#still trying to catch up on posting these here

[thepitlanepress]

BREAK DOWN –

↳ oscar piastri + gf!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: coming out of the aus gp with no will to live and an idea for a fic is probably the worst thing ever but here we are...

oscar was devastated.

you knew it, from the moment he spun out of the race, you knew he was crushed. his words on the radio were filled with so much sadness and you had to fight the urge to run out of the garage and hug him as soon as he finished.

you could see it in the way he got out of the car, you could see it in the way he held himself during interviews, you could see it in the way he was walking.

you had always been able to read oscar like a book, and it was moments like these when you were grateful you were so fluent in him. because you can see his hurt and the disappointment coursing through him. he puts on a brave face that falters every so often and fans catch onto that but you can see past it.

it crushes your soul when you watch the post race interview through a screen tucked away in a corner of his drivers room. you so badly want to comfort him, to assure him everything will be okay.

when he does walk through the door, he's quiet and hard cleaning up his things and ignoring you, sitting down and just resting there in silence. you don't take it personally though, and wait for him to let you in.

after about half an hour of quiet he shuffles over and offers you his hand, you take it, instantly offering support in whatever way you can, gently rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand.

you sit like that for a long while you playing gently with his hand while he holds onto your tightly, staying in the private bubble of his drivers room, politely declining all of the people who stop by trying to talk to him.

and eventually when its time to go home, he stands in silence, still gripping your hand as if its the only thing tethering him to earth. you walk out of the paddock together ignoring the reporters and cameras shoved in your faces with you leading the way back to your car.

he's silent all the way back home, not saying anything but still holding onto your hand. its the only thing that tells you that he's still here with you- that he still wants you with him.

you walk into the apartment together, dropping your bags on the kitchen counter and watching as he lets go of your hand and makes his way into the bedroom, you hear shuffling for a bit and then the shower starts running.

deciding to keep yourself busy while he's in there you walk over to the couch and flick through some of his favourite shows, settling on one and pressing pause as you wait for him to emerge from the shower.

oscar's soft footsteps announce his arrival and when you look up you can see the last cracks in his amor shatter. he collapses into your arms sobbing violently, his body wracked with tremors as he loses his composure.

your arms instantly come around him wrapping him and a fierce hug and rubbing his back trying to soothe him in anyway you can.

his tears break your heart clean open and he tightly wraps his arms around you, refusing to let go. you gently run your hands through his hand pressing kisses to his head and whispering soft assurances in his ear.

"its my fault," he says through cries. "i fucked over the win."

"shhh," you whisper into his hair. "it's okay, its okay, its okay."

"i could've won. i could've won and i fucked myself over. i'm so worthless, whats the point if i can't even keep myself from spinning out?"

"you listen to me oscar piastri," you say your voice soft but fierce. "you are not worthless, and it was not your fault, it was the weather the track was wet you hit the gravel and you accidentally spun out. you are so talented. you wouldn't be here if you weren't."

"i should've anticipated the wet track though, i should've been better," he says into your lap.

"you forget how amazing you are baby," you say quietly pressing another kiss to his head and playing with his hair, "you are so extremely talented, i wish you could see that."

you fall back into silence after that, the only sound filling the apartment is oscar's quiet sobs and your murmurs as you calm him down.

soon he stops crying his body no longer shaking with sobs and tears no longer falling down his face. he still has a death grip on you and he nestles in closer to you, sighing softly when he registers your hands running though his hair.

you stay together like that for half of the night. and no matter how many nights over time that end up like this - not that you hoped these types of days happened ever again - you would stick by oscar's side.

for all the times he felt crushed, you would be there to build him back up, you would be there for the days he felt like shit, you would be there for all of it.

especially when he won.

because oscar was worth it.

[landoughnut]

Green Light, Red Flag

♡ masterlist - request

♡ pairing - max verstappen x fem!reader

♡ summary - max likes you, but it takes the strong feeling of jealousy to admit it

♡ warnings - jealous max, angry-ish love confession, fluff

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.1k | du du du du

"To Super Max!"

The cheer echoes through the private room of the Monaco nightclub as champagne flows freely. Another win, another celebration, and you can't help but smile as you watch Max try (and fail) to dodge the shower of bubbles from his teammates.

"Honestly, you'd think they'd be tired of spraying champagne after the podium," you mutter to your friend, Hannah, who's watching the chaos with amusement.

"Bold of you to assume they ever get tired of it," she laughs.

