#never will say no to any message in my inbox

[ao3commentoftheday]

I just saw your response to gifmaker anon (sending hugs to anon!). First, let me just say thank you for being such a safe space here on tumblr and providing emotionally intelligent advice! It always warms my heart to see your replies to asks.

I am not a gifmaker or videomaker or writer or anything really (although i am tempted to try, maybe soon) and i have also struggled with loneliness in fandom, especially here on tumblr on which i am new. I was wondering if you had any concrete advice on how to reach out in fandom spaces, especially on tumblr? When is it ok to DM someone, and about what? I guess i’m afraid of taking up ppl’s time and energy, and that they think I’m weird or not fun. I have sent asks, but it honestly makes me very anxious, mostly because i never know if the tone carries.

And also how to make others reach out to you — Is it only through creating things, like fics and art? I think i’m a bit scared that what i want to make is not something a lot of people will like, and so i will just have written something i care about and then bare my soul by posting it and then just stand there in silence because no one connects with how i think, or no one understands it.

Lots of love to you!

link to the ask anon mentions

Thank you for the love - and the lovely compliment! 💗

I'm not sure I'm the best person to ask about how to make friends on tumblr. I say that because my perspective on social media is quite different from a lot of folks. I grew up pre-internet in a rural area and so I didn't get online until I moved to a city for university. My first online interactions were using things like ICQ (think WhatsApp without the phone calls) and IRC (think Discord but text only) and mostly with people I knew personally, or friends of my in-person friends.

Because I was introduced to the habit of meeting online strangers through them being friends-of-friends, I kind of have that habit still in place? I don't see messaging someone as intimidating. Sending an ask or a DM isn't scary. It's just waving hi to someone at a party and seeing if they like the spinach dip.

(ironically, talking to someone I don't know at a party IS intimidating to me)

The biggest source of my success when it comes to making friends online has been going into interactions with the friendly force of the extrovert I'm pretending to be. You know how there are some people who just seem to create friendships out of thin air? I pretend I'm one of them. I'll wave hi in a new discord server and as soon as someone replies to me, I'm basically just

Generally speaking, I keep DMs to either conversations with someone I've spoken to before or questions that seem too private for an ask (that can be published publicly). That's just me, though. Other people might have different preferences.

If you want people to reach out to you, reblog ask memes. These are lists of questions that you're wililng to answer if folks drop one of the numbers/questions in your inbox. At least, that's the way they're supposed to work. Sometimes I see people reblog them by just answering all of the questions up front, but that removes the possibility of someone asking you.

One other thing - if you want to prove that you're willing to answer asks? You can always send one or two of those questions to yourself as an anon ask. Just like a busker might drop a few coins into the guitar case to encourage people to tip!

Don't worry too much about taking up space, anon. The internet is a vast expanse with plenty of room for all of us. And if someone doesn't reply? There's a 99.9% chance it's not about you at all. We're all dealing with a lot of stuff on any given day and sometimes answering an ask or a DM falls off the radar.

One last thing in this already long post - Do Not, Under Any Circumstances, Use Creativity As a Means of Getting Followers. I know that's a lot of capital letters, but I feel very strongly about that after years of running this blog. If your primary goal for writing fic or making art is to get followers or attention or make friends, then you'll feel really bad if that doesn't happen as a result.

Make the art because you want to make the art. Share the art because you want to share the art. When you make the creation about the response to it instead of the creation itself? That leads to crushing disappointment.

Best of luck anon! Much love back to you 💗

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 20: The Countdown

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 3.8k

Chapter 20/22

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: i hear wedding bells

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Blind Item #1:

Word from the hills is that music’s hottest, chart-climbing power duo plan to make their love official this weekend at a super-secret ceremony somewhere on the California coast. Cue the flower-petal emoji avalanche.

Blind Item #2:

An ex-partner with lingering spotlight envy is privately “miffed” after learning they won’t be on the guest list, let alone in the bridal party. (Sources say the save-the-date never even hit their inbox.)

You thumbed the screen dark, jaw tight enough to make your temples throb. It was 7 a.m., three days to “I do,” and the to-do list on the kitchen island was already assault-weapon length:

final dress fitting (10 a.m.)

demo walk-through of aisle sound system (noon)

Mani and Pedi with the girls

confirm vegan entrée count for Natasha's side of the family

find out where in the multiverse Tony stashed the rings this time (bad idea)

… and then you got to add “Ignore gossip-site blind items” to the top in aggressive Sharpie.

You closed your eyes, inhaled the lavender-rosemary candle, and exhaled through pursed lips. They were just headlines, you reminded yourself. Words couldn't derail a wedding, not when the caterer, the florist, and a Fort Knox–level nondisclosure agreement were working for you. Additionally, they had the location incorrect. One of your best-kept secrets, if you did say so yourself.

Still, the pings kept coming vibration after vibration against the marble countertop. Wanda’s morning hype text. Melina’s text (“Flight lands 16:05; tell Natalia not to meet me in sweatpants.”). A calendar alert from the planner. And buried in the stack, a single message from an unknown number, almost certainly a tabloid fixer fishing for comment.

You swiped it all away and slid the phone face-down beneath a napkin like it was radioactive.

The coffeemaker hissed its last breath. You poured a mug, steeling yourself for the day. Somewhere down the hall, a door opened; Natasha’s bare feet padded across hardwood in unhurried rhythm. She appeared, hair a sunrise mess, Velvet Rebellion T-shirt hanging off one shoulder.

“Morning, future Mrs. Romanoff-Fury-Hyphen-Whatever-We-Decide,” she mumbled around a yawn. “Why do you look like you just read the apocalypse?”

“Blind items,” you said, handing over the caffeine. “Apparently the whole internet thinks we’re getting married. Also, at least one disgruntled ex is salty about not scoring an invite.”

Natasha snorted into her mug. “Which one? I’ve got, like, three.” Off your look, she amends, “Former exes. Pre-you exes. Irrelevant exes.”

You choked out a laugh despite yourself. “Pretty sure this one’s aimed at my column. Sam is blissfully unbothered. That leaves a few names I'd rather not mention."

"Let them be mad," She mumbled, putting her coffee mug down on the counter. She moved to wrap her arms around you, nuzzling her face into your neck, breathing in your scent. You melted against her. "I don't give a shit about them. The only thing I care about is marrying you."

She kissed your neck, your earlobe, the corner of your mouth. She tasted like mint toothpaste, and you sighed and leaned back into her as her hands slid over your hips.

"Babe," You said, allowing her to kiss and suck that spot right behind your ear that always made you melt, "we gotta—mmmh—don't leave marks." You warned her. She ignored you, kissing down your neck, giving a teasing nip before you reached behind you, grasping for something. "Before you get any ideas, we need to go over the checklist one more time." You shoved the clipboard between the two of you.

"But," she pouted, "what if I wanna check you off?"

You shook your head, a small laugh leaving you. "I'm serious, babe. We have the final cake tasting, and the flower delivery, and the officiant."

"Okay, okay," She grumbled, taking the clipboard, her other arm still slung around your waist. You softened because she had that effect and let her steal a second kiss before shoving the clipboard into her free hand.

“Love you,” you sighed, “but if you don’t start on page one, page ten is never happening.”

Natasha scanned the list. “Rings. Right. I’ll shake down Stark.” She taps the blank next to sound check. “Band’s covered. Go conquer the dress fitting; meet me at the venue after lunch.”

Another buzz rattled the countertop. Neither of you looked this time.

"If we don't get started now, we'll never finish." You said as she lowered the clipboard to kiss you again.

"Then let's finish already." She grinned.

"When you bat those pretty lashes I can't say no," You pouted.

"That's the plan," she hummed.

Natasha’s lips were just brushing yours again when the doorbell chimed one polite ding-dong, followed by a distinctly British voice you both recognized from countless video calls:

"Hello? I let myself in with the key code," Yelena called from the foyer. Her footsteps got closer and closer leaving you barely any time to react as she entered the kitchen.

Yelena Belova appeared in the doorway wheeling a floral carry-on and clutching a stack of colour-coded folders. A Cambridge-blue scarf was knotted around her neck, windswept blonde hair in a low bun, and AirPods still in.

She stopped, took in the half-hug-half-kiss you and Natasha were frozen in and raised one brow.

“So,” she announced, accent now more Oxbridge than American, “I fly across the Atlantic, sprint through Sky Harbor, and the first thing I witness is my sister half-dressed and behind schedule. Delightful.”

Natasha groaned. “Lena, the wedding isn’t for two days. Lecture me tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Yelena checked her watch theatrically. “We’ve already lost forty-six minutes according to the itinerary Wanda emailed me.” She waved a folder. “Colour-coded by hour. I highlighted where you’re statistically likely to panic.”

You blinked, then laughed. “Hi, I'm Y/N. Bride. Nice to finally meet in person.”

Yelena’s expression melted into warmth. She stepped forward, offered a quick, surprisingly sincere hug. “Lovely to meet you, future sister. You look way hotter in person. Way to go."

You snorted as Natasha shot her a death glare. "Thanks?"

"And you," Yelena said, rounding on her sister. "It's a good thing I'm here."

"Yeah, yeah," Natasha said. "You can yell at me after I find the rings."

"Remind me again why you've decided to marry my sister?" Yelena questioned with narrowed e eyes.

"My charming good looks and ability to sweep her off her feet."

"Nah that's not it," Yelena shook her head.

"I'd say the sex," You shrugged which made Yelena gag.

"I think I might throw up," She said, her nose wrinkled.

"Then don't ask questions you don't wanna hear the answer to."

"Fair point."

"Anyway," Natasha drawled, "it's gonna be a minute until the band gets here, and you and I are gonna need some sister time." She gave Yelena a look. "Will you be okay here until the last dress fitting?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine." You smiled. "You two have fun."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Yelena yelled after you, and Natasha dragged her away with a warning glare.

******

"Y/n is great," Yelena said as soon as the two were out of earshot.

"She's the best," Natasha nodded, "I love her, and I'm so happy that she said yes."

"Well," Yelena smiled, "you're my sister and she's the love of your life, of course, I'm going to support you two. And she seems like the perfect balance to your craziness. Plus, she's uber-rich. I mean, look at this place? If this is the rental, I want to see her real house."

Natasha laughed.

"And she has a kid, right? I've seen the three of you on all the tabloids," Yelena said. "It's sickening how sweet you are."

"I've always wanted a family," Natasha sighed. "Isabella is ten."

"You're not scared?" Yelena asked brows furrowed.

"Not at all," Nat replied. "Y/N is so wonderful with her. And she's amazing. I couldn't wait to spend the rest of my life with the two of them.

Yelena was quiet for a moment.

"What's up?" Natasha asked, "You're being quiet. Which is unusual for you."

"I know what I'm supposed to say," Yelena muttered, "and I'm happy for you. Do you think you're moving a bit fast? I mean you've only been together what? A year? I know lesbians move fast but not you."

"I don't care about a timeline," Natasha said, shaking her head. "And you saying that shows more of a reason why I'm so serious."

Yelena lifted her hands in surrender. “ Hey, judgment-free zone. I just don’t want you sprinting and then finding out the track is slippery, you know?”

Natasha reached across the space between them and covered Yelena’s fidgeting fingers. “ Lena, everything in my life has felt like sprinting. With Y/N, it finally feels like pacing myself. When Isabella laughs at my terrible jokes, when Y/N falls asleep on my shoulder in the tour bus—those aren’t rush decisions. They’re…the whole point.”

Yelena searched her sister’s face, looking for the stubborn spark that usually signaled a Natasha Romanoff impulse mission. Instead, she found something softer. Settled.

“Okay, Red,” she sighed, squeezing Natasha’s hand back. “But promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“If it ever stops feeling safe. If the world gets too loud for the three of you, you call me. I don’t care if I’m in Cambridge or on the moon. Family is family.”

Natasha’s eyes glossed over. “Deal. But you’ll probably have to share bunk-bed space with a ten-year-old who owns forty-seven Squishmallows.”

Yelena cracked a grin. “Consider it training for aunt duty. I’ll smuggle British chocolate and teach her really offensive accents.”

“Absolutely not,” Natasha laughed, swatting her arm, then pulled her into a full hug, forehead to forehead. “ Thank you, malyshka.”

“Anytime, big sis. Now,” Yelena sniffed, straightening, “where’s that checklist? I believe you still need vows printed, a cake tasted, and according to my covert intel, exactly one emergency bottle of tequila for pre-ceremony nerves.”

Natasha grabbed the clipboard with a mock salute. “Captain Belova, lead the way.”

*******

There was nothing like the shared laughter of sisterhood. You lounged in an overstuffed armchair, feet propped on a satin stool for a pedicure, while Preston, your go-to masseuse, whom you’d flown in for the weekend, worked the tension from your shoulders. Through a blur of chuckles, you scanned the room: every seat was filled by the women who mattered most, all receiving the same royal treatment.

Monica, maid of honor, naturally held court with a dramatic recap of yesterday’s dress fitting, her jokes landing so hard that your older sister, Shauna, nearly snorted her mimosa. Stacy, best friend from forever ago, laughed loudest. Your mom sat serenely beneath a warm towel wrap, while Isabella and her partner-in-chaos, Lenny, perched at a low table, comparing polish colors. When you’d said the wedding would be small, this was what you meant: no entourage, no influencer “plus-ones,” just family, laughter, and enough self-care stations to make a spa jealous. You thought about how happy you were in the moment and wanted to keep it bottled up forever.

Monica, perched on the chaise with foil wraps on every fingertip, was mid-story.

“—so the seamstress goes, ‘Ma’am, the zipper will not survive your upper body strength.’ ” She flexed theatrically, making even Preston let out a laugh. “I told her, ‘Sweetheart, this is natural. The dress will adapt.’”

Stacy wheezed, nearly sloshing her mimosa. “Mo, you’re about to outshine the bride just by breathing too hard.”

You arched a perfectly manicured brow. “And that’s exactly why you’re in sage green and not ivory.”

“Oop!” Monica clutched her pearls; the room erupted again.

Across from you, Isabella and Lenny dipped cotton swabs into bowls of warm water, pretending to be junior manicurists. Each time Isabella pressed lotion into your mother’s hands, her expression softened into the kind of smile you hadn’t seen since holiday mornings when you were ten.

“Mama,” Isabella whispered, leaning across the ottoman, “can we have sparkles on one nail? It’s a statement piece.”

Your heart did a flip. “Only if Grandma gets the matching glitter.”

Debra lifted her chin, regal. “For my granddaughter? Pass the glitter, baby.”

Your mom's nails were barely dry before Monica slipped right back into maid-of-honor mode.

“So,” she purred, spinning her the liquid in her glass like it held state secrets, “have we finalized the other itinerary yet. You know the honeymoon one? Because I have… accessories on standby.”

Stacy’s eyes lit up. “Wait, did the swing make it through TSA last time? Because if we’re talking Maldives, I know a discreet shipping service—”

Shauna cracked up, chiming in, “Y’all better leave room for at least a day of sightseeing before you quarantine yourselves in whatever love-shack villa you booked.”

You cleared your throat, jerking your chin toward the low table. Isabella and Lenny were still within glitter-tossing distance, ears wide open.

“Ladies,” you warned lightly, “tiny humans are present. Let’s save the equipment inventory for later, yeah?”

Monica winked, raising her glass. Stacy raised hers too. Shauna and your mom laughed.

The pedicurist tapped the tops of your feet, indicating you should switch places, and you slid off the chair to swap. When you returned, a fresh cucumber-infused eye-mask ready, Monica leaned in conspiratorially.

You braced yourself.

She was a brilliant publicist, a masterful negotiator, and your dearest friend, but when it came to her idea of a perfect wedding, the only word you could use was overboard.

Which is how she wound up in a green bridesmaid dress instead of an ivory bridal gown.

Which is how a custom-made swing ended up on a private beach in Fiji last year.

Which is why, when the conversation turned to the honeymoon, you knew the exact word coming next.

You weren't disappointed.

“Soooooo,” She smirked, sliding her sunglasses down her nose like she was about to break insider-trading news. “How many days before you two finally emerge from the honeymoon suite? Because I’ve located an ocean-front villa in Seychelles with room service, blackout drapes, and furniture that’s let’s just say structurally… versatile.”

Stacy nearly choked on her cucumber water.

Shauna applauded. “Can the furniture sign an NDA?”

“Monica,” you warned, flicking a toe at her calf. You tipped your head toward the junior spa technicians now painstakingly choosing glitter top-coats. “Tiny impressionable ears.”

Isabella didn’t look up from applying lotion to Lenny’s hands but sighed, long-suffering. “I’m ten, not two. I know what a honeymoon is.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, straight face. “And you also know that ‘honeymoon talk’ is adult-zone only.”

Isabella nodded solemnly. “So… that means we get the rest of the chips in the minibar while you talk code?”

Debra laughed. “Look at these future negotiators.”

Monica raised both palms in surrender. “Fine, fine. No details.” She turned to Debra with exaggerated innocence. “Mrs. Fury, I was merely recommending ergonomic seating for reading on the beach.”

Debra arched a brow, caught your eye, and sipped her mimosa. “Mmm-hmm. Just remember: sunscreen goes everywhere.”

“See?” Monica crowed. “She's on my side practicalities first!”

You groaned, then grinned, feeling Preston’s hands work a knot from your shoulder. “Practicality noted. Now, new topic: first-dance suggestions. Beyoncé and Stevie Wonder are tied.”

Isabella perked up. “Beyoncé. Definitely Beyoncé.”

Shauna cued up her phone. “Stevie’s a vibe, though.”

“And there,” you said, laying the eye mask in place and settling back as laughter rippled again, “is a conversation even the under-12 delegation can vote on.”

Monica clinked her glass gently against yours. “Touché, bride-boss. Honeymoon logistics tabled until post-bedtime.”

“Good,” you muttered, a smile tugging despite yourself. “Because I’m pretty sure my mother just threatened me with SPF-50 in places SPF-50 should never see.”

Debra winked over her flute. “A mother’s job is never done, darling.”

******

The arrival curb at Sky Harbor was smooth sailing compared to LAX. Natasha parallel parked into a spot with expert precision, turning on the hazards and checking her rearview mirror every ten seconds for airport security. Yelena sat with her feet on the dashboard, drumming up some tune she had in her head, as they tried to spot their mother.

"She's probably got ten thousand bags," Yelena said as the minutes passed. "What do you think is her favorite thing to do when she travels?"

"Knit or something else old people do," Natasha shrugged with a snort.

"I give her two minutes before she audits the cleanliness of this car,” Yelena replied. “Five bucks says first words will be about ‘crumbs’.”

Natasha smirked. “I’m not taking that bet. I vacuumed yesterday and somehow the Cheeto dust re-spawned.”

The sliding doors hissed open and there was Melina with a slim carry-on in one hand, garment bag in the other, posture straight enough to shame royalty. She clocked the illegally parked SUV, the hazard lights, and the sisters arguing about snack residue, and issued a silent, pursed-lip sigh that Natasha could feel through the windshield.

“Look alive,” Natasha muttered, jumping out. Yelena yanked her feet off the dash and exited the car too.

Melina reached the curb just as security began its slow prowl down the lane. “Natalia.” She kissed her eldest daughter’s cheek, then gave Yelena a once-over. “Feet on floor, not dashboard. Car interiors are not ottomans.”

Yelena’s smile went full cherub. “Hi, Mama. Missed you too.”

They popped the hatch, pitched Melina’s luggage inside, and scrambled back to their seats. Natasha eased into traffic signal on, perfect merge, saintly.

Melina sighed again.

She checked her watch, a vintage Rolex from 1958, and glanced over the center console at Natasha. Her gaze narrowed, and she said in a carefully modulated voice, "We will not be late. This is not a race."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Yes, mama."

