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

[mugglebornmarvelite]

BUT IMAGINE SUNSHINE DRAGGING BUCKY TO A PHOTOBOOTH AND HE PULLS HER ONTO HIS LAP ‘CAUSE HE’S TOO BIG FOR HER TO ALSO FIT IN THE SEAT

Mall Day

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: Despite his best efforts to stay unimpressed, Bucky ends up indulging in your playful antics, finding himself completely disarmed and charmed by you.

Word Count: Roughly 1.1k 

Warnings: Fluff, cheeky moments, awkwardness, sarcasm, a little romantic tension, Bucky being a soft dom (manhandling and praise), affectionate teasing

Author’s Note: Thank you for the request, babe! This was such a cute idea, I hope it was to your liking. It was originally going to be a short blurb, but I made it into a mall day! @ghostlyfleur <3

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Divider by: @strangergraphics 

It was supposed to be a peaceful day off for the Avengers. The sun was out, the mall was bustling, and for once, everyone had agreed to take a break from saving the world.

But for Bucky Barnes, the day was already feeling like a test of patience.

He wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of a crowded mall. The noise, the chaos, the shiny stores full of overpriced trinkets. It just wasn’t his scene. 

But you were you. And he would do anything for you.

And with no match against you and your little smile, you dragged him around the mall for the past hour like a hyperactive puppy.

You were practically bouncing with excitement as you skipped from one shop to the next, and Bucky, despite his grumbles and sighs, was always just a step behind you, keeping a close eye on you.

“Bucky, come on!” you said, turning back with your bright, infectious smile. “Hurry up! We’re gonna miss all the fun!”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed in a mall,” Bucky grumbled, his voice low but fond.

You shot him a grin. “That’s why I came with you, big guy.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, letting you pull him along.

You had this way of getting under his skin, making him smile even when he was trying to stay grumpy.

Just as you were about to break into a sprint to your favorite store, you tripped over your own feet. 

Instinctively, Bucky’s hand shot out to catch you, pulling you against his chest.

“Careful, sunshine,” he muttered, his voice unusually soft. His hand lingered at your waist for a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your jacket. “One of these days, I’m gonna need to wrap you in bubble wrap.”

“Thanks for the rescue, grumpy bear.” You giggled and straightened up, swatting his arm lightly. “But I’m fine!”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Bucky grumbled, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone. His eyes narrowed, and he scanned the crowd around you both. He was always on high alert, always protecting you.

As if on cue, your attention shifted to something else. You spotted it: the photo booth. 

Bright lights flashing in the window, cute little props hanging around. Without even asking, you grabbed his hand.

He let out a sigh, but let you drag him across the mall.

“Really? A photo booth?” he asked, though the annoyance in his voice was half-hearted. You looked up at him, with those stupid doe eyes.

“Please, Buck, pleeeease! You owe me after almost letting me faceplant!” you grinned as you tugged him along with you.

"I didn't almost let you faceplant," he grumbled, "I saved you."

"That’s the spirit!" you beamed.

Bucky grumbled a string of curses under his breath.

“You’re going in, grumpy!” you said with a grin, “There’s no way you’re getting out of this. It’s for us.”

Bucky sighed. “I’m too big for this. You know that, right?”

“Too big for fun?” you teased. “I don’t think so!”

There was no fighting it. 

Bucky wanted to put his foot down, but with how you smiled up at him, he could never refuse you. 

He ducked into the booth, his broad shoulders hunched, trying not to take up the entire space. There was barely enough room for both of you, so Bucky did the only reasonable thing to do: he picked you up effortlessly and plopped you onto his lap.

"Bucky!"

He pulled you in tighter. "You wanted the pictures, brat. You’re stuck with me now."

“Alright, let’s take some pictures,” you said, playing around with props and making silly faces until Bucky begrudgingly joined in, his grumpiness melting as he went along with it.

Bucky reached over with one massive hand and squished your cheeks together, a smirk on his face. "Like this, sunshine?"

“Bucky! Stop it!” you giggle under his gentle touch.

He chuckled, squeezing your cheeks once more before he put on enormous, goofy glasses and scowled for the next picture.

“There, happy now?” he grumbled, his tone completely at odds with the ridiculous glasses.

“Oh, totally!” you said with a giggle. “You look adorable.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, though you could see the corners of his mouth twitching. “Don’t go telling anyone that, okay?”

“Of course not!” you assured him with a grin. “I’m not that mean.”

"And now, a kiss on the cheek," he said with an air of mock seriousness, before planting a quick kiss on your cheek.

You felt your face flush. 

"Bucky!" you said, your voice suddenly quieter, though your smile betrayed how giddy you were.

He raised an eyebrow. “What? I’m a gentleman. Sometimes.”

Your face flushed a deeper shade of red.

The booth’s final picture snapped. Bucky leaned his cheek against your head and you both smiled.

He pressed a chaste kiss against your temple before he helped you out.

When the photos were printed, you couldn’t hide your grin as you handed one set to Bucky.

“Great,” he muttered. “This is gonna haunt me for the rest of my life, isn’t it?”

You practically beamed. “Yep! And I’m showing the team.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You’re not.”

“I will!” you declared, undeterred.

Bucky tilted your chin to look at him with just the right amount of force. His thumb gently traced your skin, a subtle reminder of who was in control. “You won’t.” 

“Yes, I will,” you insisted, although your voice got softer.

“No, you won’t.” His thumb traces against your cheek, almost like he was grounding you, pulling you closer into submission. “Right, sweet girl?”

“I won’t,” You agreed and held up your pinky. “Pinky promise.”

“Good girl,” he praised, hooking his pinky around yours.

You remained quiet until a small smile creeped up on your face. “You’re totally going to keep the pictures forever and ever.”

He sighed again, looking down at you with both exasperation and fondness. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

“Not unless you really pout,” you teased, poking his side gently. “Which I’m kind of hoping you do.”

“Now I understand why the others like to pick on you,” Bucky muttered.

You pout playfully and he ruffles your hair gently.

You smiled, and when you turned around, you spotted the cotton candy machine. 

Without hesitation, you bolted toward it, yelling, "Cotton candy, Buck! Let’s get some!"

“I swear to God…” Bucky sighed, watching you go with a fond smile that he couldn’t hide. 

The only thing worse than being dragged to a photo booth was following you to a cotton candy machine, knowing you'd get even more hyper off the sugar.

Was he still going to buy it for you?

Yes.

Why?

Because, like always, he was helpless against his sunshine.

"Can’t take you anywhere," he grinned as he followed after you.

No matter how grumpy he tried to be, when it came to you, Bucky Barnes was completely powerless.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp @winchestert101 @thatesqcrush @bamitzzsam @grubler @peaches1958 @helen-2003 @ickearmn @Kimmie113080 @Xgbtmdmx @buckysbunnie @Shower-me-with-roses @pigeonmama @civilbucky @piinksdoll @desimarie12 @sleepysongbirdsings

If you'd like to be added to my taglist or just ask me, and I'll update it!

Much love x

- Maeve

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

if nanami had a youtube channel, he would 100% have one of those channels where he just sits at a desk with a nice coffee setup, talking in a calm, measured voice about finance, work-life balance, and the importance of good investments. he’d wear a crisp button-up (maybe rolled-up sleeves if he’s feeling casual), and his thumbnails would be clean, minimalistic, with titles like:

“how to retire before 40: realistic strategies”

“why overtime is a scam (and how to escape it)”

“books every professional should read”

his audience would be a mix of stressed salarymen, college students trying to get their life together, and people who just find his voice relaxing. every now and then, he’d post a video about high-quality suits, wristwatches, or the best coffee beans for busy professionals.

he wouldn’t care much about engagement, but somehow, his channel would blow up because everyone loves how straightforward and soothing he is. there would definitely be fan edits of him with classical music playing in the background.

eventually, nanami’s channel would evolve beyond just finance and work-life balance—he’d accidentally stumble into lifestyle content because his audience keeps asking for more personal insights. he’d start making videos like:

“a day in my life: what a productive weekend looks like” (spoiler: it’s just him reading, grocery shopping, and meal-prepping while classical jazz plays in the background.)

“underrated coffee shops for people who hate crowds” (he films it reluctantly, clearly uncomfortable holding a camera in public.)

“why i wake up at 5 am (and why you don’t have to)” (he’s not one of those hustle culture guys—he just likes quiet mornings.)

comments would be filled with people thirsting over his voice, calling him “dilf-coded” and begging him to do asmr. he’d ignore most of them, but eventually, shoko or gojo would bring it up, and he’d sigh before begrudgingly uploading a video titled “by popular demand: an asmr experiment.” it’s just him making coffee, flipping through a newspaper, and occasionally sighing. it gets a million views overnight.

despite his best efforts, he’d become an unintentional internet heartthrob. buzzfeed would write an article titled “why is everyone in love with this finance youtuber?” and gojo would never let him live it down.

as his channel grows, nanami starts getting sponsorship offers, but he only accepts the ones he actually believes in—high-quality leather goods, artisanal coffee brands, maybe a premium mattress company. his sponsorship segments are the only ones people don’t skip because his voice is so nice, and he refuses to do anything gimmicky. instead of saying, “this video is sponsored by…” in an excited voice, he just sighs and says, “they sent me this, and it’s fine. if you want one, here’s the link.” and somehow, his conversion rates are insane.

his content shifts slightly as he starts addressing common audience questions:

“how to quit a job you hate (without ruining your career)”

“handling burnout: what actually helps”

“budgeting for people who hate budgeting”

one day, he accidentally reveals he cooks really well while offhandedly mentioning making homemade pasta. the comments explode, demanding a cooking video. after weeks of ignoring it, he finally uploads “fine. here’s a pasta recipe.” it’s filmed in complete silence except for the sounds of chopping, boiling water, and his occasional deadpan commentary. it becomes one of his most-viewed videos.

the internet starts calling him “the reluctant youtube dad,” and people edit clips of him with captions like “he didn’t want to be here, but he’s still the best.” meanwhile, gojo starts trolling in the comments, writing things like “answer my calls, nanamin ❤️” and “do a mukbang next!! let’s eat 100 burgers together.” nanami, of course, blocks him.

[invoncible]

have you ever thought of writing for one of Marks variants? If so you should definitely do Mohawk Mark his cocky attitude is so ugh …. i love your work by the way!

— thank you nonnie hope you like this ! I LOVE MOHAWK MARK OMG

"you know, i feel like i've seen you before." mohawk mark had you by your wrists, preventing your escape as he pinned you to the ground. he studied your face like you were a toy in his hands.

fuck. your boss had sent you to your death yet again. when you signed with your news station, you didn't realize you'd be signing your life away chasing these heroes and their problems.

you thought this was invincible—everyone did until a few minutes ago. they had similar getups and abilities. it was a logical conclusion, right?

wrong. within minutes of pulling up to the penitentiary, the news van was tossed onto its side, a invincible sized hole cut clean through the back. the variant grabbed you and your cameraman by the clothes and dragged you onto the ground... and here you were.

"oh, yeah!" mark snapped his finger, a wicked grin spreading on his face. "you're that news reporter! i remember you... didn't kill you back home cuz you always got my good side." he leaned in, taking your chin in his fingers and guiding you to look up at him. "s'that what you're doing here? you like the view in this dimension too?"

his eyes flicker dangerously to your cameraman, who was shaking behind the heavy lens on his shoulder. he huffed a small laugh at the sight, like the fear he smelled off your partner really got him going.

"yes!" you quickly exclaim, forcing his attention back to you.

his eyes snapped back to you. blood rushed to your head, pulse thundering in your ears. you try your best to not flinch at the way his rough fingers dug into your skin.

"what can i say," you laughed weakly. "you're the hot topic right now, had to get a piece for... myself?"

he paused, his expression like stone as he peered between you and your cameraman, weighing the options in his head: do i kill them for fun, or let them entertain me for a little bit?

after a long pase, mark rose effortlessly to his feet, dragging you up with him by your wrists. he slung his arm around your shoulders like you were old friends in some twisted version of reality. he twirled you around in the ruins, the destruction stretching out in front of you like some sick display of power.

“you like what i’ve done with the place?” he asked, voice dripping with mock innocence as he took in the scattered bodies, the blood-slicked ground.

"oh..." your eyes trailed over the wreckage, the broken limbs and bodies sprinkled over the ground like confetti, and all the blood was the icing on the top. "impressive."

you weren't lying, exactly. it was an impressive show of power, as sick as it was. unease twisted in your gut.

"i knew i liked you." he chuckled. "hey, let's get rid of this." he grabbed the mic from your hand and crushed it, the circuitry sparking one last time before dying completely.

"i mean, sure, i could kill you. it'd be a waste of a pretty face, so i’m not gonna. we've got history, you and i."

your pulse quickened. your eyes darted to your cameraman, who had already taken off, running toward another van and driving off. you grit your teeth. fucking coward.

you felt the weight of mark’s gaze burning into your back as he clicked his tongue in disappointment.

"i'm not the same as your y/n." you reminded him quietly.

"yeah? come home with me 'nd find out."

"no." your eyebrows furrowed.

he smiled, your resistance rolling off his back like it meant nothing. "you're gonna. two y/ns are better than one, and besides you're gonna love my place—it's a palace. i'll get you a nice room and everything. all you'd have to do is stay by my side."

"mm..." you glared at him, trailing off but communicating your answer loud and clear. not that you thought he'd listen to you anyways. his grip on you was almost possessive. this guy was superpowered, for fuck's sake. you were dead for the second he decided he was done playing around with you.

"ohohoho," he chuckled, raising an amused eyebrow. "you're lucky you're cute. but you're coming with me." he shot up into the sky, already set on taking you to wherever he intended to stash you until he had a way back to his dimension.

you shrieked as you were vaulted into the air, anchored only by his arm around your waist.

"shhh," he grinned wildly, his hair fluttering in the wind. "you were the one that wanted a piece for yourself. you gonna refuse me when i'm accommodating you so nicely?"

against your better judgement, you clung to him and hoped that his nice mood lasted a long, long time.

© invoncible

[cutiefulism]

cw — pussy eating, pet names, caleb is a german shepard, uhhh idk what this is. soft sex soon guys pls 😓😓 fluff here n another smut here!

puppydog!caleb who begssss for a taste :(

“c-c’mon, pips, honey, baby, please? jus’ one time, and then i’ll leave you alone, i swear.”

and he looks so pathetic there, too — big, violet eyes peering up at you from between your legs, tail thumping on the rug behind him, furry ears pinned flat against his dark brown hair.

you’ve always been a sucker for cute things. how could you say no to a face like that?

a sigh blows past your pretty lips, and you roll your eyes. “okay, okay, fine.”

and caleb beams, ears perking up and tail swishing. “thank you, sweetness. i’ll be so good, i promise.”

oh, but you should’ve known caleb was lying.

because, i mean, get real. did you seriously expect him to stop after one orgasm?

he hasn’t been between those plush thighs in weeks, hasn’t felt them practically crushing his skull and jumbling his thoughts. it’s criminal to deprive him like this — call it animal neglect.

two big hands keep your legs spread apart and that delicious pussy on display for him. it’s so beautiful — he’s never seen one better.

well, he’s never seen one at all, save for the occasional porn video, but that doesn’t really count, does it? and he spent more of that time imagining it was yours rather than the girl on screen.

he’s snatched from his thoughts when you tug on his hair, pulling his face closer to that sopping mess, even as you whine for him to stop.

“c-caleb, you said just — fuck! — o-one.”

. . did he?

whoops.

a throaty chuckle reverberates against your poor labia, sending vibrations right up to your puffy clit, and you choke on a moan. “i meant one session, pipsqueak.” slurp. “‘s not my fault if ya took it wrong.”

your nails dig into his scalp, like you’re punishing him, and caleb barely stifles a whimper, his cock giving a nice twitch and a spurt of pre cum to add to the already massive stain in his briefs.

“no, you didn’t! you— ngh . . liar.”

his grin only grows wider.

you can call him whatever you want. he’ll let you call him a liar for the rest of his damn life if it means you’ll keep letting him touch you like this.

after all, what’s a few harsh, empty protests from you when caleb really knows how you feel?

how your cunt clenches down around his tongue, which you swear has gotten longer since the start of his little predicament, how your thighs squeeze and tremble around his head, greedily holding him in place, the way your moans grow more wanton and feverish in pitch . .

he’s going to get you to cum again.

when does he not?

