#i THINK. that the official trophy is still the same

[rolandkaros]

did they change the uso women's trophy...........

[fastandcarlos]

Since Day One : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: since the very beginning you’ve been by lando’s side supporting his career

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by ynusername, georgerussell63 and 3,850 others

landonorris: goodbye karting, thank you for everything. looking forward to getting into the world of formula racing next year ❤️

382 comments

username1: can’t believe you’re moving on from karting, big things are coming!

ynusername: so proud of you, even if I’m gutted not to be riding around in a go kart every week from now on 💔

landonorris: @/ynusername you haven’t seen nothing yet, just wait for those f1 hot laps 😘

username2: only a matter of time until we see you line up on that f1 grid now ☺️

charles_leclerc: end of a karting era, but hopefully many more races for us to come!

landonorris: @/charles_leclerc we’ll both be on that podium one day…I’m sure of it!!

username3: so deserving of the new things coming your way ❤️

georgerussell63: hopefully be lining up on the grid with you very soon 🤞🏻

olivernorris1: congrats bro, looking forward to the free trips to some more hot destinations 😂☀️

landonorris: @/olivernorris1 and here i was thinking you were flying out to support me…

username4: still gonna be your biggest fan!!

maxverstappen1: about time you gave someone else a go at winning a karting race 😂

username5: can’t wait to see where you go from here 🫶🏻

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by alex_albon, charles_leclerc and 13,968 others

landonorris: buzzing to get my first formula 2 win, thanks to the whole team for all your support so far this season. hopefully the first of many 💪🏻🏆

1,840 comments

ynusername: you’re incredible, my race winner 🥺

landonorris: @/ynusername can’t wait to show this trophy off to you when I get home 💞

username6: first win of many gotta good feeling for this season ❤️

charles_leclerc: turns out you’re just as good at karting as you are formula 2 😂👏🏻

username7: so deserved lando, hope you celebrate hard tonight!

georgerussell63: yes lando!! a jolly good race indeed my friend 🏆

username8: a white race suit and champagne, someone in the team needs speaking to 🤦🏻‍♀️

alex_albon: someone get zak brown on speed dial asap 📞

landonorris: @/alex_albon let’s not get too excited, it’s only one race…so far!

alex_albon: @/landonorris the first of many my friend!

username9: if driver of the day was a thing, you’d get my vote 🤩

username10: that smile is my new favourite thing in the world!!

adam_norris_pure_electric: good job son, so proud of you back over here at home 🤍

username11: can’t wait to see how many more wins you get this year 🥺

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liked by carlossainz55, alex_albon and 58,402 others

landonorris: first couple of weeks with mclaren done, safe to say carlando is off to a good start 😝🧡

9,497 comments

username12: carlando are officially my otp btw 🧡🫶🏻

charles_leclerc: it’s a miracle you two get anything done when you’re in the same room!

username13: i can already tell this pairing is gonna be trouble!!

alex_albon: looks like you don’t need me anymore 😭

landonorris: @/alex_albon team rookies forever 💯

username14: whoever decided that these two should be on the same team deserves a pay rise immediately 😂

mclaren: admin thanks you both for constantly giving her such a headache 🧡

username15: have you ever met two more well paired drivers in your life??

ynusername: *currently googling what to do when you feel like the third wheel in your own relationship…*

carlossainz55: @/ynusername he’s mine now 😘

landonorris: @/ynusername ignore him, I promise you’re still my number one 💞

username16: forever refreshing my feed in search of carlando content 🥺

username17: can we get these two to sign lifetime contracts at all!?

zbrownceo: you’ve been awesome so far and ik you’ll continue to be too!

username18: i love how carlos us taken lando completely under his wing in f1 😭

carlossainz55: couldn’t imagine my life without you sweetie ❤️

landonorris: @/carlossainz55 stop otherwise you’ll make yn jealous again!!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 28,048 others

ynusername: finally managed to get to my first f1 race, so proud to see you do your thing in person lan 💞

2,960 comments

landonorris: so glad you were able to come and cheer me on, you’re definitely a good luck charm now 🫶🏻

username19: you looked stunning in the paddock, lando is one lucky guy!!

alex_albon: you’re not allowed to leave it so long next time, I didn’t realise how much i missed you!!

carmenmmundt: so happy to finally meet you, hopefully see you again soon girlie!

ynusername: @/carmenmmundt who cares what the boys say, we’re double dating asap 🫶🏻

username20: you two are just beyond stunning together 🤩

charles_leclerc: i still remember you being one of a handful of people watching us in karts all those years ago 💭

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc so proud of all you guys 💕

username21: silently praying for a yn appearance at every race from here on in 🙏🏻

carlossainz55: still secretly think you were coming to spy on me 👀

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 gotta find a way to stop you stealing my boyfriend somehow…

username22: from karting to f1, she’s really been by his side through it all!

mclaren: thank you for helping us keep lando under control for the weekend - admin 🧡

username23: hope you had the best time yn 💞

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 174,494 others

landonorris: first podium baby 🏆🥳

thank you to everyone in austria and back at the mtc for all your hard work. fans, friends, family and yn for always cheering me on and reminding me that i can do this 💕🧡

38,508 comments

username24: I don’t think I’ve ever been this proud in my entire life 🥺

alex_albon: the little go karter on an f1 podium 🤧

username25: idk how you did it but that was incredible, fastest lap too!!

carlossainz55: I feel like a proud father rn 🥺

username26: thank you for reminding us that mclaren can achieve podiums again 🧡

maxverstappen1: gutted I couldn’t be up there with you today

landonorris: @/maxverstappen1 next time we’ll be up there together like the old days!

mclaren: everyone at mclaren is so proud of you lando 🧡🏎️

username27: only got the podium thanks to a time penalty anyway 🙄

username28: @/username27 🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻

ynusername: have I mentioned yet just how proud I am of you?? 💞

username29: love how he gave a special mention to yn too 🥺

zbrownceo: the perfect stepping stone to get you to p1, I know we can do it 💪🏻

username30: hope you get used to being up on that podium, you’re gonna be there often!

georgerussell63: super drive buddy!!

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liked by landonorris, lilymhe and 38,497 others

ynusername: turns out monaco is the life after all, a whole new world but absolutely loving it 🥺

4,969 comments

username31: just goes to show just how much lando means to you remember!

landonorris: thank you for making such a huge sacrifice for me, i promise we’ll have the best time living out here together 😘

ynusername: @/landonorris anything to help make your dreams come true ✨

username32: look at them out here living their best lives

carmenmmundt: our next coffee date is when??? ☕️

ynusername: @/carmenmmundt I’m omw to you rn 🏃🏻‍♀️

alexandrasaintmleux: @/ynusername @/carmenmmundt make that three 🫶🏻

username33: the muscles in that first photo, yn you can’t do that to us without warning…

georgerussell63: thank you for finally giving me some proper competition playing padel 🏸

ynusername: @/georgerussell63 I did try to warn you that lando was rubbish

username34: yn always happy to satisfy the boyfriend lando fans ✨

adam_norris_pure_electric: we are so relieved that you’re out there with him 😂

ynusername: @/adam_norris_pure_electric this apartment would not still be standing without me 😂

username35: I cannot stress how obsessed I am with these two!!

maxverstappen1: I love that you’re now on our doorstep so I can constantly annoy you 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris and 42,950 others

ynusername: first holiday in a while with you 🛥️🏝️

7,597 comments

carlossainz55: missing my two favourite people right now

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 thank you honorary third wheel 😘

username36: no one deserves this rest more than you two 💞

danielricciardo: it’s not a true holiday cause I’m not there 🤷🏻‍♂️

landonorris: @/danielricciardo that’s what makes it such a good holiday

username37: summer break looks good on you two!!

maxverstappen1: so glad you guys are enjoying that place!

ynusername: @/maxverstappen1 thanks for such a great reccomendation! ☺️

username38: remember when everyone was obsessed with these two as karting teens, now look at them… 😭

oscarpiastri: shame he doesn’t look like he’s missing me at all 💔

iamrebeccad: wishing that I could look as good as you rn 🥺

username39: it’s not fair how good two people can look…

landonorris: the best time away with you 💕

username40: forever refreshing my feed for another gorgeous update of these two

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 2,968,573 others

landonorris: the moment I’ve dreamt of for so many years, officially a race winner! thank you to every single person who has contributed to my career over the years, this one’s for you 🏎️🧡🏆

458,360 comments

username41: apologies to my neighbours for screaming so loud the entire street could hear

ynusername: wish I could’ve been there more than anything, can’t wait to celebrate with you when you’re home 💞

landonorris: @/ynusername I still felt you here cheering me on 🫶🏻

oscarpiastri: awesome drive, the only way for us right now is up

↗️

landonorris: @/oscarpiastri we’re chasing them down brother 💪🏻

carlossainz55: I always knew this moment would come one day for you 👏🏻

username42: asking for a friend…is it acceptable to cry when it’s not even you on the podium???

danielricciardo: about damn time 😂 super race today brother!!

username43: words can’t begin to explain how proud I am to be your fan lando norris

alex_albon: who’d have thought those two kids almost a decade ago would end up here 🥺

username44: so proud of how far you’ve come since the beginning lando!

zbrownceo: could barely contain myself on the pit lane, congratulations lando 🧡

charles_leclerc: such an honour to be up there with you 🏎️

username45: it’s been a long time coming, hopefully the platform for many more wins now ☺️

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, alexandrasaintmleux and 60,597 others

ynusername: second time’s the charm! so proud of you lando and so proud to be there this time cheering you on with all your family. you’re so deserving of this moment…I couldn’t be any prouder of you ✨💕

14,974 comments

landonorris: I could never have got this far without you, thank you for always loving me angel since day one 🧡

georgerussell63: he’s not stopped telling people all weekend how happy he is to have you here btw 😂

username46: how do you two still manage to melt my heart like this!?

lilyzneimer: so happy for lan 👏🏻 and so happy you got to be there to see him win this time too!!

lilymhe: you looked so cute during those celebrations bby

username47: only yn and cisca would stand out in that crowd to surprise him 😂

oscarpiastri: at least I didn’t have to listen to him mope about how much he wanted you there this time

username48: I love the relationship yn has with all his family 🥺

mclaren: admin would also like to reiterate what oscar had to say too 😂

username49: I can’t begin to imagine how excited lando must’ve been to have his whole family there

danielricciardo: was it ever in doubt??

ynusername: @/danielricciardo that’s cause he learnt from the best 😉

username50: you must be so proud yn seeing his hard work firsthand ☺️

carlossainz55: so good to see you and catch up under such awesome circumstances 🧡

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[incognit0slut]

Doctor Reid

PART 2 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Established Relationship Your boyfriend finally agrees to indulge in your fantasy by playing a very different kind of doctor, but on his own terms.

Content: (18+) 4k, roleplay, lingerie, finger sucking, nipple play, fingering, female oral, edging, soft!dom as per usual and him being what you guys like to call ‘a little shit’ a/n: season 12 Spencer can stay between my thighs all day every day. also, i have no knowledge on any medical terms this is just ✨vibes✨

10:34 AM

The box was heavier than you’d expected. It had been weeks since you’d ordered it—weeks of wondering if this would even get here without some awkward explanation. You’d agonized over every little detail, scrolling through pages of different costumes, wondering which stethoscope looked the most real.

And now it was finally here.

You didn’t waste a second. Your fingers worked quickly, ripping through the tape and cardboard until the contents spilled out. A crisp, folded white coat with perfectly pressed lapels and a stethoscope. And it was a real one, with cool metal tubing that felt heavy and authentic in your hand. Everything looked even better than you’d imagined.

You barely took the time to fold back the box flaps before hurrying to the next room, where your boyfriend sat comfortably on the couch, idly thumbing through a book.

“Spencer!” Your voice practically sang in excitement. “It’s here!”

He glanced up and lowered his book. "What's here?"

You grinned, bouncing on your toes as you closed the distance between you. "The doctor is officially in," you declared, holding up the white coat like a trophy, the stethoscope dangling from your other hand.

You watched as realization dawned across his face as he blinked a few times, processing the items in your hands, before letting out a soft, amused huff.

"Wow," he said slowly. "You really went all out."

"Of course I did,” you affirmed, grinning from ear to ear as you held the coat up to his chest, sizing him up as though he were already playing the part. “And it’s perfect.”

He leaned back into the couch, trying to put some distance between him and your infectious enthusiasm. “You know I’m not much of an actor.”

“Baby,” you drawled out, emphasizing the pet name with that affectionate tone you knew worked like a charm on him. It was the same sweet voice you used when you wanted something, the kind that could coax just about anything from him. “You’re not trying to win the Oscars, it’s sex. I promise you’ll like it.”

He shook his head like he was the most put-upon boyfriend in the world, letting out a mock sigh of exasperation, though the faint smile playing at the corners of his lips betrayed him. He closed his book and set it aside.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he said at last, dragging the word out as though it physically pained him to say it. “If we do this on my own terms.”

“Your own terms? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see. And,” he reached out, pinching the collar of the coat between his fingers. “I’m not wearing that.”

You pouted. “What, you don’t want to look like a real doctor?”

“I think I can pull it off without the costume.” He flashed you a smile. “I’m technically still a doctor.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you teased, rolling your eyes. “Your multiple doctorates don’t exactly qualify you for this, Doctor Reid.”

“I thought having six degrees would be enough for anything.”

“Too bad none of them is needed now,” you shot back, poking a finger at his chest playfully. “The role I’m thinking of requires a different kind of expertise. More…” You paused, pretending to mull it over, “Hands-on. Less theoretical.”

The laugh he let out was short and incredulous, his eyebrows raising as if he couldn’t believe your persistence. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

You sighed dramatically. “Babyyyy.”

“You know, one of these days that tone isn’t going to work on me.”

“Oh, please, you love it,” you taunted, leaning in closer. “And don’t act like you’re not curious about this.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head, weighing the pros and cons, debating just how far he’d let you push him. And then there it was, that spark in his eyes. Faint but undeniable—the one that told you he was already half convinced, even if he pretended otherwise.

“Alright, fine,” he finally conceded. “I’ll play along.”

The grin you wore was at least a mile wide as you shoved the stethoscope into his hand.

1:52 PM

“Okay. I’m ready.”

Spencer looked up from his stack of papers, and as soon as he saw you standing there, dressed in nothing but lacy lingerie that clung to every curve, his mouth fell open. He blinked, trying to process the sight. Because yes, while you looked incredibly sexy, he was still baffled.

“Since when does a patient wear... that?"

You stepped closer, letting his eyes follow your every move as you shrugged with a hint of feigned innocence in your smile. "Well, I thought I'd save you some time, you know? Make it easier for your examination."

"Mm-hmm," he hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his desk. "I'm not so sure this is standard procedure. I think you might be bending the rules here."

"Maybe. But I'm sure Doctor Reid can make a special exception, right?“

You shifted slightly, arching your back just enough to draw his attention. His eyes dropped to your chest, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat as he noticed the way your nipples strained against the sheer, barely-there fabric of your lingerie. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile, but it broke through anyway. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face.

“Of course,” he finally replied. “I think I can be persuaded.”

With that, he leaned forward, sweeping his documents to the side in one smooth motion, before patting the now-cleared space on the desk in front of him.

“Take a seat, Miss,” he said, his voice turning low and authoritative that lit a spark of excitement inside you. “Let’s get started.”

You bit your bottom lip, fighting back a grin as the cool wood of the desk pressed against the backs of your thighs. You watched Spencer stand up and slip between your legs, his hands finding your knees and spreading them just enough to close the distance until the heat of his body was flushed against yours.

“So, tell me,” he started, his voice lowering as he fell into the role. “What seems to be the problem today?”

A flutter of nerves danced in your stomach, and suddenly you were very aware of what was happening. You’d initiated this—had begged for it, even—but it was something entirely different now that Spencer was towering over you. The confidence you’d felt earlier wavered for just a moment as his palms ran slowly up your thighs.

“I, uh,” your voice faltering slightly as his hands continued their slow journey. “I… I haven’t been feeling well.”

His fingers brushed lightly against the frills of your lingerie, teasing the lace between his fingers as he maintained eye contact. “Any symptoms I should know about? Dizziness? Shortness of breath?”

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest as his thumb traced small circles over the fabric. “All of the above.”

“I see.” His eyes flickered down to your lips. “Can you open your mouth for me?”

Slowly, you parted your lips, and the moment you did, Spencer’s hand came up to your chin. He tilted your head back gently, exposing the graceful line of your throat.

“I’m going to run a few tests now.” He paused, his thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip. “It might feel intense, but I need you to stay relaxed and follow my instructions. Can you do that, Miss?”

You nodded as best as you could, mouth still open, and he gave you a small, approving smile.

“Stick your tongue out for me, just a little bit.”

You followed his instructions, extending your tongue just far enough to meet his touch. His eyes gleamed with focus as he brought his thumb to your mouth, pressing it lightly against your tongue.

“Hm,” he hummed, his eyes still fixed on your mouth like he was about to make a serious diagnosis. “I think I might be starting to see the problem here. But I need to check one more thing. Can you close your mouth around my finger?”

You complied, your lips wrapping around his thumb, feeling the rough pad of it pressing down on your tongue.

“Good,” he sighed, the approval in his voice like a reward in itself. “Now try giving it a gentle suck.”

You could feel the tension rising in you. Your cheeks hollowed as you did what he asked, and you couldn’t help but think back to the hesitation in his voice earlier, the way he’d claimed he wasn’t sure about this, that he wasn’t good at playing roles. You would’ve laughed if your mouth wasn’t occupied.

But you were an obedient patient, after all. You started sucking lightly, feeling the weight of his thumb resting against your tongue. There was something undeniably arousing about how he watched you, eyes heavy with focus, and that steady weight of his finger as he pretended to assess your reaction.

The first rush of arousal made itself known between your legs. You gradually increased the pressure, and before you knew it, you were bobbing your head. But just as you fell into a steady rhythm, his hand tightened on your chin to stop you.

“Just as I suspected,” he murmured after a moment, pulling his thumb away slightly to speak. “You’re suffering from an acute sensitivity.”

You swallowed, eyes wide as you played along, trying to keep your composure despite the heat pooling low in your stomach. “Is… is that serious?”

“I’ll need to do a further examination to understand the extent of your condition,” he mused, his eyes flickering between your face and your body as if assessing you before he straightened up slightly. “Let’s check your vitals now.”

He reached behind you, fingers brushing your lower back as he grabbed the stethoscope that had been sitting on the desk all day, the one you’d practically begged him to use. His expression turned serious, as though he were truly diagnosing you, and he leaned in close, pressing the flat side of the stethoscope against the pulse point on your neck.

“Deep breaths,” he instructed softly. You inhaled sharply, feeling the tension coil tighter in your chest as the cool metal made contact with your skin. “Your heart rate is definitely elevated.”

He moved the stethoscope lower, brushing it along your collarbone, before pressing it just above your heart. You felt the thump, thump, thump of your pulse echo through the metal.

“Definitely fast,” he noted. “We might need to find out what’s causing such a reaction.”

And before you could respond, without warning, he moved the stethoscope lower, pressing the cold metal against your nipple. You let out a soft, involuntary moan as the sensation caught you off guard.

“Ah,” he muttered, tilting his head as if he were genuinely analyzing your response, his thumb grazing the lace-covered peak around the stethoscope. “I think we’ve found one of the pressure points.”

You watched as his fingers trailed up to the edge of your lingerie, dragging his knuckles along the lace before he tugged the fabric down, letting your breast spill free. Without a word, he pressed the stethoscope directly against your bare nipple. The sudden contact made you jolt, your back arching as a quiet whimper slipped from your lips, and your nipple hardened instantly under the cold metal.

“Heightened sensitivity to stimuli.” He moved the stethoscope in small circles. “Very, very responsive.”

His eyes flickered down as he used his free hand to tug down the other side of your lingerie, exposing your other breast. You tried to keep your cool, tried to pretend like his touch wasn’t turning you inside out, but it was getting harder by the second. And God, he knew it. The way he played with your other nipple, rolling it slowly between his thumb and forefinger like he had all the time in the world, was enough to make your thoughts scatter.

You tried so hard to keep your composure, but then he gently pinched and tugged on your sensitive nub, and a soft, breathy whine escaped your lips before you could stop it. With a satisfied grin, he pulled away.

You blinked, momentarily dazed. “What—?” you breathed out. “Why did you stop?”

“Medical procedure,” he said simply, his tone so casual it almost made you forget the heat of his touch moments earlier. “It’s important to give the patient time to stabilize.”

You shot him a bewildered, almost exasperated look that said are you serious right now? But he just smiled that slow, self-assured smile of his. He was clearly enjoying this far too much.

“We’re doing this my way, remember?”

You huffed in mock annoyance. “Really? That’s how we’re playing this?”

He brushed his lips on your shoulder. “That’s how we’re playing."

