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mythicalmaven · 8 months ago

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Revealed Desires - Lando Norris

(This is a sequel to Secret Desires, but could also be read separately)

Here is part two of the requested oneshot! I loved writing it so much, that I needed to write a part two! It accidentally turned out WAY longer than I intended, but I love how it turned out! Hope y'all like it! Please let me know if you did! :)

Masterlist This is part two of this one (reading the previous part is advised for more context lol, but you technically could read it separately) ↳pairing: Lando Norris x f!verstappen!reader ↳word count: 8,9K ↳Summary: In which the story continues after the reader (Max Verstappen's twin sister) had a rather interesting text exchange with & FaceTime call with her best friend Lando Norris after he had drunkenly texted her about his sexual fantasies about her. ↳content warnings: reader is Max Verstappen's twin sister, Lando is her best friend, but also more, friends to lovers, first kiss, sexual tension, teasing, dirty talk, smut, 18+ content (MDNI!), explicit sexual content, handjob, blowjob, oral sex f!receiving, orgasm denial, p in v, making love, praise kink,

It had been a few hours since that intimate phone call with you, and yet the giddy sensation still coursed through Lando's veins like wildfire. He obviously still felt incredibly embarrassed about drunk texting you the way he did, but it lead to something great. Something he enjoyed so much, he can't put it into words. The knowledge that you felt the same way about him had turned the usually composed British driver into a lovesick puppy, unable to wipe the goofy grin off his face. He'd been in love with you for quite some time, but now that his feelings were out in the open, everything felt more intense, more real.

Since that call, Lando had managed to shower, get dressed, and gather his things to hang out with a few of the guys at Charles’ place. But the whole time, he’d been distracted, replaying every moment of your conversation, every breathy word exchanged, over and over in his mind.

By the time he arrived at Charles' house and plopped down onto the couch, the weight of it all—how much his life had changed in a few short hours—settled in. But just as he began to sink into his thoughts, he felt a pair of familiar eyes boring into him.

Max was staring at him, that infuriatingly smug grin stretching across his face. "Good morning, Mr. Casanova," Max teased, the humor in his voice impossible to miss as he watched Lando try to hide within the collar of his hoodie.

"Oh god, please, shut up," Lando groaned, pulling the hood further over his face in a futile attempt to disappear. "I don't even remember half of what I said to you last night."

Charles, who had perched himself on the armrest of the couch, took a casual sip of his coffee. The amusement radiating off him was palpable as he clapped a hand on Lando’s shoulder. "Unfortunately for you, Max remembers all of it."

Max leaned back into the cushions, making a dramatic gagging sound as if to punctuate his point. "I wish I could forget some of the things you said, mate," he chuckled. "But I have to admit, some of it was pretty funny. Adorable, even."

Lando's face flushed a deep crimson, his stomach twisting with embarrassment. "Do I even want to know what I said?" he mumbled, his voice barely audible as he avoided the eyes of both his friends.

Charles set his coffee cup down on the table, his expression turning thoughtful. "Well," he began, running a hand through his hair, "you started out pretty innocent. You were going on about how head over heels you are for her—though I can’t recall the exact words, it was clear enough."

Lando groaned again, his face burning with shame as he sank further into the couch. "God, Max, I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. "I never wanted you to find out like this."

Max raised his eyebrows, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "You really think I didn’t already know you were in love with my sister?" he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle. "You’ve been obvious for a while now, even when you weren’t drunk off your ass."

Lando’s eyes widened in shock, his heart skipping a beat. "A-Are… you s-serious?" he stammered, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Charles rolled his eyes, smirking. "Dude, you stare at her more than you do your own race car," he teased. "And let’s not forget that your entire way of talking to each other is just… well, flirting."

Lando felt his heart rate pick up, a mix of relief and mortification washing over him. "Oh," he muttered, his voice small.

"But if that was the innocent part," Lando began, dreading the answer, "what in god's name were the other things I said?"

Max snorted, leaning forward with a grin. "Well, once you were really wasted, you didn’t even seem to notice I was there anymore," he began, the disgust creeping back into his voice. "You were pretty much ranting to Charles about how hot she is and how you’d kill to see her naked."

Charles burst out laughing, almost spilling his coffee in the process. "Hey! Don’t leave out the best part," he chuckled, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "You also said that if you had the chance, you’d fuck her on every single piece of furniture in your house."

Max made a dramatic gagging noise again, waving his hands in front of his face. "Okay, enough, ew," he protested, though the laughter in his voice was unmistakable. "We’re talking about my twin sister here, remember?"

Lando buried his face in his hands, sinking so far into the couch he thought he might disappear entirely. "Fucking hell," he muttered, staring up at the ceiling in defeat. "I really am a gigantic idiot."

Max’s laughter subsided into a low chuckle as he leaned back into the cushions. "Well, spilling the beans on your feelings was one thing, but I’m curious how you’re going to talk your way out of this with her," he said, his tone a mix of amusement and curiosity. "You kept going on about needing to text her about something 'very private.'"

Lando groaned again, this time so deeply it resonated in his chest. "Please don’t remind me," he mumbled, knowing all too well what Max was referring to.

Max grinned, clearly enjoying every second of Lando’s discomfort. "So, after I dragged your sorry ass home, I decided to give her a little heads up," he continued, his voice dripping with teasing humor. "But she told me it was a little too late because, apparently, you had already sent her quite the intense text."

Charles, who had been taking another sip of his coffee, choked on it immediately, coughing violently as he tried to suppress his laughter. "Mon dieu," he managed to gasp out between coughs, his face turning red from the effort. "What the heck did you even text her? Did you send her a nude or something?"

Before Lando could even process the question, Max threw his hands up in the air. "Don’t answer that while I’m in the room! I don’t even want to know!" he exclaimed, half laughing, half horrified. "We’re talking about my twin sister here! I need more coffee."

With that, Max got up and headed towards the kitchen, leaving Lando and Charles alone in the living room.

Charles eyed Lando with a raised eyebrow, the teasing smirk never leaving his face. "Now, do tell," he urged, clearly eager to hear the juicy details.

Lando sighed, running a hand through his messy curls. "God, I don’t even want to think about it," he muttered, his voice filled with both regret and reluctant amusement. "I cringe at myself every time I read it back."

Charles chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Did you at least talk to her about it?" he asked, his tone becoming more serious. "I mean, considering you’re not sulking in a corner, I assume she doesn’t hate you now, right?"

Lando felt the heat rise to his cheeks again, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Ehm… yeah, we talked about it," he admitted, his voice trailing off as he tried to downplay the situation.

Charles’ eyes widened in surprise, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "Oh my god, you guys did not…" he started, his voice dripping with playful accusation.

Lando hesitated, biting his lip. "Maybe," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Charles burst out laughing, clapping Lando on the back with a hearty smack. "So, let me get this straight," he began, still chuckling. "You got wasted, accidentally sexted your best friend, and she… liked it? And then you pretty much continued the conversation? Do you even remember a thing of it, or is your text history your only proof?"

Lando’s face turned an even deeper shade of red as he avoided Charles’ gaze, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "Ehm… it might’ve happened this morning through text… then later through FaceTime," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Charles let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Nice job, mate," he said, his tone filled with both amusement and genuine admiration. "Better not tell Max that you had literal phone sex with his twin sister."

Before Lando could respond, they heard Max’s voice echoing from the kitchen. "God, I really did not want to hear that," Max groaned, his tone laced with exasperation.

Charles laughed again, turning his attention back to Lando. "Well, now that you’ve crossed that line, what’s the next step?" he asked, his tone more serious now. "Are you going to talk to her about where this is going?"

Lando let out a long sigh, leaning back into the couch as he tried to collect his thoughts. "I mean… yeah, I guess I have to," he admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I can’t just pretend like nothing happened."

Charles nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. "You’re right," he agreed. "But, honestly, it sounds like you two are already on the same page. You just need to have an actual conversation about it."

Lando nodded, feeling a mix of anxiety and anticipation swirling in his chest. "Yeah… I know, we talked about if for a little.." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I-I admitted my feelings to her. We did kind of agree to starting something real once she's back in Monaco"

Charles gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, his smile softening. "That's good"

"Yeah, I actually have to pick her up from the airport tomorrow" he told Charles, a hint of something else in his voice "I would lie if I said I wasn't nervous about it. Just scared that she might come to the conclusion that she regrets it, once she sees me in real life again"

*The following day*

Lando sat in his car at the airport, his nerves doubling with each passing second. His fingers fumbled restlessly in his lap as he tried—and failed—to calm himself down. He had spent the entire night tossing and turning, his mind racing with thoughts of how he should greet you when you finally arrived. Despite offering numerous times to meet you at the gate, to carry your suitcases like a gentleman, you had refused each one with a teasing smile, insisting that you were "a big girl" and could manage on your own. Now, he wondered if he had been too pushy, if maybe he should have backed off and given you more space.

As he waited, Lando’s mind continued to wage a war against itself. Should he just hug you like he always did, keeping things light and familiar? Or should he throw caution to the wind and kiss you, putting everything on the line? The thought of kissing you, of finally feeling your lips on his after all these years of longing, made his heart race. But what if you didn’t want that? What if you pulled away, leaving him to wallow in his embarrassment?

His internal debate was abruptly cut short by the sound of a knock on his window. Lando looked up, his heart skipping a beat as he met your eyes. There you were, standing just outside his car, a soft smile on your lips. That smile—the one that always made his chest tighten—sent a wave of warmth through him. He quickly opened the door, jumping out to help you with your luggage.

"Hi," you murmured softly, echoing the way you had greeted him during your FaceTime call. The familiarity of your voice, that gentle tone, sent a shiver down his spine.

Lando smiled back, feeling the tips of his fingers brush against yours as you both reached for the handle of your suitcase. The slight contact sent a jolt of electricity up his arm, and he had to resist the urge to pull you into his arms right then and there. He inhaled deeply, trying to steady his breathing, but the proximity, the way you looked at him, made it impossible to think straight.

"Fuck this," he muttered under his breath, the words slipping out before he could stop them. In a swift movement, he reached up, sliding his fingers around the back of your neck, his thumb gently brushing against your jaw. The world seemed to slow down as he tilted your face up toward his, his heart pounding in his chest as he finally closed the distance between you.

When his lips met yours, it was like every pent-up emotion, every moment of longing, exploded into that kiss. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a confession, a release, an answer to all the questions that had been swirling in his mind. His fingers tightened in your hair, pulling you closer as he let himself get lost in the sensation of finally, finally, kissing the one girl he had been in love with for what felt like forever.

Your response was immediate and overwhelming. You released the suitcase from your grip, one of your hands moved up to tangle in his curls, pulling him closer, while the other slid down to cover his hand, guiding it to your waist. The heat of your body against his was intoxicating, and Lando felt like he was drowning in you, in the softness of your lips, in the way you seemed to melt into him.

As your kiss deepened, Lando could feel your breath hitch, your body pressing even closer to his as if you couldn’t get enough. He took the invitation, gently parting your lips with his, and when your tongues met, it was like a spark igniting a wildfire. His hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him as he backed you up against the side of the car. The cool metal of the car against your back contrasted with the heat between you, making you gasp softly into the kiss.

Every touch, every brush of your lips, every flick of your tongue sent shivers down Lando’s spine. He could feel your heartbeat against his chest, could hear the soft, breathy sounds you made as the kiss grew more urgent. His hands roamed your back, sliding up to cup your face, then back down to your waist, as if trying to memorize every curve, every inch of you. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you, completely lost in each other.

You responded with equal fervor, your hands exploring the expanse of his back, his shoulders, as you gave in to the overwhelming pull of desire that had been building between you for so long. The way Lando kissed you—desperate yet tender, with a mix of hunger and reverence—made your heart swell with emotion. It was as if he was pouring all his love, all his need, into that kiss, and you couldn’t help but respond in kind.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady your racing hearts. Lando’s fingers played with a stray strand of your hair, his touch feather-light as he whispered, "Sorry if that was too straightforward. I just… I couldn’t help myself."

You giggled softly, your lips brushing against his as you spoke. "Lan, we both know we crossed the 'too straightforward' line already when you sent me that one text," you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

Lando’s cheeks flushed a deep red, his gaze dropping to the ground as he muttered, "Shut up."

But you weren’t about to let him get away that easily. Smiling, you tilted his chin up with your finger, forcing him to meet your gaze before leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. "Hey, I never said I was complaining" you murmured against his lips, your voice filled with affection.

Lando felt a surge of relief wash over him, his lips curling into a smile against yours. All the tension, all the nerves, seemed to melt away in that moment, replaced by a warmth that spread through his entire being. As you pulled back slightly, his eyes searched yours, finding only the same affection and desire that he felt reflected back at him.

"Now, let's get this stuff in the car and head back to my place. Because I think we both waited long enough now, don't you think?" you teased him, your fingers playing with the hem of his t-shirt.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺

As Lando and you finally settled into the car, the engine's quiet hum filled the space, a stark contrast to the roaring thoughts and desires that swirled between you. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, the kind that made every breath feel heavier, every glance more charged. The drive back to your place had never felt so excruciatingly long, and the unspoken understanding between you made the tension all the more palpable.

You both tried to keep the conversation light, casual even, but it was impossible to ignore the undercurrent of desire that crackled between you like static electricity. Lando gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, his knuckles turning white as he navigated through the city streets. He stole glances at you whenever he thought you weren’t looking, his mind racing with thoughts of what would happen once you finally reached your apartment.

“So, did you miss me?” you teased, your voice playful yet laced with something deeper.

Lando chuckled, his voice strained as he responded. “Miss you?” He shot you a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Yeah, something like that.”

Your hand slowly inched its way over to his thigh, resting lightly at first, but enough to make him shift in his seat. You could feel the muscle tense beneath your fingers, his reaction immediate and telling. You didn’t miss the way his breath hitched, or the subtle clenching of his jaw as he tried to maintain his focus on the road.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and warning, though you could hear the underlying strain, the barely restrained desire.

“Nothing,” you replied innocently, your fingers beginning to trace small, teasing circles on his thigh, gradually moving closer to where you knew he was most sensitive. “Just… thinking.”

“Thinking?” Lando’s voice had dropped to a husky whisper, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried—and failed—to ignore the effect your touch was having on him. “About what, exactly?”

You leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear as you whispered, “About how long this drive is taking. Don’t you think it’s… too long?”

Lando let out a low, frustrated groan, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before he forced them open again, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

You giggled softly, the sound filled with a mix of mischief and satisfaction. Your hand moved higher, your fingers brushing against the growing bulge in his pants, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. He glanced over at you, his eyes darkening with lust, and you could see the tension in his expression, the way he was barely holding himself together.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, your voice dripping with mock innocence, though the wicked glint in your eyes betrayed your intentions.

“Fuck…” Lando cursed under his breath, his hips involuntarily jerking forward at the contact. “You’re going to make me crash this car if you keep that up.”

But despite his words, he didn’t make any move to stop you. Instead, he shifted slightly in his seat, almost as if inviting you to continue. The knowledge that you had this kind of power over him, that you could unravel him with just a few touches, sent a thrill through you, your own arousal growing with each passing second.

As your hand pressed more firmly against him, Lando couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped his lips, low and guttural, filled with the kind of raw need that made your stomach tighten with anticipation. The sound of it, the way his body responded so helplessly to your touch, only fueled your desire, your own breath becoming shallow as you leaned in closer.

“I think you like this,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear as you spoke, your hand slowly, deliberately, palming him through his jeans. You could feel him hardening beneath your touch, and the thought of what was to come made your own body ache with need.

“Fuck, you’re right,” Lando admitted, his voice rough and strained. He let out another soft moan, his hips shifting again, seeking more of your touch despite his earlier protests. “But you’re also going to regret teasing me like this.”

“Is that a threat?” you teased, your hand now fully exploring the outline of his erection, your fingers pressing just hard enough to drive him crazy, but not enough to satisfy.

“Consider it a promise,” Lando growled, his voice thick with lust. The tension in the car was nearly unbearable now, every second feeling like an eternity as you continued to push him closer to the edge.

The rest of the drive was a torturous mix of heated touches and ragged breaths, the air thick with anticipation. Every kilometer that separated you from your apartment seemed to stretch on forever, amplifying the tension that crackled between you. Lando’s eyes flicked from the road to your hand on his bulge, watching as your fingers continued their slow, deliberate exploration. His breathing was uneven, the struggle to keep his focus on driving becoming increasingly difficult with each passing second.

You noticed how his grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles white, the strain evident in every line of his body. His jaw was clenched, his gaze forward, but you could see the way his eyes darkened, how his breath hitched every time your fingers palmed over the bulge straining against his jeans.

“You’re awfully quiet, Lando,” you teased, your voice low and sultry, your fingers tracing the outline of his erection with maddening slowness. “Cat got your tongue?”

Lando let out a shaky breath, his voice strained as he responded. “Trying to focus on not crashing the car, love,” he muttered, his words laced with a mixture of frustration and arousal. His eyes briefly met yours, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. “But you’re making that damn near impossible.”

You smiled, pleased with the effect you were having on him. Leaning in closer, your lips brushed against his ear as you whispered, “What would you do to me if we weren’t in this car right now?”

Lando’s breath hitched again, a soft groan escaping his lips as your words sent a surge of heat through him. He swallowed hard, his mind racing with images of all the things he wanted to do to you. “You really want to know?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone that made your pulse quicken.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, your hand pressing more firmly against his erection, eliciting another groan from him. “Tell me, Lando. What would you do if you had me all to yourself right now?”

Lando’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his grip on the wheel tightening as he tried to maintain control. “I’d start by pinning you against the wall,” he began, his voice thick with desire. “I’d kiss you until you were breathless, until you couldn’t think straight. And then I’d strip you down, piece by piece, until there was nothing between us.”

His words sent a thrill through you, your body reacting instantly to the vivid images he painted with his voice. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, the ache of wanting him becoming almost unbearable. “And then?” you prompted, your voice breathy, urging him to continue.

Lando swallowed hard, his hips shifting slightly under your touch. “Then I’d lay you down, spread you out for me,” he continued, his voice growing darker, more intense. “I’d take my time, kiss every inch of you, taste you until you’re begging for more.”

A soft whimper escaped your lips at his words, the need inside you flaring hotter with every second. “Fuck, Lando,” you breathed, your hand moving up to cup him more fully, feeling the hardness beneath your fingers. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“You think you’re the only one?” Lando shot back, his voice rough with arousal. He let out another low groan as you began to palm him through his jeans, his hips lifting slightly into your touch, seeking more. “Keep that up and we won’t even make it to your apartment.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the way you were affecting him. “Maybe that’s the idea,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his neck, your breath warm against his skin. “Maybe I want to see how much you can take.”

Lando let out a soft, desperate moan, his control slipping further with every touch, every word. “You’re fucking evil, you know that?” he groaned, his head falling back against the headrest as he gave in to the pleasure, his body reacting instinctively to your teasing. “But god, I love it.”

The tension in the car was nearly unbearable now, the air thick with the scent of arousal and the promise of what was to come. Every brush of your fingers, every shift of your body sent waves of desire crashing over both of you, making it almost impossible to think clearly.

As you continued to tease him, your own body was alight with need, every fiber of your being aching for him. The sight of Lando struggling to keep his composure, the way he was completely at your mercy, only fueled your desire, your own breaths coming in short, shallow gasps as you pressed your lips to his neck, feeling his pulse racing beneath your touch.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lando pulled up to your apartment building, the car coming to a sudden, jerky stop as he practically slammed on the brakes. He turned to you, his eyes dark and filled with a mixture of frustration and desire. “Get out of the car,” he commanded, his voice rough and strained, leaving no room for argument.

You didn’t need to be told twice. The moment you stepped out, Lando was there, his hands gripping your waist as he pushed you back against the car, his lips crashing onto yours with a desperate, almost frantic intensity. The kiss was hot, urgent, filled with all the pent-up desire that had been building between you for so long. His hands roamed your body, sliding down to your hips as he pressed himself against you, letting you feel the full extent of his arousal.

“You have no idea what you’re in for,” Lando murmured against your lips, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer as his lips moved to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you moan softly.

“Then show me,” you whispered back, your voice trembling with anticipation as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. “I want to feel everything.”

Lando groaned at your words, his control slipping further as he kissed his way down your neck, his hands sliding under your shirt, exploring the soft skin of your back. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin as he nipped at your collarbone, making you gasp.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with lust, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Without another word, he grabbed your hand, practically dragging you toward the entrance of the building. The anticipation was palpable, every step closer to your apartment only adding to the tension between you.

The elevator ride up was a blur of heated touches and frantic kisses, Lando’s lips never leaving your skin as he pressed you against the wall, his hands roaming your body with a mix of urgency and reverence. “Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured against your neck, his voice rough and filled with raw need.

“Me too,” you breathed, your voice trembling with desire as your hands explored the planes of his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Lando.”

His lips found yours again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if savoring the taste of you. The kiss was deep, consuming, and you could feel every ounce of his passion, his longing, in the way his tongue danced with yours, the way his hands gripped you as if he was afraid you might slip away.

When the elevator finally dinged at your floor, Lando wasted no time, pulling you out and down the hall toward your apartment. His impatience was evident in the way he fumbled with the keys, his hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline and lust coursing through his veins.

“You’re driving me insane,” he muttered under his breath, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and arousal as he finally managed to unlock the door. The moment it swung open, he had you inside, slamming it shut behind him as he pressed you up against it, his lips crashing onto yours once again.

The kiss was even more intense this time, fueled by the knowledge that there were no more interruptions, no more delays. This was it. You were finally alone, and nothing was going to stop what came next.

His hands were everywhere, sliding under your shirt, up your back, down to your thighs, as if he couldn’t decide where to touch you first. Every brush of his fingers against your skin sent jolts of pleasure through you, and you could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, the anticipation becoming almost unbearable.

Lando’s lips left yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jawline to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you shiver. “I’m going to make you pay for teasing me like that,” he whispered against your neck, his voice a low, seductive growl that made your heart race.

“I’m counting on it,” you replied breathlessly, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you pulled him even closer, your body aching with need.

And with that, any remaining restraint between you shattered, the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface finally boiling over as Lando’s hands and lips claimed every inch of you, leaving you both lost in the heat of the moment, eager to make up for all the time you had spent longing for each other.

When his lips left yours again, you barely had time to catch your breath before they were on your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. His hands continued their slow exploration, moving higher until they reached the curve of your breasts, his thumbs brushing teasingly over your hardened nipples through the thin fabric of your bra.

A soft moan escaped your lips at the contact, your back arching slightly as you pressed into his touch. Lando’s breath was hot against your skin as he nipped at your collarbone, his hands moving to unhook your bra with practiced ease. The garment fell away, leaving you exposed to his hungry gaze.

“You have no idea how much I want this,” Lando murmured against your skin, his voice low and filled with a mix of reverence and desire. His hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples as he captured your lips in another searing kiss.

“Then stop teasing,” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling with anticipation as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. “I want you, Lando.”

Lando groaned softly at your words, his resolve crumbling as his hands began to roam lower, sliding down your stomach to the waistband of your jeans. He unbuttoned them slowly, his fingers brushing against your skin as he tugged the fabric down your hips, leaving you in just your panties.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with lust as he took in the sight of you standing before him, half-naked and completely vulnerable. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe as his hands traced the curve of your hips, his thumbs brushing against the delicate lace of your panties.

Without another word, Lando’s hands moved to your thighs, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate paths along your skin, causing shivers to run down your spine. He stood in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs with agonizing slowness.

The cool air against your exposed skin only heightened your sensitivity, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation. Lando’s hands moved back up your thighs, his touch firm yet gentle as he spread your legs wider. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to an exposed bit of skin, just behind your ear, before his fingers began their slow, torturous journey closer to your core.