“give it t’me, honey, thaaat’s it,” he coos, and that praise goes right to your head (and your pussy!).

you really don’t know how caleb got so good at this. he says he hasn’t been with anyone else, and you believe him, but . .

oh, there is no way he can be this good at pussy eating and you two have only done so occasionally.

but who are you to complain? he’s always been skilled, practically a natural at everything. this shouldn’t (and isn’t) an exception.

“ohh, i’m gonna cum—” you keen, back curving into the most delicious arch, and caleb only picks up his pace, licking and sucking, devouring every centimeter of your pussy he can.

he’s a man-dog starved, and you are the only thing that can satisfy him.

his lips latch onto your clit, sucking and thick tongue swirling while his fingers release your thigh and gather up a lewd mixture of his spit and your essence so that he can plunge two inside far enough to curl right at that spongey spot.

and you fall.

swollen lips parted in a silent ‘O’, one hand fisting the sheets while the other yanks at his hair. your legs quiver at each side of his head, and your hips should be too tired to even move, but they’re bucking into his face, grinding up like you’re trying to suffocate him.

though, in caleb’s opinion, this isn’t a bad way to go out. one of the best ways, actually.

he only pulls his face back when he’s positively sure you’re done, and he licks his lips. tasty.

he shifts up, so that he can see that fucked-out expression, eyes glassy and face flushed. “you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, and a hand comes up to push your hair back so he can lavish your face in kisses and licks.

“my pretty, pretty girl.”

you let out a tiny whine that breaks off into a yawn, and caleb’s smile softens. “yer pretty, too,” you mumble.

he snorts. “you’re prettier.”

your brows draw together. “nuh-uh.”

“yuh-huh.”

“nuh-uh!”

a thick finger flicks your forehead. “go to bed, pipsqueak.”

pregnant sex w puppy!caleb soon perchance.. also i might start back doing gradients but idk 🪫 ts kinda hard

[wosospacegirl]

La reina - Alexia Putellas

Summary: Alexia fell for someone she never expected—Y/n, a younger college student who couldn’t care less about football. They have nothing in common, yet somehow, they just work. Here’s a little glimpse into their relationship.

Warnings: smut (+18); we have smut, we have fluff, we have angts, we have comfort we have Alexia eating Y/n out while making as 11 with her tongue...I'm sure you guys will feel fed <3

Word count: 7k

MASTERLIST

Notes: this was a request! So sorry it took me about a month to write it.

..

Y/n was practically bouncing on her feet when she saw Alexia at the airport. Well, it wasn’t exactly an airport since the Spain squad all travelled privately on their way back home.

The space was mostly empty, with only the player’s families present. There were no crowds asking for photos or cameras flashing since they weren’t allowed in.

But it didn’t matter. All Y/n cared about was Alexia. It had been three weeks since she left for camp in another country.

The matches the Spanish played were all friendly to prepare for real and important games–at least that’s what Alexia had explained to her, Y/n didn’t know much about football except that Alexia looked very pretty while playing it.

It was weird being at the airport knowing that in another two weeks, Y/n would have to come here, but to drop Alexia off as she had another game, this time in Portugal.

Alexia and Y/n didn’t spend a lot of time together. If they had gone on a date at least 3 times in the last 3 months Y/n would be lying. So she tried to be her best self around Alexia, tried to enjoy her and made sure Alexia was getting the rest she needed

T/n looked at the gate and saw that the first players to walk through the private airport doors were Pina and Patri, both girls quickly stopped to greet Y/n and do some small conversation, and then Aitana joined them, her well-travelled pillow hanging on her arm.

Y/n could not really focus on the conversation; she kept turning back to see if Alexia was there already.

“The staff on the plane asked her to take some pictures,” Aitana said, noticing how Y/n’s eyes kept bouncing from the group to the gate. “She’ll probably be the last to get out of the plane.

“She’s always the last, though,” Y/n said in a half-whined.

“Perks of being La Reina’s girlfriend,” Aitana said winking, before saying goodbye, taking Pina and Patri with her.

Y/n’s impatience grew as the minutes dragged on. Three and a half bitten nails later, Alexia showed up.

Her face was soft with exhaustion, her Barcelona hoodie slightly oversized, making her look unfairly huggable. 

Her blonde hair was messy from sleep, falling over her shoulder as she had just spent the whole flight dreaming–which probably happened because Alexia was rather sleepy, even if she denied it assiduously.

I took her some time, but Alexia inevitably saw Y/n in the middle of the private airport lobby and instantly smiled, opening her arms, and letting Y/n come to her.

Their hug was long. 

Alexia allowed Y/n to properly crush her torso all she wanted with her arms, but it didn’t bother Alexia; she had a load of muscle underneath her hoodie, and Y/n’s hug didn’t even tickle her.

“Hi,” Alexia said in Y/n’s ear, putting her hand on the girl’s head and pressing her even more against her body. 

Y/n mumbled something incoherent and just pressed her face more into the Barça hoodie, listening to Alexia’s heartbeat.

Alexia’s hand let go of her suitcase, planting her palm underneath Y/n’s shirt, on her warm back.

Being apart for too long was hard on both of them, but especially on Y/n. She was a very affectionate, physical-touch-as-a-love-language kind of girl. 

Naturally, she didn’t spend days sobbing in bed whenever Alexia was away–certainly, if she did that, she would die of dehydration–instead, she kept on with her life. The pressure in her chest never fully went away, especially during Alexia’s away games. It settled there, quietly constant, a reminder of how much she missed her.

The one way she found to cope with it was to bury herself in university work and focus on her classes and hobbies, like learning French and knitting. Alexia joked that every time she came back from a trip Y/n had learned something completely new from scratch.

“Missed you, mi vida,” Alexia said, breathing Y/n’ vanilla perfume on, one that she had got very used to, and missed whenever she was away. “Three weeks is way too long; I won’t ever do it again.”

Alexia bent her head a little just so Y/n could kiss her. First, she kissed her lips, then her cheeks, nose and forehead. Alexia was a very private person, and their relationship was still a secret to the public, but right now she could only care about Y/n and the way her kisses tickled her.

“I’ll hide you from Fifa for the rest of the year,” Y/n mumbled, bringing Alexia even closer to her. “They’ll never find you again and we’ll just stay together and live off of pizza.”

“I agree on the whole kidnap me from FIFA,” Alexia said, kissing Y/n’s head. “But I’ll have to pass the pizza thing, that wouldn't be very healthy, would it?”

“Look at you and your healthy diet,” Y/n rolled her eyes and jokingly pushed Alexia away “I forgot how much of a freak you are with food…I may or may not have like– a bunch of very unhealthy snakes lying around in your kitchens,” 

“They made me so happy while you were away,”  Y/n said, giving Alexia her best puppy eyes. “Please ignore them, and don’t–”

“I’ll throw them away,” Alexia started with a malicious smile.

“Oh come on!” Y/n huffed, crossing her arms. “They are my favourite flavour.”

The player took her suitcase with one hand and wrapped Y/n’s shoulder with the other, leading them out of the airport. 

“Come on, cariño you need to have some healthy habits,” Alexia said casually if it was that simple to give up on chips. 

“Where did you park the car?”

“You don’t understand that having a snack is essential for my mental health,” Y/n said, pointing at the black Cupra car parked a few meters away.

Alexia chuckled, opening her palm for Y/n to give her the keys. “You can keep half of your snacks and we’ll give the rest to the ninãs on the team.”

Y/n looked for the keys in her pocket and gave them to Alexia. 

They had already fought multiple times over Alexia–possessive and annoying driving behaviour.

Alexia always had to be the one driving, it didn’t matter when or where; the keys were always hers. The only time Y/n had a chance to drive Alexia’s cars was when she wasn’t in Barcelona, that was the only circumstance she would allow her to touch the keys.

“It’s not fair that Vicky gets to eat chips without an earful and I don't” Y/n grumbled, getting into the passenger seat after Alexia opened the door for her.

Ever the gentlewoman.

Alexia went around the vehicle, got behind the wheel, and started the car. “Vicky is a professional athlete who actually cares about what she eats, you, otherwise, would eat only pasta for a straight week If I didn’t ask you to change up a bit.”

“Vicky might be a professional athlete, but I’m a university student.” Y/n put her hands to her chest dramatically. “Do you know how impossible it is to survive studying without snacks? I’m out here shaping tiny minds, Ale—I need fuel! It’s not easy to be an early childhood education major.”

“Sorry, amor.” Alexia rolled her eyes playfully, placing a hand on Y/n’s tight.  “You can keep all your snacks, okay? Don’t want you losing your mind over…midterms? That’s what you call them?”

Y/n smiled triumphantly. She had to keep on her snacks, HA!

“Yep, but my midterms are over, remember?” Y/n said looking at Alexia. “I had my last test three days ago, I texted you about it.”

“Merda,” [shit] Alexia said looking from the road to Y/n. “Sorry, mi vida, I forgot about it. How did you go?”

It didn’t bother Y/n anymore. Alexia was very forgetful about personal things, even though they were important to her.

Her head was too much on football, on the team and the girls. Alexia took her duties as capitana very seriously, her job didn’t stop after she got off training or the pitch. But Y/n was learning, little by little, how to manage that, Alexia too.

Alexia and Y/n hadn’t been dating for a long time, they were together for a little over 8 months. 

Their relationship had ups and downs, just like any other. Their main source of conflict was because of how different their words were. 

They had an age gap, not too big, but enough to cause some generational conflicts; Alexia was like the best footballer in the world, while Y/n was ‘just’

a university student; and last but not least: their relationship was a secret.

Alexia didn't like to call it secret, she preferred ‘private’ but Y/n liked to call it what it was: hidden.

Y/n didn’t like it. She wanted to just be in a normal relationship. She didn’t want to go full 3rd base with Alexia in the middle of the street, but she did want to post a picture of her for Valentine’s Day or go out without pretending to be friends…

But again, they were always working around it.

“The grade isn’t out yet, but I think I did good!” Y/n said proudly. “It was for a philosophy test, so I had to write a lot, but overall it was okay.”

“La meva nena intelligent,” [my smart girl], Alexia, said, also sounding proud. “I’ll buy you something if you get an A.”

“You always say that and you buy what I want regardless of my grades,” Y/n giggled. “And my university grades are between 1 and 10, we don’t use the letter systems.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that you always work hard,” Alexia shrugged. “It doesn't matter your grade, I always know you do great.”

“Tell that to my children's psychology professor” Y/n said, rolling her eyes. “That woman is making my life a living hell.”

“Okay, do you have her phone or–” Alexia said deadpan.

“What?”

“To talk to your professor, she should be kinder to her students.” Alexia acted like ringing up a university professor because your girlfriend wanted to was a normal–casual– thing to do. “Professors are like captains on the team, the captain needs to be firm but also friendly and open to conversation, right?” She asked, looking at Y/n as they stopped at a red light.

“You really know how to ball while I know Aristotle, huh?” Y/n said smiling.

“Huh?” Alexia asked with furrowed eyebrows. “What do you mean? And yeah, I know how to ball, I won the Ballon d'Or, bebè, twice.”

For someone who didn’t know Alexia, they would think she was bragging, but she was simply stating a fact that she thought Y/n wasn't familiar with.

Y/n had missed this, having Alexia around, and talking to her… she just missed her girlfriend a lot, and unfortunately, in the last few months they had spent more time away than with each other, so she had to make the most of it.

“I know, Ale! I meant it like–” Y/n saw the confusion on Alexia’s face and decided to pick her battles. “Actually, just forget about it.”

“Why?” Alexia asked.

“Cause the green light is just on and we need to get home very fast,” Y/n said urgently, pointing at the traffic light.

Alexia looked at her anxiously while beginning to drive. “Why do we need to get home fast, are you car sick again?”

Y/n rolled her eyes. Alexia was killing the mode.

“No, Alexia!” Y/n said, a slight blush on her face “I just spent three weeks without my super hot girlfriend and I feel like I’m in the trenches, okay?”

Alexia understood what the girl meant right away, a grin growing on her face as she stepped up the speed.

“Don’t worry, cariño, I’ll take good care of you when we get home,” Alexia said as she pressed her foot harder on the accelerator pedal.

“Ale, I think you just went through a red light,” Y/n said, turning her neck to see the clearly red traffic light.

“It’s alright,” Alexia waved off. “I’ll just pay the car ticket later.”

Y/n’s underwear felt a well-known feeling in between her legs, she pressed her tight together, trying to find some friction.

Alexia barely parked the car when they arrived at Alexia’s house minutes later. A trio that was usually 20 minutes turned into 10. It was safe to say that Alexia went over and beyond the limit speed.

Alexia didn’t even wait for Y/n to step a foot into the house, her hands were already all over her, pressing, grabbing, touching every centimetre of skin she could find.

The blonde turned Y/n around and pressed her body against the closed door, her hand impatiently undid the button of Y/n’s jeans, her warm hand meeting Y/n’s wet underwear.

“Already this wet, cariño?” Alexia purred on Y/n’s ear, while her hand cupped Y/n’s tits under her shirt.

“Uhum,” Y/n moaned, moving her hips against Alexia’s hands. “I missed you.”

“I know you did, she did too,” she said. That's how Alexia would–sometimes–call Y/n’s pussy. “She’s so ready for me,  I could just ease a finger right in.”

Y/n whimpered, feeling Alexia press her even more against the cold door as one of her fingers slowly made its way into her hole. She was drenched, having spent two whole weeks without Alexis was the same as not feeling pleasure at all.

Y/n did touch herself–Alexia allowed her– but it didn’t feel the same. Y/n craved more than just a touch, she needed closeness, she needed words and reassurance during sex. 

She needed Alexia, and now she had her.

“Vols un dit més, cariño?” [Do you want a finger, cariño?] Alexia asked, not waiting for Y/n to respond before adding one more in her pussy. “I think you do, you’ve been so good while I was away, took care of yourself, and did well at uni, you deserve it, mi vida.” 

Y/n could cum just with Alexia’s words, she knew how much Y/n was a whore for compliments and she used it as her weapon during sex.

“Ale,” Y/n whimpered, pressing her tits on Alexia’s hands. “Thank you, fuck–”

Alexia smirked, noticing the effect she had on her girl. 

“That's what we’re going to do,” Alexia said, nipping Y/n’s earlobe. “You’re going to ride my finger right now, and then I’m taking you to bed and you’re riding my face, how does that sound?”

Y/n nodded frenetically. To be honest, she didn’t understand a word Alexia said, all she heard was ‘cum’ and ‘ride’, and that was exactly what she was going to do.

Alexia took her hand off Y/n’s chest, which earned her a whine from Y/n. “Be patient, I’ll give your tits more attention later.” 

The player wrapped her hand around Y/n’s waist, steading Y/n as she began buckling her hip, making Alexia’s finger reach even deeper than before.

“Oh–uh,” Y/n moaned, mouth hand open as Alexia sucked a spot on the back of her neck. “Almost there, Ale…I–”

“You can cum whenever you want, sweetheart,” Alexia said, kissing the new purple spot she made on the girl's skin. “Go on, be good and cum on my fingers.”

Y/n was a very good girl, so she did just that. 

She felt her body go still as shockwaves ran through her body, Alexia’s name coming out of her mouth as if it were a prayer.

When Y/n’s muscles went soft, Alexia held her tighter, but she didn’t let the girl recover, her fingers were moving against her wet walls again.

“Ale, amor–” Y/n whimpered, pressing her forehead against the door as the pleasure took over her body once again. “Please, hmm.”

It was like Alexias was all over her body; as if her cells had entered Y/n’s skin. She could only feel Alexia, and hear Alexia, all her senses belonged to the player.

“Give me one more,” Alexia murmured in her ear. “I know you want to, cariño.”

Alexia added a third finger and moved faster, her thumb meeting Y/n’s clit as she gently played with it.

It was enough for Y/n to cum again. Her breathing failed and for a second no air came into her lungs, but it didn’t matter because a wave of bliss consumed her body once again.

“Just like that,” Alexia purred, slowing the pace of her fingers, helping the girl come down from her orgasm. “I missed seeing you cum.”

Alexia turned her around and kissed her face, murmuring praises as Y/n tried to come back from her high.

“Now let’s go to my room,” Alexia said, wrapping her arm around the girl’s waist again. “Wanna taste you on my tongue.” 

They were off to a wild and long night.

..

The next day Y/n woke up with Alexia’s mouth on her.

Alexia had taken her pyjama shorts off, and her mouth was on Y/n’s pussy, lapping at her wetness as her hands possessively grabbed her tights.

It took a few seconds for Y/n to understand what was happening, but when she realised, she welcomed it with a grin. 