You've been part of the Red Bull team's PR department long enough to know she's right. Your eyes drift back to Max, who's now arguing with Checo about something, gesturing wildly with his hands the way he does when he's excited. His face is flushed from the champagne and victory, hair still messed up from his helmet, and you ignore the familiar flutter in your stomach when he catches your eye across the room.

"Oi!" He calls out, making his way over. "Why aren't you celebrating properly?"

You raise your barely-touched glass. "Some of us have to work tomorrow, Verstappen."

"Tomorrow's problem," he says, dropping into the seat next to you. His shoulder brushes yours, and you pretend not to notice. "Today we celebrate."

"You mean you celebrate. I just watch you lot make fools of yourselves."

He clutches his chest in mock offense. "I'm wounded. Here I am, trying to include you in my moment of glory—"

"Your fifteenth moment of glory this season," you correct.

"—and you're just standing here judging me." But he's grinning, that competitive spark in his eyes that you've come to know so well.

"Someone has to keep your ego in check."

"That's what I keep you around for," he says, and something in his tone makes you look at him sharply, but he's already being called away by Christian for photos.

You watch him go, trying to ignore Hannah's knowing look. "Don't start," you warn her.

"I didn't say anything!"

"You were thinking it very loudly."

The night progresses in a blur of music and laughter. You're in the middle of a conversation with GP when you feel someone tap your shoulder.

"Excuse me," says a voice you don't recognize. You turn to find a rather handsome man in an expensive suit. "I couldn't help but notice you from across the room. I'm James."

"Oh, um, hi," you manage, caught off guard by his forward approach.

"I'm with the Mercedes hospitality team," he continues smoothly. "Would you like to dance?"

Before you can respond, you feel a presence behind you – familiar, solid, radiating tension.

"She's busy," Max says flatly.

James raises an eyebrow. "I believe the lady can speak for herself?"

You turn to give Max an exasperated look, but the words die in your throat. You've seen every version of his competitive face – the focused pre-race stare, the triumphant victory grin, the frustrated post-DNF scowl. But this? This is new. His jaw is set, eyes dark with something that looks suspiciously like jealousy.

"Max," you say carefully, "I can handle this."

"Can you?" he snaps, then immediately looks like he regrets it.

James glances between you two, understanding dawning on his face. "Ah, I see. My apologies, I didn't realize—"

"There's nothing to realize," you say quickly, at the same time Max growls, "Yeah, you should apologize."

"I'm just going to..." James gestures vaguely and makes a tactical retreat that would make Toto proud.

You round on Max. "What the hell was that?"

"What was what?" He's doing that thing where he pretends to be completely oblivious, which might work on journalists but has never worked on you.

"That whole caveman routine! Since when do you care who I dance with?"

"I don't," he says, but he won't meet your eyes. "I just... don't trust that guy."

"Right, because clearly I can't make that judgment for myself?"

"That's not what I—" He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "Can we not do this here?"

You glance around, suddenly aware that several people are trying very hard to pretend they're not watching this exchange. "Fine. Outside. Now."

The Monaco night air is cool against your skin as you step onto the club's terrace. The city glitters below, the same streets Max was racing through just hours ago. He's standing at the railing, knuckles white where he grips it.

"Max," you say softly, "what's really going on?"

He's quiet for so long you think he might not answer. Then: "I don't like seeing you with other guys."

Your heart stutters. "Why?"

"Because!" He turns to face you, and there's that intensity again, the one that makes him such a force on track. "Because every time some guy looks at you like that, I want to... I don't know. Put up a safety car or something."

A laugh bubbles up despite yourself. "Did you just make a racing analogy about your feelings?"

"Shut up," but there's a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Sorry, sorry." You step closer. "Please, continue with your vehicular emotions."

He groans. "This is why I never said anything. You make everything into a joke."

"Says the king of deflection." You're close enough now to see the flecks of gold in his eyes. "But if you're being serious... I don't like seeing you with other people either."

His breath catches. "No?"

"No." You reach up to straighten his collar, letting your hand linger. "Kind of ruins my plans to eventually marry you and steal all your trophies."

The tension breaks as he laughs, real and warm, his hands finding your waist. "That's your master plan? Bit obvious, isn't it?"

"Well, I was going to be subtle about it, but then you had to go and get all jealous and dramatic—"

He cuts you off with a kiss, and oh – this is nothing like the Max the world sees. This is soft and sweet and just a little desperate, like he's been holding back for as long as you have. You melt into it, fingers curling into his shirt.

