much less you. He didn’t listen at the best of times, he only put the effort in when he was getting something from you, and it made you feel like shit. So, you kept planning on breaking it off, but then it kept going. You both kept going. You kept running back. You just wanted it to be over and bile rose in your throat every time you realised you’d actually have to try and speak to him about it, that you couldn’t just ghost him and have him leave you alone. He wouldn’t go so easily. 

The music in Jimmy’s was loud. Too loud. It always was. The lights were strobe, Lando was probably on the dj deck, and you really just wanted to go home. You stared down at his message again, and typed your own out, despite the bodies pushing up against you. 

Not feeling well. Raincheck?

He didn’t respond right away. You didn’t expect him to. It was usually him cancelling or calling, and you just followed. But tonight was different. You felt it. It was over, for real. You couldn’t take not being listened to. You were nearly at the door when he texted. 

Have something that could make you feel better. Wait for me. 

And you did. Stupidly, you waited a full twenty minutes for him to come out of the club, walking with you back to his apartment as your stomach twisted with regret. You didn’t hold hands. You didn’t smile at each other. You looked every bit the strangers you really were. 

You knew what he wanted by the looks he was giving you, by the way your ‘catch-up’ (he’d asked about your day) went in one ear and out the other. You could’ve screamed and he still wouldn’t have heard you, and it only broke your heart more, because you cared. You were there for him when Ferrari dropped him, you sat there with him for a whole weekend and held him close, listening to every late-night rant and early-morning sob session. You did it for him, and he didn’t want to do it for you. You were nothing to him. You were just a body. Something to be used. 

Carlos’s apartment was cosy. He had a big kitchen (which he never used), a big couch, and he was allergic to switching on the big light, so the small lamps placed around the rooms only added to the ambience. You liked it there. It smelt clean and he kept it tidy, though you wished you were coming for a date night, rather than a booty call. 

He surged forward and kissed your lips as you pulled your jacket off. His hands immediately ran to grope and grab at anything he could. He pulled down the front of your dress, revealing your purple lace bra. His favourite. Your favourite too, but he never seemed to care. He smirked against your lips. “Missed you,” he hissed. “It’s been shit without you. Want you to come to Miami-”

“Carlos,” you breathed out, pushing him back, hard. He stumbled into the counter with a surprised look. “I don’t want this.” 

Both of you were quiet. He just stared at you as you fixed yourself up, feeling every bit the idiot you thought you were. You had let it go on too long. You had no idea what you were going to say, but you knew you needed to say it. 

“What’s wrong, preciosa?” he asked, taking a tentative step towards you. You took one step back. He stilled. 

“This is what’s wrong. Us! I don’t want this anymore,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “I’m fucking sick and tired of you just using me for what you want, without ever thinking about what I want!” you took a deep breath. “And I feel so fucking stupid because I keep running back! And I don’t know why! I guess I think that if I show you that I could love you like I want to, that maybe you’ll care too? Which is so fucking stupid, because you don’t love me. You’ll never fucking love me unless I’m on my knees.”

And the air sucked out of the room, replaced with a thick atmosphere. You’d said it. He had to respond. 

He cleared his throat. “Where is this coming from?” he asked, his eyes wide and surprised, he took another step towards you slowly. You didn’t step back this time. “You’ve never said this before?”

“I have,” you shook your head, a sad smile on your lips. Of course he didn’t remember. Of course he didn’t care. “I have asked you a thousand times to be my actual boyfriend, and every single time you just say that we’re ‘just having fun’. Carlos, I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me, and you don’t want me.” 

“I want you,” he shook his head. “Of course I want you, preciosa-”

“What does that even mean?” you scoffed. “You want me, you call me ‘precious’ , and yet you’d rather die than let me meet your friends or family, you won’t call me your girlfriend, and all we do is fuck.” 

He looked down. “It’s complicated-” 

“Is it though? Charles does it. Oscar does it. Esteban does it. Max does it. Liam does it. Kimi does it, for fuck’s sake Carlos. You don’t love me, just say it-!”

“I love you!” he shouted and you flinched. Suddenly his hands were gripping your waist, and hugging you. His chest was heaving “I love you,” he whispered again, his voice small. “I love you, of course I love you.”

You shook your head. “You don’t love me.” 

“I love you,” he shook his head. “I love you so much.”

“You don’t listen to me,” you cried, choking up against his chest, but making no effort to move him away. “You refuse to be seen with me in public. You don’t hold me. You don’t love me unless I’m warming your cock.”

He shook his head again, his grip tightening again. “I don’t- I love you. All the time. I love how when you smile, your nose creases a little bit. I love how you look in the mornings when the sun is coming through the windows. I love how smart you are. I love hearing you speak-” 

“Tell me what happened in my day,” you demanded, a test to see if he listened. To see if he cared. You pulled back to look at his face.