Alexia always ate her out when she could, it was almost part of her routine. But of course, she couldn't do that while she was away, so it was nice to have this part of her day back.

Alexia was extremely skilled with her fingers, her mouth, with her strap…It was like she was very aware of every movement she made all the time. She knew exactly what to grab, what to lick and what to pinch to make Y/n moan and melt.

“Baby,” Y/n whined, moving her hips, trying to make Alexias go faster. “More?”

“Don’t move, cariño.” Alexia firmed her grip on Y/n’s tight. “Let me do the work, just lay there for me.”

It was almost impossible to just lay there, especially after Alexias fucked her with her finger against it. The two middle ones were deep into her pussy, Y/n’s walls welcoming them as part of her own body.

“Ale, hmm, please–” Y/n whimpered, holding her hand to her side because she knew Alexia didn’t like when she pulled her hair while she was eating her out.

It was something about being in control, Alexia told her once.

“Baby, so go–” Y/n was interrupted when Alexia took the shirt she was wearing and stuffed the hem into her mouth, the fabric quickly becoming wet.

Y/n stared at Alexia with wide eyes.

“Shh, just enjoy it, bebè,” Alexia said, sucking at Y/n’s clit while making eye contact, her left hand marking Y/n’s hip bone with her finger.

Y/n closed her eyes and did what Alexia told her: she enjoyed it.

Y/n was grabbed tightly at the bedsheets as she felt Alexia's tongue moving faster, and then she noticed it.

Alexia was making the number 11 with her tongue, moving it up and down slowly before moving it to the side. She did it again, and again. 

And that’s when Y/n felt that well-known feeling. An orgasm erupted from her body as she bit into her shirt, her body, her body shook and she came to Alexia’s mouth. 

Then it all went black.

“You’ll hurt your jaw, cariño,” Y/n heard Alexia say as if she was far away. She quickly opened her eyes and was met with Alexia’s hazel eyes. 

“Hi,” Alexia said, smiling. “Let go of it, baby,” Alexia tugged at the material in Y/n’s mouth.

Y/n looked at Alexia with furrowed brown, and then she looked down. She had forgotten Alexia had stuffed her shirt in. She dizzily opened her mouth and Alexia took the hem of the shirt from her.

Y/n was confused. She remembered having an orgasm and then… blank. When she was overstimulated she would sometimes black out and wake up minutes later.

“Lift your arms for me, let me take the shirt off,” Alexia asked while caressing Y/n’s cheek.

Y/n shook her head, still looking at Alexia, feeling safe in her presence. She was confused, but Alexia would make it better. She always did.

Alexia tilted her head. “Why not?”

“Cold,” Y/n said, leaning into Alexia’s palm.

“I’ll give you my shirt,” Alexia promised. “And you’ll be warm.”

Y/n obediently lifted her arms and let Alexia strip her. She was fully naked when Alexia came back from her closet, a red shirt in her hand.

Alexia carefully put it on Y/n and went to the bathroom, coming back with a few wipes in hand. She spread Y/n’s thighs open and cleaned her, reassuring her whenever Yn whined, telling her she was too sensitive.

At the end, Alexia tucked Y/n in and kissed her forehead.

“Are you feeling sleepy, cariño?” 

Yn nodded, a pout on her face as she turned her head on her pillow and closed her eyes. Alexia had tired her out and the clock said it wasn’t even 6 am.

“Take a nap,” Alexia said as she got on the bed with Y/n, gently guiding Y/n’s head to her chest. “ I’ll stay here with you.”

Y/n fell asleep seconds later.

A few hours later, Alexia woke Y/n up with breakfast on the bed–or at least what Alexia considered breakfast– she chopped a bunch of fruits in a bowl and put them on a breakfast tray.

“Where’s the rest?” Y/n asked, still sleepy, rubbing her eyes.

Alexia sat next to Y/n and looked at her confused. “What do you mean the rest?”

“Hmm, the rest of the food?” Y/n said, pointing at the tray in front of her. “Do you want me to start the day off with two bananas and a mango? Where is the chocolate chip pancake?”

“You should always start your day with fibre, cariño.” Alexia crossed her arms. “We can go out for brunch and get whatever you want if you eat your fruit salad.”

“Whatever I want?” Y/n asked, a teasing smile on her face.

“Sí.”

“I want you then.

Alexia clearly wasn’t waiting for that answer because she got flushed hard and fast. It was cute, seeing Alexia, normally calm and chill, getting squirmish under her gaze.

It didn’t last long though, she was quickly back to her normal, confident self.

“Eat your fruit and you’ll have it,” she whispered against Y/n’ smooth, before taking the girl into a deep kiss. “Now go on, I want us to go on a run before noon.”

The mention of run made Y/n’s horniness disappear from her body.

“A run? But you just got back from camp!” Y/n whined. “You can’t be serious, normal people rest after they’re done working.”

Y/n could see Alexia's rigorous and inflexible persona coming right in.

“Cariño, I have to keep my routine, you know that,” Alexia said, nudging Y/N’s shoulder. “If I skip, I’ll regret it later.”

“Runs help prevent injuries, too, it makes my ligaments stronger.” She continued, kissing Y/n’s face to make her soften up. It worked.

Y/n didn’t have a chance to fight it and she knew.

Her shoulder gave up a little. “Fine! But can I go on the golf card while you run?”

“No,” Alexia said deadpan. “That wouldn't be running.”

“But you are the–oh so glorious– professional footballer, I’m just a future kindergarten teacher!” Y/n said. “Would you like it if I made you do class planning? I don’t think so.” Y/n crossed her arms.

If Alexia was insisting on her company on the run, she was doing it her way.

“Cariño! You never work out with me,” Alexia complained.

“That’s because I never work out, Alexia; it’s nothing personal,” Y/n said.

“You told me one of your New Year resolutions was starting to work out,” Alexia said, her turn to cross her arms.

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/n waved her off. “But that was a long few months ago.”

“We’re in February.” 

“But it’s a leap year!”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Alexia asked exasperatedly.

“The more you argue the later you start your run,” Y/n said, taking a piece of banana and putting it into her mouth.

Alexia gave up.

“Fine, just finish it, ok? I’ll take a shower,” Alexia said, turning around and going to their shared bathroom.

"I’ll join you in a moment!" Y/n yelled from the bed, but in her mind, she was already planning the fastest route to avoid a run and the fastest way to get in the shower with Alexia.

She couldn't lose the opportunity of seeing Alexia naked and wet.

Y/n had never eaten a fruit salad so fast in her life.

..

Y/n and Alexia compromised.

Y/n did run with her for 2km, but Alexia did the rest of her run having Y/n driving a golf cart by her side.

That way Y/n did what she loved the most: just sit and look pretty while having quality time with Alexia.

The couple talked a lot during the run, mainly about Y/n's classes and about the time Alexia spent on camp.

The good thing about having a partner who lived a completely different life than you? The gossip!

How else would Y/n know about which gold medalist was sleeping with who? And how else would Alexia know about the two professors in the philosophy department who were going through an ugly divorce because of cheating?

“And guess what?” Y/n said, easily turning the wheel to divert from a hole in the ground. 

“What?” Alexia asked, a little out of breath because of her exercise.

Y/n rolled her eyes.

“Guess!” 

“I don't know!” Alexia said. “Tell me, cariño, please?”

Please. Huff.

Alexia refused to say please when they were having sex, but quickly said the word when she wanted to hear the biggest gossip around the campus–that she didn't even attend!

Y/n lowered her speed to keep up with Alexia, who was going at a slower pace.

“The professor cheated on a student! It's a girl majoring in social services!” Y/n disclosed the gossip. “If you had asked me, I would say social services were the last one on my list of students sleeping with professors.”

Alexia laughed. “And what major would be first?”

“Engineering major,” Y/n stated expressionlessly. “Any type of engineering major. I've heard stories.”

“What stories?” Alexia asked.

“Oh you wouldn't like to know,” Y/n said as she got faster leaving Alexia behind.

“Cariño, stop it,” Alexia said. “You're going too fast.”

“But I need to get home and pee!” Y/n yelled back. “Just get in the car with me and we'll go.”

“No!”Alexia said. “I have to finish my running.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and got faster, ignoring Alexia’s lecture and leaving her behind and she drove back to Alexia’s house.

When Alexia got home 30 minutes later than Y/n, she opened the door and found the girl lying on the sofa, fresh out of the shower.

Alexia bent down from the back of the couch to give the Y/n a kiss but was met with a pillow on her face.

“Excuse me?” Alexia asked, offended.

“Shower first,” Y/n said, still holding the pillow up while holding a book with the other. “And then you can have your kiss.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very.”

“I want a kiss now,” Alexia demanded calmly.

Y/n simply pointed at the hallway to the bathroom.

Alexia groaned but headed to the bathroom.

“No groaning,” Y/n yelled from the sofa.

Alexia replied by slamming the bathroom door shut.

Grumpy.

After Alexia emerged from the bathroom, fresh from her shower with her hair still damp, she made her way to the living room. She found Y/n exactly where she had left her—lounging on the sofa—but the book she'd been reading was long forgotten.

Noticing the amused smile on Y/n’s face as she scrolled through her phone, Alexia leaned over the back of the couch without a word, curious about the source of her laughter.

Y/n, still grinning, explained that she was watching funny videos from a new social media app—one Alexia had never even heard of. 

She did her best to break down what was happening in the video, but no matter how much she tried, Alexia just couldn’t wrap her head around it.

All Alexia knew was that Y/n wanted them to participate in whatever the couple on the video were doing.

“–And then we start running,” Y/n said with a proud smile, holding up her phone as a TikTok played on the screen. “Easy, right? I won’t post it, of course. It’s gonna be in my drafts.” 

“I still don't understand, cariño,” Alexia said.

The player had changed her position, and her shoulder was resting on the sofa’s arm as she squinted her eyes at Y/n phone.

“What you don't understand this time?” Y/n asked, slightly imapantient.

Alexia didn't know anything about social media. Nothing. Nada. Y/n wasn't an influencer but she knew her way around technology and trends and was very active on her Instagram. 

Alexia, on the other hand, was happy if she didn't forget her Instagram password. Which she did, several times. Y/n had to be the one to get a new password for her.

“What's the propòsit d’aixop?”[What’s the purpose of this?] Alexia asked. 

“Alexia, my love,” Y/N said, cupping Alexia’s cheeks dramatically. “It’s just a TikTok trend. It’s supposed to be dumb. That’s literally the whole point.”

“Dumb, bebè?” [baby] Alexia said, taking Y/n’s wrists in her hands gently and holding them under her lap. “I'm not tonta, and neither are you, why post us being silly?” [silly]

Y/n tried to free her wrists, but Alexia held tighter.

“Because everybody does it!” Y/n answered in a whine. 

It was always like that with Alexia. 

They spent most of the time away from each other, having to text or do video chats, and when they were together they couldn’t even do normal couple things because Alexia was Barcelona’s princess. 

She had the whole world watching her all the fucking time. 

“Cariño, we’re not like everyone else,” Alexia said, running a hand through her hair. “I have contracts and sponsors and… I just don’t want to do anything that could cause problems, you know?”

Y/n tugged at her wrist harder, and this time Alexia let her go with a huff. Y/n's eyebrows were furrowed.

“It 's a tiktok trend, Alexia! I'm not going to film you using cocaine or kicking a puppy!” Y/n said, the tone of her voice getting louder. “Everybody does it! Everybody! It's supposed to be fun, something that couples do.”

Alexia Pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“We are not everybody,” she repeated as if Y/n didn't listen the first time.

“No! You are not everybody,” Y/N huffed, crossing her arms. “And maybe I just wanted to feel like a normal girlfriend for once—ever think about that? I miss spending time with you!”

Y/n loved Alexia, she had said it to her three months ago, she loved her so much it hurt, but moments like this, when she felt like a secret, when she felt like Alexia’s career was the most important thing in in life, she sometimes wished Alexias was just another normal person.

Maybe that way Alexia would have time for her. Maybe if she wasn’t La Reina, Alexia would walk with her and hold her hand, maybe they wouldn't have to spend all their time together because Alexia was too busy to be with her.

Someday she wished Alexia wasn’t La Reina. Today was one of those days.

Alexia opened her mouth, but Y/n didn't let her argue.

“Nope, I’m talking—because you just got back from a three-week camp, and now you’re leaving again! For another week! In Portugal! Do you see the problem here, Ale?”

“I know, cariño,” Alexia sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “It’s just… My schedule is a mess. I don’t know how to fix that.”

Alexia knew it was coming, she just didn’t know it was going to be today. When she got back from long trips Y/n would always whine and complain about how much she was away, but she never screamed or yelled about it. 

They had arguments over it, but it was always toned down, almost like very logical arguments. But this time Y/n seemed to have a lot of feeling boiling inside of her, waiting for the right moment to let them ou.t

Y/N stepped closer, pressing a hand flat against Alexia’s chest. “It means that I miss you, Alexia. Like, a lot.”

Y/n felt a tear on her cheek, but she quickly cleaned it, she wasn’t going to cry. She was angry and frustrated–with a very good reason–and

“I miss you! But even when you're around we can't do girlfriend stuff because of football, or because of the media, interviews, photoshoots–” Y/n counted down on her finger every little commitment Alexia had on her routine regularly.”

“–and I know you have your career, but–” Okay, maybe she was going to cry a little.

Alexia wrapped her arms around Y/n, bringing her close to her chest. 

“–you have me too.” Y/n finished, finally letting the tears run free as she buried her face in Alexia's chest, letting herself be comforted.

Alexia sat back down on the couch, bringing Y/n with her; the younger girl was straddling her lap, her face resting on Alexia’s neck.

Y/n let out a shaky breath, pressing her forehead against Alexia’s shoulder. The weight of the moment settled between them, thick and unspoken.

Alexia didn’t rush to fill the silence. Instead, she tightened her hold, her fingers tracing slow patterns against Y/n’s back. “Hey,” she murmured after a while, voice soft but sure. “I’ve got you.”

“Calma, tot està bé." [it's okay.] Alexia continued in a soft tone. “Pots plorar, sóc aquí." [“I'm here, you can cry"]

Alexia patted Y/n’s back, chin on the younger girl's head. She rocked Y/n and let her cry for a few minutes, even though she hated the sounds of her girl’s sobs.

When Y/n seemed calmer, Alexia slightly pushed her body away so she could look at her.

 Alexia cleaned some tears on her cheek and kissed the pout on Y/n's face. 

“I’m sorry, mi vida," Alexia said softly, rubbing her thumb over Y/N’s cheek. "I didn’t realize how much this was bothering you.”

Y/n looked down, feeling embarrassed by her outburst. “No, I'm–I'm Sorry, I shouldn't freak out over a stupid TikTok.”

“No, don't say that,” Alexia said, kissing her forehead. “It's not stupid if you care about it, and both of us know it’s more than the TikTok thing,”

“It's just a TikTok trend” Y/n mumbled, feeling like a spoiled brat. “I'm not gonna lose a limb, it's alright, we don't have to do It.” 

“We can do it, sí?” Alexia said. “But you have to explain it to me again.”

Y/n smiled at Alexia. “Ok, I'll explain again.”

“Great!” Alexia said, kissing in on the lips. “And after that, we can sit down and plan a trip just for us.”

Y/n sniffled, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “A trip?” she repeated, her voice still slightly shaky. “You don’t have any breaks until July, we can’t make any trips.”

“Not a long trip, no. But I was thinking… Maybe we can steal a weekend for ourselves. Just the two of us.” Alexia hummed, tucking a loose strand of Y/n’s hair behind her ear. “Soy la Reina, no? I’ll ask for a day off next Friday, so we’ll have the whole weekend for us.” 

“You don't have to do that just because of me,” Y/n said. “Your career is important, I know it. I was just being… sort of a brat.”

“You weren’t being a brat, don’t say that,” Alexia cupped Y/n’s face. “I've been very busy, I know we haven’t spent a lot of quality time together; I’ll get better at it, okay?”

Y/n nodded, bringing her face to Alexia’s shoulder. 

“I didn't mean it when I said I wanted us to be like everybody else,” Y/n whispered. “I'm sorry I said that.”

Y/n was embarrassed now. Y/n knew she was agreeing to all of this when she and Alexia started dating. She wasn't being fair to Alexia. The players had an opposite life compared to her, a very different one from most people, and Y/ should respect it.

Alexia sighed, rubbing Y/N’s back. “I know it sucks, cariño. I don’t mean to make you feel like an afterthought—it’s just… football takes over everything.”

