#still not fully back but it needed to be said

[callsign-swan]

Sneaking Around

Bob doesn't mean to be sneaking around. But he can't help it. He's got a secret, and he wants to keep it that way. Too bad he's best friends with Yelena Belova.

Warnings: Thunderbolts* spoilers, minor (and i mean MINOR) talks of addiction

"Bob."

Yelena watched as he stopped in his tracks. He looked cosy in his sweater and trousers. Not like the rest of them, ready in combat gear.

"Where are you going?"

She didn't mean to so closely keep tabs on him. He was a fully grown man, after all. Not some child that couldn't be trusted. But she still worried.

His sleeves were rolled up slightly, stopping them from falling over his hands. "Out," he said, eyes darting between Yelena and Alexi (the only other person in the room with them).

Yelena raised her eyebrows. "Just... out?"

"Just out." He shook his head slightly, raised his hands and smiled at his shoes.

Yelena looked him over once more. There was nothing remarkable or out of the ordinary about him. Nothing to suggest anything was wrong. "Okay," she said.

"Okay?" The way Bob asked it, it was like he was asking for permission.

Yelena let her expression soften. "Come back safe."

"I will."

With that, Bob left. His hands entered his pockets as he stepped into the elevator and turned around. Still smiling at Yelena as the doors slid shut.

"Okay," Yelena said as she stood up. Moving her heard from side to side, she listened to her neck click before she started towards the window.

"Yelena, where are you going?" Alexi asked, more nosey than anything else.

Yelena ignored him as she opened up the window and jumped out.

***

There was something about the way Bob walked. His steps were kind of bouncy, his head held high. It was something you wouldn't notice, unless you knew what you were looking for.

Yelena knew what she was looking for.

Following Bob was all too easy. He had no idea anybody was behind him, couldn't fathom the idea that someone was following him.

Nowadays, Bob was so content. He wasn't looking over his shoulder, wasn't over thinking every move he made. He wasn't scavenging for his next fix.

He was happier, now. He still had his dark days, sure, but he was overall happier.

Yelena was three steps behind him. She made no move to weave around the New Yorkers walking past her, didn't need to be elusive and sneaky when it came to Bob.

But then Bob stepped into a cafe.

It was just a normal cafe, Independently owned, serving a variety of hot and cold drinks. Cakes were in the display case in front of the counter, three baristas wiping down the space behind it.

Bob went straight over to the counter. Yelena watched from the window as Bob looked up at the chalkboard above the coffee machines. His mouth was open, Yelena could hear the 'uhhhhhh' he was probably letting out.

But then he chose.

One barista began making the coffee. Another barista began making something in the blender. A mixture of milk and ice and some sort of syrup from a pump.

Once they were made, the baristas put the drinks on a tray and passed it to Bob. He thanked them both and headed over to an empty table.

And Bob sat there, alone. He took both drinks from the tray and placed the tray on the empty table beside him. He didn't drink the milkshake in front of him, didn't touch the coffee opposite him.

After a few moment, Yelena stepped towards the door of the cafe. He was waiting for someone, someone who wasn't going to show up. All she had to do was sit opposite him and he wouldn't be so alone.

But then somebody rushed in front of her. They pushed open the cafe, the bell above the door chiming, and walked over to Bob's table.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" She cried as she sat down.

The tips of Bob's ears became red. "You're not that late," he mumbled and picked up his milkshake.

Grabbing two cubes of sugar from the pot between them, she dropped them into her drink. "Still," she said, stirring her sugar in. "Next time I'll run."

Yelena furrowed her brows. Who the hell? She wondered as she watched the two of them.

Bob must've said something funny, something that had her laughing and him giggling at himself. Of course he did, that was what Bob did. On his good days, he was a light.

But Yelena watched as she reached across the table and placed her hand on top of Bob's. It was a sweet move, her thumb brushing over his wrist. Bob didn't withdraw from her. No, he moved closer.

The two chatted as they drank their drinks. As soon as their cups were drained, she shook up and offered her hand to Bob.

Bob took it. He looked down at her like there was nothing else in the cafe, nothing else in the world.

Linking her arm through his, she dragged him out of the cafe. Well, she didn't need to drag him; he was happy to trail after her.

Yelena had to admit, she was cute. But that didn't make her trustworthy.

Bob was much more than a super weapon. Yelena knew that, she knew that better than anyone. But that was still one of the fears that flashed through her mind as she followed them.

They disappeared into a bookshop. Two seconds later, Bob emerged. Yelena ducked down the side of the building next door to the bookshop. The building Bob entered.

He left the florists a few moments later, a small bouquet in his hands. The flowers were all soft, pastel colours. Baby blues and pinks and whites. It was gorgeous. It was obvious Bob didn't pick it out himself.

It was then that Yelena realised what was happening. Bob had a girlfriend.

As soon as the flowers were in her hands, mystery girl kissed him. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Yelena backed away. She'd completed her mission, made sure Bob was okay. He was better than okay.

He was in love.

[moondustbaby]

Backseat Confessions

Bsf!Rafe x Bsf!Reader

cw: smut, piv, oral (f. rec), unprotected sex

mdni 18+

Summary: A late-night drive with your best friend turns into something filthy and unforgettable when years of tension finally snap in the backseat of his truck — and Rafe makes it clear he’s done pretending you’re just friends.

⸻

The truck was too quiet.

Engine ticking softly in the heat-soaked silence, windows cracked just enough to let in the summer air. My thighs stuck to the leather of the passenger seat as I shifted, trying to ignore the way Rafe kept glancing at me every few seconds — like he was waiting.

Like he knew.

We hadn’t even planned to go anywhere. Just ended up driving around after the bonfire like we always did, the two of us laughing too loud, avoiding the weight of everything that hung heavy in the pauses. His music low, my feet on the dash. Same routine we’ve had since we were sixteen.

But tonight was different.

“Why’re you all quiet now?” Rafe’s voice cut through the stillness, low and cocky. “You were talkin’ my ear off ten minutes ago.”

I glanced at him, heart ticking faster. “I’m not quiet.”

He smirked like he didn’t believe me. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console — close enough to touch. “Yeah, you are. You only get quiet when you’re thinking about doing something you shouldn’t.”

I swallowed hard. “Do you always have to say shit like that?”

He leaned back in his seat, turning his head to look at me fully now. That lazy grin. That look in his eyes — like he was already inside my head and had no plans of leaving.

“What, am I wrong?” His voice dropped. “Tell me I’m wrong, baby.”

I hated the way he said that. Baby. Like it meant nothing and everything at once. Like it was some inside joke between us and I was the only one laughing nervously at the punchline.

I looked out the window. “You think you know everything.”

“I know you.”

The air thickened.

“You been squirming in that seat since we left the party. Wearing that little dress—” he dragged his tongue over his bottom lip. “Knew I shouldn’t’ve let you leave the house lookin’ like that.”

I turned to him slowly. “Let me?”

His smirk widened. “You know what I mean. All those guys staring at you and you still ran back to me the second it was over. Wonder why that is.”

I hated how much I loved hearing it — the me in his voice, all cocky and territorial. I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

Rafe leaned closer, voice low and dirty. “Bet you’re soaked, aren’t you?”

I choked on my breath.

His hand slid across the seat and landed on my bare thigh, hot and possessive. “C’mon, don’t lie to me now. You been sittin’ over there all quiet, all flustered — got that look on your face like you want me to do something about it.”

“You’re not serious.”

His hand crept higher.

I shivered when his fingertips brushed beneath the hem of my dress. He raised a brow, daring me to stop him — knowing I wouldn’t.

“You gonna make me check for myself?”

God, he was filthy. Shameless and smug, and I loved it. Loved the way he looked at me like I was his even if we’d never said the words out loud. Not just friends, not yet lovers. Just two people tangled in something too hot to name.

“You’re all talk,” I muttered.

That did it.

Rafe shifted fast, climbing over the console with zero hesitation, forcing me back against the door as his mouth crashed into mine. Hot. Desperate. Possessive.

I gasped when his hand cupped me over my panties, his thumb pressing right where I needed it. “Yeah?” he growled against my mouth. “Still think I’m all talk now?”

“Fuck—Rafe—”

His fingers moved with purpose, slow and taunting. “You wore this little dress just to tease me, didn’t you?” His lips trailed down my jaw. “Knew you weren’t wearing a bra the second I looked at you.”

I whimpered when he pinched my nipple through the fabric, making me arch into his touch.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Always actin’ like you don’t want me, then you let me touch you like this. So fuckin’ easy for me.”

“You’re such an asshole,” I breathed.

He smirked. “Still lettin’ me feel how wet you are, though.”

He slid my panties to the side and dipped two fingers into me in one slow, slick motion. I gasped, nails digging into his arm.

“That’s it,” he murmured, curling them just right. “So fuckin’ tight. Been thinking about this for months. You have no idea.”

“Then why didn’t you do something?” I whispered, breath shaky as he fucked me slow with his fingers.

“Didn’t wanna ruin it.” His mouth found my neck, tongue dragging over my pulse. “Didn’t wanna fuck it up.”

“You already did,” I moaned. “The second you touched me.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I breathed.

He pulled his fingers out and sucked them clean, slow and filthy, eyes locked on mine the whole time.

“Backseat. Now.”

My whole body jolted.

I scrambled clumsily into the back as he shoved the front seats forward, watching me with hooded eyes and a grin like he’d won a prize. By the time I sat back against the door, he was already between my knees, tugging my dress up, dragging my panties down and tossing them somewhere in the dark cab.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he muttered, pressing open-mouth kisses to the inside of my thigh. “How fuckin’ long I’ve been dreaming about this exact moment.”

I bit my lip as he licked a stripe up my center, slow and possessive. “Rafe—”

“Say it,” he growled. “Say you’ve thought about it too.”

“I have,” I gasped. “God, I have—”

“Say it.”

“I think about you all the time,” I confessed, panting. “When I’m alone. When I’m—fuck—when I touch myself, it’s only ever you.”

That made him snap.

He dove in, tongue working me over like he was starved, moaning against me like the taste of me was his new religion. I cried out when he sucked on my clit, when his fingers slid back inside me and curled just right.

“I’m gonna come—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t let up until I was shaking, legs clenching around his head, hands fisting in his hair as I came hard against his mouth.

When he pulled back, his face was flushed and wet and smug. “So fuckin’ pretty when you come for me.”

He undid his belt with one hand, the other stroking himself slow as he watched me come down from it. He was thick. Hard. Leaking at the tip.

“C’mere,” I whispered, already reaching for him.

“You sure?”

“Rafe,” I breathed. “Please.”

Instead he pulled me onto his lap, my knees bracketing his hips as I lowered onto him inch by inch. The stretch made me gasp, made him groan.

“Fuck—so tight—so fuckin’ wet for me—”

When I sank all the way down, our foreheads touched, breath mingling.

He didn’t move right away. Just held me there, his hands on my waist, his chest rising and falling like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispered.

I kissed him soft, slow, until he started to move — thrusting up while I rode him hard enough to make the whole truck rock. The windows fogged. The air turned thick with moans and skin and gasped confessions.

“Fuck—fuck, you were made for me,” Rafe grunted, fucking up into me harder. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else touches you like this, you understand?”

“Yes—Rafe—please—”

He pulled my dress down to free my tits, sucking one into his mouth, then the other, moaning around them like he was worshipping me.

“Gonna fill you up,” he gasped. “Gonna come so deep inside this pussy you’ll feel me for days.”

“Do it,” I whispered, clawing at his shoulders. “Come in me, Rafe, please—”

He growled and fucked me faster, rougher, until my vision blurred and I was coming again, crying out his name as he spilled inside me with a curse and a moan that sounded like ‘mine’.

We stayed like that, panting, trembling, stuck together in the heat and sweat and quiet.

Then he kissed my shoulder. My collarbone. My mouth.

“You ruined me,” he whispered. “There’s no going back now.”

“I don’t want to.”

He smiled against my lips. “Good. ‘Cause you’re mine now.”

And I knew — with the way his arms locked around me and his come still dripping down my thighs — that I’d never belong to anyone else again.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: this fic is brought to you by sexual tension, a hot truck, and the complete inability to act like normal best friends. rafe went feral and honestly? good for him. if your bsf isn’t fingering you in the passenger seat while saying insane shit like “you’re mine now,” what’s the point. thank you to my brain for cooking this up at 2am and thank YOU for reading my backseat filth.

♥️ lani

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𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@psychicnatural @superlegend216

[sourappl3s]

•°. *࿐ Simple yet full tutorial on how to manifest your dream life!

I will mention everything in this post! so if you comment something like “can i still manifest—“ or “how do i—“ it will be ignored! everything in this post goes by MY beliefs, you don’t have to change what you believe in! just understand these are what i’ve grown to believe/know. Enjoy the post! (also i’m not changing my theme i just think these colors go with topic i’m talking about. I WILL be a bit passive aggressive in this post so try not to get butt-hurt! i’m very straightforward with it.

╰┈➤ Step 1: Bury the old you for good. say goodbye to the old you.

are you the person who was, over-consuming information? couldn’t get off of tumblr because you assumed you needed to find more?, are you the person who keeps saying “i’m finally starting this time” just to get consumed by doubts and play the old story ONCE again?. are you the person who sobs in their room bed-rotting reading success stories so it can give you that “motivation”? oh but how you wish that were you? are you the person who keeps falling back into the old cycle?, are you the person who keeps thinking they need to be specific about their desires because you think if you aren’t “specific enough” you won’t fully get what you want? are you the person who keeps dwelling on the 3D for validation when they clearly know thats not what they’re supposed to do but continue it anyway? if you said yes ANY of this which i’m sure you did, then congratulations you made it to the right stop! because i’m here to burn that version of you. from now on you will become a better version of yourself, you WILL change self and you have absolutely no choice but to follow along with that fact. starting TODAY, THIS SECOND, NOW, NOW, NOW, NOW. you are no longer dwelling on the 3D, you are no longer the person who “just can’t do it”, you are no longer the person who “can’t manifest”. you are no longer the person who over-consumes. you are no longer the person who doom scrolls, you are no longer the person who isn’t trusting of themselves. YOU ARE NOW A CHANGED PERSON. you will promise to yourself RIGHT NOW that you will never dig up this old version of you again. you will promise to walk by faith and not by sight, you will promise to trust the unseen, you will promise yourself to win. burn and destroy the shovel that you’ve constantly used to dig your own grave that prevents you from success. you will win in this lifetime and the next and forever. your promise has been sealed, don’t break it.

╰┈➤ Step 2: Make your own rules in your reality.

if you understand, you know law of assumption is basically about making assumptions and you make assumptions EVERY-SINGLE-DAY 24/7. so use the law of assumption to your advantage and don’t feel guilty about it either because this is YOUR reality! nobody has a say in what rules you’re not supposed to have. make it fun for you. for example; You assume everything you do is the right way. then by LAW, BY LAW! everything you do is the right way, wether that be, making assumptions, persisting correctly, living in the end correctly, being in the wish fulfilled correctly. EVERYTHING YOU DO is the right way to do it because thats YOUR rule you decided to have. you wanna assume another rule? okay make it. decide thats your rule and live your life following those rules you make. you are LIMITLESS, don’t punish yourself because you make rules that maybe seen as crazy or too egoistic. this is your personal journey so don’t feel obligated to tell anyone you don’t wanna tell them. you are above everything. nothing exists outside of you.

╰┈➤ Step 3: Decide.

decide, decide, decide, decide, DECIDE. decide you have whatever it is that you want that you have it NOW. thats all you have to do to literally win. there really isn’t much about this topic because you decide every day. to get what you want is to simply decide you have it now. don’t say you don’t know how to decide because thats bs, you know how to decide you’re just scared you’re deciding the “wrong way”. hence to why i said “You assume everything you do is the right way. then by LAW, BY LAW! everything you do is the right way, wether that be, making assumptions, persisting correctly, living in the end correctly, being in the wish fulfilled correctly.” decide you make decisions the right way. and there’s literally no right way to make a decision but some of you are a bit dense (no shade!) but some of you need to have a feeling you’re doing something “right” so you can feel successful. please stop over complicating the simplest things. you’re grown so act like it, we shouldn’t have to keep spoon feeding you.

╰┈➤ Step 4: For the last final time surrender to imagination.

imagination is the only reality, it’s literally everything, the inner world (4D) is everything the outer world (3D) is just a reflection. in imagination you can be EVERYTHING if you wanna be the girl/guy who’s better than everyone at everything then you can be that in imagination, wanna be richer than elon? then you are in imagination, wanna have elsa’s powers? then you have it in imagination, wanna be a vampire? then you are in imagination, wanna switch lives with someone? then you’ve switched lives with someone in imagination. once you experience it in imagination then IT IS DONE. ITS MATERIALIZED, you’re not waiting for anything anymore because it already happened. all your focus goes to the 4D (imagination). i didn’t say ignore the 3D keep taking care of yourself but i just want you to understand your success is inevitable! once experienced in the inner world the OUTER WORLD, is automatically doing its job to reflect that for you. so why are you constantly getting mad at the 3D for doing its job? it reflects what you consistently put your awareness on it reflects what you claim to have in imagination, it reflects everything you make natural to yourself. a’lot of you are hellbent on trying to get results in the 3D. you have results already in the goddamn 4D. stop waiting for something you already have. its not coming. it’s already THERE. you HAVE it. creation is finished. so surrender to the 4D, fall in love with imagination. if you have it in imagination you have it now, nothing can take that away from yourself unless YOU say you don’t have it anymore. quit giving yourself mixed signals. this isn’t one of your situationships. this is YOU we’re talking about. don’t be a loser in your own reality.

╰┈➤ Summary.

this is your final push. you can manifest absolutely anything, you are not limited to anything, circumstances so not matter, THEY NEVER DID, always pay attention to what you tell yourself, you’re in control of everything. don’t withhold yourself from success, because if you won’t do in this reality you will never win. besides in that other reality you’re the worlds most handsome/beautiful person ever. you’re also on your 3rd world tour rn! and jeez are you rich, you made poor elon musk cry! must be nice being you in that other reality! identify with it. ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

[cressidagrey]

The Mysterious Mrs Piastri - The "Canon" Version

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar Piastri had always been a calm, collected kind of guy. Unshakeable, even.

Lando Norris, on the other hand? Not so much.

And today? Today was the day Lando fully lost it.

Notes:

Hi! This is the reworked version of the "The mysterious Mrs. Piastri". No worries! The original is still there. The problem is, that I wrote that piece originally as a stand alone.

There was never supposed to be Bee. There was never even supposed to be Felicity, because it was originally supposed to be a reader insert.

There was never supposed to be a sequel, which is why there is a lot of social media stuff in the original that's very out of character for Felicity, but I used back then to flesh out the "character" more because again, there was never supposed to be sequel.

So here it is: The new and "improved" version:

Oscar Piastri had always been a calm, collected kind of guy. Unshakeable, even.

Lando Norris, on the other hand? Not so much.

And today? Today was the day Lando fully lost it.

It had started innocently enough, just another fan stage, just another round of questions.

“Oscar, would you rather get married or get a tattoo?”

Lando relaxed. This one was easy. Surely Oscar would say tattoo. Maybe he’d joke about getting “downforce” written across his bicep in cursive. Something normal.

Instead, Oscar said, calm as ever, “Well, I already did one of those things.”

Lando choked.

He choked.

His drink shot out of his mouth like a missile. “YOU GOT A TATTOO?!”

Oscar turned to him, eyebrows creased in confusion. “What? No.”

And then it happened.

Lando watched, in real-time, as his brain caught up with Oscar’s words. “Wait.” His voice cracked. “WAIT.”

He stood up. Actually stood up. “YOU’RE MARRIED?!”

Oscar just nodded. Calm. Chill. Like he’d just announced what time breakfast was, not that his entire personal life was something Lando apparently had zero clue about.

Lando was spiraling. “WHAT?”

Even the interviewer sat forward, sensing blood in the water. “Wait—married married? Like, legally?”

Oscar looked almost offended by the clarification. “Is there another kind?”

Lando’s hands flew to his head. His whole worldview was crumbling. “SINCE WHEN?!”

Oscar shrugged like they were discussing tire strategy. “A while now.”

Lando looked to the crowd for help. The crowd was screaming. Phones were recording. PR was probably out back crying.

“I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend!” Lando yelled.

Oscar squinted at him. “You know that.”

“I DO NOT KNOW THAT.” Lando was full-blown shrieking now. “WHEN HAVE YOU EVER MENTIONED A GIRLFRIEND—LET ALONE A WIFE?!”

Oscar just shrugged again, that same infuriating calm on his face. “Well. I do. She’s amazing. 10/10. Would always marry her again.”

Lando’s soul left his body. “YOU HAVE A WIFE?!”

The interviewer was thriving. “We need details. How long have you been together?”

Oscar, ever consistent: “Since we were fifteen.”

Lando wheezed. “FIFTEEN?!” He sounded like he was being personally attacked. Oscar nodded like that was a normal answer.

“Where did you meet?”

Oscar blinked. “School?”

Lando turned to the audience, pointing like he needed witnesses. “Look at this guy! Of course he’s been secretly married this whole time. Of course!”

“When did you get married?” the interviewer asked, beaming like she’d just uncovered the next great F1 scandal.

Oscar: “When I was eighteen.”

The crowd erupted. Lando clutched his chest. “EIGHTEEN?! WHY?!”

Oscar: “Because I wanted to? Because I love her?”

Lando physically recoiled. “What, like… straight out of high school?!”

“Not straight out,” Oscar said thoughtfully. “We waited.”

“How long is a bit, Oscar?”

Oscar tilted his head. “Three weeks after graduation?”

Lando made a noise he was pretty sure only dolphins could hear. “THAT’S NOT A BIT, THAT’S A BLINK.”

The interviewer was practically in Oscar’s lap at this point. “How did you propose?”

Oscar shrugged. “I asked her to marry me.”

Lando stared. “That’s it? That’s the whole story?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah.”

“Where?” the interviewer prompted.

“At home.”

“…At home?”

“On the bed.”

Lando threw his hands in the air. “YOU ABSOLUTE ROBOT.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “She said yes.”

“That poor woman,” Lando muttered.

Then came the worst part.

“How did you manage to keep this a secret for so long?” the interviewer asked.

Oscar gave the most Piastri answer imaginable: “No one asked.”

Lando screamed.

“Who is she?!” the interviewer asked, practically vibrating. “What’s her name? Where’s she from?”

Oscar, completely useless: “My wife?”

Lando looked ready to launch himself into the stratosphere. “YES, BUT WHO IS SHE? WHY HAVE I NEVER MET HER?!”

Oscar blinked. “I thought it was obvious?”

“OBVIOUS TO WHO?!”

Oscar just shrugged again.

Lando was losing it. “Okay, but why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew,” Oscar said, like that wasn’t the most unhinged thing he could possibly say.

“How would I have known?!” Lando shouted. “Do I look like a mind reader to you?!”

Oscar just looked at him, completely unbothered. The calmest chaos Lando had ever known.

Finally, Lando gave in. “You have to introduce me to her. Like, actually. You can’t just be married and expect me not to meet her.”

Oscar sighed, clearly seeing the writing on the wall. “Fine.”

“Good.” Lando sat back. Then narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Does anyone else know?”

Oscar considered. “I think Zak does.”

Lando shrieked. “WHY DOES ZAK KNOW?!”

“Because he’s my boss?”

“I’M YOUR FRIEND!”

Somewhere, McLaren PR was having the worst day of their careers.

Oscar Piastri, the most low-maintenance driver in the paddock, had just casually revealed on live fan stage that he had a wife—and had had one since he was eighteen.

And Lando?

Lando was never going to emotionally recover from this.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/FormulaTea: 🚨OSCAR PIASTRI JUST CASUALLY ANNOUNCED ON FAN STAGE THAT HE’S BEEN MARRIED SINCE HE WAS 18??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN. WHAT.

@/chaoticf1brain: not oscar piastri saying “i already did one of those” to a “married or tattoo?” question and lando immediately short-circuiting. THIS IS CINEMA.

@/pitlaneprincess: the fact that oscar piastri’s marriage reveal came from a game of “would you rather get married or get a tattoo” is so unintentionally iconic. robot behavior. absolute king.

@/mclarensburner: no like. imagine being oscar’s teammate, sharing hotel gyms and debriefs and flights and NEVER KNOWING he was out here with a whole ass wife since he was a teenager. i’d scream too.

@/lanxiety_norris: Lando’s live meltdown over not knowing Oscar was married has already entered my top 5 F1 moments of all time. He spat out his drink. He screamed. I will be studying this footage for the rest of my life.

@/drivehivehq: oscar saying “she’s amazing. 10/10. would always marry her again.” in the middle of lando’s breakdown 😭💍

why is he lowkey husband goals???

@tiretalkpod: Oscar Piastri being married for FIVE YEARS and no one knowing is somehow more chaotic than any on-track drama we’ve had in the past 3 seasons. This man kept a whole wife secret like it was tire strategy.

@/piastrified: oscar: “how did i keep it a secret? no one asked.” the ENTIRE INTERNET: now asking every possible question at once

@/PRnightmare:  McLaren PR right now: 🧍‍♂️💻💥🔥🧯📉📉📉📉📉

@landosocial:  lando literally said “I’M YOUR FRIEND” like a hurt Victorian child finding out his best mate got married without telling him i’m sobbing 😭😭😭

@/f1brainrot:  we don’t know her name. we don’t know her face. we just know she said yes to a man who proposed “at home. on the bed.” and honestly? she’s a legend.

@/gridwivesunite:  Oscar said “I proposed at home. On the bed.” Oscar also said “she said yes.” Sir??? Why is this accidentally the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard???

@/tracklimitsandtea:  Me watching Oscar drop five years of marital lore in one fan stage while Lando has a nervous breakdown: 👁️👄👁️

@/buzzingtonstan: IF THIS MAN HAS A WHOLE WIFE, DOES THAT MEAN HE ALSO HAS A KID?? IS THERE A BABY PIASTRI OUT THERE??? OSCAR. BLINK TWICE.

@/landodrama: someone make the Netflix episode of this IMMEDIATELY. title it “How Oscar Piastri Crashed the Internet in 6 Words”

@/flannelanddownforceWHO IS THE MYSTERIOUS MRS PIASTRI!?!?

@/nicolepiastri:  I see the internet is discovering my son is married. Welcome to the club. I, too, found out after the fact 5 years ago. 👍

↪️@/piastriluv: NICOLE PLEASE TELL US YOU’RE KIDDING 😭😭😭

@/landochaotic:   Did he at least call you after the ceremony or did you find out via a tax form?!