5:22 PM

“Doctor Reid?”

Spencer glanced up from where he was pouring himself a cup of coffee. He raised an eyebrow, casually stirring a hefty amount of sugar, the spoon clinking softly against the mug. “Hmm?”

The coolness of the counter pressed against your back as you watched him. “I think it’s getting worse.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just let his gaze rake over you, taking note of the way the thin fabric of your lingerie clung to your skin.

“Worse, how?” he finally asked, setting his mug down.

“It’s… spreading.”

“Spreading?” He mused. “Where, exactly?”

“Everywhere.” Your fingers nervously toyed with the hem of your lingerie, lifting it just enough to show a glimpse of bare skin beneath. “I really need your help, Doctor.”

His eyes immediately zeroed in on the sliver of skin you revealed. You watched as the realization flashed across his face. The corner of his mouth twitched as though he was fighting back a satisfied smirk, and you knew then that he’d taken the bait—he had to confirm just how bare you really were.

“Come here,” he ordered softly. He stepped back from the counter just enough to make space. “If it’s spreading, I have to conduct a full-body assessment.”

You slowly made your way to him with shaky legs.

“Up,” he instructed, giving the counter a gentle pat before letting his hands settle on your hips. “Sit.”

The cool marble touched the backs of your thighs as you hoisted yourself up. Then, without warning, Spencer’s hands were on your legs. He grabbed your calves, and before you could even catch your breath, he maneuvered your knees apart, placing the palms of your feet flat onto the countertop.

His eyes dropped between your legs, and the sight of you completely bare, your pussy lips glistening under the dim light, confirmed what he’d suspected. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he took in every detail, the way you were flushed, open, and dripping.

“Is there a reason,” he began slowly, his voice dropping to that dangerously soft, detached tone. “Why you’re not wearing anything underneath?”

“I… I thought it might make the examination easier.”

He smiled. “How considerate.”

Then with painstaking slowness, Spencer used both thumbs to part your folds, spreading you open completely to his gaze. It was almost clinical, the way he did it, as if he were studying you like some fascinating experiment. And it was working. You could feel the heat of embarrassment rushing in your veins. God, he had you spread open like this in your kitchen counter, and all you could think was how absolutely shameless this was.

He took his time, of course. Because why wouldn’t he? Spencer Reid didn’t rush experiments. No, he would spend all the time in the world analyzing, learning, committing every detail to memory. And right now, that focus was on you. He dragged his fingertips through your arousal, spreading it leisurely over your folds like he was testing its consistency, as if that slick heat was something he could measure and quantify.

And all you could do was hold your breath.

“I have to say,” he started again, his voice low and taunting as his fingers slid back and forth slowly, grazing just over your entrance without actually dipping inside. “You’re overly lubricated. Are you always like this?”

You exhaled a long breath, trying to steady the rapid rhythm of your heart. “Y-Yes.”

Spencer's smile deepened, his gaze never leaving your face as he pressed just a bit harder, testing your reaction. “Interesting. Do you get this wet from just a little touch, or does it have to be… more?”

“J-Just a little,” you admitted, hips instinctively shifting toward his fingers.

“Mmm,” he hummed approvingly, and finally—finally—he let his finger slide just inside your entrance, only to stop right there, buried to the first knuckle. He didn’t move any further. “Is that all it takes? Or do you need more to truly feel the effects?”

“I...” You let out a whimper when his finger twitched inside you. "M-More."

“And how much more, exactly? One finger? Two?”

“Two,” you gasped, every coherent thought slipping away under his touch. “Two… Doctor.”

A satisfied smile tugged at his lips, and without another word, he obliged, slipping a second finger inside you. The stretch made you bite back a moan as you felt every inch of him dragging against your inner walls. You couldn’t help the way your cunt clenched tightly around his fingers, pulling him deeper as your slick arousal coated every thrust.

“You’re even more responsive than I thought,” he noted, adjusting his angle to brush against that sensitive spot inside you. “Your partner must enjoy this… a lot.”

He was playing his role all too well. Your fingers gripped the edge of the counter as his speed picked up. "He... He does," you breathed out. "He—he loves it."

Spencer hummed thoughtfully. "Good," he said softly, almost as if to himself. "Because this is a very special condition that requires a great deal of attention. And I'm sure that you need all the attention you can get, don't you?"

“Yes,” you sighed, nodding frantically as the pleasure built in steady waves. “I… I need it.”

"I thought so. Patients with your symptoms typically respond very well to intensive treatment."

With that, his fingers began to thrust deeper, faster, harder. The sensation of his long fingers stretching you had you moaning as you felt every drag, every inch while he continued to work you open. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any more intense, he pressed a thumb firmly against your clit.

“Oh, fuck.”

He circled your swollen nub in slow, delicious patterns, and your body clenched around his fingers. This was it. You could feel it. The way your pulse pounded in your ears, the heat pooling deep in your core, every sensation building higher and higher. You could feel that sweet, sweet edge approaching, so close you could practically taste it—

And then he stopped.

Everything. Stopped.

“Spencer!”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t rush to soothe the ache in your body. He simply slid his fingers out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing.

“Open your mouth.”

You parted your lips, and he slipped his fingers inside, letting you taste yourself. The mix of your own slick and the heat of his skin made you moan softly, your tongue swirling around his fingers

“You see, you can be very responsive,” he commented in a low, measured tone. “But I think we should take a break, rushing the treatment would only compromise the results.”

He said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world, like he wasn’t purposefully doing this to drive you insane. You wanted to laugh, and you did. But it was a defeated, breathless sort of laugh around his fingers, because you knew the man settled between your thighs still held all the power over you.

08:56 PM

“Babe?”

He laughed softly, not even glancing up from the book he was reading. “No more Doctor?”

You ignored the amusement in his voice as you walked up to the bed where he lay sprawled out, so casually composed, flipping another page like he hadn’t spent the entire day driving you mad. You reached the edge of the mattress, shadow casting over him, and his eyes finally flicked up to meet yours.

“I wanna cum.”

Spencer’s smile widened, the kind that made your stomach flip with both excitement and irritation, and he placed the book down beside him. His hand reached out lazily to brush your thigh.

“Yeah?” he drawled, tilting his head to the side. “Does my sweet girl want to be taken care of?”

You nodded eagerly. “Please.”

“Well, I do like it when you ask nicely,” he muttered, one hand sliding up to grip your waist. “And you’ve been very patient all day.”

“I have.”

“I think you deserve it.”

“I do.”

He let out an amused laugh. “Alright, lay down on the bed.”

You didn’t hesitate. You quickly shifted, lying back against the pillows. Spencer’s hands were on you immediately, gripping your thighs and dragging you toward the edge of the mattress. The room spun for a moment when he settled onto his knees. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, his fingers squeezing your calf as he pressed a soft, teasing kiss against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Comfortable?”

You nodded, and just as the breath left your lungs, his fingers brushed against the slick, wet folds of your pussy. He traced the outline of your lips gently, gathering the moisture that had been building all day.

“Poor baby,” he cooed sympathetically, his breath ghosting over your wetness. And just when you thought you couldn’t take another moment of teasing, he pressed his tongue flat against you and licked a long strip from your entrance to your clit.

A desperate whine escaped your lips. “Please…”

Spencer didn’t miss a beat. He licked another long, languid strip to your clit, swirling his tongue around it before flattening it again, dragging slowly just to savor the way you trembled beneath him. One of his hands gripped your thigh firmly, keeping your leg steady over his shoulder, while the other slid underneath, lifting your hips closer to his mouth.

And when he finally wrapped his lips around your clit again, pulling it into his mouth with a gentle suck, a choked moan tore from your throat.

“Spencer,” you whimpered. “Oh god…”

The vibration of his low groan reverberated through you. His fingers gripped your thighs tightly, holding you open and pinned beneath him. You weren’t sure what was more overwhelming. The sensation of his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit or the wet, obscene sounds of him slurping against your soaked folds. Either way, it was driving you wild, pushing you closer and closer to that edge where everything blurred and all you could do was feel.

And then his tongue shifted, dipping lower to probe your entrance. He pushed inside, exploring, seeking, like he was determined to reach every possible inch of you. And damn it, it felt like he could. Each thrust and twist of his tongue sent a surge of delicious heat through your body, and you couldn’t help the way your thighs trembled against his shoulders, squeezing him tighter.

You could barely breathe as the tension coiled tighter, so fucking tight you thought you might snap. And he knew it—he could feel it, the way your walls clenched around his tongue, the way your thighs trembled against his shoulders. And still, he didn’t let up, thrusting his tongue into you deeper, faster, while his nose rubbed insistently against your clit.

He kept going, over and over, tasting you like you were the only thing that could satisfy his hunger. It was too much and yet not enough, and soon you couldn’t stop the desperate chant of his name spilling from your lips. You weren’t even sure what you were pleading for anymore—more? mercy?—all you knew was that you on the brink of falling apart.

One last stroke was enough to shatter you completely.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly you came, but with the way he was working you over, you didn’t stand a chance. The moment you felt yourself tip over, everything broke—your body tensed, your back arched sharply off the bed, and a loud moan tore from your lips. It was like your body had a mind of its own, hips grinding desperately against his mouth as if seeking every last bit of friction you could steal.

And when you finally came down, you were a breathless, panting mess. Spencer gave your clit one final, teasing suck, before he pulled back. He crawled up your body, hands sliding up your sides to push your lingerie higher. Gentle, warm kisses tickled your stomach as he threw you a smug look that only he could pull off.

“How was that,” he murmured, pausing to kiss just beneath your ribs. “For your little fantasy?”

Mind-blowing. Intense. Better than I imagined.

“Well,” you managed to say, fingers tangling into his hair. “If that’s how you plan on treating me, Doctor, I might just have to get sick more often.”

Spencer’s lips curved into a knowing smirk against your skin, and he nipped gently at your side.

“I think it’s best for you to do a regular check-up, then,” he teased, letting his lips ghost over your skin as he crawled further up, settling his body over yours. “Doctor’s orders.”

You couldn’t stop the soft, breathless laugh that escaped your lips as you pulled him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his mouth.

You’d be more than happy to comply.

[mv1simp]

Into It ♥️ Part 1 of 3

Max Verstappen x Girlfriend!Reader

i'm into it, yeah, says she wanna fuck me later, girl i'm into it

the one in which you’re newly dating your gorgeous boyfriend, max verstappen, after months of pining and flirting. he’s the perfect gentleman, so romantic and treats you just right! now how do you tell him that you’re desperate for mad max to come out and rail ur insides without sounding like a freak 😚

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut but this time with some plot lol, reader essentially is just trying whatever tactic she can to seduce her bf and make mad max come out in bed, size kink, dom/sub elements, 4k WC

PART TWO HERE ♥️ PART THREE HERE ♥️

You look up blissfully at your boyfriend, Max, from where you’re tucked into his side, his strong arm scooping you against him and keeping you warm. You’re rewatching an old classic, Shrek 2, as you wind down from your dinner plans with your friends earlier than evening. Lando and Daniel had joined as well, teasing you and Max mercilessly about how you two were finally together and that the whole F1 grid had been placing bets on when you would make it official.

You had flushed in a combination of embarrassment and giddiness, unable to hold back a matching laugh with Max who had looked over at you with an adoring gaze, his own heart warm with happiness about finally being able to call you his own. You two had run in the same Monaco circles for years - with him as a driver and you on the McLaren legal team. Though initially you only saw glimpses of him through paddock interviews or social media posts celebrating his multiple winning streaks, the two of you had become a lot closer the past couple years through his friendship with Daniel and Lando. Soon enough you were joining them at weekly Padel sessions, leading to you and Max exchanging funny cat memes or popping online to decimate him and Lando on a Call of Duty stream and then eventually onto deeper conversations, from his latest breakups with his model girlfriends or quiet ramblings with a bottle of wine outside a booming party about the pressures of demanding fathers.

Of course, tongues were wagging anytime you two were seen together - especially when Max had his first time in years being single for months before you had gotten together. You couldn’t deny that you had always thought the older Dutch man was incredibly handsome and funny, always full of interesting facts about niche topics, and you found his intensity and passion for his racing career so attractive, as a high powered professional yourself as a lawyer for a luxury car brand’s executive board. But you had always curbed any growing feelings you had for Max, paranoid that it would compromise the strong friendship you two had developed. Besides, given his affliction for dating vogue models, and his respectful gazes or polite touches compared to the much more flirtier ones from other drivers on the grid, you had never thought max considered you attractive.

But somehow, despite both your busy schedules, despite max being across the globe, you always ended up calling each other first to share sad, happy, or even just boring news. You had never once imagined that after winning his most recent championship the first person he came looking for in his celebrations that night was you, his face flushes from champagne and hugging you tightly, his eyes shining with warmth as he told you he couldn’t have won it without you and suddenly you could no longer deny the rapid palpitations of your heart when you looked up at him. And as he looked at you, thumb gently brushing across your cheeks, warm breaths mingling together as your faces drew closer, he couldn’t deny himself any longer either - Schat, all I’ve been thinking about is what I really wanted for my prize instead of this trophy. Can I kiss you now?

And the rest was history. Fast forward a few months and it’s still so surreal to call Max your boyfriend, you think, as you come back to the present, watching him fondly as he chuckles at the movie. Dating him has been a dream - he’s your first serious relationship, your standards too high to waste time with any of the subpar guys you had gone on first dates with before - and wow, did Max know exactly how to knock all of those standards out of the park. He would always drive and pick you up anywhere you wanted, in his sleek luxury cars that had pedestrians gawping, one large hand on your thigh and asking how your day had been. You had literally stopped taking your wallet out anymore as Max always slammed down his black Amex at any opportunity to pay for you - dinners, trips, jewellery and luxurious shopping sprees - and although the staunch feminist in you had initially disagreed you couldn’t help but feel so cared for, so looked after - knowing all you needed on a night out was one hand around his arm and the other clutching a pretty little Chanel purse he had picked up for you at last month’s race weekend, with a matching Dior lip gloss inside. If you were ever having a hard day at work he would always order your favourite foods straight to your apartment, where he would meet you and bitch and vent alongside you about whichever client had been giving you grief.

And my god, the sex - THE SEX with your man had been absolutely amazing. Considering the difference in your past number of relationships, max was keenly aware that he had a lot more experience than you and was so unbelievably sweet and patient - letting you take all the time you needed to go slow and work up the confidence gradually to ask for what you wanted for him. Your first time together had been incredibly romantic, a night at a private house he had booked out for the week on the Italian coastline. After a candlelit dinner and a bottle of wine you found yourself in his lap on the outdoor chaise, soft kisses turning more and more heated, max whispering are you sure, liefje? If you’re not ready-

to which you had cut him off with another deep kiss, pleading for him to make you his once and for all ❤️ His eyes had flickered with a deep intensity at your possessive statement before softening out to adoration again as he gently unlaced your dress and trailed kisses down your body, worshipping you. you’d both cum embarrassingly faster than you’d have liked, high off the feeling of one another, max cleanly finishing inside a condom he threw away before carrying you in his arms to the bedroom inside. Since then, you’d both figured out you had a combined very high sex drive, using every opportunity in your schedules to make love, max never hesitating to always make sure you came first, either on his fingers, tongue or cock. You had the perfect boyfriend. Truly. You couldn’t ask for anything more, yet -

- yet, here you were, feeling like an absolute bitch about the recurrent thoughts that had planted in your mind as you watched max come out of the bathroom freshly showered, getting ready for bed after finishing a gaming stream with his mates following your Shrek 2 viewing. The issue was that your boyfriend - your incredibly hot, sexy, tall Dutch boyfriend - was so stupidly enticing but so oblivious that he has no idea what he did to you. You bit your lip as you looked at him, hair dripping wet, distractingly saying something to you while texting on his phone - but your mind was only fixed on how big and strong Max looked. Your boyfriend was much bigger than you, almost towering over you at 6”1 with your 5”1 frame. His athletic training currently during the season meant he had been looking extra delectable lately, defined abs, thick muscular thighs and a broad shoulder and back that narrowed down to a narrow (or as Lando joked, slutty) waist, highlighted now by the grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips that did nothing to hide the sizeable bulge in between his legs. It was undeniable that he was packing, to the point where you had called it his third leg after first seeing him naked, making him laugh but also take even more care everytime he entered you - you were a lot smaller than his previous partners, after all. He always made sure his pace was gentle and slow, avoiding fully entering you too much in worry of causing you pain. Truly, your boyfriend was too sweet - everything he did was to avoid causing your any pain or distress - which is why you felt too embarrassed to ask him directly to be rougher with you when he was simply looking out for your comfort. It has been perfect for you initially, but now you felt more adjusted to his size, and each time you slept together you felt yourself becoming more and more desperate for Max to be just a little bit rougher, a little bit more controlling. What would he think when his usually sweet, happy go lucky girlfriend admitted she actually fantasised about him completely ruining her? So, of course, you being you - an ambitious feminist - have decided to hatch a conniving strategy to seduce your boyfriend into giving it to you just right!! 💕

Starting tonight - you had already planned to spend the night at Max’s, relaxing after the hectic work week you had both had. Often, you wore his comfortable hoodies that dwarfed you and smelt just like him as you cuddled in bed. Instead tonight you wore an angelic pink lace Agent Provocateur nightie, bows and all, pushing your cute tits up on display for him and complimenting your caramel skin perfectly. Enough to drive Max crazy, right? Sitting against the plush pillows, you had been reading one of your steamy dark romance novels - your latest outlet these days while you manifested getting some back breaking sex with Max - but of course had ended up distracted by the sight of your himbo boyfriend emerging from the shower.

-Schat? So what do you think? Max finally looked up from his phone, making you come back to reality and realize you hadn’t been answering his question. Max’s eyes widened seeing your pretty little form on his bed - he had never seen you wear an outfit like that in bed before. He cleared his throat, inconspicuously shifting his stance so you didn’t notice his hard on at the sight of you when you hastily stumbled to reply - Oh sorry maxie, I missed what you were saying, just a bit tired after today

Max immediately came to your side in bed, looking guilty. Of course Schat, sorry, I’m keeping you up with my gaming stream aren’t I? You had such a long week already, we can go straight to bed now. You cursed your own slip up - of course, your sweet Max would put your comfort first over what you were sure looked like mission successful given the rapid hardening of his bulge you had zoned in on.

You try again as Max dims the bedside lamps, taking your book gently away from your hands and setting it to the side. You lean softly in next to him, fluttering your eyelashes up at him, tits right up against his hard biceps so that your breasts are basically cushioning his arm right in between them. Your nightie rises up your legs, showcasing your soft, luscious thighs for him. Max smiles lovingly at you, cradling your face before peppering your cheeks with baby kisses. You look so pretty, sweetheart. So sweet to wait for me before falling asleep, mein Schat.

You lean in further, lips pouting in an effort your boyfriend would finally catch the hint but instead you found yourself gently maneouvered and tucked into his side, his large hands rubbing soothing circles along your back as he placed a final kiss on your forehead. Goodnight, darling. Your eye twitched at his definitive words, perplexed at how your plan had been so unsuccessful, but you sighed and wished goodnight to Max, falling asleep and already plotting for another day.

A couple of weeks later you decided to up the ante. A sexy, bold crimson red lingerie teddy set, practically see through and showcasing your tan nipples through the lace and mesh, and a pathetic excuse of some lacy red panties to match. You smirked as you eyed yourself in the mirror - sure, it was quite a forward look, but you had found yourself becoming increasingly more desperate for your boyfriend’s attentions after attending his Monaco race today. You did your best to attend the races you could but with your own demanding schedule often struggled to make it, so were very excited to support your boyfriend this time - especially as you had been keeping track of how this season was difficult compared to earlier years given the poorer quality of the RB car. Your eyes had widened at seeing the events this weekend - a string of bad luck events. First, his engine had stalled during free practise, making him lose precious practise time, and then a red flag had been called as he was finishing an almost perfect qualifying lap, ruining his chances of pole, and finally during the actual race he was clipped on the side by one of the Aston Martin’s, making him spin out but still incredibly go on to get P2. It was amazing result given everything, but what caught your attention was a side of your boyfriend you had only every heard whispers about emerge on the track. In the past, you had only attended races he had easily won, appearing calm and collected throughout the weekends as he cruised to P1 - easily overpowering everyone else. Today though - Mad Max, his fans excitedly cheered and paddock staff gossiped, Mad Max is finally back!! In his villain era!!