“I’m sorry it took me some time to see it,” Alexia continued, putting her hand under Y/n’s shoulder and rubbing her back, feeling the slight movement of her breathing.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Tenerife,” Alexia said after a few minutes. “Alba went there last month and said it was very charming.”

“Tenerife is nice,” Y/N mumbled against Alexia’s skin. “It’s got beaches… a volcano… and probably a bunch of cute little cafés.”

“A volcano? That’s cool. Alba didn’t tell me about that.”

“Yeah, it’s a dormant one, but it's interesting, I guess.”

Alexia kissed Y/n’s forehead and rocker again, gently, wanting the girl to feel safe and comfortable.

“We’re going there next week, I’ll buy the plane tickets,” Alexia said. “You just worry about buying cute bikini sets and searching about dormant volcanoes.”

Alexia finally achieved what she wanted. Y/n let out a little giggle, but it soon faded. 

“Ale, really, we don’t have to do it,” Y/n said, taking her head from Alexia's shoulder to meet her eyes. “I don't want to get between you and your calendar, I understand the International season is starting and all that.” 

“Plus, if you really want to take some days off, you could use them to rest, you haven’t taken a break during the whole season.” Y/n continued.

“I’ll be on a beautiful island with a pretty and smart girl by my side,” Alexia said cheekily. “That’d be a proper holiday, of course I’m gonna rest.”

“Plus, it’ll be nice to just... be,” Alexia admitted, rubbing a hand over her neck. “No schedules, no press, no—” she huffed, shaking her head before offering a small, almost shy smile. “Just you and me. That sounds perfect.”

Y/n said nothing, she only buried her face in Alexia’s Barcelona hoodie.

“Are you feeling a little better now?” Alexia asked.

“Yes,” Y/n said. “But I’m sorry for crying and making you feel guilty,” Y/n said with a slight flush on her cheeks.

“No, no,” Alexia said, shaking her head. “You don’t apologize, I was in the wrong here.”

She took Y/n’s chin in her hand, looking her in the eyes. 

“I’m not planning this trip out of guilt, alright?” The player promised. “It’s because I really miss doing fun stuff with you… You know, activities that don’t revolve around watching Love Island,” Alexia teased, poking Y/n’s side.

“Wait, what?!” Y/N blinked at her. “All this time and you were just pretending to care about Love Island?”. 

Alexia scrunched her nose. “Yes, cariño, I just watch it because you like it.”

Y/n got out of Alexia’s lap, a betrayed expression on her face.

“Who are you?!”

“I don’t mind watching, I just think it’s boring.”

“Boring?!” Y/n said looking down in disbelief. “I can’t believe it, Ale! You always seemed so excited for the next episode.”

“Because I knew you were excited, bebè,” Alexia smiled at her sweetly. 

“All this time… our whole relationship… built on lies?” Y/n clutched her chest. “Do you even love me, or was that a lie too?”

Alexia, laughing, pulls Y/n back into her lap. “Shh, cariño. No more questions.”

After a moment of exaggerated betrayal, Y/n huffed dramatically but let herself be pulled back into Alexia’s lap. She crossed her arms, still feigning offence.

“You're lucky you’re cute,” she muttered.

Alexia chuckled, pressing a kiss to Y/n’s temple. “I know.”

Alexia nuzzled into Y/n’s neck, placing a few lazy kisses there. “So, what’s next?”

Y/n hummed, pretending to think. “Well, since you’ve just shattered my trust, I’d say the only way to fix this relationship is…” She grabbed her phone, waving it slightly.

Alexia narrowed her eyes. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.” Y/n grinned, already pulling up the TikTok. “So basically we just say ‘suspect and–”

Alexia kept the same smile on her face and Y/n explained it to her. Did she feel tonta doing the Tik Tok? Yes. Did she do it anyway because Y/n asked. Absolutely.

..

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

[tsunodaradio]

cold coffee ⛐ 𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏

“best thing about your hometown?” “apparently it’s the coffee. i don’t drink coffee so i don’t know. for me, it’s just that it’s home.”

ꔮ starring: oscar piastri x café owner!reader. ꔮ word count: 4.8k. ꔮ includes: romance, friendship, fluff. mentions of food. set in melbourne, spans a couple of years (alleged slowburn), oscar pines!!! so much!!!, cameos from oscar's sisters. ꔮ commentary box: lots of love all around i.e. contract renewal + home race. had to do it to 'em. inspired by this video, where two of my friends immediately demanded to see a barista!reader. did a bit of a spin on it, but the concept is intact! ☕ 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

♫ cold coffee, ed sheeran. something, somehow, someday, role model. i'd have to think about it, leith ross. time, angelo de augustine. keep the rain, searows. the view between villages, noah kahan.

It starts with Hattie.

Oscar’s younger sister had spent the morning badgering him, pleading in the way only a sibling with endless energy and zero regard for his sanity could. She’d tugged on his sleeve, whining about the new café down the street, her eyes wide with manufactured innocence.

“We’ve been home for two weeks, and you haven’t done anything fun,” she’d accused, arms crossed as she blocked his way to the fridge. “Come with me. Pleeease?”

Which is why, against his better judgment, Oscar is now standing in line at a café that smells overwhelmingly like roasted coffee beans and vanilla. He eyes the display of pastries, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, and tries to ignore the way his hair sticks to his forehead from the walk over.

“You should get something,” Hattie says, nudging his side.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

She rolls her eyes, as if this is a personal insult. “They have other stuff. You could try tea. Or a hot chocolate. Or—”

“Next!”

Oscar looks up, and that’s when he sees you.

You’re behind the counter, all smiles and easy confidence, a pencil tucked behind your ear. The apron you wear is a little big on you, the straps tied in a messy bow at the back. There’s a small streak of flour on your cheek and you lean onto the counter like you’re genuinely excited to take their order.

“What can I get for you guys?”

Hattie launches into her order with the determination of a girl on a mission, listing out her exact specifications for an iced mocha with extra whipped cream. You write everything down with a nod, your fingers deftly clicking buttons on the register.

“And for you?” you ask, turning to Oscar with the kind of warmth that makes his skin prickle.

“I, uh—” he clears his throat, resisting the urge to look away. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“That’s okay,” you say, like it actually is. “We’ve got some pretty good non-coffee options. Do you like chocolate? Or maybe something fruity?”

Your kindness is standard Melbourne hospitality, he tells himself. It’s not personal. 

But there’s a lightness to the way you speak to him, patient and unbothered, that makes something unfamiliar stir in his chest. “Fruit tea’s fine,” he says, trying not to sound as awkward as he feels.

You smile, really smile, like he’s made the best choice in the world. “One fruit tea, coming up.”

And just like that, it’s done.

Hattie drags him to a table by the window, her enthusiasm buzzing loud enough to fill the entire space. Oscar watches as you move behind the counter, steaming milk and melting chocolate, and thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’ll let Hattie convince him to come back tomorrow.

You carry their drinks to the table with practiced ease, setting them down carefully to avoid any spills. Hattie beams as you place her elaborate drink in front of her. Oscar watches quietly as you slide his drink toward him— a peach iced tea, condensation already gathering on the glass.

“Enjoy,” you say with that same warm smile.

Oscar mutters a thanks, wrapping his hands around the cold glass. He takes a sip, the sweetness clinging to his tongue, and casts a glance at the door. 

He could leave. They’ve got their drinks, Hattie’s satisfied, and his obligation is technically fulfilled.

But he doesn’t move.

Instead, he sits back in his chair, sipping at his tea like he’s got all the time in the world. Hattie chatters about her netball games and how she’s trying to convince their parents to get a puppy, but Oscar only half-listens, eyes flicking up every now and then to watch you.

Maybe he should buy something else. 

A snack, maybe. 

For Hattie, obviously.

Or he could offer to take Hattie’s cup back to the counter when she’s done. (Except the café has self-service return trays, and he’d already clocked that the second they sat down.) 

He hates how obvious he’s being. And he hates even more how he doesn’t seem to care.

Eventually, you circle back to their table, wiping your hands on a dish towel.

“Hey,” you say, leaning slightly against the chair next to Hattie’s. “Everything alright? Drinks okay?”

Oscar nods wordlessly, swallowing his drink. It tastes a bit too sugary now.

“It’s so good,” Hattie gushes, kicking her legs under the table. “I’m gonna make mum bring me back next weekend!”

Your eyes brighten. “That’s great. We’ve only been open a few weeks, so we’re still figuring stuff out. The owner’s a nice guy, but he’s old school. Doesn’t know how to use the cash register half the time.”

Oscar finally speaks, his voice scratchy as if he’s forgotten how to use it. “You work here by yourself?”

“Most days,” you admit, shrugging. “He’s got grandkids, so sometimes he dips out early to see them. But I don’t mind. It’s just part-time, and I live nearby.”

Oscar processes this slowly, like if he takes long enough, the conversation won’t end.

“How old are you?” Hattie asks, her bluntness making Oscar cringe.

You don’t seem to mind, though. You laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Fifteen. I’m starting Year 10 next term.”

Oscar blinks. The fact that you’re the same age as him shouldn’t feel as significant as it does, but it lands like a surprise punch to the gut.

“I’m fourteen,” Hattie announces proudly.

"That’s a fun age," you tell her kindly; she looks at you like you’re the coolest person in the world, and Oscar is half-inclined to agree. 

Then you glance at Oscar, head tilting. “What about you? You go to school around here?”

He shifts in his seat, rubbing at the condensation ring his glass left on the table. “Boarding school,” he says curtly. “Just home for the summer.”

“Ah,” you say, like that explains something.

Hattie pipes up again, because of course she does. “He races cars,” she declares. “He’s, like, really good.”

Oscar feels his face heat. He glares at Hattie, who just grins, already licking melted whipped cream off her finger.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? That’s awesome,” you say, and you don’t sound condescending or anything. You sound genuinely awed, and Oscar fears he’s going to replay it in his head the entire night. 

“We should go,” he says abruptly, pushing back from the table.

“What?” Hattie pouts. “But I want a pastry!”

“We can get one,” Oscar promises through gritted teeth, standing and grabbing her empty cup so fast the ceramic clinks loudly against the saucer. He forces himself to slow down, his fingers a little shaky. “Next time.”

Hattie hops out of her seat, already skipping toward the door. Oscar follows, grateful for the escape, but you call out before he makes it too far.

“I hope you do come back,” you say, smiling again. This time, it feels like it’s just for him. The words, the smile, the look. 

Oscar nods stiffly, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie.

He doesn’t know if he will. But, as he lingers on the way out, he wonders how many summers he has left— and how many excuses he can make before you start to notice.

Inevitably, his appearances at the café become almost routine.

It starts small: once a week, maybe twice, a stop by for a drink he doesn’t actually want. But Hattie catches on fast, and soon she’s dragging Edie and Mae along too, the three of them whispering and snickering at a volume they absolutely think is subtle.

“I like the pastries,” he claims when Edie wiggles her eyebrows at him.

“Sure,” Mae chirps, swinging her feet as she dangles them off her chair. “Totally the pastries. Not the barista who always makes your drink herself even when there’s someone else on shift.”

Oscar gives her a withering look, but she remains undeterred, biting into her muffin with the smugness of someone who knows she’s right.

He denies it. Again and again. Because he doesn’t know what to do with the idea of having a crush, let alone on you. He’s already awkward enough on his own, and he refuses to fuel his sisters’ relentless teasing.

But then he comes in one day— alone, this time— and you’re not there.

Oscar knows he shouldn’t care. It’s not like you promised to be here. And yet, disappointment settles heavy in his chest.

The barista on shift is nice enough, but Oscar barely listens as he orders. He can’t even remember what he picked when he sits down, staring at the drink like it personally offended him.

The café feels quieter without you buzzing around, chatting with regulars and teasing old Mr. Callahan about his crossword puzzles. The emptiness gnaws at him, and he knows he looks so obvious, sulking into his untouched drink.

He tells himself he’ll leave after finishing it. He lingers for an hour.

Oscar doesn’t look back at the café as he leaves, but he feels its absence like a dull ache. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, chin tucked to his chest as he stalks down the street. 

He tells himself it’t stupid to feel this way. He doesn’t even know you. He definitely shouldn’t care if you’re there or not. 

And yet.

Fine. 

It’s over. He’ll get over it. 

He’ll spend the school term back at boarding school, surrounded by motorsport and homework and people who don’t know how to steam milk into a heart shape. 

It’ll be better this way.

At least that’s the plan.

He’s halfway home when he nearly collides with you on the footpath.

“Oh! Oscar, right?” you say, blinking up at him like he’s an unexpected surprise.

He freezes. “Um.”

“You left in a hurry. Not a fan of the other barista?” You tilt your head, a teasing smile tugging at your mouth.

Oscar feels like he might short-circuit. “I— I just noticed you weren’t there,” he blurts out, horrified as the words tumble out without permission.

Your smile grows. “Noticed, huh?”

“I mean—” He’s desperate to backtrack, but it’s useless. The damage is done. You’re grinning, and he can already imagine the relentless teasing he’d get if his sisters caught wind of this.

“You’re heading home?” you ask, mercifully letting him off the hook.

“Yeah,” he mutters, already planning to walk faster. Maybe he’ll get away with half-jogging the entire way. 

“Big plans for your last day of summer?”

He squints at you. “How’d you know it’s my last day?”

You tap your temple. “I’m observant.”

“Or you got it out of Hattie.”

“Maybe,” you say, shameless. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world: “Wanna grab a bite at Albert Park?”

Oscar blinks. “What?”

“There’s a food truck that sells the best fish and chips,” you explain. “It’s not too far. C’mon, it’s your last day home.”

“I—” He should say no. He was just lecturing himself on the walk back. 

But you’re looking at him like it’s not a big deal, like you’re not aware of the internal war waging in his head, and Oscar’s resolve crumples like paper.

“Okay,” he hears himself say, voice tight.

You beam. “Cool.”

Oscar follows you to Albert Park, his heart thudding with every step. He wonders if he’ll ever forgive himself for agreeing to this. Or if, maybe, it’ll turn out to be the best mistake he’s ever made.

The fish and chips are at least good. Better than good, actually, and Oscar begrudgingly tells you so between bites, like the admission costs him something. 

He tries to be subtle about how much he likes it, chewing carefully, but you notice anyway, your grin bright and uncontainable.

“Told you,” you say smugly, elbow propped on the table as you pick at your fries. “You doubted me, didn’t you?”

“I don’t usually trust people who enjoy serving coffee for a living,” he deadpans.

You laugh, and the sound rattles through him like a loose bolt. “Fair,” you concede. “But I’m right about most things, so you should get used to it.”

Oscar snorts but doesn’t argue. He’s happy enough to let you fill the gaps in conversation, listening as you ramble about everything from the café’s horrible playlist to how the Albert Park sunset is always a little better in the summer. 

He only nods and hums, content to let your words fill the space between bites.

But then you flip the script.

“So,” you start, resting your chin on your hand. “When do you start boarding school again?”

“Monday.”

You make a face. “Brutal.”

Oscar shrugs. “It’s not that bad.”

“Sure,” you say, dubious. “And racing? How’s that going?”

His fingers pause around a chip. “You remember I race?”

“I’m not some ditzy barista, you know.” You tilt your head, like you’re studying him. “I know you kart. Or, karted?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I moved up to junior formulae this year.”

Your eyes widen. “That’s huge, right?”

“I guess.”

You nudge his foot under the table. “Don’t be modest. It’s cool.”

He looks away, that telltale heat prickling at his collar again. “It’s not, like, F1 or anything.”

“Yet,” you point out.

Oscar smiles, small and self-conscious. “That’s the goal, I guess.”

“You guess?” You feign offense, sitting up straighter. “You guess? Come on. Say it with your chest.”

He laughs, shaking his head. Then, a little louder, a little firmer, “I want to drive in F1.”

“See?” you say, satisfied. “Not so hard, was it?”

Oscar’s throat tightens around the next bite. It is hard— saying it out loud. It makes the dream sound ridiculous, even when he knows exactly how much he’s giving up to chase it.

It makes it sound real. 

But you don’t tease him. You only smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“That’s awesome,” you say. “Can I have your number?”

Oscar nearly chokes. “What?”

“Your number,” you repeat, leaning back with an easy grin. “Would be cool to have a future F1 driver on speed dial.”

He huffs out a laugh, assuming you’re joking. You must be joking. People don’t ask for his number.

Oscar doesn’t give it to you, brushing it off like it’s nothing, and you don’t press. The two of you linger at Albert Park until the sky blushes purple, talking until Oscar’s curfew has him bidding you goodbye. 