Yelena stifled a grin.

"Where's my new daughter in law?" Melina asked. "She should be here."

"Y/n and a few of her friends had a spa day," Natasha answered, glancing at the road signs, trying to determine which exit she needed to take. "But we are seeing them in about an hour. We're having a bonfire."

"Ah," Melina nodded. "Good. That is very good. And how are you, Natalia? Are you excited?"

Natasha smiled. "I'm the most excited I've ever been. I love her so much. She makes me really happy."

"Good," Melina said again.

"Are you nervous, Red?" Yelena asked, reaching from the back seat to prod her sister.

"Not at all," Natasha replied, shaking her head. "It's just a formality. I already consider her my wife."

"That's sweet," Yelena hummed. "Never thought we'd see the day with you so in love."

"Yeah, yeah," Natasha drawled.

She couldn't wait for the bonfire.

****

The bonfire was a hit. Low lanterns ringed the grass, music floated from a Bluetooth speaker blasting Stevie Wonder, because the Beyoncé-vs-Stevie debate was still unresolved, and the slight breeze carried the sugar-sweet smell of toasted marshmallows. Your guest list tonight was exactly fourteen. An intimate night with family and friends that had you excited for the weekend to come. You emerged from the rental house, balancing a tray of fresh drinks. Natasha met you halfway, slid the tray onto a side table, and without warning curled an arm around your waist, tugging you down so you landed sideways across her lap.

“Nat,” you hissed, half-laughing, half-mortified, “parents are present.”

“Already checked,” she murmured against your ear, her grin warm against your hair. “Dad Fury just raised an eyebrow rating my technique; Mom Romanoff is pretending she’s not amused. We’re good.”

You rolled your eyes but settled, back pressed to her chest, heartbeat syncing with the low thump of the music.

Across the fire, Isabella pirouetted, marshmallow sword held aloft. “Victory! S’more number three, incoming.”

"We should give her a sugar curfew," you whispered, watching your daughter bounce toward the s'more supplies once again.

"We could," Nat replied, "but then we'd have to hear her whine about it and I don't think anyone's ready for that."

"Good point," You chuckled.

Natasha nosed a kiss behind your ear.

You sighed, sinking into her arms.

Yelena, marshmallow in hand, called across the flames. “Hey, future sister you make Red unbearably sappy. I approve.”

You blew her a kiss. “Wait till tomorrow when she cries at the walkthrough.”

“I don’t cry,” Natasha protested into your neck.

“Uh-huh,” Monica chimed in, “and the ocean isn’t wet.”

Natasha stuck out her tongue.

"Well, I love you, sappy," You said, grinning. "You've always made me soft, and I'm so lucky to have found you."

Natasha hummed. "I've always wanted a family, and Isabella is a great kid. And you are so great with her, Y/N. Thank you for letting me be a part of the life you've built."

"Mom, scoot over, you're hogging her." Isabella playfully rolled her eyes as she smooshed herself into your cuddling session.

"Oof, hi sweetie," You laughed, making room for her to sit.

Natasha squeezed the two of you tight, dropping a kiss on top of your head.

"Ugh," Yelena muttered.

"What?" Melina frowned.

"You're gonna make me barf," Yelena scrunched up her face.

"No, I quite like this," Melina began to take out her phone. "In fact let me get a picture."

"Mama," Natasha shook her head, "I look terrible."

"You look like a woman in love," Melina snapped the picture and then another one. "Smile. I will show the grandbabies someday."

"Grandbabies?" You chuckled.

"If the universe works in my favor, yes," Melina nodded.

"I want a sibling," Isabella announced, popping a marshmallow into her mouth. "Natasha already promised I could name it."

"You did, huh?" You asked eyeing Natasha.

"I didn't promise anything," Natasha shrugged. "I said I would talk to you. Negotiations are still… pending.”

"Maybe one day," You said lowly.

Isabella folded her arms, mock-serious. “I have a shortlist. ‘Storm’ if it’s a girl. ‘Rocket’ if it’s a boy.”

Around the circle, soft chuckles. You raised an eyebrow at Natasha a silent 'you started this' and she lifted both hands, guilty but smitten.

“Right now, I’m still memorizing how this ring looks on her finger.” You raised Natasha's hand. Everyone around you whistled and whooped. Natasha’s free hand drifted over your stomach in a feather-light caress, half joke, half unconscious promise, and she pressed a kiss to your temple. The fire threw halos across her lashes; her whisper was for you alone.

"One thing at a time."

"You're right," You nodded, looking over at the love of your life, the ring shining in the low light. "We have all the time in the world."

"Damn straight," Natasha replied, kissing you on the lips this time.

"Gross," Yelena gagged.

"Get used to it," Natasha teased, "you're stuck with us forever."

"I think it's nice," Isabella beamed.

"Me too," Melina agreed.

"Alright, alright," Debra waved a hand. "Let's keep this party going."

You grinned, looking at everyone around the bonfire. This was the best start to a wedding weekend. You couldn't wait to spend the rest of your life with these people.

"I agree," You smiled.

[yurislilygarden]

I think I cracked the code! So inspired anon said that they reference a game they like in they're 2nd post about the angels and I think I know what game they're on about and I can't stop laughing!

I had one single game in my mind ever since I read that ask, of course my guess may be wrong but it would be funny to me if inspired anon referenced that exact game actually

[punkiio]

I need to talk more on here... I wanna interact w yall on here more I just. Have no idea how to infodump on here I won't lie

[sunsetcupid]

EYES OFF! ; F1 GRID.

synopsis: When you are catcalled on the street, it is only natural that your boyfriend reacts a certain way, be it possessive or enraged.

trigger warnings: Use of feminine pronouns from the reader’s perspective; Descriptions of romantic acts and behaviors; Suggestive remarks; Descriptions of cat-calling; Mentions of physical altercations

a message from the author: Once again, I added Daniel Ricciardo to this fic. I think I’ll be doing that for the rest of the stories in this series. If any of you would like to add a driver or request a certain scenario, don’t hesitate to message me in my inbox!

ISACK HADJAR

He can’t believe his ears – he can’t begin to fathom why someone would make such a vile comment, especially to his girlfriend, the sweetest, most loving person he knows. It physically repulses him, and for a moment, you think he might vomit all over the sidewalk.

Likewise, as soon as he hears the leering statement, he freezes in place. Head cocked to one side, fists clenching until the knuckles turn white. You have to practically drag him away, telling him that “It’s not worth it” because the boxer in him is just itching for a fight.

“No one should be saying those things. Not to you, not to anyone. They need to learn a lesson, and I’ll fucking teach them.” He repeats it as if it were his personal mantra, over and over.

For the rest of the day, he’s sulking. An invisible rain cloud is hovering over his head, but it doesn’t stop him from being extremely clingy. If you dare move out of his eyesight for a second (to get a snack or to put your phone on charge), he immediately panics and can’t stop kissing you afterward.

OSCAR PIASTRI

Oscar is not a confrontational guy at all. His version of arguments are stony silences, unanswered texts, and the cold shoulder. Nevertheless, he rather enjoys keeping a level head and remaining calm. But when a guy walking down the street wolf-whistles at you and cracks some lewd joke about wanting to explore the curves of your body, Oscar wants to tear him apart.

He takes a few deep breaths, attempting to regulate his rapidly pounding heart rate before it explodes out of his chest. He might consider walking away, but when he sees your panic-stricken expression, it’s game over.

Oscar stalks over to them, his voice low and gravelly as he makes the catcaller regret his existence with a few well-chosen words. He’s more forceful, more direct than you’ve ever heard or seen him be, and it turns you on. 

LANCE STROLL

His head whips to look at the culprit, his eyes widening in astonishment. For a moment, he thinks he’s imagined it, but the leering smirk on the offender’s face dashes his hopes. “What did you just say to my girlfriend?” Lance’s voice is eerily calm, not a hint of his inner rage visible on the surface.

The only way you can identify how he truly feels is the vein pulsing on his neck, and the fact that he’s gone rigid, like a tree trunk. You have to place a hand on his arm to get his body to relax.

As a result of the incident, Lance becomes more vigilant, walking in front of you at all times and blocking your body with his – a very attractive shield. He even offers to get you a personal bodyguard, but you adamantly refuse.

LANDO NORRIS

His face flushes with anger, eyes turning into flinty shards. He’s so pissed off that someone would dare to tease you, especially in such a creepy manner.

You have to whisper-hiss at him to not get into an altercation with the person who catcalled you. He’s like an overgrown puppy, growling at the person and trying to tug himself free of your grip in order to go fight the other person. “I don’t give a fuck about race penalties. He’s a fucking bastard!” 

Once he’s regained some composure, he posts a lengthy paragraph on social media, denouncing misogynistic behaviors and urging everyone to make donations to women’s empowerment groups. “We love to believe that the world today is modern and equal, but it can never truly become inclusive if these events are still commonplace.”

CHARLES LECLERC

He curses in French, letting loose a dictionary’s worth of swear words you didn’t even know existed. That’s his clash with the perpetrator. On track? He’s ready to fight. But in person? He’s less eager to do so.

In lieu of this, he wraps you up in his sweater, taking your hand in his and comforting you with his closeness. “I’m here for you, mon ange. And I’ll always protect you.”

He’s big on physical touch after – kissing your cheeks and cuddling, enveloping you with his body like he can shield you from every harsh remark people make. Perhaps he can. He’s just that magical.

DANIEL RICCIARDO

He’s absolutely incensed. The happy-go-lucky facade disappears in a snap, replaced by cold fury. He slings one arm around your shoulder, laughing menacingly. “Hey, mate! Eyes off my girl, and fuck off.”

Daniel would 100% get into a brawl with someone who insults his girlfriend, not because he is a violent guy, but because he wants to properly defend the love of his life. 

He could be bleeding and bruised for weeks after, yet he will forever be proud of his capability to defend his girlfriend.

Later, he tries to make light of the situation by making jokes. Ultimately, however, all he wants is to take you in his arms and never let you go. You’re everything he could ever want, and he hates that other people have the power to hurt you.

Credits: Dividers — @strangergraphics

[hyunjinsmuze]

A/N it’s not letting me reply to my requests but this is a request!!! so if you have any send them to my inbox 💞

You Can Join

warnings: cock warming, oral (fem receiving) a little m x m, use of ‘good girl’

contains: ⛔️smut, threesome, a little fluff

summary: you were only supposed to be seeing your childhood bestfriend and now your involved in a secret you can’t forget

pairing: leeknow x han jisung x reader

words: 3.8k

You used to think summers lasted forever. Long days, scraped knees, and the sound of Changbin’s laugh ringing through the sticky heat like a bell. Back then, he wasn’t a famous rapper with millions of fans chanting his name. He was just Changbin from two streets over, the loud, scrappy kid who could never win at Mario Kart but insisted on rematches until the sun went down.

You didn’t grow up inseparable. It wasn’t like the dramas made it out to be. There were years when you barely talked, middle school drama, new friends, life. But the bond never really broke. You always came back to each other in the end, like bookmarks in a story neither of you had finished reading.

High school was when things started to shift. He got serious about music. You got serious about... well, trying to survive exams and not lose your mind. You cheered him on from the sidelines, sent him stupid memes at 3 a.m., sometimes didn’t talk for weeks but always picked back up like no time had passed.

Then came his debut.

You were proud — like, beyond proud. But it also meant distance. Not emotional, not really. Just time zones, tour schedules, and a version of him you could only see through screens and stage lights. Still, when he did reach out, it was always genuine.

Which brings you to now.

The friendship isn’t deep in the way some childhood friendships are, but it’s solid. It’s honest. He’s one of the few people who’s seen you ugly cry after failing a test and laugh until you snorted cola out your nose. That counts for something.

And the rest of Stray Kids? You’ve met them. Not in a fangirl way, you made that clear from day one. You weren’t there to drool over their visuals. They were Changbin’s people, and slowly, over a handful of get-togethers, they started to become yours, too.

Lee Know was cool, in that slightly intimidating “I’ll-read-you-in-two-seconds” kind of way. He didn’t talk much to you at first, but when he did, it was sharp, not unkind, just observant.

Jisung? He was chaos personified. Hyper, a little awkward, full of jokes. You liked him. He made you feel like you belonged even when you were just sitting quietly on the edge of a group.

You’d hung out with them a few times, movie nights, random meals when Changbin dragged you along, that one beach trip where you fell asleep with sand in your hair and woke up to Jisung drawing something obscene near your ankle with sunscreen.

Still, you were careful. You never overstayed. You knew their world was hectic, private. You never wanted to be that person , the childhood friend trying to milk clout or cling to old memories.

But when Changbin messaged out of the blue, “Hey, I miss your dumb face. Come hang out this weekend?” you said yes without thinking.

Because some bonds don’t need daily maintenance. They just exist. And sometimes, all it takes is a text to remind you that yeah, he still thinks of you as one of his people.

And you? Well. You missed being around people who knew you before.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It’s quiet when you arrive — too quiet, considering the chaos that usually defines anything involving Stray Kids. You press the buzzer and wait, your reflection staring back at you in the gloss of the dorm’s front entrance glass. The door clicks open and you step inside, greeted by the soft hum of electronics and the faint smell of ramen and cleaning supplies, someone must’ve just cleaned.

You slip your shoes off and glance around. No one's in the hallway. No laughter. No shouting. You frown a little but shrug it off. Changbin did say they might be out. Still, it’s kind of eerie being in their dorm alone, even though it’s not your first time.

Text from Changbin [4:38 PM]:

"Running late — got caught in traffic. Be there in 45ish. You can chill, everyone else is probably out too 🫠 Don’t eat all the snacks."

You snort. Typical.

You wander in further, your steps light on the polished floor. The living room is the same as you remember, slightly messy, with throw blankets half-folded and a weirdly large collection of remotes that no one ever knows how to use. There’s a hoodie draped over the arm of the couch. You recognize it, it’s Jisung’s. You pick it up, giving it a small shake before tossing it neatly onto the back of the chair.

There’s something a little too domestic about it all.

You flop down on the couch and stare up at the ceiling, letting the silence fill your ears. It’s weird. Not uncomfortable exactly, but unfamiliar. Like you’re sitting inside someone else’s life. You scroll your phone for a bit, switch to some random playlist, and then let your eyes close.

For a moment, you think about Changbin again. It’s always a little bittersweet, seeing him now. You’re proud of him, always, but it’s hard not to notice how different his world is from yours. You’re still you — still figuring things out, still living in the spaces between job applications and late-night cravings. Meanwhile, he’s out here living the kind of life people only dream of.

And yet... he still invites you back.

Maybe that means something.

You sit up, stretching your arms over your head. “Okay,” you mumble to no one. “What now?”

Your eyes wander toward the hallway. A faint sound catches your ear, not music, not talking exactly, but something. A soft thud. Maybe a laugh? You tilt your head. Could be someone’s home after all. You hesitate. You’re not the type to snoop, but boredom’s a dangerous thing.

And maybe… maybe you’re curious.

You make your way down the hall quietly, your bare feet making barely a whisper against the floor. The noise comes from upstairs, the door to the second floor is slightly ajar. That’s when you hear it again.

Voices. Low. Male. A laugh — breathy, almost choked. Then something like…

A kiss?

Your stomach twists strangely, and for a second, you think maybe you misheard. You’re halfway up the stairs before your mind really catches up with your body. You're not trying to spy. You just—

Okay. You kind of are.

Curiosity gets the best of you.

You step carefully up onto the second floor, trying not to breathe too loudly. You follow the sound to one of the bedrooms. The door is cracked open, just enough. You peer through the gap.

And freeze.

There’s Lee Know, sitting back against the headboard. Jisung is half in his lap, straddling his thighs, his hands tangled in Lee Know’s shirt. Their mouths are moving together, slow, deep, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. It’s intimate in a way that feels like a secret and a confession all at once.

You suck in a quiet breath, stepping back. The door creaks just a little under your weight.

Jisung jolts first, wide eyes snapping toward the door. You can see the panic rise in his expression, the way his body goes tense and stiff like someone flipped a switch.

Lee Know’s gaze follows a second later, but his reaction is the complete opposite.

Calm. Composed. Maybe even amused.

“Shit,” Jisung breathes, scrambling a little, pulling at the edge of his shirt.

You’re already raising your hands. “I-I didn’t see anything. I swear. I just heard someone and thought— I’m sorry—”

Lee Know’s voice cuts in. Smooth. Unbothered.

“Don’t go.”

You blink.

He shifts slightly, and Jisung stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “Hyung—?”

“If you don’t tell anyone…” Lee Know’s gaze slides back to you. “You can join us.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “W-What?”

His head tilts, dark eyes sharp but unreadable. “I’ve seen how you look at us,” he says casually, like he’s stating the weather. “Especially Jisung.”

Jisung turns red, still trying to process the situation.

You stammer something, probably the beginning of a very weak excuse, but then Lee Know adds, “Come here.”

It’s not a question.

Something about his tone sends a small, electric thrill down your spine. It’s commanding. Teasing. Like he already knows what you’ll choose.

And then he looks to Jisung. “Tell her.”

Jisung licks his lips, eyes flickering nervously between you and Lee Know. “I… We’ve both— kind of— We’ve thought about you. A lot.”

There’s silence. Charged. Breathless.

Your heart is thudding way too fast.

You don’t say anything. Not yet. But you don’t move either.

You’re not leaving.

Not yet.

You should leave.

You should turn around, go downstairs, and pretend you never saw anything.

But you don’t.

You stand there, fingers clenched against your palms, heart racing so fast it drowns out the sound of your own thoughts. Jisung is still flushed, hands halfway tangled in the hem of his shirt, looking between you and Minho like he’s waiting for someone to wake him up.

Minho is steady. Always steady. His gaze stays locked on yours.

“Come here,” he says again, voice lower now, smooth like honey with a dangerous edge.

You step into the room.

Because you’re not pretending you didn’t hear him. You’re not pretending you haven’t thought about it, too — maybe late at night, alone, your thoughts wandering a little too far into dangerous territory. You’ve seen the way Jisung looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. You’ve caught Minho smirking, watching you with those unreadable eyes.

You just never thought they talked about it.

“You’re really not going to tell anyone?” Jisung asks, his voice soft, uncertain.

You shake your head. “I won’t.”

Minho smirks slightly, satisfied. He pats the edge of the bed. “Then sit.”

You do.

Close enough that your knees brush Jisung’s thigh.

He swallows hard.

Minho shifts beside him, draping one arm behind Jisung casually, fingers ghosting over his shoulder. “We’ve thought about you,” he says, the words slow, deliberate. “A lot.”

You exhale slowly, trying to calm your pulse. “Like… thought about…?”

Minho’s eyes flick down your body, then back up, sharp and warm. “Like how you’d sound,” he says, “if we took turns kissing you.”

Jisung lets out a quiet breath, staring at his lap. Minho’s hand moves to his neck, thumb stroking over his pulse.

“Thought about how you’d look,” he continues, “with your head thrown back, mouth open, begging for more.”

Your thighs press together instinctively. He notices. His smirk widens.

“You’ve got no idea how pretty we think you are,” Minho adds, leaning a little closer. “Or how much we talk about you when we’re alone. Isn’t that right, Ji?”

Jisung groans softly, hiding his face for a second. “Hyung…”

“Tell her.”

You glance between them, your skin prickling with heat.

Jisung shifts, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I—I think about you all the time,” he admits, his voice tight. “Like, fuck, it’s bad. The things I’ve imagined doing to you…”

You shiver.

He looks wrecked just saying it, pink-faced, pupils blown wide, lip caught between his teeth. “I’ve— I’ve jerked off thinking about you,” he blurts out, then immediately covers his face again. “Fuck.”