***

Oscar Piastri was a man of routine.

He liked predictability. Consistency. A life largely free of unnecessary chaos.

Which was exactly why, after the complete meltdown that was today’s fan stage, he had retreated to his driver’s room, shut the door, and pulled out his phone. If there was one thing in his life that wasn’t chaotic, it was his wife.

The call barely rang twice before Felicity picked up, her face appearing on-screen, framed by the garage lighting. She had her hair tied up and was wearing one of his old hoodies—his favorite one, judging by the faded McLaren logo on the sleeve.

Just seeing her calmed him down instantly.

“Hey, Oz,” she said, smiling like she already knew he needed it.

Oscar slumped back against the couch, head tilted to rest against the wall. “Hey, Fliss.”

She studied him for a second. “So. How was your day?”

Oscar closed his eyes for a beat. “Lando found out we’re married.”

Her eyebrows lifted in slow, amused surprise. “Oh.” A pause. “He… didn’t know?”

Oscar opened one eye. “Apparently not.”

That earned a full laugh, soft and familiar. “How the hell did you think he knew?”

Oscar shrugged. “I dunno. We’ve been married for, what, five years now? I figured… someone would’ve told him.”

Felicity gave him a long, fond look. “Oz. You’re about as subtle as a torque wrench, and somehow also the most emotionally secretive man alive.”

“I can be romantic,” Oscar huffed, immediately defensive.

Before she could reply, there was a loud, unmistakable bang on the door. Followed by—

“LET ME IN, PIASTRI!”

Oscar closed his eyes again and muttered under his breath, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

On-screen, Felicity was trying very hard not to laugh. “Is that…?”

“YOU HAVE THREE SECONDS BEFORE I BREAK THIS DOOR DOWN AND DEMAND ANSWERS—”

Oscar tilted the phone so she could see the ceiling. “Yes.”

Now she was laughing freely, and it was a beautiful sound—one he’d always liked more than any podium cheer.

The banging continued. “STOP IGNORING ME, OSCAR. I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. I CAN HEAR YOU BREATHING.”

“You should probably let him in,” Felicity said, lips twitching. “Before he combusts.”

Oscar sighed the sigh of a man who had accepted his fate. He got up, opened the door—

—and Lando barreled in like a man on a mission.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Lando demanded. “I NEED TO SEE HER WITH MY OWN EYES.”

Oscar didn’t even flinch. Just held up the phone like it was Exhibit A. “She’s on FaceTime. Calm down, lunatic.”

Lando whipped around so fast he nearly tripped, then launched himself onto the couch, staring at the screen with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Silence.

Felicity gave him a polite, amused smile. “Hi. You must be Lando.”

Lando stared. Then pointed. “You’re real.”

She laughed. “I hope so.”

He turned to Oscar, looking betrayed on a spiritual level. “SHE’S REAL.”

Oscar sighed. “I know.”

Lando turned back to the screen. “And you married him? At eighteen?”

Felicity shrugged, her smile fond. “Yep.”

“WHY?!” Lando looked genuinely baffled.

Felicity tilted her head. “Because I love him?”

Lando looked like his entire world had been completely shaken. “You love him,” he repeated, staring incredulously down at her.

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Oi, mate, why’s that so hard to believe?”

Lando just groaned in exasperation. “You do not understand how hard it is, being friends with a guy for literal years, and never knowing he had a girlfriend—let alone a WIFE.”

“Mate, I’m pretty sure that says more about you than me,” Oscar told him bluntly.

Lando shot him a glare. “Oh, and you’re what? Mister Emotional Intelligence? You’ve been hiding this for years!”

Oscar shrugged. “Never came up in conversation.”

Lando looked horrified. “Don’t put this on me!”

Oscar shrugged. “You never asked.”

Lando flopped onto the couch, rubbing his face. “Unbelievable.”

Felicity stifled a laugh, the corners of her mouth tugging upward as she watched Lando in his current state.

Oscar side-eyed Lando. “What’s so hard to believe?”

Lando just flailed his arms. “You’ve been my friend for years and I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend, let alone a wife!”

Oscar folded his arms. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Oh, and now I’m the emotionally unaware one?”

“Yes.”

Lando flopped back on the couch like his entire world had been shaken. “You never told me!”

“You never asked.”

Lando, meanwhile, had moved to the “trying to wrap his head around this situation” portion of his breakdown.

“Okay, no. We’re fixing this. Immediately.”

Oscar looked at him flatly. “You’re meeting her. Right now.”

“No. In person. I need proof she’s not a deepfake generated by your PR team to make you seem like a human being.”

Oscar deadpanned, “No PR team is that good.”

Lando pointed to the phone. “Mrs. Piastri, I will see you soon.”

She laughed. “Looking forward to it.”

Lando nodded firmly, then turned back to Oscar. “I will be grilling you for details later.”

Oscar sighed. “Of course you will.”

Lando stood dramatically. “Good. Carry on.” And then he walked out like he had just personally fixed the situation.

Oscar turned back to Fliss, who was fully laughing.

“You were not kidding about him,” she said.

Oscar sighed. “I regret everything.”

She smirked. “Love you.”

Oscar huffed. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

And somewhere, in the distance, Lando was plotting.

****

@/oscarpiastri ✅

Caption:

So, the internet (and, more importantly, Lando) just found out I’m married.

To be honest, I didn’t think it was a secret. I’ve been married for years. I assumed people knew. Turns out, I was very, very wrong.

Yes, I’m married. Have been for five years this summer.

So, meet my wife- Felicity—my best friend, my favorite person in the world, and the only one who has somehow put up with me for this long.

We met when we were 14. Two kids at boarding school, thrown together by pure chance. The only open seat in class was next to me, so she took it. I stole a pen from her once—completely by accident—but she still let me borrow her pens after that. Eventually, she started carrying a second one just for me. I told myself that meant something.

She always knew when I was having a bad day, even when I hadn’t said a word. She made school bearable, made exams feel less stressful, made me laugh even when all I wanted to do was complain. Somewhere between stolen lunch breaks and long walks back to the dorms, between late-night study sessions and whispered conversations about the future, I fell in love with her. Quietly, all at once and over time. I knew by the time we were 15—maybe even before then.

She was my best friend first. The person I trusted most. The one who understood the parts of my life that didn’t always make sense to everyone else. By the time I worked up the nerve to tell her how I felt, she just smiled and said, ‘I was wondering when you’d figure that out.’ Like she had known all along.

When I left school to chase this ridiculous dream, she didn’t ask me to stay. She just told me she’d be there, no matter how far I went. And she was. Through every win, every loss, every moment of self-doubt.

So when we turned 18, we didn’t wait. Three weeks after graduation, we walked into a registry office in London, signed a piece of paper, and walked out married. No grand ceremony, no expensive dress. Just us, two rings we picked out in under twenty minutes, and a promise we already knew we’d keep.

We told our families afterward. Some took it better than others.

I know getting married at 18 sounds a little mad. People told us we were too young, that we should wait, that we were being reckless. But why? I had no doubt in my mind then, and I have none now.

Fliss is still the first person I call after every race, no matter the result. She’s the one who tells me to go to bed when I’m up too late on the sim, who reminds me to eat when I forget, who talks me down when I start overthinking. She’s been with me through everything. Through junior categories to F1, through every high and every low, through the moments I wanted to quit and the ones where I felt like I was on top of the world.

She’s my best friend, my greatest love, the only person who can call me out on my nonsense and get away with it.

So, no, I don’t have a tattoo. But I do have a wife. The person who still looks at me like I’m just that 15-year-old kid stealing a pen and falling in love before he even realizes it’s happening.

I have no idea how I convinced her to marry me, but I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

10/10, would always marry her again. ❤️

@/felicitypiastri

Comments:

@/landonorris: FIVE YEARS??? YOU HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR FIVE YEARS???↪️ @/oscarpiastri: I assumed you knew. ↪️ @/landonorris: WHEN HAVE YOU EVER MENTIONED HAVING A WIFE???↪️ @/felicitypiastri: He does this thing where he forgets people don’t just know things.

@/danielricciardo: High school sweethearts. Eloped at 18. Best plot twist of the season.

@/mclaren: We have so many questions.↪️ @/felicitypiastri: Submit them in an organized document, I’ll answer the best ones.

@/f1updates: Today in ‘Oscar Piastri casually drops life-changing information’—he has a whole wife. Lando learned this at the same time as the rest of us.

@/landoscult: Not Lando finding out with the fans and having a full existential crisis on stage 💀💀💀

@/thef1editz: POV: You just found out your best friend has been MARRIED FOR YEARS and never told you (attached video of Lando’s reaction with dramatic music)

@/wagsf1: WE NEED A FULL BOARDING SCHOOL LOVE STORY IMMEDIATELY.

@/f1tea: No thoughts, just Lando yelling ‘WHO GETS MARRIED AT 18’ like he was personally betrayed.

@/padlockthegrid: We’ve been watching this man for YEARS and never once suspected a wife??

@/georgerussell63: I feel like this is something you announce at a dinner, not in front of an audience.↪️ @/oscarpiastri: I thought I had mentioned it. ↪️ @/landonorris: YOU DID NOT.

@/charles_leclerc: This is the greatest plot twist in F1 history.

@/fernandoalo_oficial: I respect this level of secrecy.

@/chaoticneutralf1: Oscar Piastri is terrifying. He just DOES things and assumes people KNOW.

@/mclaren: Oscar, any other life-altering facts you’ve forgotten to mention?↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Not that I can think of.↪️ @/landonorris: I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT.

@/felicitypiastri: 10/10, would marry you again. (Even if you forget to tell people.)↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Love you too. ❤️

@/danielricciardo: Oscar, mate, do you have any other shocking secrets? ↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Not really. ↪️ @/landonorris: I AM NOT CONVINCED.

@/chaoticgrid: I will think about this every day for the rest of my life.

***

@/felicitypiastri Instagram Post

Caption:

So. Yesterday happened.

Since Oscar apparently forgot that telling people you’re married is something you actually have to do, I’ve spent the last 24 hours watching the internet lose its collective mind. You guys have questions. Lots of them. So, let’s go:

1. Wait… Oscar is MARRIED?!

Yes. Since we were 18. I know, I know. We should have made a big announcement. Or at the very least told his teammate. Oops.

2. When did you get married?!Right after we graduated. We were 18, ran off to London, signed a piece of paper, and then told our families. In hindsight, we probably should have done that last part beforehand, but hey, we were young and in love.

3. Why so young?Because we were sure. It wasn’t impulsive—it was inevitable. People told us we were crazy, that we should wait, that we’d change. But we didn’t. We grew up together, and we only ever grew toward each other. If I had to choose again, I’d do it exactly the same way.

3. How did you two meet?We were 15, stuck at boarding school, and Oscar stole my pen. He swears it was an accident. I maintain that it was the moment he decided to make me fall in love with him.

5. Did you really not tell Lando?I thought he knew! Everyone close to us does! I assumed Oscar had mentioned it at some point, but, well… you all saw what happened. Apparently, Oscar’s ‘private life’ policy extended to his teammate of nearly two years. Which is why we all got to witness his public breakdown in real-time.

5. Does this mean you’re an F1 WAG?Technically? Yes. Do I have the outfit coordination and expensive handbag collection to back it up? No. I do steal Oscar’s team hoodies, so that counts, right?

6. What’s your favorite thing about Oscar?The way he loves—quietly, steadily, with his whole heart. He still waits up for me if I’m out late, still kisses my forehead when he thinks I’m asleep, still tucks handwritten notes into his race gloves like he did back when he was karting. I’ve loved him for so long that I can’t imagine my life any other way.

7. And since Oscar said ‘10/10 would always marry her again,’ what’s your answer?10/10. No regrets, no hesitation, no doubt. I’d marry him a thousand times over.

Comments: 

@/landonorris: I’M STILL NOT OVER THIS. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: I’m never going to live this down, am I? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Nope. But I love you anyway.

@/danielricciardo: This is the kind of romance novel material I expect from an F1 WAG.

@/mclaren: We demand a Netflix special on this.

@/wagsf1: This is the cutest thing we’ve ever seen. Please post more.

@/f1updates: The way she said ‘10/10’ like it was the easiest question ever 😭💖

@/wagsf1: He still tucks handwritten notes into his race gloves??? I’M GONNA CRY.

@/f1updates: This woman just broke the internet by being casually, devastatingly in love.

@/f1fangirl92: The way this man has been secretly in love since he was FIFTEEN is actually lethal.”

@/fanaccountoscarpiastri: So what I’m getting is that Oscar is out here winning races and marriage. I respect it.

@/fanofeverything: Why did Oscar keep it a secret??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: It wasn’t a secret so much as… he never felt the need to bring it up? It’s not like he was hiding me in a basement somewhere. He just doesn’t talk about personal stuff unless someone asks directly. Which, apparently, no one did.

@/paddockinsider: Did Oscar just assume that everyone knew you guys were married? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. 100%. This man did not think to mention it because he thought it was ‘obvious. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OBVIOUS TO WHO?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: To him. He just figured if someone asked if he was married, he’d say yes. But since no one did, he saw no need to bring it up. ↪️@/landonorris: HOW IS THAT YOUR LOGIC. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: No one asked. ↪️@/landonorris: I’M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND.

@/paddockgossip: Did ANY other drivers know??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Oscar’s Prema teammates figured it out. The rest of the grid? Oblivious. ↪️@/landonorris: How did Oscar never accidentally spill?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He doesn’t overshare. Meanwhile, I am still in awe that he just assumed people knew.

@/mclarenfanatic: Did he really think Lando knew? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: 100%. I asked him and he was like, ‘Well, I didn’t HIDE it?’ And I was like, ‘Oscar. That is not the same thing as telling people.’

@/pitstopqueen: What was your first impression of Oscar? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Honestly? I thought he was too quiet. Then he made some dry, sarcastic comment under his breath in class, and I immediately knew we’d get along.

@/tracksidegossip: How long did you actually plan the wedding? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: A week. And ‘plan’ is a generous term. We just Googled how to get married in London, booked the appointment, and that was that.

@/f1chaos: Oscar, be so honest, did you really think people would just ‘figure it out’ without you ever saying anything?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. Yes, he did.

@/gridgirlgossip: Oscar Piastri, the man who quietly eloped at 18, dealt with family drama, and then just went racing like nothing happened.

@/drsdiva: This is the wildest reveal in F1 history. Netflix, do your job.

@/f1softies: The fact that Oscar has been in wife guy mode for YEARS and we had no idea.

@/lando4lyf: Lando: ‘YOU GOT A TATTOO?!’ Oscar: ‘No, I’m married.’ Lando: internal system crash

@/piastriupdates: Lando Norris finding out live on stage that his teammate has been MARRIED FOR FIVE YEARS is the funniest thing to ever happen in F1.

@/f1memesdaily: Oscar Piastri eloped at 18, never told anyone, and assumed people would figure it out while Lando was out here thinking he was a single man. I respect the commitment to quiet chaos.

@/danielricciardo: Mate. You were MARRIED this whole time?? I thought you were just too focused on racing to date anyone, and instead you were out here with a whole WIFE???

@/charles_leclerc: You were married at 18? And Oscar thought that was a normal thing to do?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. 

@/alex_albon: Tbh, I respect it. Absolute power move. Eloping at 18, casually keeping it a secret, and then just dropping it on Lando like that?? Unreal. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: See? Alex gets it.

@/robertschwartzman: Oh, now everyone suddenly cares. Meanwhile, WE KNEW THE WHOLE TIME. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: To be fair, you were basically forced to know. ↪️@/robertschwartzman: Yeah, because he wouldn’t shut up about you. ‘Oh, I can’t come to dinner, I have to call my wife.’ ‘Oh, I’m flying to London to see my wife.’ Mate, we were 19, and you were out here married like a 40-year-old. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He still does that, btw.↪️@/robertschwartzman: Not surprised. The man has been whipped since day one.

@/arthur_leclerc: The funniest part was watching Oscar just assume we all knew. Like we’d be talking about normal 19-year-old things, and he’d casually drop, ‘Yeah, my wife said the same thing.’ ↪️@/felicitypiastri: And did any of you ever ask for clarification? ↪️@/arthur_leclerc: Oh, we asked. His response? ‘What about it?’ LIKE SIR. ↪️@/robertschwartzman: “One time, I straight-up said, ‘Mate, do you realize you’re married?’ and he just blinked at me and said, ‘Yeah.’ As if that was a totally normal thing for a teenage racing driver. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Sounds about right. ↪️@/logansergeant: “Honestly, we stopped questioning it after a while. He was just so chill about it. ↪️@/arthur_leclerc: Yeah, it was like, ‘Oh, Oscar’s in a committed marriage while we’re all just trying to survive? Cool, cool.’

@/f1updates: So you eloped… but do you think you’ll ever have a big wedding? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Not really. Oscar and I don’t love being the center of attention, so a big wedding never appealed to us. ↪️@/landonorris: THEN CAN I HAVE A BIG PARTY ON YOUR BEHALF??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: We literally just had a wedding reveal by accident and you want to throw an even bigger event??? ↪️@/landonorris: YES.

@/f1updates: Why doesn’t Oscar wear a wedding ring? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He does! He just doesn’t wear it when driving. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: Okay but I have never seen this man wear a ring in my life. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He wears it in the off-season. Also, fun fact: he has a silicone one for training that he keeps losing.

@/f1updates: Serious question—why don’t you ever go to races?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: I like my privacy. Nobody needs to see my terrified facial expressions. Also, I am busy at home. ↪️@/f1memes: You really married a professional racing driver and said no thanks to the circus.” ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yep.  

↪️@/mclarenmemes: And Oscar’s fine with that??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He knew what he was signing up for.

@/landonorris: So I still haven’t met you because??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Because you are chaos incarnate and I am scared. ↪️@/landonorris: I AM DELIGHTFUL. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Oscar tells me otherwise. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OSCAR, SAY IT AIN’T SO. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: No comment.

@/mclarenmemes: So you just send him off to work and watch from home like it’s the Super Bowl? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. ↪️@/f1memes: AND HE’S FINE WITH THAT??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He comes home, I feed him, we watch race replays together, and he tells me all the paddock gossip. We have an excellent system. ↪️@/f1updates: Oscar, confirm or deny? ↪️@/oscarpiastri: Confirmed.

@/f1updates: So, will we ever see you at a race? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Maybe. One day. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OSCAR, MAKE HER COME TO ONE. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: She does whatever she wants. I learned that a long time ago.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/piastrified: oscar posting a heartfelt essay about marrying the love of his life felicity posting a selfie from their wedding day and casually mentioning he stole her pen we are in a ROMANCE NOVEL people

@/tifosibutsoft:  not to be dramatic but i would lay down my life for felicity piastri and her 20-photo instagram grid.

@/formulafeminism: her instagram goes: 🧠 page-long math caption 🐔 chicken in a knitted sweater?! 🛠️ engine restoration 🍞 perfect sourdough crumb 💍 wedding ring in engine grease this woman is unhinged. i love her.

@/landoslostmind: lando finding out oscar is married via fan stage chaos the internet finding out felicity is better than ALL of us via a grid that has exactly zero curated content same vibe.

@/chaosinturn1:  felicity: “technically i’m an f1 wag” also felicity: wears oil-stained jeans, builds a gearbox, and bakes bread from scratch at 3am this woman is a weapon

@/garagegirlsupreme:  Felicity Piastri’s whole vibe is: “I could kill you with this torque wrench or love you for the rest of my life. Either way, you’re eating homemade banana bread.” 10/10 no notes.

@/formula1tumblr: Oscar: “I’d marry her again in a heartbeat.” Felicity: “We were inevitable.” Me: sob crying into an old hoodie I pretend is Oscar’s

@/pitwallposters:  you know she’s terrifyingly brilliant bc her instagram isn’t even TRYING to be aesthetic and it still made us fall in love with her

@/felicityspanner: people are out here thirst-following felicity for hot girl math & carburetors and you know what? same

@/softoscarpiastri:  Oscar: “I assumed people knew.” Felicity: “Oops.” Me, holding back tears while reading both their posts like it’s a Nicholas Sparks adaptation: 🧍‍♀️

@/beehivetheory:  felicity piastri’s instagram is the most confusing and impressive thing i’ve ever seen. one post: her holding a sourdough starter like it’s her child. next post: her under a 1967 alfa romeo spider with a wrench in her mouth. next: her proving a theorem i don’t have the qualifications to read.

@/mclarenbrainrot:  i think the best part is that felicity’s account is just soft lighting, feral captions, old cars, and a literal chicken coop.

@/chaoticgoodfelicity:  “Technically I’m a WAG. I steal Oscar’s hoodies so that counts right?” felicity i want to be you SO BAD.

@/formulanope:  I don’t know who I want to be more:

Oscar, who married the love of his life at 18 and thought everyone just knew

Felicity, who loves cars, chickens, and spreadsheets more than media attention

@/speedmathqueen people are shocked oscar married a genius but felicity’s instagram LITERALLY has a video where she’s like “just fixing a differential while calculating gravitational drag on a whiteboard” and then makes banana bread like it’s nbd how is this woman real

@/lanlanf1:  every team principal right now reading oscar’s caption like: “okay so not only is he unshakeable on track but also writes like a poet, has been married since 18, and literally fixed himself by 15. great. fantastic. my drivers can’t even commit to a protein shake.”

@/gpbutemotional:  Zak Brown: “we support family at McLaren.” Andrea Stella, quietly reprinting Oscar’s driver bio with “married to a woman smarter than all of us combined”

@/justpitthings:  the fact that felicity Piastri could win an engine-rebuild competition, a bake-off, and a theoretical physics conference in the same weekend AND look bored while doing it… she’s what every gifted kid from tumblr wanted to become

@/tinfoilfelicity:  convinced felicity is the reason oscar is so calm. you grow up married to someone who organizes her maths notes in color-coded hexadecimal and has chicken and suddenly nothing in life phases you anymore.

@/piastriupdates:  what do you mean oscar’s love language is handwritten notes inside his gloves before every race i’m actually going to cry in the middle of a petrol station

[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 1

paige x azzi

word count: 7.1k

A/N: Not much to say about this one yet. It was a random idea I got and I decided to combine my two interests lol. Let me know what you think and if this is something you’d like to see play out more!

—————————————————————————

The Sparks were up by twenty-four. The starters pulled halfway through the third, and Azzi sat near the end of the bench, her legs were stretched and a towel was sitting around her neck as she casually sipped from her water bottle.

The energy in the arena had changed. The crowd was still loud but they started entertaining themselves with whatever the jumbotron fed them: dance cams, kiss cams, baby cams. Azzi’s body had cooled, but her mind still flickered with the movement on the court, tracing the plays, missed shots, moments that might’ve gone differently.

She only half-registered the familiar cadence of the courtside camera sweep. A ritual of sorts in a city like LA—celebrities shown on the jumbotron like saints. The crowd responded on cue: applause, laughter, a few cheers too loud to be genuine.

A few big house names and faces flashed across the screen—actors, influencers, former players—each one hamming it up for their moment. They didn’t pay for their court side seats for nothing.

Then the frame landed on someone who didn’t match the rest.

Blonde. A little stone-faced. She wore a cream Essentials sweatsuit, ankle resting over her knee, a few rings on her fingers, completely still.

She didn’t wave at the camera. Didn’t smile. Just stared at it like it had interrupted her thoughts—then looked right past it, completely disinterested.

Azzi blinked her eyebrows drawing together.

“…who is that?” she murmured, subtly nudging Rickea beside her.

Rickea followed her gaze and then smiled widely. “Oh that’s my Paigey wazy. She’s Cam’s god sister she’s always talking about.”

Azzi nodded. “She famous or anything?”

Rickea nodded. “She does MMA. Popular as hell in UFC right now. She’s...definitely different, I love her though.” Rickea said it and her tone was like a warning mixed with a compliment.

Azzi glanced back toward the baseline, toward the blonde who hadn’t moved since the camera left her. She didn’t fully blend in—but she didn’t look like she needed nor wanted to stand out. Unfortunately for her, the mere presence alone did the work.

When the final buzzer sounded players filtered off the court, their laughter started to echo through the tunnel, a chorus of their sneakers against the concrete. Azzi walked slowly, towel over her shoulder, thoughts already shifting to her recovery and film review.

She was halfway to the tunnel when an arm threw over her shoulder.

“Wait,” Cam said, grinning. “You’re the only one who hasn’t met her yet.”

Azzi blinked. “Met who?”

“My sister,” Cam said, casual, like it was obvious. “Well—god sister. But she’s basically blood so.”

Before Azzi could protest, Cam was already guiding her back toward the floor, past security and stragglers still lingering for selfies.

She was standing court wide on her phone, seemingly waiting for Cam. Same expressionless face. A storm sealed behind glass.

Cam stepped up beside her, nudging her gently with an elbow to get her attention. “Paige, this is Azzi I don’t think you guys have met.”

Paige looked up slowly.

Her gaze flicked over Azzi in a single sweep—measured, unreadable. No smile. No raised brow. Just a quiet recognition, like Azzi had been noted, filed, and shelved in the space of her brain.

“Hi,” Azzi offered politely, her voice warm but tempered by a slight curiosity. “Nice to meet you.”

A pause.

Then Paige gave a small nod. No handshake. No return greeting.

Just acknowledgment. As bare as it could be.

Azzi let her eyebrow raise slightly, a smile still tugging at the corner of her mouth. There was something oddly fascinating about someone so immune to her charm. Most people lit up in her presence—Paige barely flickered.

Cam chuckled, watching the exchange like it was perfectly on brand.

Then she turned back to Paige. “How was weigh-in this morning?”

Paige’s gaze didn’t change much. “Good. One thirty-five exactly.”

Cam grinned. “So you can eat again without whining about still being hungry.”

A breath of laughter left her, but Paige didn’t outwardly react—no smile, no eye roll. Just stillness. Cam barely noticed. She was used to it.

Undeterred, she kept talking, stuffing her hands into her hoodie pocket. “Some of the team’s coming to the fight tomorrow. We’re sitting in your section again.”

Then Cam turned to Azzi, face brightening. “You should come.”

Azzi blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah! I swear you haven’t really seen Paige until you’ve watched her fight.”

Azzi glanced at Paige again, intrigued. “Is that right?”

Cam nodded. “Totally different energy. You might actually see her blink. You’ll love it. Rae basically got a girl crush on her after seeing her fight the first time.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, surprised by how curious she suddenly felt. She didn’t know if she’d love it—but the idea of seeing what stirred beneath that quiet, unreadable exterior intrigued her.