Your breath hitched, your body trembling with need as his fingers hovered just above where you wanted them most. He teased you, his fingertips brushing lightly against your sensitive skin, drawing out soft whimpers from your lips. The tension in your body grew unbearable as Lando finally let his fingers slide through your wetness, his touch sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

He began to move his fingers with expert precision, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched your reactions, each moan, each gasp fueling his desire. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles as his fingers delved deeper, the sensation building with every stroke. You could feel the pressure mounting, your body arching into his touch as you teetered on the edge of release.

But just as you were about to fall over the precipice, Lando’s movements slowed, his fingers pulling back, leaving you hanging in that unbearable space between pleasure and release. A frustrated whimper escaped your lips as you looked up at him, your body aching with the need for more.

But Lando only smirked up at you, his eyes filled with a mischievous glint. “That’s for teasing me in the car,” he teased, his voice low and filled with satisfaction as he slowly rose to his feet, his hands resting on your hips as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“You’re an asshole,” you whispered against his lips, your voice filled with a mix of frustration and determination as you reached for his shirt, unbuttoning it with trembling fingers. You pushed the fabric off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor before your hands moved to the waistband of his jeans.

But before you could undo the button, Lando’s hands were on you again, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you to the kitchen counter. He placed you on the cool surface, his hands sliding up your thighs as he positioned himself between your legs.

His lips were on yours again, hot and demanding, as his hands roamed your body, exploring every curve, every dip, as if trying to memorize the feel of you. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with lust, his breathing heavy as he knelt down between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs as he spread you open before him.

The anticipation was almost unbearable as you watched him, his gaze locked on yours as he lowered his head, his lips brushing against your most sensitive spot. The first stroke of his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your hands flying to his hair as you arched into him, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

Lando’s tongue moved with precision, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge, the pleasure building with every second. You could feel the heat pooling in your belly, your body trembling with the need for release as he continued to pleasure you with slow, deliberate movements.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, just when you were about to tip over the edge, once again, Lando pulled back, leaving you gasping for breath, your body aching with the need for more.

“Lando!” you cried out, your voice filled with frustration as you looked down at him, your chest heaving with the effort to catch your breath.

Lando only chuckled, a smug smile playing on his lips as he slowly rose to his feet, his hands resting on your hips as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “I told you I would make you regret teasing me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with satisfaction as he nipped at your lower lip.

“You're lucky you're hot” you shot back, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and determination as you reached for his jeans, unbuttoning them with your fingers. You pushed the fabric down his hips, letting it fall to the floor as you slid off the counter, your hands moving to his hips, guiding him against the kitchen counter, sinking to your knees.

Lando’s breath hitched as you knelt before him, your fingers teasing the waistband of his boxers as you looked up at him, a wicked glint in your eyes. “Is this what you want?” you asked, your voice low and sultry as your fingers brushed against his erection, the contact sending a shiver of pleasure through him.

“Please,” Lando groaned, his hands clutching at the counter behind him as he watched you, his eyes filled with a mixture of desperation and lust. “Don’t tease me.”

But you weren’t done with him yet. You wanted to make him feel the same frustration, the same desperation that he had made you feel. Slowly, deliberately, you began to kiss your way up his thigh, your lips brushing against his skin in a way that made his breath catch in his throat.

"You look so good, Lan. You make me so wet.” you whispered against his skin, your voice filled with a mix of challenge and desire as your fingers teased him, brushing against his erection but never quite touching him where he needed it most.

Lando’s hips jerked forward, a soft moan escaping his lips as he clutched at the counter, his control slipping further with every touch, every kiss. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough and strained. “You’re killing me.”

You smiled up at him, your hands finally sliding up to his boxers, pulling them down to free his aching length. The sight of him, hard and ready for you, sent a thrill of anticipation through you, your own arousal heightening as you took him in your hand, feeling the warmth and hardness of him against your palm.

Lando’s breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as you began to stroke him slowly, your movements deliberate and teasing. Your thumb brushed over the sensitive tip, gathering the bead of moisture there before sliding back down his length. His hips bucked slightly into your hand, a low groan escaping his lips as he watched you through half-lidded eyes, his gaze dark with lust.

“F-Fuck, that feels so good,” he muttered, his voice rough and thick with need. His hands gripped the counter behind him, knuckles white as he tried to maintain some semblance of control. But you could see the tension in his muscles, the way his body responded to every touch, every twist of your wrist.

You increased the pace slightly, your strokes becoming firmer, more purposeful as you worked him with your hand. Lando’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to keep his composure. “You like that?” you whispered, your voice sultry, dripping with seduction as you watched him with hooded eyes.

“God, yes,” Lando groaned, his head falling back as another moan slipped from his lips. “So fucking good.”

You smirked, your confidence growing with every sound of pleasure that escaped him. You changed your technique, your grip tightening slightly as you twisted your wrist at the top, your thumb rubbing over the sensitive underside of his tip in a way that made his hips jerk forward, his breath catching in his throat.

“Is this what you’ve been fantasizing about?” you asked, your voice low and teasing as you leaned in closer, your breath hot against his skin. “Thinking about me, touching you like this?”

Lando let out a shaky breath, his eyes squeezing shut as he struggled to find the words. “Yes,” he managed to choke out, his voice strained with the effort to hold back. “Every night. Fuck, you have no idea.”

You smiled, satisfied with his response as you continued to stroke him, your movements becoming a little faster, a little more intense. You could feel him throbbing in your hand, his body trembling with the need for release. “Do you want more, Lando?” you whispered, your lips brushing against the base of his length as you spoke, sending a shiver through him. “Do you want my mouth on you?”

Lando’s eyes flew open, the raw need in them making your own arousal spike. “Please,” he groaned, his voice a desperate plea. “I need it. I need you.”

His words sent a jolt of excitement through you, and without breaking eye contact, you slowly lowered your head, your lips parting as you took him into your mouth. The sensation of his hard length filling you, the taste of him on your tongue, was intoxicating, and you let out a soft moan as you began to move, your mouth working him with the same deliberate, teasing pace you had used with your hand.

Lando’s reaction was immediate, his hands flying to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he tried to maintain control. “Fuck,” he hissed, his hips bucking involuntarily as you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

Encouraged by his praise, you began to move faster, your tongue swirling around him, flicking against the sensitive underside as you bobbed your head, taking him in as deep as you could. You could feel the tension in his thighs, the way his muscles tightened and quivered under your touch, his body responding to every flick of your tongue, every suction of your lips.

You placed your hands on the back of his thighs, your fingers digging into his flesh as you pulled him closer, encouraging him to let go, to give in to the pleasure. “Is this what you wanted?” you asked, pulling back just enough to speak, your voice breathy and filled with desire. “Is this what you’ve been dreaming about?”

“Yes,” Lando groaned, his voice strained as he fought to keep control. “Fuck, you’re perfect. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

His words only spurred you on, and you resumed your pace, your mouth working him with more intensity, more urgency as you brought him closer to the edge. His breathing grew ragged, his moans becoming more frequent, more desperate as he hovered on the brink of release.

But just as you felt him start to tense, his body trembling with the need for release, you pulled back, letting him slip from your mouth with a teasing smile. Lando let out a frustrated groan, his head falling back as his hands tightened in your hair, the sensation of being so close yet denied driving him to the brink of madness.

“Fuck,” Lando breathed out, his voice laced with desperation. His eyes were half-lidded, darkened with lust as he looked down at you, still kneeling before him, that wicked glint in your eyes. “Why did you stop?”

“Two can play that game,” you whispered, your voice filled with playful challenge as you looked up at him, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his thigh. “How does it feel, Lando? To be so close and yet so far?”

Lando’s breath was ragged, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and raw need. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice rough with desperation, but there was a spark of amusement in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment that he was enjoying this, even if it was driving him crazy.

Lando let out a shaky breath, his hands moving to your waist as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a brief, heated kiss. “Fucking hell, you have no idea what you do to me” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with need, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed you back against the counter.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the heat in his voice, the raw intensity of his words sending a surge of desire straight to your core. Lando’s lips met yours again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if he was savoring every second. His hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you slightly so he could press you even closer against the counter, his body flush against yours. You responded eagerly, your hands threading through his hair, tugging lightly as you deepened the kiss, your tongue teasingly flicking against his.

You could feel the tension building between you, the need to be even closer, but you couldn’t resist playing with him just a little more. You nipped at his lower lip, pulling back slightly to murmur against his mouth, “You’re holding back, Lando. What’s wrong? Afraid you can’t handle a little teasing?”

Your words drew a low, frustrated growl from him, his eyes darkening with desire as he looked at you, the playful spark in your gaze only spurring him on. “Oh, I can handle it,” he replied, his voice a rough whisper, full of promise. And with that, he closed the distance between you in an instant, his hands grabbing you by the waist as he lifted you off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you towards the bedroom.

Your laughter echoed through the kitchen as Lando carried you towards the bedroom, his grip on you firm, yet gentle, as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. The intensity in his eyes sent a thrill through you, your heart racing as you felt the cool air on your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body.

He pushed the bedroom door open with his foot, and before you knew it, you were on the bed, Lando hovering above you, his hands framing your face as he stared down at you with a mixture of love and raw need. The look in his eyes made your breath catch, the reality of the moment crashing over you. This was real. This was happening.

Lando’s lips found yours again, the kiss slower this time, more deliberate, as if he was savoring every second, every taste of you. His hands roamed your body, sliding down your sides, over your hips, before coming to rest on your thighs, spreading them apart as he settled between them.

But just as Lando was about to move lower, his lips brushing against the curve of your breast, he paused, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as he looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice soft, but carrying a depth of sincerity that made your heart swell.

“I’m sure, Lando,” you whispered, your voice filled with certainty and affection. “I want this. I want you.”

Lando’s eyes searched yours for a moment longer, as if making absolutely certain, before he spoke again, his tone gentle but serious. “I just want to make sure you don’t feel pressured into anything. This… this means a lot to me. It’s more than just sex for me.”

Your heart melted at his words, the care and concern in his voice making you fall even more for him. You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin as you smiled up at him. “I don’t feel pressured at all. I want this just as much as you do, Lando. It means a lot to me too.”

Relief washed over his features, his eyes softening as he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your lips, filled with all the emotion he couldn’t quite put into words. “Thank you,” he whispered against your lips, his hands gently caressing your sides as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing warmly against yours.

With that final confirmation, the last of his restraint melted away. The kiss grew more intense, more passionate, as Lando’s hands roamed your body with a newfound purpose, exploring every inch of you with reverence and need. His lips moved down your neck, to your chest, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses that made you shiver with anticipation.

You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, the evidence of his desire only fueling your own. Your hands roamed his back, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way his body responded to your touch. The heat between you was almost unbearable now, the need for him becoming overwhelming as his lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, making you moan softly.

“Please, Lando,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desperation as you arched into him, your body aching with the need for release. “I need you.”

Lando let out a low groan at your words, his hands sliding down to your hips as he positioned himself between your legs. He paused for a moment, his eyes locking onto yours as he whispered, “I want to make this perfect for you.”

“It already is,” you whispered back, your voice filled with affection as you cupped his face, pulling him into a soft, lingering kiss. “Just make love to me, Lando.”

With a soft, almost reverent sigh, Lando pressed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he slowly, gently, entered you. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and emotion that made you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he filled you completely.

Lando let out a shaky breath, his body trembling slightly as he stilled for a moment, letting you both adjust to the new, intimate connection. The feeling of him inside you, of being so close, so connected, was almost too much to bear, the intensity of it sending waves of pleasure and emotion crashing over you.

He began to move slowly, his thrusts gentle and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours as he made love to you with a tenderness that took your breath away. Every movement, every touch was filled with love, with a depth of emotion that made your heart swell with affection for him.

You could feel the tension building again, the pleasure mounting with every thrust, every brush of his skin against yours. Lando’s hands roamed your body, his lips pressing soft kisses to your neck, your collarbone, as he whispered sweet, breathless praises in your ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with love and desire. “I can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

“Lando,” you gasped, your voice trembling with emotion as you clutched at him, your body moving in sync with his. “I love you.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, the raw truth of your feelings finally breaking free. Lando’s eyes widened in surprise, his movements slowing for a moment as he stared down at you, his breath catching in his throat.

“I love you too,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of awe and affection as he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your lips. The words hung in the air between you, a promise, a declaration that made your heart swell with happiness.

With those words still echoing in the air, Lando’s pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension coiling tighter in your belly as you held onto him, your body trembling with the need for release.

Lando’s breath was hot against your ear, his voice rough and filled with desperation as he whispered, “Come for me, love. I want to feel you.”

His words, the way he moved inside you with such passion and tenderness, was enough to send you over the edge. Your body tensed, your back arching off the bed as the wave of pleasure crashed over you, your breathless moans filling the room as you came undone in his arms.

The sensation of you tightening around him, the way you cried out his name in pure ecstasy, was enough to push Lando over the edge with you. With a few more deep, urgent thrusts, he followed you into bliss, his body trembling as he found his release, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sound in the room the heavy breathing of two people who had just found something they had both been longing for. Lando collapsed on top of you, his weight comforting as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

You held him close, your fingers running through his hair as you both came down from the high, your bodies still entwined, the connection between you stronger than ever.

“I love you,” Lando whispered again, his voice soft and filled with affection as he pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

“I love you too,” you murmured back, your heart swelling with happiness as you held him close, your eyes fluttering shut as you savored the warmth of his body against yours, the contentment that filled you both as you lay there, basking in the afterglow of the most intense, passionate, and loving moment you had ever shared.

Masterlist | Promptlist (requests are still open)

#f1 fanfic #formula 1 #smut #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #fluff #friends to lovers #formula 1 smut #mclaren #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #f1 2024 #mclaren f1

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4kingz · 1 month ago

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the price of a hot photo req : could you do how the proxies would react to y/n sending them a hot photo/video of themselves while they are at work? Maybe how they would punish y/n? warnings : 18+ mdni, smut :3 toby/masky/hoodie x reader (separate)

♥︎ ticci toby you knew he'd check the message right away—he always did. he's currently in the middle of a mission, hatchet in hand, when his phone buzzes—and he checks it without a second thought. he goes silent. dangerously silent. not a breath, not a twitch. just him staring down at his phone like it personally offended him. like you personally offended him. you’re sitting pretty on the bed, neck tilted to show just the right angle of the cute little bite mark he imprinted on you last night. you knew exactly what you were doing when you took that photo. the lighting? immaculate. the smug glint in your eye? criminal.

he slowly tucks his phone into his back pocket, jaw flexing. that poor target's about to get his soul snatched in record time, all so he can get back to you. you're halfway through doing literally nothing suspicious—popping some chocolates into your mouth while scrolling mindlessly through videos on your phone, when he kicks the door wide open. you barely have time to flinch before he’s in your space, grinning like the devil and pinning you down right where you’re sitting. eyes wide, you try to point out that the door’s still very much open, but all that escapes is a pitiful little whine. "oh, now yo-you're shy?" he teases, already pulling your legs apart. yeah, you're not walking tomorrow.

♥︎ masky (tim) tim runs on two settings : dead serious, and get in the damn car. today, he’s running full throttle on both.

he unlocks his phone, almost happy to see that you’re texting him. it obviously meant you were thinking about him while he was away.

he opens the video you sent, expecting… well, he’s not sure what he’d expected. maybe some dumb text simply stating you missed him, maybe something mildly irritating.

but definitely not this.

the second it starts playing, that tight-jawed, deadpan expression snaps into place like muscle memory. no reaction, no blink, nothing. just pure, eerie stillness. but inside? absolute chaos.

you’re in the shower, warm water streaming down your skin as your hands wander—slow, teasing, shameless. you lean back against the tiles, eyes fluttering shut, fingers sliding lower with every soft breath.

a quiet moan slips past your lips, followed by another, this time laced with a needy whine. "can’t wait for you to get back..." you murmur, to no one but the steam.

a muttered “fuck’s sake” slips out under his breath, like it physically pains him to say it. how the fuck was he supposed to focus on carrying out his mission when you’re at home waiting for him like this? the world could be on fire and he’d still be stuck in that van, jaw clenched so hard it might give-way and crack, eyes staring through the windshield at nothing.

but his brain is on loop—replaying your video, over and over again, tormenting himself.

when he finally comes home, it’s worse. he’s calm. too calm.

you barely get a hello before he shuts the door behind him and says, low and firm, “bedroom. now.”

you obey, obviously. but it’s not what you expect. guess you’re both gonna be surprised tonight, huh?

there’s no immediate contact. no heat. no orders, or dirty words. just his presence—looming, controlled, infuriatingly close. you can feel the tension rolling off him, but he doesn’t touch. doesn’t let you have anything.

he pins you with a stare that could melt concrete. his voice is barely a whisper when he leans in, lips brushing your ear: “thought you could distract me at work?”

you whimper, and he just smirks. “now you wait.”

and you do. squirming, whining, every second of it torture. exactly as he planned.

♥︎ hoodie (brian) brian’s good at keeping his composure. really good. that is, until he opens your message and sees you.

you’re wearing a hoodie of his paired with matching underwear that perfectly mirrors the color. sitting on the floor, every inch of your body positioned in the most stunning pose, the kind that leaves him breathless. you were breathtakingly beautiful. a soft, sharp inhale leaves him, his eyes scanning the screen. he runs a hand down his face, a smirk tugging at his lips as he locks his phone.

every person he talks to for the rest of the day gets nothing more than two-word answers. his brain is stuck on you, replaying the image you sent, and he’s not even pretending to focus anymore. he’s thinking about you—about what you did—and he’s gonna make sure you feel it later.

when he gets home, you’re expecting something different. maybe a quiet chuckle, maybe a comment on how bold you were. but no.

he starts off gentle. too gentle. sweet kisses, soft touches. his hands on you are tender, fingers tracing your skin like he’s savoring you.

you start thinking, okay, maybe he’s not mad… but then— “you wanted attention, right?” his voice is low, dangerous, as he growls against your throat. the softness is gone in an instant.

everything flips. he’s all hands now, rough and commanding, taking what he wants and making sure you feel every second of it. all night.

it’s a slow burn, and you know you’re not getting out of it anytime soon.

you wanted his attention. you got it. all of it.

#creepypasta fanfiction #creepypasta smut #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon

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mrsfancyferrari · 3 months ago

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A Lover's Touch

Summary: In a world of where soulmates can be found easily, Charles was struggling a lot to find his one.

Song: After Hours · The Weeknd

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 12.9k

MASTERLIST - F1

Charles sighed, another wave of that dull, persistent ache washing over him. It was the kind of feeling you attributed to a long day, an early morning, anything but the truth: a hollow space where his soulmate should be.

In this world, finding your soulmate was practically a given. A man simply had to pay attention to the pervasive sense of well-being that blossomed the closer he got, like basking in the sun after a long winter. Women, on the other hand, experienced the opposite. A gnawing anxiety, a yearning that intensified with proximity, only to be extinguished by the kiss that confirmed the connection.

Charles had always envied the ease with which others navigated this aspect of life. He'd seen friends practically vibrate with happiness as they zeroed in on their matches, their faces glowing with a newfound understanding.

He’d witnessed public displays of affection, the relief on the woman’s face palpable as the kiss settled the tremor in her soul. But for Charles, nothing. Just the ever-present, low-grade ache.

He was currently seeing Alexandra, a vibrant artist with paint-stained fingers and a laugh that could fill a room. He liked her. A lot. They shared a passion for old movies, bad puns, and late-night talks fueled by cheap wine.

But there was no soul-deep connection, no magnetic pull, no burgeoning sense of peace. And, crucially, no agonizing need emanating from Alexandra.

They had been upfront with each other from the beginning. A pragmatic agreement born from a realistic understanding of their world.

“If one of us finds their soulmate,” Alexandra had said, swirling the wine in her glass, “we break up. No hard feelings. Friends, maybe? If that’s not too weird?”

Charles had agreed, the thought of losing her already a small pang in his chest. The potential for a real connection, even if not the connection, felt too valuable to pass up.

He was at Alexandra's apartment now, ostensibly to help her hang a new series of paintings. The walls were already a riot of color, abstract swirls and bold strokes that somehow managed to create a sense of harmony.

She was humming softly as she fiddled with a level, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Looking at her, bathed in the afternoon light streaming through the window, Charles felt a surge of affection. He appreciated her easy smile, her quirky sense of humor, the way she always seemed to see the best in him.

But still, the ache persisted. Proof, if he needed it, that she wasn’t the one.

He handed her a hammer. "So," he said, trying to sound casual, "how are you feeling? Any, you know… existential dread?"

Alexandra snorted, a smudge of paint adorning her cheek. "Existential dread is kind of my default setting, Charles. So, no. Nothing specific." She hammered a nail into the wall with practiced ease.

He felt a pang of guilt. He was testing her, probing for signs, hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe… But he knew it was futile.

Over the next few weeks, Charles found himself increasingly preoccupied with the idea of soulmates. He started paying closer attention to the people around him, subtly observing couples, searching for that telltale glow of contentment on the men's faces, the relieved serenity settling on the women's.

He noticed that happy couples were everywhere.

Everyone had found their soulmate somehow, except him. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Charles clenched his jaw, the familiar sting of frustration pricking at his temples. "Carlos, you better stop asking that question," he warned, his voice tight. He hated this. Hated the constant reminder of his perceived failure.

Charles grimaced, shoving a forkful of carbonara around his plate. "Carlos, you know the answer to that. Lay off, will you?"

Carlos just grinned, a smug, infuriatingly happy expression plastered across his face. "Just checking in, mate. You've been at this for years. How many 'almosts' are we up to now? Thirty? Forty?"

He gestured across the Ferrari cafeteria with his fork towards Rebecca, his soulmate, who was engrossed in a conversation with a mechanic.

They looked sickeningly content.

Charles felt a familiar pang of envy. In this world, finding your soulmate was supposed to be easy. A biological compass, really. For men, the joy, the sheer rightness of being near your soulmate was unmistakable, a balm to the soul.

The further away they were, the heavier the weight of longing became.

It was a system that supposedly guaranteed happiness. Supposedly.

He hadn't felt that blissful uplift even once. He'd chased fleeting moments of "almost" – a slight lift in mood, a subtle easing of his constant, low-level yearning – only to be disappointed.

A waitress at a local trattoria, a tourist sketching the Duomo, a woman he’d helped carry groceries – all dead ends.

"It's not exactly something you can force, Carlos," Charles sighed, pushing his plate away, the carbonara suddenly tasting like ashes. "It'll happen when it happens."

Before Carlos could launch into another unsolicited pep talk, the cafeteria doors swung open, letting in a gust of warm air and a whirlwind of nervous energy.

A woman stood there, slightly breathless, your cheeks flushed with a nervous energy that radiated across the room. You were… striking.

Charles immediately felt… lighter. The persistent, low-level hum of anxiety that usually buzzed beneath his skin seemed to quieten.

He felt a sense of ease he hadn't experienced in years.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," you said, your voice laced with a genuine apology. "Traffic was a nightmare. I'm… I'm the new social media manager."

You swiped a hand across your forehead, a gesture that only amplified Charles's initial assessment: you were flustered, stressed, but undeniably composed.

For Charles, the world seemed to narrow to just you. The slight tremor in your voice, the way you clutched your bag, the subtle shift in your posture as you addressed the room – it was all acutely, intensely noticeable.

He felt a strange, almost protective urge to reassure you.

But he didn't say anything. Maybe it wasn't you. Maybe it was just a coincidence, a fleeting surge of positive energy unconnected to anything real.

He looked around the room, searching for any sign that anyone else was experiencing a similar shift. Carlos was grinning like an idiot, but that was just Carlos being Carlos.

No one else seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.

“Well, welcome!” Carlos boomed, his voice cutting through Charles's internal debate. “I’m Carlos, and this brooding gentleman over here is Charles.”

You turned your attention to Charles, and your eyes met his. He felt a jolt, a small electric shock that ran right through him. Your eyes were captivating, filled with a weariness that tugged at something inside him.

He forced himself to maintain eye contact, searching, hoping for any sign, any flicker of recognition on your face that mirrored the growing certainty within him.

But all he saw was polite curiosity.