It’s only when he’s halfway home, kicking at loose gravel on the footpath, that it hits him like a freight train.

You might’ve actually been serious.

Oscar groans, dragging a hand down his face.

He never does figure out if you’d meant it. 

He reconciles with the fact that he’ll only see you in the summers and during off-seasons. It becomes a rhythm he slips into with practiced ease, like shifting gears without thinking.

His sisters’ teasing remains relentless, but he endures it because they’re right— he can’t seem to stay away from the café. 

It’s a quiet sort of comfort, walking in and hearing your voice floating through the space, catching snippets of your conversations with regulars before you inevitably drift his way.

He contemplates asking for your number or your socials more times than he can count, always catching himself at the last second. The thought lingers like an engine idling, never quite stalling out but never revving forward either. 

He tells himself it’s fine. The café is your domain, a fixed point in the chaos of his ever-moving life. 

It’s fine. It’s enough. It has to be. 

In the break before he transitions into Formula Two, you place his usual non-coffee drink on the counter with a different sort of grin.

“You’re looking at the new owner of this place,” you announce, voice light with amusement. “The old man decided to go on a lifelong cruise. Said he wants to see the world while he still can.”

Oscar blinks. “He gave you the café?”

“Left it in my name. He figured I’d been running it anyway, might as well make it official.” You tilt your head. “What about you? I saw the news — Formula Two, huh? That’s huge.”

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s... a step closer.”

You lean against the counter, eyes warm. “Congrats, Piastri. Guess we both got what we wanted.”

He smiles and mumbles a quiet “Congrats to you too,” but as he takes his drink and watches you serve other customers, he’s not sure how true that statement is. 

Because he thinks about how your name is tied to this café now, how you belong to this little pocket of Melbourne while he chases circuits around the world. 

And he wonders— for the first time, with startling clarity— if what he wants might not be as far from this place as he thought.

Oscar doesn’t have time to dwell on it. 

That’s what he tells himself, anyway. He’s too busy. Too preoccupied with the whirlwind of signing with McLaren, of finally reaching the dream he’s been chasing since he first wrapped his fingers around a steering wheel. 

He celebrates with his family, his sisters loudly teasing him, his parents beaming with pride. It should be enough.

But then he finds himself at the café, hovering by the entrance, fingers curled around the door handle.

The bell jingles when he steps inside, sharp against the hum of the espresso machine. You glance up from wiping down the counter, eyebrows raising in surprise.

“We’re closed in ten,” you call out, drying your hands on a dish towel.

Oscar nods, shutting the door behind him. The sleeves of his hoodie are shoved up to his elbows, hair mussed like he’s been running his fingers through it. His heart is pounding, and he tells himself it’s just leftover adrenaline from the day’s excitement.

“I know. I just—” He falters, mouth opening and closing before he finally blurts out, “I got signed. With McLaren.”

You blink, then toss the dish towel onto the counter.

“Wait, what?”

He barely gets a nod in before you’re circling out from behind the counter, barreling into him with enough force to make him stumble back a step. Oscar stiffens at first, arms hovering awkwardly around you— then he exhales, tension seeping from his shoulders as he wraps his arms around you in return.

“Holy crap,” you say, squeezing him tight. “You did it. Oscar Piastri, you’re a Formula One driver.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, like he’s still trying to believe it himself. His voice is quieter when he adds, “I wanted to tell you in person.”

You pull back, beaming up at him. “I’m so proud of you. Seriously. I can’t wait to see you race.”

His heart thuds against his ribs, too loud, too fast. He drops his arms when you do, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.

His face feels hot, but you don’t seem to notice, already launching into a ramble about how you’re going to make the café play the races on the TV in the corner.

Oscar watches you talk, nodding along, though he can’t really process your words. All he can think about is the way your smile had split your face, how easily you’d hugged him, how your arms had fit around him like you belonged there.

He leaves that night more certain than ever.

This crush isn’t going anywhere.

Oscar privately decides he’ll use the feelings to his advantage. A secret, unspoken fuel source. It becomes most obvious at his first-ever home race.

The roar of the crowd fades into static beneath the hum of his engine, but he knows they’re there. Knows the grandstands are packed with fans waving papaya flags, knows somewhere among them are his parents and sisters— and maybe you.

He pretends you are. Imagines you leaning forward in your seat, hands cupped around your mouth as you cheer. He thinks about how you’d probably tease him later if he botched his first home race, how you might promise him a pity pastry from the café if he placed last.

That thought alone keeps his foot steady on the throttle.

He crosses the finish line in eighth, his first points in Formula One. The team is ecstatic, patting his back and ruffling his hair until he can barely breathe through the congratulations. 

Later, at the house, the celebration is in full swing. His family is buzzing with excitement, and the living room is littered with leftover food and streamers. Still, Oscar keeps glancing at the door, brow furrowed. 

He tells himself the weight in his chest is only exhaustion, not the ridiculous, misplaced disappointment that you aren’t at the post-race party.

“What’s your problem?” Edie asks, plopping onto the couch next to him.

He shrugs, pretending to focus on the race replay flashing on the TV. “Nothing. Just tired.”

Edie snorts. “Yeah, sure. You’ve been looking at the door like a lost puppy. Thought you’d finally get your act together and invite your favorite barista?”

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

“Uh-huh.” Edie smirks, then gestures toward the kitchen. “They sent stuff, by the way. Practically wiped out their stock.”

He blinks, heart thudding as he follows hsi sister into the kitchen. The counter is packed with pastries and drinks, each one carefully labeled. A small, folded note sits on top of the pile, your handwriting unmistakable.

For future world champion OP81. I’ll save a spot on the TV for your podium finish.

Oscar stares at the note for a beat too long, then flips it shut, like that’ll stop the embarrassing warmth spreading through him.

He’s suddenly, overwhelmingly glad you’re not there, because he might’ve done something incredibly stupid. Like kissed you.

Or worse— asked you to keep a spot open forever.

Oscar’s schedule is relentless, though. An endless cycle of races, travel, media obligations. He still makes it back home when he can, even if it’s just for a few days. The café becomes a pit stop as routine as visiting his parents.

He never stays long, though. He catches glimpses of you between customers, exchanges pleasantries, hears about you secondhand through his sisters’ chatter.

Edie mentions you started taking a business course. Hattie swears you went on a date (Oscar pretends he doesn't care). Mae tells him you got a new coffee machine.

But it’s never from you.

Until one evening, when he swings by the café, and you ask him to stay until closing.

His heart lodges itself in his throat.

The café empties out, and Oscar helps you stack chairs and wipe tables. His fingers jitter against the rag, adrenaline buzzing under his skin like he’s on the starting grid. He wonders how he’ll respond when you confess, how to let you down gently when he inevitably leaves for another race weekend. 

(He also can’t stop imagining what it would be like to kiss you.)

When you finally sit him down, your words knock the air out of his lungs.

“The café might close,” you say, tone steadier than your hands wringing your apron in your lap. “Rent’s gone up, and I just... I don’t know if I can keep up."

Oscar stares, words dissolving before they can form. He thinks about the old man who first owned the place, about you proudly taking over. He thinks about all the hours he’s spent lingering here, all the drinks you’ve made him, all the moments he’s stolen just to see you.

The idea of it all disappearing feels like a punch to the chest.

“I just thought you should know,” you continue, voice quieter now. “You've been coming here for years, and— I don’t know, I guess I wanted to thank you for that. For being a loyal customer.” 

Oscar frowns. “I’m not just— I mean, yeah, I like the café, but…”

You smile, but it’s small, tired. “I know. But still. It means a lot. And hey, we had a good run, right?”

He hates the way you talk like it's already over.

Without thinking, he reaches across the table and covers your hand with his own. You flinch, just barely, before curling your fingers around his.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, like it’s something you should apologize for.

“Don’t be,” he says back. 

He doesn’t know what else to offer. And so he holds your hand, and the two of you sit in relative silence.

Oscar tries not to think of this being the last time he’ll get to do this. He resists the urge to study the weight of your hand, because then that would be admitting to a certain kind of preemptive loss. 

You close up shop, the two of you lingering outside the café under the glow of the streetlights, hands still linked. The night air is cool, the streets quiet, and it feels like you’re waiting for something.

Oscar doesn’t know what.

He racks his brain for words, for solutions, for something that might make you stay, but all he comes up with is static. The same helplessness he feels when a car failure knocks him out of a race.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze. “Good night, Oscar.”

“Good night,” he says, his fingers tightening around yours for a fraction of a second before he’s letting you go. 

He watches you walk away, the distance stretching between you like a rubber band about to snap. And— as usual— he doesn’t realize what to do or say until much, much later.

But he knows you’ll forgive him for this one.

It takes some convincing, some pulling of strings. In the end, he doesn’t know if he even manages it. Not until he’s back in Melbourne for the prix, and Lando is bringing him closer to the spot he’s tried to avoid all morning. 

“New caterer this year,” Lando says, peering at his phone. “Some local place. Looks sick.”

Oscar feigns interest, even as dread pools in his stomach.

He lasts all of twenty minutes before Lando physically drags him to the hospitality area. Oscar immediately clocks the familiar pastries, the neat line of carefully curated drinks— but it’s the sight of you, grinning behind the counter, that sends his pulse into overdrive.

“Oh, this is dangerous,” Lando jokes. “I might never leave.”

Oscar, meanwhile, contemplates leaving immediately.

You spot him mid-pour, your smile faltering. And Oscar knows he’s screwed.

The confrontation comes after Lando flits away, croissant in hand, leaving Oscar cornered by the espresso machine.

“You.” You jab a finger at his chest. “You did this.”

Oscar glances around him. The Netflix boom microphone is gracefully not around. No one from his team is, either.

He allows himself this small joy of bickering with you. “Technically, McLaren did this,” he says dryly. 

“Bullshit.” Your eyes narrow, but there’s no real venom. “You got me this gig so I could afford to keep the café, didn’t you?”

A corner of his lip twitches upward. “You’ve got no proof.”

You stare at him for a beat, then you let out an exasperated sigh. That smile of yours— the one that has ruined Oscar for everyone else— threatens to break on your face. “I could kiss you, you know,” you say, and he privately wishes you’d run him over with a car instead. 

You’re kidding. You sound like you’re kidding. But Oscar isn’t fifteen and stupid anymore. The only thing that hasn’t changed from back then is the way he feels for you, and it’s what has him finally giving in.

“How about I give you my number first?” he says. 

It takes you a moment. A full thirty seconds to realize what he’s getting at.

When it does hit you, though, you laugh. “A couple years late, Piastri,” you jab. 

Oscar dares to meet your eyes. He hopes it doesn’t show on his face— the way his heart is clenching in his chest. 

His voice is quieter when he says, “Please tell me you still want it.”

Your smile softens. 

He braces himself for a gentle denial, a spiel about friendship. Instead, he holds his breath as you fish for your phone. 

“Put it in before I change my mind,” you say, sliding it across the counter. Your coolness is betrayed by just the hint of giddiness in your tone, because you’ve wanted this for as long as he has, haven’t you? You hadn’t been kidding back then, and you still want this. 

Still want him. 

Oscar fumbles to type his number, adrenaline roaring louder than any engine. When he hands the phone back, your fingers brush his, lingering just a second too long.

“Good luck out there,” you tell him.

Oscar doesn’t feel like he needs any luck. 

Not when he finally, finally got the win that mattered most. ⛐

[xinganhao]

⛓️‍💥 svt trying (and failing) to gatekeep you.

ANON REQUESTED “SEVEN-I wanted to gatekeep you from everyone else but I failed-TEEN and their bff/gf??”

ⓘ INCLUDES: romance, fluff, humor. established relationships, use of pet names, mention of alcohol (soonyoung). headcanons under the cut. ・ NOTE: the laugh i let out when i saw this request. my favorite genre of svt fr. ‹𝟹

⛓️‍💥 how (and why) seventeen failed at gatekeeping you.

seungcheol posts a photo of you on weverse. it's simple enough: a picture of you across the table from him, smiling over a dinner date. the only caption is a single red heart emoji. the photo choice is intentional. he chose one where your face is clear and your identity is unmistakable, because he'll be damned if any other guy tries to hit you up when you're spoken for.

jeonghan falls into the rabbit hole of couple items. it starts with the phone cases, but it doesn't end there. clothes of the same style. shoes from the same brand. he swears he's not playing relationship olympics; it's just so clear to him that the two of you are the it couple. anybody who says otherwise can talk to your matching luxury bags, thank you very much.

joshua misses the fact that he hadn't switched instagram accounts. he has two: his work-sanctioned one, and the one where he keeps up with everybody that matters. the boys call it his 'shrine' for you, because that's where he actually keeps log of your little dates. until he accidentally posts it to his main. where's that damn delete button, and why is it so elusive?

junhui is on a roll during an interview. he's in a chatty mood, and he's feeling a little loose-lipped. when the interviewer cleverly asks about his love life— phrasing it like they already know he has one— jun is trapped. hook, line, sinker. he happily yaps about you, only to realize much later that may have not been the move. too late. the interview's already live.

soonyoung should have known that alcohol and a media engagement would not be a good combination. he had begged the producers to cut the footage out, but, alas; it was the most clickbait-y part of the video. how could they? now, everybody knows soonyoung can rant about how much he loves you for upwards of twenty minutes.

wonwoo isn't aware he was supposed to be gatekeeping you. one fine day, he drops a carousel of photos on his photography account. you're partially visible in some of them— the side of your face, the curve of your side, the flash of your grin. the two of you had been on vacation. the account is his archive, anyway; everyone else's opinion be damned. he wants to remember you like this.

it's not a name drop, but it's a close thing. jihoon's never been the type to declare things on sns, so he does it in the way that he knows. a throwaway lyric. an entire song. fine, maybe a mini-album. he could have an entire discography solely about you, if he's being honest. people can guess all they want. if you're immortalize in his song, then jihoon's job is done.

from the very beginning, seokmin has wanted to scream you off the rooftops. he holds back because he knows the consequences of going public. he can't resist it, though, and he eventually sneaks a photo or two into a photo carousel. he gets giddy at perfecting the soft launch, at nailing the art of perfectly-cropped photos and choice songs. it scratches that itch of his— the urge to have everybody know about you, while also keeping you to himself.

you and mingyu show up at fashion week, immaculately dressed from head to toe. talk about a hard launch! he giggles as he answers questions from interviewers. it's clear to everybody that he's absolutely smitten. there are literal models in front of him, and he's looking at you like you beat them out any day. he never really liked these types of events, but if he gets to have you at his side, looking like the goddess that you are— well. he might have to start responding to a couple more invites.

minghao shocks the entertainment industry with a well-worded essay on weibo about the importance of valuing an idol's private relationships. in true minghao fashion, he makes it abundantly clear how important boundaries are to him. buried underneath that is the confirmation that he is dating, yes, and that it's a part of his life he'll stake his career to defend. this is just his job, but loving you is part of his life.

seungkwan's cover of a western love song has fans swooning, but a dedication buried in the description of the youtube video has everybody flabbergasted. 'dedicated to my girl,' it simply says. no explanation. no name drop. seungkwan has a girl, and that's that. he accepts your wrath; he knows you'll secretly enjoy reading the absurd speculation with him. chaos is fun in moderation, and this is one of the ways seungkwan likes to poke the bear.

it's a series of unfortunate events for vernon. he posts a mirror selfie of himself— a rare one!— without knowing anyone can zoom in and see you on his bed, (thankfully) fully clothed but definitely looking very comfortable. like you belong there. he takes a long nap after, missing dozens of calls and waking up to hundreds of texts. oh, well. you were going to have to go public one day, anyway.

your privacy might have lasted if chan wasn't so damn obvious whenever the two of you were out and about. even on your most discreet dates, chan looks a little too happy to just be hanging out with a friend. the paparazzi catches wind. the final nail on the coffin is a close-up stolen photo of chan's lockscreen: a selfie of him planting a big, fat kiss on your cheek.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[mageofmadness]

CALEB + HOLE INSPECTION

(1.8k) ₊˚⊹ 𐙚🧸‧₊˚ nsfw [18+] includes: fem!reader, jealous!caleb, questionable morals, cheating (not on caleb it's just a shitty bf), hole inspections, virginity kink if you squint, dirty talk real filthy, side eyeing yandere caleb for the mention of broken fingers and kneecaps, fingering, pet names (I'll die by the hill of pips)

caleb who is selfish.

he wants you all to himself, and he doesn’t care what it takes or how bad of a person that makes him. he’ll do anything to have you. caleb will stoop to whatever depths, so when you start going on dates with this new guy, he wishes he was conflicted but he’s not.

he’s never tried to be a good guy, not when it comes to you. fair? sure, he thinks he’s quite fair. just? yeah, he has morals like anyone else, but when it comes to you? all bets are off and he will play dirty. there’s simply no other way to play when the stakes are this high and you.

caleb who has been climbing into bed with you almost every night for years.

surely that’s not meant to stop now, right? that just seems cruel and even more selfish than what he’s got going on because caleb can’t sleep if he’s not next to you, and you tell him the same thing, so why do you need to go on dates with this guy? what’s the point? you still kiss caleb goodnight, sometimes missing his cheek and sometimes it’s closer to the corner of his mouth. you still curl up with him on the couch and wear his sweaters around the house, something he watched carefully to see a change in, but things between you and him are the same, so surely you're not about to take all of that from him now? all because of some guy you met at work?

yet, said guy won’t leave, and caleb does not like it. he deals, he manages, but he does not like sharing because, once again, he is selfish.

caleb who meets the guy for the first time and instantly hates him. not even because he’s taking you out, it’s because he’s spineless. a boy that couldn’t even look him in the eyes to shake hands. a boy—plain and simple. caleb can’t help but feel bad for the guy, really, considering he’s taking you on a date, but you’ll come home to caleb at the end of the night and curl up with caleb in bed.

caleb is not above any of this because this guy is fleeting, he has to be. he doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know what you like or want or need. not the way caleb does.

caleb who is waiting up for you when you come home.

it’s been a few months of dates with this guy, but caleb still gets his corner of the mouth kiss every other night, and last night he fell asleep to the feeling of your soft thigh thrown over his middle, so it should be fine, right? instead you come home in tears, and his first instinct is to break the man’s hands. he needs to start with the fingers, then maybe his wrists.