When you break apart, he rests his forehead against yours. "Just so we're clear," he murmurs, "this means you're not dancing with anyone else tonight."

"Possessive much?"

"You like it."

"Maybe." You steal another quick kiss. "But only because you're cute when you're jealous."

"I wasn't jealous," he protests automatically.

"Sure, and you also 'don't care' about breaking Seb's record."

He pinches your side playfully. "You're impossible."

"Yeah," you agree, sliding your arms around his neck. "But I'm your impossible."

His smile – soft and real and just for you – is better than any podium celebration. "Deal."

When you eventually return to the party, hand in hand, no one looks surprised. Checo hands Hannah what looks suspiciously like betting money, GP just rolls his eyes fondly, and Christian mutters something that sounds like "finally" into his drink.

Max doesn't leave your side for the rest of the night, and if he holds you a little closer when James walks past, well – you're not complaining. After all, some victories are worth celebrating more than others.

[delilahsturniolo]

! ! sweetheart!matt helping out at barista!reader’s cafe when things get too overwhelming . . .

the café is chaos this morning. the line is out the door, people buzzing with impatience and caffeine cravings. you’re behind the counter, trying to keep up with the orders flying in from every direction. steam rises from the espresso machine, the sound of milk frothing filling the air as you work quickly to get everything just right.

you catch a glimpse of matt as he walks through the door, his usual grin already in place, even in the midst of the madness. he’s not in a rush, like the others. he’s not impatient. he just waits, leaning against the counter, watching you with that look in his eyes that always makes your heart skip a beat.

“hey, beautiful,” matt says, his voice cutting through the noise. it’s soft, just for you, and somehow it makes the chaos feel a little less overwhelming. you glance up, flashing him a quick smile. “i guess you’re the only one who’s not in a hurry today, huh?”

“someone has to keep you sane,” matt grins, his eyes twinkling with amusement. you feel your heart flutter at the words. you wish you could give him your full attention, but the morning rush is relentless. you hand off a latte to a customer, trying to move quickly, but the pressure is mounting. your nerves are starting to fray. you can feel the weight of the orders building up, the anxiety creeping in.

and then you hear him again, his voice a calm presence in the storm. “need some help?” matt asks, stepping closer to the counter. he’s looking at you with a small, teasing smile, but there’s something more there—something warm, something reassuring. you laugh, trying to hide the stress. “you don’t know how to make coffee, matt.”

“doesn’t matter,” he says, his smile widening. “i’ll figure it out, can’t be that hard, right?” you roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. before you can protest, he grabs an empty cup and starts scribbling something on it. “this one’s on me,” matt winks at playfully, sliding it toward you. “a special order.”

you look at the cup. your name is written in neat handwriting, but there’s more. a little heart drawn next to it. it’s the smallest thing, but it’s enough to melt the tension in your chest.“you’re ridiculous,” you mumble, the smile never leaving your face. “just trying to make you feel better, love,” he says, his eyes softening as he watches you. “one heart at a time.”

you lean over the counter for just a second, not caring about the chaos around you, and press a quick kiss to his cheek. it’s the only way you can steal a moment of peace before the next order comes in. “thanks,” you whisper, your heart full in a way that has nothing to do with caffeine. he grins, unaffected by the crowded café, like it’s just the two of you here. “anytime.”

the line is still long, and the orders keep coming, but somehow, with matt there, it feels a little easier to handle. you’re not alone in the rush, and maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind the chaos as much when he’s around.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

taglist

a/n 💌: omg i missed these two :( anywhooo i’m posting the next fic for the writing marathon later i’m in such a writey mood

[loverofwomenswrongs]

DON'T ACT SO SURPRISED

****** Pairing: Billie Eilish x fem!reader Words: 1.1K

******

The arena buzzed with excitement as fans filled the stands. Y/n, arriving late, knew there was no chance Billie would spot her by mistake—after all, her girlfriend was notoriously observant, especially when it came to her. She had sent a message pretending to be back in LA, knowing that, under normal circumstances, Billie wouldn't call before the show due to the time difference. 

Just before the opening act, a staff member stepped on stage, catching the attention of the fans who looked around, confused. This wasn’t part of the usual show. The staff member spoke into the mic, “Hey, Melbourne! I know you're probably wondering what's going on right now, but I’m here on behalf of Billie’s team.” Whispers rippled through the crowd, some curious, others concerned. What was happening? Had something gone wrong?