"Nice to meet you both," you said, offering a tentative smile. "I'm… Y/N."

"Welcome to the team, Y/N," Carlos said, his smile widening. "We're happy to have you."

You took a seat at the desk opposite Charles, and as you settled in, arranging your papers and fiddling with your laptop, he continued to observe you. The feeling of well-being hadn't dissipated.

If anything, it had intensified. It was like a low, comforting buzz that resonated throughout his entire being.

He stole glances at you throughout the morning, carefully monitoring his own reactions. He felt energized, focused, almost… happy.

This was it. This had to be it.

He'd heard stories, of course, of the almost instantaneous connection, the overwhelming sense of rightness. But he'd dismissed them as romantic exaggerations.

He was a Formula 1 driver, not a fairytale prince.

Yet, here you were.

"So," you began, clearing your throat, trying to ignore the uncomfortable prickling sensation building behind your eyes. It was a familiar feeling, one that always intensified around... well, around the right person. "Let's talk strategy. We need to ramp up engagement, create compelling content, and showcase the human side of the team."

Carlos, ever the professional, jumped right in. "I was thinking we could do more behind-the-scenes videos. Show the fans what a day in the life of a driver is really like."

"Excellent idea, Carlos," you said, scribbling down notes. "We can also highlight your training regimes, your collaborations with engineers, and your interactions with the team."

You turned to Charles, expecting him to contribute. But he just sat there, staring at you, a strange, almost dazed, expression on his face. The comfortable buzz he felt was almost intoxicating, making it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

"Charles?" you prompted, the prickling behind your eyes intensifying. You felt a slight pressure building in your temples, a familiar ache that threatened to blossom into a full-blown headache.

"Uh... yes," he stammered, snapping back to reality. "Sorry. I was just... thinking."

You forced a smile, the muscles in your face strained. You needed to get through this meeting. “Thinking about what it's like to be Charles Leclerc?" you asked, trying to keep your voice light and conversational, masking the desperation clawing at your throat.

"Yeah! I think it would be a good idea for the fans, you know? A day in the life, that kind of thing," he commented, radiating an enthusiasm that only amplified your suffering. "You think it would work?"

"Definitely," you managed, the word feeling like a shard of glass caught in your throat. "It's all about connecting with the fans, showing them the human side of the drivers. We could film you training, doing media obligations, even grabbing a coffee." You rattled off the ideas, desperate to keep the conversation flowing.

You continued outlining the PR activities planned for the season, the endless interviews, sponsor events, and social media appearances.

Your voice was steady, your demeanor professional, but inside, you felt like you were teetering on the edge of a cliff. The other members of the Ferrari PR team, seasoned professionals, seemed oblivious to your internal struggle.

"So," you said, finally reaching the end of your presentation, the word "finally" wanting to burst out of you. "That's the general overview. We can discuss specific schedules and logistics later."

Charles and Carlos shook their heads.

"Okay, great," you said, gathering your notes. "Then, Charles, which time are you free?" you asked, trying to maintain eye contact but failing miserably.

You were feeling faint, the edges of your vision blurring. "For the 'Day in the Life' video, I mean."

Charles was distracted, fiddling with the Ferrari cap in his hands. "Um, I'm free next Tuesday, I think?" he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Good," you said, pushing through the fog in your brain. "I'll come over with a cameraman to record the day in your life, is that okay?"

"Sure," he grinned, his hazel eyes sparkling with genuine excitement.

You managed a weak smile in return before gathering your things and making a hasty retreat from the hospitality room. The air outside felt marginally better, but the pounding in your head refused to subside.

You had a brief meeting with the other social media managers and editors, running through the ideas you'd presented to the drivers and outlining the content calendar for the next few weeks.

You felt like an imposter, trying to project an image of competence and enthusiasm while battling a pain that threatened to overwhelm you.

It was a dull, persistent ache, a hollow pit in your stomach that resonated with an inexplicable longing. It was the Soulmate Sickness, as your grandmother used to call it, with a dramatic sigh and a knowing look. Every woman in the world knew what that meant: your soulmate was nearby.

The closer they were, the more intensely you felt the ache. It was a cruel irony of fate: men felt blissful contentment when near their soulmate, a sense of completeness and belonging; for women, it was an agonizing reminder of the connection, a pull toward someone they wouldn't truly be at peace with until that kiss.

You knew the stories. Women driven mad by the constant ache, unable to function, their lives consumed by the desperate need to find, and then kiss, their soulmate.

And now, here you were, feeling the first tendrils of that very despair wrap around your heart on your first day at your dream job.

Lunch was a torturous affair. The Ferrari hospitality room was a vibrant, bustling place, teeming with engineers, mechanics, team managers, even the drivers themselves. Every single person felt like a potential source of your pain.

You picked at your pasta, forcing down each bite as the ache amplified, a constant, throbbing reminder of the unknown man who was probably enjoying the greatest day of his life.

You told yourself it was just nerves from the new job. The pressure of living up to expectations. But deep down, you knew the truth. This wasn’t just butterflies. This was something far more profound, far more insistent.

You were close to him. Very close. Whoever he is.

You leaned back in the seat, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths, trying to regain control. The ache lessened, but it was still there, a dull background hum that buzzed beneath your skin.

You must have found your soulmate, you thought, the idea settling in your stomach like a lead weight.

here was no other explanation for it. And that terrified you.

It could literally be anyone in the Ferrari hospitality room. An engineer with grease under his nails, a stern-faced strategist, a camera-shy photographer, or even… Don’t even go there.

You didn’t need this right now. You were just starting your first day at your dream job. A job you’d worked years for, poured your heart and soul into. You couldn't let some primal, biological imperative derail your career before it even began.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, starting the engine. “Okay. You can do this. You’re strong. You’re capable. You’re going to ignore this feeling. You’re going to focus on your work. You’re not going to let some random guy you haven’t even met ruin everything.”

Easier said than done, of course. . . . .

Charles felt it the moment you walked out the glass doors of the Ferrari factory. A dull ache, a low thrum of dissatisfaction that had been a background noise in his life, suddenly amplified, blossomed into a full-blown longing.

It was a feeling he instantly recognized, a feeling every man in their world was intimately familiar with.

The closer you were to your soulmate, the better you felt. The farther, the worse.

And this… this was the worst he’d ever felt.

He’d only met you a few hours ago.

He'd found you intelligent, quick-witted, and surprisingly unfazed by his fame. He hadn’t thought much beyond that. Hadn’t needed to. He'd always assumed his soulmate would be… obvious.

A grand, sweeping feeling, not a dull ache that exploded into unbearable yearning the second you left his sight.

Now, driving home through the winding streets of Italy, all he could think about was you. Your smile, the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, the intelligent questions you'd peppered him with.

The longing intensified with every mile he put between them. The confirmation was undeniable.

He practically threw open the door to his apartment, the silence amplifying the hollow feeling in his chest. He needed to figure this out. He needed to figure out you.

He spent the bulk of the next few hours running through other possibilities, but it all kept centering on you. He felt an energy and inspiration around her that he didn't feel with anyone else. As his thoughts grew chaotic, he realized he needed to talk to someone.

Someone who knew him, who understood him, and who wouldn’t dismiss this as some fleeting infatuation. He needed to talk to his mother.

He grabbed his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found her name. He took a deep breath and pressed the call button.

“Hi, maman,” he said, when she answered, trying to keep his voice casual.

“Charles! Mon chéri, how are you? It’s been too long.” Her voice was warm and full of genuine affection.

“I’m good, maman, busy, as always. But I wanted to ask you something. It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated? Is this about a girl other than Alexandra, Charles?” There was a knowing amusement in her voice.

He hesitated. “Maybe,” he admitted. “Look, you know about soulmates, right? About the feeling men get when they’re close to theirs?”

“Of course, I know. Why? Have you… found the one?” Her voice was laced with anticipation.

“I think so. But it’s… intense. I barely know her, but the feeling is overwhelming. It's all I'm constantly thinking about. Have I ever mentioned her? Her name is Y/N, she's new to the social media team.” He held his breath, waiting for her reaction.

There was a pause. “Someone from your work, Charles? How long has she been working there?”

“I think today was here first time. And no, I've never mentioned her to you. I didn't think anything of it before."

"And you're sure? You truly feel the ache and longing? It is not just a passing infatuation?"

"Maman, I'm sure. I can barely function."

His mother sighed softly. "I see. Well, mon chéri, I don't know her either so I won't know much. This is uncharted territory for me. But you know the rules. You know what women experience with their soulmates."

Charles groaned. "Don't remind me. The poor girls--having to deal with the pain until they get rid of it with a kiss? And if she is my soulmate and I'm just making assumptions, I'll look like a complete idiot."

"That is a risk you will have to take, mon chéri. But if it is truly meant to be, it will all work out. Perhaps you should take a chance? Is she single? And do you even know if she's interested?"

Those were good questions that Charles didn't know the answer to. "I haven't got a clue."

"Then you must find out, Charles. Do not let fear hold you back. This could be the most important thing you ever do."

He knew she was right. He couldn’t ignore this, couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening. He had to find out if you felt it too. He had to know if he was right.

"Okay, maman," he said, a newfound determination entering his voice. "I'll do it. I'll talk to her. I'll find out."

"That's my boy," she said, her voice full of pride. "I have faith in you, Charles. Now tell me more about this (Y/N)..."

They talked for another hour, his mother peppering him with questions about you, your personality, your work ethic, your smile.

He described you as best he could, trying to convey the spark he felt whenever you were near.

The sterile white of the break room seemed to press in on you, mirroring the suffocating feeling in your chest. You clutched your phone, the cool plastic a small comfort against your trembling hand.

"Dad, I think I found my soulmate," you whispered into the receiver, the words heavy with a sadness that threatened to consume you.

"Really, baby? Why do you sound sad then? Do you not like them?" His voice, warm and familiar, crackled through the speaker, a stark contrast to the icy fear gripping your heart.

"I don't even know who they are," you muttered, staring blankly at the faded motivational poster on the wall. “I was just working, it was my first day, and I just… felt it. This horrible, gnawing ache. It’s constant, Dad. Like a phantom limb screaming for connection. I’m terrified."

A pause stretched between you, thick with unspoken memories. "Is it because of what happened to Mum?" he finally asked, his voice laced with a cautious tenderness.

"Yeah," you managed, the single syllable choked with emotion. The ache in your chest intensified, a physical manifestation of the dread that had been your constant companion since your mother-

"Look, sweetheart," your dad continued, pulling you back from the abyss of memory, "I know this is hard. But you can't let what happened to Mum. This is your soulmate. Maybe… maybe things will be different. You owe it to yourself to find out."

You knew he was right, logically. But the knot of fear in your stomach refused to loosen. "I don't know, Dad. What if… what if it's like what happened to Mum? What if it makes me miserable?"

"Then you walk away. You're strong, Y/N. You're smart. You can handle anything life throws at you. Just… don't let fear paralyze you."

His words, as always, offered a sliver of hope. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "Okay," you said, the word barely audible. "Okay, I'll… I'll try."

"That's my girl. Now, tell me about this job. How was your first day?" He deftly steered the conversation away from the soulmate dilemma, a tactic you were grateful for.

You spent the next few minutes recounting the whirlwind of activity that defined your first day as a social media manager for Scuderia Ferrari.

You’d always been passionate about racing, and landing this job was a dream come true. The adrenaline-fueled atmosphere of the paddock, the roar of the engines, the sheer dedication of the team – it was intoxicating.

Your responsibilities included managing their social media presence, creating engaging content, and interacting with fans. It was a demanding role, but one you were eager to excel at.

As you spoke, you deliberately pushed the unsettling ache to the back of your mind. You focused on the thrill of the job, on the excitement of being a part of something so iconic.

“It was insane, Dad. Honestly, I felt like I was dropped into a beehive. But everyone was so welcoming. And the cars… they're even more beautiful in person."

By the time you hung up, the edge of panic had dulled. The ache was still there, a constant reminder, but you felt a renewed sense of resolve. You would face this, whatever it was.

You wouldn't let fear control you. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The heat of the Jeddah Corniche Circuit presses against you, even in the relative cool of the Ferrari garage. You lift your camera, framing Carlos as he adjusts his racing gloves.

“Looking good, Carlos! Give us a little intensity for the fans.” He throws you a practiced, smoldering glare. Perfect.

Your job is straightforward: capture the behind-the-scenes energy, the pre-race jitters, the quiet moments of focus before the storm.

You’re Ferrari’s social media manager, tasked with humanizing the drivers, making them relatable, building that connection with the tifosi. You love it, most days.

You pan the camera towards Charles' side of the garage. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, stretching his neck, a tiny, nervous habit you've noticed over watching him on the TV. “Charles, a word for the fans? Pre-race thoughts?”

He stops, turns, and that devastatingly charming smile flashes across his face. “Just focused, ready to give it my all for the team. Forza Ferrari!” He winks at the camera, and your stomach does a little flip. Annoying.

You’ve felt it more and more often lately, especially around Charles. That…ache. A dull, persistent anxiety that settles in your chest, a yearning that tugs at the edges of your awareness.

And it's happening with Charles Leclerc.

You lower the camera, forcing a professional smile. “Thanks, Charles. Good luck out there.”

“See you after the race,” he says, the words laced with a casual warmth that sends a shiver down your spine.

He gives you a fleeting glance, something almost…knowing in his eyes, before turning and heading towards his car, disappearing into the controlled chaos of the pit lane.

You flush, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. This can’t be happening. You know Charles has a girlfriend. You’ve seen the pictures splashed across the internet, the Instagram stories.

It's a glamorous, very public relationship. And the rules are clear, etched into the very fabric of your society: your soulmate is someone available, someone unencumbered.

You can't steal someone else's. It's just not done.

The starting grid is announced over the loudspeakers, and the garage erupts in a flurry of activity. You busy yourself with filming the mechanics' final checks, the engineers hunched over telemetry screens, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in your chest.

You’ve always taken the soulmate phenomenon for granted. It’s just a fact of life. Everyone experiences it, this biological imperative designed to ensure connection, stability, the continuation of society.

You’ve felt the faintest twinges before, in passing, around men you’ve met briefly. Dismissible, almost forgettable. But this…this is different. This is a constant, throbbing ache that threatens to consume you, particularly around Charles.

You meticulously avoid thinking about it, focusing instead on your work. You rule out the possibility entirely.

Charles is taken. End of story.

You even make a mental list of all the other eligible men in the paddock, mechanics, engineers, even other drivers – anyone but Charles.

The race begins, a blur of roaring engines and screeching tires. The giant screens in the garage display every angle, every overtake, every heart-stopping moment. You film the reactions of the team, the collective held breath as Charles and Carlos battle for position.

The final laps are agonizing. Charles is leading, but Max is closing in. The tension in the garage is palpable. You find yourself gripping your camera so tightly your knuckles turn white.

Then, it happens. Charles crosses the finish line. Victory.

The garage explodes in cheers, shouts, and high-fives. You film it all, the raw, unadulterated joy of the team, the shared sense of accomplishment. The crowd is ecstatic.

Charles, still helmeted and dripping with sweat, is guided into parc fermé. You film him climbing out of the car, pumping his fist in the air, soaking in the adulation. He looks…triumphant. Magnificent.

You jostled for position, aiming your camera, capturing his big smile as he hugged his race engineer and the rest of the team. He moved with an exhilarating energy, a palpable buzz of adrenaline that rippled outwards.

He was a magnet, and you found yourself drawn closer, your professional detachment wavering.

And then, he saw you.

His smile widened, somehow becoming even brighter. Before you could think, could prepare, he was striding towards you, his arms outstretched. The awareness hit you like a physical blow.

The gnawing anxiety, the sharp, almost unbearable yearning that had been quietly simmering beneath the surface for weeks, now flared into an inferno.

The closer you were to your match, the more intense the yearning became. And right now, the intensity was almost unbearable.

He pulled you into a tight hug. Your phone, trapped between the two of you, emitted a muffled squeak as it was squished against his chest.

His smell, a heady mix of sweat, gasoline, and something uniquely Charles, filled your senses. It was intoxicating, addicting.

He was feeling it too. The way he squeezed you, the pure, unadulterated joy radiating off him in waves. He was basking, thriving, feeling the best he'd ever felt.

It was confirmation. Undeniable, irrefutable confirmation.

He was your soulmate. But how was that possible? He already had a girlfriend.

Your head swam. The crowd roared, but it sounded distant, muffled. The ache intensified, threatening to overwhelm you. You felt like you were going to faint.

He let go, and your legs momentarily forgot their job. You stumbled, your balance completely gone.

Charles reacted instantly. He reached out, his hand gripping your arm, effectively blocking you from the view of the nearest camera. His grip was firm, supportive. He pulled you closer, shielding you from the prying eyes.

"Sorry," you mumbled, finding your footing. Your voice was shaky. You needed to get out of here, to process this, to… to breathe. The feeling was too much.

He searched your face, his brow furrowed with concern. "Are you alright? You went a bit pale there."

You plastered on your most professional smile, even though your insides were screaming. "Just a bit overwhelmed. It's… it's a big win."

He didn't seem entirely convinced, but he let it go. "You were filming everything?"

You nodded, holding up your phone. "Got some great shots. The team's going to love it." You forced yourself to meet his gaze, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest. "Congratulations, Charles. You deserved this."

His smile returned, genuine and warm. It sent another jolt through you, tightening the knot in your stomach. "Thank you. And thank you for everything. You do an amazing job."

"It's my job," you said, the words sounding hollow even to your own ears.

"Exactly," he said, his eyes twinkling. "And you're very good at it."

He turned back to the crowd, basking in the cheers, signing autographs, and accepting congratulations. You took the opportunity to slip away, unnoticed, swallowed by the throng of red-clad fans.

You needed to escape.

You found refuge in the relative quiet of the Ferrari hospitality suite. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and the murmur of conversation were a welcome change from the sensory overload of the garage.

You found a quiet corner and sank into a plush armchair, your phone still clutched in your hand.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. This was a disaster. A beautiful, glorious, terrifying disaster.

Your mind raced. What did this mean? What were you supposed to do? Did you tell him? Did you pretend you didn't know? How could you possibly continue to work alongside him, to maintain even a semblance of professionalism, with this knowledge hanging between you?

Your phone buzzed. It was a text from your boss.

"Amazing content! The fans are going wild! Get some shots of the podium ceremony and then meet me in the strategy room. We need to plan the social media blitz for the next 24 hours."

Right. Back to reality. Back to work.

You took another deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. You could deal with this. You had to.

You grabbed your phone and headed back into the fray.

The podium ceremony was a whirlwind of confetti, champagne, and roaring cheers. You filmed it all, capturing Charles's triumphant grin as he hoisted the trophy high above his head.

You interviewed team members, capturing their jubilant reactions. You worked on autopilot, pushing down the anxiety, ignoring the ache.

Later, in the strategy room, you sat around a large table with your boss and several other team members, brainstorming ideas for social media posts, videos, and live streams. You contributed your suggestions, focusing on data, engagement, and trend analysis.

You were a machine, efficient and effective.

You glanced at your phone. A notification from Instagram. Charles had posted a photo of himself on the podium, holding the trophy. The caption read: "Forza Ferrari! Grazie Mille!"

You quickly liked the post. You had to. It was your job.

As you worked late into the night, crafting social media posts and scheduling content, you couldn't shake the feeling that your life had irrevocably changed.

You were no longer just a social media manager. You were… something more.

“Dad, I think I’m broken,” you mutter into your phone, voice barely above a whisper.

“Why is that, baby?” your father replies, his tone tinged with concern and curiosity, a familiar warmth that reassures you even now.

You sit up, grappling with the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. “I think Charles Leclerc is my soulmate,” you explain, your heart thudding heavily in your chest, “but he already has a girlfriend.”

“So?” he asks, as if trying to sift through the fog of your anguish.

“What do you mean, 'so?' He already loves someone else,” your voice rises slightly, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“You’ve dated other people who weren’t your soulmate, didn’t you?”

“Well…” You fall silent, realizing he has a point, but it’s not just about dating. You’ve been aware of the perfect connection that exists out there—an electrifying touch that ignites the air around you as you near your true soulmate, a sensation that you’ve yet to experience despite countless suitors.

“But this feels different, Dad,” you finally manage to articulate, your voice cracking. “I’ve felt it—this allure, this pull whenever I'm near him. It’s like I’m supposed to be drawn in, but I can’t get close enough. And now he’s with someone else.”

Your father exhales softly, and for a moment, you think he's contemplating your plight. “Sweetheart, sometimes soulmates have their own timing. Life isn’t always a clear path. It can twist and turn in ways that feel frustrating.”

You groan, flopping back down onto your bed, the familiar nagging feeling in your chest intensifying. “But it’s not fair. I don’t want to wait. What if he’s never free?”

You hear him sigh. “You’ll find your way, darling. None of this is broken. You’re simply allowed to feel.”

But feeling is exhausting. With a grumble, you hang up the phone and toss it to the side.

You pull the covers up around your shoulders, your mind spiraling into thoughts that latch onto one another like tangled threads. . . .

In a world where finding your soulmate was practically a given, it felt ludicrous to deny the truth that lingered like an uninvited guest in the back of your mind. You had tried everything to resist.

The tingling sensation of well-being that blossomed in Charles’s presence was undeniable. Every crease in his smile felt like warmth on a cold winter day, and yet every time you were near him, you felt a gnawing anxiety that scratched away at your insides, waiting for that inevitable kiss that would confirm what you both already knew.

But you avoided Charles at work—until that dreaded Tuesday arrived.

As the clock ticked toward your call time, dread clawed at your stomach. You were tasked with interviewing Charles for a video segment about his recent successes in racing, a seemingly innocent job that had broader implications—one of which was unveiling the truth of your connection.

The whole ordeal left you on edge, not just because of the content of the interview but because of the man you were supposed to be interviewing.

You arrived at his house in Monaco early, fidgeting nervously with the equipment, tapping your foot against the polished floor.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" your cameraman, Mark, asked, sensing your anxiety as he set up the camera. "It's just a video. You could probably wing it."

"You don’t understand," you said, crossing your arms tightly. “It’s not just about the interview.”

As if the universe had conspired to gift you a moment of reprieve, you heard a distraction—a small bark followed by the sound of paws padding against the floor.

You took a deep breath, prepping yourself for whatever awaited you beyond the door.

“Alright, let’s do this,” you whispered to yourself, trying to muster confidence.

You knocked, and after a heartbeat, the door swung open. There stood Charles, his tousled hair glowing softly in the morning light. Cradled in his arms was Leo, who seemed just as excited to see you.

“Hey there, superstar!” Charles greeted, his eyes sparkling with warmth as he shifted Leo to his side. The dog wagged his tail furiously, seeming to sense the tension in the air. “You made it early!”

“Yeah, um…” you fumbled your words, trying to navigate the delightful familiarity of his presence. “I figured it would be good to start on time.”

“Of course!” Charles stepped aside, allowing you into his immaculate home. The aroma of fresh coffee wafted through the air, and as you entered, you could feel that familiar sense of well-being swelling inside you.

It was infuriating how easily it came.

Leo plopped himself at your feet, looking up at you with expectant eyes. “He likes you,” Charles commented, chuckling as Leo nudged your shoe with his nose.

“Who wouldn’t? He’s a sweetheart,” you replied, squatting down to scratch behind the dog’s ears, trying to mask the flutter of emotions that rose within you. “You’re the lucky one, huh, Leo?”

Charles laughed, a rich sound that sent butterflies tumbling through your stomach. “He’s definitely the lucky one in this household. Come on, let’s get the cameras rolling before I lose my nerve in front of you.”

He led the way into a cozy living room adorned with art and memorabilia from his racing career.

As you settled in, you realized that despite your intentions, you could feel that gnawing anxiety creeping in. It was as if every question you planned to ask was swiftly brushed aside by the rush of feelings that accompanied Charles’s presence.

With Mark now behind the camera, you cleared your throat. “Uh, so, how does it feel to be one of the top drivers in the world?”