“You woke up late,” he started, you were already pleasantly surprised. “You went for a walk down at the marina, you went grocery shopping because you wanted to make cookies. You got some work done and got a call from one of your friends, and you met her for lunch. Her name is Freida. You had lunch at Café de Paris Monté-Carlo. She paid even though you tried to. You went home and got some more work done. Then Lotti, your friend, invited you out to Jimmy’s for a mid-week pick-up. And now you’re here, with me,” his eyes were wild as he answered your demand with perfect execution. Your mouth dropped open. 

You were quiet for a moment and he reached up and wiped away every tear that fell. “So why don’t you ever make me feel like you’re listening?” 

He sighed. “I’m sorry. I love you and I’m sorry. I’ll change. I’ll do anything, I just… I cannot lose you.” 

“I just…” you pushed back, his hands dropping from your figure. His face hardened. “I need time to think.” 

And you left, because what else were you meant to do? 

so close to what masterlist

pop queens mixtape

navigation for my blog :)

[thirteenheavens]

can you please write about scoups being such a boob guy? i read your shua version it was really hot 😭

I need to feel them|| Choi Seungcheol

Notes: starting to write requests from the top now :)

Seungcheol walks into the room, his eyes immediately locking onto your chest. He's been thinking about your breasts all day, and now that he sees you, he can't control himself.

"Come here," he says, his voice low and husky. "I need to feel them." You walk over to him, and he pulls you into a passionate kiss, his hands immediately cupping your breasts through your shirt. He moans into the kiss, his fingers squeezing and kneading your flesh.

"I've been thinking about these all day," he murmurs, breaking the kiss to nuzzle your neck. "They're so perfect, so soft." He pushes your shirt up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra. His eyes darken with desire as he takes in the sight of you, his hands tracing the edges of the lace.

"You're so beautiful," he says, his fingers deftly unhooking your bra and tossing it aside. "I could play with these for hours." He bends down and takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting gently as his hand continues to play with the other one. You arch your back, moaning at the sensation, and Seungcheol groans against your skin.

"I could spend the rest of my life just doing this," he says, looking up at you with a possessive gleam in his eyes. "You're mine to touch, mine to worship." Seungcheol pulls away from your nipple with a wet pop and moves to the other one, giving it the same treatment. He sucks and licks and bites until it's hard and swollen, then moves back to the first one.

"I love how sensitive you are," he says, his hot breath against your skin sending shivers down your spine. "The way you moan when I touch you like this." He kneads your breasts together, creating a valley between them that he looks at with lust-filled eyes. "I want to see you covered in my cum," he says, his voice hoarse with desire. He suddenly pushes you onto the bed and climbs on top of you, his body covering yours. He takes both of your breasts in his hands and starts rubbing them against his cock, using them like they're his own personal toy.

"Look at you," he groans, his eyes fixed on the sight of his cock sliding between your breasts. "You're such a good girl, letting me use you like this." You look up at Seungcheol, your eyes glazed over with pleasure as he continues to use your breasts. "Please," you moan, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need more."

Seungcheol smirks down at you, enjoying the way you're begging for him. "You're so needy," he says, his hips thrusting faster against your chest. "But I'm the one in control here." He slows down his movements, teasing you with long, deliberate strokes. "Beg for it," he commands, his eyes locked on yours. "Beg for me to give you what you want."

"Please, Seungcheol," you moan, your voice trembling with need. "I need to feel you cum on me. Use my breasts, make me yours." Seungcheol's eyes flash with excitement at your words, and he speeds up his movements again, his cock throbbing against your skin. "That's it, baby," he groans. "Keep begging for me." He reaches down and tweaks your nipples, adding to the pleasure as he chases his own release. "I'm going to cover these beautiful tits with my cum," he says through gritted teeth. "And you're going to love it."

He thrusts harder, his cock twitching as he gets closer to the edge. He finally releases, his hot seed spilling all over your breasts and neck. Seungcheol throws his head back, his eyes closed in ecstasy as he cums all over your chest. He rides out his orgasm, his body shuddering with pleasure as he paints your skin with his seed.

"Fuck," he gasps, opening his eyes to look at the mess he's made. "You look so good like this. Covered in my cum." He leans down and kisses you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as he tastes himself on your lips. "You're mine," he whispers, his hands roaming over your cum-covered breasts. "And I'm never going to let you forget it."