“It’s nothing bad, we just need to ask you a favour. There’s a surprise for Billie at the end of the show, and we’d like you to please refrain from screaming or acknowledging it when you see it. We want her to be completely surprised, so just keep enjoying the show until she notices it, alright? We know you can do it,” the staff member continued.

With that, they exited the stage, leaving the fans buzzing with excitement, knowing that tonight’s show would be unlike any other.

Billie’s team had been careful to ensure she wouldn’t overhear anything backstage. Music blasted loudly as she was kept busy, and they had told her to head to the furthest room for her makeup, claiming it had better lighting. Billie, eager to perform, didn’t seem to notice how strange her team was acting.

As soon as Billie hit the stage, Y/n received a text from Finneas: You can come now. Thank goodness she had booked a hotel near the stadium. A tinted van picked her up, and within ten minutes, she arrived at the venue, greeted by warm hugs and smiles from Billie’s team.

She dropped her things in Billie’s room and quickly grabbed one of the singer’s hoodies to throw on. A member of the sound team helped her get her in-ears ready, and to blend in with the staff, she slipped on a security jacket, pulled a scarf over her face, and topped it off with a hat, hoping to avoid being recognized by fans.

She waited backstage, heart pounding as Happier Than Ever started to play. A real security guard came to escort her to the stage. Y/n moved forward, trying to keep her focus away from Billie, so she wouldn't feel her gaze. The nervous thumping of her heart was so loud, she could hear it over the music.

The guard led her under the stage as the song played on. Once safely out of view, Y/n quickly changed into her stage costume, letting out a sigh of relief. No one had noticed her, or if they had, they were good fans who kept the surprise under wraps.

The moment she had been waiting for arrived when she heard Billie’s voice introducing the last song of the night.

“Wow, Melbourne, you’ve been amazing! I’m so sad it’s ending. These past few weeks in Australia have made me so happy,” Billie said, her voice full of emotion.

The crowd erupted, and Y/n couldn’t help but smile. It had been so long since she’d seen Billie this content. Every time they talked about her time in Australia, there was a relaxed glow on her face.

“Thank you so much. Honestly. This last song is one of my favorites because I wrote it thinking about the most beautiful person I know—someone I miss so much. Y/n, bubs, I know you’re watching... I love you so much.”

Y/n felt a tear slide down her cheek as the crowd went wild. While their relationship wasn’t exactly a secret—fans often saw them posting about each other or attending events together—they kept much of their private lives just that: private. Still, their fans adored them, always respecting their boundaries.

“Now, I want to call my brother, Finneas, to the stage to help me with this last song. Here’s Birds of a Feather—I hope you enjoy it.”

The song began, with Finneas playing guitar, expertly distracting Billie as Y/n made her way onto the stage.

I want you to stay  'Til I'm in the grave   'Til I rot away, dead and buried   'Til I'm in the casket, you carry

As the lyrics filled the air, Y/n climbed the stairs, mic in hand. When she stepped onto the stage, gasps rippled through the crowd. Her voice joined Billie’s, and the singer glanced at her brother, confused. Finneas simply nodded toward Y/n, who was still singing.

Billie turned, almost dropping her microphone in shock as she saw her girlfriend. Her mouth fell open, eyes impossibly wide. Y/n laughed at the reaction, pausing to lean into the mic with a quiet, “Hi.”

The crowd went wild as Billie shook her head, still stunned. Without hesitation, the two girls embraced in a tight hug, the audience cheering them on. Billie spun Y/n around, holding her close as they shared the moment.

When they finally pulled apart, Billie’s hand cupped Y/n’s face, her expression one of disbelief. Y/n read her lips as Billie whispered, “How?”

Y/n smiled and whispered back, “Later,” pointing to Finneas, who wore a soft, proud smile. Billie turned and embraced her brother, silently thanking him.

Y/n took the opportunity to speak to the crowd. “Hey, Melbourne! How’s everyone doing? I just want to thank you all for keeping this secret with me. You were incredible!”

Billie, still laughing, added over the loudspeakers, “Wait… you all knew and didn’t tell me? I feel betrayed by my own fans!”

The crowd erupted in laughter.

“Don’t be mad at them, it was my doing,” Y/n replied, reaching for Billie’s hand.

Billie smirked. “Alright… So, shall we give them our song?”

Y/n nodded, placing a kiss on top of Billie’s head and exchanging a glance with Finneas, signaling they were ready to go.

As the song played on, the girls made an effort to interact with the crowd, sharing looks and smiles throughout. Billie often found herself admiring how easily Y/n moved across the stage, despite not being a singer herself. Meanwhile, Y/n couldn’t stop gazing at Billie, sending her playful winks whenever she could.