Her smile returned, softly, her eyes returning to Paige. “Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Paige didn’t answer. She just nodded—precise, barely perceptible.

Cam rolled her eyes and mumbled something about Paige being a pain in the ass before she and Azzi walked toward the locker room.

…

The octagon was much bigger than Azzi expected. Not just physically—but in presence. Under the heavy lights, it felt enormous, like a coliseum dressed in modern steel. The energy inside the venue was a little unnerving, thousands of fans humming with anticipation, loud enough that it vibrated in her chest.

People packed every seat, most with eyes locked on the cage watching the current fight. Some wore merch, shouting names with beer-slicked voices. Others were dressed like they belonged on a runway, leaning into each other with glossy lips and barely hidden intentions—here less for the fights, more for whoever looked good throwing punches.

Azzi had never seen a crowd like this.

The Sparks players arrived late, just in time for the final card—Paige’s fight. Their seats gave them a clean view of the octagon, and even then, Azzi felt miles away from the quiet girl in the Essentials sweatsuit.

It didn’t feel like her world. Until it did.

The lights changed. The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena as he introduced the final card.

“Fighting out of the red corner—ten wins, three losses, three draws…”

A pulse of music filled the air. Loud and flashy. Her opponent stepped out, face painted with focus, arms raised as her corner hyped her up. The screen showed her highlight reel, knockout clips, quick hands. She worked the crowd like she was made for the attention.

Azzi watched, her arms folded, lips pressed together. She glanced at Cam. “She any good?”

Cam shrugged. “She’s fine. But she’s not Paige.”

The lights dimmed again, then roared back with Paige’s name.

“Fighting out of the blue corner—twelve wins, no losses…”

The crowd erupted. Louder than before. A different kind of loud—not hype, but reverence as fans screamed her name.

No dramatic song. No chest-thumping entourage. Just Paige.

Her bun was pulled back tight. Her expression as unreadable as ever. She didn’t play to the crowd. She didn’t acknowledge the noise. Her hands were wrapped, feet steady, and her eyes were locked straight ahead—already in the cage long before she stepped into it.

She hadn’t blinked. Not once.

Inside the cage, the difference in opponents was transparent.

Her opponent stood in the red corner, flanked by a full team—three cornermen barking last-minute instructions, one of them pounding their fist into a pad like they could transfer momentum through noise. She bounced on her toes, muscles twitching with anticipation, feeding off the crowd’s energy like it was oxygen.

Paige, by contrast, sat quietly in the blue corner with just two: her trainer crouched beside her, and a cut man leaned casually against the gate, hands folded, already knowing his night would likely be uneventful.

Her trainer murmured something low in her ear—brief. Paige didn’t respond. Just a slow nod.

No fire in her eyes. No bravado. Just a complete stillness that felt more dangerous than all the antics.

She tugged off her shirt, revealing a black UFC sports bra. Her frame was lean. She rolled her shoulders back, tilted her neck side to side until it cracked, took a steady breath then rose to her feet.

No theatrics. No psych-up routine.

Just the quiet poise of someone who already knew how this would end.

Azzi watched from the stands, her heart ticking a little faster in anticipation all of a sudden. She’d never seen someone so calm in the center of so much chaos.

The bell rang.

From the start Paige moved like water—never still, never rushed. Her stance was coiled. Calculated. From the opening seconds, it was clear she wasn’t pressing for control. She gave her opponent space, let her circle. Almost like there had been an agreement—an unspoken one—to make this last.

Azzi leaned closer, her eyebrows drawing in with confusion. “She’s…not even trying.”

“Not yet,” Cam said beside her, arms crossed tightly as she studied the blonde intently. “That’s just Paige. She reads. Waits.”

Inside the octagon, Paige’s eyes never left her opponent. Every jab that came her way was slipped or parried, her head moving just enough, her feet dancing just out of reach. Not a single clean hit landed.

Then, like a breath between beats, Paige struck.

A quick jab to the ribs and then another to the shoulder before sliding out of range like nothing had happened. Her opponent stumbled for a moment, surprised by the speed, the force.

Azzi sat forward a little in shock. “She’s fast.”

“Quicker than most,” Cam replied. “She’s still holding back. Hasn’t gotten the read she wants.”

It was strange, watching someone so calm in a cage built for violence. Paige moved with a quiet rhythm, not aggressive, not passive—just controlled. There was no adrenaline in her face. No fire. No nothing. Every attempt at a choke, every kick, punch, she slipped out of it with an ease.

The bell rang again for the start of the second round.

Paige returned to the center like nothing had changed—fluid, unhurried. The same measured steps. The same calculated distance. To anyone else, it looked like she hadn’t felt a thing in the first round. Like she still wasn’t interested in finishing the fight.

Azzi crossed her arms, shifting in her seat. “She’s still not pushing.”

“She will,” Cam said softly.

The two opponents moved around the cage. Paige throwing a few hits that landed clean, easing just out of distance every time her opponent tried to counter.

Then—snap. A right hook came quick out of nowhere and landed hard across Paige’s jaw.

The sound cracked above the crowd, a clean connection that rocked her head to the side.

The arena gasped and Cam sat up a little bit.

Azzi's breath caught. “Damn.”

Rickea leaned forward, wide-eyed. “Oh shit she’s about to be pissed.”

Paige didn’t go down. Didn’t even stagger. Her feet stayed planted, spine straight. Just the subtlest tightening in her jaw, a flicker of something in her eyes.

She stepped forward—not aggressively, but with intent. Her hands came up a little higher. She slipped a jab, ducked under a left cross, and countered with a shot to the ribs. Her opponent winced, retreating, but Paige followed—not rushing, just closing space.

Another hit—clean, to the ribs again. Then an uppercut with dominant hand that snapped her opponent’s chin up.

The crowd roared.

Azzi leaned in, almost transfixed now. Paige was still silent, still unreadable, but her body was speaking for her.

A left calf kick.

A right jab.

Then, when her opponent flinched Paige threw a final cross throw, hitting the side of her jaw like a switch being flipped.

She dropped.

The referee dove between them waving his hands.

It was over. The final card of the night meant for five rounds done in two.

The crowd exploded around her, but Paige didn’t move much. No celebration. Just a steady rise of her chest turning toward her corner, jaw set, breathing calm.

Azzi sat frozen in her seat, blinking like she’d just come out of a dream. The fight was still playing in her head—the jabs, the fluid movement—the stillness that followed.

Paige spit the slight blood from her mouth into the bucket beside her. She muttered something tight to her trainer—no emotion on her face, no victory or pride, just words exchanged, a formality.

Azzi could see it in her eyes. The flash of fire behind her cool blue orbs. A controlled anger. The flicker of frustration that didn’t quite make it to the surface.

With a final nod to her trainer, Paige stepped out of the cage, eyes forward, posture straight.

Azzi couldn’t look away for some reason.

The hallway leading to the back of the venue was buzzing—staff, security, the hum of celebration from other fighters and teams. But the air shifted the moment they rounded the corner and stepped into the private area Paige was assigned to.

Azzi heard it before she saw it—the sharp thump of fists slamming into leather, steady and forceful.

Paige stood in front of a heavy bag, wrapped hands pounding into it with methodical anger. Sweat clung to her skin, her jaw was clenched tight, and a faint bruise was already blooming across her jaw like a slow, dark sunrise.

Azzi slowed, instinctively when she felt the tenseness in the room. So did Rickea.

Only Cam kept walking like she didn’t feel the weight in the room.

“Hey,” she called out casually, stepping right into the storm.

Paige didn’t turn. Her punches came harder now. The bag jerked with every hit. The anger she never showed on her face bled through her fists instead.

“You know she’s lucky she landed that hit, right? You let her dance for a whole round and a half for the sake of entertainment and the contract.”

Still nothing.

“You pissed ‘cause she got that shot in, or ‘cause you gave her the space to?”

Another strike—harder. Paige’s shoulder tensed, her jaw tighter now.

Cam groaned, completely unfazed. “Okay, silent treatment. Classic.”

Azzi stayed near the wall, her arms crossed, gaze flicking between Cam and Paige.

Rickea leaned in and whispered, “This is how she decompresses. Last time she almost broke the damn bag.”

Azzi didn’t respond. She felt like she shouldn’t talk. Her eyes were fixed on the slow rise and fall of Paige’s chest, the focus in her face, the storm she carried so tightly under the surface.

She was beautiful, but in the way fire was beautiful—dangerous and controlled only by choice.

Azzi watched her hit the bag again, harder, sharper. Her body said what her mouth never would.

Cameron stepped closer, folding her arms as she watched Paige continue hammering the bag, knuckles snapping against leather like a ticking clock.

“You know,” Cam started, voice lighter than the atmosphere deserved, “one of these days you’re gonna hit the bag so hard it punches back.”

Paige still said nothing.

Thud.

Cam sighed. “You could at least pretend to listen. I brought people to watch you fight today.”

Thud.

“You don’t get to brood in a corner every time you get touched—”

CRACK.

The next punch landed louder, the bag swinging violently. Azzi flinched.

But Cam didn’t budge. “Seriously. It was one punch. And you won. With a knockout. Again. So let’s wrap this post-fight existential crisis up and go get a drink like normal people—”

THUD.

“Paige,” Cam said, sharper now.

Still, Paige didn’t stop.

So Cam grabbed her.

She stepped in close, hands catching Paige’s wrist mid-swing.

Paige whipped around. Her expression that was once unreadable, flared. Her jaw was clenched and her blue eyes seared through Cam like a fuse had finally been lit.

Azzi froze.

“Don’t touch me when I’m not ready Cameron,” Paige snapped.

For a moment, everything stood still but Cam held her ground not concerned by the anger.

Then, slowly, Paige pulled her wrist free, shoulders still tight, chest rising and falling with the restraint it took to pull the heat back in.

She looked away before mumbling, “Fine. I’m done.”

Cam raised her eyebrows, unfazed. “Wow. What a glowing yes.”

Paige didn’t answer. She turned and started taking off her gloves.

Cam glanced over her shoulder at Azzi and Rickea. “You see what I deal with?”

Azzi blinked, completely confused. Her gaze lingered on Paige as the blonde gathered herself, recentering.

Despite the snap in Paige’s voice, despite the way her jaw tightened when Cam grabbed her, Azzi hadn’t been afraid.

Because Cam hadn’t moved and Rickea didn’t react either.

It was clear that this wasn’t unfamiliar. Paige’s temper was a known storm. One that rumbled, but didn’t destroy the people she cared about.

Azzi found herself wanting to be the one who could calm it. Which, she admitted to herself, was probably the stupidest thought she could have. Still, the feeling settled in her chest.

Paige muttered something to Cam, the words too soft for Azzi to hear, but the way she shrugged out of her hoodie and grabbed a towel made the intention clear.

“Gonna shower.”

And just like that, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her, the room finally exhaling.

Rickea immediately snorted, breaking the silence. “I swear, Cam…one day you’re really gonna piss that girl off.”

Cam rolled her eyes. “If she hasn’t snapped on me by now, she’s not gonna. I used to really push her buttons when I was in college.” She shrugged. “Besides, someone’s gotta rile her up a little bit here and there.”

She turned toward Azzi, a smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t let the glare scare you. She’s a softie. That’s just her version of agreeing to be social.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, the tension softening in her shoulders. Her gaze flicked toward the closed door again, curiosity twisting like thread around her thoughts.

Social. Sure.

The three of them talked a little longer, light conversation humming to fill the space as they waited for Paige. Azzi listened, but her mind kept circling the same question. She couldn’t quite let it go.

After a pause, she finally asked, “Why was she so upset?”

Cam’s mouth opened, but before the answer could come, the bathroom door creaked open.

Steam curled into the air, and Paige stepped out, hair damp, the fresh bruise harsh along her jaw. Her expression was blank—but her eyes landed on Cam.

“Stop talking about me, Cam,” she said, her voice even and clipped, not bothering to slow her pace as she crossed the room.

“I wouldn’t have to if you pulled the pole outta your ass.”

Rickea snorted again, laughing into the back of her hand.

Azzi blinked, but she couldn’t help the grin that slipped onto her face. Paige paused for the smallest second, like she registered it—then kept walking, grabbing her phone off the bench.

Cam just shook her head. “Anyway,” she said, picking up the thread like Paige hadn’t just tried to end the conversation, “She hates getting touched in a fight. Takes it personally. She doesn’t admit it, but she’s a little vain. Hates when they mess up her face.”

Rickea laughed, sitting in a nearby chair. “That bruise is already turning purple. You’re gonna be cranky about that for days.”

Across the room, Paige sat on the bench, towel draped around her neck. She didn’t even glance over. “You’re the one who said it looked good last time.”

“Yeah,” Rickea shrugged, “but that was a black eye. This one’s different. It’s got character.”

Paige finally looked up, her gaze sliding to Rickea first. “If you’re trying to butter me up, it’s not working.”

Rickea grinned. “I’m just saying. You still look pretty Paigey, don't worry.”

Paige snorted, quiet and barely audible—but it was there. A crack in the stone.

Azzi, still leaning against the wall, tilted her head slightly as she decided to chime in. “So it’s the face you’re protective of. Not the record?”

Those blue eyes shifted, landing on Azzi like they’d just remembered she was in the room. Her expression didn’t change, but there was something focused in the way she looked at her now.

“You ever get punched in the jaw in front of a screaming arena and ten cameras?” Paige asked.

Azzi’s smile curved. “I’ve taken elbows from girls twice my size. So maybe pretty close.”

A beat passed. Then Paige’s gaze drifted away again. “Then you kinda get it.”

Cam grinned like she’d just seen lightning hit dry land. “Wow. Full sentence and everything on the first day. That might be a record.”

Azzi laughed. “Do I get a prize?”

Paige reached for her phone, not looking up. “Don’t push your luck.”

Rickea leaned toward Azzi, whispering behind a not-so-subtle hand, “That’s basically a compliment from her.”

Azzi smiled, her eyes drifting back to Paige—who still wasn’t looking at her, but something in the quiet set of her shoulders said she was listening.

…

The restaurant had polished floors, beautiful wood tables, and a bar that stretched long under a wash of amber light. It wasn’t flashy, but perfectly familiar.

Azzi walked in followed by Cam and Rickea, all three of them caught in easy conversation. Her gaze drifted around, slowing as she caught sight of Paige already at the bar.

“How the hell did she beat us here?”

Cam didn’t bother looking. “Told you she would. She drives like a crazy person sometimes.”

Azzi felt it then—the same quiet pull she’d felt last night at the game.

They approached the bar together, Cam sliding in beside Paige with a light shoulder bump. “Look who actually showed up to be social,” she teased.

Paige didn’t look up. “Debatable.”

Rickea gave Paige a half-hug from behind that she didn’t react to before turning to Cam. “I think I saw someone James knows near the back. Come with me real quick?”

Cam looked over her shoulder, spotted what Rickea was talking about, then glanced back at Azzi. “You good here for a second?”

Azzi nodded, her eyes still on Paige. “Yeah.”

They disappeared into the crowd, leaving Azzi to ease into the empty seat beside her. Paige didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just tilted her head slightly, eyes flicking to her, then forward again.

Azzi took her time, letting the silence stretch as she rested her arms on the bar. Then softly, “You always this friendly?”

Paige’s lips barely moved. “You always this brave after watching someone knock somebody out?”

Azzi laughed—fullly, like it came from somewhere deeper than amusement. “So you do talk.”

“I thought we established that already,” Paige said, eyes still on the mirror behind the bar, watching the room without ever turning toward it.

Azzi’s gaze flicked to the bruise along Paige’s jaw. “Does it hurt?”

There was a pause. Paige glanced at her again, like she wasn’t used to being asked questions.

“You never really get used to being hit by someone who hits people for a living,” she said finally. Her voice was flat—but not dismissive.

Azzi winced sympathetically, then gave a small smile. “So no secret trick to making it hurt less? Ice, adrenaline, pride?”

Paige tilted her head just slightly. “Denial.”

Azzi laughed softly. “That tracks.”

There was a beat of silence as Azzi’s eyes lingered on her face—the bruising, the set of her mouth.

“So…no celebration? No smile? Not even a little shoulder shimmy like Steph?” Azzi teased gently.

Paige blinked at her once. “I don’t shimmy.”

“Everyone shimmies for something.”

“I don’t.”

Azzi grinned, leaning in a bit. “What about a smile? You got one of those, or are they pay-per-view only?”

Paige’s lips quirked—barely. It could’ve been amusement or irritation. “Expensive ticket,” she said dryly. “Most people don’t make it past the preview.”

Azzi laughed again. “You know, I think that was a joke. You might be more charming than you let on blondie.”

Before Azzi could push her luck further Rickea slid in beside Paige again with a smile as she looked at AZi. “If she’s talking to you, that’s like…step two in the Paige friendship program. Step three’s making her laugh, but I don’t think anyone’s ever made it that far.”

Paige took a sip of her drink, ignoring them. “Y’all alk too much.”

Cam grinned, dropping her bag on the bar. “Yeah, but admit it—you’d miss us if we stopped.”

Paige didn’t respond, but her silence felt a little lighter.

As time passed the bar had filled out fast, music pulsing beneath the chatter and clinking glasses. Paige sat quiet at the bar, still nursing the same drink. Azzi was leaned in, teasing something light out of her, when a sudden jolt rocked Rickea’s chair next to Paige.

A man, maybe late twenties, stumbled back with a grin, clearly not sorry. “Shit my bad,” he said with zero sincerity, eyes already scanning Rickea’s body. “Didn’t mean to bump into something so pretty.”

Rickea frowned. “Yeah, you’re good. Not interested, though.”

He leaned in closer anyway, undeterred. “That’s fine. I’m not asking for forever or nothing like that, just the rest of your night.”

Rickea once again made it clear she wasn’t interested but the man insisted.

“Damn I can’t even try the ride out? You like pussy or sum?”

Paige’s chair scraped back and she stood, calm in the way a storm is calm before it breaks open the sky.

“That’s not what she said,” Paige said, voice like gravel under pressure.

The guy turned, sizing her up—and then smirked when he caught the bruise along her jaw. “Jesus, you look like someone already handed you your ass tonight. You sure you wanna get in another round, pretty girl?”

Azzi and Rickea didn’t move, both a little terrified for the man—Paige’s jaw clenched tight enough to crack her teeth, knuckles ghosting over the edge of her seat.

Her voice was almost surgical. “You got three seconds to get the fuck outta my face before one of your friends is carrying you outside.”

She started to step forward when Cam was suddenly between them, hand braced flat against Paige’s ribs like it wasn’t the first time.

“Hey,” Cam said, firm but easy. “You don’t need another lawsuit tonight.”

Paige didn’t look at her. Her eyes stayed locked on the man’s. But she didn’t move forward either.

The guy gave a dry, uneasy laugh. “Whatever. Crazy bitches,” he muttered before melting back into the crowd.

Without saying anything, Paige picked up her glass and tossed back the last of it, ice clinking against her teeth. “I’m going home,” she muttered, already turning away. Her shoulders were stiff, her jaw tight, and the bruise on her face was darker under the bar lights. None of them tried to stop her.

Cam returned a few seconds later, sliding into the chair with a sigh and grabbing a fry from Rickea’s plate. She caught the way Azzi’s eyes lingered toward the door Paige had just walked through.

“Don’t worry.” Cam said, chewing. “That wasn’t bad she’s fine.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow.

Cam shrugged. “She’s always been like that. Bad temper—quiet until she’s not.”

“She ever actually do anything?” Azzi asked.

“Couple of things,” Cam replied dryly. “Mostly in high school. Nothing wild, but enough that my dads best friend—her dad—got her into fighting when she was fifteen. Said if she was gonna throw punches, she might as well learn to do it right.”

Azzi nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place.

Cam grinned. “She’s probably just going home to hit a bag. With the lights off and no music on. She’s real dramatic like that when she’s pissed.”

“Guess that explains why she left without saying bye.”

Cam laughed. “She always does. Paige doesn’t do long goodbyes. Or small talk. Or...people, really.”

Azzi tilted her glass thoughtfully. “But she’s close with you two.”

Cam shrugged. “We’re not people. We’re furniture at this point.”

Rickea laughed. “Background noise she tolerates.”

Azzi huffed out a quiet laugh, eyes lingering on the door Paige had walked through. “She ever crazy a smile?”

“Sure,” Cam said, then squinted. “Like...twice a year. Usually when she knocks someone out faster than she expected or when she’s had a few drinks and a stupid dog video shows up on her phone.”

Rickea added, “Besides us, the only person she even tolerates is probably DiJonai.”

“I wouldn’t even say tolerate—she loves that girl.”

Azzi glanced between them. “DiJonai Carrington? From the Wings?”

“Mmm,” Cam nodded. “No clue how or why, but she always has Paige laughing like it’s nothing. It’s kind of freaky.”

Azzi smiled. “So it’s possible.”

Rickea chuckled. “Barely.”

Cam leaned back, watching her. “Why? You planning something?”

Azzi’s smiles “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Cam laughed into her drink. “Good luck. Just try not to lose a tooth in the process.”

Azzi grinned. “No promises.”

…

A few days later the sun hung high over Beverly Hills, casting golden light on the modern homes lining the hills. Paige’s place sat a little higher—tucked back from the others, quiet and unbothered. It was sleek, clean lines and glass, concrete softened by manicured greenery.

Cam led the way through the side gate without knocking, as if she'd done it a thousand times. Azzi followed with Rickea close behind, the faint echo of music drawing them around to the backyard. There, offset from the house, was a sleek, glass-and-metal shed—if you could even call it that—more luxury gym than anything makeshift.

Cam pushed the door open and air rolled out to greet them—along with the rhythmic snap-snap-snap of a speed bag being worked over.

Paige didn’t look up right away.

Her skin gleamed with sweat, the muscles in her shoulders shifting constantly under the light, ponytail hanging down her back. She didn’t miss a beat when they stepped in. Just kept going.

Only when she hit her final strike, hand catching the swinging bag in its path, did she glance over. Her eyes flicked to them. Then she turned away to unstrap her gloves, breathing even, back rising and falling calmly like she hadn’t just been keeping the rhythm of the speed bag for the past 15 minutes.

“Didn’t know we were making this a group thing,” Paige said, voice indifferent, like it didn’t matter—but she definitely noticed.

Cam tossed her bag down. “You knew I was someone. The more the merrier, right?”

Paige wiped her face with a towel completely unimpressed. “That’s probably the most bullshit saying I’ve ever heard.”

She finally turned toward Rickea and Azzi, giving them a small nod in greeting. It wasn’t exactly a warm welcome, but it was something.

Rickea deciding to start the day of bothering Paige smiled, eyes running over Paige purposefully. “You know, you actually look kinda pretty without the bruise blondie.”

Paige blinked once, slowly, then shook her head as she turned back to the bag. “You spend way too much time with Cam.”

Rickea just laughed, dropping to the mat with Azzi and Cam to start stretching. “That’s not a thank you, by the way.”

“I didn’t hear a compliment back either,” Cam added, reaching overhead.

“Y’all are loud as hell for two people who can’t throw a punch,” Paige mumbled, already back at the bag. The sound of her fists striking the leather echoed in the gym rhythmically—despite her bare knuckles.

Cam crossed her arms. “Gloves, Madison.”

Without missing a beat, Paige shot back, “My bank account tells me it doesn’t matter.”

Cam scoffed. “That bank account’s not gonna matter when you break your hand being hard headed.”

“Then I’ll fight southpaw. Problem solved.”

She didn’t look at anyone as she spoke, didn’t even pause her movement, but Azzi’s eyes lingered on her. It was another glimpse of her personality—dry and quietly cocky. Her expression remained unreadable, but that hint of personality cut through.

Azzi found herself smiling, just a little.

Paige didn’t look in her direction—didn’t have to. Her hands moved faster on the speed bag, before she finally spoke. “I promise you won’t survive if you don’t stretch.”

Azzi arched her eyebrow, dropping into a lunge. “You threatening me?”

One last hit. Then Paige caught the bag mid-air. She turned—just slightly, just enough for their eyes to meet.

“Warning,” she said. “Threats usually come with follow-through.”

Her tone was dry, but something flickered there—amusement? A challenge? Whatever it was, it made Azzi’s smile grow.

“You really are a sweetheart,” Azzi said softly, voice filled with sarcasm.

“Thank you,” Paige said, tone just as dry. “I really do try.”

Azzi tilted her head, continuing the banter. “No, really. The warmest presence in the room. I felt it the second we walked in. Like sunshine.”

Paige exhaled through her nose. “That’s just the heat coming off the lights, but sure.”

Azzi laughed. “Do you wake up this grumpy or do you warm up to it?”

“Depends who’s talking to me before 9 a.m.,” Paige replied, catching the bag again after a few hits. She glanced at Azzi, that unreadable look still etched into her face.

Azzi pressed her some more, voice a little playful. “So I should text you at 8:59? Make sure you start the day right.”

Paige let the bag hang, tilted her head slightly. “You text me at 8:59, I’ll block you by nine.”

Azzi fake pouted saying, “Aww but I’ll miss you.”

That got a reaction—slight, but there. A dry chuckle slipped out of Paige’s mouth before she turned away like it didn’t happen. No smile. No change in expression. But it was something.

Azzi caught it. And she grinned. “Noted,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

Rickea looked between them, her eyes squinted. “Did…did Paige Madison just laugh?”

Cam blinked, then grinned. “Swear I heard it too. Thought it was the ceiling creaking.”

Paige didn’t acknowledge them at first—just shook her head, grabbed her towel, and muttered, “Alright. I’m done.” She tossed it over her shoulder and jogged toward the door without another word, adding dryly as she passed them, “Keep up, or don’t bother.”

Cam laughed. “There’s the ray of sunshine we all love.”

Rickea snorted, grabbing her water bottle.

The three of them followed her out, the soft sound of their running shoes echoing through the gym as the door swung shut behind them.

The trail was quiet except for the rhythm of their sneakers hitting dirt and gravel, the cool morning air crisp against their hot skin as they ran. Paige led the group with a pace that wasn’t brutal—but definitely not gentle. No one spoke much, the silence broken only by the occasional breathless grunt or snap of twigs under their feet. After about a mile, she slowed, glanced back once, and wordlessly turned around, leading them back the way they came.

By the time they returned to the house, sweat clung to their clothes, and Paige didn’t waste a second getting them started on the workout.