[risskia]

DESCRIPTION: Going to the same high school as Caleb, he's athletic and popular, and on top of all of that somehow manages to achieve top grades. And yet, he only has eyes for you. 1.8K words

1 count of Caleb taking care of you after you burn yourself, 1 count of Caleb running straight to you after he wins a basketball game and kissing you afterwards with his medal proudly hanging around your neck, and 1 count of Caleb fucking you as he tutors you History

TAGS: NSFW 18+, p in v s3x in the library, fingering, smut and fluff, protective Caleb, puppy-eyed Caleb

── .✦

Student!Caleb who walks around the school with his rowdy group of friends and a basketball in his arms. He’s the kind of guy all the other boys envy and all the girls swoon over.

And yet, he only has eyes for you.

Despite him being a grade above you, he somehow always manages to find you in school and spend time with you.

Once, you were having Lab lessons. Maybe you were just exhausted from having studied all night, but you weren’t really paying attention to the bunsen burner in front of you.

White-hot pain suddenly shoots up through your fingers. You let out a cry and your hands instinctively shoot back, but the damage has already been done. You look down your hands with tears in your eyes. Already, angry red welts are forming from where you had touched the bunsen burner.

Your lab partner gaped at you, frozen in his tracks. But Caleb, who just so happens to be passing by your class, is already shoving open the doors and making a beeline towards you, before anyone else can even react.

“Pips!” his voice is urgent as he grabs your throbbing hand to inspect the burn. His stomach drops as he sees the extent of damage. You had hurt yourself and he hadn’t been there to save you.

“Caleb – ? What are you doing here?” You whisper almost embarrassedly, but he ignores you as he whirls towards your lab partner, who shrinks back in fear at the look in Caleb's eyes.

“What are you doing here?” The teacher says towards Caleb as he walks towards you, confounded. Caleb shrugs his bag back with his shoulders, grabbing your hand and showing it to the dumbfounded teacher.

“Sir, she got burnt. Look – she needs medical attention right now.”

“Oh … alright.” The teacher says with a frown. “Please be more careful next time...”

Caleb is already guiding you out of the laboratory with a hand placed firmly on your back before the teacher can finish his sentence.

“Pips, you need to be more careful, how many times do I have to tell you?” he says once you two are out of the class, his teeth gritting. You sniffle indignantly.

“I wasn’t paying attention, alright? I didn’t notice the bunsen burner…”

“Your lab partner. He wasn’t looking out for you.” he says with a chilling finality. You glance over at him in exasperation.

“Caleb, please. It’s not his fault. Don’t try to pull some weird crap –” Caleb gently pushes you down onto a bench. You yelp in surprise as he takes your hand and pulls out his first aid kit from his bag. 

You roll your eyes. Of course. Caleb is prepared for everything.

He holds a plaster in between his teeth as he pulls out some kind of antibiotic ointment and varying antiseptic tools. He navigates through his tools with expertise and deft fingers, cleaning and applying the ointment on your burn. You squirm at the strange cooling sensation from the ointment, but his arm keeps you firmly grounded in place.

“Ow – that feels weird.” you look down at him, and that’s when you notice that he’s still in his basketball sports tee. His hair is slightly spiked up and sweat still runs down his face and his bulging biceps.

“Were you at practice?” You poke his face.

“I mean, yeah, but I was taking a break. I just happened to pass by your lab when I saw you. But that doesn’t matter – please be careful next time.” Poor Caleb, he genuinely sounds like he’s in distress. You soften a little.

Student!Caleb who’s an absolute menace on the basketball court. When he manages to score the final shot that mean your school team has won the finals, the sports hall erupts into cheers as Caleb’s teammates run up to him, screaming and cheering their heads off.

Student!Caleb whose immediate first thought is you despite everything, as he jogs off the court to find you. It doesn't take long for his eyes find yours amongst the sea of people, sitting at the front with your friends, cheering along with everyone else. 

“Caleb!” you scream excitedly as you spot him, getting up from your seat and making your way down to him with open arms. You two crash into each other, and Caleb buries his face in your shoulders as he picks you up and spins you around. His body is still rising and falling from the exertion of having been playing basketball for hours as he buries his head in your shoulder. 

“Hey, pips.” he says breathlessly as he looks up at you with his trademark puppy eyes. You giggle giddily, open palms pressing against his chest. 

“You did so well,” you exclaim. “I’m so proud of you, good job!”

Caleb’s eyes glaze over for a second, but he quickly snaps out of it, gently setting you back down on the ground. In the background, his friends are laughing loudly at the two of you, acting all obnoxious.

Student!Caleb who proudly hangs his medal, flashing gold and glinting, around your neck. The medal is still around your neck when he’s kissing your mouth with fervor, after finally getting back home. He has you crowded in a corner of the kitchen, firm hands holding your face as he kisses you sweetly, the boy simply cannot get enough of you. 