And your Max was indeed seething at everyone - competitors, his strategy team, the stewards for not giving Aston Martin a penalty - and you had listened in on the radio to hear him angrily swear and yell to his engineer, seen him aggressively overtake and defend his place on the track, and finally seen the stormy expression on his face as he emerged out of his car, clearly pissed with narrowed eyes as he stalked off to his driver room without a word, not even sparing a glance at you or anyone else. Sure, you should have felt a little hurt that he hadn’t noticed you or seen the perfectly planned designer outfit you had arrived wearing, sending the paparazzi into a flurry, but you completely understood that his career was first on the line today and he needed some time to cool off. And honestly, instead of feeling bad for Max - the sick, twisted part of you couldn’t deny that he had looked sooo sexy completely dominating on the track, authoritatively giving orders over the radio and confidently outmanoeuvring his rivals. You had to catch yourself from biting your lip or squeezing your legs together as his rough accented tones got more and more angry throughout the race over your headphones, imaging what it would be like to be pinned down by his strong arms, to have him lean down behind you and whisper naughty things in your ear, to ask if you liked being a dirty little-

“Oh! Y/N! Can we get a quick word?” The sky sports reporters interruption hastily put an end to the illicit thoughts you had been having. Quickly trying to school your expression into something much more PR friendly, you flashed a dazzling smile, “Of course!”. As expected they tried to rile responses out of you to condemn Max’s aggressive performance. But you had stood for none of it, honestly and clearly stating that your boyfriend had driven very capably and fairly given the circumstances and you were extremely impressed with his performance. “He’s a triple world champion after all. Did you just expect him to roll over and not defend his title? If you don’t agree with it then no need to watch it. At the end of the day he’s the one driving the car over the finish line while everyone else is speculating hypotheticals.” The reporters thank you for your input, stumbling for words at your strong defence of your boyfriend. You wandered off before they could say more, catching up with Max a couple hours later when he had debriefed and collected his trophy, looking a lot more chilled out than earlier.

Hey, Schatje he mumbled gently, leaning down to kiss you on the lips after pulling you from a conversation with the other WAGs. Max! you had exclaimed brightly, congratulating him on his win and letting him know just how proud you were of him. You knew he would be tired - we could go to the red bull celebration yacht party for 30min, show our faces, and then play hooky back to ours? I already put in a dinner order for your favourite lamb kebabs.

Max smiled down at you - you knew him so well, always knew what to say and when he wanted to relax. Sounds amazing, Schat he voiced in agreement. Later, after eating dinner at home, Lando sent him a trending insta reel with the caption “Mate, she’s too good to you, you bagged a queen.” Max grinned, expecting some fanmade memes about you and him as he clicked the link (he has seen all the Queen Y/N and he’s just…Ken Max tweets already. You were a well liked figure on the paddock for years with your well mannered speech, excellent dress style and courteous relationships with most of the staff.)

He was suprised to instead see an interview post race of you defending him staunchly, shutting down any opportunity the reporters used to manipulate your words. He walked into his bedroom to find you conveniently waiting for him in bed again, nose buried in one of your romance models, and started laughing at how effective you were at putting the media clowns in their place. Thanks for sticking up for me always, liefje. You smiled back at him with pure adoration - of course Maxie, that’s the advantage of dating a lawyer, right?

He agreed enthusiastically, so caught up on now yapping about the race as he climbed into bed with you that he didn’t even notice the sexy little outfit you had planned just for him, covering you up with his soft duvet before you could properly twirl around and showcase it for him. Your eye twitched again as he yawned in between statements, grabbing your waist and bringing your back in against him, spooning you while his voice gently trailed off, falling asleep.

Meanwhile, your mind was running at 100 miles a minute, a scowl on your face. This was ridiculous, you had gotten all dressed up in an overpriced beautiful outfit just for your boyfriend to get distracted by a 3min interview you had done with an asshole reporter and then fall asleep instead of ravaging you?? You had tonight would be the perfect night, for you to be the one to support him for once, be the perfect outlet for his stress, to use you and manipulate your body for his own pleasure…heat pooled in your gut at your dark thoughts, and you grow wetter between your legs at the mental image of max having his way with you. Maybe it still wasn’t too late. Sighing gently, you closed your eyes, pretending to drift into sleep but moving your plump, barely covered ass behind you to gently grind up on your boyfriend’s cock, which was now rapidly hardening with your practised movements. You sensed Max had awakened when you felt his arms tighten around you, keeping you still in an effort to stop you from exciting him to much while you were still asleep and he couldn’t act on it.

Mmmhmm, maxie, feels so good~ you moaned, still keeping up the facade of having a wet dream, breathing getting heavier and pushing your tits against the edges of his fingers that were wrapped around your waist. You felt him exhale sharply as he came into contact with your hardened nipples, a smirk on your face. Your grinding had managed to push the duvet partially off, exposing your red lingerie in the moonlight - surely this would be enough to drive any man crazy!!

You heard him sigh behind you, shifting slightly and inadvertently pushing his cock against your skimpy underwear as he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck - and you had to hold back a squeal with how hard and big he felt against you, this was it, he was finally going to give in and fuck you awake while he thought you were having a wet dream, he could slide it right in, you were ready for it, for him, you were soo wet already just from imagining it, this was so hot-

Your fantasies are quickly shut down as max easily used his strength to turn you around so your face was buried into his chest again, your ass now devastatingly much too far away to get any action, and began rubbing your shoulders soothingly to get you to fall into a deep sleep again. You almost combusted at the action before deflating and accepting defeat once more. Your kind boyfriend of course would never toe the line of having sex with you in a dubious way were you were asleep. You wanted - no needed, to bring Mad Max out in your bedroom, and you were determined to do whatever it took.

Over the next few weeks you threw countless strategies Max’s way. Leaving your dirty romance books out in plain view, sometimes even opened up to a page right in the middle of a jaw dropping sex scene. Lacier and lacier bralettes and panties left everywhere to prompt him. “Accidentally” deleting his best SIM race time record on his rig. But nothing seemed to be working - max diligently tidyed up the stray underwear, reshelved the books, and generously forgave you for the SIM error before setting a new record later that night instead of fucking you angrily like you had planned. You got more frustrated as both your work schedules became busier, leaving you less time to connect with him. Fuck, last weekend - last weekend you had even thrown out all your boxes of condoms before jumping into Max’s arms when he had come home, laughing and eager to see you. One thing let to another and he was as eager to be inside you as you were to have him inside you, voicing It’s been too long Schat, I’ve missed your sweet body so much, so beautiful for me in between kisses as he reached for the bedstand drawer to grab a condom - only to find it empty. You pretended to have a confused look on your face (truly, you deserved an Oscar for your performance this past month) before oh so innocently suggesting Maxie, we- we don’t have to use one if you don’t want, I’m on the pill -

And there it was - a brief darkening of your boyfriends’ normally loving ice blue eyes, his sharp gaze on you at your suggestion of doing it raw for the first time - before he schooled his features back to normal and gave you a sweet kiss, It’s okay Schat, you’re too sweet, you don’t deserve to feel uncomfortable for my sake, I’ll just grab some from the corner store, da? He was off you before you could protest, promising he would be back soon as you blinked away tears of frustration and denial that yet again your plan had failed. When he finally entered you later that night, ever so gently, condom and all, you closed your eyes tight and imagined how each vein and ridge of his thick cock might feel when fully buried inside you to the hilt, if that goddamn condom broke, if he spilled all of his thick, creamy cum inside you, so much that it spurted out the sides, leaking everywhere, claiming you as his and no one else’s, making such a filthy, filthy mess-

- you came harder than you had the whole month, burying your face in Max’s shoulder to contain the scream that threatened to spill out. You sighed as you came down from your high. Fuck, you needed a drink.

—————————————————————————

A/N: Follow along for Part 2 of this 3 part series to see if dear reader will finally manage to uncockblock herself and release Mad Max!! 😚😚

[purplereina11]

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 12 Other Parts

Word Count: 9k

The moment you step onto the pitch, the crowd already feels louder than usual warmer, more expectant. You’ve been here before, dozens of times, but this time is different. This time, it’s goodbye.

You try not to let it get to you in the tunnel. Focus on the game, you tell yourself, just one more, one more ninety minutes, but when the announcer calls your name, and the fans chant it back with an echo that seems to ripple right through you, you feel it. The weight of it all. The years, the battles, the triumphs, the quiet nights of doubt. Every ounce of sweat you left on this pitch. Every person you’ve become because of this club.

The whistle blows. You breathe and you run.

You don’t go into the game thinking about records. You go in trying to be present, composed, but something shifts in you after the first goal, a fast, instinctive finish off your left foot. It’s like muscle memory takes over.

The second is cleaner a breakaway, defenders scrambling in your wake, the keeper never really stood a chance.

By the time the third lands, a beautiful curling power strike from outside the box, the stadium erupts. You don’t even know where your legs take you; your teammates are already swarming you, piling on top of you, yelling in three languages . Someone grabs your face, another lifts your arm in the air, you’re laughing and crying at the same time and then the stadium announcer’s voice cuts through the chaos:

“With that goal, she becomes the all-time leading goalscorer in Bayern Munich Frauen history…Make some noise for 'Your name'”

You freeze for just a moment. It’s surreal. The stat was floating around — close, possible — but no one wanted to say it out loud. Now it’s fact.

The fans are on their feet, banners waving, your name being chanted like it’s stitched into the bricks of the stadium.

When they sub you off near the end, the entire team stands to applaud, even the opposition clap you off. The fourth official gives you a nod that feels more personal than professional and as you walk toward the sideline, the whole stadium stands. It’s deafening. It had been rumoured for weeks you were leaving this international break and the players around you confirmed it for the fans and wanted to show there appreciation

You meet the new head coach with a nod and a watery smile, and then turn once more toward the crowd, pressing your hand over your heart and the badge, mouthing a quiet thank you.

You never imagined your last game here would end like this your name in the history books, the weight of the shirt settling over your shoulders one last time like a second skin.

The final whistle blew, and the camera cut straight to you, surrounded by your teammates. You looked tired, exhilarated, overwhelmed — but there was peace in your eyes. A kind of closure. You lifted the trophy high, confetti raining down. Red and white, one last time.

Then came the mic.

The stadium had quieted a little, waiting.

You stood at the edge of the pitch, still in full kit, boots covered in turf, hair sticking to your forehead. The trophy sat behind you. You didn’t need a script.

The crowd slowly quiets as you step forward, mic in hand, eyes scanning the stands, the cameras, your teammates.

You draw in a breath, then begin. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to say today. I’ve gone over it in my head a hundred times. But now that I’m standing here… words feel small.” You pause, voice already thick, a little shaky. “Bayern gave me more than I ever knew to ask for. This club, this badge, became home when I needed one most. It believed in me before I fully believed in myself and I’ll never forget that. How you embraced me into your team your country and your culture.”

The applause rises for a moment, but you lift a hand, gently asking for a bit more space to speak.

“This past couple of months has been… hard. And not just on the pitch, I made a personal private decision, one that certain people felt needed to affect me professionally. One that changed things fast and I won’t lie to you, it hurt. I didn’t want to leave like this, not where I was forced into making a decision.”

You glance toward the touchline, a flicker of emotion breaking across your face.

“But I also think… maybe it was time. Even when something’s good, even when you love it with everything you’ve got sometimes, you have to let go to grow. I grew to a player at my time in Lyon and I didn't think I could grow anymore but after three years here, I've grown even more and I'm excited to see where I end up next helps me grow and evolve as a player and a human being. I needed to make space for something new and trust that the next chapter could be just as full of meaning.”

Your eyes sweep across the sea of red in the stands.

“So no, I’m not confirming anything today about where I am heading next. That’s not what this is. Today isn’t about what’s next. It’s about what was. What we built together, what we achieved and rose this club to. What we bled for. It’s about the nights in the cold rain. The goals that didn’t come easy. The teammates who became family. The fans who showed up even when we lost and the belief that this, all of this, was bigger than just football.”

Your voice cracks softly.

“Thank you for letting me be part of your history and for being the most unforgettable part of mine, Ich liebe dich so sehr, es lebe Bayern.”

You step back. The crowd erupts not just in applause, but in a kind of collective, emotional exhale, flags wave. Fans wipe tears. Your teammates are already moving toward you again some clapping, some wrapping you in hugs that don’t want to end.

⚽️

The music’s loud, the lights low and warm, and the energy in the room buzzes with the kind of joy only footballers know that post-final, post-season, post-everything glow. Your whole body aches in the best way, like it remembers the pitch still, the weight of the trophy, the squeeze of your teammates’ arms around you.

But you’re drunk, not messy, not sloppy, just merry. The kind of drunk that makes you hug everyone a little longer, laugh a little louder, feel everything a little more.

You’re being passed around like a trophy yourself pulled into photo after photo, drink after drink handed to you with shouts of "To the record breaker!" and "Top scorer, baby!" Someone’s added a Bayern scarf around your neck and won’t let you take it off.

You’ve got your arm around one of the younger players, cheeks flushed from dancing, when Lea leans in and yells over the music, “How does it feel being a legend?”

You laugh, swaying slightly. “Like I’m gonna need electrolytes tomorrow and a very long nap.” The whole table bursts out laughing. Someone slides you a fresh beer. You raise it like a toast. “Danke, Bayern,” you say, dramatic and heartfelt, slurring just a little, “for the goals, the glory, and the ungodly amount of schnitzel I’ve eaten with you all.”

Cue more laughter, and someone probably Sarah Zadrazil shouting “SPEECH!” again, but you wave her off this time. “I already cried on a microphone today,” you grin. “Let me be hot and unbothered now.”

You find yourself in the middle of the dance floor not long after, surrounded by a chaotic circle of teammates, arms thrown around each other, jumping and spinning and shrieking lyrics off-key. The DJ transitions into a cheesy Euro-club anthem and the whole squad loses it.

Someone hands you a shot you don’t know who, you don’t ask, you drink it.

You’re not thinking about what comes next tonight, not contracts, not goodbyes, not even Barcelona. Just now. Just this and if your phone buzzes somewhere in your back pocket, a message from Alexia maybe but you don’t check it yet. You’re too busy living the last few hours of your Bayern chapter exactly the way it should be lived. Drunk. Loved and completely, unmistakably free.

The music doesn’t slow when they walk in, but the atmosphere shifts just enough that you feel it like a ripple. You don’t notice them right away, you're mid-laugh, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Klara and Lea, dancing without rhythm but full of joy, cheeks flushed from one too many shots and the high of a perfect ending. Someone’s got a sparkler in a cupcake and is trying not to set off the fire alarm, but then Georgia leans in, close to your ear. “Hey… don’t freak out, but…”

You blink, still smiling, until you follow her glance toward the edge of the room. There they are. Your ex-head coach, and beside her, her daughter. That daughter. The one who had stared at you like she owned you and then bragged like she’d won something. She’s in a sleek dress, already nursing a drink, eyes scanning the room like she’s trying to gauge how much of a stir she’s caused.

You can’t hear your own heartbeat over the music, but you feel it in your throat anyway. A couple teammates catch on quickly. There’s movement, subtle shifts. One of the older girls gives you a tight smile, just checking in. Pernille moves a little closer, shoulder brushing yours. A silent you good? you tip your head, a shrug that’s half answer, half what the fuck is she doing here?

They’re not part of the celebration. She was let go, everyone knows it. This isn’t her circle anymore. You don’t look at the daughter again. Not even when she tries to catch your eye.

Instead, you grab another drink, rejoin the circle, and throw your arms around your people.

It’s quieter here, just far enough from the speakers that conversation doesn’t have to be shouted, but still close enough that the pulse of the music lives in your chest. You’re swirling the last of your drink, debating whether to have another or switch to water when her voice cuts through the hum beside you.

“Well,” she says, soft and smooth, like she never lit a match behind your back, “congrats, I guess. Big night.”

You turn your head slowly. She’s leaning against the bar, that same too-confident smirk playing at her lips. The one that once fooled you into thinking there was depth behind it. You give her a polite, emotionless nod. “Thanks.”

She lets a beat pass. “You look good.”

You sigh. “Don’t.”

“What?”

You face her more fully, voice calm, but firm. “Don’t pretend this is something it wasn’t.”

Her smile twitches, eyes sharp. “You left in the middle of the night. I’d say you’re the one pretending.”

You arch a brow. “I left after seeing the message you sent to your friends bragging about it. You turned me into a punchline in a group chat. That wasn’t me pretending. That was me walking away from something I should never have touched.”

That wipes the smirk off her face for a moment, but she recovers, leans in slightly, dropping her voice. “Maybe I made a mistake. I’ve been thinking about it. About you.”

You shake your head. “You’re still doing it. This game. This thing where you act like you didn’t mess it up and hope I forgot.”

She scoffs, arms crossing, irritation starting to show. “So what, you're too good for me now?”

“No,” you say, your voice lowering, more weight behind it now. “I just know what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

You take a slow breath, meeting her gaze dead-on. “I don’t want a childish girl in my life. I want a woman.” The silence stretches between you, heavy. You let it, then you step back, setting your empty glass down. “Someone who knows what it means to actually care about people. To protect what matters. Not just take, burn and laugh about it later.”

She watches you, blinking fast, suddenly unsure. Off-balance. Maybe for the first time around you. You nod once, final, and walk away.

The tension was soon replaced by laughter, music, and half-empty plates. The energy is looser, warmer back with the team, you didn't let the moment linger. There’s been dancing, hugs, tears from some of the staff, and far too many toasts. but when someone clinks a glass again and shouts for attention, it’s Georgia who steps forward, standing a little awkwardly but smiling wide, but the second she clears her throat and lifts her glass, people fall quiet.

“This won’t be long,” she says, eyes flicking to you with that glint of mischief, “because I know she hates this kind of thing.” There’s a ripple of laughter, but you’re already bracing yourself, heart thudding unevenly. Georgia takes a breath. “I’ve known her since we were kids and from the very start, I knew she wasn’t like the rest of us. She was sharper, faster, more stubborn, way too good with a ball at her feet… and absolute shite at letting people help her.”

Another laugh, gentler this time. You manage a sheepish smile, swallowing thickly.

“But somewhere along the way, she let me in. And we’ve been through everything together. Youth teams, heartbreaks, homesickness, injuries, wins, losses, early mornings and god-awful pre-season runs where I wanted to kill her because she always made it look easy.”

Your eyes drop, jaw tight, trying to breathe through it. You hadn’t expected this to hit so hard.

Georgia’s voice softens. “I’ve watched her grow into the kind of player legends are built around, but more than that more than the trophies, or the goals, or the headlines I’ve watched her grow into the kind of person you don’t come across often. Loyal. Brave. Quietly kind. The type who would rip her heart out for someone she cares about and never ask for anything back.”

There’s a silence in the room now, thick and still. You blink fast, but it’s too late your throat’s tight, and your eyes sting, and when you look up, Georgia’s watching you gently, like she knows.

“She’s been my best friend for so many years. And now she’s going somewhere new. Somewhere massive. And I couldn’t be prouder if I tried. Your next team doesn’t know how lucky they are yet but they will.” You press your lips together, but a tear slips out anyway. You wipe it quickly with the back of your hand as Georgia raises her glass. “To my best friend. My sister. You gave everything here and you’ll do the same there. You always do. I love you with all my heart my dude, go get the ballon d'or we all know you should of had by now”

A chorus of voices echoes her words, glasses raised high. “To her!”

Georgia smiles, "Just remember us in your acceptance speech yeah?" You laugh wiping your tears as the girls do,

You stand slowly, and Georgia moves first pulling you into a tight hug that you sink into, burying your face in her shoulder for a moment longer than you mean to. When you finally pull back, your voice cracks as you murmur, “You’re not allowed to do speeches anymore.”

Georgia grins, eyes shining too. “Next time I’ll sing it.”

You both laugh but your hands are still shaking a little, and you’re sure everyone saw the tears.

You don’t care, because if you had to cry anywhere… it was always going to be for her.

The morning Barcelona sky was soft with late spring sun, the kind that warmed your shoulders without making you sweat. You’d barely slept the night before not from nerves, not exactly but more from that strange hum that comes with knowing everything’s about to change. The start of finding a new daily routine and comfortability in a new country and city.

Your suitcase was unpacked, your boots were by the door, and Ellie Roebuck was already banging on your bedroom wall, telling you to hurry up or she’d leave you behind.

You’d moved into her apartment two days ago. It was clean, bright, and full of chatter. You were in the block where a lot of the younger players stayed so ones staying behind from international duty had popped down to see you, the energy was fresh, loud, and kind of perfect. You felt new here, but not unwelcome.

Today was the start.

Today, you’d walk into the training facility not as a visitor, but officially, formally, as a Barcelona player.

Ellie drove the two of you in, music humming through her speaker, one hand tapping the wheel, the other flinging commentary your way every couple of minutes about what to expect where not to sit in the dressing room, how intense the staff meetings could be, who was always late, who ran the group chats. She made you laugh, made you breathe easier. It was a good distraction from the knot in your chest.

Because the truth was… today felt strange, not bad. Just… new.

Alexia was gone, off with the national team. Her plane had taken off the same morning yours had landed, like some cosmic sleight of hand. It made your first day easier, less players, less eyes but room to breathe and learn the new way here.