The workout moved fast—jump rope intervals, rounds on the assault bike, steady sets on the rower. Paige moved through it effortlessly, only occasionally glancing over to make sure they were keeping up. No weights, no high-impact movements. Just conditioning.

Halfway through, Rickea groaned, flopping down dramatically beside the bike. “You’re evil for this. Like genuinely sick in the head.”

Paige didn’t even look at her. “Cardio builds character.”

“Fuck you,” Rickea shot back.

Without missing a beat, Paige mumbled, “James prolly wouldn’t fuck with that.”

Rickea blinked, caught off guard before bursting into laughter. Cam doubled over, wheezing. Even Azzi let out a surprised laugh, looking at Paige like she was discovering a new layer.

Paige barely reacted—just adjusted her ponytail, grabbed a towel, and moved on to the next station.

After the workout they settled on the turf just outside the gym, the morning sun higher in the sky now, burning off the last of the chill. Everyone was stretched out, legs extended or crossed, bottles of water in hand. The air was quiet in that satisfied, post-workout way—tired bodies, endorphins still buzzing.

Cam sat up a little straighter, eyeing Paige from across the turf. “When’s the next one?”

Paige reached for her water bottle, unscrewing the cap without looking up. “Month and a half.”

Cam blinked, clearly shocked. “That soon?”

Azzi glanced between them, eyebrows slightly raised at Cam’s tone.

“You just fought, like…two weeks ago,” Cam said, frowning now. “Why the hell are you getting back in the cage already?”

Paige took a long gulp of her water, then looked at her. “Someone challenged me.”

Cam threw her hands up. “So? You don’t have to accept every dumbass who thinks they can hang with you.”

Paige shrugged, wiping the sweat from her neck with the towel draped over her shoulder. “You know I’m not turning down a fight Cam.”

Cam shook her head, exasperated. “Jesus. One of these days, someone’s gonna call you out just to test that stubborn ass pride of yours.”

Paige didn’t flinch. “Well I’d hope they’re ready.”

Rickea, still sprawled on her back, let out a low sound. “You’re gonna give me anxiety before the playoffs.”

Azzi’s gaze lingered on Paige. “Who challenged you?”

Paige’s eyes flicked to her for a moment, then back to her water. “Some girl out of Houston. Up and comer. Had six fights—all KO or TKO apparently.”

That made Cam sit up fully, the tension tightening across her shoulders. “All six? And you still said yes?”

Paige didn’t answer, just took another sip.

“Paige,” Cam pressed, voice changing. “You can’t keep signing up for these reckless ass matchups just because someone talks shit.”

“She didn’t talk,” Paige said evenly. “She signed the contract.”

“That’s even worse,” Cam shot back. “You know how this goes. They line up someone with hype and a perfect record hoping to make a name off you. You know all they care about is the damn check.”

Paige’s jaw ticked slightly, but her voice stayed level. “Then she picked the wrong name.”

Cam blew out a breath clearly frustrated. “You act like you’re invincible—”

“I’m not,” Paige cut in, eyes lifting to meet Cam’s for the first time. Her voice didn’t rise. “I know exactly what I am. And I know exactly what I can take. So if you’re trying to talk me out of it, don’t. I’m fighting.”

The group went quiet for a moment, the air thick between them. Even Rickea wasn’t cracking a joke.

Azzi, still seated on the ground with one knee pulled up, studied Paige. Trying to figure out a fraction of what she was thinking.

Finally, Cam leaned back again with a sigh. “You’re gonna give me gray hair.”

“You already got two,” Paige mumbled, tossing her towel over her shoulder again as she got up and turned toward the house.

Rickea snorted. “She’s not wrong.”

As Paige disappeared through the sliding doors back into the house, the three basketball players sat in a loose triangle on the turk, still catching their breath.

Cam ran a hand through her hair and exhaled hard. “That girl’s gonna get herself killed one day because of fuckin pride.”

Rickea leaned back on her palms, still slightly winded. “You still think she takes fights just because of pride?”

Cam nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely. Paige would say it’s about proving something, about staying sharp, whatever—but really? She hates the idea of someone thinking they can take her. It’s like a switch flips.”

Azzi’s brows drew together slightly as she stretched her legs out in front of her. “So she’s been like that since you met her?”

“She’s not always like this,” Cam said, softer now. “She’s just a little more intense around fight time. Gets short. Coiled up like a rubber band about to snap.”

Azzi rubbed her thumb over her ankle, as she thought. “But she’s not reckless like that in the ring.”

“No,” Cam agreed. “She’s calculated as hell. She’s just competitive to a fault. Wants to win everything.”

Rickea snorted. “Honestly, sounds familiar.”

Azzi tilted her head. “To who?”

Rickea smirked. “To you.”

Azzi gave her a look but didn’t argue, just rolled her eyes. After a second her eyes lingered on the house where Paige had disappeared.

The three of them sat there stretching for a few more minutes but as they started packing up, Cam stood and stretched, wincing a little. “Damn, I forgot to grab the protein bars I have in there. They're in the kitchen by the fridge—Az, can you grab 'em? If I go in there it’ll be World War III.”

Azzi glanced at her, then at the house. “Sure.”

She wiped her face with a towel and walked across the backyard, slipping inside the house. The interior was just as modern and minimal as she expected—clean lines, neutral tones, cool air against her skin. The kitchen was easy to spot, but what caught her attention first was Paige, standing at the sink with her back to the room, filling a glass with water.

Azzi paused not wanting to scare her before realizing how ridiculous that sounded. Instead she decided to announce her presence by speaking. “You always put people through hell and act like it doesn’t faze you?”

Paige didn’t look over. “Would’ve gone easier if you stretched more than you looked at me.”

Azzi tilted her head and smiled. “Maybe you’re interesting to look at.”

Paige drank from her glass, then set it down. “I have blonde hair and blue eyes. You can find that all over LA.”

“It’s more interesting when it comes with a side of asshole.”

That earned her a small huff—it was the closest thing to a laugh she’d gotten. Paige still didn’t smile.

Azzi crossed the kitchen, leaning against the counter directly across from her. “Do you purposefully not smile?”

Paige looked at her. “Yes.”

“So what’s that about?”

Paige held her gaze. “Every facial expression’s a tell in fighting. So I try to control em when I can.”

“I’m gonna get you to crack a smile eventually.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, finally giving her a full look. “Why?”

Azzi shrugged, the corners of her mouth tugging up. “Because I think it’d look good on you and I like looking at pretty women.”

Paige stared at her for a moment, unreadable as ever. Then she pushed off the counter and turned toward the hallway. “Tell my sister to lock the door on the way out.”

She didn’t wait for a response.

Azzi just smiled before finally grabbing what she came in there for.

[pankowcrumbs]

The Other Side of Us X Oscar Piastri (Requested)

MasterList

F1 Masterlist

Requested: Oscar Piastri x Reader Best friends to lovers. He finally has the courage to tell her his feelings.

If you asked anyone in the paddock who Oscar Piastri’s best friend was, they’d point to me without hesitation.

It had always been us. Since karting days, when I’d been the awkward kid tagging along with my brother, and Oscar had been the quiet, polite boy who always saved me a seat under the tent. Over the years, we’d grown up side by side him behind the wheel, me in the garage with a stopwatch and too many snacks.

We were inseparable. But never more.

At least… that’s what I told myself.

Lately, though, it had felt different. Subtle shifts. The way his eyes lingered when I laughed too hard. How his hand brushed mine but didn’t move away. The text messages at 2 a.m. when he couldn’t sleep. The way he said my name like it held weight.

Still, I never dared to ask. Because if I was wrong, I didn’t want to lose him.

Today was a rare day off, and we were back in Melbourne. I was sat on the bonnet of his car, sipping a takeaway iced coffee while Oscar fidgeted with his keys.

"Why do you always tap them like that?” I asked, watching his fingers rhythmically tap against the steering wheel.

He glanced up. “Nervous habit, I think.”

“What’ve you got to be nervous about? You drive 300km an hour for fun.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

We were parked along the coast, waves crashing in the distance, the sky smeared in soft pinks and oranges. It was the kind of evening that begged for honesty. I wrapped my arms around my knees, my hoodie far too big because it was his, and I’d nicked it ages ago.

“You’ve been quiet,” I said gently.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

I turned to face him fully, my heart thudding. “Okay. You’re not quitting racing to become a surfer, are you?”

He laughed nervously. “No, although the thought’s crossed my mind after that last race.”

I smiled, but it faded as his expression turned serious.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he said, voice low. “About us.”

My breath caught.

“Oscar”

“Let me finish?” he interrupted gently, shifting to stand in front of me. His eyes locked on mine, uncertain but determined. “I’ve liked you for a while now. Actually, that’s not fair. I think I’ve been in love with you for longer than I even realised. I’ve just been too scared to ruin what we have.”

The world tilted slightly. I stared at him, blinking as if that might slow everything down.

“You... love me?” I echoed.

He laughed again, nervous and soft. “Yeah. I do. You’ve been my best mate since forever, and I didn’t want to mess that up. But pretending I didn’t feel it was starting to hurt more than the idea of telling you.”

I was speechless. And that never happened.

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, stepping back slightly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know.”

I slid off the bonnet and closed the space between us. He looked at me, open and vulnerable, and I saw every version of us flash before my eyes karting days, silly bets over milkshakes, race weekends, hotel room movies, bad jokes over comms.

And all I could think was: how had I not said it first?

“I was scared too,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been in love with you for months. Maybe longer. I just didn’t think you felt the same.”

His eyes widened, and then his whole face lit up, like someone had flicked a switch.

“You’re serious?”

I nodded. “Completely.”

The relief that washed over him made me laugh. Then his hands found my waist, gentle and unsure, as if asking for permission.

I leaned in first.

It wasn’t a grand kiss. No fireworks or swelling music. Just the soft press of two best friends realising they didn’t have to pretend anymore.

When we finally pulled apart, I stayed close, forehead resting against his.

“So… what now?” I asked.

“We keep doing everything we already do,” he said with a small grin. “Except now I get to hold your hand.”

“And kiss me.”

He smirked. “And kiss you.”

We stood there as the sky deepened into twilight, the waves below crashing with the same rhythm as my heart. For the first time, it felt like everything had shifted into place.

Oscar reached for my hand, lacing our fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

[anyamaris]

Title: Bedtime Secrets

Summary: When you stay over at your friends last minute, you thought San was away, staying in his room. You didn't expect him to come home and find you in his bed.

Pairing: Choi San x F!reader

Word Count: 2023

Rating: 18+ M

Trope: Friends to lovers, non idol au, smut

Warnings: THIS IS NONCON-YOUVE BEEN WARNED. DO NOT READ IF YOU DONT UNDERSTAND THIS-Somnophilia, NONCON(again), vulgar language, backshot, yes the reader is into it at the end but still NONCON. obvs minors dni 18+

A/N: This is for my lovely @sanjoongie because she's so amazing and wrote JK Star Wars for me 💜I've been wanting to write this for awhile anyhow so I finally did it. Also, I don't know if it needs to be said but I in no way condone noncon outside of our fictional controlled environments and all that, and I want to make sure everyone knows that this isn't for everyone. It's for my Topaz and anyone else who enjoys it. That is all. Thank you to @pars-ley for the GORGEOUS banner and partial beta read, I'm sorry I always cut it off on you!

As always @cafekitsune for the dividers!!!

When you had a last minute emergency at your apartment, Wooyoung had allowed you to come stay over at him and San’s place.

It was always an unspoken courtesy that you could stay in one of their rooms if ever needed when one of them was away for an evening, allowing you privacy and comfort.

So when you settled in for the night in San’s room, Wooyoung had assured you that San was away for the next week and you didn’t think twice about stripping down to your panties and a tank top to sleep due to the heat.

What you didn’t expect was that San’s work trip had been cut short.

It’s after 2am when the door to the apartment is unlocked and San makes his way inside, not bothering to turn on the lights.

He kicks off his shoes and yawns as he plods over to his room.

He hesitates a moment at the closed door, remembering that he’d left it open.

Figuring Wooyoung must have closed it for some reason, he merely shrugs and pushes it open, dumping his bag to the side before tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it into the hamper, his pants joining shortly after.  

The moonlight illuminates the room as he rubs his eyes and walks to the bed, hoisting the covers up before he freezes in shock.

The very last thing he’s expecting in his bed is you; half naked, your back to him, your cute little ass cheeks peeking out at him.

“What the-” He mutters before he can stop himself and you let out a little noise as you adjust in your sleep.  

He bites his lip as his gaze rakes over your unconscious form, how your thigh moves up and gives him a peek of your clothed crotch, your bare arm clinging to his pillow, your face calm and serene in your slumber.

He groans as his cock stirs, chastising himself for getting aroused at your sleeping form.  

“Fuck…” He mumbles, contemplating what to do.

Your friendship is close enough that he is fully aware that you wouldn’t be upset if he slept next to you; no, that’s not the issue at all.

San is fully aware that slipping in next to you isn’t the only thing he wants to do right now.

He momentarily thinks about grabbing a pillow and camping out on the couch for the night, but as he reaches to do so, you murmur something unintelligible in your sleep and turn slightly towards him.

A hiss leaves his lips as he notices the outline of your nipple through the thin fabric of your tank top and he can’t stop himself from changing course and slipping under the covers next to you.

Internally cursing at himself, he ignores the protests he’s making against what he’s about to do.

As he scoots closer to you, he inhales and groans at the unique scent of shampoo and vanilla that is you.

He tugs the covers down gently, his breath hitching as he takes in the curve of your spine and the way your tank top clings to your tits, making his hands itch to touch you.

Choi San, don’t you do this…he thinks yet his hand betrays him, reaching out to brush your hair back from your neck as he slips closer to you.

He’s always been attracted to you, and this is the best and worst temptation of his life, laid out before him.

His fingers trace the line of your neck down to your shoulder, concentrating on your face as he tests if it’s going to wake you.

When you don’t even stir from the simple touch, he slowly places his hand on your waist, pausing and waiting.

The heat from your body beckons him, and his dick tents his boxers, a wet stain already forming from his leaking tip.

“Fuck.” He whispers, sliding his hand down the curve of your waist up your hip, savoring every inch of skin before he rests his palm on your ass cheek.  

“Mmm..” You murmur in your sleep, causing him to freeze as you adjust, scooting back a few inches towards him.  

He lets out a choked moan as your ass pushes firmly into his hand, his rigid length bumping into your tailbone.

It takes everything in him to not rut against you, aware that any sudden jostling might wake you and he can’t have that right now.  

Right now, he needs to explore you, touch your bare skin, inhale your fragrance.

He knows the chances of you waking and freaking out are high, yet he can’t seem to stop himself from pushing the boundaries of what is right and wrong.

Finally, you stop stirring and his hand slips down the back of your thigh, gently pushing your top leg forward and exposing your clothed cunt.

He pushes the blankets down further and leans up, his eyes locking onto the thin fabric keeping him from your naked pussy. 

Pulling his lower lip in and chewing it, he slips his fingers against your panties, holding back a whine as he feels your damp folds through the material.  

His gaze flicks up to your face, checking to make sure you’re still unconscious before he slips his finger along the seam of your panties, trying to control his breathing as he pulls the crotch aside to expose your lower lips.  

His breath hitches as the movement causes you to shift, having to pause yet again before you settle.

He keeps checking your face as he tugs your panties aside far enough to allow him to skim his fingers along your folds, parting them so he can stare at your tight little hole as he uses his fingertips to search for your clit.

The pads of his fingers graze your hidden bundle of nerves and your sleepy little breathy moan lets him know he’s found it.  

He swallows heavily as he keeps his gaze on your face, watching for any sign of consciousness as he slowly starts rubbing in circles, the heat and moisture from your cunt urging him to scoot close enough to rub his erection against your lower back.

Your lips part as he presses against your bud more firmly, encouraging him on as he grinds against you.  

He struggles to keep his moans quiet as his fingers slip down to tease at your tight little entrance, the soft noises coming from you making him start to lose what little control he has.  

He moves his hand to push his boxers down, freeing his rigid length and positioning it between your thighs, pushing forward to rub the head of his cock through your folds.

“Shhh...” He whispers as you stir, his hand sliding up to cup your breast through the thin fabric of your tank top, teasing at your nipple as it tightens in his fingertips.

The room is quiet outside of his ragged breathing and the rhythmic damp noises as he rubs himself against your pussy.  

He palms your tit, then squeezes it, moving from one to the other before finally pushing your top up to expose your naked breasts.  

“Fuck…ah fuck…” He whispers, watching your face as he closes the distance between you, his bare chest pressing against your back even as his mind protests that what he’s doing is so wrong.

You let out a soft moan when he cups your naked breast, using his thumb and forefinger to tug your tightened nipple as he watches your face for any sign of rousing.  

He presses his lips to your shoulder as he rolls his hips, each agonizing pass of his cock through your folds encouraging his depraved motions as you soak his length with your arousal.

Even as you shift and let out soft noises every time he rubs himself against your clit, he chastises himself for what he’s doing. Yet he’s so far gone with lust that even as he pauses to check your state, he knows he’s fucked.

You shift against him and the head of his cock catches on your entrance, causing him to hiss out a curse, his hand leaving your nipple to grab your hip and look down between you.

The sight of your glistening cunt is far too much for him to handle and he briefly looks at the outline of your face in the dim light before he bites his lip, grabbing his cock to guide himself into you.

His eyes close in pure bliss as he slowly pushes forward, your quiet sleepy moan mixing with his groans as he grabs your ass and bottoms out inside of you.

His hand flexes on your ass, then slides up the back of your thigh, lifting it so he can watch as he draws back, then plunges back into you. 

He grunts with each thrust, not concerning himself anymore with whether he’s waking you, too lost in chasing his own pleasure at this point to stop.

It’s only when your soft voice breaks his concentration that he looks up and notices your lashes fluttering, your hands grabbing at the pillow and sheets as your face subconsciously registers what he’s doing to you.

Guilt momentarily wars with lust as he leans forward to press his face into your neck, his arm slipping around your waist to hold you as he begins propelling his hips faster and harder.

“Sorry…shhh…it’s okay…shhh…fuck, baby…” He whispers against your skin between soft whimpers and grunts.

“...San?” Your confused whisper melded with your gasps as he fucks you only makes him more frantic and he drops his hand between your legs to find your clit, pinching and circling.

He draws back to look at your face, your half lidded eyes on him as he nods, his cheeks heating as you silently question what he’s doing.  

“I’m sorry…I know…I shouldn’t…I-fuck! You…you looked too sexy…” He bites out, his hips starting to snap forward harder, your body shaking with each thrust.

“San-!” You cry out, finally fully aware of what’s happening and his fingers leave your clit to grab your thigh and pull it back over his, slipping his other arm under you to grab your breast and hold you in place.

He starts leaving open mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulder as his hand returns to your clit, feeling your pussy start to clench as he moans out your name.

“Baby…fuck I’m close-” He growls out, nipping at your neck as you start pushing back against him.  

“Nngnngg….San…don’t cum-in me-!” You manage before your mouth opens in an ‘o’ and you clench tightly around him, your climax causing him to buck wildly and grit his teeth, barely holding back as he helps you ride out your orgasm.

“Ah-ah fuck-I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna-!” He cries out, grabbing your ass and pulling out, pushing his cock between your ass cheeks as he erupts all over your lower back as he continues to rut against you.

Thick ropes of cum spurt all over your back, the sticky mess soaking your back and ass cheeks as his hips jerk erratically, his eyes locked onto the lewd sight before he finally looks up and meets your gaze.

You look over your shoulder up at him and he swallows heavily, his cheeks darkening with a blush.

“Um…” He mutters sheepishly, giving you a weak smile before reaching up to rub the back of his neck in shame, his muscles flexing as he does so.

“Choi San…” You can’t help but eye his arm, then his naked chest appreciatively.  

He winces, waiting to be yelled at but you only sigh, reaching back to touch the mess on your lower back.  

“I’m…I’m sorry-” He starts, but his words turn into a strangled squeak as you bring your fingers to your lips to taste his cum.

“You could have at least woken me up, San. Jesus-what a mess-” 

Before you can finish, his mouth is on yours, not caring about the mess as he rolls you onto your back and pinning you down.

“You’re awake now-” He whispers against your lips.

Well, you can’t argue with that.

[yeonmuse]

meandom!heeseung that degrades reader and makes her ride his thighs (smut prompt no. 1)

This one is long overdue im so sorry but I’ve finally got around to clearing my inbox

✧ tw. smut (18+ mdni!),mean heeseung, slight dom, dirty talk, thigh riding

Heeseung was used to girls yearning for him and falling at his feet, but she had been on an entirely new level. She was like a desperate attention seeking virgin that he couldn’t wait to bend to his will. It all started with innocent glances and the fluttering of her eyelashes when she looked at him. Eventually that led to her leaving drinks and sweet notes at his desk out of hopes that he’d give her the attention she had seeked from him for the longest time now. Eventually he gave in flashing her that charming smile as he approached her at her locker just to thank her for the drinks. That one interaction has lit a fire in her and what was once a subtle crush turned into silent yearning and desperation.

Heeseung had been leaving the gym after practice when he heard a sound so sweet and alluring he wouldn’t dare pass up the opportunity to listen. As he drew closer to the girls locker rooms and heard the sound of your sweet voice his mouth nearly fell open. So that’s where you had disappeared to? Heeseung knew you would often come in to watch his practice, of course you’d always hide behind the facade of coming to watch your best friend yeonjun but he knew very well your eyes would always find him.

The more he listened in on your ragged breath and painfully desperate whines the more he felt his cock twitch against the inside of his basketball shorts. His problem only seemed to worsen as he heard the sound of his name come spilling from his lips and he froze in place. His name had just fallen from your lips so sweet and distressed he couldn’t even stop his feet from moving.

After glancing around the gym to make sure no one else had been there he steps inside dropping his bag at the locker room entrance. He strides through what seemed like an endless stretch of lockers until finally he found you, sat on one of the dressing benches, legs spread and fingers shoved into your jeans as if you’d been too scared to fully push them down.

Heeseung let out a playful whistle, putting a quick end to the girl's showcase and making her scramble to her feet, her cheeks burning with nothing but shame and embarrassment as she struggled to find any logical explanation.

“H- heeseung.’’

“You put on quite a show, i mean i knew you were a little desperate but this?’’

“I’m sorry..’’ heeseungs smirk only widened at the way you looked away from him, a shameful expression shading over your face.

“Sorry? Oh princess, you aren’t sorry. I bet this isn’t even the first time is it? First time you’ve buried your fingers into yourself like a desperate slut while moaning my name.” he watched as your lips pressed into a thin line and you remained silent and the smirk was immediately wiped from his face.

“Answer me yn.’’ annoyance was evident in his voice, yet still you remained silent and frozen in place as if the embarrassment of being caught had shut you down entirely. In a flash Heeseung had stood before you, hand holding a fist full of your hair forcing you to stare up and return his gaze.

“I said answer me princess.’’

“No..’’ the shake in your voice told Heeseung exuding you needed to know

“No what. Speak up.’’

“It’s not my first time.’’ you finally choke out embarrassingly, your cheeks heating up the longer he stood there looking at you, his gaze like some sort of burning light.

“I knew it, you’re so pathetic, all worked up over someone that rarely ever even speaks to you.’’ he chuckles before finally letting go of your hair with a rough jerk stepping back from you and taking a seat on the bench.

You weren't sure how to take his words, but he was right. Here he was degrading you, making you feel less than you were and you were everything but upset about it, in fact it turned you in even more.

“Go on then pretty, you want relief so bad. Sit.” He spits out, making your eyes widen and sending you into an eternal panic.

“W-what?”

“Sit. I won’t ask again.” He repeats, his gaze ushering her to have a seat on his thigh.

“B-but someone could”

“Walk in? You weren't thinking of that when you had your fingers shoved into your pretty pussy screaming my name now did you?” He watched as you silently shook your head, unable to spit out any sort of defenses or retorts because he had been entirely right.

“We don’t have all day. This is what you were so desperate for right? For me to hear you? For me to come in here and make you feel good? I bet you wanted me to hear you hm?” Your cheeks flushed and your legs feel like jelly beneath you, his taunts lulling you into a new state of desperation you never knew had been possible until now. “Come on pretty girl.”

That was all it took to get you sitting on his lap, legs straddling his thigh as he held your head in place forcing you to stare into his eyes as he flexed his thigh.

“Fuck soaking my thigh already, who knew you were this desperate?” He chuckles at your audible reaction. The drag of your clit against his muscular thigh makes you whimper. He can’t help but find amusement at the way you’re pressing yourself harder against his thigh.

“Such a pretty thing, drooling over my thighs already. You wanted to ride them that badly?” His hands ghost over your hips as your hips move at a desperately speedful pace. He watched as your vulnerability unfolds in his lap.

“That’s it princess, doesn’t it feel good?” He questions, his hands rubbing at your thighs and your waist as he egged you on. You can’t seem to find the words to respond, overwhelmed by pleasure. You nod dumbly, moaning out his name as he tenses his thigh.

“Want you to cum, can you do that? Cum on my thigh, want you to walk around like this all day knowing what you did to get that way. You wanted it so bad. Stay like this until the day ends.” He groans, your arousal audible now with each drag. Your legs begin to shake with exertion, heeseung taking the opportunity to continuously grind you into his thigh, muscles tensing sporadically.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise despite the build up, head thrown back with a moan and eyes rolled back. “Oh god, Heeseung, please.” You moan out, not sure if you’re begging him to stop or keep going.

“There we go, good girl.” He groans, his thigh absolutely covered in you. He holds you still, allowing you to catch your breath.

“Now clean up before someone sees sweetheart, wouldn’t want them knowing that their little sweetheart is just a desperate little slut”

I rarely write smut and haven’t done it in so long guys go easy on me please 😭 im better at aus

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Almost Always - Chapter 16

A/N: Finally finished this chapter, low key was just feeling some type of way, so this is a pretty steamy chapter... but there is still plot I promise! We're getting close to the end of the series, probably going to make the next 2 chapters a little longer to close it out at 18, but we'll see, sometimes I'll get random ideas while writing. Also shoutout to the anon who came up with the idea for the end of this chapter :)

WC: 5.7K+

Warnings: Minors DNI, Smut (like most of this chapter is just that so sorry if you aren't into that -- I haven't written it much, but sometimes it just be fun to so yeah), Cussing

Chapter 16: Always Been Yours 

The food containers were still open, their contents half-finished, crumpled napkins and wooden chopsticks strewn across Paige’s coffee table like soft remnants of a night that hadn’t rushed. A half-burned candle flickered beside an empty water glass, its wax pooling slow and lazy in the dish. The playlist hummed low in the background—smooth, crackling R&B threading beneath the city noise outside, like the room had found its own pulse.