“pips, what’s wrong?”

you’re adamant it’s nothing. that nothing happened and you’re overreacting and caleb thinks sure, you can overreact sometimes but everyone can and that’s what he’s here for: to understand and react accordingly as well. but he cannot do that, caleb cannot protect you, if you do not tell him what’s wrong. sitting in his lap on the couch, face buried in his neck, he can’t understand what you’re mumbling. it comes out like something is wrong with me, which surely cannot be the case. caleb must have heard wrong. 

“something is wrong with you?” you nod. “nothing is wrong with you, sweetheart. why are you saying that?” caleb takes a deep breath. “you gotta tell me what’s happening or i can’t help.”

by the time caleb listens to the half-mumbled words you manage to get out around an errant sniffles, he’s already decided hands, wrist, and kneecaps will need to be broken to atone for this because that guy has some nerve insinuating there’s a single thing wrong with you. just because you didn’t want to kiss him? or, you tell caleb that you were fine kissing him, but when he tried to take things further, that’s when there were issues.

honestly, it takes everything in caleb not to scoff. the guy's more of a coward than he had initially gauged if he thought he a) deserved more than a kiss, first of all, and b) something is wrong with you because when he shoved his hand down your pants you weren't wet.

the guy doesn't exactly sound like a romeo.

“i don’t trust him,” caleb says plainly. “i never did. you deserve better, and i should have never let you walk out of that door.” you only sniffle and caleb tampers down his anger and tries again. “i’m so sorry, sweetheart. there’s nothing wrong with you, you know that?” nothing again, and caleb sighs. finally, “do you trust me?”

you nod, arms tightening around his neck.

“he touched you here?” caleb asks. his hand skates around your hip. you squirm in his lap but give him a small yes when his fingers dip between your thighs. “just touched or…”

nothing else, you’re adamant and caleb trusts you explicitly, but his blood is boiling hot and he just…he needs to be sure. caleb sits up, and you hmph, but he shushes you. he needs you to know there’s not a thing wrong with you, that this isn’t a you issue. he smooths his hand over the hem of your dress that rides up the back of your thighs when he moves, draping you over his lap this time, ass up.

“were you going to fuck him?” caleb gets a gut wrenching maybe in response as he marvels at the silky smooth expanse of the back of your legs. so, so pretty. “why?” he unfairly demands. “you liked him that much?”

you shake your head, breathing heavy against his thighs. “no, just wanted to know…what it felt like.”

“that’s what i’m here for, pips.” he says, waiting for you to stop him, but you don’t. you gasp as he rucks up your dress, letting it pool around your waist. he groans at the sight of bright red panties, the curve of your ass settled pretty over his lap about to be his undoing. “you know that right? tell me you know that.” he pleads. "can i touch you?"

"please."

caleb wastes no time. he thumbs at your hole, over the red lace that's wet under his touch. “you ever fuck yourself, sweetheart?”

you whine his name in embarrassment, but eventually nod. he groans, imagining you in bed or the shower with your fingers buried to the knuckle in your cunt. maybe while he's in the other room, or maybe in the shower right before you crawl into bed with him.

“good girl,” he mumbles and feels you relax more. “but what's all this about?” caleb pulls his thumb back, and pops it in his mouth. he groans. “thought he was adamant something was wrong and this pussy doesn’t get wet.” caleb tsks but sighs in relief when he realizes they guy really didn't get this far. “doesn’t seem a problem to me, so, then what is it? tell me the difference here, pips.”

he hears you stammer out "y–you, caleb," and feels satisfaction like a bat to the back of the head, making him dizzy. concussing him. caleb's fingers trace over edges of lace and soft skin. “so pretty, baby. will you sit still while i take a look?”

“why?”

“nothing is wrong, sweetheart. i just want to make sure he didn't hurt this pretty hole.”

he feels you shiver, and caleb can't help but grin.

that guy didn't stand a chance.

he slowly drags your underwear down, discarding them in his pocket for safe keeping. what greets him when he looks back is the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen, actually. it’s jaw-dropping, and wet. so clearly wet from the way it looks, sticky and peeking out between plush thighs over his lap.

“my heart, pips, i cant take it.” caleb says as he grips your hips, then your ass. watching your skin bloom pink as he spreads you open to see more. “hold still. i know you know that you can ask anything of me, so if this hole is needy, you come to me now, understood?”

"you need someone to take care of you, not someone that's going to shove his hands down your pants and expect anything, got it?"

he spreads your pussy open, watching as it twitches under his touch and when he presses a finger against your hole, it gives easily. "tight and greedy," he tsks.

caleb cannot help but tease. your pussy is perfect and untouched. he plays with it, watching you respond. watching as you jump when he pushes just the tip of two fingers in. pink and so sweet, caleb's mouth waters. "she's so pretty, sweetheart. i do think we're gonna have an issue though. i dunno if i can fit into a tiny hole like this." he hooks his finger and uses it to stretch you open and you moan his name. "don't get fussy. we'll figure it out, pips."

he watches as you whimper and moan, working yourself into a near fit over the prodding of his fingers. the way he spreads you open, leaning close and letting his breath ghost over your twitching hole. watching for your reactions and never giving you enough.

“doesn't even seem like i need to train this little hole to only get wet for me, hm? seems she’s already taken care of that herself."

"you're so soft, sweetheart.”

"can i make you come? looks like you need it." he kisses the back of your head, and then your shoulder. mumbling, "promise I'll take such good care of you. how could i not? i've got the sweetest thing in my lap right now, all wet and whining...mhm, you are whining, pips, but that's okay. just let me..."

after readjusting your hips, you easily take two of his fingers, all the way to the knuckle and instead of imginging you doing this to yourself, caleb watches as his own fingers disappear into your cunt. you're a needy thing, too, and he groans. imagining you struggling to take his cock but you would because you're, "so good, baby. so good for me, just like that. does that feel good?"

watching as your thighs fall further apart, as you start to cry for him. for more. for him to kiss you, and caleb does. of course he does. he pulls his fingers out, picking you up and tossing you over his shoulder as he heads for his bed.

"think i'm gonna fuck you, pips," caleb mumbles, bringing a hand down on your ass. you scold him, still limp-legged and breathing heavy. head heavy in the clouds. caleb grins and tosses you onto the bed. "you want that? then we'll have another look at that hole."

@ mageofmadness 2025. ִֶָ. 234.108.120 238.165.187

[yugsly]

I think you should do a little more research on the development of YIIK and it's developer :(

So here's the thing- YIIK and it's developers (just two brothers) have been the targets of nasty hate campaigns and misinformation since the launch of the original YIIK in 2019. Since the very beginning- it barely had a chance to live before people deeply mischaracterized things. People perpetuating rumors based on random things folks were saying on the internet, not fact checking anything. Can you imagine that? Working on a passion project for so long, only for people to dunk on it and lie? A game made by just two young people, trying to make art? A pretty substantial part of the targeted hate was because the game was calling out a certain type of guy -a privileged, entitled gamer drunk on nostalgia to put it the most simple- and so, people didn't like that the game was making them look in the mirror- many didn't even understand that. They didn't get it, so they attacked anything they could. A lot of the hate was spread by people who hadn't even played the game. They just took these posts and ran with them. They didn't bother to form their own opinions. A lot of the "rumors" are addressed in this interview. I recommend you read it! On the internet, it's incredibly easy to buy into misinformation for the sake of "justice". To feel like you're doing good for "warning others". But you really, really, have to take a second look at what you're spreading around, what you're repeating. At times it can be correct to spread warning, but other times can be extremely damaging and traumatizing. This is one of those cases. It's really really sad to be honest. Over the past couple of months I've gotten to know Andrew (one of the two devs), and he's great. I was genuinely so disgusted to hear what had taken place when they both put their game out there. It's sad and horrifying. In today's internet, dunking on things, calling them out, has become social currency in a way. I think we need to be really careful about that. It's up to us to stop misinformation. This is the last time I'm gonna comment on this 'controversy' I think.

[astrow1zar6]

Astro Observations~51

A lot of people with a mars square Venus I notice tend to be bisexual/homosexual ( especially if you have a Scorpio Venus and a mars in Aquarius) I also tend to notice these ppl have an issue with cheating in relationships. They usually grow up seeing a lot of dysfunction in relationships.

People you share that you share a lot of 5th house overlays with can make you laugh like no other

Mars in Taurus people usually prefer ppl who are more submissive. Ppl with stronger personalities throw them off. They usually prefer to be the more dominant one in their relationships (platonic & romantic)

Usually people with a Capricorn rising also have Neptune in the 1st house

Venus in Sagittarius’s people can be more open with dating more than one person. Very adventurous in love. More likely to date someone with a different cultural background than themselves.

People with a lot of 5th house placements are easily aroused/ have a lot of hookups. They also tend to develop crushes easily and have a lot of ppl who have crushes on them (especially Venus and mars in 5th house).

Venus/mars in libra usually develop crushes on anyone who’s mildly attractive and give them attention. Very easy to impress.

Venus in the 12th house have such a hard time in romantic relationships. They have this clear image of the perfect person but end up with really abusive mentally ill partners in return. Most of their spiritual growth comes from failed relationships.

You tend to act like your 12th house sign while young and as you age you grow into your 1st house/rising sign.

Gemini risings either never shut up or are as quiet as a church mouse.. no in between

Libra suns with a Scorpio Venus are WHORESSS

Pisces moons can be very codependent on others. A lot I notice struggle with being independent they try to escape from responsibility a lot and struggle with the practical areas of life. I also notice this with cancer moons as well but not as bad.

Cancer moon men are big mommas boys

Leo moons were usually spoiled a lot by their mothers. Other siblings could’ve felt they were the favorite child

Mars in Leo’s love language usually is words of affirmation. They love when others acknowledge how good they are at something or how attractive they are. Can take criticism a lot harder than most.

Mercury in the 12th house can make you feel like you are a shadow. When you speak people usually never listen or make you feel like your thoughts are un important

Venus in Virgos are by far the most selfless in love. They will give you the world if they love you. However they are usually treated very poorly in love:( they are the best people to date but have such sucky luck in the love department and their love is usually very one sided. the definition of “nice guys finish last”

Saturn in the 7th house people usually fall in love with others that don’t feel the same way about them

Leo suns thrive off of attention whether the attention is good or bad. They just want to be acknowledged so bad.

Venus in Libra women tend to act dumb to seem more attractive to men

Venus in Taurus’s love language is cooking for their partner & they are usually amazing cooks!

Taurus placements can be big haters when insecure. They have a tendency to project their insecurities onto others.

February Pisces act more like the stereotype definition of Pisces. They are a lot more naive and emotional and more hopeless romantics than the March ones. The March ones are more nonchalant, reserved about emotions and independent!

Saturn in the 5th house native usually don’t start dating until much later in life. They can be kinda awkward when it comes to love. Can choose to lose their virginity later in life. They can come off as lacking a lot of depth and be very vague when talking to someone they are into (even if deep down they are very deep). They also tend to waste their talents most ppl with this placement tend to be incredibly talented but don’t use it out of insecurity.

Having an empty house in your chart can make that area of your life not as significant to you or it doesn’t come as naturally (eg; empty 10th house can struggle to find a career they are passionate about or they aren’t too ambitious in that area)

People with a lot of 12th house placement are super secretive, they hate when others know too much about them. Can put on an act or hide their personality from others a lot.

Venus in the 5th house people are super charming. They can be grotesque and still pull the baddest bitch I swear.

Venus in Libra women either are disgusted by women who come off as too masculine or are super intrigued by them

Mars in Pisces are more likely to get bullied by others because of how passive they are. They have a harder time standing up for themselves and hate conflict. This can cause them to get walked on a lot.

Capricorn moons can come off as lacking empathy. Really hard people to open up to emotionally because they always look super uncomfortable and can make you feel awkward for being vulnerable.

Aqua Venus/moons cut off game is CRAZY, once they’re done with you it’s like you never existed to them. Your existence is erased from their mind. You can be close with them for years and they’ll leave like you meant nothing to them if you really fuck up

Fire suns really like talking about themselves. They can talk about what they are good at for hoursss.

Aries suns have a big main character complex.

Aries suns, moon & Venus women can have a hard time being feminine. Even if they are all dolled up all the time they have very masculine personalities usually. They also hate girls who are very pick mes

Air Venus’s get the ick more than most Venus signs. Which is why they are considered players

Moon in Aries have great eyebrows

[dorliart]

Oooh.

Am I the Asshole for ruining my best friends excitement?

Im going to have to keep this very vague for personal reasons, so throwaway Account naturally.

Okay so for context, I'm originally not from The Isles and have found myself there now. (I know, I know, big deal woah etc. I'm using a vpn, and being safe, don't worry). So I've been living with some people on one of the isles, everyone has been truly very friendly and welcoming despite me not once having told them where I'm from exactly. But I feel like I've made friends and maybe even people I would consider my family. Now here's the problem. Apparently where I am now people have been really pushing the First Flight Ritual. At first it was only sort of vaguely talked about at school, and people have been bringing it up around me a lot since my wings have already fully grown in, a bit early. I had assumed it was a myth or legend or at most something older cousins tell their younger cousins when they want to look cool or intimidate them, but apparently not?? It keeps getting talked about more seriously, and even teachers and educators have started bringing it up.

Well and here's the actual problem. My best friend has been talking about it just as long, having heard about it from their big sibling a lot (which they really miss since they moved, so I get it) but they've been getting more extreme with it. They talk about actually wanting to take part in it as soon as their wings have grown in, even! If they haven't finished growing in! Like what! I thought it was common sense to know how fragile newly ingrown wings are, especially with not having been able to put any muscle strength on them?

I have been trying to reason with them for the better part of two weeks, but they won't listen at all. I've tried to explain it to them, but it was no use. And it's not like they don't know the risks either. They're so smart and they know about biology enough to know that this is not a smart course of action, they just won't admit it!

Things finally came to an all out argument a few days ago, when I all out told them how incredibly stupid this was. They could die!! But they didn't care. Just said I was selfish and was ruining what they were working and excited for, and jealous of their ambition. I'm still furious about it, but after storming off I've done a bit of reflection and while I don't regret what I've said and my stance, I do feel a little bad about having blown up so much.

So, am I the asshole for telling my friend it's stupid to participate in a ritual that is very likely to kill them?

Edit: guys I know it's a sacred ritual and everything but don't y'all think it might be wrong to continue a ritual that is actively killing people??? What is wrong with you

Edit 2: yes I will be deleting comments calling me a traitor and telling me to move down. This is not helping the conversation here.

if you're trying to get into the head of your story's antagonist, try writing an "Am I the Asshole" reddit post from their perspective, explaining their problems and their plans for solving them. Let the voice and logic come through.