Campus was already buzzing when you arrived. The media team ready and waiting, cameras being prepped, Barça press staff hovering with clipboards and radios. You were ushered inside before your foot could fully hit the pavement, a whirlwind of smiles, handshakes, welcome hugs, contract photo retakes. A press conference loomed, and you’d been warned there were going to be questions, about Bayern, about your decision, about the future.

You were ready. You had to be, but every so often, between the smiles and the flashing lights and the clicking heels of a PR handler walking too fast in front of you, your eyes flicked to the corridors to where you remembered seeing Alexia waiting for you once, or to the photo lined walls your eye almost every time drawn to Alexia in her moments of glory.

You squared your shoulders, let them take your photo smiled when someone shouted your name. Walked down the corridor in your new kit. The Barça crest over your heart. The past behind you, the whole world watching.

Today was a new beginning.

⚽️

Alexia stepped into the break room, the atmosphere inside was louder than usual not just music, but actual noise, a ripple of voices rising above the normal low hum of conversation and coffee machines.

She paused at the threshold, eyebrows pulling together as she scanned the room. A few teammates had their phones out, others clustered around the TV mounted in the corner. It was tuned to a sports channel, one of the big ones, and the screen was dominated by a wide shot of a press room at Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper.

Irene turned, noticed her. “Ah. Speak of the devil.”

Alexia’s brow lifted. “What’s going on?”

Irene nodded toward the TV, where the camera had now cut to your face fresh kit, Barça crest sharp over your chest, sponsor backdrop behind you. You were settling in at the microphone, smiling but clearly a little stiff, that telltale tension in your shoulders that Alexia knew by heart. “Barça just confirmed it,” Irene said, a wry smile tugging at her mouth. “They paid two million for her. Highest transfer fee in womens football history.”

Alexia blinked. “Two million?” she echoed, voice low.

Irene shrugged. “They really, really wanted her apparently.”

Alexia didn’t move. Her gaze stayed locked on the screen, her chest doing something traitorous and tight. She hadn’t expected it to hit like this, not the news, she knew it was coming, she’d known before anyone, really. But seeing it, watching the moment you stepped into that seat, pulled the mic toward you, and said your first words as an official Barcelona player, it felt real in a way it hadn’t before.

Patri elbowed her gently. “You gonna text her? Or are we pretending you didn’t fall in love with her before she even signed?” Alexia moved her eyes to Patri with that stare that Patri knew she'd over stepped.

Alexia rolled her eyes as she looked away, but her cheeks flushed a soft, warm pink anyway. She ignored the phone vibrating in her pocket.

Irene gave her a knowing look. “You could at least say congrats.”

Alexia’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. She watched as your eyes flicked up, answering a question she couldn’t hear, your voice steady but with that soft little smile the one that always slipped out when you talked about things that mattered.

⚽️

You shifted in your seat as the cameras clicked, the room settling after the opening statements. The Barça crest was bright on your chest, the water bottle beside the mic untouched. You could feel the lights on your skin, the buzz of anticipation from the room, from yourself. You’d done press conferences before, but this — this felt different. Bigger. Heavier.

The moderator nodded toward the first journalist.

“Y/N, congratulations on your signing. Obviously, it’s a historic move, can you speak to the nature of your departure from Bayern? There’s been a lot of speculation.”

You took a small breath, already expecting the question. Your voice was calm when it came, but low not guarded, exactly. Just thoughtful. “Leaving Bayern was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. That club gave me a lot, years of development, memories I’ll never forget, a platform to grow, friends for life, but things changed with my relationship with Helen, I had made a personal decision away from football and the club and she felt that needed to impact me professionally as l assume punishment. I won’t get into all the details, but I knew I needed a different environment. Somewhere I could keep evolving and not live out the rest of my contract on the bench and Barcelona offered that."

There was a pause, and then the moderator pointed to another hand.

“What are your goals here? What do you want to achieve in Barcelona, both short term and long term?”

You smiled at that smaller, but this time a bit easier. “First and foremost, I want to earn my place. This team is packed with some of the best players in the world. I’m not coming in expecting anything to be handed to me, I’m coming in ready to work, to learn, to contribute. In the short term, I want to integrate into the squad, understand the system, find my place, where they want or feel they need me and mainly just get settled both on and off the pitch.” you take a breath "Long term? I want to help this team win. Champions League, Liga F, everything, but more than that I want to become part of the identity here. I want to be someone the club, the team, the fans, and the city are proud of and can rely on. I think that takes more than goals and assists. It takes heart and commitment. I’m here to give that.”

There were a few nods, pens scribbling, more flashes.

“Have the coaching staff shared their vision for you in the team? What role they want you to play?”

“Yeah we’ve had great conversations. They see me as someone who can offer versatility in the attacking third. I’ve played centrally, I’ve played wide, and they know I love to float and create. The exciting part is how fluid Barça’s style is. The staff have made it clear they want me to be bold to take risks, press hard, make things happen which I feel i'm no stranger at doing. I feel really aligned with their philosophy. It’s attacking, it’s technical, but it’s also smart. It suits me.”

Another question started to form from a hand raised in the back, the journalist leaned forward. “Are you ready for the pressure? Big fee, big legacy to live up to.”

You tilted your head slightly, lips twitching with a knowing smile, “Pressure’s a privilege. It means people believe in you and I’ve worked too hard to get here to be afraid of that now.”

Cameras clicked again. Flash. Flash.

You sat back slightly, exhaled and just for a moment, let the smallest smile slip, you'd spotted a journalist from Germany, you tilt your chin and speak in German, "What brings you here?" You and the woman held a conversation in German that was clearly more personal than professional before she asked her question in English.

"I'm not sure if you've been online at all since the news broke but theres a lot of excitement to see how you'll work with Barcelonas Captain Alexia Putellas after the battles you both have been in internally and domestically in the champions league"

"Hopefully well" You laugh gently, "I obviously can't speak for her but I felt when we came up against each other we always seem to know the other persons move before they did so that could work in our favour if thats still the case for sure"

⚽️

Your first week at Barça felt like it blurred and stretched all at once intense, humbling, but quietly exhilarating. The campus buzzed with that unique hum of history and expectation, and though most of the internationals were away, the few players around had been warm and curious, and the staff even more so.

You’d come in focused, not just on the pitch, but off it. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t be that player, the one who expected the world to shift around them, so you’d shown up early, stayed late, and most noticeably, started showing real effort with the language.

You’d already gotten a few laughs from mispronunciations but it had softened people too, made them open up quicker. One of the assistant coaches had clapped you on the shoulder during a post-session debrief and said with a grin, “If you keep speaking like that, we might believe you were born here.”

And someone from the physio team, the one who always played reggaeton a little too loud, had joked, “She’s learning Catalan faster than some of the internationals that have been here years.”

It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t need to be. The effort was there, and people noticed. At lunch one day, Marta one of the captains , sat down next to you and offered to help with your phrases. You wrote them down in the notes app on your phone with a smile and thanked her with a very practiced, “Gràcies, ets molt amable.”

The week ended with a light recovery session and a slow walk around the facility with some of the staff and players, as you paused by one of the open fields, you caught yourself thinking not with nerves, but calm certainty, this already feels like home.

⚽️

You were sunk deep into the sofa, legs stretched out, one arm draped over Teddy while Jonny lay curled on the floor nearby both dogs fully committed to doing absolutely nothing. You’d just thrown your phone somewhere between two cushions after replying to a group chat when it started to buzz again.

Alexia.

Your stomach did that stupid thing that tight, stupid little flip, you answered with a casual, “Hi,” but your voice had that edge the kind of smooth you practiced, the kind that meant she still got to you.

“Hola,” she said, and you could hear the smile. “You free tonight?”

You glanced around like there was something scheduled beyond dogs and leftovers. “Uh, yeah?”

“I was thinking maybe I could pick you up. Take you for a drink, unless you’ve already got someone else charming lined up to share wine with on a Friday night.”

You snorted before you could help it, biting back a grin. “I think you just insulted both Jonny and Teddy.”

Alexia laughed. “I’ll make it up to them with treats. Twenty minutes?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

You hung up and tossed your phone down, just as Ellie rounded the corner with a glass of water and a look that said she’d heard everything, she arched a brow. “Wow. Readily available much?”

You gave her a shove with your foot. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You’re in love, or at least in the very specific early stages of horny, hopeful affection.” She took a dramatic sip of water. “It’s gross. And adorable. And gross.”

You rolled your eyes, already standing up. “Shut up.”

Ellie smirked, trailing after you. “Just don’t come crawling back here drunk at 1am needing me to tell you she definitely likes you. Again.”

You paused at the hallway, glancing back at her with a playful glare. “She does.”

Ellie grinned. “Then go let her show you.”

You stood in front of your open wardrobe, clothes flung across the bed in the kind of chaos that only came from nerves disguised as decision-making. A fitted black top. A more casual button-down. Jeans or trousers? Heeled boots or trainers?

“I’m losing it,” you muttered, holding up a shirt in each hand like they were life-altering contracts.

Ellie lounged back on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other, watching you with all the serenity of someone who had not been personally attacked by a crush showing up for drinks. “You are wildly overthinking this,” she said around a grin. “You’re not meeting her parents, you’re going out for a drink with the woman who has seen you in sweats, eating cereal out of a mug.”

“This is different,” you huffed, holding up a different shirt now. “I’m in Barcelona. I’m officially her teammate and this is her picking me up for the first time for something like this. This is new territory for us, I dont know what we are, I dont know if she even sees us as a thing”

“You’ve been a thing,” Ellie replied, eyes twinkling. “She looked at you like you hung the stars before you signed. Now she’s probably just mad you’re still pretending this isn’t a date.”

You opened your mouth to argue only for the sharp buzz of the intercom to cut through the room. You froze. Ellie howled with laughter. “Oh my God, are you gonna cry?” she teased, hopping off the bed as you scrambled for your phone. “You’re actually panicking!”

“Shut up—”

But Ellie was already at the wall panel, pressing the call button, her voice smug and sweet. “Hey, Alexia? Yeah, come up. She’s still getting dressed. Might be a while.”

You swore under your breath, glaring at her as she turned around with the most unhelpful smirk you’d ever seen.

“She’s coming up,” Ellie said, tossing your trainers toward you. “Better choose an outfit before she has to help you into it, because she certainly will want to help you out of it later”

You threw a pillow at her. Missed and then frantically pulled on the top she’d first suggested, because of course it looked best all along.

You were mid, half-wrestling your way into a jacket that you’d suddenly decided might just be needed incase its cold, when you heard the familiar sound of the front door opening, followed by Ellie’s unmistakable voice and Alexia’s low reply.

Your heart did that thing and you froze for a second, pulse jumping. Then, footsteps, then her voice, soft but amused, from your bedroom doorway.

“Have you not unpacked yet?” she asked, leaning against the frame with one brow arched, eyes flicking over the absolute chaos of clothes on your bed, and all over the floor.

You turned, already flustered. “I have! It’s just—this—wasn’t unpacking. It was… tactical outfit planning.”

Alexia’s eyes sparkled as she looked around, arms crossing lightly over her chest. She was in a simple outfit jeans and a white tee under a leather jacket nothing dramatic, but she still looked unfairly good. “Tactical,” she echoed, stepping a little further into the room. “Is this what you do before every drink?”

“Only with people who make me weirdly nervous,” you said before you could stop yourself, then winced. “That sounded cooler in my head.”

She smiled, slow and knowing, walking around the edge of your bed with practiced ease before glancing over your shoulder to the mirror. “Well, whatever strategy you landed on… it’s working.”

You blinked. “Yeah?”

Alexia shrugged one shoulder, but there was no mistaking the softness in her voice. “You look good.”

You turned slightly, your eyes meeting hers in the mirror. The air felt thick for a moment, warm and suspended. “I was going to say the same to you,” you murmured. “But I’ve already seen you in worse. Hoodie. Remember?”

That earned you a smirk, a familiar glint in her eyes. “That hoodie worked for me, and you know it."

You laughed properly this time tension bleeding out of your shoulders. Behind you, in the hallway, you could just make out Ellie muttering “Jesus Christ, just kiss already,” loud enough for no one to miss.

Alexia arched an eyebrow, grinning, and motioned toward the door. “Come on, before your new roommate starts narrating everything.”

You grabbed your bag with a shake of your head. “Lead the way, Putellas.”

⚽️

The bar wasn’t particularly full a few tables buzzing with locals, soft music filtering through the low lighting but it felt like its own kind of pocket. Removed from the press, the training ground, the cameras. It was just the two of you, a drink in your hand and Alexia next to you, looking at you like she’d been waiting to.

She slid your drink over to you, fingers brushing the base of the glass before retreating to her own. “So,” she said, eyebrows lifting as she took a sip. “How’s your first week been?”

You paused, glass halfway to your lips, and gave her a crooked smile. “Am I talking to my new captain right now or…”

The words hung there, suspended not because you didn’t know what to say, but because you suddenly weren’t sure what you were to each other now. This thing between you hadn’t really been labelled. A handful of visits, a couple of sexual encounters, and now she was asking about your week like it was nothing and everything all at once.

Alexia caught it the shift in your tone, the hesitation, her eyes softened, her smile slow and warm. “You’re talking to me,” she said quietly. “Not la capitana. Just me.”

You looked at her, your chest tightening in the best way. “Okay then,” you said with a soft laugh, finally taking a sip. “In that case, it’s been good. Better than I thought, actually. Everyone’s been kind. It’s strange though… adjusting to a new rhythm, new expectations. The staff are great, though. I feel like I already trust them.”

Alexia nodded. “That’s a big thing, trusting the staff. Makes all the difference.”

You toyed with the edge of your napkin. “Marta's already decided I’m one of you lot now, said there’s no going back.”

“She likes you,” Alexia said, her voice dipping into something teasing. “She’s very particular on who she likes to”

You smirked. “She also told me who to avoid if I want to keep my sanity.”

Alexia narrowed her eyes with a grin. “Let me guess… Jana?”

You pointed at her dramatically. “Yes. I didn’t even say anything, and Marta just went: ‘Don’t let Jana rope you into any theme nights. And if Ona’s involved? Run.’”

That pulled a real laugh from Alexia the kind that made you feel like you’d done something right just by being honest.

“I’ve been trying with the Catalan too,” you said after a moment. “Or at least trying and trying to not embarrass myself entirely. One of the physios asked if I knew any, I panicked and said ‘maybe’… in German.”

Alexia’s laugh softened to a fond smile. “Don’t worry. You’ve got time. I’ll help you, if you want.”

You looked at her over the rim of your glass. “Dangerous offer. I might hold you to that.”

Her gaze lingered. “I hope you do.”

You fell quiet for a beat, the kind of silence that didn’t press or stretch it just settled around you comfortably.

Then, more gently, Alexia leaned in a little. “You seemed nervous at the press conference.”

You shrugged. “I was. I didn’t want to say too much, or too little. I didn’t want to make it about the past.” She nodded like she understood, because of course she did. “But it’s weird,” you added. “I spent months knowing I had to leave Bayern and now that I’ve left, I thought I’d feel… relief, I guess. But it’s more like… grief. In a way.”

Alexia reached across the gap as you sat on your stools, brushing your thigh lightly with her fingers, not holding, just touching, grounding. “That makes sense,” she said softly. “You gave so much of yourself there. It’s okay to miss it. Even if your hand was twisted with the decision really"

You looked down at where her fingers had met you, her touch still lingering. Alexia tilted her head, you met her eyes. “I want this move to be more than just a headline. I want to earn my place here and I want… I don’t know. To let myself be happy. Properly happy.”

She smiled again, this time slower. “That’s a good place to start.”

You looked at her for a long moment, something warmer unfurling between your ribs even after she leaned back straight sipping her drink her hand still firm in its place on your thigh. “I missed you this week,” you say finally, quiet but certain.

Alexia looks up from where she’d been playing absently with a coaster, her expression shifting, something soft slipping into her eyes, a flicker of surprise behind it. “I thought about texting,” she says after a pause. “Calling, even. I just… I didn’t want to be a distraction. It felt like you needed space to settle in.”

You nod, offering a faint smile. “I get it and I didn’t expect you to. You were with the national team, you had your own stuff going on. I wasn’t waiting by the phone or anything.”

Alexia gives you a small, knowing look. “But you missed me.”

You shrug, playing it off with a smile, but your voice is sincere. “Yeah. I did.”

There’s a beat where neither of you says anything, the noise of the bar rising softly around you, but not enough to drown out the quiet gravity between you. “I missed you too,” Alexia says eventually, her tone almost shy. “More than I have before, maybe because I knew you were here to stay this time, that missing you didn't have to be a thing anymore.”

Your heart does a strange little somersault.

She runs a hand through her hair, eyes flicking back to you. “I kept checking for updates, watched for anything on Barca's instagram how your first few days were going”

You laugh lightly. “Stalking me?”

“I prefer the term keeping up.”

You grin. “Well, for what it’s worth… I’m glad we’re here now. Just you and me. No cameras. No clubs. No captains.”

Alexia’s smile deepens, slow and warm. “Just us.”

You clink your glass gently against hers. “Just us.”

⚽️

You unlock the apartment door, Teddy padding over to greet you both with an eager tail wag, and Alexia crouches briefly to ruffle his ears, murmuring a soft, "Hola, guapo," before straightening again.

She lingers just inside the threshold, looking around with that quiet familiarity, her fingers slipping into the back pockets of her jeans. “I should probably call a taxi,” she says after a moment, voice low, uncertain. "Let you get to bed"

You glance at her, keys still in your hand. “You could stay over, I was going to finish this bottle of wine.” you said as you grab it from the fridge

Her eyes flick to yours, a question hidden behind them. “Are you sure?”

You smile, shrugging one shoulder lightly. “Yeah. It’s late, you’ve had a drink, and we’re not exactly over tonight, are we?”

She huffs a small laugh, something teasing in her smirk as she walks further in. “No. Definitely not over it.”

You watch her move through the space like she’s already part of it, “Besides,” you add, voice softer, “I wouldn’t mind waking up to you still here.”

That earns you a look, one of those Alexia looks head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed like she’s seeing through every layer you’ve got, “You’re dangerous when you talk like that,” she murmurs.

You lean on the counter, grinning. “Then stay. Risk it.”

She hesitates for just a beat, then kicks off her shoes and tosses her keys into the bowl beside yours.

“I’ll take that glass of wine,” she says, casual like she’s not silently choosing something heavier than she lets on. “If it's still going?”

You grab another glass down, "Of course"

You nod, heart a little full, a little unsteady. “You want something to sleep in?”

Alexia lifts an eyebrow. “Do I need something to sleep in?”

You blink, caught off guard, and she laughs again low and playful, stepping closer, close enough to hook her fingers through a belt loop of your jeans. She must know you like it when she tugs at your clothing like she did, because she did every time she saw you.

“I’m teasing,” she murmurs, “kind of.”

You don’t say anything just lean in and kiss her, slow and warm, and when she breaks it, she smiles against your mouth.

Alexia looks down at your now joined hands, then back up at you. Her voice is quieter now, more tentative. “I like our conversations, I miss the way you talk to me when I speak to some other people.”

You tilt your head. “How do I talk to you?”

“Like I’m just Alexia,” she says. “Not Alexia Putellas. Not La Reina. Just… me.”

You squeeze her fingers gently. “I like just you. I can prove it if you want?" You smile gently

“You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone, Coco.”

You laugh at the nickname. “Mateo would be proud.”

Alexia’s grin lingers, but her eyes soften again. “He keeps asking when you’re coming back over.”

“When you invite us, you're apparently not that forthcoming in inviting your teammates over, but happily go to everyone else's homes.”

Her thumb brushes your knuckles. “I'll stop asking you then shall I?"

You arch an eyebrow at her, catching the teasing tone under her words. “Stop asking me? You make it sound like I’m some burden.”

Alexia leans back slightly, her smile twitching at the corners. “You’re not. You’re the opposite, actually.”

“Oh?” You grin. “So what’s stopping you from inviting me properly? Hm?”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s playful. “Maybe I like coming here better. Less pressure, I don't have to host, and.. you don't have to leave Teddy”

You tilt your head. “So, what you’re saying is… you like being here so you can cuddle Teddy whilst I run around after you?.”

Alexia’s gaze drops briefly to your mouth, then meets your eyes again. “I do." You both laugh as you both sip your wine, you put yours down with a little more force than intended,

You shift slightly, leaning in just a little. “So, what are we doing tonight then, since you’re not racing off to get a taxi and you haven’t exactly made a move?”

She shrugs with exaggerated casualness, but her fingers tighten ever so slightly on your hip. “I don’t know… what are we doing?”

Your voice drops just a notch. “Well, I’ve got a spare toothbrush still in the pack, and the guest bed is technically made…”

Alexia lifts an eyebrow. “Technically?”