Minho laughs under his breath. “You’re so shy now, but you’re the one who whines when she texts you at night and you can’t touch yourself.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

Jisung squeaks. “Hyung!”

“He gets so desperate,” Minho murmurs, leaning in toward your ear. His breath is hot against your skin. “He’ll send me voice notes begging for permission to touch himself. Just because you posted a photo looking too good.”

You don’t know where to look, everything is heat and tension and the sense that a line has already been crossed, and now there’s no going back.

“What about you?” Minho asks, eyes gleaming. “Have you thought about us?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Both of us?”

You glance at Jisung, then back at him. “Yeah. Both.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Minho leans forward and kisses you.

It’s not soft. Not testing. He kisses you like he’s claiming something, like he’s known you’d taste good and now he’s proving it. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, angling your face exactly the way he wants, tongue sliding against yours, hot and sure.

You whimper into his mouth before you even realize you’re doing it.

When he pulls back, Jisung is staring — eyes blown wide, chest heaving.

Minho tilts his head. “You want to kiss her too?”

Jisung nods, almost desperately.

You don’t even have to move — he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss that’s messier, needier, full of shaky breath and whispered sounds. His hands tremble as they cup your waist, thumbs sliding under your shirt just barely.

When you part, you’re breathless, your mouth kiss-swollen, your head spinning.

Minho’s hand slides down your back, warm and confident. “You want to join us, don’t you?”

You nod.

He smirks, pleased. “Good girl.”

Those two words set something off in you, a shudder deep in your gut. You gasp softly, and Minho clearly notices.

“Oh? You like being called that?”

You bite your lip.

Jisung’s hand moves to yours, fingers lacing together. “Can I touch you more?”

Minho hums. “Only if she says yes.”

You nod again. “Yes.”

Jisung shifts forward and places a kiss just below your jaw, sweet and a little clumsy. His hand slides up under your shirt, not rushing, just exploring — fingers brushing your ribs, then higher.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers. “So perfect.”

Minho watches you like a predator. “I want you to take your shirt off.”

You hesitate only a second before pulling it over your head.

Both boys groan at once.

“Fuck,” Jisung breathes, hands now on your waist. “You’re actually— you’re so hot, I don’t even know what to do—”

“Relax,” Minho says, voice low. “We’ll show her everything. She’ll beg for us by the time we’re done.”

He moves behind you, kissing down the curve of your shoulder, slow and sensual, while Jisung presses soft kisses to your stomach. Your skin is hypersensitive now, every brush of breath or fingertips makes you twitch.

“You still sure about this?” Minho murmurs near your ear.

You nod again, breath hitching. “Yes.”

“Say it,” he says, licking the shell of your ear. “Tell us you want us.”

“I want you,” you whisper. “Both of you.”

Minho smiles against your skin. “Good girl.”

He moves to unhook your bra, and the moment it falls, Jisung lets out a shaky groan.

Minho slides his hand over your chest, slow and possessive. “Next part,” he whispers, fingers grazing over one of your nipples, “we make you ours.”

Minho doesn’t give you time to overthink.

He nudges Jisung back with a quiet, firm “lie down,” and the younger boy obeys instantly, scooting back against the pillows with wide, glassy eyes.

Then Minho turns to you.

“Strip,” he says simply, voice cool, controlled.

You obey, slowly, nervously, but already burning up. You feel their eyes on you as you slide your pants down, then your underwear. By the time you’re bare, Jisung is chewing his lip and Minho is watching you like he already owns you.

“Fuck, she’s gorgeous,” Jisung whispers.

Minho doesn’t smile — not exactly. He’s too focused. But there’s satisfaction in the way he looks at you, like he’s seeing a fantasy finally come to life.

“C’mere,” he says, and you climb onto the bed.

He positions you right between them, Jisung beneath you, hard and panting, and Minho behind, still half-clothed but completely in control.

“You’re going to take us both tonight,” Minho murmurs in your ear. “You want that, baby?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Louder.”

“Yes.”

Minho hums his approval and kisses down your neck, his hands sliding around your waist to grope your chest again, firmer this time, possessive. “You’re already shaking,” he whispers. “And we haven’t even touched you properly.”

Jisung’s hands find your hips, pulling you down over him so you’re straddling his lap. His clothed cock presses against you, desperate and twitching. “C-Can I take mine off?”

But Minho presses his hand flat against your stomach. “Not yet.”

He glances down at Jisung, who’s panting, already bare, his cock twitching in his pants. “You want her mouth first, Ji?”

Jisung’s eyes are huge, pupils blown. “Y-Yes— wait, I mean—”

Minho smirks. “I meant your mouth on her, baby.”

Jisung’s brain visibly short-circuits.

“Oh—fuck, yes. Yes please.”

Minho grips the back of Jisung’s neck and nudges him downward with calm authority. “On your stomach. Face between her legs.”

You lie back, breath caught in your throat, and Jisung slides down the bed like he’s being summoned by gravity, kissing your thighs, trembling with anticipation.

Minho moves behind him, still fully dressed, and leans over to trail kisses down the curve of Jisung’s spine.

“She’s so wet for us already,” he murmurs, and Jisung groans in agreement as he drags his tongue through your folds, slow and reverent.

Your hips jerk.

“Oh my god—” you gasp, fisting the sheets.

Jisung moans against you, messy and needy — tongue swirling over your clit, then dipping inside you with growing urgency. He clutches your thighs, holding you open, face buried in your heat like he can’t get close enough.

Minho watches over his shoulder, one hand gripping Jisung’s hip, the other stroking down his back.

“Good boy,” he says, and leans in to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss between Jisung’s shoulder blades. “Just like that. She loves it, doesn’t she?”

You whimper a moaned “yes,” toes curling.

Jisung licks you faster, lips wrapping around your clit now, sucking gently — making obscene little sounds between desperate breaths. Minho kisses along his spine again, trailing down to the small of his back.

“Such a slut for her,” he murmurs, voice dark with heat. “Bet you’ve dreamed of this. Her thighs around your head. My hands on you. All of us like this.”

Jisung groans into you, the vibration making you gasp, your legs shaking.

“You’re gonna make her come, aren’t you?” Minho growls. “Make her gush all over that pretty mouth.”

You’re already close.

Your hips buck against Jisung’s tongue, and Minho strokes the inside of your thigh, watching your face intently.

“Let go, baby,” he whispers. “Come for us.”

You cry out, hips jerking, back arching, one hand tangling in Jisung’s hair as the orgasm crashes over you. He groans into it, licking you through every wave, hands gripping your thighs tight.

When you finally slump back, panting and trembling, Jisung pulls back, lips shiny, chin soaked.

He looks completely wrecked.

Minho leans down and kisses the back of his neck. “That’s my boy.”

Then he turns to you, eyes dark and hungry. “you wanna ride him now baby?” you nod eagerly

“Wanna let him fuck you while I play with you from behind?”

Your brain short-circuits for a second.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes—please.”

He pulls off jisungs pants kissing his tights as the boy underneath him squirms and whimpers.

Jisung lays flat on his back as minho moved me to straddle jisung.

He grabs a condom and tosses it to Jisung. “Be quick. Don’t get sloppy.”

Jisung fumbles a little but gets it on, and Minho pulls you back just slightly, slipping a hand between your legs.

“Oh, fuck—” you gasp, jerking as his fingers slide through your folds.

“So wet,” he mutters. “She’s dripping for you, Ji. You feel that?”

Jisung nods helplessly, eyes glued to where Minho’s fingers are working you open. “I—fuck, I wanna be inside—”

“Then do it.”

Minho helps guide you down — slowly, inch by inch, and both of you moan when he finally fills you. You’re tight, soaked, your walls fluttering around him as you sink fully onto his cock.

“Shit,” Jisung groans, grabbing your hips like he’ll lose control otherwise.

You brace your hands on his chest, panting.

Then Minho wraps one arm around you, pressing his chest to your back. “You don’t move unless I say so.”

You nod.

His free hand travels down, teasing your clit slowly while Jisung twitches inside you, already close from the buildup.

“Look how pretty you are,” Minho whispers. “Both of you. Fucking beautiful.”

You whimper, trying not to buck your hips. Jisung is moaning, every muscle in his body tense.

“Please,” Jisung gasps. “Please let her move—hyung, I can’t—”

Minho’s fingers pinch your clit lightly, making you jolt. “What do you say?”

“Please,” Jisung groans again. “She feels so good, I’ll go crazy if she doesn’t—fuck—please—”

Minho chuckles. “Alright. Move.”

You rock your hips, slowly at first, rolling them just right so that both of you moan again. Jisung bucks up to meet you, nearly sobbing your name under his breath.

Minho bites your shoulder. “That’s it, baby. Ride him. Make him lose it.”

You do, building rhythm, faster, needier, until you’re both falling apart. Jisung grips your ass, thrusting up to meet you, whimpering with every motion.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—” he warns, and Minho grabs your hips, slowing you down.

“Let go,” he says. “She can take it.”

Jisung moans your name as he finishes, trembling beneath you.

You’re still panting when Minho slides away from behind you.

“My turn,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head and shoving his pants down.

You stare.

He’s big.

And he knows it, too, the smug look he gives you as he rolls the condom on is enough to make your stomach flip.

He gently moves you off of Jisung and onto your back. “Open for me.”

You spread your legs and Minho moves between them, stroking himself once, twice, before pushing in, slow, deliberate, making you feel every inch.

You both groan.

“Fucking tight,” he mutters, gripping your thighs. “God, you feel like heaven.”

He starts slow, measured, deep strokes that make your toes curl. His hand slips under your leg, pushing your thigh up to get deeper.

“You’re doing so good,” he says. “Taking me so well. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please—faster—”

He obliges, snapping his hips harder, your whole body rocking with the force of it.

Jisung moves beside you, kissing your neck, your collarbone, whispering praise.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes. “So fucking good, so perfect—”

Minho grabs your jaw and turns your face to his. “Eyes on me.”

You moan louder when he starts pounding into you harder, the bed creaking, skin slapping against skin, sweat dripping down his chest. “You love this, don’t you?” he growls. “Being fucked dumb by both of us?”

“Y-Yes—”

He reaches down, fingers circling your clit again, fast and unforgiving. “Then come for me. Come while I fuck this perfect pussy.”

You break.

The orgasm rips through you, sudden and overwhelming, your vision goes white, your body trembling under the force of it.

“Good girl,” Minho groans, thrusting once, twice, then spilling into the condom with a low growl.

You barely register him pulling out, collapsing next to you on the bed.

There’s a long silence.

Just panting.

Sticky skin and tangled limbs.

Then Minho brushes a strand of hair from your face and leans in, kissing your cheek. “You okay?”

You nod weakly, breathless. “Yeah… more than okay.”

Jisung cuddles up against your other side, nuzzling your neck. “That was the best day of my life.”

You laugh, dazed.

Minho smirks. “Guess Changbin’s gonna be real confused when he gets home.”

You all burst into giggles, tangled and happy and sated.

@hwangjoanna @penguins-in-space @sammhisphere

comment if you wanna be added to the tag list

[inthelittlewood]

Questions about Eyes And Ears AU

I had somebody ask for a brief interview regarding my storytelling for their university project and thought I'd lend a hand.

I thought those of you that follow the story might like the insight too, so here ya go:

When you first introduced the Listeners in Evo SMP, did you have a broader narrative or concept in mind, or were they more of an atmospheric element at that point?

The honest answer is that I didn't want to write too much about somebody else's character(s), that being Grian's Watchers. If I could write the conflict from the side of the Listeners then we could continue the narrative with a pre-designed opposing force but have them be relatively mute for the most part. Partly to build anticipation of when they might act or retaliate but it also worked for behind the scenes purposes too. If the series hadn't slowed/stopped as suddenly as it did, I definitely would have poked Grian to pick his brain about what story elements fit his original imagining of the Watchers. So it was mostly narrative reasoning but they also served a mechanical behind the scenes purpose of transporting us to a new area which was necessary due to bugs we'd encountered with world gen etc.

What inspired you to flesh out the Eyes and Ears AU more in recent years? Was that mostly a personal creative decision, or was it influenced by fan interest?

Honestly I hadn't premeditated too much their reintroduction into anything that I was working on. Sure I'd seen a little chattering here and there about the Watchers but I honestly just wanted to write an individual story beat (albeit a tropey one) of c!Martyn snapping and turning on Ren but that never came to fruition due to Scar taking us out. The plan was always to backstab Ren then say a cool line like "Red Winter is over, Red Spring has begun" or something else punny. Seeing the fevered reaction of the audience though gave me some confidence that I could try my hand at some layered or entirely post-production storytelling, so heading into Last Life I was all guns blazing.

The Eyes and Ears AU is quite open-ended — do you intentionally approach it with the idea of leaving narrative space for fan interpretation?

It really is right? Yes, it's a very mindful decision to leave it open-ended but not so much for the audience's benefit or interpretations, but to give myself creative freedom to take the story wherever I'd like to. Committing to too many power scale, multiverse or narrative shackles early can really strangle stories I've noticed (from reading comics and manga) meaning back pedalling or aggressive retcons are required to explore certain paths, which is rarely a good experience for the reader. I do enjoy their versatility and capability to be applied to any Minecraft or adjacent story too. Some might call it too broad, I call it malleable.

How do you feel about fans expanding the lore through headcanons and theories? Have any fan interpretations stood out or surprised you?

I think it's brilliant! People inundate my inbox on Tumblr seeking permission to write stories or create characters / AUs but I've literally no authority on that. I suppose it might be a different conversation if they were profiting off of those works, but 99% of people simply want to write for fun which I highly encourage!! I'll be honest that I haven't read a great deal of AUs or headcanons, my exposure to them is mostly via chat messages during lore talk streams or questions that come through regarding the Eyes And Ears AU. As a general rule I try to avoid reading too much of other people's works on the topic because I worry I'll accidentally regurgitate it in some way then stumble into plagiarism, you know? It's why I focus more on digesting stories outside the fandom whether it's manga, Sanderson books, reading old Japanese folk tales and the like. I can source inspiration from those on how to weave narrative and execute plot twists without having to glance in my front yard.

Has fan content (art, theories, animatics, etc.) ever influenced how you think about or approach the AU?

Oh for sure they have. It's literally why after every season we'll do a sit down stream and talk about the lore in detail. Figure out the puzzle and potential trip wires of plot points from the episodes and how we can neatly pack them into the pre-existing story. A lot of people wouldn't do that as they'd be precious about their work and believe their opinion is th only correct one, but I looooove soundboarding with the audience on it. I also take that mindset in game and sometimes think about the scenery of an impactful moment whenever I'm able to control / design it. I'll have little quips or quotes cooked in my mind for how I'd ideally deliver a blow or plot twist, buuuuut given the nature of the Life series you very rarely get to execute things how you'd like haha! I definitely wouldn't have done as many of the poems had their not been such a positive reaction to those. I often see individual lines or entire passages make their way into art pieces as typography or highlighted in animatics which is really gratifying. It's why I also put such an emphasis and priority on audio production in my editing. If I can craft something that feels atmospheric, driving and punctuating with music, staggering vocals or sound effects then the auditory portion is already done, they can focus solely on the visual aspect of things. I try and be as cinematic / TV like as my skillset allows for that reason.

You’ve mentioned trying not to fully canonise the AU, but still referencing it consistently — how do you balance telling your own story effectively, while trying not to involve other creators, particularly on the Life Series, when a lot of your time is spent in a group?

The easiest way to do this, is to not do it. For the most part the only storytelling done with the AU is done in post-production. I never name drop the Watchers or Listeners in world (believe me, I was as surprised as all of you when I saw that Secret Keeper statue in Secret Life!!) and in recent seasons they haven't even reared their head as an influence whatsoever. They're on holiday, they deserve it. But when they do whisper in my ear, they're motivated decisions that I would likely make as a player/character anyway because the win objective is always the thing I'm striving towards. I can just pepper angst around it to make things seem more manipulated rather than selfish ha. I think that's why the open ended nature of the Watchers has served me well because as much as they have a singular motive which is to feed on negative emotions, that can be achieved in so many ways ranging from bloodlust to deception, heartbreak to panic. It's versatile for storytelling. It can be in your face, or a slow burn.

What do the Watchers and Listeners represent to you, symbolically or narratively? Do they serve a specific function in the stories you tell?

The Watchers used to represent the audience when Grian first introduced them, but after departing EVO I've definitely breathed more of an egotistical and sinister air into them. They're very much a unique entity / faction now, they in some ways represent gluttony, selfishness and neglect in achieving their goals. The Listeners on the other hand, are a lot of the opposite traits, but I'm still wanting to explore how being the hard end of most conflicts can be dangerous. I want to explore that at some point, whether it be with infighting or failures. They shouldn't be seen as simply bad/good, they're just, different. It shouldn't be too hard navigating that nuance but I want it to reflect elements and motives that we find in our own lives.

[mrsbarnesblog]

˖˚⊹ i am not the only one who saw that, right?

➤ summary: your friends find out that you secretly dating their enemy, but their opinion might completely change when they see Rafe from another point of view

➤ w/c: 2.2k

➤ warnings: secret relationship, pogue!reader, attempted assault, mention of blood, soft and protective Rafe

➤ a/n: inbox is open for requests💘

masterlist

“You cannot be dating Rafe fucking Cameron, Y/N!” John B exclaimed, burying his hands in his hair and walking all around the place. 

“No, seriously, this is not a good idea.” Sarah looked at you, giving out a nervous laugh. 

You were currently surrounded by your friends, who were all practically yelling at you after they accidentally saw a message from Rafe on your phone. You were one of the pogues; you never hanged out around the kooks, but somehow, when you were visiting Sarah a few months ago, you got into a random conversation with Rafe, and since that moment, the connection between you two has only gotten stronger. 

It was an instant click and as much as you both tried to deny the spark, it was there. As you started going out, secretly from everyone, of course, you decided to keep it private until the right time. 

“Alright, guys, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I knew that this would be your reaction. It just happened, okay?” You rubbed the bridge of your nose, already feeling a headache from the tense situation. All of your friends were standing on the opposite side of you and it felt like they were just attacking you. 

“What were you thinking? You know that he hates people like us, like you. We are pogues, Y/N. How the hell did that even happen?” Kiara was standing with her hands on her hips, as her piercing eyes were studying you. You felt awful looking at Pope, who was the one who always supported you, but he just shook his head and stepped away. 

“I don’t know. It just happened. We talked once when Sarah left, then I accidentally met him a few times in town, and then he texted me. He’s not bad when you know him closer.” You sighed. “Look, I know Rafe was a lot of trouble for us. He did bad things; I know that. But he’s not like that; he’s sweet and caring, and he has never shown any sign of being disrespectful towards me. I just can’t deny my feelings for him.”

“Honey, Rafe is not a good person. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone; he’s evil, selfish and manipulative.” Sarah stepped closer to you, touching your hand. “He’ll play with you, hurt your feelings and just throw you away.”

“And he probably just wants to get into your pants.” JJ grumbled, also taking a defensive position. 

“I haven't even slept with him yet, JJ!” You desperately snapped at him. It felt ridiculous, like all of them turned against you at the same time. Sure, Rafe wasn’t the sweetest person to them before, but they didn’t even give you a chance to say something in your defense. “And you’re wrong too, Sarah. All of Rafe’s actions were just to get people’s attention and appreciation. All it took for me to get on his soft side was to just listen to him and give him some affection. Other people didn’t care enough, including you and your father. He needs someone who he can trust and open up to because he’s hurt.” 

“No, Y/N. If you think that he loves you, then he just got into your head. My brother doesn’t love anyone. It will end badly; I just know that.” 