By the time the final notes of the song played, the two girls met center stage, singing the last lyrics to each other. For a brief moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

I knew you in another life   You had that same look in your eyes   I love you, don’t act so surprised

When the final chord struck, they melted into a tight hug. Billie pressed against Y/n’s chest, inhaling the scent she’d missed so much. The two pulled apart, their foreheads resting together, beaming with happiness. Y/n locked eyes with Billie as she mouthed, “I love you.”

******

Would anyone want a second part? Like post-concert?

[mxrtified777]

THE FUCKUVNG ROBOT

[sunflowersonatas]

green light: drabble

james potter x f!reader / ANGST / post-breakup / muggle + modern au

But honey, I'll be seeing you 'ever I go / But honey, I'll be seeing you down every road / I'm waiting for it, that green light, I want it

summary: Breakups are messy. James is handling his the usual way—too many drinks, meaningless flirting, pretending he’s fine. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t outrun the ghost of you.

a/n: WHEWWWW this hurt to write!!! i love making myself cry it's so fun!!! i rly rly love this song too 10/10 no notes breakup song. perfectly captures the emotion, that was the driving factor for me writing this story and. yeah i think i did that. lol i hope you like it! sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 881

“Look at him. He’s completely full of it.”

“Mm,” Remus hums, swirling his drink, watching James over the rim of his glass. “Acting like he’s moved on, but let’s be honest—he’s barely holding it together.”

“You do realize I can hear you, yeah?” James cuts in, raising a brow.

“Oh, we know.” Sirius smirks. “But are you really listening?”

James exhales sharply, tipping his drink back in one go. “Honestly, I’m doing great,” He gestures around with a too-easy grin. “Night out with the lads, no worries, no heartbreak, just good, old-fashioned fun.”

“Right,” Remus deadpans. “That’s why you’re on your fourth drink and eyeing the exit.”

James places a hand over his chest, mock-wounded. “Moony, you cut me deep. I am simply embracing life, taking full advantage of my single era—”

“Spiraling,” Sirius corrects, taking a lazy sip of his drink.

“Thriving,” James counters, flashing a grin before spinning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd.

They watch him go, exchanging a glance that says they’ve seen this before.

James throws himself into the night, into everything. The flirtations, the drinks, the movement, the easy, messy, meaningless fun. He catches a girl wearing a too-short red dress on the dance floor when she stumbles into him, laughing like he’s got nothing but time and charm to waste.

At the bar, he leans in, voice a deliberate murmur: "You look way too good to be standing here without a drink in your hand—what are we having?"

This girl isn’t the first tonight, and she won’t be the last. He’s lost track of the faces, the fleeting conversations, the way he keeps chasing something easy, something temporary, something that doesn’t necessitate anything real.

She barely humors him. Rolls her eyes, mutters something about trying harder than that, and turns away before he even has the chance to smirk.

James just grins, tossing back the rest of his drink. It’s fine. It’s all a game anyway. It’s easy. It’s working.

Until it isn’t.

A tap on his shoulder.

For a moment—a single, breathless moment—he doesn’t prepare for disappointment. He lets himself believe. Lets himself imagine that if he turns, it will be you. That you will be standing there, looking at him like you used to, as if nothing ever broke, as if he is still yours and you are still his.

He turns.

It isn’t you.

The illusion shatters, and the weight of it crushes him in an instant. The music swells, too loud, pressing against his skull, and suddenly, you are everywhere.

Someone’s perfume lingers in the air, close enough to yours that his breath catches, but wrong enough to leave his chest hollow. The way a girl tosses her hair reminds him of you at a café, head tilted, laughing at something he said, light catching in your eyes. A song hums through the speakers in the pub—he doesn’t know the name, but he remembers you humming it, curled up on his couch, absentminded, effortless. His glass is slick with condensation, and somehow, it takes him back to you pressing a bottle of water into his palm on a sweltering afternoon, your fingers brushing his like it was nothing, like you had all the time in the world.

But time ran out. And now, everywhere he looks, you’re there, except you aren’t.

Instead, there is only this girl with bright eyes and an overeager smile, beguiled by him in a way that should be flattering.

But she is wrong. The way she looks at him is wrong. The way she says, “Hey,” is wrong.

James blinks, swallowing hard. Her words blur beneath the realization—this is what moving on is supposed to look like.

This is the part where he’s meant to forget you, replace you, smile and flirt and give someone new the pieces of himself that you’d left behind.