You smirk. “Meaning I can throw the blanket over the sofa and hope for the best you don't freeze to death out here.”

She laughs, and the sound curls warm through your chest. “I’m not willing to take my chances.”

“Guest bed or mine?” you tease.

She’s already leaning closer. “Coco…”

You grin, brushing your nose against hers. “What?”

“I’m not staying on the fucking sofa.”

You kiss her soft, drawn out, like you’ve got all the time in the world. When you pull back, she’s smiling, eyes half-lidded, thumb still brushing lazy circles over your knuckles. “So,” you say, breath a little shaky now, “should I go get that toothbrush for you?”

Alexia hums. “Only if you're coming with me to use it.” She pauses, then grins. “Because I’m absolutely stealing your moisturiser again.”

You groan, teasing. “You’re the worst houseguest.”

“I’m not a guest,” she replies easily, tugging you toward the hall. “I’m staying over.”

⚽️

You try to focus on brushing your teeth, but it’s impossible when Alexia keeps glancing at you in the mirror, a smirk tugging at the edge of her mouth like she knows exactly what she’s doing to your focus.

She finishes first, of course, smug about it too, and without hesitation, grabs your moisturiser from the shelf like she owns it.

You glance at her through the mirror, foam still at the corners of your mouth. “You’re really just gonna steal that, huh?”

Alexia shrugs, already dabbing it onto her cheekbones with practiced precision. “I told you. I like yours better.”

You rinse and spit, wiping your mouth dry with a towel just as she finishes rubbing the cream in, then she steps behind you, her reflection moving into your peripheral vision. You feel her arms wrap around your waist, warm and easy, her body pressing close to yours from behind.

You exhale, instinctively leaning back into her. “You’re in a mood tonight.”

She hums against your shoulder. “You’re warm.”

Her lips brush bare skin. Just once, then again slower. You catch the shift in her expression in the mirror, her playful glint fading into something deeper, something that steals your breath.

Alexia starts with a gentle kiss to your shoulder, her hands sliding over your stomach, exploring, almost absentmindedly then her mouth trails higher, unhurried, grazing the slope of your neck.

You grip her arm for support, watching her lips in the mirror as they closed against your skin. “Ale…” you murmur, voice low, barely able to get the word out.

She doesn’t stop. Her mouth moves behind your ear, her hands splayed across your torso, thumbs tracing slow lines under the hem of your sleep shirt. “Mm?”

Your breath hitches. “You keep doing that, and we’re never making it out of this bathroom.”

She grins against your neck, her voice husky with intent. “That’s kind of the point.”

You turn, slowly, until you’re facing her. Her hands stay on you, her eyes are dark now, sure of themselves. There’s no teasing left in her smile just heat and want and something that feels dangerously close to adoration.

You rest your forehead against hers. “You’re not tired?”

“I’m tired of not touching you,” she whispers.

Then she kisses you again deeply this time and the rest of the night begins to rewrite itself, one soft, lingering touch at a time.

Alexia pulls back from the kiss, breath warm against your lips, and then with that familiar mischievous glint in her eyes she bends slightly, hooks her arms around your thighs, and lifts you clean off the floor in one smooth, confident motion.

You let out a surprised laugh, arms instinctively wrapping around her neck. “Are you serious right now?”

She grins, carrying you toward the bed like it’s nothing. “You doubted me?”

“A little bit,” you tease, breathless with laughter. “You’re deceptively strong.”

“I’m literally a professional athlete,” she deadpans, setting you down with an exaggerated gentleness before crawling beside you. “What did you think I was doing all that gym work for? Instagram posts?”

You snort. “I thought it was just for the aesthetics.”

Alexia props herself up on one elbow, her other hand smoothing over your hip. “Well, the aesthetics are a bonus,” she murmurs, gaze flicking over you meaningfully. “But it’s mostly for moments like this.”

You roll your eyes, smiling, as you tug her closer. “God, you’re cheesy.”

“You love it,” she says smugly, settling half on top of you.

You don’t disagree. You run your fingers teasingly along Alexia’s arm, still half-draped across your waist, and glance up at her through your lashes.

“I mean… I do like your arms.. the muscles.”

Her eyes narrow playfully. “Oh yeah?” she says, lifting her arm and flexing her bicep with a grin. “These muscles?”

You burst out laughing, pushing lightly at her chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

But she just smirks, holding the pose. “You brought it up.”

You shake your head, grinning. “Fine. Yes. Those muscles.” You lean up and kiss her, slow and warm. “Very impressive, capitana.”

Alexia hums into the kiss, her hand slipping up under your shirt. “I’ll remind you next time you tease me about carrying you.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you murmur against her mouth.

She grins again, soft but wicked. “You have no idea.”

Alexia shifts beside you, her hand tracing slow patterns along your side as she presses a lingering kiss to your lips.

“You know what I like?” she murmurs, her voice warm and quiet.

You smile, eyes still closed. “Mmm… what?”

She brushes her lips just below your collarbone, slipping on top of you, the kiss soft and deliberate. “Here,” she says. Her hand moves gently over your stomach, her fingers light sliding your shirt up followed by a kiss on your abs. “And here,” she whispers. “Strong without trying. You don’t even realise it.”

You open your eyes, meeting her gaze in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. There’s something deeply sincere in her expression, something unguarded.

She leans down, kissing the curve of your hip. “And this—” her voice is quieter now, almost a smile against your skin, “this is just one of my favourite places to hold onto when you’re close.”

Your breath catches, not from surprise but from how gently she’s unfolding each word. You reach for her hand, threading your fingers together. “You’re kind of good at this, you know.”

“At what?” she murmurs, lips grazing your wrist.

You look at her, heart full. “Making me feel seen”

She meets your gaze again, eyes steady and soft. “That’s easy,” she says. “You’re hard to miss.” Her fingers hook into your little pyjama shorts, “May i?”

You bite your lip, “You better”

⚽️

You arrive at training with Ellie, both of you still buzzing a little from the morning's energy. The sun's climbing lazily over the city, casting warm light across the pitches as players filter in from all sides bags slung over shoulders, coffee cups in hand, laughter echoing in short bursts across the facility. You can tell the internationals are back there's a different kind of buzz today.

Inside, you're barely ten steps into the building before you're met with a chorus of greetings.

“Hola!”

“Buen día!”

“¡Al fin te conocemos!”

A few of them wrap you up in brief, affectionate hugs like they've known you longer than five minutes. Patri gives your arm a playful squeeze, Aitana gives a polite nod, Claudia winks, and Cata grins wide as she compliments your boots. The vibe is easy, warm like family. You’re a little caught off guard by how immediate it feels still now everyone was here.

Then Mapi strolls over, already grinning. “Coco,” she sings, eyes dancing as she holds up her phone. “You busy?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Training starts in ten minutes.”

“Perfect,” she says, completely ignoring your implication. “Help me with this.” She flips the phone toward you as she sits in Ellie's cubicle beside yours, It’s another English crossword. The fifth one this week.

“You know they have Spanish ones, right?”

“I know,” she shrugs, not the least bit ashamed. “But this helps me practice my english. And you’re better than Google Translate.”

You take the phone, eyeing the half-finished puzzle. “Five letter word, ends with N… artificial silk.. Rayon.”

Mapi nods sagely. “You're so smart”

You snort. “You’re not slick.”

“I try.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you tie your boots and she walks away face buried in her book, you feel Alexia's gaze on you but you don't meet it. You're pulling your training top down when Kika opposite smirks and speaks as the locker room at awful timing fell silent, "That's an interesting mark you have"

You wet your lip trying to stop the corners of your lips from curling as you made eye contact, "Mind your business"

"Truth or dare"

You groaned "No, Kika, please no more" You give Marta a pleading look when Kika looked to her also.

"Don't look at me, it's either that or singing you know that" she smiled

"What's this?" Irene asked

"I talked to Y/N about initiation, she haggled, she gets to not sing if at any point we say truth or dare, we ask a question and give a dare and she has to either answer or do the dare. unfortunately for Y/N Kika asks personal questions and gives dares most wouldn't do"

"So. Truth" Kika grinned, "When did you last have sex or Dare. You run four laps of the pitch after training"

"I'll run the laps"

Ellie laughed at Kika's face, "She loves running, nice try"

You toss your kit bag onto the bench, still grinning from your dodge of Kika’s truth-or-dare trap, when she perks up again, clearly not done with her game.

“Well, if you're not gonna say when, maybe at least say who.” Kika narrows her eyes, her voice lilting with amusement. “What about that girl from the bar? The one who looked like she was very ready to risk it all the other night?”

Your smirk falters slightly not because she’s right, but because of the shift in the air the second the words leave her mouth. You feel it before you see it. The brief silence is loud.

Your eyes flick instinctively across the locker room just in time to catch the split-second change in Alexia’s face. The subtle clench of her jaw. The way she adjusts the tape around her wrist a little too tightly. Her expression unreadable, but her energy very, very clear.

Irene, standing beside her, clocks it too. She leans over, voice low and dry but not unkind. “Seems like you’ll need to do more than mark your territory.”

Mapi, unbothered and sipping from her water bottle, chuckles beside them. “Could always piss in a circle around her bag, classic animal kingdom move.”

Alexia doesn’t respond, but there’s a flash of something in her eyes. Not quite jealousy sharper than that. Possessive, maybe, or challenged.

[hoonspookie]

High School Romance ♡

basketballcaptain! heeseung x photojournalist! f. reader

content: high school au, situationship to lovers, heeseung is a year older (18) than the reader (17), so it's like a junior/senior kinda thing, they both have feelings for each other! fluff.

synopsis: just a bunch of scenarios of a basketball captain and a photojournalist– who may not be together just yet, but that doesn't mean their romance isn't cute!

note: hope you guys enjoy reading! it's been a while!

CLICK !

CLICK !

BUZZER !

The stadium roared with the cheers of Decelis Academy, another win for the Basketball Team as they huddled up. Yelling from the success of their hard work.

Heeseung was in pure bliss, of course being the captain and the MVP once more would definitely give him the praise and attention he deserves. A flash suddenly hits them once the trophy was given, followed by more flashes.

There, Y/N was, in the side lines, her camera hanging around her neck. Looking through all the photos she took, after all she is one of Decelis' official photographers. And she had gotten some decent and more than decent photos which leaves her satisfied.

Taking a deep breath, she looks up, met with the gaze of Lee Heeseung himself. Lets be honest, they've been in the same room more than once now and she's always had feelings for him. And it showed with all the gifts she's been giving him.

After a few more minutes, she grabs something from the bleachers before approaching the tall male– towering over her. "Hi Heeseung!.." Y/N stammered shyly.

"Y/N..." Heeseung breathes out softly, noticing the bouquet of flowers. "For me?" He asks, the tender voice, the look in his eyes. It was mesmerizing.

"Y-yes! Congratulations, Heeseung!" Y/N says, handing him the bouquet. She's still nervous and shy around him, but she's trying, she's not backing down.

"Thank you, Y/N.." Heeseung smiles at her, their fingers brushing against each other as he takes the bouquet from her before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Who was that?.." Heeseung grumbled, it was now a week later and was walking Y/N back home. But he was a bit bothered! Just now, Y/N had ran into another junior– who was a guy and he didn't like how soft her smile was.

"Hm? Oh- That was Jeongin" Y/N says, looking up at him, her other hand gripped tightly onto the sleeve of his blazer. "He's an editor for the school newspaper" She explained.

"Aren't you sure that isn't too heavy for you?" Y/N adds, looking at him with concern as he was carrying not only his backpack but hers as well. "I'm fine" Heeseung replied.

"I.. I don't like the way you smiled at him.." He frowned, admitting his little fit of jealousy which causes Y/N to let out a giggle. "You'll be fine.." She hums.

Heeseung was at the basketball court, it was another day of training. But that's okay! Because that means his girl would be there. Why? Well, to be honest, no reason! Although it was Y/N's excuse to her Grandma on staying back on campus and would be a great way on updating the students on the basketball teams current events

Y/N had her camera out, snapping pictures of the team practicing from drills to shooting, she might as well interview their coach. Who enjoys updating her, from new games and tryouts.

Which afterwards, she writes down on her little notepad.

"Hi, Y/Nnie~" Heeseung grins as he approaches her, wiping away his sweat with the back of his hand- which actually does nothing. So Y/N hands him a towelette.

"Hi, Hee.." Y/N says softly, going back to her notepad to think of captions. And some key points for a future article on the newspaper.

Heeseung pouts. "Hey.. Pay attention to me.." he mumbles, "do that later" he huffs. Causing Y/N to laugh, putting down her things. "So needy!"

On another day, Y/N exits her house. fixing her blazer when suddenly—

BEEP !!

Y/N gasps, looking up to see Heeseung in a new car. "What the hell?" She says in shock as Heeseung laughs, getting out of the vehicle.

"Surprise, baby! I got my licence yesterday" He states, approaching her to grab her backpack and to open the passenger door. "Oh, Heeseung.." Y/N was in awe.

"First one to have a ride- other than my mom of course" Heeseung grins shyly and Lou giggles, nodding and accepting. Her cheeks burning pink.

"I am honored!"

"Iced Coffee for my lovely" Heeseung hums, handing Y/N the cup of her drink. She was currently in an empty classroom, staying after class hours since the journalism team was making the school newspaper.

"..Thank you, Hee" She looks up at him, leaning against his tum before taking a sip. "Where's everybody else?" Heeseung asked, looking around.. The things were there..

"Hm? Oh they're scattered right now, some are having breaks and others are going around" She says, stretching her arms before wrapping them around his waist. "I missed you, Heeeeeeeeeee" Y/N whines softly.

A low chuckle emerges from Heeseung's chest, running his hand through her hair. "Missed you too.. Let me keep you company for a while, hm?"

And that's how Heeseung ended up sitting next to Y/N– Like NEXT to Y/N, their thighs touching, his arm behind her as it rests on the back of the chair. Meanwhile she explains the process of her captioning and proofreading.

Y/N sits across from Heeseung, her hair all perfect and she was all dolled up- in front of her was a handsome as ever Heeseung, a bit of gloss on his lips as his piercings shine under the light.

FLASH !

Y/N looks up in shock, she was skimming through the menu after all! "Official Date Number 1 as Boyfriend and Girlfriend" Heeseung says, a bit too proudly.

He was now holding an instax camera, the polaroid coming out from the top. Her cheeks were going rosy just like his ears.

"You're so cheesey, Hee.." Y/N says shyly, a giggle emerging. "I love you too, baby"

.

.

.

KYU! ♡

end notes: okay this is messy and not thought of carefully, but like hope y'all still enjoyed.. I'm just testing the waters again anyways to see if i can still make these <3 much love everybody!

[horoscope1078]

:) visca el barça

Ferran stood on the vibrant green pitch, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. Around him, a sea of blue and red flags waved, the noise of cheers filling the stadium under the night sky. In his hands, he clutched his Copa del Rey medal, still warm from the officials' hands. It felt surreal, heavy not just with its weight but with everything it meant. But there was something, someone, he couldn't wait to share this with.

His eyes searched the buzzing chaos until he spotted you, standing just beyond the rope barriers with his family, a bright smile lighting up your face. You were waving shyly, the same way you had when he invited you to the match a few days ago. Ferran had almost chickened out asking you, worried it might seem weird, but you had said yes with that easy laugh of yours that made his heart do cartwheels.

Without thinking, he jogged over, weaving between photographers and teammates, still clutching the medal. As he reached you, his mother threw her arms around him first, kissing his cheek and gushing about how proud she was. His dad gave him a firm clap on the back, and his sister squeezed him so tight he had to laugh.

And then there you were, standing a little to the side, your hands tucked into the sleeves of your jacket, eyes shining.

"You did it!" you said, your voice breathless with excitement.

Ferran didn't even hesitate. He stepped forward and hugged you tightly, lifting you slightly off the ground. You let out a surprised laugh, clinging to him as he spun you in a small circle.

"I told you I'd win it for you" he teased when he finally set you down, grinning.

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too much to make it convincing. "Oh, so this was all for me?"

"Obviously" he tapped the medal against your forehead gently. "Yours now."

You laughed, pushing his hand away lightly. "Keep your hard-earned medal, Torres."

His parents watched the interaction with fond amusement, exchanging a knowing look. Ferran caught it out of the corner of his eye and felt his ears burn. But he didn't care. Not tonight.

He slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as you walked a few steps onto the pitch. Around you, players were celebrating with their families, little kids running around with flags, a few even sliding across the wet grass on their bellies. Music blared from the speakers, and the trophy itself gleamed under the stadium lights.

"Come on" Ferran said, steering you toward the centre where a few teammates were posing with the cup. "You have to take a picture with it."

You laughed but let him drag you along. When you reached it, Ferran didn't hesitate to grab the trophy with one hand and reached for you with the other.

"Hold it with me" he said.

You looked around nervously. "Ferran, I can't, it's yours."

"Ours tonight" he said firmly, giving your hand a squeeze. You melted, unable to say no when he looked at you like that. Together, you held the trophy, smiling for the cameras flashing around you. Ferran could feel your shoulder against his, the way you kept glancing at him with awe and pride. It made his heart ache in the best way.

After the photos, you wandered back toward his family, still holding hands without even thinking about it. Ferran's mom immediately pulled you into a hug, chatting animatedly about how long Ferran had dreamed of a night like this.

"And we're so happy you came" she said warmly. "You must be good luck!"

Ferran grinned, squeezing your hand a little tighter. "See? You have to come to every final now."

You laughed, a little shy under all the attention, but Ferran could tell you didn't mind. You fit so perfectly with his family, like you had always been meant to be part of these moments.

As the celebrations continued, Ferran found himself stealing glances at you every few seconds. You were talking to his sister now, laughing at something, looking completely at ease despite the madness around you. He couldn't believe you were here, that you had seen him lift the trophy, that you had been the first person he had wanted to run to.

Later, when the stadium had emptied out a bit and the music had softened to background noise, Ferran and you found yourselves sitting on the grass together, legs stretched out in front of you, shoulders brushing.

Ferran fiddled with the medal, letting it dangle from his fingers. "Y'know" he said casually "you being here made it about a thousand times better."

You turned your head to look at him, your hair falling slightly into your face. "I'm glad I came. I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the cool night air wrapping around you. Ferran felt a tug in his chest, the kind that made him want to say a hundred things he wasn't sure he was ready to say yet. So instead, he bumped your shoulder lightly with his. "Next time" he said with a grin "you’re wearing a medal too."

You laughed, bumping him back. "Deal."

And as Ferran sat there, grinning like an idiot with his medal around his neck and the girl he couldn't stop thinking about at his side, he realised that maybe winning the Copa del Rey wasn't even the best part of tonight.

[emoreemadden]

hey guys!! i suck at keeping up with posts but heres something to tide yall over (not that you were demanding anything anyways 😭)

Outline: Marriage? Gojo had never thought about it. Until you, that is.

Content Warnings: ANGST!ANGST!ANGST, angst, AAAAAANGST, be warned of angst, kind of a little fluff, not many warnings for this. character death :3

Featuring: Gojo Satoru, fem!reader

A/N: i dont really like this but enjoy!! 😭 word count: 877

────────────────────────

Gojo, when asked, “Do you think you’ll ever get married?” immediately thinks about you.

He’s never actually thought of getting married. It’s not like he’s had time. But now, imagining a life with you, living together and having a happy ending doesn’t seem so bad.

In fact, it sounds lovely.

So, like any normal person, he confronts you about it. At the worst time possible, that is.

“What do you think about marriage?” He asks suddenly, cutting you off on your rant about how insanely terrible your day was and how everyone you meet is an incompetent asshole.

You blink at him. “Excuse me?”

“Marriage. Like, getting married.” He clarifies stupidly.

“Like… to you?”

“To me, or to anyone. Would you ever want to get married?” He looks at you curiously.

Marriage has always been a trivial idea to you. The notion of giving your significant other a ring and having a big ceremony was never that appealing.

But looking at Gojo, sitting there with your hand in both of his, his eyes waiting for your response, you reconsider.

“I mean, sure. With the right person.” You stare back into his piercing blue eyes.

“Do you think I could ever be the right person?”

You smile at him. “I think you’re already the right person.” And he grins.

Not even a year later, he’s got a ring on your finger and already planning your wedding. You couldn’t be happier.

The ring in question didn’t come until later, as his proposal was spontaneous. A random night, sitting at the park in a gazebo as a break from your shitty job, and suddenly he was down on one knee.

“I asked you a while ago if you’d ever want to get married, and you said to the right person. Then I asked if I could be the right person, and you said I already was.” He said as he sat next to you, looking up at the sky. You glanced over at him, curious as to where he was going with this.

You swear you looked away for a split second before looking back at him, and there he was, grinning at you goofily with his hands mimicking an imaginary ring box.

“Do you still think I’m the right person?” He asked, and you just nodded, too dumbfounded to speak.

