#so i think that might be it too. like someone who is just chill with him and watches movies with him basically

[jzprncess]

the neighbor effect

pairing : oscar piastri x reader

oneshot

word count : 9,449

summary : Y/N moves to Monaco for a fresh start, thinking it’s just gonna be her, baking, and figuring things out. Then there’s her neighbor, Oscar—super chill, always around, but completely mysterious. They bond over cookies and muffins, and Y/N has no idea that he’s actually a Formula 1 driver. But when the Monaco Grand Prix weekend rolls around, everything goes haywire when Y/N realizes she’s been living next to someone way more famous than she ever imagined. Between all the confusion, a surprise kiss, and the chaos that follows, Y/N’s not sure if she’s in over her head—or if she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.

note : i had to rewrite parts of this over and over again. this is my longest fic so far, lets clap it up. i actually cooked with this one, please like it.

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Moving to Monaco in the middle of December sounded a lot more glamorous in theory. In reality, I spent my first night huddled under three mismatched blankets, seriously debating whether the heating in my shiny new apartment was broken or if this was just what Mediterranean winter felt like.

I’d moved here for a fresh start, something about leaving old baggage behind and stepping into the next chapter of my life. Except no one tells you that starting over often means spending a lot of time alone, wondering if you made the right decision.

That’s how I found myself in the hallway on my second day, struggling to carry a too-large box labeled Kitchen Stuff & Regret. I hadn’t realized how much I’d overpacked until I was halfway to my door, my arms trembling under the weight.

“Need a hand?”

The voice startled me, and I nearly dropped the box. I turned to see a guy standing a few feet away, wearing a black hoodie, gray joggers, and a curious expression.

“Uh, no, I’m good,” I lied, immediately regretting it as the box tilted precariously.

“Right,” he said, clearly unconvinced. Without waiting for permission, he stepped forward and took the box from me like it weighed nothing.

“Show-off,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help but smile.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Just being neighborly.”

“Thanks,” I said as he followed me to my door. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Oscar,” he replied, setting the box down inside my apartment.

Up close, I could see he was probably around my age—early twenties—with sharp features and an easy confidence about him. He glanced around my half-unpacked living room, taking in the mess of boxes and furniture.

“Just moved in?” he asked.

“Yeah. Trying to figure out where I want everything before I give up and let chaos take over.”

He smiled, nodding toward the box. “Well, good luck with that. I’m right across the hall if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” I said, leaning against the doorframe as he stepped back into the hallway.

“See you around,” he said with a nod before disappearing into his apartment.

And just like that, I had my first real interaction with the mysterious neighbor across the hall.

After he left, I stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at the closed door across from mine like it might open again. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. With a shrug, I kicked the box into the living room, officially declaring it a problem for Future Me.

The next few days were a blur of unpacking, assembling furniture, and discovering that Monaco in December was a lot colder than I’d prepared for. Gone were my delusions of sipping coffee on the balcony in the morning sun. Instead, I huddled inside, bundled in my coziest hoodie, and watched the world outside through the frost-slicked windows.

Oscar, true to his enigmatic vibe, was nowhere to be seen. A part of me wondered if he was some kind of ghost who only materialized to save clumsy new neighbors and then vanished into the ether. But his sporadic comings and goings proved otherwise—sometimes I’d hear the ding of the elevator late at night or the faint shuffle of footsteps in the hallway. I never caught him, though.

Until one particularly cold Saturday morning.

I was juggling a steaming mug of coffee, my phone, and a box of garbage bags as I headed for the trash chute at the end of the hall. The scene was already precarious, but things got worse when my phone buzzed with a notification. I glanced down instinctively, and that was my fatal error.

One wrong step, and my foot caught on absolutely nothing because I’m just that talented. I stumbled forward, my coffee cup slipping from my grasp in a glorious slow-motion arc.

“Oh, sh—”

A hand shot out, catching the cup mid-air.

“Impressive,” came the familiar voice.

I turned, my face hot with embarrassment, to see Oscar standing there, coffee cup in one hand and an amused smirk on his face. He was in the same casual uniform as before—hoodie, joggers, and sneakers—but this time with a beanie pulled low over his head.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” I said, trying to play it cool despite the very uncool way I’d almost face planted.

“You’re welcome,” he said, handing me the cup.

“How do you keep showing up exactly when I’m about to embarrass myself?”

“Great timing, I guess,” he replied, leaning against the wall.

I could tell he was holding back a laugh, which only made me more flustered. “Do you just hang out in the hallway waiting for me to trip over thin air, or…?”

“Caught me,” he said, deadpan. “It’s my new hobby.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Well, thanks for the save… again.”

“No problem.” He glanced down at the garbage bags I’d dropped in the chaos. “You planning to carry all that to the chute by yourself, or should I brace for round two of Disaster Neighbor?”

“Ha, ha,” I said, handing him a bag. “Since you’re offering, you might as well help.”

third pov

By the time they made it to the trash chute, Y/N had successfully recovered from her near wipeout—mostly. Oscar, on the other hand, seemed far too amused by the whole thing.

“So,” she said, trying to fill the silence as they walked back to their apartments. “Do you just live in the gym, or are you naturally good at catching falling objects and lifting heavy things?”

He shrugged. “Bit of both.”

“Not much of a talker, huh?”

He glanced at her, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “I talk when there’s something to say.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Mysterious and vague. Classic.”

They stopped outside her door, and for a moment, there was an awkward silence. She fiddled with the sleeve of her hoodie, suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were standing.

“Well, thanks for the help. Again.”

“Anytime,” he said, his tone casual but warm.

She opened her door, stepping inside. As she turned to close it, she caught him glancing down the hallway, like he was debating something.

“See you around?” she offered.

“Yeah,” he said, meeting her gaze. “See you around.”

The door clicked shut, and Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She leaned against the door for a moment, her mind replaying the interaction like a movie montage.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

And for now, that was enough.

y/n’s pov

It all started with a craving and a little too much confidence.

Baking had always been my go-to for stress relief, but I tended to overestimate how much one person could realistically eat before things got weird. Case in point: the mountain of oatmeal walnut cookies currently cooling on every flat surface of my kitchen.

“Great job, Y/N,” I muttered, surveying the sugary battlefield. “Really nailed the whole moderation thing.”

The smell of warm cinnamon and toasted walnuts was amazing, but even I had limits. Unless I planned on eating cookies for every meal for the next week—which, tempting as it sounded, probably wasn’t the move—I needed a plan.

That’s when my eyes flicked toward the door across the hall.

My neighbor hadn’t been home much, but when he was, he seemed nice enough. And if anyone looked like they could put away an entire batch of cookies without breaking a sweat, it was the guy who casually caught flying coffee cups and lifted trash bags like they were empty.

Grabbing a plate, I stacked a neat pile of cookies on it, covering them with foil. I debated for a second, wondering if this was too random, but then I thought, What’s the worst that could happen? Worst case: no one’s home, and I keep the cookies. Best case: I earn brownie points—or, well, cookie points—with the mysterious dude across the hall.

Balancing the plate in one hand, I opened my door and stepped into the hallway.

third pov

Y/N hesitated in front of Oscar’s door, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet the hallway was. For all she knew, he could’ve been halfway across the world. But before she could talk herself out of it, she raised her free hand and knocked lightly.

There was a pause, long enough for her to start retreating, but then she heard the lock turn.

The door opened to reveal Oscar, looking a little rumpled but still effortlessly put-together in a hoodie and sweats. His hair stuck up slightly, like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Uh, hey,” Y/N started, holding up the plate like an offering. “I, um, baked too many cookies and thought… maybe you’d want some?”

For a second, Oscar just blinked at her. Then a small smile tugged at his lips, softening his usual stoic expression. “Cookies?”

“Oatmeal walnut,” she said, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous. “Unless you’re allergic to walnuts. In which case, I’m so sorry, and I’ll just—”

“I’m not allergic,” he cut in, stepping aside. “Come in.”

y/n’s pov

I followed him into his apartment, still holding onto the slightly awkward feeling of standing at someone’s door with a plate of cookies. His space was immaculate—like a showroom. Sleek black counters, stainless steel appliances, and not a single thing out of place. My own apartment, with its half-unpacked boxes and cluttered surfaces, suddenly felt like a war zone by comparison.

“Wow,” I said, glancing around. “Your place is… ridiculously clean. Do you live here or just visit?”

He smirked as he placed the plate of cookies on the counter. “I’m not here much. It’s easier to keep clean when you’re gone half the time.”

“Fair,” I said, leaning against the counter as he peeled the foil off the plate. “Meanwhile, my place looks like I’m hoarding cardboard boxes and random piles of clothes. Maybe I’ll just hire you to organize for me.”

He glanced up, an amused glint in his eye. “I’ll pass. But thanks for the offer.”

I laughed. “That was fast. I didn’t even get to bribe you with more cookies.”

“Speaking of,” he said, picking one up and turning it over in his hand like he was inspecting it for quality control, “what made you bake… this many?”

“Stress,” I admitted, crossing my arms. “Unpacking is the worst. Plus, I’m a chronic over-baker. I think I made about sixty.”

He raised an eyebrow, taking a bite. “Sixty?”

“Give or take.”

“You know there’s only one of you, right?”

“That’s why I’m here,” I said with a grin. “I figured I’d share the wealth.”

He nodded, chewing thoughtfully. After a moment, he swallowed and said, “These are good.”

“You’re not just saying that, are you? Be honest.”

“I’m serious,” he said, reaching for another. “If I didn’t like them, you’d know.”

“Good to know you don’t sugarcoat things,” I said. “No pun intended.”

“Sure it wasn’t,” he said with a small smirk.

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “You’re lucky I like honesty. Anyway, I hope you’re hungry because I’ve got a whole army’s worth of these across the hall.”

“I can tell,” he said, grabbing a second cookie. “You ever thought about selling these?”

“Selling cookies? No, not really,” I said, a little flustered by the compliment. “I mean, it’s just a hobby.”

He leaned against the counter, taking another bite. “Could be a profitable hobby.”

“Oh yeah? Think I could make it big with oatmeal walnut cookies? Maybe I’ll start a cookie empire.”

“Could be worth a shot,” he said, his tone completely serious, though I could see the hint of humor in his expression.

“Alright, well, if I go global, I’ll make sure to mention you in my TED Talk about chasing my dreams,” I said with a laugh.

“Appreciate it,” he said, deadpan.

I shook my head, still smiling. “Alright, I should get going. Don’t want to interrupt your… whatever you were doing before I showed up.”

He glanced toward his living room, where a laptop sat open on the coffee table. “Wasn’t doing much. Just catching up on some things.”

“Well, now you’ve got cookies to keep you company,” I said, pushing off the counter.

“Thanks for these,” he said, walking with me toward the door. “They’re seriously good.”

“Anytime,” I replied. “And if you ever need more… or, you know, want to start organizing my apartment, just let me know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, opening the door for me.

I stepped into the hallway and turned back to face him. “Enjoy the cookies, Oscar.”

“Thanks, Y/N. See you around.”

As the door clicked shut behind me, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. It was such a simple interaction, but it left me feeling lighter somehow—like I was finally settling into this new life, one cookie and awkward conversation at a time.

third pov

The morning light streaming through the kitchen window felt different today, like a fresh start. Y/N stood at the counter, stirring a bowl of banana bread batter with a slight smile on her face. She had a steady rhythm, something she had found comfort in since moving to Monaco. Today, however, was different. She wasn't just baking for herself or because she had nothing else to do.

After dropping off the cookies to Oscar yesterday, she’d felt an odd rush of excitement. Oscar hadn’t said much—just thanked her and ate them right there—but there was something in the way he seemed genuinely happy that had sparked an idea in her head.

Maybe I should actually consider this...

She’d been thinking about it all night, the thought gnawing at her in the quiet moments before sleep. A job. Something more than just living off her savings while she figured out what to do with herself. The idea of working in a bakery, helping people start their day with something sweet, didn’t sound half bad. Maybe she’d make some friends along the way, too.

She paused mid-stir to glance around her kitchen. It was quiet—too quiet. Her move to Monaco had been a whirlwind, and while the city was beautiful, the loneliness had crept in unexpectedly. She had only met Oscar three times, and those encounters hadn't been enough to spark a friendship, though he had been kind enough to compliment the cookies she’d given him. But she still didn't have his number. She had no way of reaching out to him for anything beyond another casual greeting if their paths crossed again.

With a sigh, she refocused on her muffin batter. The oven was preheated and ready for the batch of banana muffins she had planned. She didn’t even need the muffins for herself—she simply needed something to do.

She scrolled through a few ads on her phone for bakeries and cafes around Monaco, her fingers flying across the screen as she filled out application after application. Maybe, just maybe, this would be the start of something new.

The smell of ripe bananas filled the room, and Y/N smiled. There was something simple and grounding about baking. She didn’t need anyone else to validate her, but a small part of her wished she had someone to share the muffins with. Maybe she would take a batch to one of the cafes she’d applied to, just to show that she could bake more than just cookies.

The timer went off, signaling that the muffins were done. She pulled them from the oven, their golden tops warm and inviting. As she arranged them on a cooling rack, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a step in the right direction.

Oscar’s casual suggestion about working at a bakery had lingered with her since yesterday. She hadn’t really considered it before, but now, with a fresh batch of muffins in hand, it felt like the right time to take action. She’d send some applications today, maybe stop by a few places, and see where it led.