But nothing about this fits. The music is too loud. The air is too thick. His drink is suddenly too warm in his hand, the ice already melted.

“James,” he says, an automated response, but it doesn’t sound like his own name.

She asks him something—where he’s from, what he does, an inconsequential question—but he barely hears her, far too caught up in the realization that it will never be you again. That he will turn and find her instead of you every time. And there is no getting used to that.

His jaw tightens. He exhales, forced and uneven. “Sorry—I should get back to my friends.”

He doesn’t wait for her response. He’s afraid to turn again, terrified of seeing another phantom you standing there.

At the bar, Remus and Sirius watch his return, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands shove into his pockets as if he’s holding himself together by force.

“Not interested?” Remus asks, though they already know the answer.

James snorts, grabbing another drink. “Nah,” he mutters.

He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to.

He stares down at his drink, turning the glass between his fingers, and considers it—just for a second. Pulling out his phone, typing something short, something he might regret in the morning. Something like, I miss you. Come get your things. Tell me this isn’t really over.

But it’s no use. He can already see the future.

Hope, turn, break.

☀️🌻 masterlist

[cyberqueenpatrol]

VIEWER!GHOST X YOUTUBER!READER

cw!: fem!reader, a bit of objectification, bit of perverse and creep behaviour

As the day winds up in the military barracks, Simon opens up his laptop, sitting with a Marlboro twirling between his index and ring finger. After all, even he needed some rest but his insomnia-drenched sleep won't let him doze off. So he just let his time be spent in this way.

But what is he watching? Million dollar question for a guy like him, right?

A petite, pretty girl's vlogs and gaming videos?!? (that's how he describes the girl)

YOUR YOUTUBE VIDEOS?!?

Man, he just loved the way you moved in front of the camera. He was entranced by the movement of your tits and swaying hips. His dick throbbed He was head over heels for you whenever you smiled. He had head in a mess of ecstasy, his ears sucking in every syllable of your voice. Whether it was your travel vlogs or GRWM videos, Simon had watched it all.

Simon was not very much bothered if any of the boys entered his room while he was watching your videos. Once, Price caught him jerking off vigorously, to you in the livestream (coz the thought of him directly being able to see you right at the moment drove him crazy).

"She still ain't ya birdie, L.T.", Price poked teasingly.

"But ain't far from 'hat", Simon replied, all while having a smirk on his scarred lips.

Once in a while, you would keep a quiz for anyone who wanted to gift you something. It was an easy one, the viewers just had to answer a question about your likes correctly and at the earliest.

"Okaaaaaay, so the the question is........" you say joyfully, your plush lips hypnotising Simon.

"What is my favourite colour? Very easy this time, isn't it?", you winked while reading the answers.

"Awww, many of you are commenting 'red'. You are so close to the answer! Just find the correct one in the shelves of your brain!", you say as you fake a pouty frown. You were never excessively trying to be cute in a cringe way, you were always fun to listen to.

Simon chuckled at your words, and typed out the answer with ease, hitting the send button.

"Wine"

Your excited eyes quickly catch the word in the ocean of comments under the livestream. You make a happy sound and clasp your hands together with a sparkle in your eyes.

"Aha! There it is! Wait, wait, where is username of winner, huh???", you exclaimed, scrolling through vast sea of comments under your livestream.

Simon wasn't a man of many words, in fact Johnny was the one who told him about you. He just typed out,

"Here"

"Oh yes! I found it guys, I found it. So it's #ghostriley. Pretty unique name, isn't it? Hello Riley! Well, first congrats on winning the quiz! Looks you paid a lot of attention to hidden clues in my previous videos. Hehehe! So, I m now...........sending.......", you win his heart with his words with these simple sentences as you type your post address to his account.

Simon almost cums at the way you said 'Oh yes'. He cannot look away, with you just biting your lower, plush lip as you write out your post address. God, he was so out of his mind. All that Simon could of was the numerous ways to make you satisfied and happy. He would anything for you. A.N.Y.T.H.I.N.G.

"Sent! Did you receive the message, Riley? Maybe it'll take some time. Don't worry, if you don't get it. You can ask me anytime, happy to help, ya know", your bubbly smile threw Simon in a mess and your soothing words cured his deepest wounds for the time being, if not entirely.

"Received. Thank you. Will recieve your gift in your gift in a few days,hm?", Simon typed out, as his other window was already in the process of shipping out the gift to your address.