The TV was off. Phones untouched. No distractions left—just the two of them, curled into the couch like gravity had drawn them back together on instinct. Their legs were tangled in that effortless, familiar way. The scent of sesame, jasmine rice, and melted candle wax clung to the air like memory. Everything around them felt lived-in again. Like the pause had ended and they were finally letting themselves press play.

Azzi leaned back against the armrest, her legs stretched across the couch and tangled with Paige’s. A half-laugh slipped from her lips—soft, easy, like the echo of something funny Paige had said a minute ago. But it didn’t reach her eyes. Not fully. There was a flicker there, something too alert, like her mind hadn’t let go of the last thread of silence between them.

“So…” Paige started, voice low, thumb rubbing over Azzi’s knee like she was grounding them both. “The press conference.”

Azzi’s jaw tensed. “You watched the whole thing?”

Paige nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I saw it when it started making the rounds. You were a little fired up, but nothing wrong with that. 

Azzi let out a short laugh. “Tell that to the media.”

“I’m not talking about them,” Paige said quietly. “I’m talking about me.”

That gave Azzi pause. Her gaze dropped to her hands. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I wasn’t trying to cause anything… it just happened. I was tired and frustrated, and the question hit harder than I thought. And then it was everywhere.”

“They always ask about me,” Paige said, quieter this time. “Even when it’s not about me.”

Azzi let out a short laugh, no humor in it. “Story of my life, right?”

Paige’s voice dropped. “I wish it wasn’t. I really do.”

Azzi studied her for a moment. “It gets tiring, you know? Always feeling like I’m the afterthought. Like I have to push just to be noticed. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that… but maybe I needed to let it out.”

Paige nodded again, slower this time. “I know. And for what it’s worth, I think the people who matter understood…”

Azzi chewed on her lip. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be upset. Like I threw shade at you or something.”

“You didn’t,” Paige said firmly. “You were telling your truth. I can respect that, even if it stings a little.”

Azzi tilted her head. “It stung?”

Paige exhaled. “Not because of what you said. Because it reminded me how much I’ve taken for granted. I’m always saying I’ve got your back, but I haven’t always stepped out of the spotlight when I should have.”

“That’s not your fault,” Azzi said, her voice softening. “People gravitate to you naturally. You’ve always had that kind of light. And I love that about you.”

“I don’t want my light to dim yours,” Paige said.

Azzi shook her head, voice steady now. “It doesn’t. But I think I needed to say it out loud to believe that. And maybe to remind you too.”

They let the silence stretch, not awkward, just full—like the air between them needed time to recalibrate. Outside, a siren wailed faintly in the distance, and somewhere below, a dog barked once, sharp and distant. Paige’s thumb was still tracing lazy circles against Azzi’s knee.

Azzi leaned her head back, eyes on the ceiling. “You know… I used to think being next to you meant I had to shrink a little. Make space.”

Paige turned, her brows drawing together.

“But tonight?” Azzi said, glancing at her with the faintest smile. “Doesn’t feel like that.”

Paige’s hand stilled. A slow smile tugged at her mouth, something quiet and grateful blooming in her chest.

“I’m really proud of you,” she said.

Azzi bumped her knee against Paige’s. “Even after I completely crashed out?”

Paige snorted. “Especially after that.”

Azzi laughed, the sound finally real. Paige grinned, the tension between them softening into something easier, lighter.

And then Paige leaned back, resting her arm behind Azzi’s shoulders, a teasing glint in her eye.

“Well,” she said, “guess it’s official. I’m in my WAG era now.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, amused. “Your what?”

Paige grinned. “WAG era. You know—wives and girlfriends. Courtside fits. Sappy Instagram captions. Giving unsolicited but elite game notes between film sessions.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head as she leaned into Paige’s side. “You really giving me notes now?”

“Oh, I’ve got a whole doc saved,” Paige said, grinning. “Stuff your coaches don’t even see.”

Azzi tilted her head. “You been watching my film like that?”

Paige nodded, her voice dropping just slightly. “Every game. Can’t help it. I see things. Like when your shot’s just a little off because your balance is too front-loaded. Or how you hesitate when your defender goes under the screen—but you shouldn’t. You’ve got the range.”

Azzi stilled, the smile lingering, but her eyes softening. “You really do that?”

“I know your game,” Paige said. “I’ve always known it. Probably better than I know my own.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away, but her hand found Paige’s where it rested on her leg. She laced their fingers together, slow and intentional.

“You know how hot that is, right?”

Paige’s laugh was low, surprised. “Giving scouting tips?”

Azzi leaned in, their foreheads nearly brushing. “Yeah. That. You believing in me like that.”

Paige’s thumb brushed over the back of her hand. “Always have.”

Azzi’s eyes dropped, just for a second—to the faded TEAM AZZI jersey hanging loose on Paige’s frame, like it belonged there all along. Her breath hitched.

“I can’t believe you still have that,” she said, her voice soft, touched.

Paige glanced down, then back up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Couldn’t get rid of this.”

Azzi shook her head, smile growing. “You’re unreal.”

Paige leaned in, her voice warm and low. “Only when it comes to you.”

The space between them pulsed with something heavier now—tender, sure, but charged, like a current they’d both stopped trying to resist. Time felt slower, quieter, like the world beyond Paige’s living room had slipped into another frequency.

Paige’s free hand drifted to Azzi’s waist, her touch feather-light, deliberate. Not rushed. Like she was learning the shape of her all over again, memorizing muscle and breath and warmth. Her fingertips traced just beneath the hem of Azzi’s sweatshirt, brushing against skin—soft, electric, familiar.

Azzi inhaled, slow and shallow, her eyes never leaving Paige’s. Her heart thudded in her chest, not from surprise but from the gravity of it—how every inch closer felt like something she’d been aching toward for months.

Paige leaned in, their knees still touching, her forehead nearly resting against Azzi’s. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Everything was in her touch, in the way her thumb circled slow and steady over Azzi’s side, grounding and inviting all at once.

The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was full of heat and history and want.

Azzi tilted her head, her voice barely a whisper. “So what’s the next play?”

Paige leaned in until her lips nearly brushed Azzi’s. “Pretty sure it starts with this.”

Azzi’s hand lifted, fingers finding the curve of Paige’s jaw, anchoring there like she needed something solid. Her thumb brushed over Paige’s cheekbone.

Paige turned her head just enough to press a kiss against Azzi’s palm, a breath of contact that made Azzi’s stomach twist in that aching, familiar way. Like falling, but steadier. Like breathing, but deeper.

Azzi leaned in first, closing the last sliver of space between them, her lips brushing against Paige’s—tentative, testing. A question asked in touch rather than words.

Paige answered without hesitation, tilting her head and pressing in with a slow, deliberate kiss that sent a shiver sliding down Azzi’s spine. It was nothing like urgency. It was a slow burn, the kind of kiss that deepened with every heartbeat, with every tiny shift closer.

Paige’s hand splayed wider at Azzi’s waist, tugging her gently across the couch until Azzi was half-straddling her, knees bracketing Paige’s hips. Their bodies slotted together like they were made for it. Because they were.

Azzi pulled back just enough to look at her, their foreheads brushing, breaths mingling in the slivered space between them.

“I missed you,” she whispered, voice raw around the edges.

Paige’s hands were already moving, slow and deliberate, gliding up her back beneath the loose hem of her shirt. Her touch sparked across Azzi’s skin like memory made real. “I’m right here, baby,” she whispered back.

Azzi kissed her again—deeper this time. It was messier now, more certain, like neither of them wanted to waste another second pretending they didn’t need this. Her hands slipped beneath Paige’s jersey, dragging up the fabric until her fingers brushed bare skin.

Paige let out a soft, breathy laugh against her mouth. “Wait,” she murmured, smiling. “Aren’t we supposed to be working through our emotional baggage or something?”

Azzi pulled back just far enough to smirk. “You wanna pause and unpack feelings while I’m on top of you?”

Paige tilted her head, grinning. “I mean... no… but we gotta talk about all the feelings and shit at some point.”

Azzi laughed, low and warm. “Okay, well... here’s one feeling I can definitely name.”

She shifted her hips, slow and deliberate, until her body pressed flush against Paige’s. Paige inhaled sharply, her grin faltering into something needier.

“Thought so,” Azzi said, voice soft and smug.

Paige’s hands flexed at her waist, pulling her closer. “You’re a menace,” she murmured.

“And you love it.”

“Yeah,” Paige whispered, just before Azzi kissed her again—longer this time, deeper, tongue brushing against hers in a way that made her head fall back against the cushions.

Their laughter dissolved into something heavier, the space between them folding in until there was nothing left to hold back. The conversation could wait. 

Azzi leaned back to take her in—bare skin, steady eyes, that open, unguarded smile that was only ever for her.

Paige let her look, let her linger, her hands gliding slow and steady up Azzi’s thighs, under her sweatshirt now, mapping familiar territory.

Azzi shivered at the contact, not from cold but from how easily Paige made her feel known. Undone.

“You’re so beautiful,” Paige said, voice hoarse with it.

Azzi bent down and kissed her again, harder this time, pouring all the months of missed moments and the weight of uncertainty into the press of her mouth. Paige’s hands found their way under her shirt, pushing it higher until Azzi had to pull back just long enough to yank it off over her head, tossing it somewhere behind the couch.

They kissed like they had time to make up for. Like they had something to prove and something to promise all at once.

Paige’s hands explored without hurry, fingers trailing down Azzi’s back, over the curve of her hips, savoring. Azzi’s breath hitched as Paige's mouth moved from her lips to her jaw, to the pulse point just beneath her ear, each kiss a quiet vow.

Azzi pulled her even closer, no space left between them, her hands threading through Paige’s hair as Paige mapped a slow, aching path down her neck.

She was dizzy from it—in the best way. Like Paige was everywhere at once: hands, mouth, breath, heartbeat.

“Paige,” Azzi whispered, like a prayer, a plea, a homecoming.

Paige pulled back just enough to look at her, her thumb brushing Azzi’s lower lip.

“I still can’t believe you’re mine,” she murmured, voice thick with awe.

Azzi smiled, soft and sure, pressing her forehead to Paige’s. “I’ve always been yours.”

Paige kissed her again, and then they were moving together—shedding the last of the space, the last of the clothes—until it was only skin and breath and the quiet symphony of two hearts finally, finally beating in rhythm.

Azzi was the first to lean back, just far enough to let her eyes trail over Paige—bare, warm, flushed from neck to hip in candlelight. She traced her fingers lightly down the center of her chest, watching the goosebumps rise in their wake.

“God, you’re unreal,” Azzi murmured.

Paige’s hands slid along the backs of her thighs, pulling her closer again, until Azzi was straddling her completely, pressed flush and trembling in all the right ways. “So are you,” Paige whispered, voice husky. “You always have been.”

Azzi leaned in to kiss her again—deeper this time, more searching. Her hips rolled, instinctive and aching, and Paige’s breath caught, fingers digging gently into her skin.

Paige’s mouth broke from hers only to move lower, dragging slow, open-mouthed kisses along Azzi’s throat, her collarbone, her chest—each one softer than the last, like she was marking every inch with devotion, not desperation.

Azzi’s head tipped back, a shaky breath catching in her chest, her whole body attuned to every point where Paige touched her. Paige’s hands moved deliberately, one sliding up to cup the swell of her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple in slow, teasing circles that made Azzi’s stomach tighten. The other hand gripped her hip, firm but coaxing, guiding her into a slow, grinding rhythm against her lap. Azzi gasped, a low, helpless sound rising from the back of her throat, her hands threading into Paige’s hair, tugging just enough to ground herself as her body arched into Paige’s touch. Heat pooled low in her belly, each roll of her hips sending sparks skittering up her spine, each brush of Paige’s thumb setting her nerves alight like a fuse burning closer and closer to detonation.

“You feel so good,” Paige breathed, her voice barely more than air.

Azzi nodded, too far gone for words. She could only feel—Paige’s mouth closing around her nipple, warm and wet and consuming, her tongue flicking in slow strokes before her teeth scraped lightly against the sensitive peak. The jolt of pleasure ripped through Azzi’s body, making her hips stutter against Paige’s lap. 

Paige groaned low in her throat at the reaction, the sound vibrating through Azzi’s chest and making her whimper. Her hand never stopped moving, gripping Azzi’s waist, guiding her grinding rhythm harder, slower, deeper… anchoring her even as she came undone. Every suck, every graze of teeth, every slow, punishing roll of her hips dragged Azzi closer to the edge, her thighs trembling.

When Paige laid her back on the couch cushions, Azzi went willingly, pulling her down with her. They moved together like muscle memory, like instinct honed over the years spent together. Her thighs fell open instinctively, wide and wanting, her body practically pulling her under. She wrapped her legs around Paige’s hips, the motion fluid—her heels digging in like she couldn’t stand to be apart for even a second.

“Fuck,” Azzi breathed, head falling back, fingers twisting into the couch cushion, chest rising and falling like she’d just sprinted the length of the court.

Paige groaned against her neck, the sound low and wrecked. Her hands slid up Azzi’s legs, slow and firm, thumbs brushing dangerously close to the heat between her thighs. Every movement was intentional. Focused. Like Paige knew exactly what Azzi needed and was going to make her feel every second of it.

Paige shifted lower between Azzi’s legs, the couch dipping with her movement. Nothing between them now—no fabric, no friction lost in layers—just bare skin and the kind of tension that tasted like electricity in the air. Azzi was open beneath her, thighs already slick and parted around Paige’s shoulders like her body had been waiting for this.

Paige dragged her palms up Azzi’s thighs again, slower this time, fingers curling just slightly to grip and ground her, to hold her there. She pressed a kiss to the crease where thigh met hip, then another—so close it made Azzi gasp, hips twitching up, needing more.

“Paige,” she breathed, not even a plea—just her name, wrecked and wanting.

Paige didn’t make her wait anymore.

She leaned in and dragged her tongue through Azzi’s folds in one slow, unbroken stroke—flat, deliberate, claiming. A low moan vibrated from Paige’s throat at the taste, like it knocked the air from her lungs. Azzi cried out, sharp and unguarded, her hips jerking up into the contact. Her fingers flew to Paige’s hair, fisting tight, not to guide her—just to hold on. To feel.

But Paige didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. She ate like she was starving, slow and thorough, her tongue exploring every inch of Azzi’s slick heat. She circled her clit with maddening patience, then flattened her tongue and licked harder, deeper, drawing out each sound that fell from Azzi’s mouth with ruthless precision. Her mouth moved like she knew every response before Azzi gave it—like she'd memorized the way her body spiraled toward climax and was in no rush to get her there.

Azzi was soaked, her thighs trembling on either side of Paige’s head, her whole body tensed and straining. Every flick of Paige’s tongue, every shift in pressure made her moan louder, higher, until she was panting, broken open beneath her.

Paige groaned and sealed her mouth around Azzi’s clit, sucking her in deep, her lips and tongue working in sync—wet, focused, relentless. Her grip on Azzi’s thighs tightened, fingers digging in as she held her still, letting Azzi grind against her face with helpless, desperate rhythm.

Azzi was losing it.

Her head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut, one hand still tangled in Paige’s hair while the other reached back, scrabbling for something to anchor her. “F-fuck, Paige—don't stop—please—”

Paige didn’t. Instead, she groaned against her, voice husky and reverent. “God, you taste so fucking good…”

Saying it out loud only seemed to spur her on more, flicking her tongue faster now, humming softly against her until Azzi’s entire body shook, legs quivering around her ears, every muscle tight and ready to snap. Paige kept her there, right on the edge, until Azzi gasped her name again, raw and shaking, and then—

Paige slid one hand from Azzi’s trembling thigh to between her legs, her fingers slick immediately from how wet she was. She teased her entrance with two fingers, slow and deliberate, feeling Azzi’s body flutter and clench at the anticipation. Then, with a steady, devastating pressure, she pushed inside.

Azzi broke.

A raw, helpless sob escaped her throat as her walls tightened around Paige’s fingers, her whole body bowing up off the couch. Paige didn’t give her time to recover—she found a rhythm immediately, firm and sure, thrusting deep and curling her fingers just right, dragging against that spot that made Azzi see stars.

“Oh my god—Paige—" Azzi gasped, voice cracking as her hips rolled in frantic, uneven circles, chasing the pressure, the pleasure.

Paige’s mouth stayed locked to her clit, tongue circling in slow spirals that matched the rhythm of her fingers—press, curl, retreat—over and over until Azzi was spiraling, caught between the overwhelming drag of her mouth and the relentless thrust of her hand.

Azzi was gone.

Her back arched violently, thighs shaking around Paige’s head, heels digging into the couch cushions as if she could anchor herself against the onslaught. One hand yanked Paige’s hair, hard enough to make her groan into her, the other grabbing at the edge of the sofa, knuckles white with the effort of holding on.

The heat inside her coiled tighter, impossibly tight, until it felt like every nerve ending in her body was on fire, every breath a broken moan.

“Paige—fuck—I’m gonna—” she cried, voice wrecked, desperate.

Paige moaned against her, the sound sending vibrations straight through Azzi’s core, and that was it.

Azzi shattered.

Her orgasm slammed into her, fast and brutal, ripping a ragged scream from her chest. Her body convulsed, thighs squeezing tight around Paige’s head, spine arching like a drawn bow before collapsing back into the cushions. She came hard, clenching around Paige’s fingers, her whole body trembling, helpless against the waves tearing through her.

Paige didn’t stop. She rode it out with her, fingers still thrusting slow and deep, tongue still dragging lazy, grounding circles against her clit, coaxing every last aftershock until Azzi was sobbing into the crook of her arm, too wrecked to speak, too full to breathe.

Only when Azzi’s legs finally went limp around her did Paige ease her mouth away, withdrawing her fingers with a slow, careful slide that left Azzi whimpering at the sudden loss.

When Paige finally pulled back, her mouth was wet, her lips swollen and parted, her eyes glazed with heat and something deeper, something that felt dangerously close to reverence. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, slow and sure, then tilted her head with a crooked smile. “Did I do okay?” she asked, voice low and teasing—like she didn’t need the answer, but wanted to hear it anyway.

Azzi let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-moan, her fingers still tangled in the sheets. “You know damn well you did,” she said, her voice wrecked and full of wonder. “Stop fishing for compliments and come back here.”

Slowly, Paige crawled back up her body, dragging open-mouthed kisses along Azzi’s stomach, her ribs, the underside of her breasts. She kissed every inch like she couldn’t stand the thought of leaving any part of her untouched, like she was stitching her back together one kiss at a time.

Azzi threaded her fingers through Paige’s hair the second she was close enough, tugging her up the rest of the way, pulling her into a kiss that was messy and all-consuming. She could taste herself on Paige’s tongue—salty, slick, electric—but it only made her moan into her mouth, deepening it, needing her closer, needing all of her.

Paige kissed her back just as hungrily, her hands cradling Azzi’s face, like she was something too precious to hold roughly. Azzi could feel the tremble still running through Paige’s body—the leftover tension, the want—and it only made her heart beat harder against her ribs.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, their foreheads pressed together, noses brushing in the smallest, sweetest touch.

“God, I love you,” Azzi whispered, her voice thick with everything she couldn’t say out loud.

Paige’s smile was soft and wrecked and impossibly full of love. She tucked a hand into her curls and kissed the side of her head. “I love you. So much.”

They stayed like that, tangled and breathless, until Azzi’s hands began to wander again, slow and sure and full of promise.

And Paige let her.

She lay back, one arm still loosely around Azzi’s shoulders, the other sliding across her lower back. Her chest rose and fell beneath Azzi’s touch, soft breaths that caught slightly as Azzi kissed her collarbone, then lower, retracing the path Paige had taken not long before, but with her own rhythm. Her own intent.

Azzi shifted until she was hovering over her, eyes locked with Paige’s, lips brushing just beneath her jaw. “I want to take my time,” she whispered, voice low and steady. “I want to memorize you.”

“You already have,” Paige murmured back, dazed and aching. “But I won’t stop you.” Then, grinning, she added, “Just don’t take too long, you know patience isn’t my strong suit.”

Azzi smiled—barely there, soft and wrecked—and then kissed her. Slow. Deep. Like she was trying to carve herself into Paige’s memory cell by cell.

She kissed down her neck, her chest, her stomach, dragging her hands along the curve of Paige’s sides, pausing only to drink in the way Paige moved under her touch—how her fingers flexed against the fabric of the couch, how her breath hitched when Azzi’s tongue flicked against her skin.

Azzi didn’t rush. She worshipped.

When she reached Paige’s thighs, she kissed the inside of one, then the other, and smiled against the skin when Paige whispered something half-sounded, half-broken.

She looked up, eyes meeting Paige’s. “You good?”

Paige gave a shaky laugh, her hand threading through Azzi’s curls. “If I wasn’t, that’d be on me.”

Azzi kissed the inside of her thigh again, slower this time, higher. “Just checking.”

And then she moved.

Azzi’s tongue met Paige’s center in one long, slow stroke—broad, heavy, deliberate—dragging through her folds with a pressure that made Paige’s hips jerk violently off the couch. A ragged gasp tore from Paige’s mouth, and her hand flew to Azzi’s hair, not just holding, but gripping hard, yanking her closer with a rough, desperate pull like she couldn’t stand even an inch of distance between them.

Azzi groaned into her, the sound vibrating right through Paige’s body, making her legs tremble around Azzi’s shoulders. Without hesitation, Azzi dipped her tongue lower, teasing at Paige’s entrance, swirling and pressing in, shallow and slow, until Paige let out a broken sob, her whole body shaking beneath her. She pulled back just enough to flatten her tongue and lick up through her folds again, relentless, savoring every slick, needy reaction she coaxed out of her.

She knew Paige too well—every sharp inhale, every arch of her back, the way her thighs would start to tremble before she completely lost control. And Azzi was merciless now. She built it slow and brutal: teasing flicks, then firmer, deeper strokes. Her hand slid under Paige’s thigh, gripping hard, tilting her hips higher, giving herself even better access.

She never looked away. Not once.

Azzi locked eyes with her, tongue lashing over her clit now, sucking her into her mouth with a deep, greedy pull that made Paige’s head fall back hard against the cushions.

“Azzi—fuck—” Paige gasped, the sound wrecked, guttural, her hips bucking helplessly against Azzi’s mouth.

Azzi moaned low and obscene against her, holding her hips down as Paige thrashed beneath her. Her other hand slid up Paige’s stomach, rough and claiming, splaying across her ribs, pinning her there, forcing her to feel every second of it.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” Azzi growled against her, her voice thick and wrecked.

Paige couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. Her body was locking up, hips stuttering wildly, moans turning into breathless, broken whimpers. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, her muscles seizing under the brutal, unrelenting pressure building higher and higher inside her.

And then she broke.

Paige came with a sob that ripped straight from her chest, her body snapping taut like a wire, one hand still yanking Azzi’s hair with shaking, brutal force as the other clung uselessly to the cushions. Pleasure crashed over her, drowning her, her whole body writhing through every wave Azzi pulled from her with her mouth, her tongue, her hands still holding her steady, grounding her while she shattered.

Azzi didn’t stop—just stayed with her, easing her down, kissing her through the aftershocks until Paige finally collapsed back into the couch, gasping, wrecked, her body trembling with every shallow, unsteady breath.

Azzi kissed her thigh one last time, then climbed back up slowly, gently, brushing sweaty strands away from Paige’s temple as she curled against her.

They stayed like that, tangled and warm, breathing each other in.

Paige opened her eyes, dazed and still catching her breath. “That was—”

Azzi kissed her. “Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

Paige blinked, then let out a slow, contented laugh. “You trying to kill me?”

Azzi grinned, brushing her nose against hers. “Little bit.”

They lay in silence after that—bare, glowing, the candlelight flickering low and soft. The world outside felt far away. All that existed was this—skin, breath, heartbeats synced again after too long apart.

Eventually, they stirred, limbs slow and heavy, like moving through water. Still dazed from the gravity of being back in each other’s orbit, they crawled beneath the sheets, laughter soft and breath hitching when their skin brushed again. Paige pulled Azzi in close, foreheads touching, fingers laced at their chests.

Nothing else was said. Just the quiet settling of something whole.

Sleep took them like that—warm, wrapped in each other, the ache finally quiet.

********

Morning came slow.

Light filtered in through the half-open blinds, painting soft golden stripes across the bedroom. The air felt still, warm, thick with the lingering haze of last night—skin, sweat, something sweeter in the spaces between. 

Azzi woke first.

Paige was still curled beside her, facing the window, one arm draped loosely across the sheets, her face half-buried in the pillow. Her hair was a mess—soft and wild from sleep, still tangled from Azzi’s hands the night before. There were marks, too—small, pink, fading already, but hers. Evidence of everything they’d said with touch before words caught up.

She looked peaceful. Like sleep was holding her gently.

Azzi blinked slowly, the morning light soft against her face, her body still heavy with afterglow. Her thighs ached. So did her jaw. Her skin felt warm in all the places Paige had kissed, had held, had taken her apart. But it wasn’t discomfort—it was something she wanted to hold onto. A lived-in ache. The kind that made the night before feel more real, more permanent. Like a page turned down in a book, she didn’t want to lose her place in.

Careful not to wake her, Azzi slipped out of bed. Paige stirred a little, mumbling something that never formed into words before settling again. Azzi smiled to herself, tugging on the white T-shirt draped over the chair—Paige’s shirt, soft from too many washes—and padded quietly through the apartment.

The plan wasn’t much. Just something small.

She’d grab coffee from the shop around the corner—Paige’s usual, maybe one of those buttery croissants she always claimed were “too much” and then somehow still finished. Something thoughtful. Something normal.

Her steps were quiet against the wood floors, the rhythm of her movement careful, like she didn’t want to disturb the tenderness still hanging in the air. The apartment was dim, lit only by the soft wash of morning light spilling in from the kitchen window, catching on dust motes and the edge of a candle left half-melted. It smelled like citrus and clean laundry—Paige’s scent woven into the air now, too. It was domestic. Lived-in. The kind of warmth that wrapped around you without asking. And something about that—about how right it felt—made Azzi’s chest pull tight in ways she couldn’t name.

She crossed to the dresser, tugging open the top drawer in search of clean underwear.

And then she saw it.