Even if it was just a way to get out of the apartment, maybe it would help her feel a little less alone.

After a few hours of cleaning up and putting away the last batch of muffins, Y/N sat on her couch, scrolling through her phone. She had sent a few applications and gotten a couple of quick responses asking her to come in for interviews. The thought made her feel lighter, like she was moving in the right direction. But, as she scrolled through her messages, she found herself wondering about the cookies she'd given Oscar yesterday.

What if he didn’t even like them? she thought for a second, gnawing at her lower lip. She had never done something like that for a neighbor before. It was a little… weird. But then again, they had barely talked, and she'd barely known anyone here. He probably just thought it was some random act of kindness, nothing more.

Still, she couldn't help the little spark of excitement that lingered in her chest.

With the muffins cooling on the kitchen counter, Y/N decided to go for a walk to clear her head. She tossed on her coat, scarf, and gloves—layers that were necessary with the December chill in the air—and left her apartment. The streets of Monaco were quieter now, the city settled into the crisp stillness of a cold winter evening.

As she made her way down the narrow streets, her breath puffed out in little clouds in front of her. The air was freezing, her fingers cold against her gloves, but the walk felt necessary. It was good to get out, especially with how cooped up she had been lately. The familiar feeling of solitude wrapped around her as she passed by boutique storefronts with their windows adorned for the holidays, the twinkling lights reflecting off the damp cobblestones.

She stopped at one of the cafes, the warm, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and pastries pulling her inside. The door closed behind her with a satisfying jingle, and the warmth hit her face immediately. She smiled, relieved to be out of the cold.

“Coffee?” the barista asked as she walked up to the counter.

Y/N nodded, pulling off her scarf. "Please. A hot cappuccino, if you’ve got it."

The barista gave her a warm smile as she prepared the drink, and soon enough, Y/N had a steaming cup in her hands. She found a small corner table by the window and sank into the chair, basking in the warmth of the café. It was a cozy little spot, the kind where time seemed to slow down.

She stared out the window as the temperature outside dropped even further, the last few people hurrying by in layers of coats and scarves. The city felt almost otherworldly, peaceful and cold, a strange mix of quiet stillness. Y/N took a sip of her cappuccino and leaned back, letting the warmth seep into her bones.

It was then that she heard the door open again, a jingle sounding through the cafe. She glanced up, her eyes scanning the new arrivals. Her gaze landed on the familiar figure—Oscar, her neighbor, walking in with his coat zipped up tight against the cold.

He spotted her right away and waved with a grin. "Hey, Y/N!" he greeted her.

Y/N smiled back, a little surprised to see him here but pleased. “Hey, Oscar. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah, I just needed a quick coffee break,” he said, walking up to the counter. He ordered something quickly, then turned back toward her. “How’s your day been?”

She shrugged, feeling a little shy now that they were actually talking. “Good. Just baking and applying for some jobs,” she said, gesturing to her cup. “Needed to get out for a bit. It's freezing out there.”

Oscar nodded, his expression sympathetic. “I know what you mean. It’s cold enough to freeze your breath. I was just out getting some stuff for my place.”

The small talk felt comfortable, and Y/N found herself a little more relaxed with him standing there. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy—just a neighbor.

“Well, it’s nice to see a friendly face,” she said, smiling. “Monaco's a little lonely for me right now, to be honest.”

Oscar smiled back. “I get that. I moved here for work, and it's not always easy to adjust. You’re not alone, though. Everyone here’s pretty friendly.”

Y/N appreciated the sentiment and nodded, taking another sip of her drink. “Thanks, Oscar. It’s good to know.”

As he grabbed his coffee, Oscar gave her a wave before heading to a table by the window. Y/N returned to her thoughts, a warm feeling lingering in her chest. They hadn’t exchanged more than pleasantries, but something about the simple, easy conversation made her feel a little less isolated.

Y/N took another sip of her cappuccino, her eyes still lingering on Oscar as he settled at a table by the window. She couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a weirdly comfortable interaction, like one of those moments where you just feel like you clicked with someone—even if it was just casual banter about the cold.

And then, as she sat there thinking about how chill the whole thing had been, something inside her clicked.

A rush of confidence hit her like a wave. She wasn’t gonna sit here thinking about it for another second. She stood up, grabbed her cup, and made her way over to Oscar’s table like she owned the place. No hesitation. She slid into the seat in front of him without asking, crossing her arms with a mischievous grin.

“Well, well, you’re sitting so far from me. I was just telling you how lonely I was, and here you are, acting like you’re too cool to sit with me,” she said, eyebrow raised, voice teasing.

Oscar blinked in surprise for a second, clearly not expecting her to come over. But then he chuckled, clearly amused. “Wasn’t trying to be rude. Just thought I’d give you some space.”

“Oh, no space needed,” Y/N shot back, pretending to think for a second. “But if you want, I did make some banana muffins. 25 of them, actually. So, uh, you can have some later, I guess… if you’re lucky.” She leaned back, her tone playful.

Oscar’s grin spread wider, and Y/N could swear she saw his eyes light up a little at the mention of food. “Banana muffins, huh?” he said, leaning forward in his seat, the playful energy between them clear. “You’re really trying to tempt me, huh?”

Y/N smirked. “Maybe. Maybe not. I guess you’ll have to find out later.” She took another sip of her cappuccino, looking around the cozy café for a moment before her eyes landed back on him. “So, what’s your story, anyway? Besides buying coffee and sitting by windows, I mean.”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, clearly comfortable now. “Not much to tell,” he said casually. “Just trying to survive this cold. What about you, Y/N? What’s your deal?”

Y/N just shrugged, feeling more at ease with each passing second. “Oh, you know, baking muffins, trying to find a job, avoiding getting too lost in the city…” She shot him a quick look. “Honestly, though, Monaco’s a little weird, but I’m getting used to it. It’s quiet, but not the fun kind of quiet.”

Oscar nodded, his smile softening. “I get that. I felt the same when I first moved here.”

They both sat there for a few seconds, enjoying the unexpected company in a way that felt surprisingly easy for a random Tuesday afternoon.

Y/N leaned back in her chair, letting the conversation with Oscar flow naturally as they both sipped their drinks. The winter air outside had only gotten colder, but the warmth from the café made it all feel like the perfect backdrop for the two of them to talk.

“So,” Y/N began, her eyes catching his, a sudden boldness hitting her again. “Since you’re clearly not going to accept my muffin offer until later, how about we do something else next time? You know, before I leave Monaco to escape all the cold?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Escape the cold, huh? Where would you even go?”

Y/N shrugged, tapping her cup with a playful grin. “Maybe I’ll find a place that has better heating. Monaco’s nice and all, but a little more sunshine wouldn’t hurt.”

“Fair point,” Oscar chuckled. He paused for a moment, then looked at her with that signature, easygoing smile. “I could show you around sometime, if you wanted. Monaco’s got some hidden gems.”

Her heart gave a little skip at his suggestion, but she played it cool. “I’d like that. But I’m not one for getting lost in tourist traps, so it better be good.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not taking you to the usual spots,” he said, leaning back slightly, amused. “I promise. You’ll actually see some of the cool stuff here.”

She smiled, feeling the conversation shifting toward something a little more personal. And then, almost as if it was the next step, Y/N caught herself hesitating, but quickly brushed it off. “Well, if we’re going to plan that, we should probably exchange numbers. You know, in case I want to text you to stop you from taking me to any tourist traps.”

Oscar reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He handed it to her without a second thought.

“Good call,” he said with a teasing grin. “Here you go.”

Y/N took the phone and entered her number, her fingers flying across the screen. She handed it back to him with a smirk. “There. Now you can’t ghost me when I ask for your ‘hidden gem’ suggestions.”

Oscar laughed, saving her number with a nod. “Not planning on ghosting. I’ll make sure you get to see all the cool spots in Monaco.”

Y/N took a sip of her drink, the buzz of the conversation still lingering between them. It felt weirdly easy, and she liked that. “Alright then. It’s a date,” she said with a wink.

“Not sure if it’s a date,” he teased, “but I’ll take it.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, the connection between them feeling a little more real. “Fine, not a date,” she replied, “but when it happens, I’ll hold you to that promise.”

few months timeskip

Over the next few months, Y/N and Oscar settled into an unspoken rhythm. They didn’t see each other often, but when they did, it felt easy. Whether it was quick coffee breaks at the café or a casual text exchange about the best banana bread recipe, they managed to keep in touch.

Oscar, as expected, was always on the move. Y/N had asked him once what he did for work that kept him jet-setting around the world, but his response had been vague. Something about traveling for events and having a packed schedule. She didn’t push for more details, assuming it was some high-level corporate gig or freelance work that required constant relocation. Either way, she didn’t mind. They had their moments, and that was enough for now.

As for Y/N, she had settled into Monaco in a way that felt almost surreal. After a few weeks of relentless job hunting, she’d landed a position at one of the coziest bakeries in the city. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was exactly what she needed—a place to bake, to create, and to lose herself in the comforting scent of fresh bread and pastries.

Her days were now filled with kneading dough, piping frosting, and experimenting with new recipes. The bakery had its quirks, from the slightly eccentric owner who insisted on playing 80s pop music all day to her coworkers who ranged from quiet and reserved to downright chaotic. Somehow, it all worked. Y/N found herself laughing more, learning more, and slowly but surely, calling Monaco home.

Outside of work, Y/N was finally starting to build a life for herself. Some of her coworkers had become fast friends, dragging her out of the kitchen and into the buzzing nightlife Monaco had to offer. From late-night drinks at chic rooftop bars to dancing under neon lights at clubs tucked away in narrow streets, Y/N found herself embracing a side of life she hadn’t tapped into before.

It was one of those rare free days where Y/N could relax and enjoy the slowly warming Monaco weather. The gentle breeze carried in through the slightly cracked window, and the temperature hovered at a perfect 65 degrees—just cool enough to make the indoors cozy but warm enough to remind her that summer was around the corner.

Her kitchen counter was a controlled chaos of melted chocolate, parchment paper, and a vibrant pile of freshly washed strawberries. She’d decided on a whim to make chocolate-covered strawberries—a light, summery treat that felt perfect for the day. At first, it had been fun, methodically dipping each strawberry into the glossy chocolate and adding a drizzle of white chocolate for flair. But somewhere along the way, she’d gotten carried away.

When she stepped back and looked at her work, she let out a soft laugh. “This is... way too many strawberries,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head. She grabbed one and took a bite, the sweetness of the strawberry perfectly balancing the richness of the chocolate.

As she finished the last one, her gaze fell on a smaller bowl she’d unconsciously filled. Without thinking, she began packing it up to bring to Oscar. It had become second nature by now—whenever she baked, she always set some aside for him. But as she made her way to the door, bowl in hand, she paused.

Her mind caught up to her actions, and she froze, staring at the door. “Wait... he’s not even home,” she muttered, groaning softly. Of course, she knew Oscar was traveling. He always was. So why had she automatically prepared something for him like he’d just be next door?

She stared at the bowl, her cheeks burning as the realization hit her. “Oh my god, I miss him,” she whispered to herself, the words making her cringe as they left her lips. She set the bowl down on the counter and groaned louder, pressing her hands against her flushed cheeks.

The thought swirled in her head, undeniable now that it had surfaced. She liked him—more than as just her friendly, quiet neighbor. She liked him in a way that made her heart race and her brain short-circuit.

She groaned again and began pacing the room. “No, no, nope. I am not catching feelings for a guy I barely know,” she muttered. But even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. They’d been building something—small moments of connection over the past few months that had left her looking forward to every knock on the door or text message.

With a huff, she grabbed her phone and typed out a quick text:

y/n : when are you coming home??

She hit send before she could overthink it, tossing the phone onto her couch and flopping down beside it. The May breeze drifted in, carrying the scent of spring flowers, but Y/N couldn’t shake the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “This is going to be... complicated,” she muttered to herself, covering her face with her hands.

Y/N’s phone dinged, cutting through her spiraling thoughts. She sat up quickly, snatching the device from where it had landed on the couch. Her heart did a little flip as she saw Oscar’s name pop up on the screen. She unlocked it to read his response:

oscar : I’ll be back in like 2 weeks but only for a bit—what’s up? 👀

She stared at the message, a small smile tugging at her lips. Of course, he’d throw in the eyeball emoji—it was such an Oscar thing to do, always mixing casual with a bit of humor.

For a moment, she debated how to respond. She couldn’t just say, Oh, nothing, I just made too many chocolate-covered strawberries and realized I might like you—that would be mortifying. Instead, she opted for something neutral, a safe middle ground:

y/n : Oh, no reason. Just wondering! Hope it’s not too hectic for you.

As soon as she hit send, she groaned softly, leaning back against the couch. That was a lie, but what else could she say? She put her phone down and rubbed her temples, trying to ignore the sudden burst of warmth in her chest. Two weeks wasn’t that long, right?

Still, the thought lingered in her mind: she’d never been this excited for someone to come home before.

two week timeskip

Two weeks had passed in a blur, the days slipping by faster than Y/N anticipated. The Italian Grand Prix had wrapped up over the weekend, and Monaco was buzzing with excitement for the upcoming race. The city had been transforming in preparation—barricades going up, streets morphing into a circuit, and the harbor becoming a sea of luxury yachts.

Y/N hadn’t seen or heard much from Oscar since his text, but she’d been counting down the days. He’d said he’d be home this week, and while she wasn’t exactly waiting by her door, she had taken it upon herself to have some baked goodies ready. Just in case.