"That's great, Riley! I will definitely look forward to your gift. I ma sure to must be having something good!", you radiantly smiled, earning lust-filled groan from Simon. Not to mention he also smirked as fucked the life out in his fist.

"Ok people, now it's........very late. So we need go to sleep, don't we? We don't want any eye bags,hmmmm? Ok so, I am turning it off now. Bye everyone! Good night! Sweet dreams! Stay tuned for what's Riley gonna gift me!", you beamed as you wrapped up the livestream. Soon you went to bed, waiting for the surprise in the few days.

A few days later

The Sunday morning went very cozy and satisfyingly slow, with you completing the household chores, feeding your cat Ron and listening to some music. Later, the sharp sound of the doorbell pierced through the tranquility of your flat. It must be the gift, you thought to yourself.

You open the door, just to see a young lad struggling with a cardboard box large enough to make a cathouse for Ron. You smoothly took the box from him, assuring him that it was fine for you to carry the box. He gave you a sheet to sign, but something struck you as odd. Usually there would a name of the sender with the city name. Here it was only Manchester written in the block on the sheet.

You just shrug it off, as you close the door with your pyjama-clad leg, thinking that there might be an error from the courier services. As soon as you put down the box, you realise it was REALLY heavy. But a chuckle came from your mouth, seeing Ron already establishing the cardboard box as his territory.

You decide to begin the livestream in the evening, but you needed to first inform your followers. You click on the app icon, not expecting much notifications. It's a Sunday morning, who would even bother to wake up and miss on their beautiful sleep.

"1 unread message"

Wow, maybe someone has really woken up. Anyways, it's gonna be just a reel from your friends just having free-

"Got the gift, sweetheart?"

You almost choke on your homemade strawberry milkshake, as your brain reels into a mess. Your finger nearly physically stammer as your message was being typed out.

"Yes,Riley! The parcel's here, all safe and sound. I just opened this thing to inform yall that livestream's gonna be in the evening"

"Good to hear that. Thank you :)"

"That's my pleasure! I m really happy to get the gift, and I hope that you'll like the livestream. Stay tuned at 19:00!!!

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, love"

You nearly feel the temperature and blush rising up in your cheeks. Boy, they were such simple words, yet they had so much influence on you. Just imagine if someone said that to you in real life.......................

The evening rolls around, with you setting up the necessary preparations for the livestream. You hit the start button with much anticipation, excited to see your followers again.

"Heyyyyyyyyyy luvvies!! I am back here to bring something delicious for you sweeties to chew on! As you know from earlier livestream, we had picked out a winner- #ghostriley! And today's the day to check their gifts. Anddddddd.......is everyone excited??", your bubbly voice boomed through Simon's headphones, who had already kept a box of tissues beside him.

"So, Riley, can we start the unboxing with your command?", you leaned towards the camera, your eyes sparkly and the curve of your pretty tits conspicuous to Simon's eyes. Your honey-laden voice was enough to open his zipper.

"Sure,love", Simon typed out, the fist of his calloused hands already wrapped around his cock. He knew that it was very immoral to do something like that behind the screen, but he couldn't help but thik your pussy would feel instead of his rough hands.

You were a little flushed, being all new to someone calling you pretty nicknames. And that face of yours was not escaping Simon's eyes by any chance. He was already turned on, and this face just aggravated it.

"OK then, let's open the big boy up! I really didn't expect it to be this big", you exclaim as you dig the cardboard knife through the its thickness. But to Simon, all dark and primal thoughts lurked in his mind no matter how much he tried to banish them. He was enticed by the way your tongue stuck out while you focused on opening the box, wanting to strike those pretty lips with his own.

"Ha! Here it is!", you say as the box was being opened by your curious hands. The first that you got hold of was a big glass box, carefully wrapped to avoid damage. No way, you thought.

IT WAS A LIFETIME SUPPLY OF YOUR FAVOURITE SHADES OF LIP GLOSSES??!??

Boy, that must hella expensive now. Your jaw was visible open, your lips parted onto an O as you looked down at the lip glosses. You glanced at the camera and back to box.

"OK,OK, now lemme get this straight. This. Must. Be. Very. Expensive. Like man, you people DON'T need to gift such costly things and empty your bank account, please, like really", your voice was reflected shock clearly.

But to Simon, it was nothing. You were the only pretty thing in his life. So why not spend money on it? He loved the way your eyes widened, it would a lie to say that Simon didn't enjoy the view.