Charles shifted in his seat, looking relaxed but attentive. “Honestly? It feels unreal every time I put on that helmet. The roar of the engine, the thrill of the race—it’s like this exhilarating dance with danger. But, you know, having my family and a strong support system means the world.”

The sincerity in his voice stroked against your heartstrings. “That’s incredible. Speaking of support, who do you think has had the biggest impact on your career?”

He shrugged, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Aside from Leo?” he teased. “Honestly, it’s you. Your support during last week was amazing.”

Your heart stuttered, and you choked on the words that caught in your throat. “Me?”

“Of course! Whenever you’re around, things just feel easier. I can’t quite explain it,” he said softly, leaning forward as if he was letting you in on a profound secret.

The air crackled between you, and suddenly, the interview felt less like a professional exchange and more like an uncharted territory. You knew you had to breach the elephant in the room, but unease held you back.

“Charles, I—”

Just then, Leo sprang up and knocked over the camera, causing a flurry of laughter to erupt as Mark jumped up to steady it. “Leo! Not now!”

You glanced back at Charles, heat flaring up your cheeks. “Why must you distract us like that?”

Charles grinned, a twinkle in his eye. “I think he senses the chemistry.”

You shot him a skeptical look, but there was no denying the truth in his words. As the camera slowly righted itself, Charles turned serious for a moment.

“Maybe he’s trying to help,” Charles replied, gesturing toward Leo, who had taken residence in your lap, wagging his tail like a flag of friendship.

“Right, because if there’s one thing a dog knows, it’s romance,” you quipped, eliciting a chuckle from Charles that warmed you from the inside out.

“Well, he definitely knows love,” Charles said, a softness returning to his tone as he reached out to scratch Leo behind the ears.

The gesture was so tender, so effortlessly intimate, that you felt a familiar gnawing in your chest, the yearning that intensified with each stolen glance at him.

After a moment, you resumed the interview, Leo settling in your lap like a warm blanket. “What inspired your latest project, Charles? Is it something personal?”

Charles leaned back, a thoughtful expression clouding his features. “Honestly? It’s more than just art for me. It’s about connection. I want people to feel understood. When I see someone looking at my work and they smile, or their eyes light up, it makes everything worth it.”

You nodded, engrossed in his words, but all the while, the underlying tension was like a thread unspooled, weaving a fabric of dubious comfort.

“That’s admirable,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “But do you think art can replace human connection?”

His gaze sharpened, the levity of a moment ago dissipating into something contemplative. “I think art can enhance it,” he replied. “But at the end of the day, it’s about the people in our lives. The ones we cherish. The connections we nurture.”

A hint of unease slithered through you at his answer. The thought of deep connections—those that sparked a sense of well-being—made your heart race, but the yearning you felt, a subtle gnawing anxiety, was just beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged.

You shifted your gaze, avoiding the intensity of his eyes.

“So what else does Charles Leclerc do in a day?” you asked, trying to redirect the conversation.

Charles's expression lightened as a grin spread across his face. “Well, I hope you brought your running shoes because I have to take Leo for a walk,” he said, glancing at his dog, who perked up at the mention of his favorite word.

Leo barked, his tail wagging furiously against your lap.

You looked at Mark, the cameraman, who was observing the interaction with a knowing smile. “You up for some running?” you asked him, half-joking, half-earnest.

“Sure,” he replied, his enthusiasm infectious.

Charles rose from his chair, and Leo leapt to the floor, ready for action. “Let’s hit the trail then! I know a great path nearby that winds through the park.”

The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting a golden hue over the park where Charles and you had decided to take Leo for his much-needed walk.

The vibrant greens of the grass contrasted with the vibrant colors of the flowers that had begun to bloom, a perfect backdrop for the evening. Leo bounded ahead, his tail a blur as he explored the scents of the world around him.

Charles chuckled as he watched Leo dart after a butterfly. “He’s like a kid, isn’t he? Full of energy and wonder.”

You smiled, glancing at the exuberant dog. “He definitely knows how to enjoy life. It’s contagious, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Charles agreed, turning his attention back to you. His eyes sparkled with a warmth that sent that familiar sense of well-being blooming in your chest, an unmistakable sign of his connection to you.

Mark, the cameraman, adjusted his camera, capturing the scene. “This is great! The light is perfect here. Just keep talking; I’ll get some candid shots.”

“Sure thing,” you said, trying to focus on the conversation and not on the persistent sensation of gnawing anxiety that accompanied you whenever you got closer to someone like Charles.

“So,” you began, trying to shake off the nervous energy, “do you take Leo on walks like this often?”

“Whenever I can,” Charles said, his smile widening. “He’s my little buddy. It’s good for both of us. You know how it is—work can get hectic, but he reminds me to take a break and enjoy the simple things.”

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his sentiment wash over you. “I get that. Sometimes I feel like I’m so caught up in deadlines and projects that I forget to take a moment to breathe.”

“Hey, we should do this more often then. Get out, walk, enjoy nature,” he suggested, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.

“Sounds like a plan! I could use some fresh air,” you said, a little lighter now.

As Leo darted back to your feet, his wet nose nudging against your leg, you bent down to give him a scratch behind the ears. “Hey there, buddy! How’s my favorite dog?”

Leo responded with a happy bark, and you looked up to see Charles watching you, his gaze soft and appreciative.

“You’re great with him,” he said. “It’s nice to see.”

“Thanks! I just love animals. They have a way of making everything feel less complicated, don’t you think?”

Charles nodded thoughtfully. “Totally. They don’t judge or overthink things. They just love.”

You felt a twinge of vulnerability, the familiar yearning in your chest growing more intense as you met his gaze. “And what about people? Do you think we overthink love too much?”

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging lightly. “But it’s hard not to, especially when you know what it feels like to find your soulmate.”

“Right,” you said, your voice softer. The weight of his words settled over you, a mixture of warmth and anxiety. “But what if it’s not as simple as it seems? What if we’re all just…lost?”

Charles moved closer, his expression earnest. “You’re not lost. You just need to follow your instincts. Pay attention to what makes you feel good. That’s the key.”

“Easier said than done,” you replied with a teasing smirk, but inside, the knot of anxiety twisted tighter.

Mark was busy adjusting his lens, trying to catch the candid moments. “You two are great! Just keep being yourselves. The chemistry is palpable!”

You felt a rush of warmth at the compliment but also an echo of that gnawing feeling, the sense that something was waiting, just out of reach.

“Hey, how about a little race?” Charles suggested, glancing down at Leo, who was now eyeing a distant squirrel.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you can keep up?”

“Bring it on!” he grinned, playfully nudging you. “I’ll give you a head start.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, fine. Let me know when you’re ready.”

As he counted down, you took off, your heart pounding not just from the run, but from the thrill of the moment. You could hear Leo’s paws thumping behind you, the sound of Charles’s laughter ringing in your ears.

You didn’t want to think about the anxiety, the longing, or what it might mean. You just wanted to feel free, even if just for a moment.

You reached the far end of the open field, glancing back over your shoulder to see Charles and Leo closing the gap.

Charles had an effortless grace to his stride, and even as you stood there catching your breath, you felt that familiar warmth radiating from him.

Charles caught up to you, his chest heaving with laughter. “You’re faster than I expected!”

You grinned, your chest rising and falling. “You underestimated me!”

His eyes sparkled, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. “I did! You’re like a gazelle out here.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “A gazelle? Really?”

“Okay, maybe more like a clumsy gazelle,” he corrected, grinning as he bent over to pet Leo, who had finally returned, panting with excitement.

“Hey, no need to insult me!” you laughed, and the familiar warmth of his presence wrapped around you, banishing the anxious thoughts—if only for a moment.

“Guys, come back so we can wrap up the interview!” Mark calls from a nearby bench, his voice echoing slightly as it carries through the trees.

“Guys, come back so we can wrap up the interview!” Mark, the cameraman, calls from a nearby bench, his voice echoing slightly as it carries through the trees.

You glance back at Charles, who has a boyish grin plastered on his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. His exuberance is infectious, and for a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to forget the gnawing anxiety that usually accompanies your moments with him.

“You ready?” Charles asks, his breath coming in light pants as he straightens up, brushing stray leaves from his shirt.

You nod, the sunlight dancing in your chestnut hair as you brush your fingers through it. “Let’s go finish this.”

But as you start to walk, the gnawing anxiety returns, creeping in slowly like a shadow. The closer you get to him, the more palpable it becomes, a reminder of the connection you cannot seal. It’s a force you can’t escape.

For him, it’s a sense of peace, a warmth that envelops him, but for you, it’s an unbearable longing that only seems to worsen.

You carry Leo in your arms, feeling the comforting weight of his playful exuberance. He wriggles, trying to escape your hold to chase after a butterfly.

“Alright, alright, little buddy,” you say, gently setting him down. He takes off, bounding with enthusiasm.

“Seems like Leo has no problem being carefree,” Charles muses, watching the puppy chase the flitting insect.

“Yeah, if only we could take a page from his book,” you say lightly, but your heart feels heavy.

You glance back at Mark, who is fiddling with the camera, waiting for the two of you to return. You sigh, pushing the tumultuous thoughts away, if only for a moment.

You want to savor the little things—Charles’s laughter, Leo’s exuberance, the way the sun filters through the trees.

You glance back at Mark, who is fiddling with the camera, waiting for the two of you to return. You sigh, pushing the tumultuous thoughts away, if only for a moment. You want to savor the little things—Charles’s laughter, Leo’s exuberance, the way the sun filters through the trees.

As you walk back toward the bench, Leo frolics in the grass, tumbling and rolling as if to illustrate pure joy. Charles kneels beside him, scratching his ears, and you feel an unshakeable pang in your heart.

“Alright, you two, let’s wrap this up!” Mark calls, gesturing for you to take your places.

As you settle down beside Charles, you can’t help but feel the weight of your feelings bearing down. You catch his eye, and there’s something electric between you.

“So, coming to the end of this interview, do you think you’ll win the championship this year?” you ask, your voice a mixture of professionalism and underlying affection.

“I’m confident that me and Ferrari can achieve big things this year,” Charles replies, his expression earnest, his eyes sparkling with hope.

“That’s what we like to hear,” you respond, letting the moment linger just a second longer than necessary. Your heart races, and not just from the anticipation of the race season ahead.

There’s an unspoken rhythm between you, pulsing in the air like a melody only you two can hear.

You ask more questions, the interview flowing smoothly. Charles speaks with passion about his dreams and aspirations, his love for the sport evident in every word. But all the while, you feel the gnawing anxiety that accompanies your every interaction.

You want to close that distance, to extinguish that yearning, and the idea of a kiss hangs in the air like a tantalizing promise.

“Okay, that’s a wrap! This has been ‘A Day in Charles Leclerc’s Life.’ I hope you guys enjoyed the video and enjoyed me beating him in a race,” you say, your voice light and teasing.

“No way! I gave you a head start,” Charles shoots back, laughter bubbling in his chest.

“There’s no proof,” you shrug, a playful smile spreading across your face.

“Okay, okay,” he concedes, shaking his head with a smirk. “But one day, I’ll challenge you to a real race. And I won’t let you get away with a head start.”

“Is that a promise?” you counter, your heart racing for reasons beyond the thrill of competition.

He chuckles, a low, warm sound that wraps around you. “It’s a promise. But let’s not forget—every time we race, you have to hold my hand as we get started. You know, for luck.”

You both laugh, the sound filling the spacious area, weaving through the barking of Leo, enjoying his carefree afternoon. Mark flashes a thumbs-up, signaling the end of the scene.

You grinned, a surge of pride warming you.

“Leo, it's time to go home!” you called, your voice laced with playful exasperation.

The miniature dachshund, a furry, low-slung missile, ignored you completely. He zipped across the grass, your ID lanyard dangling precariously from his mouth like a hard-won trophy.

Charles was doubled over, his laughter echoing through the spacious park, a sound that made your heart skip a beat.

“He really likes your lanyard, I think,” Charles chuckled, wiping a stray tear from his eye.

“He likes anything he can chew on,” you retorted, but your voice was light, your frustration dissolving in the warmth of his amusement. You resumed your pursuit. “Leo! Come back here, you little menace!”

The chase continued, a comical dance of wills. Leo, fueled by mischief, weaved between trees and benches, the lanyard flapping like a tiny, rebellious flag.

You were gaining on him when he veered sharply, heading straight… for Charles’ legs.

Charles yelped, a surprised sound that only made you laugh harder. Leo, triumphant, dropped the lanyard at his feet and sat, panting, tail wagging furiously.

“Traitor!” you declared, feigning offense. You scooped up the lanyard and clipped it back onto your shirt. “He’s clearly playing favorites.”

Charles knelt, scratching Leo behind the ears. “He has good taste, wouldn’t you say?” His eyes met yours, a mischievous glint in their depths.

Heat bloomed in your cheeks. “I… suppose so.” You busied yourself with putting the lanyard away, avoiding his gaze. “We should probably get going. Mark’s almost packed up.”

Mark was indeed packing up, efficiently dismantling the equipment, blissfully unaware of the turmoil raging within you. The relief of leaving this park, this proximity, was almost palpable.

The walk back to the car was a pleasant one, objectively speaking. The air was cool and crisp, the scent of freshly cut grass lingering in the breeze.

Charles walked beside you, Leo trotting happily at his heels. It should have been idyllic. Instead, it felt like walking a tightrope strung precariously high above a chasm of suppressed emotions.

“I really enjoyed today,” Charles said, his voice soft, breaking the comfortable silence. “It was… relaxing.”

You forced a smile. "I'm happy I was able to make you comfortable," you said, the words feeling hollow even to your own ears. Comfortable for him, maybe.

He stopped walking, turning to face you. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn't quite decipher. "You know," he began, tilting his head slightly. "Most interviewers just ask questions. You actually listened."

You swallowed, the anxiety tightening its grip. "That’s… kind of the point of an interview," you managed, trying to laugh it off. "Besides, it's your life. It’s fascinating."

"Is it?" He stepped closer, and the internal hum escalated into a full-blown alarm. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drummer urging you to flee. "Or are you just being polite?"

You averted your gaze, focusing on a distant tree. "I wouldn't waste my time if I wasn't genuinely interested," you mumbled.

Charles chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

Your head snapped up, your eyes meeting his. The amusement was gone, replaced by an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

Before he can respond, Mark’s voice cuts through the tension. “Y/N! Am I still giving you a ride home?”

“Uh, oh yeah…” You falter mid-sentence as a wave of panic washes over you. The realization hits you like a cold shower, drawing your attention away from Charles and back to the alarming truth.

Your bag—your essential items, including your keys—are still at Charles’ house. “Shit,” you mutter.

“Um, you can go without me,” you say, mortified now, as a flush of embarrassment floods your system. You can’t even look at Charles. “I left my bag in Charles’ house.”

A flicker of something crosses Charles’ face that you can’t quite decipher—concern? Amusement?

“Okay, see you tomorrow,” Mark calls as he turns on the ignition in his car and pulls away, leaving you alone with Charles.

Now that the silence has settled around you like a thick blanket, you feel the gnawing uncertainty of your emotions wrapping tighter.

Your conflicting instincts tempt you to stay, to dive deeper into the maddening connection of your fate and his, while another part of you urges you to run—run far, far away from this simmering tension and the anxiety that burns you from within.

“You’re okay with walking there, right?” Charles asks, his brow slightly furrowed, eyes searching yours for affirmation.

“Yep,” you manage to reply, though the word barely escapes your lips.

As you walk, Leo, Charles's loyal dog, bounds between you, a bright streak of fur and happiness that somehow lightens the weight pressing on your heart.

You steal a glance at him, noting his handsome features, the way the light catches his dark hair, and the tension in the air thickens—a familiar feeling that both excites and scares you.

The awkward silence envelops you both, filled with unspoken words and parallel thoughts. You’re lost in your own mind, analyzing what Charles meant earlier, wondering if he sensed the connection your heart insists is there.

You catch a glimpse of frustration flickering in Charles's eyes; he’s wrestling with an internal battle of asking if you feel the same, if you both belong to this invisible thread of destiny.

Before long, you arrive at his house—a cozy, unassuming space that feels utterly alive with its charm. Charles opens the door, gesturing for you to enter first while he carries Leo in his arms.

The familiar scent of cedarwood and freshly brewed coffee envelops you as you step inside.

“Just grab your bag and let’s get out of here,” you say to yourself, trying to mask the heaviness that clings to your heart.

But as you move towards the living room, Charles’s voice halts you, a note of sadness threaded through his tone. “Could you please stay for a while? Leo really likes you.” Leo barks in enthusiastic agreement, his tail wagging furiously.

Your resolve begins to soften at the sight of Charles's hopeful expression, the way his eyes shine with an almost childlike earnestness.

You look down at Leo, wagging his tail expectantly, and your heart sinks a little further. “Okay,” you finally say, a reluctant smile breaking through the anxiety.

You both settle onto the plush sofa, Leo scrambling onto your lap, his warm presence comforting against the storm of emotions inside you.

As you play with Leo, tossing a soft toy for him to chase, Charles watches you with an intensity you can hardly bear. His admiration for you lingers in the air, and you can’t ignore the flutter in your chest.

“Leo thinks you’re the best,” he says, a gentle laugh escaping his lips. “I think he has good taste.”

You chuckle, trying to mask the heat rising to your cheeks. “If Leo approves, then there must be something good about me.”

“I do think you're wonderful,” he comments, and for a moment, the world around you fades. His sincerity wraps around you, igniting that undeniable pull between you both.

“Thank you, Charles,” you muttered, your cheeks flushing, betraying the wall you had built around your heart. If Leo had any say in the matter, he certainly seemed to be steering you in Charles’s direction.

Leo decided he was ready for some action again, leaping from your lap to chase after the soft toy you had tossed across the room. The joy on his face was immeasurable, a reminder of life’s simplest pleasures.

You wondered if it was too late to change the subject before you allowed yourself to drown in the depths of connection that was blooming—an uncharted territory you feared to venture into.

“May I take a picture of you and Leo for my ‘Cute Leo’ folder?” Charles asked, his eyes sparkling like the stars. Before you could respond, he pulled out his phone, and you found yourself nodding, an odd mixture of excitement and dread flipping your stomach.

The click of the camera sounded as you smiled down at Leo in your arms, your affection for the dog pouring out in earnest.

“Perfect,” he m, glancing at the screen before a look of longing crossed his features. You caught a glimpse of the image—your face beaming with love and happiness, a stark contrast to the inner turmoil festering inside you.

“What do you think about soulmates?” Charles asked suddenly, breaking the momentary silence, the question landing heavily between you like an anchor.

You froze, your heart pounding as you looked up into those earnest eyes. “What do you mean?” you asked, trying to read his expression, warm curiosity mingling with something deeper.

“Like, just your opinion on them,” he rambled, the casualness of his tone masking the weight of the subject. “Do you think you have one? I’m curious.”

You hesitated, the words wrapping around memories you had tried to suppress. “Well, I think everyone has a soulmate, but for me, I don’t think I want to meet mine,” you said slowly, drifting your gaze to Leo, who was now engrossed in an imaginary chase.

“Why?” Charles’s question was soft yet insistent, a kind invite for you to unfold the truth. You could feel the warmth emanating from him; it was a stark contrast to the chill that had purposefully wrapped itself around your heart.

You took a deep breath. “An accident happened in my family. It changed my thoughts about soulmates. I believe they come with too much trouble and pain,” you explained, the words flowing out before you could even think them through. In that moment, you realized you were baring a part of yourself that you rarely shared, but perhaps the weight of your thoughts would be understood—especially if he might be your soulmate.

Charles’s expression fell, and you felt your heart splinter as he absorbed your words. Did he not understand the implication behind them? Did he not know that you believed the tether between you was fraught with risk?

“I see,” he said quietly, but the shift in his demeanor was palpable—the distance grew between you, as if an ocean had poured in to separate your worlds.

“Your thoughts are different, of course,” you attempted to lighten the mood, forcing a strained grin. “You’ve already found your soulmate, right?”

He nodded, but the agreement held a quiet hesitance that did not escape you.

“… with Alex.”

His heart sank as he grappled with the realization. “You think Alex is his soulmate?”

He froze, his eyes wide with realization, as if the universe had just collapsed around him.

Did you—could you—really believe that Alex was truly his soulmate?

Before he could muster a response, your phone rang, jolting you both from the oppressive silence. You glanced down at the screen to see your dad’s name flashing.

“Oh! I forgot I was getting dinner with my dad! I have to go, sorry,” you said hurriedly, shoving your phone back in your pocket, the weight of the conversation still lingering in the air.

“Do you need me to drive you there?” Charles asked, glancing at you with sincerity.

“It’s not necessary; it’s just Cantinetta Antinori,” you replied, adopting a nonchalant tone that didn’t quite mask the tightness in your chest.

“Right. No problem,” he murmured, but you caught the muted disappointment in his voice, a low tremor that tugged at your insides. It felt like a tether unraveling, and you hated it.

You stood up from the couch, leaving Leo behind as you tossed your bag over your shoulder. “Thanks for letting me play with Leo a little. See you tomorrow, Charles.”

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he said, his tone infused with an aching bittersweetness as he followed you to the door and opened it.

You hesitated for a moment, caught by the sight of him standing there, hands tucked into his pockets.

You could feel his gaze lingering on you, and you walked away, fighting the urge to turn back and reassure him, to do anything to stop that look of muted disappointment from settling in his features.

“Right, Leo, let’s go visit Maman,” he sighed, trying to infuse a sense of normalcy into the moment, the dog wagging its tail in response.

Charles shrugged off his coat, the familiar scent of lavender and simmering herbs enveloping him. “Maman! I’m home,” he called out, his voice echoing slightly in the cozy, book-lined hallway.

A moment later, a woman with kind eyes and a flour-dusted apron emerged from the kitchen. “Charles! You’re back early. Did the interview go well?” Pascale pulled him into a warm embrace.

“It was… great,” Charles said, carefully avoiding her gaze.

“Great, eh? That’s good. Dinner will be ready in an hour. Why don’t you relax?” Pascale patted his cheek. "I'm making your favorite."

He managed a smile. “Sounds wonderful, Maman.”

Pascale then looked at Leo, his dog, a golden retriever, on the floor. "How have you been?"

Leo barked happily, running around her feet. Pascale laughed, stooping to pet Leo before returning to the kitchen. Charles followed, leaning against the counter, his mind replaying the events of the afternoon.

"So, what are you thinking about? Y/N?" Pascale suddenly asked, startling him.

He jumped. “Um, yeah, I told you she interviewed me, right Maman?”

“Yeah, you should be happy then,” she said with a knowing look in her eye.

“I was, and I still am. She’s amazing, beautiful, and funny but…” he paused, a shadow falling over his face.

“But?” Pascale asked, her curiosity piqued.

“I asked her about soulmates, and she said something about having an accident in her family which made her not want to find her soulmate. She also thinks that Alex is my soulmate, but I couldn't say anything because she had to meet her dad at some restaurant,” he ranted, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

Pascale looked at her son with sympathy. "Okay, fils, breathe. Now, I'm curious, do you have a picture of her?"

“Um… yes, I do,” he said, fumbling for his phone. He pulled it out and showed his mother the picture he’d taken of Y/N holding Leo in her arms earlier that day. She had an easy smile and her eyes sparkled.

Pascale smiled as she looked at it. "She is very pretty. She looks familiar, but from where?" She handed the phone back. "What restaurant was she going to?"

“She said Cantinetta Antinori,” he replied.

Pascale’s brow furrowed. "I've been there a few times." She paused, a distant look in her eyes.

Charles, seizing on this new thread of conversation, asked, “How do you get a soulmate again?” He needed a refresher, a grounding in the established reality that you seemed determined to ignore.

Maybe if he understood the mechanics better, he could understand her resistance. He knew the theory, of course, but hearing it again, reaffirmed, might help.

Pascale considered his question carefully. "You meet them around the age of 12-13," she said slowly, her gaze drifting off as she mentally scanned her memories, searching for any significant event or interaction from that period.