A tray of brownies sat cooling on her counter alongside a tin of lemon cookies, and she was busy wiping down her kitchen counters when a knock echoed through her apartment.

Her first instinct was casual curiosity—probably her neighbor asking to borrow something or the package delivery guy. Without overthinking, she grabbed a towel to dry her hands and headed to the door, opening it mid-yawn.

And there he was.

Oscar stood on the other side, casual as ever in a hoodie and jeans, his hair slightly messy, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His expression was warm, a soft smile playing on his lips as he raised a hand in greeting.

“Hey,” he said, his voice calm, like it hadn’t been two weeks since they last spoke.

Y/N blinked, gripping the door frame for a second. She’d spent days prepping treats for his arrival, imagining this exact moment, and now her brain decided to freeze. “You’re here?” she blurted, as though he wasn’t standing directly in front of her.

His smile widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. “Yeah, I figured I’d drop in unannounced. Hope that’s cool.”

She shook off her surprise, stepping aside to let him in. “Uh, yeah, obviously. Come in!”

Oscar stepped inside, glancing around her apartment like he always did, his eyes eventually landing on the counter full of baked goods. He raised an eyebrow and gestured toward it. “You bake for me, or is this just, like, an everyday thing?”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up as she quickly shut the door. “I mean... maybe a little of both?” she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “I wasn’t sure when you’d show up, so I figured better safe than sorry.”

He laughed, dropping his bag by the couch. “You’re unbelievable. You know that, right?”

“Is that a thank-you?” she teased, crossing her arms with a smirk.

Oscar plucked a cookie off the tray, taking a bite and humming dramatically. “That’s me saying you’re way too nice to me. This is amazing, by the way.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips anyway. Seeing him standing there, relaxed and happy, filled her with a warmth she didn’t quite know what to do with.

Oscar finished the cookie and grabbed another without asking, leaning casually against her counter like he belonged there. “So, what’ve you been up to? Still baking up a storm every day?”

Y/N smirked, grabbing the tray of brownies and cutting them into perfect squares. “Pretty much. Got to keep the bakery stocked and the bills paid somehow. Plus, it’s Monaco—people are weirdly obsessed with pastries here. Speaking of, how was Italy? Or wherever you were this time?”

Oscar hesitated, his chewing slowing down. “Uh, yeah. Italy was... busy. Lots of... work.”

She raised an eyebrow, catching the slight awkwardness in his tone. “Work? You’re always traveling for this mystery job of yours. You must be a spy or something.”

His laugh came a little too quickly, and he avoided her gaze by grabbing a brownie. “Yeah, something like that. I’d tell you, but then I’d have to... you know.” He made a mock gun gesture with his fingers, winking playfully.

Y/N snorted. “Very convincing. Totally not suspicious at all.”

Changing the subject, Oscar gestured toward the goodies she’d prepared. “You’re going to spoil me, you know that? Showing up with treats, stocking your place with more of them... You’re setting a dangerous precedent.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Y/N teased, nudging him gently as she carried the brownies to a tin for storage. “I only bake extra when I’m bored.”

“Or when you miss me,” he added, grinning mischievously.

Her hands froze for a split second, her cheeks heating up as she quickly turned back to the brownies. “In your dreams,” she muttered, but the way her voice wavered slightly made him chuckle.

Oscar didn’t press further, instead grabbing a glass of water and perching on the armrest of her couch. “So, the monaco grand prix coming up,” he said casually.

“Yeah, the whole city’s already turning into one big construction zone,” Y/N replied, plopping down onto the couch next to him. “Feels like everyone’s losing their minds over it. What’s the big deal? Is it, like, a festival or something?”

Oscar blinked, his lips parting slightly in surprise before quickly recovering. “Uh, yeah, kind of. It’s... a big event. Happens every year.”

She nodded, leaning back into the cushions. “Well, hopefully, it’s not too crazy. Are you staying for it?”

“Yeah, I’ll be around,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “At least for a bit. But it gets hectic, so I might disappear again.”

“Classic Oscar,” Y/N said with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Hey, I’m here now, aren’t I?” he countered, nudging her with his elbow.

“You are,” she admitted, glancing over at him. Their eyes met briefly, and for a second, the air between them felt heavier, like something unspoken lingered just beneath the surface.

Before she could dwell on it, she cleared her throat and stood up. “Anyway, brownies are cooling, cookies are packed, and now you have snacks for however long you’re staying.”

Oscar smirked, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head. “And here I thought you just liked having me around.”

Y/N grabbed a pillow from the couch and lightly tossed it at him. “Don’t push your luck.”

He caught the pillow effortlessly, laughing. “Fine, fine. But seriously, thanks. It’s nice being back. Even if it’s just for a bit.”

Her smile softened, and she nodded. “Yeah. yeah.”

The evening carried on in easy conversation, the kind of flow Y/N had come to enjoy when Oscar was around. He had a way of making the hours slip by without her even realizing it.

At some point, she found herself sitting cross-legged on the floor while Oscar took up most of the couch, recounting a chaotic story about a “work trip” that involved a delayed flight, a misplaced bag, and someone accidentally ordering 40 sandwiches. He was animated as he spoke, using hand gestures and exaggerated expressions to emphasize every twist and turn.

“So, there I was,” Oscar said, his voice growing serious, “stuck with 40 ham and cheese sandwiches at 3 a.m., wondering if this was some kind of cosmic punishment.”

Y/N burst into laughter, clutching her stomach as tears formed in her eyes. “You’re kidding. Please tell me you ate at least one.”

“Of course, I did,” he replied, grinning. “I ate five. And then I passed out on a bench because there was nowhere else to sit. Absolute rock bottom.”

Y/N shook her head, still laughing. “You live such a weird life. Sandwich catastrophes at 3 a.m. while traveling the world for your super-secret job? Must be exhausting.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s a lot sometimes. But I guess I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

There was something in his tone, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that made her pause. She wanted to ask more, to dig deeper, but she hesitated. She didn’t want to ruin the lighthearted mood.

Instead, she grinned and teased, “Well, if you ever need someone to help you through another sandwich crisis, you know where to find me.”

Oscar laughed, tossing a couch cushion at her. “Noted. You’re officially on my emergency sandwich team.”

The sound of their laughter filled the room, and for a while, everything felt easy and uncomplicated.

A little later, after the plates were cleared and the leftovers tucked away, Oscar stood by the door, his duffel bag back in hand.

“Thanks for letting me crash your evening,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Crash? Please, I basically invited you the second I opened the door,” Y/N replied, smirking.

He smiled, lingering for a moment. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said softly, leaning against the doorframe opposite him. “Don’t forget to grab some of the cookies on your way out. And the brownies.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to fatten me up or something?”

“Maybe,” she teased. “It’s part of my evil plan.”

He chuckled, reaching out to ruffle her hair before stepping into the hallway. “See you soon, Y/N.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Y/N stood there for a moment, her heart fluttering in a way she wasn’t quite ready to admit.

The week passed quickly, the anticipation of the Monaco Grand Prix hanging in the air. The city was buzzing with energy, but Y/N kept herself busy at work, focusing on perfecting her recipes and keeping her mind off the person who had quickly become a constant presence in her thoughts.

But no matter how busy she kept, she couldn’t help but wonder when she’d see him again—and if things between them would ever shift into something more.

As the Monaco Grand Prix loomed closer, Y/N found herself noticing the increased buzz around the city. Banners and posters for the event were plastered on every available surface, and crowds started trickling in. Y/N had no idea what all the fuss was about, aside from the fact that everyone seemed excited.

Oscar had been texting her throughout the week, and she’d been looking forward to catching up with him again. She was in the middle of prepping a new batch of pastries when she heard a familiar knock on her door.

“Hey,” she greeted, opening the door to find Oscar standing there, looking casual in a tee and shorts, clearly just back from a training session.

“Hey yourself,” he replied, stepping inside. “How’s it going?”

“Busy as always,” Y/N said, wiping her hands on a towel. “But I’m managing. The bakery’s been crazy with all the tourists. You’d think I was selling gold instead of cookies.”

Oscar chuckled. “Yeah, Monaco gets a little nuts this time of year.” He glanced around, then looked back at her with a grin. “You know, with the Grand Prix coming up, I was thinking—you should totally come with me this weekend. I’ll be around, and I could use some company. I’m pretty sure you’ve never seen anything like it.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not sure what he meant. “The Grand Prix? What is that, like, a huge concert or something?”

Oscar blinked, surprised by her response but quickly recovering. “Uh, no, not really. It’s... um, a big race.”

“A race?” Y/N echoed. “Like cars?”

“Yeah, like super-fast cars,” Oscar explained, trying not to laugh. “Formula 1 cars. It’s kind of a big deal around here.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait, so this race is happening in the city?”

“Yep,” he said, nodding. “And it’s one of the biggest races of the season. You should come check it out. It’s a whole experience.”

She hesitated for a moment, trying to process the idea. “I mean, sure, why not? I could use a little break from the bakery chaos. But I’m warning you, I’ll probably get lost in the crowd or something.”

Oscar grinned, clearly pleased. “I’ve got you covered. You won’t get lost, I promise. Plus, I’ll introduce you to a few people, show you the ropes. It’ll be fun.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a little bit nervous but mostly excited. “Okay, okay. I’m in. This better be worth it though. I still don’t quite get why people are so obsessed with fast cars but... I’m trusting you on this one.”

Oscar laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it once you see it. It’s kind of... a big deal.”

Y/N chuckled along with him. “Alright, Mr. Big Deal. I’ll be there. Just try not to get too race car driver on me while I’m there, okay?”

Oscar flashed her a teasing grin. “No promises.”

grand prix weekend

As Y/N walked toward the spot where she and Oscar had agreed to meet, her eyes wandered over the bustling atmosphere of the Monaco Grand Prix. The crowds, the cameras, the fancy cars, and the buzz of excitement around every corner... it was a lot to take in. But then her gaze landed on something that made her stop in her tracks.

A massive banner stretched across the track, featuring none other than Oscar Piastri. His face was larger than life, his cool expression and trademark cap making him look effortlessly slick.

Y/N blinked twice, then rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. But there it was, Oscar in full glory, with the words "Oscar Piastri: Formula 1 Driver" plastered across the banner in bold letters. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and she felt her stomach drop.

She stared at it, mouth slightly open, her brain short-circuiting as the pieces finally clicked together. “Wait… Oscar? Formula 1? That Oscar?” She repeated the words in her head like a mantra, trying to wrap her brain around it.

Her eyes darted from the banner to the people around her, and suddenly everything clicked in a dizzying rush:

Oscar Piastri... was a famous Formula 1 driver.

That meant—wait, no—that meant she had been casually baking cookies, banana muffins, and chocolate-covered strawberries for someone who was literally famous?! She had been living next door to a real-life celebrity and hadn’t even known it?? And… she was actually crushing on him?

Her mind was doing a full-on loop-de-loop. How had she missed this? How did she not realize that this guy who always wore cool clothes, who was constantly traveling, who had fans… was the same person she’d been baking for like it was no big deal? Was this… was this a dream?

She started internally panicking. What do I do now? She had been baking for a guy who was in the public eye—what did that even mean for them? Did she just like someone who everyone else liked too? Is that even a thing? Was she seriously living next door to someone who raced for real in Formula 1?! She was losing it.

At that moment, she felt like she might spontaneously combust from the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Her stomach flipped, and she had to press a hand to her forehead, trying to keep it together. “Oh my god, Y/N. Get it together,” she whispered under her breath.

Just as she was trying to regain her composure, she spotted Oscar coming into view, looking effortlessly cool as usual, his sunglasses perched atop his head as he walked toward her. His face broke into a grin when he saw her.

“Hey, you okay?” Oscar asked, noticing the slightly shell-shocked look on her face. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Y/N blinked a few times, forcing herself to smile, but her mind was still reeling. She barely managed to get out a normal response. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, her voice a little too high-pitched for her own liking. “Just… uh, just saw something… interesting.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, looking at her with mild curiosity. “Interesting? What did you see?”

Y/N panicked for a second. She couldn’t tell him she just discovered he was basically famous and was now spiraling over it, right? She gave herself a quick mental shake. “Uh, yeah, just, uh, a banner,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the giant image of him from earlier. “And, um… I just realized that… I, uh, live next to someone famous. Which is, like… wild.”

Oscar blinked, clearly not expecting that response. “Ohhh, yeah, that’s a thing. I mean, you’ve been living next to a race car driver. That’s gotta be weird, huh?”

Weird didn’t even begin to cover it, but Y/N just laughed, even though it sounded a little forced. “I guess? It’s just... a lot to process. You really are famous, huh?”

Oscar chuckled at her expression, clearly amused. “You could’ve asked, you know. But yeah, I guess I am,” he said casually, as if being on giant banners was just part of his daily routine.

Y/N groaned, feeling a rush of heat on her cheeks. “I feel like such an idiot,” she muttered, half to herself.

Oscar laughed, clearly oblivious to the full extent of her internal freakout. “Nah, you’re good. I’m just glad you’re here. Let’s enjoy this whole thing together.”

But Y/N could barely focus on anything except the fact that she had been baking for someone famous. This was too much.

As they continued toward the track, Y/N’s thoughts swirled in a thousand directions. She liked him, but now she had to figure out how to deal with the fact that she liked someone who was literally in the spotlight. Was it even okay to have a crush on someone who had so many eyes on him? She didn’t even know what to do with that knowledge yet.