Tears gathered in your eyes, and a lump in your throat made it difficult to say anything back, so you just stupidly stayed there. You had no strength to fight with all five of them at the same time. You turned around, silently getting back in the car, even though your head was filled with doubt and dark thoughts because of their words. 

For the next few days, it was tough for all of you. You and the rest of the group were still close, and even though they were completely against your relationship, you still met and hung out. The pit in your heart was still there, no matter how hard you tried to act nonchalant and not let their words get into your head. 

Rafe noticed the change in your behavior—that you were upset with something—but he didn’t put any pressure on you and allowed you to decide for yourself when you wanted to open up. 

Pogues decided to go to some party on the cut near the beach and as much as you tried to refuse, Sarah and Kiara managed to drag you there. You all rarely went to such places, preferring to hang out in your little circle, but apparently everyone wanted to clear their heads and saw it as the best opportunity. 

It was pretty fun with a bunch of people you did not know, some music, and drinks, and you mostly hung out with your friends. Though quickly it got overwhelming and made you want to go home or at least go outside of the house to get some fresh air. As you left your friends and wanted out from the backyard to a part of the beach, you didn’t notice the guy who had been eyeing you the whole evening. 

He came out of nowhere from your back, his arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground. You yelled at the sudden and unwanted touch, and your heart seemed to drop into your stomach when you realised that it wasn’t just a joke from JJ, who liked to scare you. You started wiggling in his hands to get free, but he was fighting you back, dragging you up when you fell to your knees on the ground. 

It was such a mess trying to scratch and punch him that you almost did not notice his hand coming into contact with your face several times. You screamed again, this time loud enough, until you saw JJ running towards you. The guy behind you pushed you away as soon as he saw someone, and you fell to the ground with a loud huff. 

“That fucking bastard!” JJ was right near you, helping you to get up as tears streamed down your face. He tried to comfort you, checking your body for any injuries, but you pushed his hands away, wrapping your own around yourself in a defensive way.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” You heard Kiara, along with your other friends, calling your name. “What the hell happened?”

“H-he attacked me.” You sniffed, trying to catch your breath and, with shaking hands, reaching to the pocket of your jeans shorts to get out your phone. All of them looked at each other, questioning your actions, until you pressed someone’s contact button and put the phone to your ear. “Can y-you pick me up, p-please?” You sniffed again, now trembling from the adrenaline. 

“Baby? Are you crying? Where are you?” You heard your boyfriend’s concerned voice through the phone, feeling how JJ tensed beside you. 

“I’m on the cut. Near the beach. There’s a party and... Please, Rafe.” 

“I’m coming, angel. Just wait for me, ‘kay?” You heard the sound of the car engine at the other end of the line. Rafe didn’t ask any more questions, and as soon as you mumbled quiet 'mhm’ he ended the call. 

You all heard him before you saw him. The sound of the tires drifting through the sandy street was loud, drawing attention to the expensive car that was unusual to see at this part of the island. 

Rafe didn’t bother to properly park, turn off the engine or even close the door when he saw you sitting on some old chaise lounge, with his sister and Kie trying to talk to you and your other friends arguing nearby. 

The girls stepped away from you as soon as they saw Rafe running towards you with a furious expression on his face and ready to deal with anyone who made you cry. It looked like he didn’t even care about the pogues, with whom he always had to get into arguments; he was fully focused on your shivering form.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?” He squatted down in front of you, and you started sobbing again. Your hands immediately found their place around his neck, and, before he could even properly look at your face, you pulled him closer to get some sense of comfort from his warmth and smell. Rafe hugged you back, soothingly rubbing your back. His eyes shot towards your friends, who were watching in awe at the interaction. “Which one of you did that?”

“It’s not us, you idiot. Some guy jumped her when she walked outside.” Sarah said, rolling her eyes at her brother. “JJ heard screaming, and when we walked outside, he ran away.” Rafe pulled away, finally taking in your appearance.

Your knees were covered in dried blood mixed with the sand. He gently took your hands to see the palms scratched from you trying to catch yourself before hitting the ground. Rafe’s eyes were burning with fury, showing his side that he rarely revealed in front of you. His hand reached to move your hair from your face, noticing a red, now already turning purplish, bruise covering the side of your cheek.

“Holy shit, sweetheart.” He softly brushed his fingertips along your cheek and you leaned into the touch, closing your eyes. Your bottom lip started quivering and you bit inside your cheek to calm yourself down. “Sh-h im here, okay? You’re safe. Did you see him? What did he look like? Just tell me and I’ll deal with it.” He almost begged, but you only shook your head. JJ suddenly stepped closer, slightly hesitating to actually normally communicate with his longtime enemy,  but he thought that it was the least that he could do for you.

As much as he hated The Kooks King, JJ knew that Rafe was the best option to find the guy who hurt you. 

“Tall, with dark and curly hair. Never seen him before, probably someone new on the island, but I’ll recognize him.” They looked at each other for a moment, and Rafe just simply nodded, turning his attention back to you. 

“I’ll find him, ‘kay? I promise I will.” He gently took both of your hands in his, bringing them to his lips to place a soft kiss on your knuckles. “We should go now. I need to take care of your knees and that bruise, baby. You don’t mind going to Tanneyhill, yeah?”

“Thank you, Rafe.” You whispered, slightly bending forward to ask for a kiss. Rafe smiled at you, his thumbs gently swiped the leftovers of the tears under your eyes, and then he kissed you on your forehead, nose, and gently pecked your lips. 

Your heart flattered at his soft touches and for a second, it felt like you two were in your own little bubble. Rafe's eyes shimmered slightly in the moonlight, and the way he looked at you, soft and caring, made you want to kiss him again and again. You suddenly snapped out of the trance, looking back at your friends, who all had different levels of shock and uncertainty written on their faces. 

“C’mon, pretty girl.” Rafe stood up, lifting you in bridal style without an effort, carefully not to hurt your bleeding knees. He almost walked away, but then sighed, turning back to look at his sister. “You coming home with us or somethin’?”

“Um, no, I’ll be with John B. It seems like I would be third wheeling with you anyway.” She shrugged, not being able to keep a smile when you two met with your eyes. 

Rafe then looked at JJ, thinking his words over. “I appreciate it, Maybank.” 

They exchanged a tight nod, both slightly shocked that for the first time ever, they communicated without biting each other's heads off. You leaned closer to Rafe, comfortably nestling in his protective hands, and looked at your friends, who were still too shocked to say anything. 

“I’ll see you guys later, okay? 

Everyone agreed, saying goodbye to you and asking you to text them when you get there safely. They saw how Rafe made sure to slowly put you into the passenger seat, then circled the car and drove away. An awkward silence fell around them, everyone at a loss for words. 

“Okay, so I am not the only one who saw that, right?” Pope spoke first, looking around the place as if he were trying to find something. “Rafe freaking Cameron just was acting cute and didn’t threaten to do something to us?” His own body physically shrugged at the word ‘cute’.

“I don’t know, dude. We all just probably drank something and it’s messing with our heads.” 

[prettyoatmeal]

Thinking about meeting Simon with his freshly bleached hair only to find out he's a natural brunette <3

I'm not sure how canon it is but I saw a tweet a while ago that Ghost bleaches his hair blond and I haven't stopped thinking about it since.

You'd always just assumed he was a natural blond. You never really paid much attention to the hair on his arms because why would you? And you never see his legs as his dresser only consists of long cargo pants. His eyebrows weren't too much darker from the blond anyway.

You had no reason to think otherwise. Which only embarrasses him even more when you do find out. He knew you were going to find out eventually, but he never actually thought that far ahead.

He doesn't get time to fix his hair on base so it's only natural that he comes back with his roots grown out. It's a stark contrast to the rest of his bleach blond hair. So when you finally get to see your sweet Simon after half a year, you can't help but immediately notice the change.

At the time he wished you would've just ignored it, but when you caught that initial glimpse of his hair, your hands immediately invaded his scalp. It didn't help either that his hair grew fast.

"You never told me you weren't a natural blond."

"It never came up." he answered gruffly, his uncomfortable shuffling contrasting with the way he leaned his head down slightly and allowed you to inadvertently play with his hair. It felt nice, but he didn't want to admit it then when he was acting aloof.

"It looks nice," you'd say, and he'd scoff. You'd say again, "you look good in brown. Matches your eyes," and he'd just grunt again, acting irritated. Though the way he let out a content sigh as his eyes closed told you otherwise.

*************** DISCLAIMER Under no circumstances do I give permission to copy, repost, or manipulate my work in any way. I am not comfortable with this. If you wish to translate my work, message me privately. My inbox is always open.

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which tattoos aren't the only thing that leaves a mark

warning : sexual content included - minors dni

Your dorm smells faintly of antiseptic and coconut oil, dimly lit by a salt lamp you found at a garage sale and a few strands of fairy lights taped haphazardly across the ceiling. Your tattoo machine is humming gently on your desk, neatly cleaned and resting beside a lined-up set of sanitized needles, ink caps, and gloves. You’ve got a system — one that’s been perfected over the last year and a half — ever since your roommate dropped out and you turned her bed into your makeshift tattoo studio.

Under the name Inkling, you’ve built a quiet reputation on campus. No one knows your real name unless they’ve been in the chair. Athletes, musicians, a couple grad students — they’ve all come through that dorm door, usually through hushed referrals and cryptic Instagram DMs. You’ve never posted your face. Just close-ups of fresh ink, your gloved hands, or that one photo of your forearm covered in delicate, razor-sharp line work. That one got shared a lot.

You’re careful. Every DM gets deleted after a location drop. Every appointment spaced out. You’ve seen enough busted dreams to know UConn wouldn’t hesitate to bench someone — or worse, expel you — if they found out.

It’s a rainy Thursday when your phone buzzes with a new DM.

Hey. Someone told me you might be the person to talk to about a tattoo?

The username catches your attention: @/paigebueckers.

You lean back in your chair, eyebrows lifting. The Paige Bueckers. You’ve seen her on campus, walking with her hood up and headphones on. People talk about her like she’s royalty — or a ghost. Never really both.

You heard right. What are you looking for?

The typing bubble appears. Then disappears. Then comes back.

Something small. My first one. Maybe ribs.

I got you. Location’s in your inbox. Delete this after reading.

You wait.

And then — just like you asked — the message disappears.

You hear the knock on your door five minutes early.

Cracking it open just a sliver, you scan the hallway. Empty.

Then you see her. Hoodie up, eyes down, clearly trying to go unnoticed. You gesture her inside, and she slips in quickly.

She pauses in the doorway, scanning the room. Your tall frame leans casually against your desk, arms inked and folded across your chest. You’re wearing a fitted black tank and sweats, fresh from a lift earlier. Her eyes drift, lingering a little too long before she catches herself.

"You're Inkling?" she asks, raising an eyebrow, tone skeptical — but not unfriendly.

You smirk. “In the flesh.”

She blinks. You can see the recalibration in her eyes, like she wasn’t expecting you — tall, masculine, and somehow both rough around the edges and easy to talk to.

“I’m Paige,” she offers, finally meeting your eyes.

“Yeah,” you say, stepping aside to let her walk further in. “I know who you are.”

You gesture to the chair in the corner — clean, covered in disposable wrap, next to your station.

“So,” you say, pulling on a pair of black gloves. “What are we doing today?”

She tugs her hoodie down, suddenly self-conscious. “I was thinking something simple. Maybe… a small cross? Just here—” She lifts the hem of her shirt slightly, revealing a sliver of toned side. “Right under the ribs.”

You nod, already moving to draw the stencil. “Any style in mind? Fine line? Bold? Shaded?”

She hesitates. “Fine line. Clean. Simple. Kind of like… a reminder, y’know?”

You nod again. “I got you.”

Within a few minutes, you’re walking back over with the stencil, eyes flicking up to hers. “You’re gonna have to take your shirt off.”

You say it casually, but her cheeks tint pink.

She hesitates, then pulls her hoodie and tank over her head, folding them neatly and setting them on the chair. She’s in a sports bra, but even so, her posture stiffens a little under your gaze.

You kneel next to her, applying the stencil with gentle precision, fingers cool against her warm skin. “This okay?”

She looks down and nods, voice quiet. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

You pick up the machine, the buzz filling the room.

“First tattoo, huh?”

She nods. “Is it gonna hurt?”

“Little bit. But I’ll talk you through it.”

The needle meets her skin. She tenses at first — a sharp breath — but you keep your voice low, steady, as you work.

“You’re not gonna die. Promise.”

She laughs softly, tension easing just a little.

You fall into a rhythm — machine buzzing, your voice threading in between.

“So how’d you start tattooing?” she asks after a minute.

“Boredom,” you admit. “High school. I used to sketch on my friends with Sharpies. Someone dared me to buy a machine. I practiced on fake skin for months before I ever touched a person.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

“Terrified. But I loved it more than I feared it.”

She goes quiet. You glance up.

“What about you?” you ask. “Why basketball?”

“It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense,” she says softly. “It’s like… the court’s the only place where everything goes quiet.”

You hum in understanding, eyes flicking back to your work. “Same way I feel when I’m doing this.”

There’s a long pause. A comfortable one.

You finish the last line, clean it up, and wrap the fresh ink in clear bandage. You explain the aftercare — gentle washing, no picking, keep it moisturized.

She puts her shirt back on and hands you a wad of cash.

And then, just as she reaches for the door — she pauses.

“Hey,” she says, turning back, biting her lip. “Do you ever give your number out?”

You raise a brow. “That depends. Why do you need it?”

Her eyes flick over your face, a little emboldened now.

“I wanna get to know you,” she says. “Not just the artist. You.”

There’s a moment of quiet — just the hum of your machine behind you, the buzz of electricity in the air.

You step toward her, pulling a pen from your pocket and gently taking her hand.

You write your number on her palm, slow and deliberate.

“Then start with a text,” you murmur, eyes locked with hers. “And we’ll see.”

Two weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since Paige sat in your chair — stiff and unsure, her rib stinging under your needle while your voice calmed her nerves better than she’d ever admit.

She hasn't stopped thinking about you since.

Not just the way you looked — tall, confident, with inked knuckles and a crooked grin — but the way you spoke to her. Like she wasn’t just Paige Bueckers, UConn’s superstar. Like she was just... a girl in your dorm getting her first tattoo.

After she left that night, she stared at your number in her palm for a good half hour before finally texting.

hey. it’s paige. got one on the ribs.

You replied two minutes later.

hey ribs. glad you didn’t pass out lol.

Since then, it’s been constant.

Late-night texts. Memes. Song links. Half-flirty, half-real conversations about childhood dreams, favorite snacks, worst injuries, and best memories. She's gotten used to your name lighting up her screen — even looks forward to it. Maybe too much.

Right now, she’s lying on her stomach in the locker room, phone half-hidden under her forearm as she types out a reply.

P: would you ever tattoo your own face on someone as a joke?

You: only if they deserved it.

She grins, lip caught between her teeth, thumbs already flying over her screen for a comeback— when suddenly—

“Who’s got you smiling like that?” KK’s voice breaks through the quiet.

Paige fumbles, yelping a little and nearly dropping her phone. She quickly flips it over, shoving it under her towel.

“N-nothing,” she blurts.

KK lifts an eyebrow, towel slung over her shoulder, all mischief. “Nothing looks a lot like someone.”

“I was just—” Paige clears her throat, rolling over. “Twitter.”

“Ohhh,” KK says knowingly. “Yeah, same. I always giggle at tweets like they’re cute girls texting me too.”

Before Paige can defend herself, Azzi walks in mid-laugh and immediately picks up the vibe. “Wait. What did I miss?”

“Paige is hiding a crush,” KK sing-songs.

Azzi whips her head around. “You’re texting someone? Wait, is it that tattoo artist?!”

Paige goes red instantly. “What? No— I mean— not like that— we’re just—”

“Oh my God,” Azzi says, grinning like she just won the lottery. “You are! You went once and got hooked. I knew it!”

“She called her ‘ribs,’” KK adds dramatically. “I heard it. They have nicknames already.”

“Ribs!” Azzi cackles. “That’s gonna be her contact name in my phone for you now.”

“Shut up,” Paige mumbles, grabbing her towel and pressing it over her face to hide.

Then Aubrey walks in, adjusting her hair, immediately clocking the chaos. “Why is Paige buried like a corpse?”

“She’s in love,” Azzi says sweetly.

“With her tattoo artist,” KK adds.

Aubrey pauses. “Wait. Inkling?”

Paige lifts her head. “You know?”

Aubrey shrugs like it’s obvious. “Yeah. I got my latest one from her last semester. She’s fire.”

“She’s also hot,” Azzi adds. “Like, if I liked girls? I’d have gotten a sleeve just to keep going back.”

KK snorts. “I’d get her initials on my neck.”

“Okay, enough!” Paige yells, half-laughing, half-horrified. “Y’all are so annoying.”

But she’s smiling — wide, and a little dazed — because maybe, just maybe, she kind of loves that they can see what she’s trying to figure out herself.

Meanwhile, across campus, you’re sprawled across your bed, scrolling through Paige’s latest message with a smile playing on your lips.

She sends you a blurry selfie of her holding an energy drink with a caption:

P: this is either gonna power me through or kill me in the middle of practice

You laugh.

You: if you die i’m tattooing “dumb decisions” on your forehead. with wings.

A pause.

P: can’t wait 

Your heart stutters. Not just because she’s flirting. But because she’s still here. Still texting. Still choosing you — even if it’s just messages for now.

And that tiny seed of maybe?

It’s starting to bloom.

It’s just past 9PM when your phone buzzes again. You’re half-asleep on your couch, a late re-run of Ink Master humming in the background, one hand tucked behind your head, the other lazily scrolling through your camera roll.

P: hey! ribs needs a touch-up.

You grin, already sitting up straighter. You type back fast.

You: oh no. your tragic little cross fading already?

P: tragic? wow. ok.

You: come cry about it. you free now?

P: omw.

You glance up, blinking.

She’s coming here. Now.

You toss your hoodie on, adjust your sweats, and quickly wipe down your station — not because it needs it, but because you suddenly feel like everything has to be perfect.

You don’t even know if she needs a touch-up. You think the tattoo healed clean. You remember exactly how it looked when she left — skin flushed, ink crisp and sharp, your gloves ghosting her side as you wrapped her ribs with practiced care.

But if Paige wants an excuse to come back?

You’ll let her use all of them.

Fifteen minutes later, you hear a soft knock.

Three quick taps. Hesitant.

You open the door, and there she is.

Hair tied back in a bun. Hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Eyes flicking up to meet yours with that soft, unsure kind of confidence that’s been growing since day one.

“Hey,” she says, almost breathless.

You step back to let her in. “Hey, Ribs.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.

“I brought snacks,” she says, holding up a gas station bag. “Touch-up tax.”

You grin. “Bribery noted.”

She perches on the edge of your couch while you prep the machine again, glancing around like she’s trying to memorize every poster, every flickering light string, every shadow you cast across the room.

“So,” you say, sliding gloves on. “Let’s see the damage.”

She lifts the hem of her hoodie, then the tank under it, revealing her side again. She doesn’t flinch this time. Doesn’t hesitate. Just watches you carefully as you lean in to inspect the ink.

You blink.

“Yeah…” you say slowly. “You definitely didn’t need a touch-up.”

“Damn,” she says, tone innocent. “Guess I’ll go then.”

You catch her wrist before she moves.

“Nah. You’re already here.”

The tension builds like a tightrope between you — stretched thin but thrilling.

You lean in, dragging a gloved fingertip lightly over the healed tattoo, eyes never leaving hers.

“You been using the aftercare stuff I gave you?”

“Every night,” she murmurs. “Like a good girl.”