Tucked beneath a folded pair of socks, subtle but undeniably there—

Azzi froze.

Her hand hovered above it, fingers trembling slightly, caught in the hesitation between instinct and wonder. The air around her felt different—charged, like the pause before a question is asked that could change everything. The quiet of the apartment wasn’t hollow, but full—weighted with the echo of last night, of closeness still lingering in the sheets and on her skin. Everything else—the dresser, the soft hum of morning, the golden light bleeding in through the window—faded just enough to make space for this one suspended moment. One she hadn’t expected, but couldn’t look away from.

There it was. 

A box small enough to hide, yet heavy with possibility. And all at once, Azzi wasn’t sure if she was afraid… or if she was just stunned by the shape of a future she hadn’t let herself imagine until now.

She didn’t need to open it. Her fingers didn’t even graze the lid. She already knew what it was.

She knew from the shape. She knew from the weight in her chest. She knew from the way every single part of her started buzzing, like her body was trying to have six reactions at once.

Her heart picked up speed. She glanced over her shoulder toward the bed, half-expecting Paige to be standing there, watching her. But she was still asleep. Still quiet. 

It’s probably not even what I think, she told herself. It could be earrings. It could be something from her mom. Could be anything.

But she knew better.

She reached out and picked it up, slowly, carefully, like it might burn her. It was light. The light blue velvet soft against her palm. Her thumb brushed the edge of the lid, not opening it, but thinking about opening it—fighting herself with every second that passed.

She didn’t want to overthink it.

Didn’t want to pick it apart or rush toward some answer she wasn’t meant to have yet.

So she set the box back exactly where she found it, tucking it beneath the socks with gentle, almost reverent fingers. Then she closed the drawer—softly, firmly—like sealing a secret she wasn’t ready to open.

Not yet.

Because maybe it was what she thought it was. And maybe that wasn’t terrifying. Maybe it was just… a lot. A future pressed into velvet. A truth still waiting for its right moment.

She stood there for a beat, steadying herself. Then smoothed the hem of Paige’s shirt down over her thighs and turned toward the bathroom, moving on instinct. She brushed her hair back into a loose bun, splashed cold water on her face, and dabbed the corners of her eyes where sleep still lingered. No makeup, no real effort—just enough to feel like herself again.

She found clean underwear, tugged on leggings, slipped into Paige’s slides by the door. Everything was a little too big, a little too lived-in, and somehow perfect.

When she finally stepped outside, the cool morning air met her with a kind of clarity she hadn’t expected—crisp, grounding, alive. It helped.

[platonicaxaxe]

Deathtrap & Bob ⁴

Bob Reynolds (sentry) x Ex Assassin Reader

Summary: Anxious Blonde Bob trains with Deathtrap

The Bob(sentry) Masterlist here

Inside the sleek, high-ceilinged Avengers Tower, the atmosphere buzzed with frantic energy. Assistants in headsets weaved between bustling makeup artists, hair stylists, and suit technicians. Tables were stacked with press kits, bottled water, and neatly folded cue cards. Camera crews were setting up tripods while lighting specialists adjusted panels to ensure every hero would sparkle—literally.

In the center of it all stood Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, heels clicking furiously on the floor as she barked into a comm tablet.

“Chop-chop, people!” she called out, not even glancing up. “We need this press conference to prove that the new Avengers aren’t just here for PR fluff and action-figure deals.”

She spun around dramatically, eyes locking on Mel, one of her top assistants who was holding a clipboard like it was a shield. “This is for the people, Mel. Real heroes. Real impact. Got it?”

Mel hesitated. “Yeah, but don’t you think—”

“Just do what I say, Mel,” Valentina cut her off with a raised finger. “Send the invites. Confirm the press. Go. Run. Now.”

Mel scurried off like his shoes were on fire.

Valentina turned on her heel, surveying her team of so-called heroes now being prepped like runway models in a high-stakes fashion show. Each one stood under a halo of spotlight and scrutiny.

Bucky was having his new vibranium arm polished to a near mirror-shine. It gleamed cold and lethal, a sharp contrast to the bored expression on his face.

Ava Starr stood a few feet away in her newly reinforced Ghost suit, her eyes narrowed in discomfort as someone fussed with the fabric on her shoulders. “Don’t touch the stabilizers,” she warned a stylist with a glare.

Across the room, Red Guardian grinned like a kid on his birthday, striking heroic poses every time a photographer passed by. “Tell them to get my good side! Actually, never mind—I only have good sides,” he boomed.

Yelena sat slouched in a makeup chair, arms crossed and lips pursed, dodging mascara like it was a projectile. “Why do I need blush? I don’t blush, I bleed.”

John Walker adjusted his shield, which still had a dent that made it look vaguely taco-shaped despite endless repair attempts. “This thing’s a design choice now,” he muttered defensively.

Then, there was Bob.

Standing awkwardly in the middle of the chaos in his usual green knit sweater and baggy brown square pants, he stuck out like a kindergartener on a field trip. His hands were deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, and a quiet look of worry on his face.

Valentina approached him slowly, folding her arms. “Honey… are you really going to wear that to the press conference?”

Bob looked down at his outfit. “I-I thought it was… comfy.”

“You look like you’re about to pitch a tent at a national park, not represent Earth’s Mightiest Heroes,” she sighed. “Go. Suit up. You know which one.”

Moments later, the double doors to the conference hall opened.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

A wall of camera lights hit them like a storm.

And then, he appeared.

Bob stepped out onto the stage, now fully transformed into his Sentry persona. The gold and navy suit clung perfectly to his tall frame, the golden “S” emblem gleaming beneath the chandeliers. His hair—freshly dyed and styled by three very exhausted stylists—glowed under the lights.

He still looked a bit nervous, though. His lips twitched slightly and his eyes kept scanning the crowd like he was searching for a familiar face to anchor him.

Valentina leaned toward him, whispering behind her smile. “You look like a god. Own it, sweetheart.”

Bob swallowed. “I-I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“That’s just anxiety,” Val said smoothly. “Or fame. Maybe both. Either way, smile. You’re not in Kansas anymore.”

As the reporters raised their microphones and the questions began to pour in, Bob took a deep breath and straightened his back.

Somewhere in the sea of blinding flashes and murmured voices, someone shouted:

“Who’s the guy in gold?!”

“That’s Sentry,” someone else whispered. “He’s the most powerful one. And the shyest.”

Bob’s lips quirked into a soft, unsure smile.

And in the crowd, Valentina smirked with satisfaction. Her Thunderbolts weren’t perfect—but they were about to make headlines.

The conference lights had dimmed, the applause had died, and the cameras had finally stopped flashing. But inside Bob Reynolds, the storm was only beginning to churn.

Backstage, Valentina paced like a general preparing for war. The team—still half in costume, half in post-event exhaustion—gathered in the sleek conference room behind the press hall.

"Alright," she said, voice sharp. "We’ve got momentum now. This is when we strike. First mission briefing, now—"

But Bob was gone.

He’d quietly slipped away the moment the press conference ended, his heart pounding too loudly to hear anything else. His footsteps echoed against the sterile tile floor as he pushed open the bathroom door and rushed inside.

He gripped the edge of the sink tightly, eyes locked on his reflection.

Blonde hair. Pale face. Sweaty brow.

The suit was gone—replaced by his familiar sweater and brown pants—but the image still didn’t feel like him. The Sentry lingered in his eyes. The power he tried so hard to contain hummed beneath his skin like a distant warning bell.

He took a shaky breath and reached for his phone.

I'm coming over, I hope you don't mind.

He hit send and stared at the screen.

No reply.

“She probably left it on silent…” he mumbled to himself, trying to reassure his spiraling thoughts. “She always does…”

He couldn’t wait. He needed to see her.

Bob left the bathroom, brushing past a pair of security guards and entering the hallway. Valentina spotted him immediately through the meeting room glass.

“Robert! Hey! Robert!” she called after him, voice laced with authority.

He didn’t stop.

Yelena stood up, intercepting Val’s advance. “Let him go.”

Val blinked, surprised. “What?”

“He’s overwhelmed. He needs her. She… grounds him,” Yelena said plainly, arms folded. “You try stopping him now, you’ll have bigger problems than a PR stunt.”

Valentina hesitated, then exhaled and waved her hand in surrender. “Fine. But if he misses this mission, you answer to the board.”

Outside, Bob moved with unusual determination. The noise of the city wrapped around him—honking cars, distant chatter, the subway rumbling beneath the sidewalk.

He stopped briefly by a familiar fruit stand and placed a few bills on the counter.

“Two apples, please,” he said quietly.

The vendor looked up, startled by the seriousness in his tone. “Sure thing, friend.”

Bob took the apples and slipped them into his backpack. His fingers brushed against his blankey inside—his little anchor—and he zipped the bag closed.

As he turned the corner, he didn’t notice the large figure stepping in his path until it was too late.

Bump.

Bob stumbled slightly. The apples rolled inside his bag.

“You again?” came a voice—gravelly, mocking.

It was him. The same tattooed thug who tried to jump him weeks ago.

Bob didn’t flinch.

He stepped around him without a word.

“Oh, so now you’re too good to apologize?” the man sneered. “Wearing your golden cape today, little hero? Or are you still hiding behind your girlfriend’s fists?”

Bob’s jaw clenched. Something cold stirred inside him—not fear. Not Void. Just… power.

He turned slowly.

“I’m not looking for a fight,” he said quietly. “Just let me go.”

“Too late for that.”

The thug shoved him hard, sending Bob skidding across the pavement.

But Bob didn’t fall.

He stopped himself mid-slide, feet dragging like anchors, and when he stood upright, there was a flicker of gold in his eyes.

The streetlights around them dimmed slightly, reacting to the subtle shift in his energy.

The thug lunged, fist cocked—but before it could land, Bob raised a glowing hand.

Wham!

A golden shockwave burst from his palm, not violent—but powerful enough to knock the man back several feet into a stack of crates. The air rippled like heat waves on concrete.

The man groaned, slumped over.

Bob took a deep breath, lowering his hand slowly. Sparks of energy danced around his fingertips before fading.

No Void. No darkness. Just control.

The people on the sidewalk gasped, some backing away, others pulling out phones—but Bob didn’t stay.

He turned and walked, his stride faster now. He was still buzzing inside, but he kept his emotions in check. He needed to get to her. To Yn.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, the Sentry whispered—not in threat, but as a presence.

You’re stronger than you think, Bob.

And this time, he believed it.

Without hesitation, Bob ran to the nearest alley and looked up to the sky. His heart was pounding, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He didn’t think—he just leapt.

This time... please.

Bob focused, summoning every ounce of energy, every fragment of control he had over the Sentry within. His eyes glowed faint gold, and the wind rushed around him as his feet slowly left the ground.

He flew.

Wobbly at first, unbalanced—but he was in the air, really flying.

For the first time.

His wide eyes filled with tears, and a smile cracked on his face before—

Boom!

He crashed down outside Yn’s cabin, right into the tall grass beside the porch with a loud thud and an ungraceful roll.

Inside the cabin, Yn dropped the mug of tea she had just poured. Her eyes widened, and she rushed outside barefoot.

“Bob!?” she shouted, spotting his hunched figure crawling out of the tall grass.

“I was… I was gonna surprise you,” he muttered, dazed, blinking up at her.

“I was about to get ready to pick you up,” she said, crouching beside him, voice filled with concern. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He gave a weak nod, and she quickly helped him up. He leaned on her, wincing a bit, and she guided him inside the warm, rustic cabin.

The inside smelled faintly of cinnamon and pine. The fireplace flickered low. She led him to her bed and sat him down, gently brushing dirt from his cheek.

Bob’s hands trembled as he held his knees, breathing shaky. His chest heaved—like he had been holding it all in since the press conference.

“I-I feel so—”

But the words caught in his throat. His lip quivered.

Yn didn’t wait.

She wrapped her arms around him, gently laying him down onto the bed with her, holding him as if to keep the world from falling apart around him.

“It’s okay,” she whispered softly. “Let it out. Let it all out. We’ll talk when you can, hm?”

And that was all it took.

Bob’s walls collapsed. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he buried his face into her shoulder. His fingers clutched her hoodie like a lifeline.

“I-I tried to be what they needed… what she wanted… the hair, the suit— I couldn’t breathe. I just wanted to come here. I-I needed—”

“Shh…” she whispered, fingers gently running through his hair. “You don’t have to explain right now. You’re here. You’re safe.”

Minutes passed.

The only sound in the cabin was the crackle of the fire and Bob’s quiet sobs, slowly fading into deeper breaths as he relaxed in her arms.

They lay like that for a long while, no words needed.

Because in that small cabin outside the city, wrapped in each other’s arms, Bob Reynolds could finally fall apart—and somehow feel whole at the same time.

“Hey,” Yn said softly, brushing her fingers against Bob’s hand. “Let’s go for a walk, hm?”

Bob looked up at her, eyes a little puffy but calm now. He nodded.

They both stood, Yn grabbing a soft hoodie to throw over her shoulders while Bob tugged at the sleeves of his familiar green sweater. The cabin door creaked open as they stepped outside into the crisp night air.

It was quiet—beautifully so. The moon cast silver glows through the trees, and the woods whispered with the rustle of leaves in the gentle wind. Crickets hummed softly beneath the blanket of stars.

"You know what I do when I get overwhelmed?" Yn asked, walking ahead slightly, letting her fingertips glide over the low-hanging pine needles.

Bob chuckled, catching up beside her. “You go to the music shop and pretend not to see me awkwardly stalking the vinyl section?”

Yn laughed and gave him a playful nudge with her shoulder. “Okay, that too,” she admitted, “but I meant this. Right here.”

She stopped and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of moss and pine.

“I walk here. I listen. I breathe. I let nature remind me that the world doesn’t expect me to be perfect. It just expects me to exist. And sometimes… that’s enough.”

Bob looked around, letting the quiet seep into his bones. It was so different from the constant buzz of New York, the flashing lights, the pressure of headlines and eyes.

“That sounds… peaceful,” he said.

“It is,” she nodded. “And maybe it’ll help you too.”

Bob looked down at his feet for a moment, his voice almost a whisper. “Well, Bucky did advise me to take walks... said it helped with his own thoughts. I tried, but—” he gave a soft sigh—“not sure it ever worked.”

“Probably because your walks were in the busy, noisy streets of New York while, y’know, stalking me from behind hotdog carts,” she teased with a grin.

His cheeks flushed instantly as he scratched the back of his neck. “I-I wasn’t stalking, I was… observing… from a respectful… twenty feet.”

She giggled and gently slipped her hand into his. Bob blinked but didn’t pull away. His fingers trembled a little, but then he tightened the hold.

Yn slowed her pace. “Bob… I know it’s not easy. You carry something huge inside you. Something that scares you. But you’re still trying to be good. Still trying to be you. And I think that’s… incredibly brave.”

Bob swallowed thickly, heart thudding in his chest. “You don’t think I’m… too broken?”

She stopped, turned to him, and reached up to touch his cheek. “No. I think you’re healing. And healing people? They don’t scare me.”

His lips parted slightly, eyes searching hers for any trace of doubt—but there was none.

They stood in the silence for a while, under moonlight and the rustle of wind through trees. The kind of silence that spoke louder than any words.

Then Yn whispered, “You’re safe here, Bob. With me. Always.”

He nodded, blinking back a shimmer of emotion. “Thanks, Yn… for letting me be the quiet version of me. The one who doesn’t always have to be glowing.”

She smiled. “That version? He’s my favorite.”

They walked a little deeper into the woods, where the trees gave way to a small clearing drenched in moonlight. The air was still, thick with pine and possibility.

Yn turned to Bob with a small smile, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie. “Well, since we’re here… just nature, no noise, no eyes—why don’t we see what the Sentry can do?”

Bob blinked, nervous. “Wh-what, here? Now?”

“Why not?” she shrugged, taking a step back to give him space. “No pressure. Just you, me… and the moonlight.”

“I-I don’t know if I can really—control it all yet.”

“I’ll be right here,” she said gently. “You’re not alone in it.”

He hesitated for a moment, heart hammering in his chest. But Yn’s calm gaze grounded him. So he took a breath and closed his eyes.

The air shimmered faintly as golden light began to trace around his body—soft at first, then brighter. His sweater fluttered lightly as the energy rose, swirling around him like a sentient breeze.

“Okay…” Yn said softly, stepping in like a coach. “Let’s start small. Try levitating, like you did outside my cabin.”

Bob furrowed his brow and slowly rose a foot off the ground, arms out like a nervous airplane. His face tightened with focus, feet wobbling mid-air.

“You’re doing great!” Yn said, hands cupped around her mouth. “But maybe don’t look like you’re constipated.”

“Th-this takes concentration!” Bob said through gritted teeth, wobbling in the air.

Yn giggled. “Breathe, Bob. You’re glowing like a sun—don’t let it burn you.”

He exhaled slowly. The wobble eased. He floated smoothly now, golden aura pulsing like a heartbeat. Then, slowly, he lowered himself back to the ground.

“Okay, okay,” he said, panting slightly. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“You did amazing,” Yn grinned. “Now… let’s try strength.”

She led him toward a fallen log the size of a minivan. “Think you can lift that?”

“I-I mean… maybe?” Bob blinked.

“You’re a powerhouse, Bob. Come on.”

He rolled up his sleeves awkwardly—then realized he was glowing again and didn't need to—and placed his hands under the log. With a breath and a grunt, he lifted it slowly, golden light threading through his arms like molten wires.

The log rose into the air.

He looked up, wide-eyed. “I—I’m doing it!”

“Now toss it.”

“What?!”

“Toss it! Gently!”

He flung it, more out of panic than grace, and the log tumbled like a spinning coin before crashing into a pile of leaves, bursting into splinters.

Bob flinched. “Oops.”

Yn clapped. “Ten out of ten for dramatic effect.”

Bob chuckled, running a glowing hand through his now-blond hair. “I still feel… unbalanced. Like it’s not me doing it.”

“You’re not a machine, Bob. You’re learning. And every time you try, you take back a little more control.”

She stepped closer and placed a hand on his chest, over where his heart beat, fast but steady.

“You’re not the power. You’re the person who chooses how to use it. And that’s what makes you strong.”

He looked down at her, eyes shimmering gold now. “You really believe that?”

She smiled. “I believe in you.”

He took her hand, holding it like a lifeline.

“Then maybe… just maybe, I can believe in me too.”

The training slowly fizzled into laughter. After a couple more power stunts—and one accidental tree getting split in half—they finally collapsed onto the soft grass in the clearing, breathless and flushed from both the exertion and the joy.

Bob lay flat on his back, the golden shimmer from his earlier stunts still faintly dancing around his fingertips. Yn curled up beside him, her head nestled gently in the crook of his arm.

The moonlight dappled through the branches above them, stars beginning to wink awake in the purple-stained sky. A light breeze passed, rustling the leaves and brushing against their skin like nature’s lullaby.

They were both giggling softly, the kind of laughter that bubbles up after adrenaline and comfort collide.

“You know,” Yn said between breaths, turning slightly so she could look up at him, “you look good blonde, by the way.”

Bob turned beet red. “I—I do?”

“Yeah,” she grinned, nudging his side with her elbow. “You look like a golden retriever who just got promoted to god-tier.”

Bob chuckled awkwardly, hiding his face with his free hand. “I wasn’t sure. I thought I looked like… like a banana with anxiety.”

“Well, now you’re my favorite banana,” she teased.

He laughed harder, a real, full laugh that crinkled his eyes and made his chest shake. “Th-that’s the weirdest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

She shrugged, resting her cheek against his arm again. “We’re weird people.”

They fell into a warm silence after that. Bob slowly turned his head to look at her, her hair haloed by the moonlight, eyes half-lidded in peace.

“Hey, Yn?” he said softly.

“Hmm?”

“I think… this is the first time I’ve felt safe. Like… really safe. Since everything changed.”

She looked up at him again, her hand gently finding his. “Then that means we’re doing something right.”

Bob held onto her words like a blanket, wrapping himself in them.

And beneath the quiet woods and glittering sky, the Sentry didn’t feel like a weapon.

He just felt… human.

“I know what we’re going to do tomorrow,” Yn said with a spark in her eyes.

Bob looked at her, resting his cheek on her shoulder, slightly out of breath from their laughter. “What is it?”

She smirked, tapping the tip of his nose. “You’ll see.”

Morning dew clung to the grass like tiny stars as they jogged through the forest path behind Yn’s cabin. The air was crisp, the world still wrapped in the serenity of sunrise. Birds chirped overhead while soft beams of golden light filtered through the trees.

Bob kept pace beside Yn, a little clumsy but doing his best. His blonde hair was pulled back slightly by a band she’d given him, and his old green hoodie bounced with each step. Despite the peaceful setting, he was already panting. “Y-you said this was a jog, not a sprint.”

Yn just laughed, not even winded. “We’re almost there, loverboy.”

They rounded a bend and emerged at a breathtaking lakeside clearing. Mist hovered above the water, and the surface mirrored the rising sun in quiet ripples. The area was secluded, peaceful—a hidden world untouched by chaos.

Bob stopped in awe. “Woah… This place is—”

“My little sanctuary,” Yn said proudly, stretching her arms toward the lake. “This is where I usually train.”

Bob turned to her, surprised. “You train alone?”

“Since I got out of the Red Room,” she replied, her voice steady but soft, layered with quiet strength. “Yeah. It’s where I learned how to be me again.”

There was a beat of silence between them.

“Will you be my training buddy now?” she asked, breaking the moment with a wide, playful grin.

Bob blushed faintly but smiled back. “W-well yeah, b-but I don’t really… know how to fight,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We’ll learn,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him gently to the center of the clearing. “Come on.”

They began with the basics.

Yn stood in front of him, adjusting his stance, gently tapping his knees with her foot to reposition him. “Wider. You’ll fall over if your legs are too close.”

Bob wobbled a little. “L-like this?”

She circled him. “Closer. But not like a penguin, soldier.”

Bob gave a nervous laugh. “I-I’m trying.”

Yn stepped in and took his hands in hers. “Try to push me.”

“What?” he blinked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she said, standing firm. “Push.”

Bob hesitated, then gave a soft shove.

She didn’t move an inch.

“Okay,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re… weirdly strong.”

“Years of fighting and espresso,” she teased. “Now again.”

They went on for an hour—stance, balance, simple dodges. She guided him step-by-step, her touch steady and reassuring, and though he stumbled (a lot), he laughed with her, even when he tripped over his own foot and fell into the dirt.

She offered a hand. “Training 101: fall with style.”

After catching their breath by the lakeside, Yn turned serious.

“Now let’s try something else,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Close your eyes.”

Bob looked at her, unsure. “What for?”

“Feel the sun. The breeze. The sound of the water.” Her voice softened, coaxing him into calm. “Let the power in you rise slowly. Like the tide. You’re not fighting it—you’re listening to it.”

He closed his eyes.

Breathing in. Breathing out.

Golden light flickered along his fingertips, dancing like flames but gentle. Controlled.

Yn smiled. “Good. Now lift that branch.”

Bob raised his hand and the thick log beside them levitated shakily.

“Focus,” she said, stepping behind him, placing a hand on his back. “It’s not about the strength. It’s about clarity.”

Bob’s breath steadied, and so did the log, floating with surprising grace.

“I-I’m doing it…” he whispered.

“You are,” Yn whispered back, beaming.

The log gently lowered to the grass.

He opened his eyes, stunned.

“You did amazing,” she said softly, and Bob turned to her with a tired, proud smile.

“I-I wouldn’t be able to without you,” he said.

“You just needed someone to believe in you, Bob.”

They sat beside each other on the soft earth, the sunlight warming their skin and the lake glistening like a mirror of stars.

Bob took her hand, golden energy still humming faintly at his fingertips.

And for the first time, his power didn’t feel like a threat.

It felt like his.

In the high-rise war room of the tower, tension ran like electricity through the air. Valentina's stilettos clicked rapidly across the floor as she paced in frustration, throwing quick glances at the mission timer blinking red on the monitor.

“He’s still not back?” she barked, flinging a tablet onto the conference table. “This mission is in three days and our golden boy is out playing house with some girl?”

Yelena raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a word.

Val pointed sharply toward her. “Don’t give me that look, Belova. I know you know something. Where is he?”

Yelena shrugged. “Relax. He’s not lost. He just… took a breather.”

Valentina spun, eyes wide. “A breather? He’s the Sentry! He doesn’t get to vanish! Do you even understand what kind of storm I’m dealing with from the U.N. press office? He’s a nuclear-level asset in a relationship with a complete civilian and—God knows—probably barefoot in the forest somewhere meditating under a pine tree!”

Yelena smirked, chewing her gum louder. Ava stood by the window, lips twitching slightly but kept her arms crossed. John Walker was staring at his phone like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Red Guardian was slowly stirring sugar into his coffee.

Valentina kept rambling. “We’re finally getting attention from major allies! The press conference went viral—viral! You know how many eyes are on us right now? We can’t afford to have our headline hero MIA because he caught feelings for some soft-voiced farm girl who sells jam and reads sad poetry!”

Yelena gave a dramatic yawn.

Val's eyes narrowed. “What is this? You’re all unusually quiet.”

No one answered.

A tense silence followed—until Red Guardian slowly took a sip of his coffee and muttered, “Perhaps… he is exactly where he needs to be.”

Val's head snapped toward him. “And where is that, exactly?”

Red Guardian looked over to Yelena. Yelena glanced at Ava. Ava blinked once and looked at John.

All of them avoided Valentina’s eyes.

“Great,” she muttered. “Now you’re all suddenly Buddhist monks and fortune cookies.”

John cleared his throat. “Look, Val. He’ll be back. He always comes back. Maybe he just needed a break from…” he gestured vaguely around the tower, “...all this.”

“He doesn’t get a break!” Val snapped. “He’s not a puppy. He’s a symbol. He is hope. He’s public trust. The Sentry’s dating life cannot override protocol. I’m trying to run a global initiative here, not a matchmaking show!”

Yelena turned her face slightly to hide a grin. Ava blinked at the ceiling. Even John gave a short cough that suspiciously sounded like a laugh.

Valentina glared around the room. “What? What is it now? You all know something I don’t, don’t you?”

The team said nothing.

Yelena popped a bubble and said with a grin, “Maybe if you spent less time micromanaging his hair color and more time listening, you’d be slightly more informed.”

Valentina blinked. “Excuse me?”

Ava finally spoke up, voice calm. “He’s with someone who helps him stay grounded. That’s all that matters.”