And as they entered the paddock, Y/N had a feeling this weekend was going to be a lot more intense than she ever expected.

Y/N had barely been able to wrap her head around the fact that she was actually sitting in the heart of the action—inside Oscar’s team’s box in the garage, watching the practice and qualifying sessions unfold in front of her eyes.

Oscar had been in and out, prepping for his runs, chatting with the team, and making sure everything was in top condition. He had that natural, focused energy about him, and it was hard to look at him without being amazed by how effortlessly cool he was under pressure.

Y/N, on the other hand, was absolutely blown away by everything. The speed of the cars, the noise, the sheer intensity of it all—it was like nothing she had ever experienced. The walls of the garage were lined with equipment, the hum of activity filled the air, and people were buzzing about with headsets and clipboards, all focused on their roles. But even with all the chaos, Y/N's attention kept drifting back to Oscar.

“Don’t worry, I won’t crash,” he joked, noticing the look on her face as he grabbed his helmet and prepared to head out.

Y/N managed a nervous laugh, trying to calm the fluttering feeling in her chest. “You better not,” she teased, though she was pretty sure it was more for her own peace of mind than anything else.

Oscar shot her a grin before heading out to the car, and Y/N couldn’t help but watch with wide eyes as he slipped into the cockpit. The cars revved to life, the unmistakable sound of the engines vibrating through the garage. Oscar’s car was a blur as he took off down the track for his first practice lap.

She couldn’t help but feel a weird mix of awe and pride. That’s Oscar, she thought, barely able to keep her jaw from dropping. He was out there on the track, racing like it was second nature. The guy who had been chilling in her kitchen, eating cookies, was now doing something so epic, it didn’t even seem real.

As Oscar tore through the circuit, Y/N’s eyes stayed glued to the monitors in the box. His lap times popped up in front of her, and she felt a nervous, excited energy pulse through her. She didn’t know much about Formula 1, but she could feel the intensity of it all.

“Look at him go,” she muttered to herself, completely captivated by the raw speed and precision. It was like watching someone glide on air—only way faster, and way more intense.

The minutes flew by, and soon enough, Oscar’s car zipped back into the pits, and he jumped out, helmet off, a grin on his face. Y/N couldn’t help but smile back, her heart racing in sync with the adrenaline of the day.

“You’re amazing,” she said as he walked over, still catching his breath from the run.

Oscar gave a modest shrug, though the grin never left his face. “It’s all in the details,” he said with a wink. “But, yeah, it feels pretty good.”

Y/N shook her head, still processing how cool the whole thing was. “You’re insane,” she laughed, feeling a mix of admiration and a bit of disbelief at the whole experience.

Oscar leaned against the garage wall, looking at her. “You’ve got the best seat in the house, you know?”

She smiled, feeling her chest tighten at the compliment. “Yeah, I can’t believe I’m actually here. It’s… it’s all a bit much, honestly.”

Oscar chuckled. “Well, get used to it. You’ll be seeing a lot more of this.”

Y/N just nodded, still wide-eyed. There was so much she was still processing—how she’d gone from living next to a normal guy to sitting in a garage at the Monaco Grand Prix watching him race. It was wild. And somehow, incredibly thrilling.

Then, without any warning, Oscar took a small step closer to her. The next thing Y/N knew, his hand was on her cheek, pulling her into a kiss that was both unexpected and electric.

She froze for a split second, her eyes wide in shock. Her heart pounded in her ears. It was quick, but it was enough to send a wave of dizziness through her. The kiss was soft, lingering just a moment longer than she could’ve imagined, before Oscar pulled back with a mischievous smile.

Y/N stood there, stunned. Her heart was racing, and her mind was reeling. The cameras around the garage had caught the whole thing, and within seconds, a replay flashed across the monitors, broadcasting the moment live for all to see.

Oscar’s grin widened, clearly aware of the reaction. “Guess I’m full of surprises,” he teased, his voice low, his eyes never leaving hers.

Y/N blinked, still processing what just happened. Her cheeks were burning. “What the—”

But before Y/N could say anything else, Oscar's grin grew wider as he looked up at the screen. "Well, that's gonna be on TV now, huh?"

Y/N's eyes snapped to the monitors, and her stomach dropped. The kiss, clear as day, was playing across the screens for everyone to see. Her face turned beet red.

"Seriously?" Y/N muttered, still trying to process it. "That just... happened. On TV. Wow."

Oscar chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Well, that’s out there now. You good with that?”

Before Y/N could answer, she leaned in, surprising him with a kiss. It was quick but full of impulse, a way to make things feel less chaotic and more... real. When she pulled away, she didn’t flinch or apologize—she just gave him a small grin.

Oscar blinked in surprise for a moment, his lips curling into a grin. “Guess you weren’t planning on waiting, huh?”

Y/N shrugged casually, unfazed. “Guess not.”

Oscar let out a low laugh, his eyes never leaving hers. “No going back now.”

Y/N shook her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Guess not."

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

taglist : @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton @ssarqhxo @rainy-darling @mymilkshakefun @hs2016 @linnygirl09 @akulici

[servndipityz]

namgyu with alternative reader? perchance.. smut🫶🫶😁

a/n ── i'm so nervous about this one! i hope i didn't do a terrible job on portraying alt culture (i know nothing about it). i kinda tried to make it not super specific so anyone can feel identified. again, sorry if it's lowkey bad. it's also my first time writing smut, believe it or not, but i've had years of experience reading it so i don't think it's that bad. enjoy :)

STRIPPED

warnings ── smut, +18 MDNI!!! porn w plot. drug usage, sex under the influence, sex in a club, fingering, orgasm denial, degradation, light choking, kinda brat taming? p in v, unprotected sex, creampie.

word count ── 4.6k

he'd ended up there. of course, he'd ended up there. only someone as unlucky as him could wind up at some fucking goth party. or punk. or… whatever. he didn't really care about the whole thing—the dramatic makeup, the dyed hair, the incredibly loud music blaring through the club. none of it.

nam-gyu had envisioned a chill night on his free day, but no. of course, his co-worker had to get sick. of course, nam-gyu owed him money for the pills he'd given him last week. of course, he had to cover for him that night.

and, of course, it was alternative night at club pentagon. usually, his co-worker handled these kinds of nights—special events, themed parties, all that.

what did nam-gyu know about alternative culture anyway? he wondered the same thing as he weaved through the crowd, making sure everyone was having a good time, keeping an eye on bar sales.

so far, he'd been stepped on twice—not too bad, except when it came from one of those platform boots everyone seemed to be wearing. those hurt like hell. but at least the night was going smoothly. for now.

so good, in fact, that nam-gyu figured it was time for a drink. he'd been working for hours, making sure this party ran smoothly. he owed that co-worker a lot of drug money, and this was the only way to settle it. it’s not like he’d ever do this out of the kindness of his heart.

he made his way to the nearest counter, resting his elbows on the cool marble as he waited for someone to take his order. he couldn't help but wonder how anyone could actually dance to this loud-ass english music that sounded more like screaming. he'd take the regular techno dj any day.

meanwhile, you finished pouring a vodka red bull and handed it off to yet another customer. that's when you noticed him.

he stood out—not in a good way.

hunched over the counter, inspecting it like he might find some cocaine stuck in it (which, honestly, he probably would if he looked hard enough), looking like a wet rat. his clothes gave him away. who even let him in like that? plain black shirt, black jeans, a couple of rings.

he looked up as you approached.

his first thought was that your leather top made your tits poke out. his second was that, without all that emo makeup, you'd actually be pretty cute.

his third was what the highest-alcohol-content drink he could order was.

he opened his mouth to ask, eyes flicking to the bottles behind you—

but you spoke first.

"you're ruining the vibe, man."

he frowned, caught off guard.

you just raised an eyebrow, speaking over the loud music. "i said, you're ruining the vibe."

"i'm not doing anything," he scoffed, annoyed. he just wanted to order his damn drink. last thing he needed was some lecture.

"exactly," you said. "you don't belong here. what are you even doing?"

not like you actually cared. you were here to do your job, bartend, make money, go home. but this guy—standing there, stiff shoulders, sharp jawline, judging everything and everyone, probably without even realizing it—looking at you like that, eyes dragging over you like you were some kind of curiosity—

yeah. he rubbed you the wrong way.

being alternative, you already got judged enough. the last thing you needed was someone doing it at an alternative party.

he frowned even further. "i'm here to work. not that it's any of your business."

that caught you off guard for a second. "you work here?" your head tilted, curiosity slipping into your tone. you leaned over the counter, the neckline of your top shifting just a little lower. who knew—if this guy was someone important, you had to use all your charms. especially after being so rude. "i've never seen you around, and i always bartender at these kinds of parties."

his gaze flickered down your cleavage before snapping back to your eyes. but you saw it. the way his jaw clenched, the way he suddenly looked more annoyed than before—like he was mad at himself for looking.

"i'm not thrilled either," he mumbled, clearly uninterested in conversation. "just covering for a friend. now, could you actually do your job and get me something to drink?"

you bristled at his tone, raising a brow as you turned to the shelves of bottles. "jeez, someone's grumpy. what can i get you?"

in reality, nam-gyu wasn't grumpy. well, he was, but that was just how he was. it was just... for some reason, you made him nervous. the girls he usually dealt with at clubs were boring bitches trying to get a VIP card or whatever drugs he had in his pocket.

you were the opposite. rude. annoying. and he didn’t like that. but for some reason, it made his blood rush somewhere else, clouding his brain.

"just give me a shot," he said after a pause. "something strong."

you turned your head slightly, a smile playing on your lips—the kind that sent a shiver down his spine. you walked back to the counter, reaching for a bottle hidden underneath.

"drinking on the job?" you asked while pouring the liquid into a shot glass, then casually grabbing a second one.

nam-gyu let out a short, amused huff. if drinking was the worst thing he’d done on the job, he’d be in a much better place. but he watched curiously as you poured the second shot, his eyes flicking up through his lashes, brow slightly raised.

"what?" you asked playfully. "if you’re doing it, so can i."

you finally set the bottle back and raised your glass. he mirrored you, his eyes never leaving yours. there was something in his expression—almost a smile. you entertained him.

"cheers," you said, clinking your glass against his before downing the shot in one go. he followed suit, setting the glass back on the counter, suppressing a grimace at the sharp burn of alcohol.

“so,” you said, clearing your throat slightly after the shot. “who’s the friend you’re covering for?”

nam-gyu said the name, and your eyes widened.

“that junkie, huh?” you smirked. he chuckled. “yeah, i know him. he’s a little more talkative than you, though.”

nam-gyu narrowed his eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing. it’s okay to be shy.” your voice was innocent, teasing, calculated. you'd decided that you'd had enough, that you might as well have some fun. “anyway, my shift’s almost over. wanna get out of here?”

“i’m not shy.” he sounded offended, then glanced away, considering your offer. “and i told you, i’m working.”

you huffed. “fine. just needed someone to smoke this with." you reached into your back pocket and pulled out a tiny zip-lock bag filled with greens. "guess i'll have to find somebody else."

now that caught his attention. maybe almost as much as your exposed skin did. suddenly, he was interested. but also suspicious.

“what do you have?” he asked, leaning slightly over the counter, his voice lower, more serious.

“your junkie friend gave it to me for a gig i did. said it’s good shit.” you shrugged, playing it cool, acting uninterested—like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. and he took the bait.

“why would you wanna share it with me?” he still sounded wary, but there was something else in his tone now. curiosity. maybe even something close to interest.

you groaned dramatically. “look, i’m heading to the staff room. you coming or not?” you said, already turning away, signaling to your co-worker that your shift was over.

now, nam-gyu didn’t need weed. not exactly. he could probably find ten of those zip-lock bags hidden in his place, forgotten in favor of other, harder drugs. but he also wasn’t the kind of guy to say no to free drugs.

especially not from such a petty girl.

you grinned to yourself as you felt him rush to walk behind you, trailing after you through the club like he didn’t know the way like the back of his hand.

as you reached the hallway leading to the staff room, nam-gyu couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on your half-ripped fishnets, the way they framed your legs under that short black skirt. was he here for the weed or for you? he wasn’t really sure, and he didn’t care much.

you finally reached the door, slipping past a few couples too caught up in each other to notice, and he shut it behind him. the staff room was small, dingy, and reeked of bleach and cigarette smoke, but you still sank onto the worn-out sofa next to the table like it was the most comfortable place in the world.

you leaned back, stretching your legs out just enough for your skirt to ride up slightly. not too much—just enough to make him notice. and he did.

nam-gyu stood near the door for a second, like he was reconsidering this, before scoffing to himself and dropping onto the couch beside you. he was close, not touching, but enough that the warmth of him was noticeable. enough that when he exhaled, you could feel the faintest brush of his breath against your shoulder.