You pause.

You’re not sure who leans in first, but suddenly your faces are too close. Her knee brushes yours. Your fingers are still on her skin. Your heart’s somewhere between say something and kiss her now.

She breaks the silence first.

“You ever get nervous?” she asks softly.

You tilt your head. “About what?”

“Stuff like this,” she says. “Being in someone’s space. Not knowing what happens next.”

You let your hand drop from her ribs, slowly peeling your gloves off.

“I used to,” you admit. “But then I started noticing the signs.”

“What signs?”

You lean back slightly, just enough to make her lean forward — chase the space you left behind.

“Someone shows up without needing a touch-up,” you say. “Brings snacks. Doesn’t take her eyes off you.”

Paige swallows, pulse fluttering in her neck.

“And what do you do when you notice?” she whispers.

You smile — slow, crooked.

“I wait until she makes the next move.”

There’s silence.

Then Paige sets the snack bag aside and shifts closer — until your knees touch again, until the air between your mouths gets impossibly thin.

She rests her hand lightly on your forearm. Testing. Waiting.

“I came back for more than a touch-up,” she says, barely audible.

“I know.”

And then?

You both move at once — like gravity finally gave in.

She almost kissed you.

You know she almost did.

That moment — the way she leaned in, her breath catching, your eyes locked — it was charged. One inch closer and she would’ve been in your lap, her lips pressed to yours, hoodie half-off.

But she pulled back.

Murmured something about practice tomorrow. Smiled that crooked little smile and slipped out like it didn’t shake you to your core.

And now you’re haunted by it.

By her.

The ghost of her fingers on your arm. The scent of her hoodie. The way her voice dipped when she said, “I came back for more than a touch-up.”

You haven’t stopped texting, of course. If anything, it's gotten worse.

P: i keep thinking about that stencil gel. why is it always freezing

You: so u remember the cold gel and not the way i touched ur body huh

P: i hate you

You: no u don’t

She doesn't deny it.

And neither do you.

Three days later, you're bent over your client, your machine buzzing as you work on a chest piece — intricate line work, shaded stars that bloom over his pec like smoke. You're focused, gloved hands steady, music humming low in the background. Your lamp casts a warm glow over your little setup. Three quick knocks. Just like last time.

You look up, brows furrowing. You're not expecting anyone.

You lower the needle and call out, “Door’s open.”

It swings open a moment later — and there she is.

Paige. In joggers and an oversized tee. Slightly flushed like she ran here, hair pulled into a high ponytail, holding a bottle of blue Gatorade like she needed a reason.

“Hey,” she says, eyes flicking around your room. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Her gaze lands on your chair — on the guy sitting shirtless, one arm behind his head, wincing through the sting of the needle.

“Oh,” she says quickly. “I can come back.”

You shake your head, pulling your gloves tight again. “Nah. Stay.”

Paige hesitates… then closes the door behind her and sinks onto your couch, pulling one knee up, tucking her foot beneath her. She stays quiet at first, just watching.

But you can feel it. Her eyes on you. The weight of them.

Your shirt rides up slightly as you lean over the client. Your chain glints in the light. Your forearms flex. There’s a streak of black ink on your jaw from where you scratched an itch and forgot you’d touched the cap first.

You glance up.

She’s staring.

Her lip is caught between her teeth. Gatorade forgotten in her lap.

You smirk slightly.

“You good over there?” you murmur without looking away from your work.

She snaps out of it. “Yeah. Just… observing.”

You don’t push. You keep tattooing. But your voice drops just enough to tease:

“Didn’t know I was part of the show.”

She doesn’t reply.

But out of the corner of your eye, you catch her shifting — crossing her legs tighter, cheeks a little flushed.

When your client finally hops off the chair and checks out the finished work in your mirror, you clean up and walk him to the door, chatting easily. You say goodbye, click the lock, and turn back around.

Paige is still on your couch. Still holding her Gatorade. Still not looking directly at you.

“You sure you’re not here for another touch-up?” you ask, voice low now that you’re alone again.

She looks up finally.

“I don’t think the tattoo’s the part that needs touching.”

Your heart stutters.

The silence swells again, thick and buzzing.

You take one slow step forward. Then another.

She stands up too, meeting you halfway.

Close. Too close.

You can smell her shampoo. See the freckles scattered on her collarbone. Feel her breath on your chin.

But she doesn’t close the distance.

Instead, her hand brushes your wrist as she walks past you — casual, smooth, intentional — and she murmurs over her shoulder, “Text me later.”

The door shuts behind her.

And you’re left standing in your own dorm, slightly ink-stained, jaw slack, stomach twisted up in tension so sharp it almost hurts.

She pulled back again.

And you're starting to think she's doing it on purpose.

It starts with a text.

P: u up?

You: what are you, a guy on tinder?

P: shut up. i’m serious. come to the gym.

You: it’s midnight.

P: exactly. no one will be there. come shoot with me.

You: ...u tryna seduce me with hardwood floors and fluorescent lighting?

P: depends. is it working?

You don’t even respond.

You just throw on your sneakers and a hoodie, grab your keys, and head out the door.

The UConn practice gym is dim when you walk in — only a few of the overheads are on, leaving the court glowing like a movie scene. Quiet. Still. And there she is.

Paige.

Ball in hand, ponytail high, shooting solo from the top of the key. She doesn’t see you at first — just lets the ball roll back from the rebound machine, catches it in one smooth motion, and fires again.

Swish.

You whistle low.

She turns, a smirk already tugging at her mouth.

“About time,” she says, wiping her forehead with the bottom of her shirt — giving you a full view of her toned stomach before it drops again.

You blink. “Sorry, I had to emotionally prepare for whatever pickup line you were gonna hit me with.”

“Oh please,” she tosses you the ball. “You think I need lines?”

You catch it with a grin. “You’re kinda full of yourself, Bueckers.”

“And you are kinda stalling. Let’s see if you can actually shoot or if you just look cool.”

You raise an eyebrow, then dribble once, twice, pull up at the elbow — clean jumper.

Swish.

Her mouth parts slightly.

You shrug. “Told you I was more than just tattoos and biceps.”

She circles you, grabbing the rebound, bouncing it back your way.

“You are full of surprises,” she murmurs. “I didn’t expect you to have form. Or a jumper.”

You shoot again. Another swish.

“You know,” she adds, jogging over, “if I make this next shot, you have to give me a free tattoo.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And if you miss?”

She spins the ball on her finger, grinning. “Then you still give me one, but I pick where.”

You snort. “That’s not how bets work.”

“Shh.” She backs up behind the three-point line, sets her feet, shoots—

Clank. Off the rim.

You break into laughter, hands on your knees. “Yo—so confident. So dramatic. So short.”

“Okay wow, personal attack,” she says, chasing the ball. “We get it, you’re tall.”

“And humble,” you add with a wink.

She tosses it back. You shoot again. Net.

“You're seriously hot when you do that,” she blurts, then instantly freezes.

You pause mid-dribble, smirking. “When I shoot?”

“When you swish,” she mutters. “And like… do that half-smile thing after. You know what you’re doing.”

You walk closer, bounce passing her the ball again.

“Oh yeah?” you say, voice dropping just a little. “What else do I do that’s hot?”

She squints at you, stepping in too. “You wanna play this game?”

“I thought we were playing,” you murmur.

There’s a pause. Just breath and bouncing orange rubber.

Then Paige grins. “Okay,” she says. “Truth or dare, but gym edition.”

You laugh. “Why do I feel like this is about to go off the rails?”

“Pick one.”

You spin the ball on your palm. “Truth.”

She tilts her head. “Have you thought about kissing me?”

You hesitate — not in fear, but because damn, she really jumped right to it.

You take a slow breath.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “Too many times.”

She swallows. Looks at your mouth for a second too long.

You step back. “Your turn.”

“I pick dare.”

You toss her the ball again. “Hit a three. If you miss, you owe me a date.”

She narrows her eyes. “That’s not a dare.”

“Sure it is. Do it.”

She backs up, sets her feet, deep breath — and shoots.

It arcs high. Hangs in the air. And—

Rim.

Bounces off.

She stares at it like it betrayed her.

You bite your lip, trying not to grin. “Damn. That’s crazy.”

She groans. “That was so close.”

You step up to her, gently take the ball from her hands, your fingers brushing hers.

“A deal’s a deal, Bueckers.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters. “You better take me somewhere good.”

“Oh, I will,” you say, dribbling lazily between your legs. “Just not to another empty gym at midnight.”

She grabs your wrist before you can turn — eyes locked on yours, soft and slow.

“But you’d come,” she says quietly, “anytime I asked, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t even pretend to lie.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I would.”

She lingers. Closer again. Inches. Seconds.

And then, like always — she pulls back.

Grabs her Gatorade. Spins the ball once. Looks over her shoulder with that damn smirk.

“Text me later.”

And she’s gone.

It had been four days since you and Paige shot around at the gym.

Four days since that charged truth or dare, since she missed the shot on purpose (you’re sure of it), since she got all up in your space only to walk away like she didn’t just set your heart on fire and leave it smoldering behind her.

You’d been texting still — the usual flirty banter and late-night teasing. But she hadn’t come by. Not since that night.

So when you hear a knock at your door around 7 p.m., your heart stutters.

Her?

You glance over your shoulder — already gloved up, your tattoo machine buzzing as you finish the shading on a delicate black rose. The girl in your chair is leaning back, her cropped tank pulled to the side to expose her ribs. She’s pretty — short brown curls, lip ring, soft eyes. You've tattooed her once before.

You lower the needle for a moment and call out, “Come in.”

The door creaks open.

Paige walks in.

And she freezes.

You swear you hear her swallow.

She takes in the scene — the girl, shirt hiked up, bra strap slipping down, your hand gliding carefully along the edge of her ribs. The soft music. The warm lighting. Your focused expression.

Her jaw clenches — subtle, but you catch it.

“Oh,” she says, stuffing her hands in her hoodie pocket. “Didn’t know you had company.”

You glance up and smile casually. “Just finishing up. Come in. You can chill.”

Paige hesitates, then steps inside and sinks into your couch, eyes lingering on the girl’s exposed skin.

You don’t miss the way she watches you — the way her knee bounces, the way she tugs her hoodie sleeves over her hands like she suddenly doesn’t know what to do with herself.

“Almost done,” you murmur to your client, finishing the last bit of shading. “You’re sitting like a champ.”

“Wouldn’t be my first time,” the girl says with a playful smirk. “You make it easy.”

Paige’s head snaps toward her.

You don’t look up, but you feel it.

She’s seething.

“Glad to hear it,” you say, smirking to yourself as you wrap the tattoo.

The girl sits up, pulling her shirt back down, glancing toward Paige. “Friend of yours?”

“She’s… someone,” Paige mutters, not looking away.

The girl raises an eyebrow, smiles slowly, and heads toward the door.

“Thanks again,” she says to you, hand brushing your arm on the way out. “You’ve got magic hands.”

As the door closes, Paige lets out a sharp, dry laugh.

“Magic hands, huh?” she echoes, voice tight.

You finally look at her — really look.

She’s not just irritated. She’s jealous.

And trying really, really hard to pretend she’s not.

You peel off your gloves, toss them in the trash, and sit on the edge of your desk.

“Something on your mind, Bueckers?”

She shrugs, eyes fixed on the spot where the girl had been. “Didn’t know you did flirty commentary with your clients.”

“She was being nice.”

“She was being obvious.”

You tilt your head. “So?”

Paige looks at you — and the mask slips just a little. Her lips part, then close again. She shifts on the couch, restless.

“So do you flirt back with all your clients?”

“Only the hot ones.”

She raises her eyebrows.

You smirk. “You didn’t seem to mind when you were shirtless on my chair.”

“That was different.”

“Why?”

She’s quiet.

You stand and walk over slowly, stopping just in front of her, hands sliding into your own hoodie pocket.

“Why, Paige?”

She looks up at you, eyes a little too bright, lips just a little too pouty.

“Because I actually care if you’re into someone else,” she finally says, voice low.

The room stills.

You exhale through your nose, taking a beat before you answer.

“You jealous, Bueckers?”

She lifts her chin. “You’re damn right I am.”

You don’t move — you just look at her. Let her feel it.

“You could’ve texted,” you say quietly. “Could’ve said something. Asked me to hang.”

“I didn’t wanna seem…” She trails off.

“What?”

“Attached.”

You take one slow step forward, between her knees. You don’t touch her — not yet — but you’re close enough for her to feel your presence everywhere.

“And what if I like that you’re attached?”

She blinks.

“What if I’ve been thinking about you just as much? What if that gym night messed me up? What if every time you leave, I want you back in the room five minutes later?”

She stares up at you, lips slightly parted, breathing shallow.

And then you lean down, close enough to feel her breath, close enough to kiss her — but you don’t.

You stop right there, noses brushing.

“Still jealous?” you whisper.

Her hand slides up your side, resting lightly on your hoodie — but still, you both hold back.

Barely.

“Only when I’m not the one in your chair,” she murmurs.

You grin. “You saying you want another tattoo?”

She looks at your lips. “No,” she breathes. “I want you.”

But still — no kiss.

Just that unbearable, perfect tension.

It starts with a simple text from Paige.

P: You busy tonight?

You: Not if you’re finally letting me beat you at Uno

P: Tempting. Come by my dorm? Girls are hanging out.

You: You sure? I don’t wanna crash the estrogen party

P: They’ll like you. I promise. Just don’t flirt with anyone but me.

You: Oh? Am I allowed to flirt with you now?

P: Only if you want everyone to know you’re obsessed with me

You laugh at your phone, toss on your hoodie, and head out.

By the time you get to Paige’s floor, you can already hear music and laughter bleeding through the cracked door. You knock once before stepping in.

It’s warm, loud, and full of energy. Sarah’s lounging on the couch with her socks mismatched. Azzi’s sitting cross-legged on the floor sorting cards. KK’s got her phone propped up against a candle jar, already live on TikTok.

“Heyyyy,” Paige grins, hopping up from where she’s been half-sitting on the armrest. She comes toward you, a glimmer in her eye. “You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you murmur.

The second you step into the room, every pair of eyes snaps to you.

“Ohhh, so this is the mystery guest?” KK calls, adjusting the angle of her phone. “Wait, wait—come closer, let the live see this. Who is this??”

“She’s a friend,” Paige says quickly, shooting KK a look.

Your eyebrow quirks at friend but you play it cool.

KK waves you over like you’re already part of the crew. “Come sit! Don’t be shy. We were literally just talking about Paige’s secret text buddy—”

“KK!” Paige cuts in, her tone a warning.

“What? I didn’t say their name,” KK teases. “Could be anyone.”

You smirk, sliding into the empty space beside Paige on the couch. Your knees brush. She doesn’t move away.

Azzi greets you with a small, knowing smile. “You play cards?”

“Better than Paige, apparently,” you quip, and she chokes on her drink.

KK cackles from the floor. “Oooh, you got jokes! I like them.”

You glance over and notice Paige is still looking at you — not saying anything, just watching you like you’re the only person in the room. The heat in her stare is something else.

“Okay, okay,” KK says, turning her phone slightly. “Live wants to know who you are. You look suspiciously comfortable over there.”

You flash a polite smile. “Just a friend.”

Paige snorts, and you bump her leg gently with your knee. She doesn't take her eyes off you.

Live chat starts popping off on KK’s phone.

“Who is that???👀” “Is Paige finally boo’d up???” “She’s kinda fine ngl” “They’re sitting HELLA close 😭” “They matching?? Are they matching??”

You glance down at the hoodie you’re wearing — black. Paige’s is black, too.

You lift your eyes to her, biting your lip.

“Matching hoodies, huh?” you whisper under your breath.

“Just coincidence,” she says softly. “Unless you wanna make it a thing.”

Your heart skips, but before you can answer, KK calls out, “HEY. Come on live with us real quick.”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re already famous in the chat. Might as well say hi.”

Paige gives you this amused little shrug, and Azzi’s smiling into her cup like she knows exactly what’s happening here.

You sigh playfully, scoot over to KK’s phone and lean in. Paige scoots right with you — now shoulder to shoulder, thighs pressed, close.

KK angles the camera toward you both.

“Okay live,” she announces dramatically, “say hello to our very mysterious, very smooth, very not nervous at all guest.”

You nod at the camera with a mock serious face. “Pleasure.”

The comments explode again.

“THE WAY THEY’RE SITTING” “PAIGE IS SMILING SO HARD OMG” “Who is this suave mf I’m in love” “Are y’all dating or what???” “They keep looking at each other omg STOP”

You glance at Paige.

She’s got that look again — amused, glowing, and just a little smug.

You lean closer to the mic. “No comment.”

The room erupts in screams.

You stay on the live for a few more minutes, answering random (safe) questions — what’s your favorite cereal, do you hoop, how did you and Paige meet (you lie effortlessly — “through mutual friends”).

Eventually, KK ends the stream, still giggling.

“That was the most fun we’ve had on live in weeks,” she grins. “You gotta come back.”

“I’ll think about it,” you wink.

Paige gives you a long look as you both settle back into your original spot, her voice low when she says, “You handled that like a pro.”

“Not my first rodeo,” you reply, nudging her leg.

The moment settles in again — comfortable, warm, buzzing beneath the surface. Her pinky brushes yours on the couch cushion.

You don’t move.

Neither does she.

And still—no kiss. Just charged silence, quick glances, and the weight of everything almost happening.

Almost.

It’s late.

That kind of quiet hour where most of campus has gone still, windows dark, the night holding its breath.

Your phone buzzes on your desk.

P: that live earlier… you were kinda smooth ngl.

You smirk, staring at the screen for a moment before typing back.

You: kinda? thought i had you blushing.

P: you wish.

You: come over. prove me wrong.

You hesitate only a second before hitting send. You’ve been dancing around this thing long enough—teasing glances, flirty texts, late-night thoughts.

Tonight?

You want to know.

The reply comes quick.

P: omw.

Ten minutes later, there’s a soft knock on your door. You open it to find her standing there in gray sweats and a white crop hoodie that shows a sliver of skin. Her hair’s loose, no makeup, eyes soft.

“Hey,” she says, voice low, like she’s already matching the quiet.

“Hey,” you echo, stepping aside to let her in.

The lights are dim, a candle flickering on your shelf, casting golden shadows across your dorm. The same chair you tattoo in sits empty now. You gesture to the bed.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

She sits, legs crossing at the ankle, eyes tracking you as you close the door and lock it gently behind you.

“Still think I was only kinda smooth?” you ask, grabbing a bottle of water and tossing it her way.

She catches it, smirks. “I think you’re full of yourself.”

You chuckle, settling into your desk chair. “Nah. I just know how to read a room. And your face during that live?”

“I was not blushing.”

“You so were.”

She rolls her eyes but she’s smiling, teeth tugging at her bottom lip in that way that’s dangerous.

“So what,” she says slowly, “this is your move? Invite a girl to your room, make her talk about her feelings under low light and candles?”

“Only the special ones.”

That gets her. She exhales a soft laugh, cheeks warming in the glow. “You flirt like you tattoo. Confident. Smooth hands.”

Your eyebrow raises. “You thinking about my hands?”

A pause.

She doesn’t look away. “A lot more than I should.”

The tension punches the air out of the room. There’s no music, no noise. Just the sound of your shared breath and the rush in your ears.

You get up and move to sit next to her on the bed.

Close. But not touching.

“What are we doing?” you ask quietly.

She looks at you. Really looks.

“You tell me,” she murmurs.

“I think,” you start, fingers brushing hers slowly, “we’ve been circling this for weeks.”

You turn your body toward her, eyes scanning her expression. “And I think you’ve wanted to kiss me since the night I tattooed you.”