"You have an instant connection with the person, at least that's how it was with me and your father," Pascale smiled, thinking about her late husband.

Charles thought about any girls he had met at that time. Was it anyone in school or any girls who were in karting? He had always been passionate about racing, and it was through this hobby that he had met many of his closest friends. But as he went through the list of girls he had known, none of them seemed to fit the bill.

"What if you don't meet them at that age?" Charles asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What if you don't feel that instant connection?"

Pascale shook her head. "It's not always instant, Charles. Sometimes it takes time for the connection to develop. And sometimes people meet their soulmates later in life. It's not a hard and fast rule."

Charles nodded, taking in this new information. He had always thought that finding his soulmate would be a simple, straightforward process. But now he was beginning to understand that it was more complicated than he had initially thought.

"How do you know when you've found them?" Charles asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Pascale smiled, her eyes softening with affection. "You just know," she said, her voice filled with certainty. "It's like a feeling of completeness, of wholeness. It's like you've found a piece of yourself that you didn't even know was missing."

He smiled too, thinking about her. "Well, it definitely feels like that," he admitted, a blush creeping up his neck.

"Oh maman! The food!" he exclaimed, jolted back to reality by the pungent smell of burning garlic.

He leaped up, rescuing the pan just as Pascale shrieked in mock horror. "Charles! You scared me! And look at what you almost made me do to dinner." She chuckled, waving a wooden spoon at him playfully.

He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Maman. Lost in thought."

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Charles, still buzzing from his go-karting victory, walked along the familiar street towards home. The plastic trophy, a symbol of his triumph, felt warm against his palm.

His family had promised a celebratory barbeque, and the aroma of grilling burgers already tickled his senses.

He was twelve years old, practically a teenager, and life felt good.

As he passed Cantinetta Antinori, the scent of garlic and simmering tomatoes usually a comforting aroma, was overridden by something else: the unmistakable sound of crying.

It was a soft, muffled sound, but persistent enough to slice through the celebratory bubble he'd been inhabiting. Charles, usually one to avoid emotional entanglements, found himself drawn towards the source.

Behind the restaurant, tucked between the brick wall and a overflowing dumpster, sat a girl. She was about his age, maybe a little older, with long, dark hair that obscured her face. Her shoulders shook with each sob.

Even from a distance, Charles could tell she was pretty, the kind of pretty that made him feel a strange flutter in his chest he couldn't quite decipher.

Ignoring the nagging voice in his head that urged him to keep walking, to focus on the promised party, Charles approached cautiously.

The stories his older brother, Lorenzo, told about girls – complicated, dramatic stories – flashed through his mind. But he couldn't just leave her there.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little higher than usual, "are you okay?"

The girl froze, her sobs abruptly cut short. Her head snapped up, and she blinked at him, her eyes red and swollen. She frantically wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, smearing the remnants of her tears.

"Um, I'm okay," she mumbled, her voice thick with emotion.

The lie hung in the air between them. Charles wasn't stupid. "You don't sound okay," he countered gently, edging closer. "Is something wrong?"

She hesitated, her gaze flickering between Charles and the ground. He noticed she was wearing a simple blue dress. He also felt a… something. A strange pull, like a gentle current tugging him closer.

It was faint, barely noticeable, but definitely there. It was a warm, comforting feeling, like wrapping himself in his favorite blanket on a cold day.

"It's nothing," she insisted, but her voice cracked on the last word. More tears welled up in her eyes.

Charles, emboldened by the strange comfort that emanated from her, sat down beside her on the cracked pavement. He kept a respectful distance, unsure of how close was too close.

"Everyone cries sometimes," he said, trying to sound wise beyond his years. "It doesn't mean it's nothing."

She finally met his gaze, her dark eyes filled with a vulnerability that tugged at his heart. "It's my mom," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "She passed away."

Charles's own breath hitched. He didn't know what to say. He'd never experienced anything like that. He just sat there, silent, feeling utterly helpless.

"It was really sudden," she continued, the tears flowing freely now. "She was fine one day, and then…she just didn't wake up."

Charles reached out and awkwardly patted her arm. "I'm really sorry," he said, the words sounding inadequate even to his own ears.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Everything feels…wrong."

"I can't imagine," Charles said, wishing he could offer her more than just empty words.

Then, an idea sparked in his mind. He held up his tarnished trophy, a shy, hopeful smile gracing his face. "My family are celebrating my win. Do you want to come and celebrate with me?"

Her eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering within their depths. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice thick with emotion.

Charles smiled, a genuine, bright smile that chased away some of the shadows in his own heart. "It's okay, it's my party! Come on," he said, standing up.

He held out his hand to her. She hesitated for a moment, then wiped her tears and took his hand. He pulled her up gently.

"Well, we have to be quick, my brothers might finish all the food," he said, grabbing her hand and starting to run, a playful grin on his face.

She stumbled a little at first, but soon matched his pace, a faint smile finally gracing her lips.

The aroma of barbeque hit them long before they reached the house. The air thrummed with laughter and music. A string of brightly colored lights crisscrossed the backyard, illuminating a scene of chaotic celebration.

Charles' family was large and boisterous, a whirlwind of hugs, loud conversation, and the constant clinking of glasses.

"Hi, Maman!" Charles called out, not letting go of her hand.

Pascale, his mother, a woman built like a sturdy oak tree with a smile as warm as summer sunshine, turned towards them. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in her, still clinging to Charles' hand.

A knowing smile spread across her face.

"Charles! Congratulations, mon chéri!" She engulfed him in a bone-crushing hug, then turned her attention to her.

"And who is this lovely young lady? A friend from school?" Pascale's eyes were knowing.

Charles' eyes widened in embarrassment. He hadn't even properly learned her name! He'd been so caught up in the simple, radiating joy that had bloomed within him ever since she'd agreed to come to his party – a joy so potent it felt like sunshine warming his bones.

He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "What's your name?"

"Y/N L/N," she whispered back, her voice barely audible above the party noise.

"This is Y/N, Maman. She's celebrating with us!" Charles beamed, squeezing her hand reassuringly. The feeling of rightness was almost intoxicating for him.

Y/N offered a small, hesitant smile. "Hello, Madame." The gnawing anxiety felt almost unbearable, a constant flutter in her chest like a trapped bird.

And yet, underneath, something felt… safe when she was with Charles. It was a faint, unfamiliar sensation, easily drowned out by the anxiety, but it was there.

“Please, call me Pascale,” his mother’s smile never faltered. “Come, come, you must be starving! Let me get you something to eat.” She steered them towards the barbeque, where Charles's father, Hervé, was presiding over a veritable mountain of grilled meats.

The rest of the evening was a dizzying swirl of faces and food for Y/N. Charles, radiating an effortless confidence he'd never possessed before, introduced her to his boisterous brothers, Arthur and Lorenzo.

“So, Charles, finally found a girl who can tolerate your driving?” Arthur teased, ruffling his younger brother's hair.

“Yeah, she must have a strong stomach!” Lorenzo chimed in, winking at Y/N.

Charles flushed with embarrassment. He was too busy beaming at Y/N to notice the heat creeping up his neck. "Leave her alone," he mumbled, but there was no real heat in his voice. He was just too happy.

Y/N managed a weak smile. She felt like she was walking through a dream. The anxiety never truly left her – it was a persistent hum beneath the surface – but it was tempered by the genuine warmth and acceptance she felt from Charles's family. They didn’t treat her like an outsider, but welcomed her into their midst with open arms.

Charles, for his part, never left her side. He kept up a steady stream of conversation, pointing out funny anecdotes about his family, explaining the rules of karting, and generally just making sure she felt comfortable. The warm, happy feeling never left him, growing stronger with each passing moment.

As the evening drew to a close, and the last of the fairy lights began to flicker, Y/N felt a sharp pang of sadness. The thought of going back to her quiet, often lonely, existence was almost unbearable.

She’d never experienced anything like this before – a feeling of belonging, of being seen, of being… important.

“Thank you,” she said quietly to Charles as they stood by the gate, the last of the guests drifting away. “For inviting me. For everything.”

Charles blushed, kicking at a loose pebble on the ground. He was suddenly shy, the carefree confidence of earlier replaced by a nervous energy. "It was nothing. I had fun."

He looked up at her, his eyes earnest and a little vulnerable. "We should do it again sometime."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. The anxiety spiked again, almost overwhelming her, making her breath catch in her throat.

But beneath it, that faint sense of safety flickered, growing a little stronger. She managed a small, hesitant smile. "Maybe."

Charles, feeling braver than he had ever felt before, reached out and gently touched her hand.

His entire body thrummed with contentment, a feeling so pure and untainted that it made his head spin. "I hope so."

Y/N, overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions swirling inside her, acted on instinct. She leaned forward and quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek, the briefest, lightest touch.

Then, before he could react, she turned and ran, disappearing into the night.

Charles stood there, stunned, his cheek burning where her lips had touched. The simple joy was now charged with something else, something electric and confusing and intensely exciting.

He touched his cheek, a goofy grin spreading across his face. Though he never saw her again after that day. . . .

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auggieblogs · 8 months ago

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nsfw | mdni | lando norris x fem! driver reader | smut with a bit of plot.

Author’s note: Hiiii, everyone!!! I hope you all are doing good. I am sorry for being mia, I actually started university recently (it’s insane). Needless to say I have a lot on my plate right now, and writing isn’t the first thing on my agenda but I felt weirdly inspired yesterday (i am clearly ovulating). Anyways I hope you like it, happy reading<3

ALSO AGAIN, MDNI!!!! THIS CONTENT IS NOT SUITABLE FOR ALL AUDIENCES.

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

You marched down the paddock, ignoring the piercing stares and whispers. Your heart was still racing, not just from the adrenaline of the crash but from the rage boiling inside you. The Baku Grand Prix had gone sideways fast, quite literally, and it was all Lando Norris's fault. Or, at least that's what you convinced yourself to believe.

Two laps in, you collided with him in one of the most reckless incidents of your career, sending both cars spinning out of the race. It wasn't just the crash that infuriated you-it was that smug, arrogant look you knew he'd wear afterward, refusing to accept his share of the blame.

As you stormed up to his driver’s room, you didn't even bother knocking, shoving the door open, fully prepared to let loose. But whatever words you had prepared immediately got stuck in your throat.

Lando was standing there, almost completely naked, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. His chest glistened with sweat from the heat of the race, and his hair, a little longer now with a baby mullet sticking out, was damp and tousled. Your eyes raked over him, heart pounding. His body was lean, muscles tense and glistening under the fluorescent lights. His face was a mix of amusement and heat as he noticed your reaction.

Lando raised an eyebrow, a slow smirk forming on his lips as he noticed your staring. "Like what you see?" His voice was smug, teasing.

You blinked, quickly snapping yourself back to reality. No way you were letting him get to you like this, not when you were still so pissed.

"That was a shitty move, Norris," you spat, trying to focus on your anger instead of the fact that he was practically naked in front of you.

Lando's eyes flicked down your body, scanning you slowly, deliberately, making you feel hot under his gaze. He leaned back against the wall casually, arms crossed, his expression smug. "You rammed into me,” he said, not even trying to hide his amusement.

Your fists clenched, and you took a step closer, your rage bubbling over again. "That was you! You cut me off and ruined my race!" you nearly shouted, your voice rising with each word.

Lando shrugged, utterly nonchalant. "Or maybe you just couldn't handle the pressure." He sat down casually on the couch, his legs spread wide as he leaned back, watching you with that infuriatingly smug look on his face. "Maybe you just hate that you'll never beat me."

His words hit you like a slap to the face, but you didn't back down. You stepped closer, fists clenched at your sides.

"You're a prick, Norris. You think you're better than everyone else—"

Before you could finish your sentence, Lando grabbed your wrist and yanked you down, pulling you onto his lap so you were straddling him. The sudden movement made your breath hitch, your hands instinctively going to his shoulders for balance as you sat on top of him, your faces now inches apart.

"You keep running your mouth,” he murmured, his voice a low, “and I swear to God, I'll fuck you so hard you'll forget how to speak."

Your pulse spiked, your entire body buzzing with a mix of shock and arousal. The heat of him against you, the feel of his hands on your hips, sent a thrill through you that had you struggling to catch your breath. But you weren't backing down. Not with Lando. Never.

"Is that a threat or a promise?" you shot back, though your voice came out breathless, betraying how badly you wanted him.

Lando's eyes flashed with something dark and before you could react, his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was rough, desperate, all teeth and tongue. His hands were everywhere- gripping your waist, sliding up your back, pulling at the zipper of your race suit until it fell away, exposing your bare skin to the cool air of the room.

He groaned as he peeled the suit off your shoulders, his eyes devouring the sight of your breasts as they spilled free. Without hesitation, his hands cupped them, squeezing roughly as his mouth moved down to your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin.

"Fuck, you've got perfect tits," Lando muttered, his voice thick with lust. He leaned forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking hard as his other hand kneaded the soft flesh of your other breast.

You gasped, your back arching as waves of pleasure shot through you. His tongue swirled around your nipple, teasing it until it hardened in his mouth, sending shivers down your spine. His free hand pinched and rolled your other nipple between his fingers, drawing moans from your lips that you couldn't suppress.

"You always walk around in that tight suit,” he growled against your skin, his breath hot as he moved from one breast to the other, giving it the same attention. “Do you know how hard it is to focus when I know these are underneath?"

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the moans threatening to escape as his hands and mouth drove you wild. But you couldn't resist anymore. The heat between your legs was unbearable, and you needed him-now.

"Lando, please,” you whimpered, grinding down against him, feeling his erection straining against his boxers. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through you, but it wasn't enough. You needed more.

He smirked up at you, his hands sliding down to your hips, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles that made your breath hitch in your throat. You moaned, your head falling back against the couch as your body trembled under his touch.

"Fuck, you're soaked for me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Is this what you wanted? All that fighting, all that tension—was it just an excuse to get fucked?"

You didn't answer, too lost in the overwhelming sensation of his fingers moving inside you, curling just right, hitting all the spots that made you see stars.

"I asked you a question,” Lando growled, his other hand coming up to grip your throat lightly, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Is this what you wanted?"

You nodded, barely able to form words. "Yes," you breathed. “God, yes."

A smug smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and without a warning her tore your panties down. He plunged into you. Filling you completely.

You cried out, your hands gripping his back as he set a punishing pace, each thrust deeper than the last. The room filled with the sound of your moans and the slap of skin against skin as he fucked you relentlessly.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he drove into you over and over again. “You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his voice rough as he leaned down, capturing your nipple in his mouth again, sucking and biting as he pounded into you.

The sensation was overwhelming, pleasure building inside you with every thrust, every touch. You were close-so close-and Lando could feel it. His hand slipped between your legs, his fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

"Come for me," he growled against your skin, his pace never faltering. "I want to feel you come all over my cock."

That was all it took. With a loud moan, your body tensed, and the orgasm crashed over you like a wave. Your walls clenched around him, and Lando groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as he followed you over the edge, spilling inside you with one final, deep thrust.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both of you catching your breath as you lay tangled together on the couch, bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all.

Lando shifted, rolling onto his back beside you, his chest heaving as he looked over at you with a satisfied smirk. “Still think it was my fault?" he asked, his voice teasing.

You gave him a tired smile, your body still buzzing with aftershocks of pleasure. "Maybe we both lost this one,” you muttered, your hand lazily tracing patterns on his chest.

He chuckled, pulling you close. "Guess we'll just have to settle it off the track more often."

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valentine-cafe · 2 months ago

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˖⁺. ﹙ immortal mercenary inhuman bf x fem reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . wanna repeat yourself ?? 🍒 : mercenary ˖ inhuman immortal ˖ punkgoth character﹙ verse 781 alessio. ﹚

Alessio and brat taming you cw: brat taming, rough fucking, degradation, riled up alessio

while one would expected Alessio to immediately lose his cool and drag you off to the nearest corner to get his dick inside you with a hand clamped to your mouth and his rasped voice against your ear hissing for you to shut up and take it . . .

Your mercenary boyfriend is actually far more patient than you would imagine. At least. That's what he wants you to believe.

You'd be there getting bratty with him. Another attempt to rile him up for the week. If anything, his lack of action is frustrating you. Wasn't he the walking sex addict? How could he possibly hold out against you?

All you'd receive is a small tilt of his head. His pierced brow quirks and that infuriatingly smug grin tugs to the corner of his lips.

"Wanna run that by me one more time, hermosa?"

Even his croon is smooth! Completely unaffected as always. You can barely take it.

Little do you know of the coil in his gut. See his neat black nails dig into his palms. The dark look swimming in his eyes as you huff and turn away. Mutter a cuss below your breath. Oh, he could put that bratty mouth of yours to good use.

See, Alessio loves letting you get away with shit. For one simple, crucial reason that makes the wait all the more sweeter. The trembled, desperate look on your face and your teary eyes all the more perfect.

He lets it pile.

Little by little. Until you think you're in the clear. Until you get more confident. All so that he can snatch you up and knock you down a few pegs.

Manhandle you over his sofa. Tear at your clothes and grunt out a rough - "this what you wanted? Huh you fuckin' brat?" Spank your ass. Pull your hair. Fuck you back into him until your poor hole is squirting and begging for some kind of relief. Some kind of break.

"Wanted me to bully your tight lil' hole? Wanted me to fuck some manners into this bratty pussy?"

His hand wrapped round your jaw is a must. Or your throat. Force you down into his sheets and pound his hips into yours. Slap his balls against your abused cunt until it's all red and soppy. Make you take it since you wanted it so bad.

Oh that grin on his lips is near deranged. His emerald eyes glow with his sweet retribution. He'll wreck your body and fuck you stupid for every reason on his list. Utter it out to your ear once he's got you in a prone and crushes you with his weight. Let's you know there's no escaping the punishing pace of the cock or his endless degradations rasped to your ear.

"Yeah? Yeah baby? Too much? Awww pobrecita," what a cruel croon as he knocks against your cervix repeatedly. Has your creaming and drooling all over his fingers stuffed into your mouth.

"That's a fucking shame, ain't it? Think a brat like you can take more. Think she wants it harder, huh?" He'd pull out, slap your sopping cunt and shove back in to stuff you full all over again.

Poor you. You always forget that he simply loves it when you rile him up.

#﹙ cupcake rush. ﹚: alessio 781 𖹭 ݁#teratophillia #monster boyfriend #terato #smut #monster x reader #immortal x reader #inhuman x reader #mercenary x reader #oc x fem reader #original character x reader #fem reader #monster oc #alessio 781 #asterism

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ninibeingdelulu · 11 months ago

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Mimicking his mannerisms ✧

Plot: You mimic your boyfriend’s mannerisms.

At first, the enigmatic striker didn't seem to register your playful imitations of his signature subtle smirks or the way his steely cobalt eyes would narrow with razor focus.

Why would he? To Kaiser, such trivial details weren't worth breaking concentration over.

That utter absorption in the game, in dismantling defenses and obliterating opponents through sheer, leonine skill is what made you start mirroring his mannerisms in the first place.

The way his chiseled features settled into that stony, impenetrable mask of intensity whether dribbling a ball or simply contemplating strategy...you found it weirdly entrancing.

Which is why, bundled up on the sofa freshly showered after a match, you erupted into peals of giggles after perfectly emulating Kaiser's celebratory chest thump and fist pump from earlier when he'd scored the game-winner.

Complete with your best attempt at replicating that guttural grunt of exertion just to sell the impression.

At first, Michael merely arched one of those winged brows fractionally, gaze flickering over to you with mild interest. Studying, analyzing, deconstructing your silly antics just as he might an opponent's offensive patterns to identify weaknesses.

You beamed right back without a shred of self-consciousness, striking another achingly-familiar pose - feet braced apart, knees bent, arms raised like they're clutching an invisible ball, mouth curling into that infuriatingly smug half-grin Kaiser flashes before blowing past defenders like they're standing still.

And...was that the ghost of a chuckle rumbling up from the striker's barrel chest at catching your overly-earnest mimicry? Sure sounded like it before he hastily muffled the impulse, eyes crinkling with unmistakable amusement.

In a flash, you pounced - taking shameless advantage of your petite stature to clamber right into his lap before he could protest or deflect.

Looping your arms loosely around his thick neck, you peered down with dancing eyes and an impish grin.

"Something funny, Master Sniper?"

You crooned his moniker in an exaggerated baritone approximation of his own molten vocals.

"Don't tell me the great Michael Kaiser is finally going easy on the opposition?"

Michael, to his credit, didn't so much as flinch at your flagrant invasion of his personal space. Just leveled you with one of those piercing, soul-searing stares from beneath heavy lids for a pregnant pause.

Almost as if evaluating whether to simply disengage entirely...or take the bait and engage with this maddeningly irreverent side of you that delighted in needling his legendary composure.

Then, before you could react, those powerful arms looped in an inescapable vise around your midsection, crushing your squirming body flush against his own.

One broad palm cradled the nape of your neck, callused thumb dragging along the line of your jaw as Kaiser fixed you with a lopsided smirk crackling with unspoken challenge.

"So that's how you want to play it, wildkatze ?" Any pretense towards stoicism evaporated in favor of that rich, honeyed baritone dripping with roguish self-assurance that stole your breath more effectively than any physical exertion.

"Well then...no more holding back, starting now."

Those silvery eyes glinted like sharpened steel as he effortlessly flipped your positions with that same controlled, explosive grace he wields between the lines - pinning you bodily beneath his solid, unyielding weight with startling swiftness.

One sensual caress along the curve of your lips with the calloused pad of his thumb ignited tingling shockwaves through your nerve endings.

"Let's see how good your impressions really are...starting with the most important celebration of all once we're done here."

Any further protests dissolved into breathless, keening pleas of surrender as Kaiser set about teaching you to mimic the only poses and exertions that truly matter between the two of you.

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1byhwng · 3 months ago

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(Drabble) “All Mine”— gong yoo

Summary : after a day of babysitting your favorite client you give into a desire that you thought would only happen in your dreams.

Warnings: reader is 28, gong yoo is 45, age gap, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, possessive gong yoo.

pairings: dilf!gongyoo x babysitter!reader

a/n — I’m trying a new style of writing..idk I just had a random burst of creativity and wanted to make this. If you like it please lmk but any feedback is appreciated. (Except hate)

The clock on the wall ticked past midnight when you finally settled onto the couch, the house silent except for the faint hum of the fridge and a few dogs barking outside. The kid was asleep, dishes washed, and toys put back into baskets. Another somewhat easy night.

You were scrolling through your phone when the front door clicked open. Mr. Yoo stepped in, tie loose around his neck, hair tousled like he'd run his hand through it one too many times. He looked exhausted—and unfairly hot. Not like you haven’t thought about it before. How could you ignore his looks when he walks around in nothing but sweatpants when he forgets you’re there?

“Everything okay?” he sighs, voice low and rough from what was likely one too many meetings.“Yeah,” you smiled, standing. “Quiet night.” His eyes swept over the—loose white shorts and grey tank top you’d changed into once the kid went down.

Comfortable. Casual. But the heat in his gaze made you wonder if he saw it differently.

“Thanks for staying so late,” he said, pulling his wallet out. “I owe you for the extra hour.”

You stepped closer to take the cash, but his fingers lingered, brushing yours. The warmth of his skin sent a jolt up your spine.

“You’re always saving me,” he murmured, eyes darker now. Something you haven’t seen before. But you weren’t complaining. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.” The words hung there, thick and heavy. Your breath caught. Did you mention he was unbelievably sexy—well he is.

Maybe it was the late hour, the wine he probably had at his office, or the fact that you’d imagined this moment too many times to count. But when he didn’t pull away, neither did you.

“I see the way you look at me, Y/N,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing as his hand finds your waist, fingers curling just enough to make your breath hitch. "Even an idiot could figure it out."

The smirk tugging at his lips is infuriatingly smug, like he already knows he’s right, like he’s been waiting for you to slip up. And maybe you have—maybe the stolen glances, the flushed cheeks, the way your gaze always lingers a second too long finally gave you away.