"roll it," he said, nodding at the bag in your hand.

you raised an eyebrow. "you're really bad at asking nicely, huh?"

he just looked at you, serious. "you’re really bad at shutting up."

that made you laugh. he was watching you now—really watching you—as you pulled out the papers, fingers working effortlessly, licking the edge just to see his reaction. you weren’t disappointed. his jaw flexed again, his eyes dark, tracking your every move like he was trying to pretend he didn’t care. like he wasn’t already leaning back, manspreading, trying to act like he had the upper hand here.

cute.

you tucked the blunt between your lips, lighting it, taking a slow drag before passing it to him.

nam-gyu hesitated, just for a split second, then took it, bringing it to his mouth. his fingers brushed yours in the handoff, and it was stupid how that tiny touch sent something sharp down your spine. or maybe it was just the way he inhaled, head tilting back, exposing the sharp line of his throat as he exhaled, smoke curling lazily from his lips.

you licked yours.

the weed hit, slow and warm. the music outside was muffled, the sounds of the party fading into the background, leaving only this—dim lighting, the scent of smoke and alcohol and something else, something charged.

"you always do this?" nam-gyu asked after a beat, voice lower, lazier. "lure random guys into the staff room for a smoke?"

you smirked, tilting your head. "only the rude ones."

he huffed, shaking his head, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch like he was trying not to smile. he passed the blunt back, his fingers lingering just a second longer this time. you let them.

the room felt smaller. warmer.

"you always this uptight?" you asked, taking another slow hit. "or just with me?"

nam-gyu let his head roll against the back of the couch, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes. "you always this annoying? or just with me?"

you exhaled smoke, letting it curl between you. "you like it."

he didn’t answer. but he also didn’t look away.

you were both leaning back now, legs almost brushing, breaths slow and measured like you were both pretending not to notice the heat building between you.

nam-gyu wet his lips, head still resting against the couch, eyes flicking to your mouth before he caught himself and looked away. like it was a habit. like he was trying so fucking hard not to slip.

you took one last hit before stubbing out the blunt in the ashtray beside you. then, shifting slightly, you turned toward him, letting your knee press against his thigh. deliberate. slow. testing.

"you're staring," you murmured.

he scoffed, but it came out weaker than he probably meant. his hands clenched into fists on his thighs like he was keeping himself still on purpose.

"you’re high," he muttered, looking away.

"so are you." you tilted your head, voice dropping, playing with the edge of your ripped fishnets like you weren’t watching the way his gaze followed the movement of your fingers. "and what, does that mean i can’t see the way you’ve been looking at me all night?"

nam-gyu exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "i haven’t been—"

"you have," you cut in smoothly, shifting closer, feeling the warmth of his body now, solid and tense. "you’re mad about it. i can tell."

his jaw clenched.

"tell me," you purred. "are you mad because you don’t like it? or mad because you do?"

his fingers twitched on his thigh. his breathing was heavier, controlled, like he was still fighting it. fighting you.

so you leaned in, lips just close enough to ghost over his ear. "it’s okay," you whispered. "you can touch me."

and that was it.

nam-gyu moved so fast you barely had time to smirk before he grabbed you by the back of the neck, his lips crashing into yours, hot and desperate, all teeth and pent-up frustration. his other hand found your waist, yanking you onto his lap, and fuck—he wasn’t holding back anymore.

he was done fighting it.

and so were you.

his lips were all heat, all pressure—nothing hesitant, nothing soft. you barely had a second to adjust before his teeth caught your bottom lip, his fingers gripping the nape of your neck like he wanted to own you. his other hand, firm on your waist, yanked you flush against him, and fuck—he was hard.

not that he acknowledged it. not that he’d ever admit that you’d done this to him.

your knees bracketed his hips as you settled onto his lap, rolling your hips down just enough to feel him. his grip tightened, nails digging into the meat of your waist. he hissed against your mouth—half warning, half surrender.

“you don’t play fair,” he muttered, lips grazing your jaw now, teeth scraping skin, testing.

your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt. “neither do you.”

his hands dropped—one to your thigh, sliding under your skirt, fisting in the torn mesh of your fishnets. the other traced the curve of your ass before shoving you down against him again, this time deliberate, a slow grind that made both of you exhale sharp.

his breath was uneven, warm against your throat. “you think i haven’t noticed?” his fingers curled, gripping tight enough to bruise. “the way you’ve been—” a sharp pull at the fishnets, a rip, cool air hitting skin—“fucking teasing me?”

you laughed, half-gasping when his tongue flicked against the pulse at your neck.

his fingers dipped, pressing against the damp heat of your panties, no patience, no hesitation. his other hand was now tangled in your hair, keeping you locked right where he wanted—breath hitching as he rubbed slow, teasing.

then his hand moved, fingers slipping beneath the fabric, warm against your skin, sliding between your thighs. the first touch was barely there, just a single fingertip running along your slit, slow, teasing.

you squirmed, but he didn’t let you go. “look at you,” he murmured, mocking, the pad of his finger dragging over your cunt, pressing just enough to make you shudder. “all that attitude, but you’re already—” he exhaled sharply, felt it before he even had to say it—so fucking wet.

"fuck," he muttered, more to himself than to you, his forehead resting against yours for a second like he was trying to collect himself. but his fingers were still moving, sliding along the slickness of you, testing, exploring, spreading it just enough to make you squirm.

"yeah?" you murmured, voice breathy, teasing. "you like that?"

his only response was a low, quiet curse under his breath before he pressed his fingers in deeper, the tips just barely pushing inside before pulling back, slow and torturous. he was watching you now, eyes dark and half-lidded.

and then, without warning, he slid one finger in, slow but firm, curling just enough to make your breath catch. your nails dug into his shoulders, and his other hand tightened on your hip, holding you steady.

"fuck," you whispered, rolling your hips into his touch, chasing it, needing more.

nam-gyu chuckled, low and smug, and then he added a second finger, stretching you just a little more, fucking you slow and deep with just his hand. the angle was perfect, his fingers pressing against that spot inside you that made your toes curl, made your breath come faster, needier.

"you’re so fucking tight," he murmured, more fascinated than anything, watching the way his fingers disappeared inside you, the way you clenched around them. he twisted his wrist slightly, his palm pressing against your clit as he fucked you with his fingers, setting a rhythm that had you grinding against him, chasing that pressure.

your moan was quiet but desperate, and he smirked, eyes flicking up to yours.

"you always this easy?" he murmured, his voice taunting, dark.

you opened your mouth to snap something back, but then he crooked his fingers just right, pressing deeper, and your words dissolved into a gasp, your head tipping back. his lips were on your throat a second later, sucking, biting, leaving marks you’d have to cover up later.

his pace picked up, fucking you harder with just his fingers, each drag of his palm against your clit sending another sharp wave of heat curling low in your stomach. the room was quiet except for the sound of your breathy moans, his heavier breathing, the slick sounds of his fingers working you open.

"you gonna come?" he murmured against your skin, his voice rough now, strained.

you swallowed hard, your fingers tightening in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. "fuck—don’t stop," you breathed.

nam-gyu felt it—felt the way your body tensed, the way your thighs shook against his hips, the way you were right there, so fucking close. he could see it too, in the way your mouth parted, in the soft, breathy little gasps escaping your lips, the ones you were trying to swallow back like you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

but he wasn’t that generous.

just when you thought he’d let you tip over, when your body clenched down around his fingers so tight he could barely move them, he pulled away.

just—gone.

the sudden loss was so sharp, so fucking unfair, that you let out a frustrated, needy little whine before you could stop yourself, your hips rolling forward, chasing after the feeling, after his hand, anything. but nam-gyu just sat back, bringing his wet fingers up to his lips, slipping them into his mouth with a slow, deliberate hum.

"mm," he mused, tongue flicking over them, eyes locked on yours. "not bad."

"are you fucking kidding me?" you were panting, legs still shaking where you straddled him, your body on fire, needing more, needing anything. your eyes flashed, your hands curling into fists against his chest like you were two seconds away from either punching him or ripping his shirt off.

he just smirked. "what?"

"you—" you gritted your teeth, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. "you’re such a fucking asshole."

nam-gyu chuckled, low and lazy, his hands dragging up your thighs again, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just to remind you he still had you exactly where he wanted you. "maybe, but you're still here," he murmured. "still dripping for me."

"yeah, because you didn’t let me cum, you dick," you snapped, rocking forward again, grinding against him, feeling the hard, thick press of him through his pants. he was just as worked up as you were, and you could tell—he was trying to play it cool, but his breathing was heavier, his fingers twitching against your skin like he was barely holding himself back.

that made you smirk. "ohhh," you taunted, rolling your hips again, slower this time, watching his jaw clench. "that’s why, huh? you’re hard as fuck and don’t wanna finish before i do."

his eyes darkened, his grip tightening on your hips. "watch your fucking mouth."

"or what?" you leaned in, brushing your lips against his ear, letting your breath tickle his skin. "you gonna do something about it?"

that was it.

one second you were teasing him, playing your little game, and the next you were flat on your back, your spine pressing into the shitty, worn-out couch, his body caging you in. his hand was already shoving your skirt up, fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down your thighs, not even bothering to be careful.

"you talk too much," he muttered, voice rough, breath hot against your jaw.

"and you do too little," you shot back, just to push him, just to make him snap again.

it worked.

his hand was on your throat, not squeezing, just there, just pressing, just reminding you that he could if he wanted to. his other hand yanked at his belt, the metal buckle clinking as he undid his pants, as he shoved them down just enough to free himself.

fuck.

you’d felt it before, pressing against you, teasing, but now you saw it. thick, flushed, leaking at the tip, the kind of length that made your thighs press together instinctively, made you bite your lip even as you refused to let him see you flustered.

nam-gyu saw it anyway.

"knew you wanted it," he muttered, running the head of his cock along your slit, dragging it slow through your wetness. "acting like a brat, but your pussy’s already begging."

"shut the fuck up and—"

he pushed in, just an inch, just enough to make you gasp, make your nails dig into his arms.

"yeah?" he exhaled sharply, his jaw tight, like he was already holding himself back. "that what you wanted?"

you barely had time to adjust before he thrust forward again, burying himself deep, stretching you in one slow stroke that left your back arching, your head tipping back against the couch.

"fuck—"

nam-gyu groaned, low and almost desperate, his forehead pressing against yours as he bottomed out, as he let you feel every fucking inch of him.

"you feel that?" he murmured, breath ragged, his hips rolling just a little, just enough to make you whimper. "how tight you are? how you’re fucking squeezing me?"

you couldn’t answer. you couldn’t think. all you could do was feel—the way he filled you, the way he stretched you, the way he stayed there for a second, teasing, waiting, making you want it more.

you swallowed, trying to catch your breath. "you gonna move, or you just like teasing your own dick?"

his laugh was low. then he pulled back and slammed into you, knocking the breath from your lungs.

"fuck—"

your back was pressed against the couch, legs spread wide, thighs trembling as he held you open. his body caged yours beneath him, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other gripping your hip, keeping you still as he drove into you with rough, unforgiving thrusts. his cock filled you completely—thick, hot, deep—dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, making you gasp with each desperate slap of his hips against yours.

"you gonna be good now?" his voice was low, ragged, dark with amusement. his grip tightened, fingers digging bruises into your skin. "or you still wanna run your mouth?"

you tried. you really did. you opened your lips to snap something back—something mean, something cutting, something to remind him you weren’t easy to break.

but all that came out was a choked moan as he grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his.

"that’s what i thought," he murmured against your lips, his breath hot, his mouth just barely brushing yours, teasing. "bratty little thing—talking shit. but look at you now."

his hand wrapped around your throat, fingers pressing just enough to keep you in place. not squeezing. just controlling. just owning. his other hand slipped between your bodies, two fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the swollen bud.

"fuck," you gasped, your hips rolling up instinctively, chasing that pressure, that friction.

nam-gyu chuckled, low and smug. "yeah? you like that?"

you wanted to tell him to fuck off. you really did.

but then he twisted his fingers just right, his cock hitting that spot inside you at the same time, and your body jerked, your moan breaking into something desperate.

"that’s it," he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw, his pace still brutal, relentless. "don’t fight it. you wanna cum, don’t you?"

"yes—yeah," you panted, nails scraping against his wrist where he held your throat.

he pulled back suddenly, dragging his cock out until only the tip remained, making you whimper at the loss. his fingers abandoned your clit, and before you could protest, he did something worse—something filthier.

he spat.

the wet warmth of it landed directly on your pussy, slick and obscene. your whole body jolted.

"fuck—" your breath stuttered, your back arching as heat shot through you.

nam-gyu groaned at the sight, at the way you clenched, the way your body reacted so instantly, so helplessly.

"you like that, huh?" his voice was thick with satisfaction, his fingers dragging through the mess, smearing it over you, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles.

you shouldn’t. you really shouldn’t.

but the heat in your stomach coiled even tighter.

"say it," he ordered, his voice rough, his cock pushing back inside you, stretching you open again, slow and deep, making you feel every inch. "tell me you fucking love it."

your pride cracked. your body betrayed you.

"fuck—i love it," you gasped.

nam-gyu groaned, his breath hitching, his pace quickening. "good girl."

and then his fingers returned, rubbing messy circles over your spit-slicked clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, pushing you higher, harder—

you were already close. too close.

"fuck—fuck, i’m gonna cum," you choked out, hips jerking against his hand, against his cock, chasing it. "please—please don’t stop—"

and this time he didn’t.

he fucked you through it, his fingers never letting up, his pace relentless, driving you higher, harder, until it finally snapped—

your orgasm hit like a fucking wrecking ball.

your body clenched down on him so tight he cursed under his breath, his rhythm faltering for the first time. the pleasure crashed over you, your whole body shaking as you moaned through it, loud and wrecked, the sound swallowed by the shitty little staff room.