“So then, will you give me the honour of being your husband?” And there it was.

You screamed your approval, and now here you are.

“I do.” You answer when the priest asks the long awaited question.

‘Do you take Satoru Gojo to be your lawfully wedded husband?’

He does the same, answering the question with the biggest grin on his face.

“I do.”

And then he’s kissing you with the force of a thousand seas, and you almost feel like he’s going to hollow purple everyone at the wedding with the way he’s crushing you in his arms.

You’re officially Mrs. Gojo Satoru, and he couldn’t be prouder. He shows you off like a trophy, bringing you around and taking every chance to let everyone know you’re his wife.

Until, one day, he comes home and you aren’t there.

Confused, he wanders around the house for a bit. Did you go out?

He finds a note attached to the fridge that says you went to grab some groceries, and his heart relaxes. Only for a moment though, as he hears a knock on the door and it’s definitely not you.

He walks over, and standing in front of him are two police men.

“Is this the residence of Gojo Satoru?” They ask, and he nods silently.

“We’re very sorry for your loss.”

His life spirals after that one sentence. Loss. He lost you. You’re gone. Never to be found again.

Every day he stares at himself in the mirror, wondering what went wrong.

Maybe if he spent more time with you, he could’ve saved you that day.

Of course, he knows you’d tell him not to blame yourself if you were here, which is sort of a paradox, because if you were here, he wouldn’t have to blame anyone for what happened anyway.

Eventually though, he puts himself back together. Piece by piece, he fixes it. ‘You would’ve wanted him to,’ he tells himself.

But every now and then, he goes to visit the gazebo where he proposed to you. Spinning the wedding ring on his finger that he hasn’t taken off since that day, he sighs. The memories of you comfort him, even if they do so in a terribly depressing manner.

He remembers your voice, even after all these years. A question he’d heard you ask that he’d brushed off because it pained him to think about comes back to him suddenly.

“If I die, do you think you’ll remember me?”

I do.

And underneath the soft moonlight, he swears he can almost see you sitting next to him, your head on his shoulder moments before he asked for your hand in marriage.

“I do.” He says aloud, a bittersweet smile on his face. Just like he replied when you asked him that question, and just like he replied when he was asked if he wanted you as his lawfully wedded wife

“I really, really do.”

[helvegen-s]

point of no return | epilogue

index

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!OC

Summary: Love and rivalry collide on the Formula 1 circuit as Ferrari's star drivers, Astrid and Charles, push the limits of their relationship alongside the boundaries of speed. Can their love survive the pressure, or will their ambition become their downfall?

WC: 2.2k

A/N: And with this, it’s finished! I really hope you’ve enjoyed the story and the characters. Honestly, I’ve loved writing it. I’m thinking about writing some extras about Charles and Astrid, so if you have any requests, I’ll be reading them :)

Big hug xx

The press room was packed. Journalists, cameras, and microphones lined up like soldiers in a battle of questions. Astrid Whitmore sat in the center, the Ferrari emblem still on her chest for the last time.

She took a deep breath before speaking.

"After much thought, I've decided it's time to close this chapter of my career. I'm leaving Ferrari and will be joining Red Bull next season."

The murmurs were immediate. It wasn’t a secret that her relationship with the team had grown tense, but hearing it from her own lips gave it a different weight. Astrid answered a few questions with the composure that had always defined her, carefully avoiding what everyone truly wanted to know—how Charles Leclerc felt about it.

When it was over, she walked out of the room with steady steps. She knew he would be there.

Charles was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes said too much. Astrid stopped in front of him, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

"So, it's official," he murmured, a half-smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Yes," she replied, feeling her throat tighten.

Silence settled between them again. It was strange how, after everything they had lived through, there weren’t enough words to say goodbye.

"I hope you find what you're looking for," Charles finally said.

Astrid looked away for a second before meeting his gaze again.

"And I hope you keep fighting for what you deserve."

He let out a small laugh—bitter and sincere at the same time.

"We loved each other too much, but that's not enough, is it?"

Astrid shook her head.

"No," she whispered. "But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it."

Charles nodded, his eyes memorizing every detail of her, as if trying to capture her one last time.

"Take care, Astrid."

"You too, Charles."

And with that, she walked away.

The following years bore witness to her greatness.

Astrid Whitmore conquered two world titles with Red Bull, cementing her legacy in Formula 1. But one day, when she felt she had given everything she had, she decided to say goodbye to single-seaters for good.

Rally found her when she was no longer searching for glory—only pure adrenaline, the thrill without the weight of expectations. There, among dirt roads and wild landscapes, she discovered there was something beyond winning and winning.

There was freedom.

And in that freedom, Astrid Whitmore found herself again.

Meanwhile, Charles Leclerc had become much more than just a Formula 1 driver.

He was a legend. Five consecutive titles with Ferrari, records shattered, epic races forever etched into motorsport history. He had become the man Monaco idolized, his name echoing with the same weight as the greatest champions of the Scuderia.

But amidst all that success, something had always lingered. A ghost that never truly disappeared.

It was Astrid.

He couldn’t count how many times he had searched for her name online over the past five years, how many times he had read about her victories in Rally, how many times he had found himself smiling at the screen as she lifted another trophy. He had always loved watching Astrid win, even if she was no longer by his side.

What he didn’t like was the feeling that followed. That tightness in his chest, that sharp pang of nostalgia reminding him that no matter how much he moved forward, a part of him had never stopped wanting her.

The years had passed, the seasons had piled up, yet Astrid remained there—lingering in his mind, in his memories. In every race where his instincts told him to turn his head and look for her in the paddock, only to remember she wasn’t there.

Now, for the first time in a long while, the FIA was hosting its annual gala in Monaco. The night he would be crowned, once again, as world champion. And in an unexpected twist, Astrid had decided to attend.

He found out days before, when he saw her name on the guest list. His reaction was immediate—he felt the ground beneath him shift. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to see her after all this time. If he would still feel the same. If she would too.

The salty Mediterranean air mixed with the scent of freshly brewed coffee as Astrid walked through the streets of Monaco. It had been five years since she last set foot in this city, and yet, everything felt familiar. She had arrived a few days before the gala, taking the time to wander through streets filled with buried memories.

Monaco had been her home. She had loved living here, getting lost in its alleys, driving through its roads with the sea on one side and cliffs on the other. But what she remembered most was that, in every corner, there was a piece of Charles.

They had shared a life here. The memory of those years was imprinted on every restaurant they used to visit, every bench where they had sat talking about everything and nothing, every late-night stroll when the world’s noise faded, leaving only them.

Astrid didn’t regret moving on, finding her own path. But being here stirred something inside her she hadn’t expected.

She had no plan when she stepped into that café. She only wanted a break, a quiet moment before the gala.

What she didn’t expect was to find him there.

Charles.

He was sitting alone, a cup of coffee in his hand, a folded newspaper on the table. She hadn’t seen him in years, but the moment their eyes met, time collapsed in on itself.

He saw her too. And by the way his body tensed, she knew the surprise was mutual.

Astrid stood at the door, her heart a storm in her chest. She couldn’t help but take him in—the way the years had treated him. He looked older, more mature… and somehow even more handsome. But what hit her the hardest was the emotion in his eyes. The same one she had seen the last time they said goodbye.

Charles, on the other hand, felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs. There she was. So different, yet so much the same. Her hair a little longer, her posture more at ease, her eyes reflecting something new—peace.

She looked at peace.

Something inside him broke and healed at the same time.

"Hi," Astrid whispered.

Charles felt like a teenager again, words stuck in his throat, a foolish smile creeping onto his lips.

"Can I sit with you?" Astrid asked with a small smile, trying to ignore the avalanche of emotions crashing over her.

Charles nodded without thinking.

They sat across from each other, as if five years hadn’t passed.

At first, the conversation was light. They talked about racing, titles, how life had taken them down such different paths. Astrid told him about Rally, how much she enjoyed it, how she had found something in it she had never felt in Formula 1.

"It’s not just about winning, Charles. It’s not just about proving I’m the best. It’s… something more. I don’t know how to explain it."

He listened in silence, absorbing every word. He had always loved hearing her talk passionately about racing.

"You look happy," he finally said.

Astrid met his gaze and nodded.

"I am."

And it was true.

But then Charles lowered his eyes to his coffee and murmured,

"I always knew you’d find something to love as much as Formula 1. Though… I would have liked to be part of it."

Astrid felt her heart clench.

"We hurt each other… but we never stopped loving each other," she whispered.

Charles looked up at her, his gaze intense, stealing her breath.

"No," he answered. "And I don’t think we ever really stopped."

This time, the silence between them was different. Not uncomfortable, not painful. Just… full of possibilities.

Astrid leaned slightly forward, holding her cup with both hands.

"Are you scared?"

Charles let out a small laugh, a mix of disbelief and resignation.

"Yes."

"Me too."

And in that moment, they understood something they had perhaps always known: that what had once separated them no longer existed. That life had changed them, made them grow, and that maybe, just maybe, this time they could make it work.

Charles took a breath and, with a lopsided smile, said:

"Maybe this time..."

Astrid set her cup down on the saucer and held his gaze.

"Maybe."

And for the first time in seven years, the future no longer seemed uncertain.

Monaco had always had a special magic at night. The city lights reflected on the water, the echo of music floating in the air, the feeling that, in that small corner of the world, time stood still.

Astrid felt it that night more than ever.

The gala had been a whirlwind of greetings, conversations, and reunions. She was surprised by how much she had missed some people, how much affection she still felt for the family she had built in Formula 1. But even in the midst of it all, a part of her never stopped being aware of his presence.

Charles.

From across the room, in the middle of endless congratulations and impromptu interviews, he was looking for her too. Their eyes met so many times she lost count. At first, it was almost a game. A fleeting glance here, a lingering one there. But soon, it stopped being a game and became something more. A reminder that no matter how many years had passed, no matter how much their lives had changed… they still gravitated toward each other.

Now, back in her room, Astrid let out a sigh. She slipped off her heels, letting them drop to the floor with a soft thud, and collapsed onto the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

She couldn’t ignore it anymore.

She couldn’t ignore how her heart had raced when she saw him at the café. How her stomach tightened every time she caught him looking at her at the gala. How, despite everything, he was still Charles.

She turned on her phone and unlocked it without thinking too much. Her thumb hovered over the screen for a second before she finally typed:

To: Charles"Congratulations, champion. It’s been an incredible night for you."

It wasn’t enough. It was what anyone else would say. And Charles had never been just anyone to her.

She deleted the message.

She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes for a moment. Then she typed again.

To: Charles"I can’t remember the last time we spent a night in the same place without talking. It feels strange. Good night, Charles."

She hesitated for a moment, her thumb hovering over the send button. It wasn’t a groundbreaking message. It didn’t promise anything. It didn’t ask for anything.

But it was a first step.

A bridge between yesterday and tomorrow.

She sent it before she could regret it.

The phone vibrated on the nightstand. Charles wasn’t expecting any messages at that hour. His fingers, almost instinctively, reached for the device.

When he saw her name on the screen, his heart skipped a beat.

For a moment, he did nothing. He just stared at the message, allowing himself to feel everything that came with it.

"I can’t remember the last time we spent a night in the same place without talking. It feels strange. Good night, Charles."

He closed his eyes and let out a soft laugh. Of course it felt strange. All night, he had felt her close and, at the same time, out of reach. All night, his mind had drifted between the present and the past, between the urge to go to her and the fear of crossing a line they maybe shouldn’t cross.

But now, this.

A message.

Astrid had been the one to send it, the one to leave the door slightly open. And Charles wasn’t the kind of man to let an opportunity like that slip away.

He sat up in bed, leaning his back against the headboard. His fingers moved across the screen with more confidence than he actually felt.

To: Astrid"You’re right. It feels strange."

He paused. Then added:

"I don’t think we’ve ever avoided each other this much."

And he sent the message.

Just seconds later, his phone vibrated again.

Astrid:"I don’t think we’ve avoided it, Charles."

He frowned, his thumb tapping lightly against the screen.

Charles:"No? Then what have we done?"

Astrid took longer to reply this time. Charles imagined she was debating between many possible answers. And when it finally arrived, he knew he hadn’t been wrong.

Astrid:"We’ve been waiting."

Charles read it several times. His lips curled into a silent smile. Because yes, she was right.

They had waited.

To see if time would wear down what they felt. To see if the other would make the first move. To see if, after everything, there was still something left between them.

And the answer was obvious.

Charles:"And now?"

He waited. Seconds, then a minute. Until the screen lit up again.

Astrid:"Now I don’t want to wait anymore."

Charles let the phone fall onto the bed and ran a hand over his face. His smile widened, accompanied by a sigh he wasn’t sure was relief, excitement, or simple acceptance.

After years, after so many stolen glances and unspoken words, they had finally said what truly mattered.

And for the first time in a long time, the future felt like something they could write together.

[shadyfestivalperfection]

Avengers Group Chat: “This Chat Has PTSD”

(Participants: Tony, Steve, Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Thor, Y/N, and Emojibucky.)

Tony (aka Iron Sass):

Someone left a single slice of pizza in the fridge with one bite taken out of it.

Congratulations, you’re officially the worst type of villain. Worse than Thanos. I said what I said.

Y/N (aka Your Favorite Chaos Gremlin):

Bold of you to assume Thanos would waste food.

Unlike whoever thinks half-eaten pineapple pizza is an acceptable offering.

Clint (aka Hawkward):

Wait, who told you it was pineapple? I thought I hid that.

Bruce (aka Chill Hulk):

Clint. You labeled it “Hawkeye’s Secret Snack Stash.”

In Sharpie.

On the front.

Natasha (aka Professional Disappointment Detector):

You spelled “secret” wrong. You wrote “secrit.”

Steve (aka America’s Most Confused Grandpa):

Guys, please don’t fight. We’re a team.

Y/N:

Steve, sweetie, your bedtime was an hour ago. Let the children scream.

Tony:

Let’s focus on the real issue: Thor is still using Mjölnir to press the TV remote buttons.

He shattered volume control and now the Weather Channel is stuck screaming at 400 decibels.

Thor (aka God of Caps Lock):

I HAVE MASTERED THE SMALL RECTANGLE OF VISION

THE SCREAMING MAN SPEAKS OF CLOUDS AND DOOM

A WORTHY ORACLE

Y/N:

You’re watching the weatherman, Thor. He’s not an oracle. He’s Carl. From New Jersey.

Thor:

CARL OF STORMS IS MIGHTY

I WOULD FOLLOW HIM INTO BATTLE

Bruce:

He cries when the green screen glitches.

Tony:

Honestly, same.

Y/N:

Wait. Has anyone seen Bucky today?

Bucky (aka The Emoji Menace):

👀🧍‍♂️🕶️🔪

Tony:

Oh cool. He’s sending threats again. In Wingdings.

Clint:

Is that “watching silently with knives”?

Or “just vibing”?

Steve:

Buck, are you okay?

Bucky:

🤷‍♂️🧠❄️🔫💅

Y/N:

Okay so that translates to “brainwashed but fabulous.”

Iconic, honestly.

Thor:

TINY IMAGES OF EMOTION

I TOO SHALL PARTAKE

⚡🍗🛡️👑🔥👁️

Tony:

Thor, what does that even mean?

Thor:

“I CLAIM THIS FRIED CHICKEN IN THE NAME OF ASGARD AND I SHALL DEFEND IT WITH HONOR AND FLAMES”

Y/N:

I want that carved into my tombstone.

Bucky:

🍕👊💀💤🚪

Clint:

“Punching pizza to death and leaving dramatically.”

Wow. Art.

Natasha:

This is why I don’t check this chat before coffee. Or after. Or ever.

Tony:

He’s literally emoji-shitposting his way through this chat like a deranged hieroglyphic caveman.

Thor:

I CHALLENGE THE METAL ARM MAN

TO A BATTLE OF SYMBOLS

LET OUR FINGERS SPEAK WITH IMAGES

Bucky:

💪🧊🧼🖕🤡☠️

Y/N:

Oh. Oh he came to play.

Tony:

Translation: “Strong, cold, clean, flipping you off, you clown, die.”

This is poetry. This is what Shakespeare feared.

Thor:

🔥🌩️🐍🐔⚔️🍑🚽

Bruce:

…Did Thor just say “burn, thunder, snake, chicken, fight, butt, toilet”?

Clint:

Yes.

And I think it was a threat and a proposal.

Bucky:

🤨🧻💣🎯🦴🐺💋

Y/N:

Okay I think that one was “try me, toilet paper bomb target bone wolf kiss.”

We’re entering cryptid mode.

Tony:

We’re beyond that. We’re in cryptid FLUENT territory.

Steve:

Guys… what happened to simple team bonding?

Natasha:

This is bonding.

Thor and Bucky are flirting in violence emojis. It’s beautiful.

Y/N:

Some people send flowers.

Others send 🗡️🪦👁️🚬 and call it romance.

Thor:

MY LOVE LANGUAGE IS 🔨💥🧃🕺🕊️

Tony:

Translation: “Hit stuff, explode, juice, dance, peace.”

Sounds like a Friday night with Thor.

Bucky:

💅🚬😎🧼🍷⚰️

Y/N:

Yup. That’s his way of saying “murder is self-care.”

Bruce:

We need supervision. Or an exorcist.

Clint:

I say we let it happen.

Let them emoji battle until only one survives.

Steve:

Guys, focus. Mission briefing in 10.

Y/N:

Steve, read the room.

The mission now is figuring out if 🍑🚽🔥🐔 is a coded insult or an ancient Asgardian blessing.

Tony:

I’m gonna go drink and scream into a pillow now.

Group chat: muted for eternity.

Thor:

I HAVE WON THE EMOJI WAR

ALL SHALL KNEEL BEFORE MY 🔥🍗🌩️💪

Bucky:

🖕😴🏆

Y/N:

And that’s how Bucky just dropped the mic using a middle finger, nap, and a trophy emoji.

Ladies and gentlemen, he is risen.

Natasha:

Burn this chat. Salt the earth.

[Chat name changed to “🔥💀 Noodle Beasts Reloaded 💀🔥” by Thor]

Steve:

…Why is this my life?

Y/N:

Because you love us.

Now shut up and send a gif, coward.

[sunboki]

— KEEP IT BUSINESS. TEASER a Lee Minho fiction

Lee Minho x f. reader

TROPE. best friends to lovers, coworkers! au, first kiss..? au (hehe), domestic minho (what’s new) who is sooo soft for reader :(

WARNINGS. cursing, making-out?? annoying coworkers (lol)

WORD COUNT. around 5k-6k words

AUG'S NOTES. really really love minho so so much you don’t understand i’ve officially gone bonkers i- 😭😭 …if you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to send an ask/dm/comment!!!

SYNOPSIS. Life can be a mess, and with you and Minho as the only two singles in your office building, an impertinent Valentine’s day leaves no choice but to make a pact.

or alternatively :

If we’re still single by twenty-five, we date each other.

Four years.

It’s been four years since you first met Lee Minho, working with him at the same company, becoming the best of friends. And yet, the same dread lay specially reserved for the same season.

The season of love, or, to most people, Valentine’s day.

.

.

.

Alarm set for 6:30AM. Work from 8:30AM to 4PM. Every day of the week, every year.

Initially, the experience was relatively enjoyable. It paid well, wasn’t too harsh on hours, and other coworkers minded their own business (at least in your case) without being a pain.

Then the loneliness set in.

It was subtle at first, a tiny pang in your heart when you returned home to a dark, cold apartment while others would be greeted by a pet, a loved one.

So when Lee Minho, a new member of the company assigned as your apprentice came along, you tend to think meeting him was, in a weird, spontaneous manner, meant to be.

And four years later, when he had grown from that apprentice-ship and became established as an employee, you still hold onto that “meant to be” philosophy.

Busied chatter fills the downstairs cafe, familiar faces alike brimming with conversation, breath coffee-stained.

Peering across the various assortment of tables, you spot him, two identical cups in each hand, wearing that bemused expression as usual.

At this point, Minho has memorized your order by heart, arriving early after his daily stop by the nearby animal shelter (whose manager knew by heart). Most morning’s you’d await a picture of the newest addition to the feline section, a photo he proudly shows off like his own trophy.

You’re genuinely surprised his residence isn’t a constantly growing cat-kingdom.

“Looking forward to it?”

Brows furrowing, you sidle to his right and dish the warm beverage into your grasp.

“Looking forward to wha— wait wait don’t say it. I want to pretend it doesn’t exist.” Hurriedly waving your hands, Minho cracks a grin.

The cursed word in question being: Valentine’s day.

You can’t say you hate it. It never did anything to you, nor did it leave you heartbroken. To put it simply, the office over the first few weeks of February was a close-resembling spinoff to Singles Inferno except, much spicier and way too inappropriate in broad daylight.

Meaning, for the past five years (four joined by Minho), merely mentioning said season of love urges impending dread and deep frowns.