Val threw her hands in the air. “Grounded?! I didn’t pull him out of a psych spiral and rebrand him for him to disappear into the woods like some myth!”

Yelena raised her brows, exchanging a quick glance with Ava.

A myth.

If only she knew.

But no one told her. They all knew better. It wasn’t their place—and if Valentina found out Bob was dating The Deathtrap, she'd either panic or try to spin it into a media circus.

Red Guardian murmured, “Let him breathe. You’ll have your golden boy back soon.”

Valentina narrowed her eyes. “He better be camera-ready when he returns. Blonde and brilliant. I won’t tolerate any more stunts.”

The team watched her storm out of the room.

As the doors slid shut, Yelena burst into a quiet laugh. “Camera-ready, she says…”

Ava allowed herself a rare smile. “He’s training harder than ever.”

John chuckled. “And I bet he’s sleeping better too.”

Red Guardian grinned. “Deathtrap always had a way of making even monsters feel human.”

The room quieted again, the weight of the secret shared between them. Outside, the mission timer kept ticking.

But somewhere far from the tower, in a place no cameras could reach, Bob was learning how to breathe again.

And he was in the safest hands possible.

[dreamersparacosm]

i just want to see jk's reaction when he found out our girlie INDEED got mingyu and she had him really good for ck in the drabbles tyvm lol

tpod!jk the kinda man to pout bc some man called his girl pretty.. which like, yeah, you are pretty but no need to vocalize it. hence why i am apart of the Jungkook Is A Jealous Man™️ club (i’m the president, actually.)

the price of desire — epilogue blurb 4!

prompt ; in which jungkook rethinks his friendship with mingyu (unprovoked)

warnings ; none!

It had come randomly one day.

You were working from Jungkook’s house — the unofficial branch of Calvin Klein’s global operations, if anyone asked — fully drowning in deadlines. Two laptops open, an iPad balanced precariously on your knee. Phone wedged between your shoulder and ear while you typed notes with one hand and crammed bites of cold noodles into your mouth with the other.

Three negotiations deep, sleep deprived, and running purely on caffeine and hubris, you had hopped on a “quick Zoom call” — a phrase that, historically, only ever led to disaster — and before you knew it, it was done.

Mingyu had finally become the face of the next Calvin Klein seasonal campaign.

You were so excited you nearly flung your laptop across Jungkook’s living room, barely managing to set it down before launching yourself at him in a flurry of screaming and celebratory laps around the couch.

Notably, he was not a happy camper.

At first, you thought he was just stunned or maybe a little proud (after all, you had just secured another kpop megastar, one of the most marketable faces in Asia, without even breaking a sweat.)

But then you caught him, side-eyeing your laptop and typing furiously on his phone, thumb jabbing at the screen like he was plotting a war crime.

Later, you found out from Yoongi, after another delicious session of judging people , that Jungkook had in fact texted Mingyu immediately. Something about “just so you know, she’s my girlfriend, so be chill.”

Whatever that meant.

(You tried to be mad about it for like three seconds until Jungkook shoved his face into your neck that night and mumbled “I just don’t want anyone thinking they have a chance with you,” and you, like an absolute fool, melted into the floor.)

All that to say — Jungkook is still not a happy camper a few weeks later, which becomes especially apparent the day he decides to visit you on set out of the goodness of his allegedly supportive boyfriend heart.

In theory, he’s there to support you, support his friend, Mingyu.

In practice, he looks like he’s about two seconds away from committing a crime of passion the moment he steps onto the parking lot you’ve all turned into a fashion set.

You spot him instantly — leaning against a brick wall, arms crossed, hoodie hanging loose around his frame. Raising your brow at him, you mouth behave like you’re scolding a petulant child.

His reaction to that is to tighten his arms across his chest and glare harder. Like you said.. petulant child.

Meanwhile, Mingyu is currently shirtless in nothing but Calvin Klein denim, all rock-hard abs and charming smiles, laughing at something the photographer said.

You turn back to your clipboard, trying to focus on work but out of the corner of your eye, you can practically feel Jungkook’s soul trying to claw its way out of his body.

He manages to hold out for another ten minutes before he finally snaps. Jungkook materializes at your side like a dark, sulking storm cloud, sliding next to you with all the grace of a man moments from murdering his friend.

“Jungkook…” You sigh.

“I didn’t say anything,” He mutters.

You glance at him; the man is slouching, hood up now too, looking like the grim reaper of jealousy. A sigh leaves your mouth, shaking your head to hide your laughter before prompting your assistant to ask to adjust the monitor’s brightness.

“He’s doing a good job,” You offer casually as if dangling bait in front of an animal.

“Sure,” he grits out. “Great job. Fantastic. Real groundbreaking stuff.”

You bite your lip, fighting a smile. On screen, Mingyu grins, turning slightly to show off the curve of his back muscles, Calvin Klein waistband sitting low on his hips.

Jungkook physically recoils at the sight like he’s been slapped.

He turns to you slowly, betrayal written all over his stupidly pretty face. “You think he’s better than me?” he pouts.

You shrug and taunt him, “I mean, yeah. A little.”

“You made me retire from Calvin Klein and then gave my job to Mingyu,” His eyes narrow into crinkled slits.

“I didn’t make you retire,” you retort, rolling your eyes. “You completed your campaign. Very successfully, might I add. And now you’re my personal boy toy forever. Congratulations.”

Jungkook scowls at you. You just grin in return unapologetically.

Across the set, Mingyu is pointing at the shots on the screen, deep in thought with the photographer and Jungkook visibly stiffens.

You lean over, crowding his personal space. “You wanna take your shirt off and show him who’s boss?”

“I will if I have to.”

You laugh at that, and Jungkook can only stand there, glowering at the man wearing the underwear he thinks he invented, while you watch with all the satisfaction of a true marketing genius.

At the end of the day, Mingyu might be the new face of Calvin Klein.

But you… you’re all Jungkook’s.

And no amount of glistening ab shots is ever going to change that.

masterlist + ask

[mr-jammed-toast]

i think to start off we need to go back in time for a little bit.

even before nico had fully realized his feelings for percy, he already saw him as a hero. someone who always saves the day, someone who can do no wrong. and we see this expectation tragically go wrong when percy comes back without bianca. this gets even more justified when nico finally developed a crush on him. although nico had not entirely seen percy as a "perfect" person, he explicitly stated that he had always viewed him as someone higher, which is a very flawed perception of him-- which is also why part of nico's character development was dismantling that very perception he had of percy, dismantling the hero worship that nico had desperately clung to over the years.

then we get with will.

see, part of being in a committed relationship with someone is acknowledging and accepting their flaws. seeing them past their good qualities and embracing the ugly parts of themselves that they try to hide. putting will into a box where he is Expected To Be Perfect not only does harm to his character but also to nico as well, because nico himself has to realize that will isn't a perfect person, no matter how much he is attracted to him, no matter how highly he thinks of will. this is something he needs to acknowledge in order to maintain a healthy committed relationship with will

and im not joking when this literally gets addressed in tsats! yes, nico gets irritated and offended that will is being insensitive about the underworld-- in fact it is healthy that he is feeling that discomfort! we are seeing on paper that nico is starting to realize that will isn't always perfect, that they don't always agree on the same things. but that doesnt mean that they should break up, or they are a toxic ship. no! even if nico faces these conflicts and misunderstandings with will, he's still willing to communicate and overcome these issues because-- and just like what ive said in my last posts-- he simply loves will.

understanding that will isnt perfect is crucial to nico's character development and their relationship as a whole. in this essay i will

[zorosgirlfriend]

monster trio ~ !! reacting to catching you in your private time aka masturbating to them

warnings: masturbating (duh), teasing, suggestive but no smut happens

masterlist and rules || opposite (you catch them masturbate to you)

Monkey D. Luffy

Luffy had just finished raiding the fridge and was on his way to show you his prize snack when he heard… something. He paused outside your room, blinking curiously.

“Luffy…” you moaned out.

His name. Moaned out so softly.

His eyes widened like dinner plates.

“HUH!?” luffy said.

He pushed the door open without thinking.

There you were, in your most vulnerable time.

Caught by someone who you didn't want to see...

“Luffy, wait, I-!” you screamed out.

You practically launched a pillow at him, your face redder than a tomato.

“I—It’s not what it sounded like!!”

Luffy just stood there, blinking. “Why were you saying my name like that? You okay? You sick or something?”

he said it sooo innocently!

You scrambled to cover yourself with a blanket and yell, “GET OUT!”

He tilted his head, genuinely confused. “But I brought meat!”

Luffy said.

“MEAT WON’T FIX THIS!” you screamed.

“…Is it because I didn’t bring enough meat?”

He said again, still clueless....

You groaned into your pillow while Luffy stood there, still not fully getting it, but chuckling. “Hehe… you’re funny, y/n.”

"I was almost close too..." you whispered softly.

He tilted his head. “Almost close to what?”

He heard that?!

You yanked the blanket over your head. “NOTHING.”

Luffy blinked and sat cross-legged on the floor like this was a mystery he had to solve. “Hmm…”

You peeked at him. “Go away!”

But he just grinned. “Were you training your voice or something? You kept saying my name like ‘Luffy~’!”

Luffy said with a teasing tone.

You groaned into your pillow. “I WAS ALMOST CLOSE TO A PERSONAL MOMENT!” aka cumming

He blinked. “Ohhhh. Like, real close?”

You look anywhere BUT Luffy, avoiding eye contact.

“…Yes.”

He chuckled and gave your foot a soft poke. “Well, maybe next time you need help, you should just ask.”

Does he not realize what he just said?!

You turned to glare at him. “NO.”

“Why not?” he teased. “I could be your special meat-powered motivation!”

You screamed into the pillow again as he laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

Roronoa Zoro

Zoro wasn’t usually one to snoop.

But when he heard his name being whispered from your room, low and breathy, he paused.

“…Zoro…” you moaned out.

He stiffened.

‘Wait a sec… was that…?’ Zoro whispered to himself.

He nudged the door open, and your eyes met his mid-moment. Your soul left your body.

There he was. You locked eye contact with him before realizing the severity of the situation.

“ZORO!” you screamed out.

“…You called?” he said, arms crossed with a smirk.

You grabbed the closest thing to you, a towel. And launched it at him.

“OUT!” you said feeling so embarrassed.

He dodged it easily. “I didn’t know you liked me that much.”

You were already halfway under the bed in embarrassment.

Feeling like your life was over.

He chuckled as he turned away, going to the doorframe.

“Guess I should say my name for you sometime too, huh?”

He said so teasingly...

“ZORO!”

you screamed out his name again.

He hadn’t moved from the doorframe. You peeked from under your blanket, cheeks steaming.

“I was almost close…” you mumbled.

Zoro raised a brow. “Close to what?”

He said so with a smirk.

“Don’t make me say it.”

You said already feeling embarrassed.

He smirked even more. “You already said my name like I was the only thing keeping you breathing.”

“BECAUSE YOU ARE—wait no I didn’t mean that!”

Your brain just short-curcuited.

Zoro laughed and walked in, sitting at the edge of the bed.

“Well, that was flattering. Want me to stand here again until you get there?”

He said, and you can here the teasing in his voice.

“ZORO!”

He leaned back on his palms, that smug smirk not leaving his face. “Say my name again. Just for training, of course.”

You threw a pillow at him while screaming into another one.

Vinsmoke Sanji

Sanji was strolling by when he heard something sweet and soft, his name.

“…Sanji…” you moaned out.

His brain short-circuited. He turned slowly, wondering if his ears were playing tricks.

“Sanji…” you moaned again.

He blushed. Deeply.

He opened the door just a crack and peeked in.

Your eyes locked in pure horror.

“SANJI! DON’T LOOK!”

You screamed loudly, you swear the crew probably heard it!

“AH—SORRY SORRY!” spinning away so fast he nearly crashed into the wall.

He yelped.

You buried your face into the sheets, shrieking into them.

From the other side of the door, he whispered, flustered beyond belief,

“...I’ll never stop thinking about this, mon amour.”

He said with hearts in his eyes.

“DON’T SAY THAT!”

You screamed out loud.

“You’re so cute, what am I supposed to do?!”

You could practically feel him combusting outside the door as you screamed into your hands.

You slowly peeked from under your sheets, face glowing.

“…I was almost close…”

Sanji, who was still leaning against your door frame with steam coming out of his ears, nearly choked.

“Oh my— mon amour!”

He said practically jumping.

“Don’t say anything.”

You groaned.

He turned his back to you dramatically, hand on his heart.

“My angel was whispering my name while nearly reaching the heavens and I interrupted? I must atone!”

He said so with so much compassion.

“Sanji, stop!”

You yelled out feeling embarrassment.

He peeked over his shoulder, his grin devilish.

“Want me to help you next time? I make a good… assistant chef.”

Sanji said so teasingly.

“SANJI!”

You screamed again.

“I’m just saying! My name already got you that far, imagine what my hands could do—AH—okay okay don’t throw things!”

[ablobwhowrites]

A kingdom celebration.

(for the first iteration of ruler y/n cookie is here. And hopefully I cook with this idea as this is just dumb little things I did.)

The sun shines brightly in the sky as birds chirped in the trees and flew high in the skies. Gingerbrave decided to go on a walk to get a better view of the kingdom and its buildings but was confused by seeing the civilian cookies of y/n's kingdom began to set up decorations as many where in their homes cooking as ginger brave was very confused as well as the cookies that gingerbrave brought into the y/n’s kingdom. Little cookies running around playing games as the adults helped with decorations and some taking out tables. “What on earthbread is going on?” Gingerbrave said as he saw colorful decorations strung on houses, street lamps as well as trees and even the castle but soon as beautiful as everything was and the smells coming from houses as people cooked in their houses, gingerbrave saw y/n walking out of the castle as they were being escorted by one of the guard cookies. “Hey y/n! Y/n!” Gingerbrave shouted as he ran to y/n with them looking to where they heard their name and saw Gingerbrave stop once he got to y/n.

“Oh Gingerbrave, lovely day isn’t it?” Y/n said as they looked to the decorations being hung up as well as their cookie citizens set up for the festive day. “I wanted to ask you. What’s going on with all the cookies? Is it some kind of holiday?” Gingerbrave asked as y/n remembered that gingerbrave and his friends were still new to their kingdom. “Oh yes, I forgot to tell you. It’s more of what my citizens set up every year or so, but it’s an anniversary of the kingdom a my citizens do like making a big deal about this celebration. But clover has me on a very strict schedule for events like this but I do try to lend a hand for my citizens, even just a little." Y/n said as they smiled and gingerbrave looked as cookies carried out big pots and trays of food to the tables, y/n's guard who has been escorting them had leaded a bit down to y/n's side. "My monarch, the bakery is still waiting for you. We mustn't keep them waiting." The knight said as they got back to standing up fully as y/n gasped, "Oh my, I nearly forgot I needed to go there! I need to make my dish for the celebration, I'll see you at the celebration tonight!" Y/n said as they rushed a bit to get to the bakery in the kingdom and y/n's guard cookie looked at gingerbrave. "It's best to have your food ready for tonight or do you not have any for the celebration?" The cookie guard loomed over gingerbrave who laughed uncomfortably "yeah! I do, I should probably tell the others to get ready as well!" Exclaimed as he ran away to find strawberry, wizard or just any of the other cookies as the guard cookie went over to y/n.

"YOU TELL US NOW!?" Chili pepper cookie shouted as gingerbrave looked at the ground awkwardly as he tried to remember when y/n told him about this celebration but nothing "w-well! We can just make something real quick! I'm sure it's not hard to make a dish." Gingerbrave said with confidence in his voice. "Excuse me, coming through!" A cookie said as the small group saw two cookies carry a very large pot that was full of maybe soup but who knows and gingerbrave felt a bit weary. "How many cookies are attending this thing?" Wizard cookie shocked as who even has the big of a pot just laying around and what could even be inside of it. The small team of gingerbrave split up to tell the other cookies who didn't know about the celebration. Y/n and their guard held two big baskets with a cloths over the baked goods so they would stay good until the celebration as they walked out, y/n saw the new cookies that gingerbrave had brought to the kingdom rushing around some desperately getting ingredients for things and y/n got a bit worried at the sudden rushing around of the new cookies.

The sun soon was going down as day light faded but gingerbrave and his friends still were trying to decide what to make for the celebration and quick. "What about a soup? It's easy to make and you can't really mess it up." Wizard cookie suggested "No! No! No! No! It should be something great! Like a roasted jelly!" Custard Cookie III shouted with glee. "No that would take to long, it takes about 2 hours for it to roast." Wizard cookie shot down Custard cookie's III idea, "maybe something small like candy? It could work and some candy is easy to make in a short time." Strawberry cookie suggested and wizard cookie thought about it. "How about just coming empty handed? I mean we are still new and I don't think they'll be mad at us for not knowing." Chili pepper cookie knew that what ever food or dessert is suggested won't have enough time to finish. "No, it's rude to show up empty handed and especially after what y/n has done for us, it's the absolute least we can do." Wizard cookie argued as chili pepper cookie rolled her eyes "okay but how were we supposed to know if no one told us. That can be a excuse." Chili pepper argued back as a back and forth argument happened with wizard and chili pepper. Gingerbrave was thinking hard, 'what would be fast to make yet the tastiest to make?' Gingerbrave thought.

Y/n set the baskets on the tables as the sun finally set, the lanterns that where hung up flicked on with cookies finally settling down in their chairs with even the new cookies joining in with the newly added seats. A cookie guard helped y/n up on a chair to stand tall as all the cookies quieted down and looked to y/n who cleared their throat a bit. "My citizens! And new cookies. We are here to celebrate the anniversary of this kingdom and I wish to say how grateful I am to you all for helping this kingdom grow to the small village to this now grand kingdom full with old and new faces. Now let us all dig in and enjoy this celebratio-".

"WAIT! WE GOT OURS!" Gingerbrave shouted as the small group of friends rushed to the table gingerbrave panted as he held up the medium try of food to y/n. The tray of food looked questionable as it was somehow bubbling as if it was just taken out of the oven or whatever it was cooking in. It seemed like a roasted jelly with some kind of seasoning and some kind of sprinkles with other and what looks like maple syrup somehow. Y/n like a bit concerned about how they managed to make something like a jelly roast look like a dessert somehow. "My monarch you don't need to try their dish." A cookie guard said as y/n looked at the small group who worked hard on this dish then to their guard who was silently telling them not to eat or even take a bite out of that dish. "Well, I'm very proud of you for making this dish. You've obviously worked hard on it how about you set it with the others." Y/n said with a kind smile as gingerbrave, wizard, Custard III, strawberry and chili pepper cookie felt happy that y/n was proud and went to go set their dish on the table somewhere. "I don't think what they made was edible." Clover whispered to y/n as they got down. "Yeah, please make sure they don't eat it. I don't want them to get sick." Y/n whispered back as y/n didn't want anyone to get sick but also didn't want to discourage the gingerbraves group so they had one of the guard taken the dish after the celebration and luckily no one touched it but gingerbrave and his group were to occupied that y/n was proud of them for making a dish all by themselves.

(Anyways that it for this fic. But if you like it please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's you have. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[heyimkana]

Now I want to know how their confession went in pillow talk, please 🥹🥹

girlllll (gn) what if i told you that the confession happened on the same night he asked her to marry her 😭💀

here, have a super, fluffy drabble! 🥰

Sung Jinwoo lies in bed, one arm lazily draped around his wife, the other tucked under his head. The room is quiet, save for the soft rustle of sheets and the gentle rhythm of her breathing. She’s pressed against him, her cheek on his chest, fingers absentmindedly drawing circles over his skin.

The warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the faint scent of her shampoo lull him into a quiet sense of peace. He could stay like this forever.

“You know,” he murmurs into her hair, voice rich and low, “I’ve been thinking about that night.”

She hums sleepily, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his chest. “Which night?”

“The night we first said ‘I love you.’” His tone turns fond. “The same night I asked you to marry me.”

She blinks and pulls back slightly to look at him, her eyes wide. “Oh my God. I still can’t believe that happened on the same night!”

He laughs softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. I had it all planned. I found that spot in Japan by accident during a raid. It was secluded, but the sky was so clear, so beautiful. I knew how much you loved stargazing, so I took you there.”

“You were so sweet that night,” she smiles, remembering. “I didn’t think you’d be the type of guy who’d do picnic dates, but you went all out for me, didn’t you? Cooked me all my favorite food. Had a blanket and some music ready for me. Gave me some roses. When you took my hand and we slow-danced through the night… I thought I was in a movie for a second.”

“I was nervous, so I went a little overboard, I think,” he admits, a sheepish edge to his smile.

She strokes his cheek, her gaze loving. “You were perfect.”

“And you looked… breathtaking,” he nearly sighs in reverence. “That white dress, the way you styled your hair, the way you smiled—everything about you that night was just so… I had no words then, and I still have no words now.”

She titters. “Well, you were never really good with words to begin with. But I got it, honey, don’t worry. I’m the goddess you worship,” she jests.

“You really are,” he replies, nothing but sincerity on his face. “I was going to propose. Everything was ready. But then you beat me to it.”

She groans, face flushed. “Stop. I don’t want to remember it again.”

He laughs, turning to face her more fully, hand sliding up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “Why not? You were so cute.”

“I was so emotional.”

“That’s why you were so cute. Tears in your eyes, voice shaking, calling me every pet name under the stars. I was this close to asking if you were drunk.”

She sulks, poking him on his chest. “I was vulnerable because my boyfriend at the time never told me he loved me!”

“I’m sorry,” he laughs quietly, taking her hand to land a playful, apologetic kiss on her knuckles. “I really thought you knew how I felt.”

“No, I didn’t! At least I wasn’t a hundred percent sure. And I didn’t expect you to just suddenly propose! You never gave me any signs, never told me you loved me, and then suddenly… you pulled out a ring? A huge diamond ring? Like, who does that?”

He chuckles and tucks her closer. “I’m a very spontaneous man, Angel. I figured I didn’t need words when my actions could say it all.”

“You always say that.” She rolls her eyes, affectionately. “But back then, I was terrified, Jin. We’d spent so many nights together, but you never said a thing. I thought… maybe it was just physical for you. That I was the only one falling.”

His smile softens, and he cups her face gently, his thumb brushing her cheek. “You didn’t have to be scared, Angel. I was already planning to marry you since we went on our first date."

"What?" Her jaw drops. "And you still didn't tell me you loved me?"

"I was just… waiting for the right moment.”

“Uh-huh. And that moment just happened to be after I confessed like a sobbing mess?” she teases, narrowing her eyes.

“Hey,” he laughs, feigning offense. “Your confession was beautiful. Dramatic, yes. Tear-streaked, definitely. But beautiful.”

She groans again and hides her face against his chest. “So embarrassing.”

“I thought it was lovely. You were brave. Precious.” He kisses the top of her head. “But did you never realize it before then? Like, at all? I thought I was being obvious.”

“Obvious?” she echoes, raising a brow.

“Yeah, I mean… I cooked for you."

“In exchange for me doing the laundry.”

“I cleaned your apartment.”

“We lived together.”

“I fed Mr. Whiskers when you went on a business trip for a week.”

“Well, you couldn’t just let it starve to death.”

“Oh, believe me, I wanted to.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He looks away, sweating. “Uhh… I took good care of you after we had sex?”

“As you should. You wrecked me.”

He chuckled proudly to himself, and she pinched his nose, hard.

“I took good care of you when you were sick.”

“Honey, that’s called being a boyfriend.”

“I took you out on dates.”

“Okay, now you’re just pissing me off.”

He laughs, the sound warm and deep, the sweetest melody to her ears. “Okay, okay. I admit it. I was terrible at saying it. But I felt it. Every touch, every look—I thought it was all saying it loud enough.”

“Well, I wanted you to tell me.” Her pout turns prominent. “Still can’t believe you didn’t say it even once while making love to me. Honestly, now that I think about it, it’s kinda rude.”

He smirks, eyes glinting. “Making love to you was my way of saying it without words.”

“Oh, you’re so annoying,” she says with a light shove. “That’s not how it works, mister. There are words that need to be said. Here, listen. I love you. See? Very simple, very easy. You should try it sometime.”

“Do I look like a toddler to you?” he asks flatly.

“You’re worse than a toddler. At least kids say it all the time.”

“Maybe, but I mean it more.”

At the sight of her sighing exasperatedly, Jinwoo titters again, wrapping his arms tighter around her. “I’m sorry I made you doubt, Sweetheart. I’ll say it more now, promise. I’ll whisper it every morning, every night. I’ll kiss you more, hold you longer. I’ll make sure you feel it, hear it, know it.”

“You will? Even with how deadpan you are?”

“Yes, even so,” he says, mimicking her tone playfully. “I may be quiet, but I’ll show you in every way—through touch, through how I hold you, through everything. And yes, I’ll say the words too. If it makes you happy.”

“It will.”

“Well then, that’s settled. You matter to me, and you deserve to hear it as much as feel it.”

“Good,” she says, a satisfied little smile on her lips. “I’m glad we sorted that out.”

He rolls his eyes but can’t help the amusement from showing on his lips.

“So?” she says, and waits.

“So what?”

“Say it.”

He swallows. “N-now?”

“Was that—” She bites back a laugh. “Oh, wow, you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m not,” he scoffs.

“Darling, your ears are so red.”

“It’s—It’s cold—I’m cold.”

“We’re literally cuddling under the blanket and I’m a second away from sweating, but okay.” She tilts her chin high, smirking. “Prove it then. Tell me you love me.”

Jinwoo scrunches his nose at that, but he takes it as a challenge. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “If you laugh at me—”

“I’ll join your shadow army. Go.”

He sighs again, but he brings his forehead to hers, his nose brushing gently against hers. She can feel his heart pounding beneath her palm, but she makes no comment. She already enjoys his struggles as it is.

“I…” He starts slowly, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed. “I love you.”

“Why are you saying it like it's killing you inside? Again."

He distances himself for a bit, squinting his eyes. "You are extra demanding today, aren't you?"

"And you're stalling. Go."

"Fine." He takes another breath. "I love you," he says it, softer, more heartfelt and she grins.

"See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She simpers, patting his cheek like a proud mother. “Now, do it again.”

“Again?”

“You promised you’d say it more! Whisper it to me every morning and every night. Kiss me more, hold me longer—”

“Okay, okay.” He clasps his hand over her mouth, realizing only now just how embarrassing his lines were before. “I love you.”

“Mm, that’s better. Again.”

“How many times are you going to—”

“As long as it needs to until you get used to it. Again.”