"fuck—fuck, yeah, that’s it," nam-gyu groaned, his grip on your hips bruising now, his thrusts rough and desperate as he chased his own release. "god, you feel so fucking good—"

he buried himself deep, his breath stuttering, his cock twitching inside you, and then he was coming, his grip tightening, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as he groaned low into your skin.

for a second, all you could hear was the ragged sound of your breathing, the quiet hum of the party outside, the distant bass thudding through the walls.

nam-gyu exhaled, slow and shaky, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your waist, still holding you, still pressed against you.

then he pulled out, groaning at the sight of his cum spilling out of you, dripping between your thighs.

he smirked, dragging a lazy finger through it before pressing it against your lips.

"open," he murmured.

you did.

and fuck, the look in his eyes when you sucked it clean—

you were so fucked.

© servndipityz 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content without my permission.

[bamgyuuuri]

May I request a Beomgyu x alt singer!reader?

Kai finally forms the band he’s been dreaming of and introduces his friend group(txt) to the band members before a gig. I’ve rarely seen fics that have the reader as the alt band member, normally it’s the other way around and I think you’d do great with this scenario!! It being in Gyu’s pov would be great to see his reaction/attraction to her. The piercings and dark tones, similar to ox1=lovesong gyu. Thank you!!!🖤 absolutely love your writing style

Sorry that this is long or doesn’t make sense😭

⸝⸝ she plays bass ┈ cbg.

⸝⸝ now playing : she plays bass - beabadoobee

pairings and tags. altsinger!reader x admirer!beomgyu. love at first sight . beomgyu is absolutely and hilariously whipped . meet-cute . band shenanigans . underground music scene-esque

word count. 4.3k

short note! HIII AAAA thank you so much for this req omg im so sorry this took so so long <////3 i hope this is to your liking !!! i tried a little something different for the way i wrote this too so please do lmk what you think ~~

alt!reader, clad in a ripped mesh top over a cropped band tee, her plaid skirt layered over fishnet tights, heavy platform boots clicking against the pavement. silver rings adorned her fingers, chunky chains around her neck, an eyebrow piercing glinting under the dim venue lights. 

kai caught sight of her immediately, eyes widening as if he had just discovered a hidden gem. without hesitation, he strode over, curiosity buzzing in his voice as he asked, “do you play anything? sing, maybe? my band needs someone like you.”

alt!reader, who, despite the intimidating dark makeup and sharp aesthetic, grinned so brightly it made kai blink. oh, he thought. she’s cute. “ah, i can sing, and i play bass too!” she said, her voice laced with excitement. kai nearly whooped, clapping his hands together before grabbing her arm. “you’re in. no take-backs.”

alt!reader, who showed up to their first rehearsal with her bass slung over her shoulder, the strap decorated with a mix of pins—some band logos, some just random little trinkets that probably had stories behind them. kai had expected her to be more reserved, but she fit in immediately, laughing with the drummer within minutes, teasing him about his tempo.

“it’s supposed to sound like a heartbeat, not like you’re summoning a demon,” she quipped, smirking.

the lead guitarist snorted. “talk big, but let’s see if you can actually play, rockstar.”

she did. and she was good.

but then she sang.

and suddenly, good wasn’t the right word anymore.

her voice was rich, effortlessly smooth, with this raw, husky edge that sent chills down their spines. it wasn’t just strong—it was soulful, the kind that lingered, that made you feel every note deep in your chest. the moment she opened her mouth, the energy in the room shifted, the air growing heavier with something indescribable.

the drummer, who had been leaning against his kit with arms crossed, straightened. the lead guitarist, mid-strum, fumbled a chord, eyes snapping up to her like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. and kai—kai just grinned, wide and triumphant, as if he had struck gold.

“holy shit,” the drummer breathed.

alt!reader, who didn’t even seem to realize the way she had just stunned them into silence, finished the verse with an easy smile. “was that okay?”

“okay?” kai sputtered, half-laughing. “you just obliterated us.”

the days leading up to their first gig blurred into a whirlwind of rehearsals, late-night music discussions, and endless inside jokes. kai was quick to text alt!reader memes about bassists getting overshadowed (she always replied with a dramatic “T_T”), the lead guitarist gave her pointers on performing, and the drummer—grudgingly impressed—finally admitted, “okay, you might actually be cooler than kai.”

alt!reader, who always showed up in some new variation of her signature look—some days it was a shredded fishnet top over a vintage band tee, other days a plaid mini skirt with safety pins fastened haphazardly along the hem. her accessories were never the same, either; she rotated between spiked chokers, stacked silver chains, and chunky bracelets that clanked against her bass when she played. kai couldn’t help but wonder if she had an endless wardrobe of ripped tights and combat boots.

but the biggest contradiction? she was sweet. unbearably sweet.

despite her sharp eyeliner and leather jackets, she was the kind of person who brought snacks to practice without being asked, stuffing a bag of candy into kai’s hands with a nonchalant, “figured you’d forget to eat.” she’d send good morning texts in the group chat, complete with emojis, and gave the drummer a comforting pat on the back whenever he got frustrated with a beat.

alt!reader would chew on the end of her guitar pick when thinking, doodle song lyrics in the margins of her notebook (sometimes with tiny, smiling doodles beside them), and could never say no when an other band member complained about carrying equipment. “fine, fine, i got it,” she’d sigh, dramatically rolling her eyes—but then she’d take the amp without hesitation.

“you do realize you’re ruining your entire intimidating vibe, right?” kai teased once, watching her tie up the drummer’s shoelace because he hadn’t noticed it was undone.

“what vibe?” she blinked, tilting her head.

kai simply sighed. this girl has no idea how cool she is.

then the night of the gig arrived.

the venue buzzed with anticipation, the walls lined with stickers and scrawled signatures from past performers. neon lights flickered overhead, casting a hazy glow against the graffiti-splattered walls. kai could hear the low murmur of the crowd beyond the stage, the occasional burst of laughter, the clinking of drinks against sticky counters.

backstage, their small green room was packed with an energy that was half excitement, half nerves. the drummer tapped an anxious rhythm against his thigh, the lead guitarist double-checked his tuning for what had to be the fifth time, and kai, keyboardist extraordinaire, paced the length of the room with his hands clasped together like he was deep in prayer.

“we’re not about to die out there,” alt!reader teased, watching kai with amusement as she lounged against the armrest of a battered couch.

kai stopped mid-pace, pointing at her. “says the person who’s been chilling like she’s about to play an after-school talent show instead of our first real gig.”

she shrugged, adjusting the strap of her bass as if she hadn’t a single care in the world. “i mean, i did say i wasn’t nervous.”

the drummer let out a low whistle. “wish i had whatever confidence potion you’re drinking.”

she grinned, offering him a fingerless-gloved fist bump. “it’s called believing in the fact that we’re actually good.”

the lead guitarist snorted. “or maybe you’re just built different.”

alt!reader, who was looking every bit the part of the effortlessly cool rockstar—shredded tights, oversized band tee slipping off one shoulder, dark lipstick slightly smudged from the hours before, silver rings gleaming against her fingers—flashed them all a knowing smile.

“a little bit of both,” she admitted.

laughter filled the room, light and easy, shaking off any last remnants of nervous tension. they were ready.

and then, as if on cue, the green room door creaked open.

kai’s friends had arrived.

soobin stepped in first, towering as usual, followed by yeonjun, who immediately scanned the room like he owned the place. taehyun was behind them, hands stuffed in his pockets, his ever-observant gaze taking in everything. and then—

beomgyu walked in.

and his entire world stopped spinning.

he wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when kai had texted, come meet the band i formed! we rock!, but it definitely wasn’t this.

his breath hitched.

their bassist was stunning.

it wasn’t just the way she looked—though, god, the way she looked. the shredded tights, the chains, the band tee that hung just right, the dark kohl around her eyes that only made them more piercing. the way she was sitting, draped over the couch like she belonged there, one booted foot resting atop the coffee table, fingers idly twirling a guitar pick.

but it was more than that. it was the energy she carried, this effortless kind of presence that demanded attention without even trying.

beomgyu’s heart skipped a beat.

no, actually, it tripped over itself and fell flat on its face.

she turned then, looking up at them with a casual ease, her lips curling into the kind of smirk that should not have made his stomach flip.

“so,” she drawled, tilting her head. “you must be kai’s friends.”

her voice.

oh, he was done for.

kai gestured between them all, oblivious to the way beomgyu was currently having an out-of-body experience. “this is soobin, yeonjun, taehyun, and that one—” he pointed at beomgyu, who was still staring, still reeling—“is beomgyu.”

he was pretty sure kai said something else after that, but beomgyu didn’t hear a single word.

because she was looking right at him now, those sharp, lined eyes meeting his with an unreadable glint.

“beomgyu, huh?” she mused, and the way his name rolled off her tongue—casual, lazy, like she already had him figured out—sent an inexplicable shiver down his spine.

and then, before he could even think of how to respond, she smiled.

not the cool, knowing smirk from before. a real one. soft, warm, completely contradicting everything about the way she dressed.

beomgyu’s jaw? gone. his heart? somewhere in the floorboards. his entire existence? irreversibly altered.

he was in so much trouble.

kai’s friends settled in quickly, claiming whatever empty seats or spots against the walls they could find. the room felt even smaller now, the buzz of conversation filling the space, overlapping in a way that made it feel alive.

soobin and yeonjun hit it off with the drummer almost immediately, something about shared music tastes and mutual complaints about how kai was the most chaotic bandmate to exist. taehyun had already fallen into an easy conversation with the lead guitarist, both of them equally sharp-tongued, exchanging witty remarks like a verbal game of ping-pong.

and beomgyu?

beomgyu was barely breathing.

he had settled into a spot on the floor near the edge of the group, but god, he wasn’t really there. not fully. his body was present, sure—nodding at the right moments, chuckling when he was supposed to—but his mind?

completely occupied. by her.

she was right there, close enough that he could pick up the faint scent of something floral—unexpected, unfair, intoxicating.

she was expressive when she spoke, hands moving fluidly as she told some story about a past gig she had gone to. her rings caught the dim lighting every time her fingers moved, and beomgyu was watching, entranced, like the glint of silver was some kind of hypnotic spell.

and her laugh.

it wasn’t the kind he expected. it wasn’t sharp, or mocking, or cool and distant. it was bright. warm. the kind of laugh that made you want to lean in just to hear it again.

“beomgyu,” taehyun’s voice cut through his daze like a needle popping a soap bubble.

he blinked, realizing a second too late that everyone was looking at him now.

“huh?”

“i asked if you play anything,” alt!reader said, and beomgyu swore his brain short-circuited for a moment because she was the one talking to him now. her gaze was steady, her head slightly tilted, awaiting his response.

his mouth opened. closed. opened again.

what was the question again?

kai rolled his eyes. “he plays guitar. won’t admit he’s good, but he is.”

“oh?” her lips curled, something amused dancing behind her eyes. “a guitarist?”

beomgyu swallowed, nodding. “yeah. a little.”

her smirk deepened. “i’ll be the judge of that.”

his heart absolutely crashed into his ribcage. “here,” alt!reader said, effortlessly plucking one of the electric guitars resting nearby and holding it out to him.

beomgyu stared at it. then at her. then at it again.

“c’mon,” she urged, her voice light, teasing—but not in a mean way. there was warmth in it, in the way she smiled at him, like she actually wanted to hear him play. “i wanna see if kai’s hyping you up for nothing.”

beomgyu let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. as if. his hands moved on their own, reaching out to take the guitar, fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment. and god. her skin was warm, like she carried the heat of the stage lights in her fingertips.

“no pressure,” she added, leaning forward slightly, resting her chin on her palm. “but i will judge.”

the others laughed, but beomgyu barely processed it. because all he could focus on was the way her eyes were on him. the way her expression held something playful, but patient, like she had all the time in the world for him to start.

he cleared his throat, adjusting his grip.

he had played in front of people before. his friends, random music store employees when testing out instruments, the occasional school events.

but somehow, this felt different.

beomgyu strums a chord, testing, letting the sound hum through the air. he wasn’t even sure what he was going to play until his fingers started moving, muscle memory taking over. a riff he always fell back on, something familiar, something easy—but her expression changed the moment he started playing.

her gaze flickered to his hands, the playful challenge melting into something softer.

interest.

appreciation.

maybe even a little bit of… awe?

“oh, he’s good good,” she murmured, mostly to herself, but beomgyu caught it anyway. and he felt it—felt the way his face warmed, how his pulse picked up speed at the way she looked at him now.

he should probably focus on not messing up.

but with the way she was watching him?

it was impossible. the moment beomgyu strummed the final note, the room erupted. cheers, whistles, claps—the lead guitarist dramatically pumping his fist in the air, the drummer banging out a quick rhythm against the couch, while soobin, yeonjun, and taehyun only nods approvingly like they have known beomgyu was hiding talent all along.

“okay, okay!” kai grinned, nudging him with his elbow. “i take back all the times i’ve called you a fake musician.”

beomgyu scoffed, shaking his head, but he couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed—not when the adrenaline was still thrumming under his skin, not when his heart was still trying to steady itself after playing under her gaze.

alt!reader, who was still watching him, arms crossed, lips curled.