“All I’m gonna say is I would not want to be a doctor over Valentines,” You wince, sipping the warm drink with a squeamish face.

Minho sighs vehemently, propping an elbow against the computer cart behind him.

“I bet you could witness more vibrators in that hospital than in an Adam and Eve,” He grumbles, watchful eyes surveying the daily crowd occupying tables and chairs in the building’s downstairs café.

Slamming a fist to your chest to correct your breathing, your eyes practically bulge from your skull, evidently caught of guard.

Leave it to Minho to make you suffocate before your shift even begins.

8am is prime time for socialization—otherwise before Mrs. Song decides to unleash her wrath on newbies. She has good intentions, sure, but let’s just say most anyone was petrified upon first meeting her.

Luckily, your department with Hyeongmi, Minho, and Felix was secluded on the far side of the building, leaving you out of the woman’s hair, free to work as you please.

Yet, Mrs. Song wasn’t the problem, not when it came down to the month of February.

Your phone’s alarm signaling to start moving momentarily wards off the thought, and either of you begin toward the elevator, flat expressions describing the sinking feeling better than words.

Back at it, again.

Because by your lunch break, you can’t fathom entering the cafeteria, not if it costs you your life.

Everywhere you look someone is making out, confessing their love, or, worst you’ve seen it all day, genuinely fucking in the bathrooms.

Perhaps you’d send Minho a text you’re making an escape by eating in the office, invite him up for some solace.

Except, it seems he had the same idea.

Scrambling through the door, you enter at the same time, heaving sighs of exasperation upon securing much needed privacy.

Making prolonged eye contact, your thoughts come spilling out.

“If I witness another make-out in the stairwell I’m ending it all.”

“Boxes of chocolates are officially ruined for me now.”

Four years and it never gets old. Same old painful memories, same old excitement for the day to come and go. And it’s not like you hate the holiday itself, you two just.. heavily dislike the immense bucketloads of PDA and office hookups that come along with it.

Not-so-gracefully flopping down onto your chairs, you practically shovel food down, gladly accepting the few rolls of gimbap Minho places onto your plate.

Customary sharing. You give him some of your food, he gives you some of his.

In those brief minutes of silence do you get the opportunity to fully comprehend your own thoughts, prior to Minho clearing his throat.

“Drinks at my place?”

Your grown loudly in agreement.

[pawsidentjack]

Lounging Less, Blooming More

Soaked in Sunlight, Covered in Cat Hair

The holidays were a whirlwind of coziness, naps, and way too many treats (Jack insists there’s no such thing). We fully embraced the lounging lifestyle—curled up in blankets, basking in sunbeams, and soaking in every last bit of festive magic. Jack loved his Christmas presents (yes, the rainbow wand and mangled pieces that are left of original bunny are still in heavy rotation). He loves his new red and white Christmas bunny, although the original still stays around. I think it’s safe to say he enjoyed his first holiday season.

He’s been proudly dragging one of his new favorites around, it had a feather and a bell… you get the rest! Even when his toys are on their last legs, he still parades them around like trophies, even during spring cleaning.

And then—it snowed. In Texas.

Just for a moment, the world outside turned white, and Jack got to experience his very first snow. He perched by the window, wide-eyed and silent, completely mesmerized by the falling flakes. He watched every flurry with twitching whiskers and a flicking tail, like the whole world had transformed just for him. It was a rare little winter wonder—gone as quickly as it came, but unforgettable all the same.

Spring Has Entered the Chat

That’s right—Spring Cleaning has officially commenced here at our house. Window blinds are open to welcome in the sunshine, my plants love it, but maybe not as much as Jack. He loves to laze in the windowsill and watch birds and squirrels in the backyard. Soon the windows will be open to welcome in the fresh breeze… Which means brushing season is in full swing. Jack is growing fluffier by the second and loving every minute of it.

Can you believe it? Jack turns ONE in just one week! My little orange boy is practically all grown up—still full of kitten energy, but now with the floof and presence of a true royal. He is the undisputed Prince… though Queen Sissy still reigns supreme. Now that Jack is bigger than his big sister, their dynamic has shifted in the cutest way—they’re lounging near each other, playing around more and generally getting along like a true sibling duo. 

Here’s to springtime snoozes, sunbeams, and the countdown to Jack’s first birthday! Stay tuned for celebration pics, and more… 💞🌸🎉

[alittlebitofloveliness]

hiii idk if ur still taking requests or not but if u are literally any kind of darry angst would be amazing 🤗🤗

Hi anon! This is a bit more Curtis brothers angst but Darry centric exploring what might have happened if the Curtis parents died two years earlier. Please lmk what you think!

***********

“Please” Darry begs, “I’ll be eighteen in a month. A month! I swear I can take care of them. Please don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry,” the social worker says, and to her credit she does sound like she means it, “Since you're almost eighteen and because you’ve provided me with adequate proof you can support yourself I’m going to allow you to remain here at this time, but Sodapop is only fourteen and Ponyboy just turned twelve. They need a real guardian.”

“I can be their guardian,” Darry vows. It’s wrong they’re even having this conversation. His college acceptance letter sits on his desk, his football trophies on the shelf and yet he’d give all of it away in a heartbeat for this crackpot old woman to see sense, to understand that he’s just lost both of his parents and he cannot lose his brothers too. Why doesn’t she understand that? “You said it yourself, I can support myself. I can support them too. The lawyer said Mom and dad left me the house. I can officially claim it in a month, and I can cover bills until then. I already got three offers for another job, and I know how to cook and clean and drive-”

“Darrel,” the social worker cuts him off firmly but kindly, “this has nothing to do with whether or not you are capable. In fact, from what I’ve seen, and the frankly remarkable job you’ve done holding your family together I’d be more than happy to help you petition for guardianship of your brothers at a later time, if it’s still something you feel strongly about doing, but the fact of the matter is that almost eighteen is not the same as eighteen. You are not a legal adult, and you cannot be your brothers’ legal guardian until you are. It doesn’t matter how responsible or adult you are right now. It can’t happen.”

“Please,” Darry implores, “you can’t take them. We just lost mom and dad, I can’t lose them too.”

“I really am sorry,” she says, “and I mean it when I say I will help you try and get guardianship in a month. But I can’t let them stay with you right now, and honestly? Maybe it’s a good thing. I know you love your brothers but guardianship would mean putting your life on hold until Ponyboy turns eighteen- eight years from now. You couldn’t go to college, travel, do much of anything really. This month will give you time to think that over, decide if it’s something you’re truly prepared to do.”

Anger, bright and hot as a supernova bursts in his chest.

“I would do anything to keep them. Anything. I don’t want college or sports or nothing if it means they’d be stuck in some foster home with people who don’t care anything about them.”

“We make sure all our foster parents are vetted very carefully-”

“Yeah, sure,” Darry scoffs, “I know a dozen kids who grew up in the foster system. I’m sure all those bruises were just from kids being kids, especially the handprints. With all due respect, I think you’ve forgotten what part of town you're in. East side kids never end up in the good homes.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“Save your apologies,” Darry chokes, ashamed to feel hot tears start to prick his eyes, “it’s clear your mind is made up and ain’t nothing I can do to change it.”

“I promise you, I will help you try and get them back. As soon as you're eighteen.”

“I’ll call you the minute the clock hits midnight on my birthday,” Darry threatens, “see if I won’t.”

“That’s fair,” the social worker smiles but Darry refuses to smile back. He hates her, for all she is trying to be as kind and helpful as she can. She’s going to take his brothers away. To him, she can only ever be a villain, “you guys can stay together here one more night while I sort out placements for Ponyboy and Sodapop. I’ll be back at ten tomorrow morning. Do you want to tell your brothers or should I?”

Well Darry sure as hell isn’t going to break their hearts, and Ms. Summers has done a good enough job already of shattering what remained of his own.

“You do it,” he spits, “I ain’t gonna ruin their lives.”

Her sympathy has run deep enough that pity now reigns on her face and she ignores his attitude, the way she has ignored all his attitude so far. It’s more than he probably deserves. He still hates her for it.

“No,” Soda says before Ms. Summers has even finished explaining, his brown eyes shining with a primal sort of fear that puts another crack in Darry’s already broken heart. Soda was made to be grinning, not meant to ever look so terrified, “no you ain’t puttin’ me in no foster house. Me’n my brothers are stayin’ right here, together, thank you very much.”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t asking,” Ms. Summers says, still talking in that infuriatingly gentle tone. 

Soda- easygoing, sweet Sodapop, who called ladies ma’am without fail, who everyone adored- glares at her, backing away the way a cornered animal might.

“I ain’t going! I ain’t! And you ain't taking Pony neither! Darry ain’t gonna let you take us, right Dar?”

He looks at him, brown eyes wide and desperate in his face, and Darry knows things will never be the same after this because it’s his job to protect Soda and Pony, always has been and always will be, and yet right now he is failing to do just that and Soda may never forgive him for it.

“Soda…”

“No!” He’s crying now, tears running freely down his face as he clutches Ponyboy close to his side, arm falling protectively around their baby brother’s tiny shoulders because Pony- whose eyes are the same sort of haunted they’ve been since mom and dad died, and whose face shows nothing but terrified resignation- hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet. Because he’s twelve. Only twelve.

“I know this is hard for you” Ms Summers continues, “and I’m going to do my best to make sure you and Ponyboy get placed together, but you can’t stay with Darry right now.”

“Why not? He’s good at bein’ a guardian. Shit, I’ve eaten more vegetables in the last week than I ever did when mom and Dad were alive-

“Because Darry isn’t eighteen.” Ms. Summers cuts him off, “and you need to be at least eighteen for the government to consider granting guardianship.”

“I’m gonna get you back,” Darry promises, ignoring the social worker and instead locking eyes with his brothers, first Soda, then Pony, “I swear it, as soon as I turn eighteen I’m gonna get you back and you can come home and we’ll all be together again. But we gotta behave if I’m gonna have any chance at all, so please stop arguin’. I don’t like this any more than you do but we gotta-” he clears his throat, “we gotta play ball, ok kiddo? We gotta do what we’re told.”

Soda gives the social worker one more murderous glance, but pulls himself together, a mask of eerie calm overtaking his features. “Fine.”

“Ill see you all tomorrow then. I can show myself out.” Ms Summers offers them one last pitying smile as she shuts the door behind her. 

As soon as she’s gone Soda is on top of him, crying so hard he can hardly breathe,. Pony is clutching his other side so hard he might have bruises, and Darry wraps them both in his arms, wishing he could keep them here forever where they would be safe and he could help them relearn how to be happy. It’s somehow the worst and best moment of his life. On the one hand they’re still blissfully here with him. On the other hand, they won’t be for long.

“I’m sorry,” belatedly Darry realizes he’s crying too, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I tried everything, she wouldn't let me keep you, I tried, I tried.”

Pony just hugs him harder, burying his face in his chest and Soda wails.

Eventually they all stop crying, but the mood in the house is somber. The gang comes around, moods dampening one by one as they hear the news, and Darry makes chocolate cake for dinner since there’s no point in making healthy food if the social workers are taking the boys anyway. In the end it doesn’t matter- none of them have much of an appetite, even for cake.

He walks in on Steve and Soda plotting to run away together before the social worker comes. Talks them out of it by reminding them that he’ll never get guardianship if Soda goes truant while still technically in his care. Eventually, the gang leaves and the it’s the three of them once more, crowded together on the living room couch in an unspoken agreement. None of them want to sleep, unwilling to miss even a second that they have left together.

“Darry?” Pony whispers, his head resting on Darry’s shoulder.

“Yeah, bud?”

“I’m scared.”

“I know,” Darry says, heat clenching, “I’m scared too.”

A few minutes later Pony’s weight drops a little more against him and he starts to snore, out cold. Darry pulls him a little closer, plants a kiss on the top of his wild hair. 

“Soda?” Darry says softly a few minutes later, careful not to wake Pony.

“Hmm,” Soda blinks at him sleepily, “yeah Dar?’

“Promise me you’ll take care of him,” he glances down at Ponyboy’s peaceful face. Asleep like this he looks downright childlike, “and yourself too, savvy? I’m sorry- I’m sorry I can’t do it myself, but you gotta be strong for me, alright? Just for a month or two until I get you back.”

“I promise,” Soda vows, “he’ll be safe with me, I’ll make sure of it. No matter where they put us.”

“I know you will, little buddy.”  Darry sighs. 

Soda sniffs. “I’m really gonna miss you, Dar. it ain’t right, takin’ me from my big brother when we just lost our folks. It ain’t right.”

“I’ll get you back,” Darry promises again, because what else is there to say, really? “I’ll talk to the president himself if I have to but I swear I’ll get you back.”

“I know you will,” Soda tells him, eyes shining. 

They don’t talk for the rest of the night.

The morning dawns with a sunrise that mocks them with it’s beauty and a buttery sunshine that illuminates the sorrow on all their faces when Mrs. Summers shows up and they all have to say goodbye. The gangs around, everyone but Dallas who got jailed two days ago, and Pony and Soda take their time with their goodbyes. When Soda reaches Darry, he hugs him tight for a second, and gets chocked up trying to say something three times before he gives up. Pony hugs Darry with a strength he rarely sees from the kid, and Darry tells him over and over that he loves him because when things get tough that’s the sort of thing Ponyboy forgets.

Then they leave, Mrs. Summers' blue Toyota rounding the corner, and a big part of Darry’s heart goes with them.

He goes back inside. Steve and Two-bit both follow him, casting him concerned looks, but he can’t deal with their worry right now. He has twenty eight days before his birthday to compile an airtight case as to why he’s the perfect guardian for a teenager and a preteen boy, and three job offers on his desk that can make that case a lot more airtight than it currently is.

It’s time to get to work.

[kathlare]

never have i ever

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie is excited for her first night alone in her new home, eagerly awaiting Lando’s arrival. However, her plans are thrown off course when her chaotic friends, Jaden and Josh, show up unannounced, turning the night into a drunken, unpredictable celebration.

Wordcount: 3.6 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

October 14th, 2020 - Los Angeles, CA

liked by lanmelieupdates, ferrarigirlieee, and others

lando_lovehub: Lando spotted in LA today looking 🔥… and guess who’s ALSO in LA? Yep, our girl Amelie making the city even hotter. Coincidence? We think not 👀💥

View all 47,029 comments

f1.sluttycorner: lando out here stealing scenes again 👀 → maxpower22: @f1.sluttycorner honestly he needs a trophy just for showing up looking like that

sunshine_amelie: she’s in LA too? this city bout to catch fire 🔥🔥

racequeen23: besties or secretly lowkey dating? the suspense is real 🕵️‍♀️ → chillvibes_only: @racequeen23 plot twist: they’re just vibing but we all know the tea 🍵

meme_lord99: lando’s smile = 1000 watts, amelie’s vibe = solar power ☀️ → geekygirl87: @meme_lord99 power couple in training tbh

f1_gossipdaily: can someone pls send them both to the same party so we can get receipts?

lanmelie_fanclub: they’re in LA at the same time, it’s officially a sign 🥹💖 → daydreamer_xoxo: @lanmelie_fanclub sending positive vibes for a crossover event

tiffygasoline: not saying they’re dating but why is LA suddenly the hottest spot on earth? 👀 → lanmeliefanatic: @tiffygasoline cause Lanmelie energy attracts heat, duh

amelie_shade: he’s just “in LA for work” but we all know the GPS says “Amelie” 😂 → fan_girl_1000: @amelie_shade can confirm, his heart’s got no chill

lanmeliegang: they both in LA but still playing it cool like spies 🕵️‍♂️🕵️‍♀️

sunset_queen: Amelie and Lando in the same city? The energy is unmatched 🔥 → chillracer22: @sunset_queen facts, LA just got 10x hotter

gearhead_gal: just friends they say, but the tea says otherwise ☕👀 → speedy_sis: @gearhead_gal friends who vibe like that? nah, we waiting on the next episode

lanmelie_shippers: they both in LA but acting like “just friends” is the real stunt 🫠 → f1_gossipgod: @lanmelie_shippers fr this is them saying “we’re lowkey but also not”

amelie_obsessed: bet he’s at her door rn with flowers and takeout, that’s lan energy 🌹🍣 → max_versus: @amelie_obsessed he’s probably tryna cook but ends up ordering in like always lol

raceday_rebel: lando in LA + amelie in LA = the universe shipping harder than us 🤯 → lanmelie4ever: @raceday_rebel we’re all just here for the slowburn romance

f1_memes_daily: when your fave is in LA but no PDA, we want tea not a dry spell 🫖 → coffee_and_cars: @f1_memes_daily they playing it cool but we got binoculars ready 👀

-------------

The house was finally done. All of her stuff was here, the last of the boxes unpacked, her clothes hanging in the closet instead of being stuffed in suitcases, the scent of vanilla candles and fresh linens filling the air. It wasn’t just a house anymore. It was her house.

And Lando was finally coming over.

Amelie bounced on the balls of her feet, glancing at the time on her phone. He had texted her an hour ago, saying he had landed and was on his way. Any minute now. She had been waiting for this all day—the first time they’d get to be alone in her new space, without worrying about Jaden or Josh barging in at the worst possible moment.

A knock at the door.

She grinned, practically sprinting to open it, heart racing in anticipation. She threw the door open, eyes already lit up, expecting to see him.

Fuck.

It was not Lando.

It was Josh and Jaden.

—SURPRISE, BITCH!— Jaden yelled, holding up a bag of takeout.

Josh smirked, holding up an overnight bag. —Hope you weren’t planning on sleeping alone tonight.—

Amelie’s stomach dropped.

—What. The. Fuck.— she said, voice flat.

—Don’t look so disappointed,— Josh teased, stepping inside like he owned the place. —We brought food! And alcohol! And our wonderful company!—

Jaden clapped his hands together, looking around. —Damn, Ames, this place is sick. Way better than our old shithole.—

Amelie was still processing what was happening.

—No. No, no, no, no, NO. You guys are not doing this to me tonight.—

—Doing what?— Josh smirked.

—Crashing my first night alone in my house.—

Jaden pouted dramatically. —Oh, come on. You’re really gonna turn away your best friends?—

—You're not my best friends—

Josh gasped, clutching his chest like she’d just stabbed him. —Wow. That actually hurt.—

Jaden sniffled dramatically. —You’re saying you don’t love us? After everything we’ve been through? After we literally carried your ass through that one night you drank way too much tequila and...—

—Shut the fuck up!— Amelie snapped, slapping his arm. —You’re not supposed to bring that up ever again.—

—And yet, here we are.— Josh grinned, flopping onto her couch like he owned the place.

Amelie groaned, rubbing her temples. She should’ve slammed the door in their faces. She really, really should have. But they were looking at her with those stupid, expectant grins, and she didn’t have the heart to throw them out.

—Fine. You can stay. But only for dinner. Then you’re gone.—

—Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.— Josh smirked.

Jaden was already unpacking the food, laying out takeout containers across her coffee table. —We got your favorite, by the way. Before you start bitching.—

She hated how much that softened her. They were assholes, but they were thoughtful assholes.

—Fuck you.—

Josh grinned. —Love you too, Ames.—

Amelie sighed, resigning herself to an evening she had absolutely not planned for. But whatever. It was just a few hours.

And then Lando would be here.

Amelie sighed, crossing her arms as she watched Jaden and Josh take over her house like it was theirs. She had barely settled in herself, and now these two idiots were sprawled out on her couch, opening food containers and cracking open bottles of alcohol like they lived here.

Josh was already kicking his feet up on her coffee table, a beer in one hand, chopsticks in the other. Jaden was flipping through her TV like he paid rent. Benny had taken one look at them, decided they weren’t worth his time, and went to curl up in the corner of the couch. Björn, on the other hand, had knocked over Jaden’s backpack the moment he set it down, scattering his shit all over the floor.

At least someone in this house had the right idea.

—You’re getting rid of that thing, right?— Jaden said, glaring at Björn, who was now eyeing his beer bottle with clear intent to commit violence.

—Björn was here before I even bought this house. He has seniority over all of us,— Amelie said, sitting cross-legged on the armchair across from them.

Josh leaned forward, grabbing a container of fries. —Speaking of seniority… you do realize we’re staying the night, right?—

Amelie groaned, throwing her head back. —That was not part of the deal.—

Jaden smirked. —Yeah, but you didn’t actually think we’d leave, did you?—

She wanted to fight it. She really did. But the truth was, as much as she had been looking forward to a night alone, she didn’t totally hate having them here. It felt familiar—comforting, even. And after the stress of moving, she kind of needed this.

So she grabbed a bottle of tequila, took a long swig straight from it, and decided, fuck it.

—Fine. But if you pass out on my couch, I’m dumping ice water on you in the morning.—

Josh grinned. —Worth it.—

An hour later, the three of them were completely gone.

The tequila had been a mistake.