[mechncheese]

do you have any silly Jetfire headcanons? he is my favorite little guy :)

The way to my heart and ask box is through Jetfire, I MUST SPREAD MY SPORES, MY JETFIRE SPORES !

His personality in this AU is more towards IDW with a little mix of G1 so bear with me !

Jetfire is more of a tech nerd but lately he's been getting really into other fields of science and branching out his knowledge. He's even taken some lessons from Ratchet on Cybertronian anatomy !

Jetfire has terrible luck. The absolute worst luck. He hits his head on doorways, nearly tumbles over smaller bots, it's not easy being so large.

He tries to be polite, he really does ! Ik I rarely draw him smiling (He's so stressed in my AU) but he is a big sweetheart under all that stress. He has a big spark and though he gets frustrated at times, he can never stay mad forever, not even at Wheeljack.

Jetfire also has a collection of mugs, he keeps getting gifted them because no one really knows what to get him for special occasions BAHAHA but he appreciates them nonetheless.

Jetfire used to smile a lot ! He has a really sweet smile that could cure billions but now he's caught the blues and he's usually neutral faced or grimacing to himself </3

Similar to Ratchet, Jetfire's really good at comforting others ! Jetfire just has this warmth about him and he's great with hugs ! He believes in your best you and he's a shoulder to cry on !

When he's sad he gets this kicked puppy expression, Jetfire is terrible at masking his emotions, when he feels things he feels so intensely in his spark he's jam packed with emotions.

No one knows that he used to date Starscream. He would actually rather shrivel up and explode than ever tell anyone. It's mostly out of embarrassment for him and also he doesn't really want anyone to know That Much about him. Some bots don't even know he used to go by Skyfire ! He tries to bury as much of his past as possible and he definitely looks towards the future more often than he reflects on the past.

[key201303]

Sylus x f!reader

Pairing: Husband!Sylus x F!Reader ft. Luke and Kieran

Warnings: pure fluff, but suggestive at the end

Plot: You come back home to find your husband playing tea time with the twins, Mephisto and your 4 year old daughter.

A/N: a few days ago I asked you guys what if I started writing with LADS boys and you seemed to like the idea so here I am 🥰 I was needing something really soft with Sylus and came up with this, hope you enjoy it 🫶🏻

“Would you like some more tea Your Majesty?” Kieran’s voice caught your attention when you entered the base. You’ve been out the entire day on a mission, trying to find a Wanderer the Association has been tracking for some time now. You were used to coming home to the voice of your little daughter playing in her room with Mephisto and her plushies but hearing Kieran’s voice coming from your daughter’s room was unusual.

Once you removed your shoes and jacket, you looked around the place, looking for your husband to ask what were the twins doing with your little girl. But for some reason he was nowhere to be seen. “Did he have to leave for some meeting and left Kieran and Luke taking care of our princess?” You thought to yourself while you walked towards the girl’s room.

Right before you could open the door to take a look, a very familiar voice was interrupted by the mechanical noise Mephisto’s wings made when he flew around. “Princess, I think 15 stickers are enough to decorate Mephisto.” Sylus told the little girl who was excitedly placing a new glittery sticker on Mephisto’s head. You slowly opened the door, trying to go unnoticed so you could find out what was going on. Once you could see inside the room, you couldn’t help your heart melting at the lovely image you had in front of yourself.

Mephisto was covered in glittery stickers with it’s nails painted in light pink, Sylus face was covered in rainbow little stones your daughter asked you thousand of times to get, two little ponytails decorating his silvery hair, fake nails trying their best to not fall off the twin’s gloves as they were sipping imaginary tea on an empty cup with their pinky fingers up and a lively pink feather scarf decorating their necks. And last but not least, your daughter having her princess dress and crown, being the head of the little tea table Sylus probably agreed on moving from the living room and having the best time of her life.

You tried to hold back your laughter at the sight of the little scene you had before you, not wanting to interrupt their little moment. But you completely failed when Sylus made eye contact with you. He definitely didn’t look as the bad boy he pretended to be for everyone else with those two little ponytails and face covered in rainbow glitter. “Look who’s finally back from work.” He said standing up and walking towards you, a huge smile plastered on his face.

“Momma!!!” Your daughter screamed, getting up from the floor and running to your arms. “I see you guys were having lot of fun while I was gone.” You said as you hugged her tightly, lifting her up on your arms. “Daddy accepted playing tea time with us! And he even let me play with Mephie!!” She said excitedly. You looked at your husband with an eyebrow raised, surprise written all over your face. “Baby I told you his name is not Mephie.” Sylus said, taking your little girl from your arms, nuzzling his nose in her stomach making her laugh at the ticklish feeling. “Maybe I should punish the one who taught you to call him Mephie.” He added giving you a playful look. “Don’t do that!! I’ll protect mommy!!” Your daughter said, taking your husband’s face into her little hands, forcing him to look at her and squishing his cheeks. “Oh really??” He said, his voice muffed due to his daughter squishing his cheeks.

He put your daughter down, getting in position to fight. Your daughter ran in front of you, trying to cover you with her tiny body. Her fierce red eyes pierced her father’s heart, the same way his eyes did to yours. You couldn’t help thinking they were definitely a copy of each other. “Uncle Luke, Uncle Kieran, in whose side are you?” The girl asked with a threatening voice. The twins exchanged a hesitant look before standing up. “We will always serve you Your Majesty.” They said bowing and kneeling in front of you and your daughter. Sylus’ face turned into a defeated face when he saw his right and left hand betray him for his own daughter. “Mephie?” You asked, returning the playful look at Sylus from before. The mechanical crow squawked as he flew to land on Sylus’ finger. He let out a victorious laugh.

Your daughter, not accepting the betrayal of the little crow, takes out some of Mephisto’s favorite snack, taking it out for him to notice. “Hey Mephie, don’t you want some snacks?” She said, calling and convincing the little animal. Mephisto happily squawks, flying towards her hand. “That’s cheating Miss Traitor.” Sylus said, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows clearly annoyed.

Only then a little battle started between you, Sylus took your daughter in his arms, turning her upside down and tickling her. “Dad wait!! I can’t- I can’t breathe.” She said laughing loudly, trying to get rid of her dad’s embrace.

You loved these little moments. These little moments when you couldn’t help feeling you all were a normal family. These moments where Sylus acted like a lovely caring dad instead of the cruel leader of Onychinus everyone thought he was.

Once your daughter’s energy was under low, you finally tucked her in bed and walked to your room where your husband was already waiting for you in bed. “Did you have fun?” You asked as you get in bed and laid in his arms. “Did you have any doubts?” He said, placing a soft kiss on your temple. “Answering a question with another question? I thought you weren’t that kind of person.” You said, hugging him tighter, leaning even further into his embrace if that was possible. “There are so many things I do you would be surprised about, kitten.” He said laughing. He definitely demonstrated you that side today.

You both stayed quiet for a little while. His long slender fingers drawing random patterns on your bared skin arm, nuzzling your hair, taking in your delicious scent that never failed to lull him to sleep. But before he decided it was time for you two to sleep, he smiled out of the blue. Sensing his sudden smile, you get off his chest, looking at him with a confused look. “I was just thinking… Maybe we should give our princess a little prince to play with so Mephie and the twins don’t have to wear tons of stickers and glitter.” Your husband said teasingly. His crimson eyes shine beautifully, moon shaped, mimicking his lips that remained as a huge smile. “I thought you didn’t like the nickname Mephie.” You teased, ignoring the fact of him asking you for another son. “You’re really good at avoiding topics.” Sylus said, pecking your lips and laughing in between.

[thehoneybeestings]

──˚₊•Royally Screwed•‧₊˚──

Word Count: 3.6K

Synopsis: Your best friend has invited you to a Piltover Gala. You wouldn't be so worried if the guest list didn't include Ambessa Medarda: the woman you've been seeing secretly for months, and, of course, your best friend's mother...

Based on this ask (thank you anon!)

Content/Warnings: slight divergence from canon (i guess piltover and noxus are cool w each other now), nsfw, reader is referred to w fem pronouns/has fem anatomy, reader has hair long enough to pull, jealous!ambessa, dom!ambessa, sub!reader, bondage, spanking, vibrator use, strap use, reader gives ambessa head mhmmm, consent checks bc ambessa is a good dom, mel stop meddling in your best friend's love life challenge failed, jayce stop being sassy challenge failed, sappho exists in this universe bc she exists in every universe I write sorry not sorry

A/N: i just realized that anon asked for the reader's relationship to be exposed and I totally forgot to incorporate that aspect, but i was thinking i might do a little drabble soon of mel's reaction to the reader's relationship with her mom... what do you guys think? anywho... for now, i hope i did this request justice and that you enjoy!

Love, Bee ୨ৎ

“This is bad, Jayce.”

You’re staring at yourself in the lighted full-length mirror in Mel’s bedroom-sized closet, hands nervously running up and down the tulle skirt of your dress; one of five that Mel had custom made for you to choose from for tomorrow’s gala.

You should be ecstatic. Who wouldn’t love the chance to dress up in Piltover’s finest garments, playing pretend with the nobles while you gorge yourself on fancy hors d'oeuvres and drown yourself in free champagne with your best friend?  

You would be ecstatic if it weren’t for the fact that on the guest list was Ambessa Medarda: Noxian warrior by day, your secret lover by night. 

Oh, and lest you forget: your best friend’s mother.

“So, so bad…” you mutter, stepping off of the circular podium and plopping down in the velvet chaise beside it. 

“Really? You know, I was gonna say the color really brings out your eyes-”

Jayce is cut off by a mouthful of the gown that you throw at him from across the room.

“Not the dress, Jayce!”

Reading the room was not his forte. 

“Hey, watch it,” he scolds, “this is Noxian silk! Be delicate!”

Case and point. You roll your eyes at him as he fumbles to place the gown back on its hanger. 

“Listen,” he sighs, walking over to where you're sprawled out helplessly on the chaise. He lifts your leaden legs, sits down beside you, and places them on his lap. “It’s going to be fine. Ambessa knows the two of you are keeping things… you know… on the low,”

You cringe at his attempted use of slang. 

“Yeah, I didn’t like that either, didn’t feel natural at all- anyway! Ambessa knows you aren’t ready to tell Mel about the two of you. She’ll keep her distance, you’ll keep yours, and you’ll get to have a fun night with your best friend. Don’t overthink it.” 

You nod slowly, bottom lip between your teeth as you mull over his words. 

“You’re right,” you say with a soft smile. “you’re right. It’ll be fine.” 

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

What you had not accounted for was that Mel had been plotting to set you up with an acquaintance of hers, and she figured, what better night to introduce the two of you than at an event such as this?

“What the hell?” You whisper-scream, pulling Mel into a secluded corner of the beautiful ballroom. 

“What?” She asks, feining innocence; although, she knew entirely well that the reason she’d chosen to give you no notice of this potential suitor was because you would have enthusiastically declined, as you always did. 

“Mel,” you scold, “why did you not tell me I’d have some date entertain? One has to prepare herself for these things!”

“Oh, come on, you make it sound like you’re on babysitting duty. She’s perfectly pleasant! A little bit older- just as you like-” 

Your face heats up,

“And very kind! Brilliant, too; we’re in a book club together and her analysis each week is thoroughly impressive.”

Wariness is still written all over your face.

“Please, Y/n?” Mel pleads, “Just give her tonight. See how it goes. If you don’t click, you never have to see her again.” 

You sigh. It isn’t the clicking you’re worried about; you’re sure she is “perfectly pleasant,” and she is easy on the eyes. You might have even been interested if it weren’t for the woman in red across the room whose eyes were already on you like a hawk. At times, you couldn’t even see that she was staring; you simply felt it. The invisible pull, tantalizing and thick with tension…

And gods, here was her daughter in front of you. You’re nearly mortified at the circumstance.

Nevertheless, you’d need to play it off. If you were too averse to the idea of spending time with this suitor- Clara, was it?- Mel would want to know why, and her prying was relentless. 

“Fine,” you resign with a sigh, “I will entertain her-and you- just this once.”

The woman in front of you squeals in excitement. You feign amusement, but deep down, you know: if Ambessa sees you humoring this woman, you’re screwed.

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

“Ah, yes; the poems of Sappho. Some of my favorites,” Clara muses. 

The two of you have taken to discussing your favorite authors and works of literature, unsurprisingly, considering that Mel mentioned meeting Clara at her book club. This was a good topic, you thought. Pleasant enough to stay engaged, but not so engaging that she’d get the chance for her to make any moves. 

Clara moves in closer, lowering her voice to speak to you. 

“Mel mentioned you were a big fan of her work,” she says with a coy smile.

Damn it, you think, I should have stayed away from Sappho!

“She also mentioned that you were very bright, and I must admit,” 

She leans down to whisper into your ear, 

“You’ve got beauty to match your brains.”

“O-oh,” you stutter with an awkward laugh, “Thanks.” 

Clara gives you an amused smirk. She must think she’s flustered you, and not that you’ve just caught sight of Ambessa glaring at her.

“Your drink is empty,” she observes. 

“Oh! Yes... it is.”

“Allow me.” 

Clara takes the empty glass from your hands, sauntering over to the bar and leaving you alone… finally, until,

“How’s it going?”

You jump at the sound of Mel’s voice in your ear from behind you.

“Gods, Mel! You scared me!”

“Oh, pfft. I didn’t mean to; but tell me! Are the two of you getting on alright?”

You give her a shrug and a half-hearted smile. 

“We both like Sappho…”

“Wonderful! I knew the two of you would have so much in common, I simply-”

The rest of Mel’s match-maker ramble fades to white noise when suddenly, from the corner of your eye, you see Ambessa approaching. 

“...and the two of you- are you listening?!”

Your wide eyes snap back to her. “Sorry! It’s just-”

Her gaze follows yours, and her eyes land on her mother.

“Gods, Y/n. She isn’t that intimidating, you know.”

“Right,” you exhale. 

Right. Intimidated of the renowned Noxian warrior in front of you. That’s what you were. Not terrified of her daughter finding out you were sleeping with her, not bewildered at the fact that you’re sleeping with her in the first place, and certainly not a little turned on by the glare she just gave you…

“Enjoying the party, mother?” Mel greets.

“Only as much as I typically enjoy these sorts of events, dear,” she sighs, adjusting the ornate gold jewelry circling her bicep in a practiced movement. 

“You’re bored out of your mind and ready to go home to your library,” Mel deadpans.

“Precisely.”

You let out a chuckle at the interaction. Ambessa’s attention is back on you.

“How are you, Y/n?”

You short circuit for a moment, not expecting her to address you directly. 

“Oh! I- I’m fine. Same as you. Ready to curl up with a good book.”

Her gaze softens for a moment. She knows how much you love to read; you’ve spent hours upon hours tackling her personal collection. 

Mel sighs with a roll of her eyes. “She’s not enjoying her company.” 

You glare at Mel, cursing her mouthiness.

“I try so hard to set her up people- who I believe are perfectly good matches, by the way- but she’s quite picky, this one.” 

Ambessa knows this, too.

You let out an incredulous scoff. 

“Mel!” 

Ambessa smiles again. This time, there’s something else to it. Something mischievous… calculated. 

“Not to worry, dear,” she begins, looking at you, “there are plenty of fish in the sea.”

You’re glad you aren’t nursing champagne at the moment, or you might have choked on it. 

“Oh! There’s Jayce,” Mel excitedly begins, sights set on the double doors at the front of the room. “I’ll be back in a moment. Mother, do try not to scare my guest.”

You watch in poorly concealed horror as Mel prances off, leaving you along with Ambessa. 

When you finally dare to look at her, she’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes and a set jaw. 

“So-”

She cuts you off with a hum. 

You sigh, eyebrows furrowing as you begin to plead with her. 

“Ambessa, I can explain,”

“No need.” 

Your stomach drops. She’s pissed, and there’s not shit you can do about it. 

She walks forward, leaning down to whisper in your ear just as Clara had moments ago. 

“Tonight, half-past 10. My quarters.”

With that, she walks away, shoulder brushing yours as she leaves to stand there with you face running pale. 

Your eyes are trained on the flickering candles adorning the table in front of you as you imagine what she has planned, what she might say to you, what she might do to you-

“Your champagne, miss.”

Clara interrupts your train of thought with a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

You turn to her, forcing a smile. 

“Might we get something stronger?”

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

It’s 10:29 when you arrive at the intricately carved wooden door to Ambessa’s room. She was already upset; you wouldn't dare have her wait on top of it.  

You raise your hand to knock on the solid wood, hand pausing in the air. 