“Caleb,” you giggle, pushing his face away for a second. He instinctively tries to close the distance, tries to go back in for more, and pouts when he realizes that you’re trying to stop him. “You really chose this over celebrating the victory with your friends outside, huh.”

“They can have their fun – let me have mine.” he says dismissively.

And then his lips are on yours again, his hands sneakily snaking down south.

Student!Caleb who’s not only good at sports, but also an academic weapon. His friends are always jokingly complaining about how he is too “overpowered” and “needs to be nerfed”. As a result, he spends a great deal of time patiently tutoring his friends and you.

“Pips, pay attention. What’s the matter with you today? This is the fifth time you’ve daydreamt today…” 

Caleb sits across from you, pen in his hand. You two sit in a private library room, it’s spacious and enclosed, with the walls lining with mahogany bookshelves and plush bean bags scattering all over the ground. Golden sunlight streams through from a high window.

You’ve been in a rut lately. Furiously humping your pillow late into the night, and having the most unholy thoughts coming across your mind in the middle of the class.

Or maybe it’s just that Caleb looks too good right now. With his shirt that shows off his figure in the most subtle ways, and the dog tag that catches the gleam of the sunlight. And the way the sunlight brings out the depths of his gorgeous violet eyes.

Whatever the reason is, you’re distracted. Caleb, despite being the most effective tutor ever, always has this effect on you. But you were always able to push those thoughts away and listen to his simple, clear-cut explanations. Not today, though. You were staring at his face and at his biceps – hard. 

Student!Caleb who just understands you so well and always knows exactly what you need. That’s why he has two slender fingers deep in your aching cunt, stroking and thrusting and scissoring as he patiently explains the whole timeline of some royal Portuguese family. You're moaning and squirming on his lap as pleasure wracks through you, evident with how much you're dripping all over his shorts, but he has his other unoccupied arm firmly wrapped around your neck in a tight headlock to keep you still and seated on his lap.

“...nnghhh, Caleb, just fuck me already,” you grit out as you try to contain yet another wave of fast approaching orgasm.

“Nope.”

Caleb suddenly curls his fingers in you and your orgasm explodes through you.

“Not until you can tell me about the House of Habsburg in detail.”

“It’s a little hard to concentrate when you’re doing this to me – hah!” You slump forward but Caleb holds you up in place with his strong arms, fingers unrelenting thrusting into your tight cunt.

“Okay – fine!” You struggle to string words with the amount of pleasure he’s giving you, but you manage to recite it anyway. Caleb hums against your neck, obviously pleased with himself. 

“...and when did the dynasty end?”

The…the fall of the Austro-Hungarian Empire in 1920?”

“1918,” he corrects, “After World War I. But you still did a good job, baby. You learn so well with my fingers in you, is this how we should study next time from now on?” Caleb teases, nipping at your ears, causing your face to heat up. Wrapping his large hands around your hips, he lifts you out of his lap so that you’re on all fours for him, ass up in the air. 

You whimper, pushing your ass back into his crotch, eliciting a moan from Caleb. Your heartbeat picks up when you hear the clinking of his belt being undone behind you, and then he has his hard length pressed up against your ass, dragging against your folds and occasionally catching on your clit.

“Ah – fuck, you feel good,” Caleb moans as he finally pushes into you. Your elbows give away as you sink to the ground, eyes rolling to the back of your head, but Caleb holds you up as he thrusts into you. “Give me your hand, baby.”

He clasps his hand in yours, holding your hand as he continues to fuck into your gummy walls, which are practically struggling to accommodate the sheer size of his cock. 

“Caleb – you’re too fucking big – “ you gasp in protest as he continues to drive relentlessly into that sweet spot in you. 

“Really, pips?” Caleb muses. “But you seem to be taking me so well.” You let out a soft gasp at his words, as pressure starts rapidly building up in the pits of your stomach. 

“Caleb – m’ close!” you shriek. Caleb responds by effortlessly flipping you over on your back and swiftly re-entering your sweet cunt. He wants to watch your face when you finish. The thought tips you over, as you cum, hard, crying his name and clutching his shirt as if it’s your lifeline. Caleb leans over you (and his dog tag dangles above your face), kissing your lips and swallowing your moans as he gently works you through your orgasm. You’re trembling like a leaf, absolutely spent from the sheer amount of overstimulation and orgasms your poor body has been subjected to over the past few hours. 

Caleb gently strokes your hair as he lets you lie on his chest. “You did so well for me, pips.”

You groan softly in response.

“Fuck you, Caleb.” You already know that you’ll be thinking about this moment during tomorrow’s History test. 

“Already ready for the next round?” his hands are already sliding up your shirt, a boyish grin playing at his lips, and you whack it away in exasperation, rolling your eyes at him.

── .✦

A/N: might write a part 2 in the near future there's just so much to say!! ❤︎