Jaden was half-passed out on the couch, mumbling nonsense about how he could totally outdrink Post Malone in a tequila competition. Josh was on the floor, legs sprawled out, pointing at random objects in the room and giving them names. He had just named the lamp Eugene when the doorbell rang.

Amelie, who was curled up in an armchair, tequila bottle still loosely in her grasp, perked up.

Lando.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She practically stumbled to her feet, tripping over Josh’s leg in the process. He yelped, and Jaden mumbled something about tax evasion in his half-asleep state. Ignoring them, she rushed to the door, still grinning, still light-headed from the alcohol.

She yanked it open...

And there he was.

Lando stood on her doorstep, mask on, curls a little messy, dressed in a hoodie and sweats, holding a bouquet of yellow tulips in his hand.

Yellow tulips.

Her heart clenched.

—Hey,— he said, eyes crinkling slightly above the mask.

Amelie blinked at him, swaying slightly. She wasn’t that drunk, but she was definitely tipsy enough to feel everything ten times more. The warmth in her chest at seeing him, the way his voice sent shivers down her spine, the fucking flowers in his hand.

He brought her flowers.

Fuck.

She had to focus. She had to act normal.

—Hey, you.— Her grin widened as she leaned against the doorframe. —Nice flowers. Who died?—

Lando huffed a laugh, stepping closer. —No one. They’re for you.— He lifted the bouquet slightly. —For the new house.—

Amelie’s heart clenched again. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw herself at him. Instead, she took the bouquet with slightly shaky hands, staring down at the bright yellow petals like they held the meaning of life.

—They’re my favorite,— she murmured.

—Yeah, I know.— His voice was softer now. There was something in his eyes, something warm and unreadable, and it made her stomach flip.

And then—

—HEY, LANDO’S HERE!—

Jaden’s voice rang out from behind her, shattering the moment into a million pieces.

Lando’s brows furrowed. He peered past Amelie, into the house, and his entire body tensed.

Josh and Jaden.

Drunk Josh and Jaden.

—Are you fucking kidding me?— Lando muttered.

Amelie winced, stepping aside so he could take in the disaster that was her living room. Jaden was still sprawled on the couch, looking way too comfortable, and Josh was half on the floor, waving lazily at Lando like he was greeting an old friend at a bar.

—What the fuck are they doing here?— Lando asked, voice low.

—Surprise visit. Couldn’t get rid of them. They brought alcohol. I folded like a fucking lawn chair,— Amelie admitted, rubbing her temples. —I swear I thought I was gonna be alone tonight.—

Lando exhaled sharply, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He looked down at Josh, who was grinning up at him, clearly very pleased with himself.

—Landoooooo,— Josh drawled. —What a pleasure, mate. Join us. Have a drink.—

Jaden sat up, waving a bottle of tequila in the air. —Yeah, don’t be a fucking loser, Lando. We’re celebrating. Ames got a house.—

Lando pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked like he wanted to commit a crime.

Amelie bit her lip to keep from laughing.

—You’re drunk,— Lando said, pointing at both of them.

—So’s she,— Josh shot back, nodding at Amelie.

Lando’s gaze flicked to her. His eyes softened for a second, taking her in—the loose, oversized hoodie she was wearing, the pink flush in her cheeks, the way she was still holding the flowers like they were the only thing keeping her upright.

—How much did you drink?— he asked.

She shrugged. —Enough to tolerate these two.—

Josh gasped. —Rude.—

Lando exhaled, running a hand through his curls. This was not how he’d pictured tonight going. He had been looking forward to spending time alone with Amelie. Just them. No interruptions.

And now he was stuck with these two motherfuckers.

—Fine,— he muttered, tossing his keys onto the counter. —Pour me a drink.—

Jaden whooped. Josh grinned. Amelie’s eyebrows shot up.

—You’re drinking?— she asked, skeptical.

Lando wasn’t much of a drinker, especially during the season. He was usually the responsible one.

—Might as well if I’m gonna survive this bullshit,— he muttered, grabbing the bottle from Jaden.

Josh cackled. —Now this is gonna be a good fucking night.—

Two hours later, Lando was officially gone.

Not completely wasted like the other two, but definitely drunk enough to loosen up. He was slumped on the couch, legs stretched out, watching as Jaden attempted to balance a beer bottle on his forehead while Josh narrated it like a sports commentator.

—And he’s going for it, folks, he’s steady, he’s focused... OH, AND HE DROPS IT!— Josh yelled as the bottle crashed to the floor.

Jaden groaned dramatically. —This is rigged.—

Amelie, curled up next to Lando, giggled, resting her head on his shoulder.

—You’re all idiots,— Lando muttered, but there was a fondness in his tone. His arm was draped lazily over the back of the couch, fingers grazing Amelie’s hair absentmindedly.

She sighed happily.

—This isn’t what I planned for tonight,— she admitted.

Lando glanced down at her. —What did you plan?—

She hesitated, looking up at him, something unspoken in her gaze.

Lando held her stare, his fingers brushing her shoulder now.

For a second, it was just them.

And then...

—LET’S PLAY NEVER HAVE I EVER!— Jaden shouted, breaking whatever the fuck that moment had been.

Amelie groaned. Lando clenched his jaw.

Josh grinned. —Oh, this is about to get real interesting.—

Fuck.

He had not planned for this.

When he imagined tonight, he pictured something simple—just him and Amelie, a quiet night in her new house. Maybe they’d watch something, talk, fall into whatever weird limbo they always seemed to exist in. Maybe, if he was lucky, she’d finally look at him the way he looked at her.

Instead, he was stuck in this mess.

Josh clapped his hands. —Alright, losers. Rules are simple. We go around, say ‘Never Have I Ever’ followed by something we haven’t done, and if you have done it, you drink.—

Lando groaned. —This is a terrible idea.—

—Which is why it’s brilliant.— Josh smirked.

Jaden flopped back onto the couch, holding out a fresh beer to Lando, who took it begrudgingly. Amelie was giggling beside him, drunk and warm and leaning into his side like she belonged there.

God, he was so fucked.

Josh started. —Never have I ever… crashed a car.—

Lando immediately took a sip, shooting him a dry look.

Josh cackled. —Oh, that’s right. Race car driver. Forgot you fuckers crash for fun.—

Jaden took a sip too, then pointed at Amelie. —Wait, what about you?—

Amelie scoffed. —I don’t crash cars. I gently inconvenience them.—

Lando snorted. —She’s lying. I’ve seen her parallel park.—

—Shut the fuck up, Norris.—

Josh clapped. —Next! Jaden, go.—

Jaden thought for a second, then smirked. —Never have I ever had a secret situationship.—

Lando stiffened.

His grip on the beer bottle tightened as Amelie went completely still next to him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, wondering if she’d drink.

Wondering if he should.

Amelie hesitated. Then, very slowly, she lifted her glass and took a sip.

Josh whistled. —Damn, Ames, spill.—

Amelie just smirked. —Nope.—

Lando exhaled, his fingers twitching against his thigh. He could feel Amelie’s warmth next to him, could hear her soft giggle as she dodged their questions.

She was drunk. Loose-limbed and happy. And still, she wouldn't say it.

Wouldn't admit to him.

Jaden’s turn. —Never have I ever… fallen for a friend.—

Lando didn’t move.

Neither did Amelie.

Josh, oblivious, took a sip. —Oh, fuck yeah. I fell for my middle school best friend. It was tragic.—

Jaden snickered. —You were twelve.—

Josh pointed at him. —And it was tragic.—

Lando swallowed, his gaze drifting toward Amelie again. She was looking at her drink, lips slightly parted, fingers tracing the rim of her glass.

She hadn’t drunk.

Neither had he.

His stomach twisted.

Josh waved a hand. —Alright, alright, Amelie, your turn.—

Amelie perked up, her hazy eyes flicking toward Lando for just a second before she smirked.

Amelie’s mind raced, the tequila still making her thoughts fuzzy but somehow sharper in this moment. She knew Lando was watching her—knew he had to be—but she couldn’t look at him. Not now. Not with the weight of the question hanging in the air.

Her grip tightened around her glass, her heart pounding in her chest as she forced her voice to remain steady.

—Never have I ever… felt completely out of control around someone.—

Lando’s breath hitched. He stared at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. He didn’t drink, but his jaw clenched, the muscle ticking.

Josh and Jaden, bless their oblivious souls, both took a sip, completely missing the tension crackling between Lando and Amelie.

—Damn, Ames, that’s deep,— Josh commented, shaking his head. —You good?—

Amelie forced a smile, looking anywhere but at Lando. —Yeah, just peachy.—

Jaden grinned. —Alright, Lando, your turn.—

Lando hesitated, his gaze still locked on Amelie. He was about to say something, something pointed, something that would make her squirm, but he stopped himself. He wasn’t going to play this game. Not like this.

—Never have I ever… wanted something I couldn’t have,— he said, his voice low and laced with a quiet intensity.

Amelie’s eyes widened slightly. She didn’t drink, but she didn’t look away either. The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

Josh and Jaden both took a drink, completely missing the charged atmosphere.

—Damn, Lando, you’re getting deep too,— Josh commented, shaking his head. —Alright, another round!—

They continued the game, the tequila flowing, the laughter growing louder. But the tension between Lando and Amelie didn’t dissipate. It hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken feelings between them.

Two rounds later, Jaden and Josh were both snoring loudly, sprawled across the couch like discarded rag dolls. Amelie looked at Lando, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

—They’re out cold,— she whispered, gesturing to the sleeping figures.

Lando nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. —Finally. Some peace and quiet.—

Amelie grabbed the tequila bottle and stood up. —Come on. We’re going upstairs.—

Lando raised an eyebrow, but followed her without question. They made their way up the stairs, leaving the snoring figures behind.

Amelie led him to her bedroom, the room still smelling faintly of fresh paint and new linens. She sat on the edge of the bed, patting the space next to her.

—We’re not done with the game,— she said, holding up the tequila bottle.

Lando sat beside her, a grin spreading across his face. —Oh, we’re not?—

—Nope. We’re just changing the rules a bit.—

She leaned closer, her breath ghosting over his lips. —We’re adding dares.—

Lando’s heart pounded in his chest. He looked at her, his eyes dark with desire. —Dares?—

Amelie nodded, her eyes sparkling. —Yeah. And if you don’t do the dare, you drink.—

Lando chuckled, reaching out to trace the curve of her jaw with his fingers. —Sounds dangerous.—

Amelie grinned, her eyes never leaving his. —That’s the point.—

They played for a while, the dares growing increasingly bold, the tension between them building with each passing moment. Amelie dared Lando to take off his shirt, to kiss her neck, to whisper something dirty in her ear. Lando dared Amelie to take a shot of tequila, to dance for him, to tell him something she’d never told anyone.

With each dare, the air between them grew thicker, the unspoken feelings bubbling to the surface. They were playing a dangerous game, pushing each other to the edge, testing the boundaries of their relationship.

And then, Amelie dared Lando to kiss her.

He didn’t hesitate.

His lips crashed against hers, a raw, desperate kiss that spoke of longing and desire. Amelie’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

The tequila was forgotten, the dares were forgotten, the world outside the room was forgotten. There was only the two of them, lost in the moment, surrendering to the feelings they had been trying to deny for so long.

The kiss grew more intense, more passionate, more desperate. Lando’s hands roamed over Amelie’s body, tracing the curves of her waist, her hips, her back. Amelie’s fingers tugged at his shirt, pulling it off, her eyes never leaving his.

They were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something exhilarating, something they couldn’t quite name. But in that moment, they didn’t care. They were lost in the heat of the moment, surrendering to the passion that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

-------------

liked by lanmelieupdates, ferrarigirlieee, and others

ameliedayman: i was just standing there and the wall said “serve” so i did 🎭🧃

View all 58,915 comments

elysiadayman: okay but the wall is shaking now?? like she served TOO hard → ameliedayman: @elysiadayman tell it to relax before it cracks x

alexwolffofficial: never seen a wall look so irrelevant → ameliedayman: @alexwolffofficial ur such a hater omg →alexwolffofficial: @ameliedayman and yet u call me when ur shoe’s untied

chandlerkidney: i’m calling the police this is TOO GOOD → ameliedayman: @chandlerkidney tell them i’m guilty 💋

burner4amelie: imagine looking this good on accident. can’t relate → mcldaydream: @burner4amelie she’s not real i swear. ai-generated baddie

landonorris: nah the wall didn’t even deserve this tbh → ameliedayman: @landonorris ur so dramatic 😭

minniemills: you’re actually insane for this → ameliedayman: @minniemills i was born dramatic xx

lanmelieupdates: every time she posts my skin clears and my crops grow → sunnycharli3: @lanmelieupdates the economy thrives when she serves

beachblondiee: she’s standing. she’s serving. she’s slaying. → kiki.mp4: @beachblondiee canon event.

norricedtea: lando seeing this rn like 🧍‍♂️

maxfewtrell: swear you could post a blurry potato and people would still cry → landosburner: @maxfewtrell speak louder the academy can’t hear you

popgirldayman: honestly this post cured my seasonal depression → matchalattefreak: @popgirldayman and my skin and my GPA and my student loans

tiredlanfan: bro if lando took these i’m throwing myself into the nearest wall → itsnotthatdeepalex: @tiredlanfan if he did he deserves cinematography at the oscars idc

daymanedits: imagine being a wall and she just casually SERVES in front of you → sunflowerpaddock: @sunflowerpaddock it’s giving runway. it’s giving modern art. it’s giving wall-core.

florencepugh: i fear that wall has now been blessed for life → ameliedayman: @florencepugh want to do a pilgrimage together?

zendaya: not the wall being your most loyal hype man → ameliedayman: @zendaya he’s consistent i’ll give him that

maudeapatow: if i ever looked this good standing still i’d never move again → ameliedayman: @maudeapatow if you stood still the world would stop

wifeydayman: she served so hard the wall filed a complaint → ameliedaymanfan420: @wifeydayman court date pending

[michelsens]

NEXT GEN AMERICAN RUNDOWN!!!

@wiz-talks-tennis hope u like this!

Alex Michelsen (20 years)- Alex is very tall, 6’5, and his serve is good but maybe not as good as it should be for his height. His forehand breaks down sometimes. But he makes up for it with an incredible backhand. Like, literally world class. (He’s actually a natural left hander, but he plays right!) His movement is pretty good for a big dude, and people have rather high hopes for him.

When he was 18 he made the final of a 250 tournament, and lost. He got to that same final again last year, and lost. He made another 250 final last year, and lost. In addition to a few semis. He’s garnered a bit of a reputation for losing right when he has a chance to win a title. On the other hand, he already has a ton of upset wins under his belt, including: breadsticking Hurkacs, a top 10 win over De Minaur, and 2 wins over Tsitsipas.

I’d love to see him finally grab a title this year. I think his game on grass specifically is impeccable, and I think that it naturally should translate to a trophy. I also think (and he’s openly said he’s working on this) his serve needs to improve. He’s very tall, he should be hitting way more aces and unreturned serves.

Learner Tien (19 years)- Learner, on the other hand, is very short, about 5’10, and, not shockingly, doesn’t have an awesome serve. But his skill in rallies is INSANE. His ground strokes, particularly his forehand, are clean, his net play is very good, and he’ll throw in beautiful drop shots. My personal favorite thing about his game is his lobbing skills. You just don’t see it too often.

This kid is ridiculously good. He won the USTA 18’s 2 years in a row (yes, once when he was 17), only narrowly lost the U.S. Open Junior final to Fonseca in 2023, and he went on a Challenger tour 28 match win streak. Lemme repeat that. 28 matches. Insane. He was runner up at last year’s Next Gen Finals, again losing to Fonsi, and what most people know him for was his CRAZY upset of Medvedev in the AO second round. In a five set, nearly 5 hour match, he came out the victor.

I honestly just love Learner so anything he does would feel like a win to me haha. But, seriously, I cannot wait to see him play on clay. I think his game would carry over so well to that surface. Not something you say about Americans too often. I’m also excited to see what damage he can do at home in Indian Wells!

Nishesh Basavareddy (19 years)- Nishesh has a rather complete game for a teenager. His serve is great, and he doesn’t have any glaringly obvious issues in his game. I can’t lie, Nishesh is the player I’ve watched the least of on this list, but he’s still a fun watch. Much like Learner, his breakout was definitely at AO.

In Melbourne, he took a set off of Novak Djokovic. This happened, by the way, maybe two months after he officially turned professional and stopped playing for Stanford University. By the way, if you need any perspective on just how young these guys are, Rajeev Ram, a successful doubles player on tour, is friends with Nishesh…’s father. Yeah, his DAD. Also, I should probably mention that all three of the guys I’ve listed so far are friends! They’re all from Southern California, and have known each other since they were young. Nishesh is sort of the third wheel to Michtien since those two are like best friends, but they are all very close.

I’d like for Nishesh to actually win an upset match. He obviously was incredible already to even win a set, but I think to actually go that step further and win would put him on more people’s radar, which is great because he’s a cutie and his game is so good! And I hope he wears necklaces. Because he’s by far the swaggiest of the Cali Trio lol.

Here are my favorite pics of them just for the sillies :)

I love this one. Alex looks so annoyed. (I believe was playing Jannik here.)

Look at him. The emotion. Learner 🫶🫶🫶

Baby Nishesh’s infamous swag photo. How are you four and you have better drip than me?

Here are a bunch of photos from the Next Gen ATP finals that I love 🩷🩷🩷

[jusst-you-race]

max & lewis, 9 ❤️

au where abu dhabi isn't the last race of the season because otherwise this would be so illegal... first time writing this pairing so i hope it's okay!!! thank for the prompt you can find the list here

a kiss in public

“Are you sure you want to do this?” 

It’s about the fiftieth time that Lewis has asked this question and at this point Max just rolls his eyes. 

“Yes, Lewis. I am sure. Still.”

Lewis nods and squeezes Max’s hand, clutched in his own like a lifeline. At this point, Max is starting to suspect that Lewis is more nervous about this than he is. They’d discussed this time and time again, and whenever the question of how they came out to the public came up, Max was always adamant that he didn’t want to make any kind of post or statement, he just wanted to start showing the world who they were. It’s taken a while for him to feel ready, and he’s grateful for Lewis standing by him through it all, especially when he knows Lewis has wanted to be out for a while now. But it’s the last race of the season, they’re both on the podium, and Max thinks there’s no better time than now. 

Lewis is ushered out onto the podium and, with a final squeeze of Max’s hand, he disappears around the corner. Max takes a deep breath. He’s not particularly concerned about the response from the media. He’s slightly more concerned about the FIA, but Lewis is confident they have enough WDCs between them to smooth things out. Mostly, Max is worried about Lewis’ friends and family. The immediate ones know, but Lewis has such a wide circle, is so loved by so many, and Max has always been worried that they’ll take one look at him and think ‘Not good enough’. Not for Lewis. 

He hasn’t voiced these thoughts, he knows Lewis wouldn’t like them, and would just deny that anyone would think that. But Max knows better. He takes another calming breath.

Lewis loves you.

He’s been reminding himself of that whenever the nerves get too overwhelming. Because at the end of the day, when Lewis loves him, what else really matters?

Max is ushered forwards, and he steps out onto the podium, taking in the crowd below them. He smiles and waves dutifully, then takes his place in the middle of the podium, giving Lewis a quick glance as he passes him. They lock eyes for a second, and Lewis gives him the tiniest little nod. It settles the last of Max’s nerves. They can do this. Together. 

The victory ceremony passes in a blur; he will always appreciate standing on the top step, but today there is something more important on his mind. The trophy is heavy in his hands, grounding him in the moment slightly. He raises it above his head, looking out across his team, until he lets his gaze slide to his left, where he meets Lewis’ heated gaze, his warm smile. 

Max’s stomach swoops.

Beside him, Lando is first to pop the champagne, slamming it down in his signature fashion, and Max is drenched before he even manages to pick his own bottle up. Lando douses him, then gives a knowing wink, before he turns to spray the remainder of his bottle over his team below. Max feels bad for a split second that he’s not doing the same, but really, he only has eyes for one man. Lewis laughs as Max hits him right in the face, and Max knows his mouth is bared in a kind of manic grin. 

He’s so happy. 

Eventually, the bottles run dry, and the officials are hurrying them back onto the podium for the photo. Max goes bright red as Lewis pinches him on the bum before sliding his arm around Max’s waist, and for a second Max hopes it’ll be blamed on the post race exertion. And then he remembers what they’re about to do, and realises no one is going to be talking about anything other than what comes next.

Photos taken, he turns, taking in the sight of the man beside him, drenched in sweat and champagne and smiling his beautiful smile.

God I love him.

Max pulls Lewis in, tipping him back dramatically just to watch his face light up. He almost drops him for a moment, hands still slippery with champagne. But the way Lewis beams up at him makes it all worth it.

Then Max leans down and kisses him.

The crowd roars.