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and leave a soft knock on the door.

It opens in an instant, Ambessa peering down at you with an icy glint in her eyes. 

She takes a deep breath of her own, gaze unyielding as she cocks her head to the side, motioning towards the room behind her and stepping aside to let you in.

The moment you step over the threshold, the door slams behind you, and you, into it.

Ambessa’s hold is firm on your hips, pressing you into the door. 

“Have fun tonight, darling?”

Her breath fans your face. You look up at her with wide eyes and racing heart. 

“It was… fine,” you whisper, breath shaky. 

She pulls her head back with an cocked brow. 

“Shared a few drinks with her, hm?” 

“It was just… courtesy.” 

Her hands drop from your waist, and she walks away with a scoff and a crooked smile.

“A flute of champagne is courtesy. Liquor denotes something else entirely.” 

Your shoulders sag in defeat. “I just-” 

you sigh, 

“I just wanted to take the edge off a bit. You made me nervous.” 

She smirks. 

“Aw,” she croons, strolling back over to you. She stops in front of you, lifting your chin with her forefinger and thumb and demanding your eyes meet hers. 

“I make you nervous?” 

Your eyes flick down to her soft lips, then back up to her eyes. 

“You know you make me nervous.”

You dare to raise a brow at her.

“You like it.” 

Her smirk drops. 

“You've been playing with fire tonight, dear.”

Her hand moves to hold the back of your neck, and she pulls you in until your lips barely touch hers.

“I don't want to hear you complain that you got burned.”

Her lips slam into yours. You gasp when the hand on the back of your head weaves into your hair and tugs; she uses the opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth. 

Ambessa does everything with intent-with purpose- kisses included. There was no such thing as a haste peck on the lips, a fleeting kiss on the forehead; each and every touch she delivered to you said something.

Tonight, her touch says, “You're mine. No one else’s.”

She finally pulls away, leaving you breathless under her composed gaze. The corner of her lips pull up into a smirk. She always got a kick out of this; slowly unraveling you while she remained entirely unphased. 

You should feel embarrassed. You love it. 

“On the bed,” she commands, releasing her grip on your hair, “and strip- that’s Noxian silk. We can't have you ruining it.” 

You can't help but chuckle- remembering Jayce’s own comment about the luxurious material- as you lean down to take your heels off. Normally, she'd do this for you; kneeling down to undo the tiny buckle on the straps of your heels before sliding them off of your feet, moving up to pull the zipper of dress down while planting a kiss on your shoulder, asking you to give her twirl when you're finally left barren except for the delicate lingerie she would have gifted you.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, you won't be allowed the luxury of her delicateness.

Goosebumps appear on your skin as you make your way to the bed, knowing you're in for one hell of a ride. Ambessa could be so gentle with you, but she could be equally as rough and unforgiving, and as she pulls a vibrator out from the drawer next to her bed, you know you're about to find out just how unforgiving she can be. 

“A-Ambessa…” you stutter, crawling back against the pillows against the headboard. 

She didn't usually start with a vibrator. She knew the immediate intensity of its stimulation was often too much to begin with, so she'd spend her time working you up before she thought about retrieving it. 

She didn't give a damn about that tonight. 

“What's the matter, dear? Regretting your bad behavior already?” 

“Ambessa, it really wasn't what you-” 

“Truthfully,” she cuts you off with a glare, “I don't really care to hear any excuses.” 

She places the vibrator next to you. She's also gathered a few restraints: two to tie your hands to the headboard, and two to tie your ankles to the footboard. 

“You know that I've never been fond of sharing my possessions, dear,” she begins, tying your first hand to a rung. “Surely, this isn't news to you.” 

She restrains the other, then moves down to restrain your feet.

You're starfished on the soft comforter now, rendered completely helpless and at her disposal. 

Just as she wanted you.

She climbs onto the bed, running a hand up your leg. 

“Surely, you knew what would happen if you decided to test me as you did,” she muses.

She runs a finger through the slick that's already begun to collect in between your legs. A shiver courses through you again.

“Or was this your plan all along? Hm?”

Her hand trails up your stomach, through the valley of your breasts, and stops around your throat. She leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You wanted to be fucked like a common whore tonight, didn't you?” 

You don’t have time to respond before she turns on the vibrator, pressing it to the swollen bud of nerves at your center. You yelp as your body betrays you, hips bucking up into the already overstimulating sensation.

“Shit, Bessa, ‘m sorry,” you cry out, looking up at her with pleasing eyes. 

Of course, her only response is a maniacal laugh. 

“Begging for me to go easy on you already? My darling,” she croons, leaning down to place a kiss on your jaw, “we’ve only just begun.”

She turns the vibrator up to the next setting. Tears have already begun to prick your eyes. 

Yeah. You were screwed alright. Royally screwed. 

As soon as your hips stop spasming on the the vibrator placed at your core- as soon as you start to catch your breath- she turns up the intensity, until she’s tortured you through all of its seven settings. She doesn’t bother letting up after you come, just watches you pull and flail against your restraints as your pussy clenches around nothing.

The line between needing her inside of you and needing her to stop all together is starting to blur like your teary vision. Your breath comes out in fast pants, eyebrows furrowed as the pleasure bleeds into pain. 

Her commanding voice pulls you out of your daze.

“Color?” 

When you don’t respond quickly enough- too busy trying to come back to earth just long enough to find your words- she pulls the toy away. 

As unrelenting as she could be, Ambessa was never cruel with you; she’d never cross a line or cause harm to you. 

Her hand comes to rest on your cheek, wiping away stray tears as your breath begins to even.

“Green,” you finally exhale with a crooked smile.

She gives you a smirk of her own. “Dirty girl.”

She reaches up to loosen the restraints on your wrists, fingers tracing the delicate skin to be sure it isn’t too irritated. She moves down to your ankles to do the same, but you’re too tired to change your positions, limbs still splayed out for her. 

“Have I tired you, dear?” She coos. 

You nod with a soft chuckle, hand finally coming down to brush a stray hair from your face. Your eyes flutter closed, the world around you becoming fuzzy. You hear the faint sound of her drawer opening and closing- she’s putting the restraints away, you presume- before the weight of her knees on either side of your hips presses into to mattress. 

“You’ve done so good,” she praises, pressing kisses to your face. The touch is a stark contrast to the hands that suddenly grip your sides, flipping you to lay on your stomach. Your eyes fly open, and roll right back into your head when she grabs a handful of your hair, yanking you flush against her chest. Your hands reach out to the headboard, stabilizing you as she delivers a smack to the swell of your ass.

“It’s such a shame when good girls misbehave.”

You hadn’t realized all the rummaging she’d been doing was her putting the strap on, until you feel the dull head of the silicone press against your entrance. 

You hiss, still all too sensitive from your first punishment.

“Ambessa, I c-”

“Do not tell me that isn’t exactly what you anticipated when you decided to thow yourself onto another woman while I was a mere 30 feet away.”

You don’t respond. You knew better than to lie. 

“Color,” she demands.

“Green,” you whine. 

She presses your head into the pillow below you, and your hips arch up into her own. She guides the toy into your sopping walls, slow and careful to be sure you adjust to her length.

The pace she sets is anything but. Both hands find your hips as her own snap into you. She pulls you back to meet each thrust, the tip of her cock brushing your cervix each time.

You're a babbling, drooling mess underneath her. 

“B-Bessa… ‘s so deep… fuck, you're deep…”

A hand moves up to splay across your back, deepening your arch so that she can fuck into you further.

The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping skin, a headboard slamming into the wall, your moans and mewls, her grunts and groans. She had no shame in claiming what was hers. 

She leans over, heavy breaths fanning your ear. 

“Remind me who you belong to.”

Your eyes roll back in your head again, pussy clenching around her in response to the question. She delivers another slap to your ass. 

“Speak when you are spoken to, girl.”

“Y-you!” you finally cry out. “I belong to you, I’m yours, ‘m all yours…”

She pulls back with a chuckle before pulling out of you, ripping the harness off of her waist and thighs. She crawls beside you, laying on back with her arms behind her head on the plush pillows. 

“You know what to do. Put that pretty mouth to good use.”

You scramble to place yourself in between her legs and bury yourself into her sweet musk. Your tongue darts out to draw slow circles on her clit, nose resting on the mound of curls adorning her. 

Her scent is intoxicating, her taste is ambrosia; you moan into her, and she moans back, hand flying to your head to keep you in place. 

“Your fingers,” she instructs, and you slip into her, meeting no resistance. You lap at her eagerly, fingers pumping in and out in tandem with the flick of your tongue on her clit. It isn't long before her burly thighs tighten around your head, and her release coats your chin. 

You pull away once she relaxes, staring down starry-eyed at the mess she's made. 

“Have some decorum,” she scolds; but when your eyes snap up to her face, she sports that lazy grin you can't get enough of. 

She beckons you to sit in between her legs, and you happily oblige with a chuckle. You lean against her strong chest, and she leans down to press a kiss against your temple. A comfortable silence settles over the room as her fingers trace up and down your arm. 

“I'm aware that you had no true interest in that woman,” she says softly. 

You hum in amusement.

“I’m also aware,” she continues, “That if you had been interested, it'd be none of my concern.”

You crane your head up to give her a confused look.

She shrugs. “You haven't been made mine. Not officially.”

You pause for a moment, reading her expression. If the longing you think you see in her eyes is really there, then it's about time you two had this conversation. 

“I want to be yours,” you whisper. “If you'll have me.”

“Don't be ridiculous,”

and your heart drops, until, 

“Of course, I'll have you. It'd be an honor to call you mine.” 

A wide smile stretches across your face, and her large hand cups your cheek as she pulls you in for a kiss, tender and loving.

You pull away, lips still gracing her own. 

“We’ll have to tell Mel…” you dare to whisper.

She scoffs, playfully rolling her eyes before her lips begin to trail down your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. She plants a hand on your thigh, grabbing at the plush before snaking it toward your heat. 

“Let me give you one more before we think about that.”

End ୨ৎ

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

Taglist: @kierancaust, @langedelalune, @vii-v, @genderfluidlesbain999, @sevikasrightboob, @leone007, @femliyah, @tojisbestslut, @vyvvycg

[idontknowwhatnametouseyet]

okay, so… first – I'm not saying you're wrong.

if you choose to Keep reading, know this is completely my own sight and stance. I do not want to try and make anyone change sides here.

"Fanfic Writers: Another Side"

a rant.

fanfics, (especially creators,) although yes they're valid writers, just… doesn't feel the same to me. It's like reusing yesterday's food, if that makes sense? It can still be good, and sometimes better than when it was first made, but someone had to create it from nothing.

there isn't anything wrong with fanfics, and they sometimes are amazing, but you're forgetting that an oc-writing author has to create everyone, everything, and everywhere, that you and all other fans love.

I just think you're underselling how much hardet it is to "create", rather than just "rewrite".

(Give a little more leeway to bad typography, if you still love what's in it. Someone still had to create that bedrock which fanfiction builds on top of. Please?)

I hope this doesn't also turn into a huge argument, I just want to add another variable of insight.

even I, as an upcoming author, fully want to see how anyone who reads my story would recreate parts of it. That's why it's a multiverse; so all other outcomes I don't write are still sub-canon to it.

I don't know what people will like, but I want to know. That's where looking at fanfics will help me better write small details, imperceptible to the average reader, for you guys to stepping-stone into the niches or AUs you want to see.

even so, there are still exceptions in oc works too. not every story pushes the ceiling higher than the last; but they don't have to. That's what makes writing styles!

Sometimes you'll just like the style of writing more, but not know why it feels better.

Fanfics Writers are one of the reasons that I want to make an "Official AU" after publishing my series, where the fanbase (potentially you guys) not only participates in the world, but your actions in the setting actively has a real impact, and can change or prevent any outcome or result.

How do you think your actions would realistically affect the worlds you love?

Could you actually save your favourite character?

Could you actually prevent their death?

What about being the hero? Can you really hold that weight?

Would you actually try to fight the Big Bad if your actions had caused someone who didn't originally die to not survive with you?

What do you think that would do to you?

And how would you realistically act in that situation, where you know, FOR A FACT, that you are what caused their death?

Writing from completely nothing is harder than it's made out to be.

fanfic writers are so fucking awesome man. they write novel length fics that are sometimes even better than some published bestselling books written by professional writers. like fanfic writers are professional writers to me and they gift us their masterpieces for free. they give us something we can look forward to after a long day. something from which we can seek comfort when life is hard. something that can be our own little getaway. in a world of capitalism, despite everything, they give us all of these for free. like holy fuck. shout out to every fanfic writer. I wish all fanfic writers a very ‘I love you with all my heart and soul. I thank you from the bottom of my heart’

[invoncible]

could you post more of popstar!girly!reader? honestly really love the concept, would love to see that fic you mentioned you have in your drafts 👀

popstar! girly! reader sneaking MARK GRAYSON into her music video ✧˚.

— hiii anon ! im so glad a lot of people love the concept because i've been having brainrot about it for so long. also !! that fic is at 11k words so far 💀 idk if you guys wanna read all that LMAO here's another scenario for the time being <3

i'd like to think when you start dating, mark understands the need to keep public and private life separate. he gets it better than anybody, which is what makes your unconventional relationship work out as well as it does.

that's not to say he doesn't get a little selfish sometimes.

when he's scrolling on tiktok or the reddit page dedicated to you and sees all these people thirsting over you... he feels some kind of way.

people calling themselves your wife, husband, partner, whatever—mark was happy for your success but there was a part of him that wanted to scream from the rooftops that he was yours, not them.

so when you proposed that he feature in your music video, he was overjoyed.

"i was thinking..." you hummed, manicured nails tapping away at your phone screen as you texted your manager. "did you wanna be in my new video? we want to include a boyfriend part and well... you're the only one qualified for that."

mark sat up sharply with an immediate, "yes." he accepted it solemnly, like he was accepting a world-changing quest.

you brightened, glossy lips spreading into a big smile. "really? all you'd have to do is flex and pose and be hot."

he grinned and leaned over to kiss your cheek, pulling you into his arms. "so a regular day, then?"

your crew loved mark. they loved how dorky he was, carrying comics to pass the time while you got ready in your outfits and makeup.

little did he know he had an appointment with hair and makeup himself.

"you can pull out if you want to, you know." you said as you fixed your hair in the huge led-light mirror.

mark was fidgeting beside you, turning left and right and assessing his reflection with a critical eye.

"and have you run around with someone else?" he frowned, a slight pout tugging on his lips as he ran a hand through his hair. "how can you even look in this thing without getting blinded?"

you giggled and dimmed the mirror lights to something he could handle.

"it was either you or no one. i just want to make sure you're comfortable." you said slowly, patiently, walking up beside him and tugging his restless hands away from his face. "this is kind of like a soft launch, you know?"

it'd be a hard launch if he had anything to say about it.

at first, he was a little stiff. it wasn't everyday he had to stand shirtless on a set with cameras aimed right at him.

when you started dancing with him, he acted like he hadn't seen you naked before. hands balled into fists at his sides, a tight lipped smile, the sweat pouring down his forehead...

the filming process might have taken a few more days than intended, but it was worth allowing mark to grow comfortable with the set and the crew. he put his all into his screen time.

fast forward to the release day, the internet was buzzing. you had guys in your music videos before, but they always met horrible ends.

so when you were spinning in some random guy's arms—not even a known model or celebrity—they were thoroughly confused.

it looked like a home video more than anything else. they could tell you two had insane chemistry.

the edits of you two together came first; then, the edits of the mysterious backup guy exploded on the internet. you were eating good for once, having a wealth of edits of your boyfriend at your disposal.

he found you giggling and kicking your feet. "what's got you in such a good mood?"

you just bit your lip, barely containing your smile as you held up your phone. an edit, albeit of low quality, of him smiling down at you in the low light of the scene, shots of his muscular back and arms and oh, you just had to save it and the 100s of others just like it.

he felt his face heat up as he watched it, looking away bashfully. "did... people like it?"

"they loved it." you hummed, pulling him down to bed and kissing his cheek. "and so did i."

he hummed, the sliver of praise making his chest puff up proudly.

"look, they've dubbed you 'boyfriend.'" you giggled, scrolling through fan comments. who is this man?? / that backup boyfriend guy kinda fine tho?? / look at how boyfriend looks at her awww! / boyfriend can't take us all at once. / boyfriend can't handle all that. / can boyfriend fight?

he smirked to himself as he absorbed the playful outrage of your fanbase. they could complain all they wanted, but he can handle all that and yes, he can fight.

© invoncible