“I almost did,” she admits, her voice barely audible. “That night… when you leaned in.”

You nod. “I know. I felt it.”

You inch forward, just a breath between your lips now. She tilts her head slightly, like she’s inviting it—

And then, just as your lips graze hers, she pulls back.

A whisper of space.

Your pulse stutters. “Paige?”

Her smile is teasing, but her eyes are molten. “Not yet.”

You exhale, not sure if you’re frustrated or even more into her now.

“Cruel,” you mutter.

“Maybe,” she grins, “but now you’re thinking about it more.”

You lean back with a soft groan. “You’re evil.”

She shrugs, smug. “You love it.”

She stays for another hour, curled up in your bed, both of you side by side talking about nothing and everything—what music she listens to pregame, your favorite artists to ink, how she once tried to pierce her own cartilage and absolutely passed out.

You almost forget the burn.

Almost.

Because every so often, she shifts, and her shoulder touches yours. Her leg brushes your thigh. She looks at your mouth and then looks away, and it drives you insane.

When she finally stands to leave, it's after 2 a.m.

You walk her to the door. She hesitates there, hand on the knob.

“Thanks for letting me come over,” she says softly.

You lean against the doorframe. “Anytime.”

Her eyes flicker down to your lips again.

You don’t move.

Neither does she.

Then she leans in, lips brushing the corner of your mouth—a whisper of a kiss, not quite what you wanted, but more than you expected.

A promise.

“Goodnight,” she murmurs.

And then she’s gone.

You’re not sure when exactly she got so deep under your skin, but now you feel it in your fingertips, in the buzz behind your teeth every time her name lights up your screen.

It’s been a few days since that near-kiss.

Too many.

You’ve been playing it cool, trying not to push—waiting for her to make the move.

But tonight?

Tonight you don’t want to wait anymore.

P: gym in 15?

You: be there in 10.

The UConn practice gym is dark, except for one row of overhead lights glowing above the court. Paige is already there, ball in hand, hair in a messy ponytail, wearing a black tank and loose shorts. She looks unfairly good under the gym lights.

She looks like trouble.

“You’re early,” she says, tossing you the ball.

“Didn’t wanna keep you waiting.”

She smirks. “You sure about that? You’ve been making me wait for weeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Me?”

She starts walking backward toward the top of the key, still grinning. “You’re the one who talks all this game and then freezes every time I get close.”

You follow, dribbling casually. “Please. You’re the queen of pulling back last second.”

“Maybe I just like the anticipation.”

You stop at the arc and shoot. Swish.

She raises a brow. “Okay Steph, I see you.”

You shrug. “I told you I could shoot.”

She gets the rebound and tosses it back. “Let’s make it interesting.”

“What, horse?”

“No,” she says, stepping close, just barely toe to toe. “If I make my shot, you have to answer a question. Truth only.”

You grin. “And if I make it?”

“Same deal.”

“Bet.”

She pulls up from midrange. Net.

You groan. “Alright. Hit me.”

Her eyes glitter. “Have you thought about kissing me since that night?”

You blink. “Is that even a question?”

“Answer it.”

You step a little closer. “Every night.”

She swallows, the moment thick now. Her turn to shoot again.

She misses.

Your ball.

You catch it, holding it between you. “My question.”

She lifts her chin. “Hit me.”

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

She bites her lip. “Because I wanted to see if you’d break first.”

You chuckle, stepping forward again. “Well, congratulations.”

She tilts her head. “Why’s that?”

You don’t say anything.

You just step into her space, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin. She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something else—

And you kiss her.

No warning. No teasing. Just your lips on hers, firm and hungry, claiming the moment you’ve both been aching for. She gasps softly into it, hands finding your waist like muscle memory, and you deepen the kiss without hesitation, your fingers tangling in her ponytail.

It’s messy and hot and so full of built-up tension it practically cracks.

She pulls you closer, your body pressing hers gently against the padded wall behind the baseline, breath catching as your teeth graze her lower lip.

“God,” she whispers, head falling back just slightly, “finally.”

You grin against her skin. “I was gonna say the same thing.”

She kisses you again, slower this time but no less intense, like she’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth.

When she finally pulls back, her cheeks are flushed and her voice is rough. “You’re in trouble now.”

“Oh yeah?”

She nods, smirking. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

There’s no more pretending now.

No more slow-burn games.

She’s officially yours—and you?

You’re already all in.

She’s still catching her breath when you pull her by the hand—out of the gym, down the empty hallway, back toward your dorm like there’s no time left to waste. Because there isn’t. Not anymore.

Not after weeks of stolen glances, soft hands brushing thighs during shoot arounds. Not after that kiss that tasted like everything she’d been holding back.

You open your door, and she’s on you the second it clicks shut.

Your back hits the wall, her mouth claiming yours like she’s starving. Her fingers curl in the fabric of your shirt, tugging you closer, your hands already sliding up the back of her hoodie and under the hem.

You break the kiss just long enough to pull it off, revealing that toned stomach you’ve been sneaking looks at during practice. She's wearing just a simple black sports bra, but it might as well be lace with how fast your pulse jumps.

“Bed,” you mutter against her neck, kissing the warm skin just below her jaw. “Now.”

She obeys, backing toward it, climbing up without breaking eye contact. You follow, slipping your hoodie over your head, your shirt next, until you’re standing above her, toned arms flexing slightly as you kneel on the mattress between her legs.

She looks up at you like you’re something dangerous. And she wants to get burned.

“Still cocky?” she asks, breathless.

You smirk. “We’ll see who’s cocky in five minutes.”

Her laugh is soft, shaky, the nerves behind her bravado showing for the first time.

You dip your head and kiss her again—slow this time, tongue tracing her bottom lip, hands smoothing up her sides until your thumbs brush just under her bra. Her breath hitches.

“Off,” you murmur, and she arches up for you, letting you slip it over her head.

She’s so soft beneath you—golden skin, flushed chest, and already looking at you like she’s seconds from falling apart.

Your hand ghosts over her stomach, fingers tracing the top of her shorts. “This too?”

She nods.

You slide them down, along with her underwear, slow enough to make her squirm. Now she’s laid out under you, nothing between you but heat and air and the sound of her breathing.

“Fuck,” you whisper, dragging your eyes down her body like a prayer. “You’re so pretty like this.”

Her fingers curl into the blanket. “Then do something about it.”

You settle between her thighs, kissing slowly down her stomach, leaving a trail of heat in your wake. Her thighs tense as you press a kiss just above where she wants you most, but you pull back.

“You’ve been teasing me for weeks,” you murmur, mouth hovering over her, breath warm against her. “You really thought I wasn’t gonna return the favor?”

She whines, hand flying to your hair.

And then you give in.

Your mouth meets her with slow, devastating pressure, tongue moving with practiced ease, teasing her open until she’s gasping your name, hips rising from the bed. Your hands press firmly on her thighs, keeping her in place.

She’s so sensitive, so responsive, each moan rolling out of her throat like it’s been waiting in her chest for days.

When you add your fingers—slow at first, curling just right—she loses it, head thrown back, mouth parted, trying and failing to keep it together.

“Right there,” she gasps. “Fuck—please, don’t stop.”

You don’t.

You keep going until she’s trembling, legs shaking, eyes squeezed shut as she falls apart around you, fingers tangled in your hair like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go.

You only stop when she’s tugging at your shoulders, breathless and wrecked.

You crawl back up her body, kissing her slowly now, her taste on your tongue, your hand resting on her stomach as it rises and falls.

“I told you,” you murmur against her lips. “I don’t miss my shots.”

She laughs, dazed and completely gone. “I’m never letting you near a basketball again.”

You grin. “Then I’ll just have to find other ways to wear you out.”

She’s curled against you now, legs tangled with yours under the warm sheets, skin still buzzing and kissed with sweat. Your arm’s draped over her waist, your fingers drawing slow circles along her back while her cheek rests on your chest.

The silence is thick with something warmer than lust.

You feel her chest rise and fall against you, slower now. Calmer. But every so often she lets out a breath like she’s still recovering—like you short-circuited something in her.

You brush your lips over her temple. “You okay?”

She nods, then looks up at you with the kind of smile that knocks the air out of your lungs. Messy hair, kiss-swollen lips, eyes too big and too honest.

“I’m… really okay,” she says softly. “Like… insanely okay.”

You chuckle and squeeze her waist, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. “Just okay? I’m offended.”

She laughs and hides her face in your chest. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

There’s a long pause after that. A quieter one. One that has her fingers slowly brushing your side, like she needs to touch you to believe this happened.

“So,” she says after a minute, her voice lower now, careful. “Was that… like… a one-time thing?”

You blink down at her.

“What?” you ask, half-laughing. “Paige. I just took you apart on my bed. You think I’d do that and just ghost you?”

She shrugs, eyes still down. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to assume.”

You tilt her chin up with your fingers. “Then let me be clear.”

You kiss her—soft and slow, the kind of kiss that says everything you haven’t dared to say out loud yet.

“I want to keep seeing you,” you murmur against her lips. “Outside of tattoo sessions. Outside of gym rebounds. I want you.”

She exhales like she’s been holding it in for days.

“I want you too,” she says, her voice a whisper. “I have. For weeks.”

You smile. “Same.”

There’s another beat of quiet before she starts trailing her fingers up your chest again. “You’re really dangerous, you know that?”

You raise a brow. “How so?”

“You’re tall. Hot. Mysterious. You make art. And you’re insanely good in bed. It’s not fair.”

You grin and brush her hair back behind her ear. “And you’re a literal basketball god with killer eyes and an attitude. I’m the one in trouble here.”

She grins lazily and leans in again, kissing you like she’s falling into something she doesn’t want to stop.

Eventually, she sighs and buries her face in the crook of your neck.

“Can I sleep here?” she mumbles, her voice half gone.

You answer by pulling the blanket tighter around her and kissing the top of her head.

“Yeah, Paige,” you whisper. “Stay as long as you want.”

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 A Picture of a Cat.

Spencer Reid x Forensic!reader

main masterlist

Summary: After months of emailing back and forth, you finally meet the person you've been chatting with every day. Then you realize that Spencer is not just a girl's name.

Words: 2,7k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!reader. with spencer of the early seasons very much in love in mind. the reader has a cat and has little faith in men (literally me, sorry). SO MUCH chaos and maybe lack of communication but happy ending. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: This is pretty chaotic and not particularly serious😭 It might be best not to try to make sense of it. They're just two idiots in love, really.

To say that Spencer was dying of nervousness was not enough to describe his true feelings.

From the moment he woke up this morning without any mail from you in his inbox, he began to feel that his day was going wrong and that it was becoming an endless nightmare. He had lost count of all the times he had checked his mail at work, hoping to see even a one-line message from you to calm his anxiety.

As someone who had received your good morning every day without fail for the last four months that you had been talking to each other daily, he was completely taken aback and couldn't quite put his finger on why. Perhaps he had said something to offend you, or maybe you were just not feeling the spark anymore. But astonishingly, none of your numerous emails that he had taken the time to reread on the jet indicated any cause for concern.

Everything had been so positive with you recently, and he was grateful to have someone to talk to, even if it was through a computer, every time he finished a challenging case and his mind just wanted to focus on something else. He found great comfort in reading about your day and your thoughts every morning, as if it were his newspaper. Even the pictures you always sent him of your cat sleeping in cute poses, eating, or doing anything else made him smile and gave him the idea of adopting a pet, even when he had never thought about the possibility of it before. You always helped him realize some desires he hadn't previously considered.

But suddenly he didn't have any of it. Nothing at all.

Reid's gaze fell once upon the computer on his desk, and his face was illuminated by its light as he reopened his email page for what might have been the thousandth time that day. His fingers tapped over and over on his knee in an attempt to calm his nerves as the page loaded at a slow pace. He took the opportunity to look at the time on the clock hanging on the wall in front of him. It was ten o'clock at night, and yet, once again, there was no trace of you among his messages.

His heart stopped for a second when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, and he had to close the page he had opened on his computer at full speed before he could even realize who it was.

“Hey, take it easy, kid.” Derek said gently, removing his hand from his shoulder and stepping back a step. His eyes fell on the computer screen, and he was intrigued. “What were you watching?” He asked, with a playful smile.

“N-nothing.” Spencer's voice trembled beyond his control, and he quickly rose from his chair, trying to shield the computer with his body.

You had been his best-kept secret for quite some time, and he was content with that. He enjoyed the idea of maintaining a certain level of privacy in that aspect of his life, as something just between you two. It was more special and romantic that way.

“Nothing? Is that what they call those things now?” Derek inquired, his tone teasing but not unkind. The boy blushed a little, unsure why. “I must admit I'm surprised.”

Reid had to think for a few seconds to figure out what his colleague was talking about, but even before he could understand, Morgan had started speaking again.

“Anyway, turn that off.” He said, pointing to the computer and settling his bag over his shoulder, ready to go. “Someone's waiting for you in the boardroom.”

Almost automatically, Spencer frowned and watched him, waiting for him to provide more information or at least laugh if he was making a joke. However, that didn't occur. Derek didn't laugh at him or anything of that nature.

“Go, Reid. It might be best not to keep the girl waiting.” He gave his friend a gentle pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile before heading off on the way to the elevator.

A girl? Waiting for him? How?

Spencer took a moment to collect his thoughts, attempting to grasp the meaning behind Derek's words and the circumstances surrounding the supposed visitor. With a measured pace, he stepped away from his desk and proceeded down the hallway, heading for the boardroom with a contemplative demeanor.

As he opened the door and cautiously stepped inside, he was met with the most glorious sight of his life, the one he had waited so long for, the one that now quickened his pulse and seemed to bring him back to life after feeling dead all day.

You.

Standing at the table, looking intently at the various maps and data scattered around the round table in the center of the room. So deep in thought that you were not even aware of his presence. As pretty as in the pictures of you that he had seen.

He couldn't help but let out a little "oh my" at the sight of you. His heart was pounding so hard he thought he could hear it from across the room, or maybe his ears were just ringing from the blood rushing to his head. Reid stood still, looking at you, amazed. He could see how the light touched your hair and how you bit your lip as you concentrated on organizing the papers and a folder in your hand. It was real. It had to be real.

“Hi.” His voice suddenly startled you, making you realize that you were no longer alone and that the door was now open.

You look up from the documents you are examining and see him by chance. It takes you a moment to realize that he works there, and only by the FBI badge in his pants pocket.

“Hi.” You responded after giving him a very obvious visual scan.

Your voice.

It was the first time he'd heard you speak, and it was just as he'd imagined it would be.

“I’m-” You extended your hand in a cordial manner to introduce yourself, but he interrupted.

“I know who you are.” He spoke quickly, smiling at you. “I...I...you are...” Reid cursed himself for stuttering the sentence as his tongue suddenly felt too heavy in his mouth.

“Okay…I'm waiting for someone.” You said it politely, but your tone showed your anxiety.

Oh, you didn't know it was him.

Spencer let out a laugh to relieve the growing tension, but it came out sounding like a cough. He wanted to hit himself. Why was he acting like a child? He was an agent, for God's sake. His job was to talk to complete strangers every day and do entire profiles without getting nervous. He found it hard to understand how that was changing so much now. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak more clearly.

“Yes, I know.” He replied, sounding a bit nervous. His voice was a little shaky, as if he was straining to get the words out.

“Do you know if this person is coming?” You were standing there with your arms crossed, trying to see if anyone else was coming after him.

At that moment, a look of confusion came over his face. It had not even crossed your mind that it might be him. And although it was to be expected and totally understandable since you had never seen a picture of him, Spencer still felt a twinge of pain and insecurity inside. Perhaps you expected him to look different, or at least not look like a kid playing federal agent.

Maybe it would have been helpful if he had sent you a picture of himself when you sent yours. That way, you might have had a better idea of what to expect. But you were very understanding of his insecurities and lack of comfort with the photos at the time. So he thought everything would be fine anyway…he was so wrong.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath before speaking up. “Actually, it's me.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to hide how nervous he was, with little success.

As soon as he said it, you looked surprised, your mouth slightly open, and then you laughed.

“That's pretty funny.” You said it with a slightly uncomfortable smile. When you realized he wasn't laughing, you added, “Good joke.”

Seeing your reaction, Spencer felt the urge to shrink back and disappear, as if that action could erase the last few seconds of your memory and also erase the feeling he suddenly had of having screwed up in an unfamiliar way. He felt his chest tighten as you asked him again if the person you were waiting for was coming. Was it so hard to believe that he was the person you were talking to? The one who earned your trust and affection?

“I spent several hours on a plane, so please let me know if your colleague is coming.” You spoke again, your tone conveying a hint of disappointment and fatigue. “If I'm a nuisance and Spencer doesn't want to see me, I'd appreciate knowing that.”

Hearing you say his first name gave him an unexpected shiver. It sounded so pleasant and intimate. He took another deep breath and forced herself to speak clearly.

“Wait, he does want to see you.” He paused for a moment, realizing he sounded a bit ridiculous. “I mean, I do. I'm Spencer.”

You're momentarily taken aback, unsure if the guy in front of you is joking. His nervous expression suggests otherwise, and you even entertain the possibility that he might be crazy.

Oh my goodness, you were all alone on a practically empty floor of the FBI offices with an insane agent.

“Just let me know if she's coming or not, please.” You said, taking a few steps back to be at a safe distance from him.

His mouth was so dry he could only manage a soft, hoarse whisper. “She? Did you think I was a girl?”

“You?” You furrowed your brow, feeling more confused and uneasy.

At last, he had a suggestion and reached into his pocket to retrieve his badge, holding it out to you in a gesture that seemed to convey innocence.

“I’m Spencer Reid.” He said, his voice betraying a hint of awkwardness as he was caught off guard by the peculiar turn of events.

You looked at the badge, confused, and slowly looked up, looking into his eyes closely for the first time. You studied his face intently, not really believing it.

“Are you Spencer? My Spencer?” You asked.

When you said “my,” he felt a flutter in his chest. His brain was trying to tell him not to get too invested in the moment, but the vulnerable part of him was moved by the way you said it, like he was all yours. There was a special air of affection there that he liked.

“Yes.” He replied, almost in a whisper. “I am.”

You had to take a moment to process the information, eyes glued to his as you tried to make sense of it. Little by little, you come to understand. This was the person you had been talking to every day for months—the person with whom you had shared your fears, stories, and dreams. Yet you hadn't even asked him for a picture or a call—anything that would have made you realize that he wasn't a woman. It seems almost unreal to you to have fallen into such a confusion.

“I sent pictures of my cat to a man?!” Was the first thing you thought, and it managed to come out of your mouth clearly, in an indignant tone. “I said you were my soulmate!”

Now you were the one who sounded insane.

He stood there for a few moments, looking at you and seeing the different emotions on your face. When he finally spoke, his voice had a hint of insecurity in it.

“Yes…but your cat is cute, and you take good pictures.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking a bit nervous. “Did you know that the evocative power of images is widely studied? They can help us verbalize and even rescue forgotten memories and stories from our collective memory and-” He silences himself. “Sorry.”

When he fell silent, your brain couldn't do the same, and thousands of hard-to-filter words began to appear. You had a strange feeling in your chest, a mixture of familiarity with the way his ramblings sounded to you, just like the emails you loved so much, and confusion about the whole situation.

“This is so strange.” You said to yourself, pacing around the room a couple of times. “I was so stupid-”

He observed you with great interest, trying to discern the thoughts and feelings that were likely swirling in your mind. He could empathize with your confusion, as he was also uncertain about the circumstances. He couldn't blame you for feeling bewildered. You had embarked on your journey with the expectation of meeting a girl named Spencer, but instead, you encountered him. You had envisioned a lovely girl, and you found him—a simple individual, a nerd who had been told on numerous occasions that nerds lacked charm.