He leans in, close enough for his breath to brush your lips, eyes flickering down before locking with yours. "So, are you gonna admit it?" he taunts softly. "Or should I make you show me?"

Your breath hitched, heart pounding in your chest. Fuck this is really happening. He was close enough now that you could smell the faint trace of cologne under something warmer, muskier.

“And what if I wasn’t trying to hide it?” you murmur, voice softer than you expected, like the confession might break if spoken too loudly.

For a moment, surprise flickers in his eyes—quick, almost imperceptible—but it’s gone just as fast, replaced by something darker, something far more certain. His lips curl into the faintest smirk, fingers tightening on your waist like he’s daring you to take it back.

"Then I’d say," he breathes, leaning in until the space between you feels non-existent, dangerous, "it’s about damn time we stopped pretending."

The air between you crackled, thick with unspoken words and a tension that could snap at any moment. Hesitation melted away as his other hand slid up to your jaw, his thumb brushing gently along your cheek, the soft touch almost tender—but not quite.

He was giving you an out. A final chance to step back, to walk away from whatever this was before it went too far. His gaze held yours, searching, waiting for the hesitation to reappear.

But the warmth of his hand on your face was a silent promise, one that pulled you in even closer.

"Show me, then," you whispered.

That was all it took.

His lips crashed into yours, all the pent-up tension spilling over like a dam finally breaking. It wasn’t soft or careful—it was hungry, desperate, like he’d been holding back just as long as you had. Maybe he was But you’ll never know.

You barely registered the cash fluttering to the floor as his hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. He was warm, solid, and every inch of you reacted to the contact.

"You have no idea," he muttered against your mouth, "how many times I’ve thought about this, about you."

His confession sent a rush of heat through you. Just his voice was enough to make you wet.

"Then stop thinking," you breathed, fingers curling into the front of his shirt as you pulled him closer. A way of telling him your patience is wearing thin.

That was all the permission he needed.

In a blur, he guided you backward until your calves hit the couch. You fell onto the cushions with a soft gasp, and he followed, bracing himself over you.

"Still sure about this?" he asked, voice rough, eyes searching your for any sign of hesitation or fear. only to find nothing but eyes filled with lust.

You answered by tugging him down, lips meeting his again with a heat that left no room for doubt.

His hand slid under your tank top, fingers splaying across your bare skin, tracing slow, deliberate circles that made your breath hitch. The weight of him, the scratch of his stubble against your jaw, the low groan he let out when your hips shifted beneath him—it was all too much and not enough.

"Bedroom?" you whispered between kisses, half-laughing, half-breathless.

"Don’t think I can wait that long," he growled, mouth trailing down your neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin and making you arch into him.

The couch creaked beneath you as his weight settled over you, the heat of his body pressing you deeper into the cushions. One of his knees slid between your thighs, and instinctively, your hips ground against him, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you felt the undeniable pull.

His hand slid higher under your tank top, the roughness of his fingers brushing along the curve of your waist, trailing up to your ribs, teasing the soft skin. The heat of his touch made your breath hitch, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine, until his thumb hovered just under the swell of your breast, making the air feel thick, almost suffocating.

"Tell me to stop," he rasped, lips hovering near your ear, breath hot against your skin. "Because once I start, god I’m not sure I’ll be able to."

You swallowed hard, the ache between your legs already unbearable. You knew you’d been hoping this day would come, even if it felt wrong considering his daughter was asleep upstairs.

"Don't stop," you murmured, voice steady despite the way your heart pounded. "Please."

In one fluid motion, he yanked your tank top over your head, tossing it aside like it offended him. His gaze dropped, dark and possessive, as he took you in.

"Perfect," he muttered, almost to himself, before his mouth found the hollow of your throat, trailing down, down—until he closed his lips around a peaked nipple, sucking just hard enough to make you gasp.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer as heat pooled low in your belly. He didn’t need encouragement. One hand cupped your breast while the other drifted south, fingertips tracing the edge of your loose shorts, teasing, testing.

"You’ve been walking around my house like this," he muttered against your skin, voice thick with desire, "and you expect me to act like a saint?"

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words died in your throat when his hand slipped beneath the waistband, finding you already wet and wanting.

"Fuck," he groaned, lifting his head to look at you properly. "All this for me?"

"Just for you," you admitted, cheeks flushing under his intense gaze.

That seemed to break the last of his restraint. He kissed you hard, fingers pressing into you, curling just right until you were squirming beneath him, chasing relief. A string of moans flowing from your lips.

"You’re so pretty," he muttered between kisses, the earlier bravado cracking into something almost frantic. "All mine."

Your lips never quite breaking apart, your hands exploring him like you’d starved for this moment—which you have.

"Last chance," he whispered, thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

You pulled him down, lips brushing his as you murmured, "please, Mr. Yoo.”

—————————————-

Time seems to slow as you surrender to the pleasure, the world narrowing to nothing but the warmth of his touch and the electric pulse between you. The room is thick with it—the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, ragged breaths tangled with soft gasps, and the whispered echo of your names like a prayer lost to the dark. Every inch of you is consumed, set ablaze by the heat of his body against yours, until nothing else exists beyond this moment.

His grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. Each thrust is rough, relentless—driven by pure need as he fucks into you with a pace that borders on desperate. The air is thick with heat and the sound of skin meeting skin, your whimpers mingling with his ragged breaths.

"Can’t—" he growls, voice breaking as he pulls you impossibly closer, "Can’t get enough of you."

"F-Fuck—baby, I’m close," he groans, voice rough and breathless as his head falls back, muscles taut with every desperate thrust. The slick sound of skin meeting skin fills the air, drowning out the frantic beat of your heart.

You try to respond, to tease or beg—you're not even sure which—but the words melt into a broken moan as his cock presses mercilessly against your cervix. Pleasure coils tight in your belly, stealing your breath and leaving you clinging to him like he's the only thing anchoring you to the world.

"That’s it," he rasps, gaze dropping to your blissed-out expression. "Let go for me, baby. Come with me."

The final surge of pleasure crashes over you both, sharp and all-consuming. His breath stutters as he buries himself to the hilt, hips jerking with each pulse of release. Heat floods you, thick and undeniable, as he spills deep inside, claiming you in the most primal way.

For a moment, neither of you move—just tangled limbs, sweat-slick skin, and the heavy thrum of hearts racing in sync. His grip on your hips tightens, like he’s grounding himself, like he can’t stand the thought of even an inch of distance.

"Mine," Mr. Yoo mutters against your temple, voice rough and possessive, but his touch softens as he brushes damp hair from your face. "All mine."

The weight of his body settles over you, warmth radiating from every inch of flushed skin pressed against yours. The room feels quieter now, like the world itself is catching its breath, the only sounds left behind are the soft hum of the night and the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat against your chest.

He doesn’t move—not yet. Like if he lets go, the moment might slip away, lost to reality. His cock stays buried deep, the heat of his release still thick inside you, marking you in a way words never could. Possession lingers in the way his hand skims your waist, thumb brushing lazy circles into your damp skin, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

"Mine," Mr. Yoo murmurs again, the word softer now, almost vulnerable. His lips ghost along your temple, trailing down to your jaw, each kiss slow and deliberate, as if he’s trying to prove a point neither of you would dare argue.

You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips, exhaustion softened by the quiet satisfaction blooming in your chest. "Yours," you whisper back, voice hoarse and laced with truth. There’s no hesitation, no teasing—just certainty.

That seems to break something in him. He exhales shakily, like he’s finally allowed to breathe, and pulls you closer until there’s not a sliver of space left between your bodies. The world outside could fall apart, and it wouldn’t matter. Not here, not like this.

Sleep comes slowly, the kind that only follows being thoroughly wrecked and thoroughly loved. And as consciousness fades, the last thing you feel is his lips brushing over your hair, followed by a possessive murmur, half-spoken, half-dreamed.

"Forever mine."

#gong yoo #gong yoo smut #gong yoo x reader #salesman x reader #gong yoo x you #smut #squid game smut

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akoyaxs · 2 years ago

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Tunutu II

✮ Meaning: object of desire, crush

✮ Pairing: Aonung x fem!human reader

✮ Meaning: object of desire, crush

✮ Warnings: Reader POV, smutty smut smut, angst if you squint, slight fingering, P in V, kuru play, fluffiness

✮ Word Count: 3.8k (yes ik im so sorry my darlings, its not that much but i ran out idk what to tell you, i can only do so many mental breakdowns 🤷🏻‍♀️)

So yeah, this one is a little shorter but this was really just to tie it off with a cute little ending, so I hope you enjoy my loves 💗

*Aonung is inspired by this beautiful art made by the lovely @nikyu0 ♡*

──────⊱⁜⊰──────

The next time you saw Aonung after that day in your room, you didn't know what you were expecting. Maybe, like he usually did with other girls, he'd pretend nothing ever happened. Maybe he'd taunt you and say it was all a joke, despite everything you said.

If you're being honest- you didn't have high hopes. It's not like all your other experiences with Metkayina men had ended with them ackegknowledging you afterward, after half-breaking your back and saying you were the tightest thing they've ever felt.

But you certainly weren't expecting him to stick to his words.

Days had passed since you slept with Aonung, days in which you didn't see him around the village or anywhere around Awa'atlu. Of course, your mind had just come to terms with the fact he was like all the other guys, and you really had been stupid, listening to the meaningless pillow-talk riff raff he'd cooed at you afterwards.

No one would say where he was, and Tsireya, Rotxo and the Sully's all acted infuriatingly knowing and smug when you sneakily asked them. Very casual. Definitely off-hand. Nonchalant for sure.

And you were. It wasn't that deep that Aonung, like you predicted and prepared yourself for, did not stick to his words about sticking around and everything. You were stupid and hopeful, and you didn't really blame him either.

So you were trying your best to put him behind you when a whole week had passed without you seeing him, and you were starting to fall back into your old patterns. It wasn't your fault you were a horny little thing, and especially now so that there wasn't someone to take care of it.

Which is why, on the eighth day, you could be found in the Tsahìk's marui.

There had been an incident at training where Zei'ke had gotten a little bruised and battered. He was very good looking, so you tolerated his chatter. God- he really was even stupider than Aonung. Why did you always just go for big stupid hunks?

But at the end of the day, he was a big hunk, so you were happy to patch him up, applying ointment to his cuts and bruises, bandaging the worse injuries and massaging his sore muscles.

The trouble was, Tsireya had begged you to come swimming that afternoon, and this was your first time wearing swimmers out in the village. So maybe your bikini was a little smaller than it could of been, but who was it hurting, really, to be showing off the best assets you had to offer in a strictly na'vi village.

It certainly wasn't hurting Zei'ke, given the way his eyes stared not so conspicuously down your top when you bent over, or how the ties of your bikini bottoms peeked over your shorts.

What's the harm in having some fun, you thought.

It wasn't like Aonung was going to do anything, his absence had made it pretty clear that he was a liar, that it really was just about sex, maybe even just experimentation.

But when you moved closer, leaning up to massage Zei'ke's shoulders, you were surprised by the way he flinched back.

"What, am I hurting you?" you ask, frowning slightly. You had been careful, using your hands gently and besides, na'vi were literally impossible for you to injure.

"No," Zei'ke says slowly, blinking owlishly at you. His gaze flicks down to your breasts, then he clears his throat and looks away. You frown.

"Is there a problem with my clothing?"

"No- I just... I should go," he says hastily.

"Why?" you ask, weary and suspicious. You wonder vaguely if suddenly, everyone's starting to wonder if you're turning into the evil sort of tawtute. "I haven't finished massaging your muscles-"

"You shouldn't," Zei'ke says shortly. "He wouldn't like it."

That was new. Your eyes narrow as you try to guess what this skxawng is going on about, but you have a sinking sort of feeling you know exactly what's happening.

"And who are you talking about?"

Zei'ke blinks guiltily. Obviously he wasn't supposed to say anything, but if he was careless and clumsy enough to let the first words slip, you could pull the rest out of him.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain future Olo'eyktan, would it?" you ask casually, shifting on your feet to look more careless. "You know, tall, stupid, very good looking. Name's Aonung?"

"No!" Zei'ke practically bursts out, before scrunching his face up guiltily. Even someone that thick would realise he wasn't convincing anyone. Your eyes narrow further.

"What does him not liking it have to do with anything?" you ask.

"He is my commander," Zei'ke says owlishly.

"No," you huff, growing tired of his incompetence. "Why would he not like it?"

"Because... well... you fucked him..."

"Charming," you mutter under you breath, rolling your eyes at his very limited vocabulary. "What does us sleeping together have to do with anything? I've been with other na'vi men, and that didn't change anything, especially about others?"

Zei'ke frowns, processing your words, and you want to take him by the shoulders and rattle him. It would be hard though, given he's double the size of you.

"You are his," Zei'ke says simply.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"No other man goes near you," Zei'ke explains. "Sometimes we can argue with the claim, but he is to be Olo'eyktan, and we do not dare-"

"What is he playing at?" you snap. "We just fucked, I've fucked others and nothing ever happened with that? Just because he's the little prince he thinks he can control what I do?"

"Uh... I don't know?" he says weakly, and your scowl deepens.

"How did you even know about that anyway?"

"We can all smell his scent on you," Zei'ke says, face flushed with embarrasment. "You did not realise, tawtute?"

"Obviously fucking not," you growl.

"Besides," Zei'ke says, obviously eager to take some of the heat off himself, "Aonung got upset with us asking about you. That's why I'm so battered."

At this, you freeze. Zei'ke can obviously tell he said something important, because he winces and scrunches his face up.

"I mean- no- I tripped-"

"Shut up," you say carelessly. "You saw Aonung?"

"Yes? I mean... he's been at training for day-"

With a furious growl, you push past Zei'ke, storm out of the marui, and stalk along the village. You can feel his eyes blinking owlishly at you, clearly torn between confusion and worry for what Aonung might do to him.

Rage is boiling in your veins. First, Aonung ignores you after promising a million things. Then he "claims" you or whatever the fuck that means. And now it turns out, he was here. In Awa'atlu. And he just didn't come and see you.

You storm across the sand to the warrior grounds, hands balled into little fists. All the sparring and beatings and fights don't faze you, you storm straight through all the tussles towards the familiar broad figure of Aonung on the very opposite side.

Fights pause and everyone stares as you stride past, all tiny and furious in your bikini and shorts, less clothing than they'd ever seen you in.

Finally, you reach Aonung. He hasn't noticed all his warriors have stopped fighting, he hasn't even noticed you storming towards him. He's busy sharpening a spear, discussing something with Neteyam seated beside him.

Neteyam is the first to spot you, and his eyes go wide. Before he can say anything, Aonung notices his friend's surprise, and turns with a small, puzzled frown on his stupidly handsome face to see you right in front of him.

Thank Eywa he's seated, because it makes your next action a lot easier. You slap him. Hard.

Several people gasp, everyone mutters, and all eyes are now on you as you glare up at him. Aonung's eyes are dark, but he doesn't say anything. He looks a little confused, and that makes you even more furious.

You shove him hard. Mortifyingly, yet predictably if you're looking at it logically, Aonung doesn't move a single inch, and suddenly you're right against his warm, muscular body. Stupid skxawng, his hotness making it hard for you to be mad at him.

"You dick," you growl. "You fucking idiot-"

Aonung clears his throat, clearly aware of everyone watching with varying degrees of surprise, interest and amusement as this little angry tawtute snarls curses at their commander. Neteyam, too, looks slightly entertained.

"Dismissed," he calls to his warriors.

They all wander off, taking their sweet time to cast glances back at you, muttering excitedly between themselves. Neteyam stands awkwardly, trying to hide a smile.

"I'm going to go," he says decidedly. "I'll see you later bro. Good luck."

Aonung nods tightly, before his gaze flicks back down to you, glaring up at him with all your might. This fucking skxawng is going to be the death of you. He obviously wasn't going to be the first one to speak, so you took a deep breath.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I was training my warriors," Aonung says bluntly.

"Fucking idiot," you growl. "What are you playing at, claiming me."

"I thought that was clear," Aonung frowns. "You're mine."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" you grumble.

"I told you syulang-"

"Don't call me that."

"That you would not need any others anymore," Aonung says simply. "I would take care of you from now on."

"Oh?" you snap. "Yeah, you've been doing a great fucking job, given that I haven't seen you in a week."

Aonung frowns deeper, and you take another breath.

"Look Aonung, I can deal with you not wanting to be with a tawtute, I've done this shit before. But don't be acting like you have anything to do with me if you so clearly don't give a fuck."

At this, Aonung just furrows his brow. He's so big compared to you, even when he's seated, you're still the same height. Then, tentatively, one of his hands reaches towards you. You watch it, all large and teal and the size of your fucking head, before it moves to rest on your waist. You don't push it away.

Instead, you just look back up at him. To your annoyance, your anger is fading away. No no no. You should be angry with him. He can't get off this easily. He can't just touch your waist and blink his pretty eyes and make you melt into a gooey puddle.

"I did not mean to upset you paksalin," he says in a soft voice. "I meant what I said- that you're mine and I would take care of you."

"Then why didn't you come and see me?" you whisper. "I waited for you- and when I went looking, no one would tell me where you were."

"I have been on a hunt," Aonung says gently. "My father wanted me to do... something for Olo'eyktan, but that isn't important."

"It sounds important," you say, stepping back slightly, remembering again how this was literally the future leader of the clan.

"Not more than you," Aonung says firmly, grabbing your hand and pulling you back towards him.

It was a moment that would be so cliche if it was anyone else, that you're suddenly right between his seated legs and inches away. But this is Aonung, and you feel your last strands of annoyance and restraint snap as you meet his gaze.

"You look amazing," Aonung whispers, gaze trailing down to your bikini. "I've never seen you wear this."

"Yeah- well I was going to go swimming with Tsireya and I- wait-"

Aonung's hand is already sneaking up your top, the other moving to undo the button of your shorts, and you grip his shoulders for stability.

"Aonung," you breathe. "I'm trying to talk-"

"Let me make it up to you paksalin," he whispers, already shimmying your clothes away so you're just in your bikini now.

"This is a public place," you try to say. "Anyone can see-"

"I dismissed them," Aonung says carelessly. "They know better than to come back."

Before you can do anything else, his hand is in your bikini bottom. You squeeze your eyes shut in slight mortification of how wet you already are, breath shaky and your hands immediately jumping to steady yourself on his broad shoulders.

"I'm sorry yawne," he says quietly, lightly kissing your neck as he lightly traces over your clit.

"That's not fair," you grumble shakily. "Apologising when you're already in my fucking pants."

Aonung just grins and trails his lips further down your neck.

"I want to kiss you," you mutter to Aonung.

"You can't," he points out gently, lightly tracing over your clit.

"Bedroom," you gasp, as you meet his gaze. "Come on, pretty boy."

You're practically being carried by Aonung as you burst into your house.

Lo'ak and Spider are on the couch, staring in disbelief and entertainment as you crash through the door in Aonung's arm in nothing but your bikini.

"Be careful with her bro," is all Lo'ak says, him and Spider both grinning stupidly as you flip them off and go into your room.

Really, you've taken na'vi cocks before, but it feels like you're being stretched to infinity as Aonung bullys his way into you. You know he's being gentle as he can, asking if you're comfortable, if you're alright, but you're being stretched as you never had before.

The stretch is a delicious burn as Aonung rocks his hips deeper, until he's as far in as he's going to get, before he pulls out nearly to the tip.

When you turn to glare at him, he snaps his hips forward again and you have no choice but to cling onto him. His lips find his way on your neck, your nails digging into his broad back as he rolls his hips and thrusts deep into you.

It's rougher this time, you both know you can take him, and you're both more than eager to push to the furthest possible limits. Neither of you mention Lo'ak or Spider, neither of you care enough about them to bother to quiet or slow down. Each thrust punches your breath out of you, and Aonung's practically hissing at the way you're hugging his cock.

One large hand reaches up to grip the bedhead and push himself deeper in a way that makes you practically scream, the other pulling the strings of your bikini so you're bare under him. It, too, is tossed away, like the rest of your clothes that still lay abandoned on the training grounds floor.

He hisses as your tits are freed, bouncing with every thrust and pushed up against his chest as he thrusts deeper and deeper, his large hands coming up to grip them on the border of being too rough.

After a few experimental movements that have you nearly whimpering, he moves deep and quick, spitting curses and groans at the feeling of you around him and the sound of your shameless moans in his ears.

He's whispering nearly unintelligible things against your neck, words of worship, mutters of how tight you are, little praise of how well you're doing. He's moving at animalistic paces, and you're unravelling into a moaning, trembling mess under him, teeth sunk into his shoulder to try and quiet your sounds, because you sure as fuck can't hold them in.

"Fuck Aonung," you burst out, sinking your teeth into your hand to cover up your sounds. He impatiently pulls your hand away and crashes his lips onto yours.

This time feels more experimentative for you- last time was his first with a human. Now you get to explore, and when you run your tongue lightly over his fangs, he moans shamelessly into your mouth and buries himself deeper in you.

It's starting to get too much, the coil in your stomach growing too close too soon, and your moans are starting to border on lewd whines and whimpers as you sink your teeth into his soft warm lips.

"Aonung," you hiss, "I'm- I'm close."

"Go ahead then," he grins, before sinking his teeth lightly into your collar.

With that, you unravel, crying out and arching so you're pressed right up against him. Your vision blanks out as everything disappears for a moment, the only sound in the world being your cries and Aonung's groaned curses.

He fucks you through your high, wave upon wave of overwhelming pleasure cresting in white-hot disbelief. You can feel him twitch inside of you, and you moan at a particularly hard thrust. Each rock of his hips knocks every breath, every thought out of you until your heart is pounding in rhythm with each increasingly rough, deep, animalistic thrust of his cock rutting between your legs.

Na'vi have seemingly impossible sex drives, which you're only too happy to ride out with Aonung. With your hands gripping for dear life to your sheets and his braided hair, you just hope to Eywa you don't black out. You highly doubt the creases in your sheets will ever come out; if they were living, your desperate shaky hands would have strangled them in your attempts to stay still.

Then your hand slips, and you grip Aonung's kuru by accident. He gasps and looks straight at you.

The look in his eyes has you clenching around him, all dark and hungry and curious and desperate at the same time, pupils blown so wide the beautiful blue of his eyes was all but a thin ocean ring around large black orbs.

"Sorry," you breathe, trying not to melt at the sight of him.

"No, paksalin. You can touch, I am yours."

Again, he has you clenching around him. The pure sincerity of his words goes straight through you, and you tentatively slide your hand down the thick braid that covers his kuru. His movements slow slightly, thrusting deep and slow so he can pay attention to what you're doing.

Then the glowing pink tendrils reached out to your small hands and enclosed one of your thin fingers.

You, clearly, are not na'vi. But you can feel the neural connection, the intimacy of the kuru, feeling almost as though Aonung himself is coursing through you. The gentle tendrils are warmly pulsing with a soft pinkish glow, matching your and Aonung's heartbeat. You gave an experimental flex of your fingers, and Aonung gasped, hips jerking deep into you, and you both groan.

"Fuck paksalin," he mutters, starting to move again.

As you experiment more with his kuru, trailing it over your fingers, legs and finally breasts, Aonung grows more and more desperate, rutting harder and deeper into you. You can hardly breathe, given that he's practically punching breath from you with each deep movement.

You yelp as he speeds up now, brutal and animalistic as the last tenterhooks of his strained restraint snaps and he buries himself deep inside you. He's hissing a million unintelligible words against your skin as he spills himself inside you, rocking his hips the whole time until, with an ominous creaking, something snaps and suddenly you're being tilted backwards and sliding down the mattress.

Aonung just broke your fucking bed.

"Fuck, sorry," he mumbles, looking mortified, but you can't contain a small laugh, taking his flushed face in your hands and lightly kissing all over his blushing cheeks.