“i gotta say,” she mused, tilting her head, “you’ve got some serious skills.” beomgyu let out a breathy chuckle, hoping she couldn’t tell just how wrecked he was by those words alone. she extended a fist toward him, the glint of her rings catching the low light. “respect.”

he stared at it for a half-second longer than he should have before knocking his own fist against hers, ignoring the way his pulse jumped at the brief contact. “you know,” alt!reader then adds, grinning as she leaned back casually against the wall, “beomgyu could totally replace our lead guitarist. i mean, seriously, look at that performance.”

the lead guitarist nearly choked on his drink, immediately sitting up straighter, his brows furrowing in mock offense. “hey! i’m right here, you know!”

“yeah, but—” alt!reader raised a brow, teasing. “what do you even do, other than make dramatic faces during every solo?”

“i play solos!” he shot back, crossing his arms. “i’m an artist!”

“an artist? more like a drama queen.” she laughed, sticking her tongue out at him. the bickering continued, light-hearted, with alt!reader tossing sarcastic jabs and the lead guitarist firing back just as quickly. but in the middle of it all, beomgyu couldn’t hear any of it.

he was too busy basking in the compliment.

replace the lead guitarist?

her saying that?

beomgyu couldn’t help it—his heart swelled, his chest felt a little lighter. he glanced over at her, catching the way her eyes sparkled as she teased the others, the playful tilt of her head, the curve of her lips. she wasn’t just joking—she meant it, and beomgyu’s brain was absolutely swimming in that simple, perfect thought.

just as everybody was starting to get lost in the flow of their conversations, the door to the green room creaked open.

a worker, looking harried but friendly, poked her head inside, holding a clipboard in one hand. “hey, last act’s almost done,” she called, drawing everyone’s attention. “be ready to get up in five!” as the worker’s voice cut through the energy of the room, everybody’s pulse heightened. kai stood up first, stretching his arms with an exaggerated groan. “alright, let’s do this!” he said, his usual confident grin plastered on his face. his voice was already rising, bouncing off the walls, and somehow it made everything feel just a little bit lighter.

the drummer was next to move, pushing off the couch with a sharp exhale, rolling his shoulders like a boxer before a match. he cracked his knuckles one last time, shaking out his hands before turning to the lead guitarist with a lopsided smirk. “don’t mess up.”

the lead guitarist scoffed, rolling his eyes but still reaching out to bump his fist against the drummer’s. “i never mess up,” he said, though the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed how much he actually cared about the small exchange.

kai, ever the ringleader, ruffled the drummer’s hair out of nowhere, much to the latter’s loud protests. “alright, alright, enough of your little bromance,” he teased, dodging a half-hearted swing in retaliation. then, he clapped his hands together, the sharp sound cutting through the lingering conversation. his voice, always carrying that effortless bravado, filled the room. “you guys know what time it is.”

the energy shifted instantly.

the band members exchanged knowing grins, their movements instinctive, their roles in this pre-show ritual long established. it was a tradition at this point—one that settled nerves and locked them into the moment.

just then, soobin, taehyun, and yeonjun—who had been watching from the side—stepped forward, effortlessly blending into the moment like they belonged there too.

“don’t screw it up,” taehyun quipped, smirking as he crossed his arms.

“real motivational, thanks,” kai deadpanned, shaking his head.

soobin, who had been observing the whole thing with a thoughtful nod, finally spoke. “nah, you guys are gonna kill it.”

“obviously,” yeonjun added with a confident tilt of his head, the corners of his mouth curling into an easy grin.

“but if you do mess up,” taehyun said, lips twitching as he leaned just a little closer, “just make it look cool.”

“that’s the whole plan, actually,” the drummer joked, flexing his fingers like he was warming up for a fight.

alt!reader, who had been adjusting the strap of her bass, let out an exaggerated sigh at their antics but stepped forward anyway, shaking her head with a smile. “you guys are so ridiculous,” she mumbled, though the fondness in her voice softened the words.

the lead guitarist was the first to extend his hands, palms up, an unspoken signal.

without hesitation, the others followed suit, stacking their hands on top of his, one after the other. kai’s ring-clad fingers tapped impatiently against the back of alt!reader’s hand, the drummer squeezed just a little too tight, and the lead guitarist—ever dramatic—wiggled his fingers under the pile like he was casting a spell.

the weight of their hands felt grounding, each one a familiar presence, a quiet reminder of why they were here—why they did this in the first place.

“alright,” kai said, eyes sweeping over his bandmates. “on three.”

the anticipation buzzed in the air, thick with something unspoken—adrenaline, excitement, the kind of bond that came from sharing the same dream and chasing it together.

“one,” the drummer started, voice steady.

“two,” alt!reader followed, grinning through the static in her chest.

“three!” they all yelled at once, throwing their hands into the air.

the room erupted into laughter, but beneath it all was something steadier—a quiet understanding, a reassurance. they had each other’s backs, no matter what.

alt!reader exhaled, adjusting the hem of her oversized band tee, rolling her shoulders as she shook her arms out. the nerves were still there, humming just beneath her skin, but they didn’t weigh her down. if anything, they made her sharper, more alive.

as the others made their way toward the door, she lingered for a second, taking it all in—the dimly lit green room, the hum of the crowd growing louder beyond the walls, the faint scent of old leather and stage lights, the rush of knowing she was about to step onto that stage again. she was ready.

then, just as she turned to leave, a voice—hesitant, barely above the noise—stopped her in her tracks.

“hey.”

she turned, only to find beomgyu standing there, fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket.

his heart was racing. he could feel it hammering against his ribs, beating against his throat. he had been quiet the entire time, watching her, completely lost in the way she carried herself—unshaken, unwavering, effortlessly cool in a way that made his head spin.

she looked at him expectantly, tilting her head ever so slightly, her dark lipstick still slightly smudged, her rings glinting under the low, flickering light. she had been grinning and teasing all night, but right now, in this moment, she was just waiting for whatever he was about to say.

beomgyu swallowed hard, summoning every last ounce of courage he had left.

“good… good luck,” he managed, voice steady but soft.

she blinked, then her expression melted into something warm, something that made the corners of her eyes crinkle just slightly.

“thanks,” she said, and god, he wasn’t ready for the way she smiled at him—the way her eyes lingered, just for a second, like she actually cared that he was here. like she saw him.

then, before he could even think to respond, she lifted a hand and ruffled his hair—just once, quick but impossibly gentle—before slipping out the door to join the others.

beomgyu stood there, rooted to the spot, his pulse thundering in his ears.

he barely registered kai’s voice shouting something from the hallway, barely noticed the way the door swung shut behind her. all he could focus on was the ghost of her touch lingering at the crown of his head and the realization that he had never, in his entire life, been this enamored.

as soon as everybody went on their separate ways as they went up, the venue was alive. the air was thick with anticipation, humming with the restless energy of a crowd on the verge of something explosive. voices mingled in excited murmurs, some impatiently tapping their feet, others already pushing closer to the front, eager to be swallowed by the music when it finally began.

near the back, beomgyu stood with the rest, the four of them tucked just far enough from the densest part of the crowd to have a clear view of the stage. the dim, pulsing lights painted streaks of color over their faces, their shadows stretching long over the worn wooden floors.

beomgyu felt… off-kilter. antsy in a way he couldn’t quite explain. his fingers twitched in his jacket pockets, his pulse thrumming just a little too fast for comfort. it wasn’t nerves—he wasn’t even performing—but something in the air had his senses on high alert.

then, the lights dimmed.

the restless chatter of the audience dipped for half a breath.

and that’s when she walked out.

alt!reader stepped onto the stage like she owned it, her movements easy, effortless—like the weight of all those expectant eyes on her meant nothing. she rolled her shoulders once, adjusting the strap of her bass where it hung low against her hip, her rings flashing under the stage lights.

and then she looked up.

gone was the dull hum of anticipation—replaced instead by something sharp, something immediate.

a ripple of recognition moved through the crowd, people cheering before a single note had even been played. the atmosphere cracked like static before a storm.

she brought a hand up to her mic, tilting her head slightly, her lips curling into something slow, something knowing.

then, her voice—low, teasing, brimming with something electric—cut through the charged silence like a blade.

“are you ready?”

it wasn’t a question, no—it was pure energy, poured into a few simple words, and it sent a shockwave through the venue.

and the response was immediate.

the crowd roared, bodies surging forward, hands shooting into the air.

soobin let out a low whistle. yeonjun muttered something under his breath that was lost beneath the chaos. taehyun just grinned, watching it all unfold with the kind of amused knowing that made beomgyu’s stomach twist.

the band shifted behind her, instruments poised, breaths held.

a pause.

then—

the first note dropped like a thunderclap.

the lead guitarist’s fingers tore across the strings, unleashing a riff so sharp it felt like it could cut through bone. the drummer came in a split second later, slamming into the rhythm like he was trying to break through the sound barrier, the bass kicking in with a force that rattled the floor beneath their feet.

the room exploded.

but beomgyu barely noticed.

because the second the music surged to life, alt!reader moved.

her head tilted back, her eyes fluttering shut for half a breath—

and then she sang.

beomgyu’s entire world tilted.

his breath caught.

his pulse stuttered.

he hadn’t known.

through all the moments he had spent watching her—through the teasing remarks, the playful bickering, the easy grins and sharp-witted comebacks—he had never once considered the possibility—

that she was the vocalist.

and god, her voice.

raw. powerful. brimming with something deep, something primal.

it wasn’t just singing.

it was commanding.

it was a reckoning. a tidal wave of sound crashing over the room, leaving no space for escape—only surrender. it seized every breath, every heartbeat, wrapped around every single person in the audience like invisible chains, commanding their attention, demanding devotion.

she owned this space.

no, she was this space.

the music didn’t just belong to her—it was her. every note, every breath, every aching pause was something pulled straight from her veins, something raw and untamed, something alive. she wasn’t just singing it—she was unleashing it. becoming it. burning with it.

“heol,” soobin breathed, his eyes wide.

yeonjun turned to taehyun, nudging him with his elbow. “man, he’s so done for.”

taehyun just chuckled, not even bothering to hide his knowing smirk.

“oh, yeah,” he muttered. “completely wrecked.”

beomgyu barely heard them.

he was too busy staring, completely, utterly spellbound.

because she was glowing under the stage lights, radiating something untouchable, something electric—

and beomgyu?

beomgyu was completely and utterly doomed.

꒰🧸꒱ @pagelets, @jettithink, @killa-1009, @j-ji-jia , @frankghgr, @dawngyu, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @sxmmerberries, @napipope-ta, @bamgeutori, @xylatox, @hyunj00 <3 (click here if you would like to be added ><)

[eyelessfaces]

canon!poe or hmu!poe with a reader who's... very ill. like flu ill. like concerningly ill, who doesn't want to go to the doctor because they don't wanna hold anyone up or the costs. pls I beg I need a man to take care of me rn (very very ill myself) ilysm 😭🙏

I got you. canon poe

—

You almost think you’re hallucinating the presence in the room and the dip in the mattress behind you, until you truly feel a hand settling at the back of your head, gently smoothing along your hair. Poe cringes with guilt when he hears the faint whine escaping you. “Hey,” he gently calls, and you feel the warmth of his hand now moving to rest at your back, just in between your shoulder blades. 

Having to open your eyes seems like the toughest thing you’ve had to do in ages, and the heaviness in your forehead that comes with it feels like a cruel punishment of being alive and not succumbing to sickness.

Your mouth is dry, your lips chapped from having to breathe through your mouth because of your congested nose, so the weak sound that comes out of you to make Poe know you’re conscious almost sounds like a starving, water deprived creature giving its last breath. “I withdrew from today’s mission” he declares, his voice soft, like anything louder might kill you.

His words make you turn to him as fast as your aching body will allow. “Why?” you croak out. “No, you need to–”

He shushes you, shaking his head. “That’s fine” he assures. “Someone needs to look after you”

You try to sit up with difficulty, a gravelly cough shaking your whole body. “I don’t–”

“You look awful, sweetheart” he says, weakly smiling in empathy as you cough some more. 

“Thank you” you groan sarcastically once your body allows you to talk again. Poe shifts to sit closer to you, his hand coming to press against your forehead. His palm feels warm, an obvious contrast to the chill that has settled in your bones since the fever took hold of you, and you lean into his touch despite yourself, the simple gesture offering a glimpse of the comfort and tenderness you desperately crave from him. 

“You’re burning up,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. His brows are knitted together in concern, his thumb rubbing along your temple before he pulls away. The tenderness in his eyes as he watches your poor state is almost too much to bear, and you’re almost embarrassed he has to see you like this.

“You didn’t have to skip on the mission just because of me” you whisper, your voice hoarse and fragile, your attempt at sounding nonchalant quickly dismantled when the truth bleeds and your voice cracks. You want him here, and that terrifies you more than sickness ever could.

“Of course I did” he murmurs, his voice low as his hand covers your own. “You think I could focus out there knowing you’re like this?”

You open your mouth to argue, to tell him he’s being an idiot, but the words die in your throat when you start to choke on coughs again. Poe is instantly at your side, his hand leaving your own to support your back, the other grabbing the glass of water at your bedside table. 

“Easy,” he says, his voice soft as he helps the glass to your lips. You’re almost sure that the shiver that runs down your spine when his hand rubs up and down your back has nothing to do with the fever. 

When you finally pull back and he sets the glass back at your bedside, you find him watching you intently again, his warm brown eyes gazing at you like you’re the most fragile thing he’s ever seen. It’s overwhelming, the weight of it, the want in his eyes that mirrors your own.

“You need to go to the medbay” he declares with his ‘commander tone’, as you like to call it whenever he suddenly gets a little too serious.