“No. You're not.” He said, attempting to manage his desire to bridge the gap and offer solace. “It was a misunderstanding. I should have provided you with more information.”

“How would you even start a conversation by saying you were a man?” You let out a laugh to yourself. “I would have stopped talking to you instantly.”

The sentence hit him right in the heart.

The two of you had the opportunity to communicate by mail when your boss asked you to send reports on several of the autopsies with similarities you had done to the BAU. It was then that a picture of your cat was sent in the middle of the files. Spencer was the one who received it and made an attempt at a joke after your long apology. And then another, and another, until you ended up talking for four months until now.

But if you had known from the beginning that he wasn't a woman, you wouldn't have bothered to get to know him at all.

“I...I don't know what to tell you..” He admitted, sounding a little more vulnerable. “But why did you think I was a woman?”

After a moment's thought, you said. “Your name made me think of a girl I knew in college. And you...you were so nice and sweet in your emails that I found it hard to believe that a man could be like that through a screen.”

When you shared how you perceived him through his emails, it seemed that a certain vulnerability came to light. The situation had turned the tables, and now he was the one standing there trying to process the information.

“I thought I finally had a friend. You know what my job is like...and yours is just as all-consuming.” You spoke again, having to sit for a moment in one of the chairs in the place, trying to calm down. “It would've been great to have someone who understood me as a friend.”

He felt a pang in his heart at your words and was instantly reminded of the times you'd confided in him about how isolated you felt in your lab, surrounded by dead people and computers.

“You can still do that.” He replied without thinking. “I’m still the same person as before, just different packaging.”

For you, it was much more than that. First of all, you trusted him in the beginning because you thought he was a girl; that's why he understood you so much and you had that special connection.

Hell, you'd even told him how bad your period was, and he'd understood so well. He'd given you tips and facts that you didn't know that were beyond your expectations of what the average man knew.

“I mean, I'm still someone you can talk to.” He continued, his hands moving nervously in his pockets. “Unless you...unless you don't feel that way anymore.”

When you finally spoke, your voice sounded almost whispery and gentle. He couldn’t help but lift his gaze from the floor to you, feeling how his body relaxed just a bit with the soft sound of your voice.

“No, no. I still want to talk to you…if you’re my Spencer.”

“I am, all yours.” He replied with a smile.

[dellieghtful]

[RAFAYEL] LADS: Saying Things They Don't Mean

🍓A/N: Yay! Finally done with Rafayel's part. I made sure this one would hurt like a bitch because I've been dying to write an angsty fic with him for quite some time and I'm so excited to write the comfort that comes after this! Also~ (again) this wasn't proof-read so, please excuse a few errors here & there.

Masterlist | Rulebook | Tags

→ for all my April fics, you can check out this link instead ;3

📍Character/s: Rafayel Zayne | Sylus

Today was an absolute disaster.

Nothing that went on today went according to how Rafayel had planned it. First, he accidentally broke his one and only favorite brush this morning while looking for it, second: Thomas kept pestering him about the new pieces for the upcoming art gallery this weekend, and third: he ran out of paint. Of all the days he could have ran out of paint, it just had to be today when the dates to showcase all his work are so close.

Not to mention, he's only done 2 pieces because the rest looked like absolute abominations to decorate a wall. For the past week, Rafayel has done nothing but sketch, paint, and repeat to the point where he'd often skip his meals and outright cut-off communication from the world as he tries to focus on the upcoming art gallery. Unknowingly, at the cost of his focus and dedication towards his work, Rafayel just so happened to miss a very important schedule on his calender: Your birthday.

To say you were expecting would be the understatement of the century. You had been looking forward to your very special day for such a long time. Although you and Rafayel have not quite spoken as frequently as you had hoped, you could not help but feel excited to see your boyfriend and his so-called special surprise for your special day. The week prior, Rafayel had been leaving hints for you since the month started about what you'd expect to be seeing for your special day.

Unfortunately, as you awoke from you deep sleep to the sound of your beeping alarm clock and endless string of messages from friends and co-workers alike, you were missing one thing. Specifically, a person.

Huh. Rafayel isn't here? The thought alone made your heart dropped. Since the beginning of your relationship, you and Rafayel had always made a habit to surprise each other by throwing a simple surprise before they wake up. So, seeing your room barren of any sort of decors, colors, and your boyfriend gave your heart a tight squeeze. But, you forced that thought into the back of your head because you also knew that he had a big art gallery coming up this weekend. Being the kind and considerate girlfriend that you are, you tried to focus on the brighter side of thigs.

The day had just started, right? So, it would not hurt your little heart and head to dress up nice and visit your boyfriend. Putting up the brightest smile, you got off from your bed and headed to the bathroom to get yourself ready for the day ahead.

As you finally reached your destination, you could not help but wonder what your boyfriend has been up to lately. Sure, he is a very busy and in-demand artist but was it that difficult to send a message to your inbox for updates? Your mood began to soil as you reached to open the doors and enter his home. Being Rafayel's girlfriend of many years has granted you the perks of easy access to his home, more-so his private studio at the end of the hall.

With a gentle knock on the door, you called out to your boyfriend but was only greeted with silence. You waited for a while, giving an allowance of a few seconds for him to answer the knocks on his door but he never came to open and answer for you. You decided to give it a small push and peak through the already-present gap between door and the frame to see the room in an absolute mess.

As you scrunched your brows together in confusion, you took your time to breathe in a relaxing inhale of air before exhaling and finally pushing your hand against the door to open it wide enough to see your boyfriend standing in front of a painting. But, from the looks of it, he wasn't happy at all and you couldn't help but feel dread that your day would travel fast from bad to worse.

"Rafayel?" You called out from across the room, patiently waiting for a response from your boyfriend. But, it seems as if he was so focused on his piece that he did not even register your words or your presence as you entered the room. Taking in a sigh, you carefully walked towards him as if you were afraid you'd shatter his patience then as you approached him and the painting.

"Rafayel," you called out again, reaching out to tug on his sleeve which caused him to jolt and turn his attention towards you. With wide-eyes, he reached out and cupped your face and stared at you with the most loving gaze. "My love, you're here," he started, his brows scrunched together in confusion.

"I was wondering where my boyfriend would be on such a special day," You half-heartedly joked as you also grabbed a hold of his hand on your cheek and gave it a light squeeze. "I can see you're really busy today."

Despite the comment not holding any offense, Rafayel could not help but scrunch his brows nose and brows in unison. He knows you didn't mean it in an offensive way but something about the way it was phrased irked him a bit. But, he didn't want to think too much about it since you had gone out of your way to come visit him.

"Of course, I'd be busy. Can't have my precious clients waiting out for my one-of-a-kind pieces," Rafayel replied, picking up a brand new paintbrush from one of the palette's nearby and began playing around with the colors on the canvas while the paint hadn't fully dried off yet as he attempts to blend the shades of blue and black against each other.

With his response, you couldn't help but bite your lip and tug on a portion of the hem of your dress in attempt to ease your mind as you were contemplating whether to throw in the big question, or rather, if he could at least remember what day it was today. Taking in a deep breathe and letting out a small sigh, you approached him carefully and wrapped your arms around his torso as you let your head partially bear weight and lean on his back.

With the sudden contact, Rafayel paused for a short moment and turned his head to catch a glimpse of you.

"I just," you started in a small voice, hoping it would be loud enough for him to still hear you. "I just wanted to see if you wanted to go out today. It's such a beautiful day and it would be a waste to spend the entire day cooped up in the studio. There are plenty of things we can do together, if you'd like." You said, slowly lifting your gaze to meet him eye-to-eye as you gave Rafayel a small smile, quietly hoping he'd get the hint and wishfully thinking that he'd remember your special day today.

But, instead you got the exact opposite.

"I'm just too busy today, can't we just take a rain check?" Rafayel responded, giving your hands a quick squeeze before stepping out of your embrace. "We see each other almost every day, don't you think a little space in-between us would do wonders?"

"Rafayel, I haven't seen you in weeks. You haven't called or even bothered to text me anymore. I don't think what I'm asking for it too much to request from you." You pointed out, finally feeling your anger, disappointment, and heartache roll off your body like a wave. At this point, it wasn't just you who felt the energy negating from your body but also from his.

Rafayel didn't waste a second as he spun around and stared at your figure. "Maybe if you weren't such a nuisance in this life, I would actually have the heart to be bothered to be talking with you. If you're going to act this way, then get out."

"You're being real mature right now, Rafayel." You continued as you tried to hold your ground and face him head on despite knowing your heart's about to break at any given moment.

"Well, I didn't ask or need you to come visit me. Get that through your head and get out. I've already got a lot on my plate". This time, he said a little louder than before. Not bothering to spare a glance, he turned his back and continued to paint and mix colors onto the canvas. That action alone was enough to break the dam in your eyes and feel the waterworks making its way to both of your eyes.

As much as you wanted to scream to fight your way through it, you just did not have the strength in your heart to go through another heartache so instead, you decided to back away slowly before turning your back fully at him.

What was meant to be a sweet reunion between lovers had become such a sour end. Not bothering to put up with this energy, you quicken your pace and leave the studio with a loud bang from the door and quickly run out of his home. But of course, you knew, no matter how far you'd run he wouldn't chase after you because after all you were just a bother in his eyes.

Part 2 Tags: @animegamerfox @justanotherreader658 @suhsun4 @sylusbrooch @angiesoftplace @babyx91 @soft-dots

[st4rymoon]

✭ 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 ✭

𝟏𝟖+ | 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 | 𝐀𝐜𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 | 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎'𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: a long read btw, arguing, impact play, academic rivals, slow burn, rough sex, hate sex, language, p in v, make out sesh, unprotected sex, annoying Miguel, reader has some anger issues on the low, breath play, teasing, sexual tension, semi-mean dom, after care

・Part two! Part Three!

“WHAT?” You yelled, both your professor and Miguel looking at you in shock after your professor asked you for a one on one with the both of you.

You could scoff at the way Miguel’s lips curled up into a satisfied smile “Well you and Miguel are my best students, so it would only make sense for the both of you to do a presentation together. I can only imagine the things the both of you will come up with!” Your annoyingly sweet professor clapped.

“ wouldn’t it be better if both of us did our own? We coul-“ You tried to negotiate “Ah ah! I said group project! Now Miguel, do you have anything to say about this? Any complaints like this one over here?”

You sighed as Miguel spoke “Nope, I’d be happy to work with someone in the same range as me” he cockily spoke “Very funny, now since we’ve got this all sorted, go and talk” she smiled, shooing you and Miguel out of the classroom.

You scoffed as you pushed past Miguel “Aww come on sweetheart, you hate me that much?” He cooed following close behind you.

“Shut it” you huffed. Getting paired with Miguel was possibly the worst thing to happen since your high school prom. Miguel was the bane of your existence since the first year of college.

Of course, his good looks and brains were attractive but sooner or later you realized he was going to be a pain in your ass for the next few months of class. You met him in your first biology class, everything was going well until the first exam of the class.

Your professor said the class average was low B’s and high C’s but out of the whole class, two people got perfect scores. Could you guess who the two were?

You and Miguel.

Both of you looked at each other from across the class with the same look in your eyes saying ‘Someone beat me?’. Of course, you both got the same 100% grade but both of you were so used to being the only one on top of the class that this was more than just a score. But your egos.

You both were fully aware to not be in each other's way, only seeing each other when studying at the same place or in class. All was going well for the next 2 exams, but the 3rd one came and you couldn’t believe it.

You got a 98% and Miguel has a perfect 100%. You could see him smile at the results and you hated the professor right now. Why the hell would he show the class? It’s embarrassing, to say the least.

Miguel gave you a wink as you looked his way ever so slightly. Bursting out of the class, you could feel him behind you “2 points down” he chuckled. You wish you would’ve punched him.

And ever since then, he’s made it his life mission to ruin your day. You never got anything other than 100% again, you busted your ass studying just so he couldn’t rub it in.

“I’ll make sure you can’t get us two points down” Miguel hummed as he kept up at your pace. You could feel your blood boiling, god he’s such an asshole. “I’ll email you if I need help” you scoffed.

“Can I get your number? I won’t get the email since my inbox is always spamming” Miguel lied with a smile “fine” you muttered out your number and walked off before he could stop you.

‘Real classy, I wasn’t done talking’ popped up on your screen “Well I am” you messaged back. You were well aware it was Miguel and you didn’t need him to piss you off more than usual.

The second you stepped into your apartment you let out a relieved sigh. Oh, how you missed this place in these insufferable hours. You put on some comfy panties and an oversized hoodie.

You were laid in your living room, soft carpet under you as you finished up some of the slides for your presentation. The knock at your door was the last thing you needed, you groaned in agony as you hated the thought of getting up from your warm spot.

The knocking grew and so did your patience’s “IM COMING!” You yelled. You pulled the door open and lo and behold, Miguel. “For fuck sake man” you whined.

“Glad to see you too!” He smiled as he pushed past you with books in hand. Miguel was born with the talent of hiding his emotions, that talent was most useful here.

He took a deep breath as you opened the door. Your pretty thighs glowing under the baggy hoodie, hair a slight mess and the satisfying look of anger on your face could’ve made him harm.

“Excuse you” you hissed.

He plotted down next to your things and got straight to work. You stood in shock, did he just walk in like this was his house? “Well go ahead and get comfortable” you mocked as you slammed the door in annoyance.

“I am” he sighed as he stretched and leaned onto your couch.

The both of you bickered and sneered at each other the whole time you both worked but even then, the quality was always top-notch.

He didn’t like the way you formatted the information and you didn’t like how he took up a whole slide for a few sentences but both of you compromised. After a few hours, things were less tense, and both of you got used to each other.

“So what do you plan on doing with your major?” You asked, legs crossed and some candy in your mouth as you questioned him “Biochemist” he nodded “It’s always been a passion of mine”

“You sure do have the brains for it” you chuckled. “You don’t with the 98%” he teased. You rolled your eyes, your mood now soured as you remembered his shenanigans.

“Don’t start” you scoff as you get up to get some drinks “Hey hey I’m joking” he laughs, his hand stopping you from leaving as he holds your wrist “I know Sherlock, I’m going to get some drinks for us” you mutter with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he laughed awkwardly, his eyes watching as you grabbed two glasses of water. “So what about you?” Miguel asked “What are you doing with a chemistry major”

“Probably chemical engineering, I’m not sure yet” You shrugged as you handed him the cup. He nodded and watched you sit next to him. Miguel scooted a little closer making you stiffen, sure he was a pain in the ass but he’s sadly one of the most gorgeous guys you’ve seen.

You tried to ignore your thoughts each time he’d stretch and groan, his moans making you think about how he’d sound if it were from pleasure. He’d be vocal you thought.

“Let’s watch something on the TV” you awkwardly smiled as you grabbed the remote and turned on your TV, you laid on your stomach, forgetting you only had panties and a hoodie.

Miguel’s eyes watched you kick your feet up, your glowy legs looking perfect as you looked through whatever you were putting on.

He noticed the pink panties you had on, his tongue instinctively licking his bottom lip as he thought about how good you’d look on top of him. He can imagine it, tits in his face and pussy sleeving his cock as he fucked you full.

He was going to give himself a boner if he kept it up. He focused his eyes on the screen and sighed in relief as you sat back up. You put on your favorite show and sat next to Miguel “We’re almost done with the assignment which is good, how about a few more minutes of break and we get back to work?” You smiled. “Sure”

You felt his hand move behind you, his arm resting above the couch as he let out yet again another ‘stretch’ while his eyes looked at you through his peripheral, you chuckled. How cliche.

You smiled as you decided to make your cliche move. It was obvious there was tension between you two, whether that be anger or sexual, it didn’t matter. “Let me get more gummies” you hummed as you turned to the table beside you and arched your back slightly, an audible moan coming from behind you as your ass was on perfect display.

You sat back beside him, gummies in hand and an innocent look on your face as you offered him some. He scoffed, shaking his head and looking back at the TV. Your eyes widened as you noticed the thick bulge straining against his pants.

“Eyes up” Miguel cockily cooed as he watched your eyes closely. “I- I wasn’t-“You made a pathetic attempt to save yourself but he cut you off “Uh huh uh huh, I know” he mocked.

He smiled down at you with accomplishment, he finally made you shut up for once. “Not going to give me a snarky comeback?” He cooed. “Shut up already God, stop it” you hissed, your eyes rolling as you moved away from him.

“No no” Miguel’s voice made you shiver as his hand held your thigh “I’m playing” he pouted as he glared down at you. You could punch him right but instead, you did something you thought you’d never do.

You pushed him on the couch and slammed your lips on his. Miguel’s hands immediately wrapped around your waist, a loud moan spilling into your mouth as he finally tasted you.

It seemed like Miguel was waiting for you to do this, his hands ran up your thighs hungrily before he flipped you onto your back. You gasped as he spread your legs around his waist.

His behemoth of a body spread your legs wide as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You tangled your fingers into his hair as both of you hungrily kissed each other.

The kisses were messy and rough, teeth nipping at skin and tongues lapping at each other like two animals in heat. None of you even said a word, just heavy breaths, moans, and pure lust.

Suddenly Miguel pulled back from your lips, his eyes glaring into yours as he hovered above you. You could feel yourself getting ready for some snarky comment as you watched his lips curve into a smile.

“You kissed me first”

You groaned as you pushed him off, his hands still on your hips as he flipped you back onto his lap “hey I’m not complaining, It’s just funny since I piss you of so much” he sighed. His palm moved up to your jaw, face brushing against his hand as you took in his warmth.

He watched you lean into his palm like a cat, his body heating up as he realized how small you look in his lap. Your thighs small compared to his but still plump and pretty.

“Can I kiss you again” you shyly asked slightly afraid that he’s reject. “You don’t have to ask me, just do it” Miguel hummed as he pulled you into a kiss.

The kisses were now more sensual and soft, both of you now grinding into each other. His hand curled onto the back of your neck; the other palm pinned behind your spine.

You were glued onto his chest as Miguel’s warmth filled your senses. You’ve never been so warm in your life, the feeling making you tingly as he held you as close as possible. It felt like nothing in the world could hurt you, you felt safe.

“Please” you whispered onto his lips. He tried to not make you mad but he loved seeing you angry “Please what?” He taunts, his lips hovering over your jaw and neck but never touching you.

“Mig don’t tease” you whined as you hit his chest lightly “I’m not, I just don’t know what you’re saying please for” his arms clinging around your waist as he takes in your sweet scent.

You decided to play your games “I want you inside me mig, want to show you how much I need you” you cooed, your hand running down his abdomen and stopping just above his bulge. His breath hitched at your words, he didn’t know if you were fucking with him or not.

“Oh yeah?” Miguel watched you with focused eyes, his hands running up the sides of your thighs and squeezing your ass “You want me to fuck some manners into you? That loud fucking mouth of yours is always pissing me off” he cooed.

Loud fucking mouth? Your hand went up to smack his face in anger but he caught your wrist before you could “Don’t even try it muñeca.” He sternly said “You won’t like what comes with that”

You angrily kissed him as he pressed you flush against his aching cock, his hands pull the baggy hoodie off your body leaving you in your matching panties and bra.

“Fuck” he whispered, hands on your waist as he took in the view he’s been dreaming of since the day he met you. The amount of times he’d imagine fucking your mouth until you shut up was concerning.

You pulled his shirt off in need, throwing it behind you as you ran your hands up his thick muscular chest. He hummed at your soft hands running up his skin.

“Sit up for me?” He mumbled against your skin as he kicked off his sweats. He smiled at how obediently you did as he said “You look prettier when you do as I say” Miguel mocked.