So yeah, he kind of broke your room. And that wasn't the first thing that happened, as your various exploits with the Metkayina prince continued over the next few days.

Sometimes it was in the healing marui you worked in during the days. Aonung would come in, grumbling some bullshit about training too hard and sore muscles or whatever, and you'd find yourself lying on the floor, his large head nestled hungrily between your squishy thighs he loves so much.

Or maybe it would be at the training grounds, where, at the slightest sight of you, Aonung would dismiss all his warriors and have you on your knees on the soft sand, taking him as far as you can in your throat, his large hands gently holding back your hair and passing you your breathing mask every 50 fucking seconds.

It could just as often be at your house too, bouncing on his dick, arched to the sky on your clumsily repaired bed, or pinned back against your lumpy old mattress.

You learnt things, that he felt pressured a lot of the time, that he was comfortable around you. That he could be the sweetest man ever, but you quickly learnt about his jealousy and possessiveness of you when it came to other guys.

It's not like that ever bothered you that much, but you put on a good enough show of no, don't be so jealous, just so he'd be on his hands on knees worshipping and begging for forgiveness that you would have given regardless.

And then there was the moments after. It's not like the heat and desire ever died, no, but there were moments where you'd just sit nestled up against his much larger figure, talking endlessly with him.

And somehow, you always managed to end up naked. And somehow, your clothes that would always be hastily discarded never returned.

You were starting to suspect there was a reason to why your clothes kept going missing. Something linked to beautifully woven and beaded na'vi-style clothes Aonung had promised to make you, something linked to the massive Aonung-sized footprints in the dirt outside your house, something linked to the familiar amber-seasalt scent that lingered in your closet.

First, it was your largest clothing. That massive jumper was the first to go, and Spider had just laughed uproariously when you told him it was missing. Then it was the baggy pants. Then the long skirts and flowy t-shirts.

The more clothes started going missing, the more you started to suspect. When you opened your closet one day after returning from the healing marui, you realized just how much had started to "disappear".

All that was finally left was your cargo shorts and tank you were wearing. You scowled, wondering what on earth were your clothes being used for, and where had they been hidden, when a glittering caught the corner of you eye, and you gasped.

You hadn't missed Aonung's remarks over the past few days of how amazing you'd look in na'vi clothes, but Eywa, you would have never imagined your simple, pretty, dumb man to be able to pull off something so devious and beautiful and well... clever.

Gingerly, you reached out into your closet to pull out the most beautiful top you'd ever seen in your life.It was intricately woven with hands you knew only too well. And you trusted them too.

The next day, gazes followed you throughout the village; eyes practically popping out of their sockets at the sight of you in the na'vi clothes Aonung had made. Sure, the coverage of the top was minimal, but the weaving and beading hugged your curves tightly, and the larger breasts you possessed drew attention from everyone alike.

All your patients in the healing hut stared shamelessly, the girls gushing with compliments, the guys quiet, no doubt knowing the wrong move would end up with them back here again after Aonung beat the absolute living shit out of them.

When the day finally ended and Aonung came into the healing hut, he just stopped. And stared.

"Do you like it?" you asked nervously. "They're beautiful, Aonung."

"Paksalin," he whispers, dumping the irrelevant shit he had been carrying and striding over to you. "You look beautiful."

You beam at him.

"You kept your promise," you whisper, moving over to touch his face.

"Of course yawne," he smiles. "I could not disappoint my tunutu."

His.

You smile back, moving to pull your big stupid hunk into a gentle kiss. Eywa truly did bless you with him.

This is better than anything you could have dreamed of. Better than you had ever even hoped after you slept with him for the first time. Because you are absolutely each others. Now and forever.

My little desire.

#aonung #avatar #avatar the way of water #aonung x reader #avatar smut #aonung x female reader #aonung fic #avatar fandom #avatar fanfiction #aonung fanfiction

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itwasthereaminuteago · 7 months ago

Text

Blood

Tags/warnings: lingerie kink, unprotected anal sex, little bit of fluff. Written based on a prompt from @murdock-and-the-sea for @frattweek ! 😀 "Would Frankie like it if Matt surprised him by wearing lace boxer briefs? 👀"

Sorry for any mistakes.

It hadn't got past Frank that there was something off that evening on patrol, but he couldn't put a finger on what exactly it was. The devil was out in full force, and even though he was always non-lethal in his means, Matt was taking no prisoners… and what surprised Frank more was even when he was kicking criminal ass and doing his adorable little backflips he was also flirting shamelessly with him. In front of people. Well, assholes.

When the streets quietened and the sirens faded, all that was left were him and Frank, both standing on a rooftop marked in blood. Matt's chest and shoulders heaved as he panted, his lip curling with a slight snarl as he roughly pulled the cowl from his face as if it was hindering him. Frank still kept his distance as Matt tilted his head to the side in that imitable way, licking his tongue over his lips like he was scoping out prey. It wasn't something Frank disliked, in fact it excited him, but it was something he'd only tolerate from a scarce few.

“‘The hell's got your panties all in a bunch?” He asks, wiping some of the blood away from his nose.

“Funny you should say that.” Matt's lips are slightly parted, breath puffing past them from prior exertion. His lips twist into a smirk.

“Come and get me.”

Frank snorts. “Say that again, altar boy?”

He's already game for this challenge. After the night of relentless teasing he would love nothing more than to shut that damn sweet mouth up with his own, and yeah, maybe some other things.

Matt throws his helmet off to the side, rolling his shoulders. “Get. Me.” he growls, and suddenly Frank is like a coiled spring bursting forward, lunging towards him as the devil takes off leaping across to the next roof.

It's not long in the frantic chase until Frank realises he's being led back towards home, and when he thunders down the stairs (discarded helmet in hand) his infuriatingly hot target is ready and waiting, leaning up against the kitchen counter looking smug.

“You getting slow, Frank?”

Frank chuckles as he moves closer. “Nah, just pickin’ up after you as usual.” He says, casually throwing the helmet onto the couch.

“Well, that meant you didn't get me.” Matt taunts. He slides a hand along the counter, smoothly pivoting on his feet to turn and stick his ass out in Frank's direction.

“Oh,” Frank says flatly, clamping his hands firmly around Matt's hips, “I think I've got you now.” He purrs low, his chin wedged into the crook of Matt's neck like it belongs there. “So what's with you tonight, huh? You're all… riled up ‘bout somethin'.”

With Frank's scruff scratching his skin and his warm breath tickling at his ear, Matt's quickly ripping off his gloves so he can reach back and feel the heat of the other man right under his fingertips. “Can’t I just be riled up about you?”

Frank runs his fingers up the front of the blood-red suit, pressing his blunt nails into the fabric over Matt's nipples making him bite back a barely audible moan.

“Hmm, I guess so.”

Frank's hands continue to trace their way to the back of Matt's neck, taking a hold of and dragging down the zipper of his suit as Matt is working on toeing off his boots at the same time.

“Hmm,” Frank hums, his fingers following the line of his spine until he reaches the small of his back, pushing the suit fabric down to free his hands and then halting.

Frank’s brows arch up the highest they've ever gone as he smooths his calloused fingers over something new, the black lace that's covering the familiar curve of Matt's pert ass cheeks and the tops of his thick thighs. A pretty package all wrapped up… just for him.

“W-wha-where'd you get these?” he manages to stammer out.

These ‘invitations’ came often from Matt, subtle and some not so subtle hints that would regularly make Frank lose his goddamn mind, and that usually resulted in Matt reduced to a satisfied, messy wreck.

Matt arches his back a little more, pushing into Frank's currently far too gentle touch. “Does it matter?”

He's right, Frank is far too busy enjoying the feel and look of it all to care about details. Tracing the patterns that stretch over his private domain.

“Guess not…”

Frank yanks the rest of the suit down to Matt's ankles, bunching it there and rendering him temporarily immobile. He lifts his hand away before swiftly smacking it down sharply on Matt's perfect ass making him hiss out.

“Fuck!”

“Ain't you just full of surprises. That too hard for ya, sweetheart?”

Matt chuckles then, shaking his head back and forth. He's trapped, right where he wants to be. “Not even close.”

Frank swiftly reaches around, cupping the bulge of Matt's obvious erection that strains hard against the soft lace. A grin splits his face as a slight whine escapes Matt's throat..

“Liar.”

He hoists him easily over his shoulder in a fireman's lift, striding purposefully to the bedroom, throwing him down on the mattress and hastily stripping the rest of that dumb red suit off as well as his own clothing. The lacey shorts are the trigger that turns Frank into an animal, mounting the Devil of Hell's Kitchen like a predator toying with his prey.

He wrecks them completely, ripping them apart with his teeth and hands, tongue thrusting through the tear and teasing that tight little furl of muscle revealed to him. Frank takes him apart, roughly eating Matt out until he's almost screaming from the intensity of stimulation. Matt feels like he's going to combust, tears soaking into the pillow from the relentless prodding and lapping of Frank's tongue, the hot burn of his beard against his sensitive skin, and the possessive grip of his strong hands as they spread his ass cheeks open until Matt's cock twitches and drools all over the remnants of black lace underneath him.

He's a picture. Skin flushed pink, hair mussed as he lays on his front with his head turned to the side, breathing shallow and fast. He can sense the tension and power in the muscles of Frank's shoulders as he moves. Matt briefly battles with letting his own body go lax and submissive like he needs to, and being a contrary sonofabitch and fighting this.

“I got you, I got you…” Frank repeats, pulling Matt's hips back gently and it's the truth, he has him, he's all Frank's and whatever he wants to do with him. Giving in makes Matt feel so untethered, but despite how far gone he is already, Matt is still in tune with his surroundings, and his surroundings are Frank. He smells him, clean even underneath the blood and the new sheen of salt sweat that's just starting to break over his brow and chest. He feels him warm, warmer still as he returns from reaching to the bedside cabinet for something. He knows it's the lube and yet there's something else missing, something he can't smell that causes Matt to groan in absolute anticipation.

He relishes in the soothing sting of cool lube before the hot press of the other man's cock head slowly stretches him open, filling him so full his eyes roll back into his head. It's raw and bare, no barriers between them. Frank wants to make him feel every single element of him, and Matt is so weak and willing for it.

The sure, slow and steady motion of Frank's hips rolling into him kicks up pleasurable embers around the base of Matt's spine into hot sparks that seem to set every other part of him ablaze in turn like a wildfire through the underbrush.

“Oh god, you're too much- god, I can't, I-”

Frank softly curls over his back in answer, one arm sliding around under Matt's chest to lift him slightly. “Shh-shh,” his own voice is starting to strain. “Told ya I got you…”

Frank observes the beauty in the shifting and firming of Matt's back and arms muscles, the thick raised veins in his forearms as his hands splay out and claw into the sheets trying to grab an anchor somewhere.

If Matt could even speak he'd swear their very atoms were merging, that you couldn't tell where he ended and Frank began.

When Frank pulls him up flush with Matt's back against his broad chest, skin to skin, he's close. Frank's thick cock is hitting a new angle of ecstasy, heavy balls pounding against him in a maddening rhythm, his own drawn up tight, ready for release at any moment.

One of Frank's big paws is still wrapped firm around him, the fingers sneaking up and making his body shudder as he teasingly circles a nipple. The other is curling around his neck, thick fingers exerting just enough pressure for Matt to continue to communicate his want in needy grunts and moans until Frank knows almost exactly when he's about to break.

Frank kisses his neck, it's more mouthing at his skin than kissing at this point, a gentle scrape of teeth becoming sharper and harder as he starts coming inside him. Matt gasps suddenly, his body jerking in his hold as he feels Frank pulse inside, his fingers digging in as he holds onto him so tightly as he's filling him up with a strangled groan. He doesn't stop, burying his cock so deep, his chin resting in the crook of Matt's neck and watching him cover the remains of those black shorts in drips of thick creamy white.

“Attaboy…” Frank murmurs in encouragement as he slows down, his hot breath in Matt's ear, surprisingly gentle as he's bringing him back from blissful oblivion.

“F- Frank-” Matt mumbles, those beautiful hazel eyes still softly closed. His throat bobs as he swallows, mouth dropping open to speak.

“Just breathe, sweetheart.” Frank husks, as he's gradually softening inside him enough to slip out. He guides Matt to lie down, settling beside him, a hand running through his hair helping him ground again.

“You got me.” Matt says eventually. His body sinking into the mattress, he feels so heavy Iike he could keep on falling through it. He can sense the boyishness of Frank's smile next to him, tracing it with his fingers and returning tenfold.

#fratt fanfic #matt murdock x frank castle #fratt smut #frattweek #probably a mess ive been writing it on and off for ages sorry

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snippet-z · 1 month ago

Text

The Sniper

The waiting is the worst part - it's not easy to catch the perfect opportunity and get the job done. One would think that after years of doing it, he'd be much better at the whole patience thing, but he isn't. He takes the last, flat drag from the dying cigarette, and tosses the butt over his shoulder to join the rest of its brethren. He pulls another one from the pack and catches it between his teeth. There's only two more left in the pack, which is a shame, because he got it this morning. But the waiting is the worst, and he needs something to kill the time. He lights the cigarette and sighs.

In moments like this one, he curses his mother. She never should've gotten him into the industry, but once she had her mind on something, there was not a force in this universe and the next one that would be able to change her mind. Stubborn old hag, but never let her hear that, because the retribution wouldn't be worth it. Then again, damn her, he was good at his job, if not the best in the whole bloody world.

The rifle doesn't make a sound as he moves it a bit to the side. Good old Bessie is the only highlight at this point, and he's glad he's got her. It makes the whole ordeal a little easier to stomach, and it's lighter on his shoulders too. Those damned arrows used to do his back much too dirty for his liking.

The time seems to run slower in that fucking attic, he thinks, as the two teenagers talk away about some thing or other. There was no way for them to see him, but he had the perfect view on them both. One pull of the trigger and he'd be done with the job; but he can't do it yet - the moment still isn't right.

The cigarette runs out, and so does the next one, and suddenly he's out of them completely. He curses under his breath, and throws an accusatory glare at the pile behind him. So much for good time.

He doesn't have the time to wallow too much in it, though, because something finally shifts. The kids are standing opposite each other, talking, and he couldn't care less about what they're saying, not when they're lined up so nicely. He takes his aim just as the soft blue glow peeks through the windows, and shoots. The bullet flies through the air without making a single sound, hitting the first boy in the back and flying right though him, piercing the other boy straight through. It's textbook, two hearts for the price of one. He tries not to feel too smug about it.

Seconds later, the boys run away together, and he turns to pack his gear. "You missed them by moments," he says to the figure standing next to him without looking up, too busy polishing the barrel.

"DID I?" a melodic voice asks, by all means amused. He snorts, and finally pays the newcomer more attention.

"Never one for coincidence, are you My Lady?" he asks, putting away the weapon and standing up. He's taller than her, one of the few beings who hold that privilege. It feels a little ironic, but then again, the poets may have been onto something this whole time.

She humms in response, lips quirking up. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?" she asks instead of replying, a move he should've expected by now, and which leaves him mildly bemused at his own surprise. He realises he doesn't have an answer to her question.

"I don't know," he says, shrugging, "I guess I'm bored. One can be blamed for murder so many times before becoming tired of it, am I right? Those two at least can't die any more than they already are." He tries for a light-hearted tone, a joke, but some of the bitterness still seeps through it. Leave it to humans to blame him for doing his job. It's not like he asked for it, did he? And he can't exactly quit either.

There's a slight touch on his shoulder, and he looks to his side to see Death staring at him in sympathy. He can't decide whether he appreciates or hates that expression. "FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH," she says, her gaze infuriatingly imploring, "I AM CURIOUS TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS."

He sighs, nodding tightly, and pretends he doesn't care about her hand lingering on his side. "Me too," he says just to fill the silence, then tosses Bessie over his shoulder, and magics the pile of cigarette butts away. "Guess I should be going."

"PERHAPS," she says, considering, "OR YOU CAN BUY ME A DRINK FIRST," she adds slyly. He snorts, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter. "I guess that can be arranged," he concedes, offering her his arm, "Shall we, then?"

They make their way out of the attic, leaving the room without any real evidence apart from a single bullet casing. And well, the dead body, but that one isn't his fault, really. He just took an opportunity to add two more tallies to his score, although he lost track of it a long time ago. Regardless, the most important thing is that he's still winning. Humanity 0 : Cupid ?.

#this is very silly #dead boy detective agency #dead boy detectives #charles rowland #edwin payne #but only mentioned #pov: cupid #because why the fuck not I guess #payneland #my writing #edwin x charles #z yapps #accidental cupid x death???#i guess???#i don't even know folks im just trying to keep up with a habit

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denaliwrites · 2 years ago

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His Love is All in Me

Aziraphale x GN!Reader x Crowley

Summary: It's not every day you compete with a demon for the affections of an angel.

Soundtrack: The Boy is Mine by Brandy & Monica

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Jealousy. Unrequited Love. Choking. Crowley is a Dick.

Upon further reflection, maybe Crowley had been right to call you an interloper. Sure, you hadn't meant to intrude on the good thing he had with his angel that fateful, rainy evening in December when you'd first wandered into Aziraphale's shop. You also hadn't meant to steal the angel's attention. Hadn't meant to keep going back day after day. Hadn't meant to get attached.

But now here you were, deeply seated not just in a plush armchair in the angel's bookshop several months later, but also in the angel's life.

Which meant, for better or for worse, you were deeply seated in Crowley's life as well.

And he hated you.

He made it impossibly clear any time the two of you were alone, and though he pumped the brakes a little when Aziraphale was around, he didn't do much to hide it then either. You tried not to let it show, both for Aziraphale's peace of mind and so that Crowley wouldn't get the satisfaction of knowing he'd upset you... but it did weigh on you.

But no matter how much weight you can hold, eventually there's a point where it's too much and some (or all) of it goes tipping over.

Aziraphale was leaving for the weekend.

He said something about having to travel to the States to get a book he'd been after for years, darling. You were on board until he put you in charge of the shop. That would be... stressful. But manageable. And then Crowley walked in, and Aziraphale lit up, and told him that he was in charge too.

The glare Crowley sent you the moment the angel turned away made you want to wither and die.

Before he left, Aziraphale handed you a tray of freshly baked treats -- ones he knew you loved, your most favorite treats that you'd probably kill for.

"To remember me by," he said before leaving.

Once alone in the shop with Crowley, you threw him a wary glance. You wanted to say something -- anything -- but nothing came to mind. Nervously, you set the tray down on the table beside your usual chair before dipping behind the counter to grab the book you'd been reading.

You heard a snap, and when you looked back over, the tray of treats was on fire.

"Crowley!" you yelped, barely managing to set the book down before frantically looking for a fire extinguisher. There wasn't one -- somewhere in the logical part of your brain, you figured it was because the angel could just miracle a fire away. But that didn't help you, a mortal, right now.

"C-Crowley," you whimpered as you finally came to a halt, simply staring at the fire in defeat.

You looked up at the sound of another snap. You could see out of your peripheral that the fire was gone, but your main focus was on Crowley's infuriatingly smug expression.

It pained you to look away, but you forcefully pulled your expression off of him to look at the tray -- the fire had burned every single treat into inedible embers.

As you looked, some sound that vaguely resembled a laugh came out of Crowley, and you whipped around to glare at him.

"What is your FUCKING problem?!" you growled, storming up to him.

He easily could've overpowered you, killed you, done literally anything, but he let you slam him up into the nearest wall, let you press your arm to his throat. Not that he needed to breathe, but it was satisfying all the same.

"Ever since that first day you have had it out for me! I've been nothing but nice, and helpful, and accommodating to your stupid mood swings! What the fuck else can you possibly want from me, you fucking asshole!?"

"I want you gone," he replied simply.

Oh. On further reflection, you should've seen that coming.

"The angel doesn't love you. He can't. You're but a fleeting little infatuation -- a pet. The moment you start withering, start showing your cursed humanity, he'll lose interest."

"Why do you even care?" you asked exasperatedly. "You've had six thousand years with him and you'll have six thousand more, infinite times over. Why do you care if he's distracted for a few years out of eternity?"

"Because he's mine!" Crowley hissed. "He's my friend. My Angel."

"This whole fucking time," you said with a sigh. "This whole time I thought you hated me for a real reason -- but you were just jealous? This whole time, you only hated me because you can't stand the idea of Aziraphale liking anyone else."

Suddenly, the tables were flipped and you were the one pressed to the wall. Unlike Crowley, though, you did need air to breathe, and his hand was nearly crushing your throat.

"C-Crowley--" you wheezed desperately, but his hold didn't let up.

"Listen to me, you insolent little speck of insignificant cosmic shit," Crowley hissed above you, "I don't care about the angel's pointless dalliances with mortals. We blink and you're dead and it's like no time has passed at all."

You were getting lightheaded, delirious.

"What I care about is you humans stupidly worming your way into his heart, only for you to inevitably die and break it."

Just as suddenly as it was there, the pressure on your windpipe was gone, and your body collapsed and instinctively dragged in desperate gasping breaths.

Crowley watched you disdainfully as you sucked in breath after breath, until eventually you evened out.

"Th..." you tried to speak, but every few breaths one still came out as a gasp.

Crowley knelt before you, looking you over. His hand neared your face and you jerked away, yet he persisted. You were surprised when the touch that landed on your chin was gentle. Limply, you let him tilt your chin up, giving him a view of your neck. A couple soft clicks of his tongue and a snap later, and your throat and lungs no longer burned.

"Wh-what did you--"

"I don't want you dead," he said with a sigh. "In fact, I'd much prefer you live a good, long life. Just... somewhere away from Aziraphale. And me."

You blinked up at him, before you let out a pained, wheezing laugh. "Y-you want me to live a 'good, long life'? You hate me!"

"You humans," he groused, looking around like some form of help might magically appear before him. "You're so -- smallminded. You don't get it."

"Get what?" you asked, voice suddenly weak. He looked genuinely worried, and that surprised you.

"You think that love and hate are mutually exclusive. Even when you love and hate something! Like -- like you. You love and hate romance novels. I've seen it! You love and hate them, and yet you cannot fathom the idea that I could love and hate humanity -- love and hate you."

"Sorry," you wheezed, "you love me?"

"Well -- hgk."

You laughed at the sound he made in the back of his throat, and yet again he surprised you. His lips actually pulled up, just a little, in response.

"Yeah, I do. In the way I love every other human," he said after a moment. "But I love you because Aziraphale does, too."

"Yet you want me gone?"

"Because I hate seeing his heart get broken."

"Some things are worth getting your heart broken for, Crowley."

His stunned blinks told you he'd never considered that.

"I know I'm not going to live forever. I know you two will outlive me by eternity. I'll spend the rest of my life with you, and for you, it'll be a second on the cosmic clock. Less, probably."

His eyes met yours, thoughtful, sad, considering.

"Don't you think it breaks my heart too, knowing I'll only get so much time with you before I'm gone? That I'll have to leave him behind, and he'll have to deal with that pain?"

"Then why stay?"

"Because I love him, and people do stupid things for love. Sometimes they do selfish things for it, too. And sometimes, the people involved are perfectly capable of making their own decisions and have considered the outcome and think that the pain they'll experience is worth it."

He looks away in shame, then.

"Aziraphale's not an idiot," you say, reaching out a hand to tilt Crowley's face towards you. "If he didn't want to feel that loss, he wouldn't keep getting attached to humans. But he sees something in us worth going through that pain for. Maybe instead of treating him like an infant who can't understand the consequences of his decisions, you should respect that -- like it or not -- he has his own reasons for doing things and he's more than capable of choosing to do them."

"I can see why he likes you, now," Crowley said softly, and you blinked. "You... hgk. He's fallen for many humans, but you may be the best of them."

Coming from him, that surprised you, but it also warmed your heart. "Oh, he does love me back?" you asked with a laugh.

"Oh, yes," Crowley sighed dramatically. "Didn't understand why before but... now I do."

"And what about us?" you asked.

The sound that came out of that demon's mouth was -- well, it was something. Something that made you cackle.

"Us?" he finally managed, baffled.