He holds back the urge to pinch her cute little cheeky face. “I love you.”

“Put your heart into it.”

“I am. I love you.”

She turns devilish. “Again.”

It’s contagious, the joy—the hilarity that permeates her face. So much that he finds it growing on his lips, too. “I love you,” he says, much more naturally this time now that he’s gone past the initial awkwardness.

“Yes, so much better now. Again.”

“I’ve been in love with you since the first moment I saw you.”

“Ooooh, that was nice,” she giggles, practically kicking her feet. “Okay, now be creative about it.”

He shakes his head in amusement but complies. “I love you,” he says it earnestly, kissing her forehead softly, lingering. “So much that I’d rather fight with you than laugh with anyone else.”

Her eyes flutter closed as her glee swells in her chest. “Be poetic.”

A blush rises back to his cheeks. “I love you like… like a lost soul loves a light in the dark.”

“Honey!” She gasps, landing a hand on his chest, utterly impressed. “That was so good!”

He grins, his pride stroked wonderfully. “Yeah, you liked that one?”

“Mm, yes. Don’t do it too much, though. We don’t want to be too cheesy here.”

“Oh, you're so—What do you want this time, Princess?”

“Keep it simple, but… Kiss me more.”

Well, that one is certainly easy.

Jinwoo kisses the tip of her nose. “I love you.”

“Again.” Her voice takes on a sing-song tone, teasing.

“I love you,” he says against her cheek.

“Again, again.” She’s beaming now, practically glowing.

“I love you,” he whispers, lips trailing down to her neck. "I love you, I love you, I love you." He presses a kiss to her collarbone, her pulsating vein, nipping lightly at the skin, savoring the small shiver he draws from her. “I love you so damn much, Angel.”

Now satisfied, her hands find his face, pulling him in for a kiss full of fire and affection. “I love you, too.”

He deepens the kiss slowly, gently. He can feel her body melting closer into him, her free hand reaching up to hold onto his neck. He slips his tongue into her mouth, sensually gliding across her bottom lip. He wants to savor every moment, every second of this kiss. He keeps his kisses soft and sweet, his movements unhurried as he worships her lips. His grip on her is tight and firm, as if he never wants to let her go.

When he finally pulls back, leaving her breathless, Jinwoo brushes his lips over hers again and murmurs, “I understand why you love hearing it so much. I’ll never get tired of hearing those words from you, too.”

“Right?” She chuckles, a little dazed. “Want me to say it again?” Her mouth grazes his neck, her breathing hot on his skin. “While I leave my mark on you?”

He groans softly at that. Jinwoo tilts his head, letting her kiss along his throat, his voice a rumble. “Yeah, do it.”

But of course, being the smaller menace in the household, she giggles and snuggles into his neck, playfully, purposefully tickling him. “I wuv you, Sung Jinwoo. Forever and always.”

A laugh bubbles up in his chest as he buries his face in her hair, heart full. His fingers stroke through her hair with reverent affection. “Forever and always. That’s a promise.”

She pulls back just enough to smirk at him. “So… do you want to show me how much you love me now?”

His expression shifts into something darker, more mischievous, as desire flashes in his eyes. “Oh? You think words aren't enough now?”

“Some idiot once told me actions speak louder, you see.”

“Hm, I wonder who that was.” He slides his hand to her chin, tilting her face toward his. His gaze is locked on hers, voice dipping low. “Then I guess I’d better show you—right now—exactly how much I love you. Physically.”

His words spark electricity on her skin. “Our baby is sleeping, though, so we should keep our voices down.”

“Can’t promise you that, love,” he says, rolling her to her back, spreading her legs apart for him. “You got your way with me before. Now I’m going to do whatever”—he dips his head low, his lips opening and closing around the supple flesh of her thigh—“I”—they move higher—“want”—higher—“with”—closer—“you.”

He finds her core, mouth clamping tight, tongue darting out, tasting, exploring, devouring and—

Yes.

He’s definitely going to make her scream tonight.

***

[sillygoose067]

Hate to be Lame

Lewis Pullman x Reader

You slid into the backseat of the Uber, your mind already back at the office as you thumbed through a string of unread emails on your phone. You had barely closed the door when the driver glanced at you in the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling with a slightly nervous smile.

“Hey, uh, quick thing,” he said, one hand still loosely gripping the steering wheel. “Mind if I pick up another passenger on the way? It’s just a quick detour, and, you know… gas prices.” He chuckled, a little sheepishly, like he half-expected you to say no.

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the glowing screen as your mind flicked to the ticking clock at the top corner. You had exactly twenty-two minutes left on your break before you needed to be back at your desk, but the way the driver’s eyes flicked nervously to the dashboard, you figured he could probably use the extra cash.

“Um… sure, yeah, that’s fine,” you said, forcing a small, polite smile as you set your phone down, trying not to overthink it.

“Thanks, really appreciate it,” he said, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he merged back into traffic.

A few minutes later, the car pulled up outside a small, nondescript café, and the driver gave a quick, sharp honk of the horn. The door beside you opened, and a tall figure ducked in, the rush of cool, coffee-scented air following him into the backseat.

You glanced up, instinctively scooting a little closer to the opposite side, and found yourself staring at a familiar face. His eyes flicked to you, widening slightly in surprise before he quickly looked at the driver, one hand bracing against the edge of the door.

“Uh, this is… this is the right car, right?” he said, his voice a little lower, a little rougher than you’d expected, his brow furrowing as he leaned back out to check the license plate.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re good, man,” the driver assured him, throwing a quick, reassuring wave over his shoulder. “Just a little ride share, you know, nothing crazy.” He winced. “Sorry.”

The man hesitated, his eyes flicking back to you, his lips parting like he wanted to ask if you were okay with this arrangement, but then he caught the faint hint of polite, if slightly awkward, agreement in your expression and slid fully into the seat, pulling the door closed behind him.

“Sorry,” he said, a faint, slightly sheepish smile curving his lips as he settled back, his long legs folding into the limited legroom with practiced ease. “Didn’t mean to, uh, crash your ride.”

You managed a small, tight-lipped smile, your fingers twisting slightly in your lap as you glanced out the window, the awkward, too-close silence settling in almost immediately. You knew his face, of course — his profile had been all over billboards and streaming ads for the past few months, his latest project seemingly everywhere you looked. But the faint, polite nod you offered felt more appropriate than any starstruck gushing, your mind already flinching at the thought of making things even more uncomfortable.

He seemed to catch on to your attempts at maintaining some semblance of normalcy, a small, relieved exhale slipping from his lips as he ran a hand through his hair, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth as he glanced your way.

“Alright, so… I guess we should introduce ourselves, since we’re, you know… carpool buddies now,” he said, his tone light and faint, a chuckle slipping past his lips. He offered a hand, his palm warm and slightly calloused as your fingers brushed against his. “I’m Lewis.”

You gave your name in return, your voice a little softer, a little more hesitant than you’d intended, and his head tilted slightly, his eyes crinkling in a way that made the space between you feel just a fraction less stifling.

A few seconds ticked by, the soft hum of the engine and the low thrum of a forgotten pop song filtering through the speakers filling the otherwise oppressive silence. You glanced down at your phone, your thumb twitching against the side, a small, nervous habit you hadn’t quite managed to shake.

After another painfully quiet minute, you cleared your throat, your gaze flicking to the side as you forced yourself to break the silence. “Um… I’m not, like… trying to make this awkward or anything,” you said, the words tumbling out a little faster, a little more unevenly than you’d meant, your cheeks warming slightly as you caught the surprised flicker in his eyes. “I’m just… really bad at small talk. And… talking in general, actually. So, um, sorry if this is weird.”

For a split second, Lewis just stared at you, his brows lifting slightly in surprise, and then his lips curved into a small, genuinely amused grin, a soft, relieved chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“No, no, I get it,” he said, his tone a little warmer, a little more relaxed now, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee as he shifted in his seat. “Honestly, same. I mean, for an actor, I’m surprisingly terrible at talking to people outside of, you know… work.”

You felt a small, reluctant smile creep onto your lips, your nerves easing just a little as you leaned back against the cool leather seat, the awkwardness between you shifting into something a little softer, a little more tentative, like the first uncertain steps onto unfamiliar ground.

You tried to focus on your phone, scrolling through a half-dozen unread emails as the car eased back into traffic, the soft hum of the engine and the gentle sway of the ride providing a muted, almost comforting backdrop. But the awareness of the man sitting barely a foot away from you, his presence a warm, steady weight in the otherwise quiet backseat, made it hard to concentrate.

He shifted slightly beside you, his elbow brushing the seat between you as he leaned back, his gaze flicking out the window before settling back on you, his eyes catching the slight tension in your posture.

“So,” he said, his voice a little softer, a little more tentative than before, like he was testing the waters. “Heading home?”

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts, your head snapping up to meet his curious, slightly tilted gaze. “Oh, uh… break,” you stammered, your fingers tightening instinctively around your phone. “Just trying to squeeze in a quick trip before the next round of migraines.”

Lewis chuckled, a warm, slightly rough sound that settled the nerves still prickling at the edges of your mind. “I know the feeling,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned a little closer, his tone taking on a conspiratorial edge. “Long hours, too many meetings, and the constant feeling that you’re forgetting something important.”

You let out a small, slightly breathless laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing just a fraction as you met his gaze, the corners of your lips curving into a faint, slightly sheepish smile. “Pretty much,” you admitted, your fingers twitching nervously against your phone case. “Though, I’m guessing your ‘meetings’ are a little more glamorous than mine.”

He grinned, a faint, slightly embarrassed flush creeping up his neck as he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering at the nape of his neck like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. “I mean, maybe,” he said, his tone a little self-deprecating, his eyes flicking to the side as if considering his words. “But honestly, half the time it’s just me sitting around in a trailer, trying not to spill coffee on my costume or forget any lines.”

You let out a small, genuine laugh, the sound catching in your throat as his eyes snapped back to yours, a faint, relieved smile spreading across his lips at your reaction. You could feel a small, unsteady warmth blooming in your chest, your heart stuttering slightly as you realized, with a faint jolt, that you were actually starting to relax a little.

You shifted in your seat, your fingers still fidgeting nervously against your phone case as you tried to keep the conversation going, the silence between you no longer quite as suffocating but still tinged with a faint, unspoken tension.

“So, uh… what’s your schedule like?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could second-guess yourself, your cheeks warming slightly as you glanced down at your hands. “I imagine it’s a bit more… chaotic than mine.”

He let out a small, breathless chuckle, his head tilting back slightly as he considered your question. “Yeah, you could say that,” he said, his eyes flicking back to yours, a small, slightly wistful smile tugging at his lips. “A lot of early mornings and late nights, a lot of sitting around and waiting for the right light or the right take. But… I don’t know, it’s worth it, I think.”

You managed a small, understanding nod, your nerves easing a little more as you met his gaze, the soft, unspoken warmth in his eyes settling something in your chest that you hadn’t realized was still tense.

Before you could think of what to say next, the car slowed to a stop, the driver glancing back over his shoulder with a small, polite nod. “Alright, this is you,” he said, his eyes flicking to the building outside as he tapped a few buttons on the dashboard.

You blinked, a small, startled jolt running through you as you realized your stop had come up quicker than you’d expected. You reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly as you offered the man beside you a small, polite smile.

“Well, um… thanks for the company,” you said, your voice a little softer, a little more uncertain than you’d meant, your pulse quickening as you caught the faint, surprised flicker in Lewis' eyes. “It was… nice talking to you.”

You started to step out, one foot already on the curb when his hand reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm, the warmth of his touch startling but not unwelcome.

“Wait,” he said, his tone a little breathless, a faint, uncertain smile curving his lips as his eyes met yours, a hint of something like relief flickering in their dark depths. “It was… really nice talking to you, too. I, uh… don’t get that a lot.”

You felt your cheeks warm, your heart stumbling over itself as you caught the faint, sincere warmth in his expression, the small, slightly self-conscious shift in his posture as he ran a hand through his hair.

“I mean… it’s just nice, you know?” he continued, his words a little more rushed now, like he was afraid you’d slip away before he could finish. “Talking to someone who isn’t, like… making a big deal about it. Just… normal.”

You hesitated, your heart still racing as his eyes flicked back to yours, his hand slipping back to his side as he straightened, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for rejection.

“So… maybe we could do this again sometime?” he said, his tone a little quieter, a little more uncertain now, his gaze dropping to the seat between you before flicking back to your face. “Just, you know… chat. Without all the…,” he gestured around him.

Your breath caught, your fingers tightening instinctively around the strap of your bag as his words sank in, the unexpected warmth in this... honestly, he was still a stranger to you-- his tone catching you off guard. But you didn’t feel unsafe, and despite the nervous flutter in your chest, you found yourself nodding, your lips parting in a small, slightly breathless smile as you met his eyes again.

“Yeah… yeah, I’d like that,” you said, your voice a little steadier now, the small, relieved exhale that slipped past his lips sending a warm, unsteady flutter through your chest.

You fumbled for your phone, your fingers still trembling slightly as you pulled up your contact screen, your heart still racing as you traded numbers, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he handed your phone back, a small, slightly relieved smile curving his lips.

“Alright,” he said, his voice a little rough, a little breathless as he leaned back in his seat, his eyes lingering on your face for a second longer before he nodded, a small, slightly awkward chuckle slipping past his lips. “I’ll… text you. Later.”

You managed a small, shaky nod, your heart still stumbling over itself as you slipped out of the car, the door clicking shut behind you as the engine hummed back to life, the faint, lingering warmth of his touch still tingling against your skin as you watched the car pull away, your phone still clutched tightly in your hand.

---

The days after the Uber ride felt like a strange dream. The brief, awkward encounter in the backseat of the car had turned into something unexpected, and every time your phone buzzed with a new message from him, you found yourself smiling just a little wider. It wasn’t anything monumental—just small exchanges, nothing like the intensity you’d imagined romance would be. But it was enough to make your heart flutter, enough to leave you wondering if there could be more to this thing than you’d first realized.

At first, it was just casual coffee meet-ups, or quick chats in between work schedules, keeping it simple and unhurried. Lewis was an actor, always on the move, juggling scripts and auditions and press events. You, on the other hand, were buried under a mountain of deadlines, client meetings, and late-night project revisions. But somehow, amidst the chaos, the little moments you spent with him felt like an oasis.

It was a Thursday afternoon when the conversation turned more personal, one of those moments when you both found yourselves sitting across from each other at a cozy café, sipping on overpriced lattes and feeling surprisingly at ease despite the awkwardness that clung to the air at times. You had just finished talking about your hectic day, something about a report gone wrong and a team meeting that could have been handled better, when he leaned back in his chair, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup.

“So… are you in a relationship?” he asked, the question slipping out so casually it almost sounded like an afterthought. His eyes were warm but curious, an eyebrow raised as he leaned forward just a little, as though waiting for an answer that would somehow tell him more about you than any previous conversation had.

You nearly snorted, the sound so abrupt that it startled both of you. “A relationship?” you repeated, your mind instantly scrambling for some semblance of dignity. You ran a hand through your hair, trying to gather your thoughts but finding only embarrassment. “Uh… no. Never been on a date, much less had a partner.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then, you both burst into laughter at the same time, the nervous kind, but real, genuine laughter all the same. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed like that—completely unrestrained, without worrying about how you sounded, or how you looked, or whether you were being awkward. And for the first time in ages, you didn’t mind the awkwardness; it felt… nice, comforting even.

His smile softened, though there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You’re serious? Never even been on a date?” His voice was laced with a disbelief that made your face flush even deeper. “Wow, I didn’t think I’d meet someone who hasn’t at least done the whole dinner-and-movie thing.”

“I know,” you said, shaking your head, trying to brush off the discomfort with a small, sheepish grin. “I guess I’ve just been… too focused on work, or… well, I don’t know. It’s just never really happened.”

He leaned back again, clearly processing this new piece of information. You could see his thoughts working behind those dark, thoughtful eyes of his, but there was no judgment, just an understanding that made you feel oddly safe.

“Well,” he said after a pause, his voice warm but teasing, “that just means you’re in for a whole new world of experiences.” There was a playfulness in his tone, but something else too—a sense of wanting to take things slow, to help you discover this new territory at your own pace.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat but found that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to pull away from the conversation. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all of that,” you admitted, feeling a touch self-conscious. “I mean… I don’t even know where to start. I’m kinda… out of my depth here.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, the teasing glint faded, replaced with something gentler, almost tender. “Hey, no pressure,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “I’m not in a rush. I just want to get to know you, you know? No big expectations. If you ever want to… I don’t know, go for dinner or a walk or something, I’m here. Just taking it one step at a time.”

You met his gaze, a sense of warmth washing over you at his words, and a tiny spark of hope flickering in your chest. Maybe this didn’t have to be a big, overwhelming thing. Maybe it could just be... slow, easy, something that felt natural and not forced.

Over the next couple of weeks, those casual, easy hangouts continued. More coffee dates, more laughs, more quiet moments where you found yourself stealing glances at him when he wasn’t looking. You began to feel something deeper, a soft fluttering feeling that had no name yet, but it made your stomach twist every time he smiled at you, every time his fingers brushed against yours when handing you a napkin or passing you your drink.

One evening, after a particularly long workday, he invited you to dinner. It was quiet, a simple meal at a little restaurant with flickering candles and soft music playing in the background, just the two of you sitting across from each other. As you talked, your conversation drifting between your childhood memories and his experiences on set, something shifted. It wasn’t the same nervousness, the same awkwardness that had marked the beginning. This was different—more familiar, more comfortable.

“So,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he leaned forward just a little, his eyes twinkling. “You’ve got the whole work-life balance thing figured out, huh?”

You chuckled, swirling your drink. “Hardly,” you said, the warmth in your chest spreading as you looked at him. “I’m just getting through the day-to-day.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he said, his smile widening as he leaned back in his chair, his tone becoming a little more serious. “But, y’know, if you’re ever up for something less work-oriented… maybe a little less routine… I’d be down for that.”

It was the first time he said anything that made your heart race in that way. You could feel the soft warmth of the words wrapping around you, filling you with an uncertain but undeniable anticipation. You were still a little nervous, but for the first time, you felt like you might be ready.

“Yeah,” you said softly, your voice almost a whisper. “I think… I think I’d like that.”

---

The night had drifted into that comfortable, easy rhythm, the kind where everything feels just right without any effort. The Italian bistro had a warm, inviting vibe—dim lights, the scent of fresh basil wafting in the air, and a soft hum of conversations around you. The perfect place for a relaxed evening that, as far as you could tell, wasn’t going to be anything like the first awkward moments you’d shared.

You’d been talking for what felt like hours, and yet the conversation never seemed to run dry. The moment you both sat down, you fell into a natural ease, exchanging jokes and stories. His smile was disarming, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in a long time, the sound of it seeming to flow effortlessly between you.

“So, tell me something you’ve never told anyone,” Lewis asked, leaning back in his chair with that teasing glint in his eye, as if challenging you to open up in a way that felt lighthearted rather than intimidating.

You raised an eyebrow, wondering how you could answer that one without giving too much away. You glanced down at your plate, searching for something to say, then finally let out a breath and replied, “Alright, here’s one. I’m obsessed with really bad reality TV. The trashier, the better.”

He grinned. “Oh, I knew there was something about you. What’s your guilty pleasure?”

You laughed, a little embarrassed. “Honestly, anything with bad drama. The Bachelor, Real Housewives... you name it. I love watching people’s lives unravel in the most dramatic ways possible.”

His laugh was easy, and for a moment, you forgot about the nerves. “I get it. There’s something kind of comforting about watching people have their messes put out there, right? Meanwhile, my life is a pretty boring series of rehearsals and early mornings.”

“You’d be surprised,” you replied with a smirk. “That sounds pretty glamorous compared to my pile of spreadsheets and meetings.”

“You do have a point,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “But hey, we all need a break from the grind, right?”

The waiter arrived with the main courses, and the conversation shifted to more comfortable ground as you both discussed the food. It was light-hearted, easy, like you were just two people enjoying an evening out rather than focusing on anything too heavy.

But then, as the conversation lulled, you felt the shift. The air between you two felt a little thicker, more charged. And you realized it was because the topics you’d discussed were personal in their own way—sharing things that were a little quirky, a little unpolished. It was a side of each other that hadn’t come out in your earlier, more cautious conversations.

“So,” he said after a few moments, his voice quieter now, as if a bit hesitant, “What’s your go-to karaoke song?”

You blinked, not expecting the question. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said with a mischievous grin, leaning forward a little. “What song would you totally rock at karaoke?”

You laughed, feeling a little shy but also eager to indulge in something fun. “I mean, I don’t do karaoke... but if I did, I’d probably go with something like ‘Rolling in the Deep.’ You know, classic.”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, yes! That’s a great choice. I can already picture you owning that stage.”

You blushed, shifting in your seat. “Alright, now you have to tell me. What would you sing?”

He thought about it for a second, then grinned, the playful glint in his eyes returning. “I’m not sure I should admit this, but… ‘Living on a Prayer.’ I know, it’s a little cheesy, but it’s got energy, you know?”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair, genuinely amused. “I’d pay to see that. You and a crowd, belting out Bon Jovi?”

“I think we’d have a pretty good time,” he said with a wink. “Maybe we should try it sometime.”

The banter continued, moving between small, silly things, moments where you each learned just a bit more about each other. A shared appreciation for quirky hobbies, your mutual love for spontaneous dance parties in the living room when nobody’s around, your terrible dancing skills—things that brought out smiles and laughter.

As the evening wore on, the rain outside began to pick up, the soft tapping against the window adding to the cozy, almost intimate atmosphere. When the dessert arrived—tiramisu, of course—he joked that you could fight over the last piece, but neither of you did. Instead, you both enjoyed it quietly, savoring the moment.

By the time the bill was paid, the tension had melted away entirely. You were standing by the door, ready to head out, but the soft glow of the streetlights against the wet pavement made it feel like the night was far from over.

He smiled at you, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “So… I guess that’s the end of our little dinner date? Um, can I walk you home?”

---

The rain whispered against the windows, a soft, steady backdrop to the charged silence in the narrow hallway. He stood just a step away, his jacket draped over one arm, his other hand flexing subtly at his side like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. His shirt was still a little damp from the misty walk over, a faint trace of fresh rain clinging to his hair, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him in the small, enclosed space.

“I should… probably head out,” he said, his voice low and rough around the edges, like the words had to scrape their way out of his throat. His eyes flicked to the door over your shoulder, then back to your face, his gaze lingering a second too long, his breath a little unsteady as it ghosted over your cheek.

You felt your pulse stutter, a warmth blooming in your chest that spread quickly to your face, the unfamiliar rush of it making your fingers twist nervously at the hem of your sleeve. His eyes dropped, catching the small, self-soothing motion, and his jaw flexed, a faint crease forming between his brows like he was debating something with himself.

He took a small, careful step closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the faint warmth of his breath brushing your cheek. His free hand twitched at his side, fingers flexing like he was fighting the urge to reach for you, his eyes flicking back to your lips with a raw, unguarded longing that sent your heart skittering in your chest.

He leaned in slowly, his head dipping, his nose brushing yours in a soft, testing touch. His breath caught, a small, unsteady sound slipping past his lips as you froze, your eyes wide and lips parted, your mind stumbling over itself, caught between the unfamiliar thrill of his nearness and the quiet, aching want in his eyes.

He hesitated there, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours, the tension hanging so thick you swore you could feel the electricity crackling in the narrow space between you. His hand finally moved, lifting slowly to your waist, his fingers brushing lightly against your side, the warmth of his touch spreading like a slow, steady flame through the thin fabric of your shirt.

You let out a small, involuntary breath, a soft, barely audible sound that seemed to snap the last thread of his restraint. His grip tightened slightly, his thumb pressing gently into your side as his other hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers slipping into your hair as he leaned in fully, his lips finally, firmly pressing against yours.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, his lips moving against yours with a kind of careful, unhurried intensity, like he was trying to show you something he didn’t have words for. His breath hitched as you responded, your fingers curling instinctively into the front of his damp shirt, the cool, rain-soaked fabric clinging to your palm as you leaned into him, a small, surprised whimper slipping from your throat when he deepened the kiss, his mouth parting slightly against yours.

His thumb brushed a slow, soothing circle against your waist, his breaths coming quicker now, his fingers tightening in your hair as his lips moved more firmly against yours, a quiet, relieved noise rumbling low in his chest as you responded without pulling back. You felt the soft, wet sounds of the kiss blend with the distant whisper of rain against the glass, the soft rustle of his jacket as it slipped slightly in his grasp, your fingers clinging a little tighter as he shifted closer, pressing his body just a fraction closer to yours.

When he finally broke away, his breaths came in short, uneven bursts, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his eyes still half-closed, the faintest hint of color blooming high on his cheeks as he caught his breath.

You felt your own face heat up, your fingers still clutching his shirt as you tried to process the rush of warmth still pulsing through your veins, your lips tingling in the lingering warmth of his kiss. You realized, a little belatedly, that you were still holding onto him, your knuckles pressing into the firm muscle of his chest, and a small, breathless laugh slipped from you, your head ducking slightly in a mix of shyness and disbelief at your own boldness.

He let out a soft, breathless chuckle in response, his fingers slipping slowly from your hair, his thumb brushing one last, lingering circle against your waist before his hand fell back to his side, his eyes finding yours again, darker and a little more vulnerable than you’d ever seen them.

“I… um,” he stammered, his voice still a little rough, the faintest hint of a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he tried to catch his breath. “I should… probably say goodnight before I, uh… get too comfortable.”

You felt another burst of warmth flare in your chest at his flustered tone, your heart still racing as you managed a small, shaky nod, your lips tingling as you tried to form words around the strange, breathless warmth still clinging to your skin.

“Yeah… yeah, okay,” you whispered, your voice a little unsteady as you slowly let go of his shirt, your fingers trembling slightly as they fell back to your side, the faint pressure of his lips still echoing against your own.

He took a slow, shaky step back, his eyes lingering on your face for a second longer, his lips parting like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t quite find the words. Then, with a small, breathless huff, he gave a short, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped back another pace, his eyes flicking to the door.

“See you next time?” he asked, his voice a little more certain, though his eyes still held that faint, uncertain warmth, like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment go.

You managed a small, breathless smile, your heart still stumbling over itself as you nodded, your fingers still tingling in the cool air where his warmth had been.

“Next time,” you whispered, your cheeks still flushed, the word slipping from your lips like a promise, a quiet, breathless agreement that you weren’t quite ready to part with yet.