You could care less about his words as his calloused hands pulled your panties off in need “Just shut up and fuck me” you panted. Miguel smiled as he felt your lips pepper all over his jaw and onto his lips, he could see you were just as eager for him as he was for you.

“Beg” he blurted. You ignored him as you rubbed his cock between your folds, both of you letting out moans as you felt each other's warmth. Miguel seethed, arms pinning you up to his chest “Listen”

You hated that you got turned on by the fact that he now had you restricted with just one hand as the other held your jaw up “you want the guy you despise to fuck you? You tell me you hate me every time you see me but look so eager to fuck me”

You were tired of his teasing, you let out a desperate whine, you could see his cock spring up and his tip leaking precum. But like always, Miguel likes to rile you up.

“Beg” he repeated. “Please mig please, just stop teasing ok” you cried. “All you needed to listen to was this?” He purred, hands moving onto your hips as he thrusts into you.

Miguel let out a gruntled moan as he felt your warm wet walls hug him tight, his head falling back onto the couch as he finally felt your pussy squeeze him.

He watched your eyes squeeze shut while you let out the prettiest moans “f- fuck!” You cried, the stretch making you clench even tighter around him as he held you down to his lap.

His cock was fully buried inside you in one go, he’s the biggest you’ve had in every way. It was overwhelming feeling how full you were, you could feel his curves and the tip of his cock nudging at your cervix.

“Breath chula, r- relax” he sighed. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you nodded, you took a deep breath allowing you to make it easier for him to move. “That’s it” he hummed onto your shoulder.

It only took Miguel a few seconds for him to start fucking you onto his lap, your body shaping into his hands, allowing him to use your pussy like a flesh light.

“O- Mig mi-“ you whined out, you couldn’t explain what you were feeling. Your whole body was tingling in pleasure as he rammed into you with pure force. Maybe you did piss him off a lot.

“What? You c- can’t take it? Such a big fucking mouth but can’t take my dick?” He seethed. You let out a pathetic whine at his words, your mind completely fogged in pleasure as you took all of him.

Miguel’s eyes couldn’t leave your pussy, his eyebrows scrunched and his mouth agar as he watched your pussy struggling to take his size. He hissed as you pushed him onto the couch, using his shoulders for support as you bounced onto his lap.

Your pretty moans filled his ears as you took control. Miguel let you take control for a bit, he loved watching how eager you rode him. Your body bounces on his lap, wet sounds of skin slapping echoing into the room.

“Making such a fucking mess” he huffed with a smile on his face, although he was loving this, he wanted to see you completely vulnerable. He thought maybe he was a little sick for wanting to see someone who hated him so much completely ruined under him but he loved it.

You gasped as Miguel lifted you onto the ground, your back hit the soft carpet under you as he stayed buried inside you. “Gotta fuck that stupid little attitude out honey, always disrespecting me. You’re the only one who tries to push my buttons. I love it” he cooed.

Miguel’s calloused hands bend your legs to the side, giving him full access to your tight cunt. “Go- god shi- fuck!” Miguel panted, he was a complete fucking mess.

Sure Miguel’s fucked a few people in his life, but he had no idea if it was just the thought of fucking the life out of you or how perfect your body was for him. He convinced himself it was both.

You clawed and scratched at his chest, your eyes full of tears as he brutally pounded into your “m- Mig I-“You were even more fucked out than him. How couldn’t you?

You had no clue where he got his stamina from, it felt like he’d been fucking you for hours. “Can’t believe you tried to slap me, should I return the favor?” Miguel hissed.

You nodded to his surprise “Please” you whined. “You want me to hit you?” He was surprised by your plead. He knew you’d be a freak in the sheets but you were always so aggressive with him that he expected you to hit him for even suggesting it.

“You’re always a pain in my ass but you just want to be taken care of huh?… What? You need me to pound your pretty pussy out for you to treat me with some respect?”

You nodded eagerly, if you were being honest you couldn’t even take in his words. Your pussy clenched and throbbed around his fat cock in agony but you were taken by surprise when a slap landed on your face “Use your words” he hissed.

Almost immediately you cried “Yes yes! Miguel please I nee- need it, f- fuck ah!”

Miguel chuckled, his hips angled a bit higher which allowed him to hit the perfect stop. His hand flew around your throat, his hips pounding you onto the floor as he let out animalistic moans.

“M- Mig- ah fff- fuckk!” You cried. The restriction of your breathing mixed with his rough pounds caused orgasm hit you hard as your pussy throbbed around him, the tip of his cock nudging at your sweet spot continuously.

Miguel’s eyes rolled back as he felt your nails claw at his arms, your small hand wrapped around his wrist as he fucked you balls deep. His cock plunged into your messy cunt as his balls slapped onto you. “That’s I- that’s-“ he hissed.

He thought about pulling out for both of your sakes but he’d rather just buy you a plan B. “C- can I- inside?” He seethed his eyes burning into yours as you bounced to his thrusts.

You couldn’t get a word out but your legs wrapping around his waist and your nails digging into his back to pull him closer gave him the answer. His lips crashed onto yours as he spilled inside you, his moans spilling into your mouth as his fingers dug into your hips.

He’s never had an orgasm that hard, he was sweating and out of breath as he stilled inside you. The both of you cling onto each other in fear of either of you leaving but that was on the last of your minds.

Miguel lay beside you, his arms pulling you into his as he pressed a kiss onto your forehead. “Was I too rough?” He questioned with concern as he now fully took in how fucked out you looked. “No, it was perfect” you weakly muttered as you nuzzled into his chest.

Miguel sighed in relief as your sweaty body was pinned into his. “Where’s your bedroom?” He hummed as he began to lift you into his arms “left” you sighed as he carried you into your bedroom.

“Let me clean us up and then we can rest yeah? Unless you want me to leav-“

You cut him off before he couldn’t finish “Don’t leave. Please?.” You hummed a bit worried you sounded a little pathetic.

“Wasn’t planning on it love”

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙love language | CL16 LN4˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: charles leclerc x reader y/n (she/her) x lando norris

genre: social media au, polyamorous relationship

warnings: polyamory, dates on tweets make no sense to the story lol ignore them im srsly lazy & idc tbh

summary: in which your boyfriends love languages seem to be polar opposites

a/n: ur wish is my command also im fr running out of plot ideas on my own for the poly reqs LOLL so if u got any ideas then spam my inbox bbyyy

request!!!: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE more poly lando and charles (and kika)

fc: jules leblanc

my masterlist

twitter ->

instagram ->

francisca.cgomes

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, and 414,789 others

francisca.cgomes ☕️ yum

view all 12,053 comments

user2 kikayn my favourite bffs 😻

user3 waiting for lando & charles to comment

user4 charles lando come get ur girl

pierregasly that girl is a bad influence on you babe

yourusername i know ur not talking about me

francisca.cgomes crickets...

yourusername he's scared of me. iktr

francisca.gomes as he should be

landonorris next time i will succeed.

user5 LANDO

pierregasly in what exactly 🤨

francisca.cgomes he wants me dead

landonorris never said that

yourusername you kind of did

landonorris not explicitly

charles_leclerc lando stop causing fights

pierregasly yea lando.

yourusername he's all talk dw

francisca.cgomes yea keyboard warrior much

landonorris pipe down

charles_leclerc my girl so pretty

yourusername 🥰🥰🥰

francisca.cgomes this is why ur my favourite charles

charles_leclerc ❤️

user6 the difference in replies between charles & lando 😂

user7 most chaotic comment section award goes to...

yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 216,823 others

yourusername ...fourple?

tagged: francisca.cgomes, charles_leclerc, landonorris

view all 4,270 comments

pierregasly leaving me out why?

yourusername u hate me i fear 😔

francisca.cgomes not true he's just intimidated by u

user8 justice for y/n

user9 they do poly so naturally

user10 the third pic omggggg y/n & her boys

liked by yourusername, landonorris, charles_leclerc

user11 she's so gorgeous

francisca.cgomes no just ditch them both for me actually!

yourusername well..... actually yes

francisca.cgomes YESSSS i wonnnn

landonorris 🤨

pierregasly 😤

charles_leclerc 😢

landonorris ilyyy hot girl

charles_leclerc mon amour ❤️

user12 i'll never get over lando & charles' completely opposite love languages 😂

liked by yourusername

user13 they r so real i luv them

yourusername posted a story

liked by pierregasly, francisca.cgomes, and 113,077 others

user14 "double" date or third wheel y/n?

user15 CUTIES

user16 kika my 2nd fav wag after u ofc

user17 oh to be a fly on the wallllllll

oscarpiastri are you holding him hostage

yourusername dont you start too

oscarpiastri 🤐

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 301,185 others

yourusername home alone for a week 🏝️

view all 3,747 comments

user18 AWWWW home alone no charlandoyn content

user19 aww lonely girl

francisca.cgomes this is why u need me

yourusername im actually independent

landonorris kika ur obsessed with my gf it's weird

pierregasly bro ur gf is obsessed with my gf too...

francisca.cgomes it's called love. obviously

charles_leclerc i support it 😊

landonorris stfu

pierregasly be quiet charles

yourusername we love charlie <3

charles_leclerc 🥰

user20 will their comment sections ever be normal

user21 i jus know they miss her sm

user22 she's too cool

messages ->

instagram ->

charles_leclerc posted a story

liked by francisca.cgomes, landonorris, and 427,911 others

user23 OMGGG UR WITH Y/N

user24 favs omg

user25 aesthetic affff

user26 perfect couple (should i say throuple?)

francisca.cgomes ugh you guys are back stealing her from me

charles_leclerc you snooze you lose

yourusername posted a story

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 88,283 others

user27 love language strikes again

user28 he's soo sweet and attentive

user29 i want what they have

user30 lomls

charles_leclerc i love you

yourusername ❤️ love you

yourusername posted a story

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 95,162 others

user31 LANDOOOO

user32 LOL this is sooo lando i love him

user33 obsessed with him

user34 i am once again saying opposite love languages

user35 he loves u so much

oscarpiastri i wish my boyfriend would do this!

yourusername hands off, piastri

oscarpiastri 😂

carlossainz55 he is so expressive

liked by yourusername

twitter ->

instagram ->

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, landonorris, and 826,103 others

charles_leclerc happy to be home 🏡

tagged: yourusername, landonorris

view all 11,426 comments

user43 omg the last pic HAHAHA

user44 is that lando with the bows 😂

landonorris no comment

user45 obsessed with this

user46 y/n reveal charles' love language immediately

user47 TELL USSSS @.yourusername

yourusername words of affirmation of course!

user48 im in love w all 3 of them

francisca.cgomes the third pic awwww cuties

yourusername 😘

landonorris being nice all of a sudden?

charles_leclerc don't question it just be happy!

yourusername i love you!!!

charles_leclerc i love you our girl

landonorris 🧡🧡🧡

user49 charlandoyn you will always be famous

landonorris

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 782,538 others

landonorris back where i belong

tagged: charles_leclerc, yourusername

view all 14,402 comments

user50 AWWW

user51 they love y/n sm it's so cute

user52 omg lando being sincere & sweet :))

user53 in his charles era

yourusername aww my sweetest boyy

user54 lando love language reveal y/n!!!

yourusername acts of service ofc 😊

user55 omg🥹🥹🥹🥹

user56 y/n is so gorgeous in the second pic

user57 literally majestic

user58 charles & y/n in the third pic omg me when

user59 i want what they have

charles_leclerc perfect perfect boy

yourusername in every way :)))

landonorris stop it guys im blushing......

THE END ❤️🧡

[sunsetcupid]

BET ON ME ; F1 GRID.

synopsis: When you are dating an F1 driver, it is only natural that your relationship is filled with silly bets, and results as chaotic as the pair of you.

trigger warnings: Use of feminine pronouns from the reader’s perspective; Descriptions of romantic acts and behaviors; Suggestive remarks

a message from the author: As requested, I have added Max Verstappen to this series! If any of you would like to add a driver or request a certain scenario, don’t hesitate to message me in my inbox!

ISACK HADJAR

He’s competitive; you knew that from the very beginning – which made him the perfect mark. A coy smile, a timid “Do you really think you could?”, and he’s hooked.

For a moment, you think you might actually lose the bet. Whatever stupid, fanciful thing it is, Isack excels at it. It could be something as simple as a hula hoop competition, or God forbid who wins the next Mario Kart game. He’s staying even with you. Dare you even say, doing better than you. 

But his good fortune fails, and Isack loses the bet dramatically. And you burst out laughing. Because now! Now he has to wear the ridiculous inflatable plastic cow costume you bought one Halloween and never wore. It’s too small on him and he looks like an absolute idiot, stomping around everywhere, but you think you’ve never been more in love.

OSCAR PIASTRI

As much as Oscar adores a good wager, he’s hesitant. He doesn’t want to be conned into doing something reputation-destroying, but Oscar’s curiosity is what kills him. He shakes your hand, accepting the deal: whoever solves a Rubix’s Cube fastest wins. And the loser has to wear –

“A wizard’s robe…to the paddock?” You nod vigorously, and he sighs, surrendering any last shred of dignity he might have had. “Fine. Might as well; what do I have to lose?”

Apparently, everything. You’ve been secretly practicing your Rubix’s Cube skills, and when he loses the bet, he accuses you (correctly) of doing so. But anyways, despite your “cheating”, he puts it on, and it turns out to be the most hilarious thing you’ve ever witnessed in your life. You force him to make a TikTok with you, and that video goes viral – much to Oscar’s dismay. (Lando never stops teasing him afterwards.)

LANCE STROLL

The bet is 100% meaningless – something about what time it would start raining. Lance was like that: he had so much faith in the weather app that he sometimes ignored the warning signs emanating from the sky. He was effortlessly suave and cocky, and something in you loved knocking him down a peg.

Just as you predicted, it starts pouring ten minutes earlier than the app stated. Lance reacts with a nonchalant, unbothered sigh, responding in a casual tone as if this is normal, everyday life with you. “Guess I have to dress up as a zombie. Are you happy now?”

And you definitely are, when you finish coating on thick green paint on his face and applying the theatrical black-eye makeup. You inch backwards, admiring your handiwork – as well as the smug expression on Lance’s dorkily handsome face. “Not going to lie, you make a pretty sexy zombie.”

LANDO NORRIS

He’s outraged when you claim that he couldn’t win the bet – something childish such as, “Who can make the most backwards-jump hoops?” Your coordination skills are middling at best, but it’s so fun to poke at Lando’s ego and see how he puffs up. 

You go first, Lando citing some old-fashioned saying how women should take the lead as his excuse, and you land five dunks. Not a bad result, until Lando goes. One, two, three – almost four, but that last one misses the rim by a slim margin. 

“Oh, come on, babe. This was rigged! Let me do it again, I swear I can do better!” All defenses that leave Lando’s mouth when he realizes the outcome of the match, but he relents soon after. 

You dress him up as a vampire, giving him plastic fangs and an all-black ensemble. And he plays the part perfectly, acting somber and playfully melodramatic. 

CHARLES LECLERC

He tries to steer your attention away from making the bet, trying to get you distracted with something else, such as watching a movie or getting boba tea at your favorite shop. Nevertheless, you persist, and he gives up.

“So, the game is to see who can fit the most grapes in their mouth at one time? That sounds dangerous, mon ange – I don’t want you to choke.” But you take him to the table, where he sits down, the grapes carton open in front of him. He tentatively places one grape in his mouth. Shortly, his cheeks are bulging with a count of twenty-two grapes.

He dances around the room, victorious…Until you show him the video you recorded two hours earlier, where you were able to fit twenty-five grapes in your mouth. “That is impossible! No way!”

Unlike the others, though, Charles lets you dress him up in the werewolf costume, not fighting you off. In fact, you suspect that it might just be his next Halloween attire for next year.

DANIEL RICCIARDO

He’s in the minute you open your mouth, setting the scene for the most dramatic event of the year. The wager is how long you can keep a balloon in the air, and Daniel thinks he’s got it in the bag. He’s arrogant, claiming, “I’m going to beat the pants off of you!”

The timer starts, and he’s off to a good start. There are a few moments where you really panic, believing that you might truly lose the bet, but you try to keep a level head. A minute passes, then two, three, four. You’re at a loss for words, watching Danny keep bopping the balloon over and over like an expert.

And then you see it fall on the ground. Danny freezes, his mouth opening the slightest bit, as if he cannot believe his eyes. “Nooooo!” He wails. “I can’t believe this happened!”

You have to wrestle him into the chicken costume, but it’s worth the effort and energy. “I guess I’ve evolved. Look out, world. Here comes Daniel Eggciardo!”

MAX VERSTAPPEN

He waves you off, citing sim time as a necessary and valuable use of his time. “I can’t be playing around, liefje, I have a championship to win.” But after you keep wheedling, he concedes, because he’s a man who wants to keep his chaotic girlfriend satisfied.

The game is to see who can ice a cookie better blindfolded. You got the supplies from your mother, who is a baker, and Max scoffs. “I can’t believe she’d betray me like this.” He puts the blindfold on, nearly sending the cookie flying across the counter, but he successfully ices the dessert.

It’s your turn, but you’ve got your plan laid out and ready to be utilized. It’s fool-proof. And when you whisk the blindfold off, you know you’ve succeeded. Max rolls his eyes; nonetheless, he allows you to give him the ninja costume you bought from a cheap Spirit Halloween store. 

When he wears it? You make sure to snap several photos, keeping it safe and sound for future blackmail uses. “I can’t believe I did this. I must love you very, very much, schatje.”

Credits: Dividers — @fae-and-wolf

[revelboo]

May I request a one-shot of The Ark (I cant get the idea of Optimus freaking out when he sees his ship cajoling with a human lol) TFA Skywarp or WFC Air Raid?

There are four requests for the Ark in the mess that’s my inbox and I couldn’t figure out why. I didn’t realize in the later iterations he transforms 🤣 I don’t remember him transforming in G1, but maybe he did? But I get it now. Big boi

Scenario- lonely

Ark x Reader

• “Optimus?” Looking up to find Ratchet frowning at him, Optimus rubs a hand over the back of his neck. Trying to figure out the strange, new notification on his datapad from the Ark. “You need to see this,” Ratchet adds, pointing. And following him into command, he stops short. “Any idea where they came from?” Because there’s a human he’s never seen before sitting on a console as text scrolls. And then flourishes of strange looking, little red shapes. The Ark chatting away to them.

• They’re staring at him as he coaxes and flirts with you, but he’s beyond caring. Do they have any idea what it’s like to be stuck like this? Treated like an inanimate object they live in? And now having to watch and listen to some of them romancing these soft, little ethereal creatures. Though, Optimus and a couple others aren’t just romancing. Having to listen to and watch them fragging their humans leaving him frustrated and pent up. Don’t they realize he has needs, too?

• Glancing down as his datapad chimes again, he holds it down so Ratchet can read, too. The original message a demand for “a fully integrated avatar with complete sensory nets or in lieu of that, a drone.” The latest message saying “you crashed me into a mountain. I’m stuck. I’m horny and you owe me.” Hears Ratchet make a strangled noise as another notification pops up. “And I recorded everything.”

• Satisfied with that little bit of blackmail, Ark turns his attention back to you. Loving the way you smile for him, so eager to ask questions. So excited to talk to another species. And watching the bots interfacing with their humans? He wants that. A soft, affectionate little mate. Someone that won’t treat him like an object, who’ll see him for who he is. Not just as ‘the ship.’

• Who’d have thought aliens were real? Or so sweet? Smiling as more sweet talk and little hearts scroll across the console, you hear voices and turn. Oh. Lifting a hand in a little wave at two huge, alien robots, you can’t stop grinning. Because this is amazing. No one’s ever going to believe you.

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