You groan, burying yourself down your bed again. “I’m fine, I just need to sleep it off” you mutter, pulling the covers up to your chin as you turn to the side, away from him. 

“You need medicine, I saw you almost fainting mid briefing, this is serious” he counters, though his voice remains low as to not worsen the unbearable pulsing inside your skull. “You need to get checked up and treated” he declares firmly. You whine in discontentment at the mere idea of having to get out of bed and drag yourself through the base, and Poe calls your name like he’s scolding you. “I’ll drag you here myself if I have to.”

You chuckle. “I’d like to see you try”

“You know I will.”

You sigh deeply, bringing a hand over your eyes. “Poe, please, I don’t wanna argue with you,” you whimper, burying your face into the pillow.

“Then don’t”

He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you, so the silence stretches until you eventually hear him sigh and feel the mattress dip closer behind you when he shifts closer.

“Look at me” he demands gently, his fingers lightly brushing against your arm as he tries to coax you into reason. He knows how to play this out, he knows you ultimately can’t refuse him anything, you will always give in to him, no matter what, no matter how stubborn you can be. You turn around to face him, your aching limbs acting like this was a monumental effort. Poe’s thumb brushes along your cheekbone, and you lean into his touch without even thinking. “I’ll get someone to come here, okay?” 

You close your eyes in contentment, forcing a small sound from the back of your throat to let him know you’re acquiescing to that option.

“But you should get some rest first” he says quietly. 

You nod weakly, though the moment he tries to pull away, you find yourself holding onto his wrist. “Stay” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Please”

“Okay” he shifts on the bed so that he’s fully seated beside you now, his back resting against the headboard. 

You hesitate for a second, then slowly, with the little strength you have, you move closer to him, letting your head rest over his lap. For a moment, Poe’s hand just hovers over you, unsure if this is okay, if it’s too much, before he gives in and his fingers start to gently thread through your hair, his other hand resting at your shoulder, his thumb rubbing slow circles through the fabric of your shirt.

For a while, neither of you speak, and the room is only filled by the sound of your uneven breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric when Poe adjusts his position to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible. Every now and then, his fingers drift from your hair to trace along the curve of your neck down to your shoulder before they return to combing through your hair again. 

“You’re stubborn, you know that?” he finally mutters, low enough so it wouldn’t wake you up if you happened to have fallen asleep already. 

You manage a weak smile through the haze of sleepiness that is clouding your mind, lulled by Poe’s gentle touch. “You know… takes one to know one,” you mumble sleepily.

You hear him chuckle, but it all feels distant the more you relax into his touch, the more you feel at ease right where you are. 

For the first time in hours, you feel the tension in your body begin to melt away, and it feels right to be here with him, like this, and you know that the butterflies at the pit of your stomach are not caused by your fever.

—

poe taglist:

@lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift

@whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry 

@jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious 

@stvnnie @dowbastan @il0vebeingdelulu @hammerhead96 @unear7hly 

@pigeonmama @c-losur3 @klillaah @Spicydonut25 @buckyssugarchick

@xenop0p

[gooobraghhh]

hello. chill if nah but do you want to share some advice for teasing/flirting w people? I know this guy, trans, loses it every time I call him "good boy" or "handsome" but I'm running out of tricks!! But he's so fun to teaseeee I don't wanna run out

I mean it depends on the person but if he’s into that kind of thing I can tell you other stuff he might enjoy, leaning more praise because of the examples you gave me. Pretty boy, an actual pet name like puppy, doggy, pet, or something, or like a overly cute nickname based on his name are some options to incorporate. Something id suggest is kind of dropping something teasing on him very suddenly in conversation. Innocently asking him to do something and then being like “aww what a good boy, you’re so good at doing what you’re told” is an easy example/ way to set it up. It’s just super cute to watch them get all surprised and clearly turned on.

Another thing I enjoy for teasing is like a demeaning compliment. Situation dependent but something like “it’s a good thing you’re so handsome/ cute because you’re not the brightest, puppy” after he like doesn’t understand a thing or makes a little mistake. Maybe if you helped him with something random you could say like “what would a pet like you do if I wasn’t here to take care of you”. These are just examples in the nature of what you’re going for, you’re gonna need think of little comments based on what’s happening in your conversation and cater them to what the guy likes. Also think about whats gender affirming when you’re choosing what to compliment and insult. For trans men I usually like to insult their intelligence since being like a dumb blockhead is just kind of a guy thing and usually won’t actually hurt any feelings, I’d lift them up in like appearance (handsome, cute, pretty etc), usefulness/obedience, (good job, good boy, what a good listener,you take it so well etc), or any other trait you know that specific person would enjoy being complimented on.

I’d also suggest possessiveness if everyone’s comfortable. My puppy, My pet, My pretty boy. Be a good boy for me, touch yourself for me, cum for me ( obviosuly more risqué but just add for me to most commands). I find most people enjoy the security and feeling of being wanted that comes with possessive talk and it just makes the praise all the more addictive.

Another thing is if hes responding very positively start making him directly participate. Who’s good boy?, you’re really so desperate for me huh? Tell me how bad you want it?. Just prompt him to respond. Either he does it and it’s adorable and embarrassing or he sputters out because answering is too embarrassing for him and you get to watch him get all flustered. Works well for some degration to, “you’re really such a slut huh?” Or something similar so that he either agrees or pathetically tries to deny it while still actively getting turned on which you can make fun of him for. It’s kind of little conversational trap.

Also keep in mind tone for all of this, I think that kind of condescending, patronizing, overly sweet tone is my go to. It’s kind of like everything he is doing is so cute but in a way thats actively demeaning to him. You don’t have to do that though. A Genuine sounding sweet voice can be very fun if you incorporate a bit more degration. Like someone sounding 100% sincerely nice while they’re calling you degrading names and making fun of you is super hot. Just find what works for the both of you. If it’s flirting over text then there’s only so much you can do but writing out the occasional condescending “awww” or telling him how irl you’re giggling at him can kind of bridge that gap. But like say those things honestly, don’t make up how you’re reacting just share it with him if it’ll add to the dirty talk.

Anyway hope this all helps, break that guys mind for me <3

[a-dash-in-the-middle]

going to music places with only knowing the genre and liking new songs, and singing the ones i knew, and singing them badly bc i missed half the lyrics and not having an encyclopaedia of the genre in my mind bc i always liked the music and the pretentious pricks from serbian turbo folk to punk metal and grunge will not stop me from enjoying new things and knowing nothing about the band who sings it

[bmpmp3]

post ankle-twisting clarity

[lucky-clover-gazette]

vent

did not expect kissing and realizing i’m lowkey dating a guy to send me down an existential spiral of reminding me that i have only one life to live and then i am going to die without living any other different lives

[daz4i]

my nephew drew me and my cat. and shadow the hedgehog. and he wrote my name n all (he only recently learned how to write properly from what i've seen)

[infizero]

im genuinely going to be INSUFFERABLE when chapters 3 and 4 come out like you have no idea.

[dxxtruction]

///

[orcelito]

Remembering that a 4 hour psychological test means 4 hours under the examiner's microscope. I hope they let me listen to music during a written test, but idk if that would defeat the purpose or not. I... really don't know what to expect tomorrow, and it's kind of making me a bit nervous. Lol.

[chartreuxcatz]

*blinks*

Bro, idk what I am.

[wereh0gz]

Issue 62 good

[maelancoli]

Writing Intimacy

i often see writers sharing a sentiment of struggling with writing kiss scenes which honestly bleeds into other portrayals of physical intimacy. i see it a lot in modernized styles of writing popularized by the recent trend in publishing to encourage short, choppy sentences and few adverbs, even less descriptive language. this makes intimacy come across awkward, like someone writing a script or clumsy recounting of events rather than a beautiful paragraph of human connection.

or just plane horniness. but hey, horny doesn't have to be mutually exclusive with poetic or sensual.

shallow example: they kissed desperately, tongues swirling and she moaned. it made her feel warm inside.

in depth example: she reached for the other woman slowly and with a small measure of uncertainty. the moment her fingers brushed the sharp, soft jaw of her companion, eliza's hesitance slid away. the first kiss was gentle when she finally closed the distance between them. she pressed her lips lightly to gabriella's in silent exploration. a tender question. gabriella answered by meeting her kiss with a firmer one of her own. eliza felt the woman's fingers curling into her umber hair, fingernails scraping along her scalp. everything inside eliza relaxed and the nervousness uncoiled from her gut. a warm buzz of energy sunk through her flesh down to the very core of her soul. this was right. this was always where she needed to be.

the first complaint i see regards discomfort in writing a kiss, feeling like one is intruding on the characters. the only way to get around this is to practice. anything that makes you uncomfortable in writing is something you should explore. writing is at its best when we are pushing the envelope of our own comfort zones. if it feels cringy, if it feels too intimate, too weird, too intrusive, good. do it anyway! try different styles, practice it, think about which parts of it make you balk the most and then explore that, dissect it and dive into getting comfortable with the portrayal of human connection.

of course the biggest part comes to not knowing what to say other than "they kissed" or, of course, the tried and true "their lips crashed and their tongues battled for dominance" 😐. so this is my best advice: think beyond the mouth. okay, we know their mouths are mashing. but what are their hands doing? are they touching one another's hair? are they scratching or gripping desperately at one another? are they gliding their hands along each other's body or are they wrapping their arms tightly to hold each other close? do they sigh? do they groan? do they relax? do they tense? are they comfortable with each other or giddy and uncertain? is it a relief, or is it bringing more questions? is it building tension or finally breaking it?

get descriptive with the emotions. how is it making the main character/pov holder feel? how are they carrying those emotions in their body? how do they feel the desire in their body? desire is not just felt below the belt. it's in the gut, it's in the chest, it's in the flushing of cheeks, the chills beneath the skin, the goosebumps over the surface of the flesh. everyone has different pleasure zones. a kiss might not always lead desire for overtly sexual touches. a kiss might lead to the desire for an embrace. a kiss might lead to the impulse to bite or lick at other areas. a kiss could awaken desire to be caressed or caress the neck, the shoulder, the back, the arms etc. describe that desire, show those impulses of pleasure and affection.

of course there is the tactile. what does the love interest taste like? what do they smell like? how do they kiss? rough and greedy? slow and sensual? explorative and hesitant? expertly or clumsily? how does it feel to be kissed by them? how does it feel to kiss them?

i.e. examine who these individuals are, what their motives and feelings are within that moment, who they are together, what it looks like when these two individuals come together. a kiss is not about the mouth. it's about opening the door to vulnerability and desire in one's entire body and soul.

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Dick Grayson:

*runs the titans*

*works for the league*

*has a day job*

*solo patrols bludhaven*

*solo patrols New York*

*on call 24/7 for regularly scheduled Gotham crisis(es)*

*training at least 40% of new gen heroes at any given moment*

*infiltrating the current annoying cult, corrupt gov, spy organization, company, mafia group, evil underground ancestral foundations of a city and random corrupt modeling industry*

*monitoring drug pedaling in 3 cities*

*emotionally regulating 80% of his family bc why would they do it themselves? Nah let’s just ruin relationships for fun -cough Bruce cough-*

* maintaining civilian cover*

*canonically does volunteer work*

I am beginning to think nightwing doesn’t have anger issues he’s just overstimulated bc wtf

Like Dick take a break what is this?

————

Dick currently working on infiltrating the mob, after 4 days of 6+ hour patrols bc bludhaven has no chill an Arkham breakout, a performance review at work that took too long, organizing a titans outer space mission, just got back from training Jon Kent: no one call me plz god no one call me I can’t do this I have so much work no one. Call me plz

*phone rings* -it’s tim

He could ignore it but last time he left Tim alone for a month the dumbass lost his spleen and decided a cowl was a fashion choice (equally bad in his opinion)

Dick picking up the phone with his non broken arm: yello

Tim: so I accidentally maybe got kidnapped and maybe also started a cult around the concept of Batman and I’m out of energy drinks. (All equally dire in tims opinion)

Dick popping 4 caffeine pills: shut up I’ll be there in 30 don’t DO ANYTHing.

—————

Jason: sooo I might be engaged to an alien princess

Dick about to pop a Xanax: tell me it’s Kori or at least in this galaxy

Jason: nope

Dick: …. Can it wait

Jason: she wants to eat me, their species is like a praying mantis knockoff but with space and mind control.

Dick: yeah okay give me an hour I’ll call raven

————

Damian: hello Richard

Dick: what did you do.

Damian: I have been kidnapped by my mother

Dick: again

Damian: I feel it would be redundant to say anything

Dick: …….. alright I’ll call the nearest flying hero be there in a bit… keep ur spine where it is Damian or I swear to god-

——————

Bruce: cult

Dick who just got done with an undercover mission: anddd?

Bruce: we need someone to infiltrate it

Dick: I swear to god I. will. hurt. you

Bruce: hnnnn

——-

Babs: I have… acquired a child

Dick who is fighting deathstroke : …okayyyy

Babs who is watching the fight: she’s a little bit … traumatized

Dick, dodging a katana: preaching to the choir

Babs: can you do your whole, human empathy and kindness tell me ur life story I have puppy dog eyes.

Dick: ….

Babs: you owe me

Dick: … one day I will delete all your numbers and disappear

Babs cheerfully: you know no matter where you go I can find you hunk wonder see you in 3 hours don’t die before then!