"Yeah. Like. Are we okay? Are we cool? No more hating and trying to chase me off and stuff? Can we be civil?"

"Oh," he said, but you saw the moment the realization actually sank in. "Oh! Yes, yeah, we're fine. You're... you're good."

This made you smile. Without warning, you grabbed the demon and pulled him into a hug. "Maybe we can even be friends," you said, delighting in the way his body stiffened against yours.

"Oh, no, no -- I don't -- I don't do that -- that's the angel's thing --"

Despite Crowley's best attempts at insisting that he didn't befriend Aziraphale's "pets" and that he'd much rather stay as far from you as possible, when Aziraphale returned home at the end of the weekend he found the two of you in one of the armchairs -- Crowley's favorite, in fact. You were asleep with a book hanging limply and precariously from your hand. Crowley was... well, it was hard to tell, with his glasses on, but he had his body sprawled across yours, one leg thrown over the back of the chair and one laid over your lap in what Aziraphale would dare say was a protective gesture. He smiled, miracling a blanket over the two of you before he went about settling back into his home routine.

#crowley x reader #aziraphale x reader #crowley x you #aziraphale x you #good omens x reader #good omens fic #good omens fan fiction #david tennant #michael sheen

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charlieg1rl · 6 months ago

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⤜ ˚. ✦ ⸝⸝ ֙⋆ 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ᳝ › 𓈒 ୨.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐬𝐞𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐫𝐨𝐦-𝐜𝐨𝐦

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐠𝐲𝐦 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐲/𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐬𝐞𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟓𝐤

You had always been fiercely competitive, especially when it came to working out. The gym was your sanctuary, a place where you could focus on your goals and shut out the rest of the world. That is, until Seo Changbin started showing up.

It started innocently enough—he'd be working on his deadlifts while you tackled the squat rack, both of you exchanging nothing but glances, silently sizing each other up. But eventually, it turned into something else.

Every time Changbin was around, you pushed yourself harder. If he upped his weight, you'd increase yours. If he spent an extra ten minutes on the treadmill, you'd go fifteen. It was a silent battle, but one that neither of you was willing to lose.

The problem? He was annoyingly good. No matter how much you pushed yourself, Changbin always seemed one step ahead. And the worst part? The quiet noises you made as you lifted—the soft huffs of breath, the occasional grunt of effort—never escaped his notice.

One afternoon, the gym was unusually quiet. Just you, Changbin, and the rhythmic clinking of weights. You were mid-lift, focusing on keeping your form perfect, when you heard him snicker softly from across the room.

You set the barbell down with a frustrated sigh and glanced over at him. "What’s so funny?"

Changbin, who had been busy with his dumbbell curls, didn’t even look up. "Nothing," he said, his tone casual, almost too innocent. But there was a smirk pulling at his lips.

"Doesn't sound like nothing," you muttered, picking up a towel and wiping the sweat off your forehead. He was always like this—infuriatingly smug but never outright rude. It was as if he thrived on getting under your skin.

"I just didn't realize you made so much noise when you work out," he teased, still not looking at you directly but clearly enjoying your reaction.

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, though it wasn’t from the workout. You glared at him, crossing your arms. "Maybe you're just easily distracted."

Finally, Changbin set his weights down and turned to face you, leaning against the bench press with an amused expression. "Or maybe you’re trying too hard to keep up."

Your eyes narrowed. "Keep up? With you? Please."

He laughed softly, the sound low and maddening. "Hey, I’m just saying, if you want some tips, I could always—"

"I don’t need tips from you, Changbin," you shot back, stepping closer. You were nearly toe-to-toe now, the intensity between you electric. "Maybe you should focus on your own workout instead of listening to mine."

For a second, his eyes flickered with something unreadable, the playful arrogance faltering. But then his smirk returned, wider this time, more challenging. "Alright, how about a bet then?"

"A bet?"

"Yeah. Whoever can squat the most by the end of the month wins. Loser has to buy the winner dinner."

You raised an eyebrow. "Dinner?"

"What, afraid you'll lose?"

"Not a chance." You extended your hand. "Deal."

Changbin took it, his grip firm, his smirk never leaving his face. "Better start working on those lifts, Y/N. I’d hate to see you struggle."

The rivalry had officially been set, and now every session felt like a ticking clock. You could feel Changbin's eyes on you every time you walked into the gym, assessing your progress and your technique, but you were just as guilty of stealing glances at him.

It was all in good fun—or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. But the truth was, something about the whole thing had begun to mess with your head. Maybe it was the idea of losing to him, or maybe it was that smug look he gave you every time he outdid your numbers. Whatever it was, you were determined to win this bet.

It was about two weeks into the bet, and your routine had started to revolve almost entirely around this silent competition. Changbin had been throwing around heavier weights like it was nothing, and though you were keeping up, it was hard to ignore the way he always seemed to be a step ahead.

Today, however, was going to be different.

You loaded up the squat bar with more weight than usual, determined to set a new personal record. Changbin had noticed, of course—he always did. You could feel his eyes on you, but you refused to look his way. You focused on your breathing, on your stance, on everything but him.

You managed the first rep easily enough. The second one was a bit more of a struggle, but you powered through it. On the third rep, though, you started to feel the strain.

"Careful," a low voice suddenly interrupted from behind you.

Of course it was him.

"I'm fine," you muttered through gritted teeth, determined not to let him break your focus.

Changbin crossed his arms, standing back but still close enough that you knew he was watching. "You sure? That last one looked like it almost got you."

You glared at him through the mirror in front of you. "I said I'm fine."

Ignoring him, you went for the fourth rep, legs trembling as you tried to push through. You were just about to straighten up when your muscles gave out. Before you could drop the barbell, Changbin was there, steadying the weight and helping you guide it back to the rack.

Your heart was pounding—not from the exertion, but from how close he was. His hands were still on the barbell, and you could feel the warmth of his body just inches from yours.

"See? Told you," he said, his voice softer now, without the usual smugness. "I don’t want to see you hurt yourself trying to win this thing."

You turned around to face him, your breathing still heavy from the lift. "I’m not going to lose, Changbin."

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the tension between you wasn’t about the competition anymore. It was something else, something that neither of you had acknowledged yet.

He chuckled lightly, stepping back and giving you space, though there was something different in his expression now. "You’re really serious about this, huh?"

"Of course I am. Aren’t you?"

He shrugged, wiping some sweat from his brow. "Yeah, but...I don’t know. I figured you’d tap out by now."

You crossed your arms, offended. "Why? Because you think I can’t handle it?"

"No, because most people would’ve given up with how hard you’ve been pushing yourself."

His tone wasn’t mocking anymore. If anything, it sounded almost...impressed?

"I told you, I don’t give up," you said firmly. "And I’m not losing to you."

Changbin raised his hands in surrender, his grin returning. "Alright, alright. I’ll back off for now. But you should let me spot you next time if you’re going for a PR. I don’t want to have to swoop in at the last second again."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. "Fine. But only because I don’t want you making a big deal about it later."

As he walked back to his weights, you caught yourself watching him for a moment longer than usual. There was something about the way he’d come to your aid without hesitation, the way his tone had softened, that made your heart skip a beat.

This bet had started out as a rivalry, but it was becoming something else entirely.

The next few days were a blur of intense workouts and sly glances. Changbin had started offering to spot you more often, and though you'd initially refused, it became harder to say no when you knew he was genuinely trying to help.

But today, something was different.

As you finished up your routine, Changbin appeared at your side, water bottle in hand. "You wanna grab coffee or something after this?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "Coffee?"

"Yeah," he said casually, though his eyes held that mischievous glint you’d grown used to. "You know, just to practice for when you lose."

You rolled your eyes. "Please. I’m still winning this thing."

But despite your protests, you found yourself saying yes. The rivalry was still there, but something else had started to bloom between you two. Maybe it was the shared determination, or maybe it was the fact that you’d gotten under each other’s skin in the best possible way.

Either way, this ‘coffee date’ was going to be interesting.

As you both wrapped up your workouts and headed to the nearby café, the air buzzed with an unspoken tension, the atmosphere thick with the anticipation of something more than just a friendly rivalry. You could feel it in the way Changbin kept glancing at you, a small smile playing on his lips, as if he was excited about this unexpected twist in your dynamic.

The café was cozy, filled with the rich aroma of coffee and freshly baked goods. You both settled into a booth in the back corner, the soft chatter of other patrons providing a comforting backdrop. As you scanned the menu, Changbin leaned back, casually watching you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“So, what’s it gonna be? The loser pays, remember?” he reminded, crossing his arms with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your amusement. “I’m not losing, Changbin. So you better pick something good.”

He chuckled, his gaze unwavering. “You really are serious about this. I like that.”

You looked up, surprised by his sincerity. “Why? Because most people don’t care about a friendly competition?”

“More like because you actually challenge me,” he replied, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “Most people just want to lift and leave. You push yourself, and you push me too. It’s refreshing.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Well, I’m not backing down anytime soon. This is just getting started.”

As you placed your order, the conversation flowed easily between you two. You talked about everything—from your workout routines to your favorite music—and you found yourself laughing more than you expected. Changbin had a way of making you feel comfortable, and it felt nice to just enjoy each other’s company outside the confines of the gym.

After a while, you couldn’t resist teasing him. “So, tell me. What’s the secret to your incredible lifting skills? Is it just natural talent, or do you have some hidden workout routine you’re not sharing?”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful grin on his lips. “Oh, you know, just a bit of magic and a lot of hard work. But if you really want to know, I do have a secret. I visualize lifting heavy weights while eating a whole pizza. It really helps.”

You burst into laughter, shaking your head. “That’s the worst advice I’ve ever heard. But I appreciate your dedication to pizza.”

“Hey, it’s all about balance, right?” He shrugged, feigning seriousness. “Work hard, eat hard.”

Your food arrived, and you both dug in, the conversation flowing seamlessly. As you talked, you noticed the way he watched you, the way his eyes sparkled when you animatedly shared stories about your workouts and your goals.

The more time you spent with him, the more you realized how much you enjoyed this side of Changbin—the one that was genuine and unguarded, not just the competitive gym rat you’d been clashing with.

As the dinner progressed, the conversation took a more personal turn. You found yourself sharing stories about your family, your aspirations beyond fitness, and even your struggles. Changbin listened intently, nodding and responding with genuine interest.

“I’ve always wanted to do something in music,” he admitted after a moment of silence, his expression turning contemplative. “But I never thought I’d end up where I am now. It just kind of happened.”

You leaned in, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I was always drawn to it, but I never thought I’d be a part of a group. I thought it would just be a hobby.” He chuckled lightly. “Now look at me, battling it out in the gym and on stage.”

“It’s pretty amazing, though,” you said, genuinely impressed. “You get to do what you love and inspire others.”

“Thanks. That means a lot.” He paused, his gaze shifting to the window for a moment. “Sometimes I wonder if I could ever do anything else. But I love performing. It’s the adrenaline, the crowd... there’s nothing like it.”

“Do you ever get nervous?” you asked, curious about the man behind the persona.

“Of course. Everyone does. But I try to use it to fuel my performance. Kind of like how I do with working out—turning the pressure into motivation.” He looked back at you, and there was something in his eyes that made your heart race. “I think it’s all about mindset, you know?”

You nodded, feeling inspired. “That’s a good way to look at it. I think we’re both pushing ourselves to become the best versions of ourselves in our own ways.”

Changbin smiled, and in that moment, you felt a shift between you two—something that transcended the friendly competition that had sparked this dinner. The laughter, the stories, and the connection you were building felt undeniable.

As you finished your meal, Changbin leaned back, a satisfied grin on his face. “Well, I have to say, this was way more fun than I expected. Who knew dinner with my gym rival would be this enjoyable?”

You chuckled, pushing your empty plate aside. “I guess it’s not so bad when we’re not trying to outlift each other.”

“Speaking of which,” he said, his tone suddenly serious, “I’m still determined to win this bet. Just so you know.”

You smirked, feeling a surge of competitive spirit. “Bring it on. I’m not going down without a fight.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied, a fire igniting in his eyes. “But just so you know, dinner’s on you next time.”

You laughed, enjoying the banter. “We’ll see about that!”

As you left the café, walking side by side, the evening air felt electric. The rivalry was still there, but now it was mixed with a growing connection, something deeper that you both were starting to acknowledge.

With every step, you felt the anticipation building for what lay ahead—not just in the gym, but in whatever was blossoming between you two. This competition was becoming more than just a battle of strength; it was the beginning of something exciting, and you couldn’t wait to see where it led.

As the weeks passed, the gym became a battleground of friendly competition and burgeoning chemistry between you and Changbin. The initial thrill of the bet had transformed into something deeper, with every workout session charged with an intensity that blurred the lines between rivalry and something much more intimate.

You and Changbin had developed a routine. He would spot you during your lifts, and you would call him out when he tried to slack off or take it easy. There was a rhythm to your exchanges, a playful back-and-forth that made every rep feel more intense and meaningful.

Today, as you both entered the gym, the atmosphere felt electric. It was an early Saturday morning, and the gym was relatively empty, the quiet hum of the machines echoing around you. You could feel Changbin’s eyes on you as you loaded up your weights, and you couldn’t help but smirk, knowing he was silently assessing your progress.

“Ready to lose?” he asked, a confident smirk spreading across his face.

You turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “In your dreams. Just wait until I crush my PR today.”

Changbin chuckled, stepping closer. “Alright, I’m counting on it. But remember, if you don’t hit it, you owe me that dinner.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, feeling the familiar spark of competition ignite. “Don’t get too cocky, Seo. You might end up paying for my meal instead.”

With that, you stepped up to the squat rack, your heart racing as you mentally prepared yourself. You could feel Changbin’s presence beside you, the weight of his gaze fueling your determination.

As you began your warm-up sets, you could hear him offering advice, coaching you through your form. “Keep your back straight! Focus on your breath!” His voice rang clear, steadying you when your muscles started to fatigue.

After a few warm-up sets, it was time to go for your new personal record. You loaded the barbell with the weight you had been dreaming about reaching. Your heart raced, not just from the weight but from the energy between you two—every glance, every word, adding to the tension.

You took a deep breath, focusing on the bar in front of you. The world around you faded as you set your grip, your hands tightening around the cold metal. With one last look at Changbin, who stood beside you with an encouraging smile, you felt a rush of adrenaline.

“Let’s do this,” you said, your voice steady as you positioned yourself under the bar.

As you began your lift, the weight felt heavier than usual. You focused on every ounce of strength within you, gritting your teeth as you pushed through the initial struggle. Halfway up, you felt a moment of doubt creeping in, your legs shaking under the strain. But then you heard Changbin’s voice, clear and unwavering.

“Come on! You got this! Just a little more!”

With his words echoing in your mind, you summoned every ounce of power and pushed through. The barbell rose above your head, and as you locked it into place, a wave of triumph washed over you.

“I did it!” you exclaimed, breathless and exhilarated, as you set the bar back down. You turned to see Changbin’s face alight with pride, his eyes sparkling.

“You killed it!” he shouted, an infectious grin spreading across his face. “I knew you could do it!”

Your heart raced—not just from the effort but from the way he looked at you, the unmasked admiration shining in his eyes. “Thanks! I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

As you stepped away from the rack, Changbin moved closer, his expression suddenly serious. “You really pushed yourself today. I’m impressed. This rivalry is making you stronger.”

You felt a rush of warmth at his words, a mix of pride and something deeper stirring within you. “Thanks. It’s easier when I have someone like you around to keep me motivated.”

Changbin chuckled lightly, but there was a hint of something more in his voice. “You know, I didn’t expect to have this much fun working out with someone. I thought it would just be about the competition.”

You shrugged, feeling a bit bashful under his gaze. “Yeah, same. I guess it’s turned into something different, hasn’t it?”

“Definitely.” He stepped closer, his gaze intense. “I’ve enjoyed every minute of this. And it’s not just about our competition anymore.”

A heartbeat of silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken feelings. Your heart raced, caught between the thrill of the competition and the undeniable connection that had formed between you.

“Are you saying you want to do more than just workout together?” you ventured, teasing but hoping he’d understand the weight of your words.

He grinned, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t mind some extra training outside the gym. Maybe a movie or two? Or just hanging out?”

Your breath hitched, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling within you. “Are you asking me out on a date, Seo Changbin?”

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

You felt a rush of joy, mixed with disbelief. “Well, I can’t say I’m opposed to that idea.”

“Great!” he said, visibly relieved. “How about dinner tomorrow? My treat this time. No bet involved.”

You nodded, a smile spreading across your face. “Deal. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you in the gym just because we’re hanging out.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied, matching your grin.

The next day, the anticipation of your dinner with Changbin made it nearly impossible to focus on your workout. As you went through your routine, your mind kept wandering to the thought of what the evening would bring. You were excited, but you were also a little nervous—this was uncharted territory, and you wanted it to go perfectly.

When the time finally came, you chose a casual outfit that still made you feel confident, wanting to impress him without overdoing it. As you walked to the café you’d chosen, you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach. What if it changed everything between you two?

Changbin arrived just a few minutes after you did, looking effortlessly cool in a casual hoodie and jeans. He smiled widely when he saw you, and you could feel your heart race in response.

“Hey! You look amazing,” he said as he approached, and you felt a warm blush creep up your cheeks.

“Thanks! You don’t look too bad yourself,” you replied, your smile widening.

They settled into a cozy booth, and as you both perused the menu, the conversation flowed easily. Changbin told stories from his time training with his group, recounting funny moments that made you laugh. You shared stories from your own life, your dreams, and the little quirks that made you who you were.

As the night went on, the laughter between you two felt effortless. The connection you’d felt in the gym only grew stronger as you shared these moments of vulnerability and joy.

“So, what do you think about the next competition?” he asked, leaning back in his seat, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Are you ready to defend your title?”

You laughed, taking a sip of your drink. “Oh, you mean the one where I completely crush you again? Absolutely.”

“Dream on,” he shot back, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’ll have to step up my game. No more pizza magic!”

As the night came to a close, you both walked out into the cool evening air. The world around you felt different, lighter, as if something had shifted within both of you.

“Thanks for tonight,” Changbin said, turning to face you, his expression sincere. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” you replied, your heart racing at the way he looked at you, the intensity of his gaze making you feel seen in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Without thinking, you took a step closer, feeling a pull towards him. “So, does this mean we’re officially gym partners and... more?”

He grinned, taking another step forward, closing the distance. “Definitely. I’d like that very much.”

As the words hung between you, something shifted in the air, a moment of hesitation before he leaned in, his hand gently brushing against your arm. Your heart raced, and you found yourself leaning closer, caught in the moment.

But before you knew it, Changbin pulled back slightly, a teasing smile on his lips. “Just so you know, I won’t go easy on you in the gym because we’re dating.”

You laughed, relieved and exhilarated. “Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

The following weeks were a whirlwind of shared workouts, late-night texts, and unexpected moments that made your connection with Changbin grow stronger. The rivalry had transformed into a supportive partnership, one that felt exhilarating and new. Each session in the gym was no longer just about lifting weights; it was about lifting each other up, celebrating progress, and discovering the joys of being together.

One Saturday afternoon, you both decided to change things up a bit. Instead of your usual gym routine, you planned an outdoor workout at a nearby park. The weather was perfect—sunny and warm, with just the right amount of breeze to keep things comfortable.

As you arrived at the park, you could feel the energy of the day surrounding you. Families picnicked on the grass, couples strolled hand in hand, and joggers passed by, their laughter and chatter creating a lively backdrop. You spotted Changbin by a fitness area equipped with bars and benches, doing some warm-up stretches.

“Hey!” he called out, waving as you approached. His smile lit up his face, and you couldn’t help but grin back.

“Hey! Ready to get your sweat on?” you teased, watching as he flexed his arms, showcasing his toned muscles.

“Always. But I hope you’re ready, too. I have some new moves I want to show you,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eye.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh really? I hope they’re not as crazy as your pizza magic.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Trust me, they’re way more effective. Let’s get started!”

The workout was invigorating. You moved from exercise to exercise, alternating between bodyweight drills and strength training. With the sun shining down and the fresh air filling your lungs, it felt refreshing to be outside, away from the usual confines of the gym.

As you pushed through your reps, you could feel Changbin’s presence beside you, his encouragement motivating you to push harder. “You got this! Just a few more!” he cheered, his enthusiasm infectious.

After a particularly grueling set, you collapsed onto the grass, panting and laughing. “I can’t believe how much I’m sweating! Who knew outdoor workouts could be this intense?”

Changbin plopped down beside you, mirroring your laughter. “Right? But look at us, we’re getting stronger together!”

You both lay there for a moment, catching your breath while the warm sun bathed you in golden light. The peacefulness of the park contrasted with the adrenaline from your workout, creating a comfortable silence that felt intimate.

“Thanks for always pushing me,” you said, turning your head to meet his gaze. “I really appreciate it.”

Changbin looked at you, his expression sincere. “You make it easy. I love seeing you challenge yourself and succeed. It’s inspiring.”

You felt a rush of warmth at his words, and for a moment, the world around you faded away. There was something special about this bond you were forming—something that felt deeper than just workouts and competition.

Suddenly, a playful idea struck you. “Alright, enough of this ‘supportive gym partner’ stuff. Let’s see who can do the most pull-ups.”

Changbin’s eyes lit up, a competitive spark igniting. “You’re on! Just remember, no mercy!”

You both jumped to your feet, heading over to the pull-up bars. As you started your sets, you could feel the excitement building in the air. With each rep, the competitive energy surged, making the workout feel like a fun game rather than a test of strength.

“Come on, you can do better than that!” Changbin called out, encouraging you between his own sets.

You grinned, matching his enthusiasm. “Just wait, I’m saving my energy for the final round!”

After several rounds, you both took a breather, panting and laughing. It was clear the friendly rivalry was in full swing, but there was an undercurrent of something more—an undeniable chemistry that made your heart race.

Later, as you sat on a nearby bench to rest, you looked at Changbin, noticing how the sunlight highlighted the contours of his face. There was a moment of silence, and you both exchanged a glance that felt electric.

“You know,” he started, breaking the tension, “I think this is my favorite way to work out. Just you and me, no pressure.”

“Agreed,” you replied, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest. “It’s nice to just enjoy it without worrying about the competition.”

Changbin shifted closer, the air between you charged with an unspoken energy. “And who knew working out could lead to all this?” he said, gesturing around. “I mean, look at us!”

You smiled, feeling a mix of pride and happiness. “Yeah, it’s crazy. I never expected to meet someone like you at the gym.”

He looked at you, his expression growing serious. “I’m glad we met. I really like what we have.”

Your heart raced at his admission, the weight of his words sinking in. “Me too, Changbin. It feels…special.”

He reached out, gently brushing his fingers against yours, the simple gesture sending a shiver down your spine. “How about we keep this going? More workouts, more dinners, maybe some fun outings?”

You nodded, your smile widening. “Definitely. I’m all in.”

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the park, you both made your way back to your workout area, ready to finish the day strong. But there was a new layer to your routine now—a sense of partnership that felt profound and exciting.

After a few more exercises, you decided to call it a day, feeling accomplished and happy. As you walked side by side back to the car, the laughter and playful banter continued, but now there was an undercurrent of closeness that made everything feel different.

“Tomorrow, we’ll do cardio and abs, right?” Changbin asked, nudging your shoulder playfully.

“Only if you promise to go easy on me,” you shot back, grinning.

“Not a chance! I have to keep my title as the best gym partner,” he replied with mock seriousness.

You both burst into laughter, and as you reached your car, Changbin turned to face you, a smile still on his lips. “Thanks for today. I really had a great time.”

“Me too. Let’s make this a regular thing,” you said, feeling a warmth in your heart.

As you both exchanged goodbyes and promised to meet up again soon, you felt a spark of excitement for what was to come. This was more than just a gym partnership; it was a blossoming relationship filled with laughter, support, and the thrill of growing stronger together—both in and out of the gym.

And as you drove home, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that the best was yet to come.

tags: @jeonginsbaee

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