"But I've to say it, Riley, like- damn, thank you. So much and so bad. Never felt so damn special in my life.", you giggled at the end and held them lip glosses close to your chest, as the box made its outline in your plush tits something that Simon wanted to grab so bad

"Anything for the lady", Simon typed out with generous amount of love in his heart, causing you to evidently blush at this comment.

"Hehe, thank you very much, Riley. That's very much of a gentleman whom I would like to meet one day. Yes, definitely!", your words perked up Simon's ears, at which he satisfyingly smirked under his balaclava. His thick, girthy cock had no less chubbed up

"OK,there's like more gifts in here!", your voice chirped up, as you dug through the bubble wrap that secured it. There was long, red box at the bottom, but the bubble wrap was your favourite thing to pop since childhood. It was kind of a therapy for you.

"Hey people, look at this. I bet there's no one in this world who has never popped this thing. This is my therapy, you know, because I am too broke to afford the real one. Anyways, there's this red box here though.........", you say as your hands dig towards the bottom of box.

Simon chuckled deeply at your humour, enamoured by your ability to keep people hooked with your thoughts. But right now, his gift might keep your mind hooked for days and nights especially.

"Can pay for anything you want, sweetheart.", Simon hit the send button, just to see how it would claw at your heartstrings.

Mentally, your jaw was on the floor. Physically, your mouth was actually gaping. You fingers subconsciously traveled to your lips, and Simon was nothing new to body language. He knew that it was something that you did when your mind was thoroughly engrossed and curious.

"Oh-oh no, Riley, I am definitely not a pick me, hehe. Don't spoil me like that.", your words did sound nervous, and definitely Simon loved that he could make you flustered even though he was just behind a screen.

"Anyways, Riley, let's see what's your last gift of the day! I think it's a bottle of wine, maybe.", Simon grinned darkly at your completely wrong guess, only waiting for you to open the box.

"And here we go!", you say with much excitement and anticipation, as your hand slowly lifts off the lid, with Simon's eyes as curious as yours, but he desired your reaction more than ever. Your hopeful eyes sparkled as your brain analysed the image captured by your eyes.

No way. No fucking goddammit way, you thought.

A dark purple vibrator. Sitting in all its glory in the red silky set of thin,red lingerie underneath it. BUT A GODDAMN VIBRATOR LIKE FOR REAL-

A piece of paper fell out from the underside of the lid, with your face providing a perfectly pathetic look for the dark, grimy mind of Simon. Definitely something was scrawled on it-

"A mould of mine, lovie"

[xuchiya]

Young Gen Love || jeong yunho || 800 follower special

| genre: fluff. slice of life. slow-burn-ish | mentions: nothing much. just a little anxiety but it is more of yunho being a gentleman.

thank you all so much, my loves! My journey here in this platform has been amazing, met a lot and lots of my loves! 🤍🥹

January 16, 2025

It was my first day on my night classes that my mom told me to apply to since it coordinates with my chosen course in college. I walk in the computer classroom, greeting everyone and the professor, I sat at the back and settle my bag down. Night classes always had a different kind of energy—dimly lit hallways, the hum of fluorescent lights, and the quiet murmur of students trying to absorb the lessons after an already long day.

I scanned my surroundings. Most of my classmates were older—some around my parents’ age, others even older. They were here to learn the basics of computers, eager but sometimes struggling with the difference between software and hardware. I admired their determination, but at the same time, a small disappointment settled in my chest.

There was no one my age. And it would be fun having someone close or older or younger than me would be my classmate, I spun on my chair, turning on my designated computer.

Just as I resigned myself to being the odd one out, the door creaked open. A tall figure walked in, gripping the strap of his backpack. Brunette hair slightly tousled, sharp eyes taking in the room, a quiet but undeniable presence. Our professor gestured for him to introduce himself.

"I'm Jeong Yunho, I'm 24 and ..." he said, voice steady, but there was a hint of nervousness underneath. "I’m here to learn more about computers. I only have basic knowledge, so... please take care of me." He bows his head before moving towards his seat which was just on my right side.

My lips quirked up.

He was a few months younger than me—just a small gap—but enough to make me feel relieved. I wasn’t alone anymore.

For two weeks, we didn’t speak. We barely even acknowledged each other kudos to my stuttering and introverted personality, but slowly, the class dynamics shifted. People became more comfortable, more familiar. I started moving around, observing other groups engagin conversatoins with them and having few shared laughters, taking notes on how they configured the computers, absorbing techniques like a sponge.

One night, I found myself hovering near his table. He was struggling on one of the tasks. Yunho was focused, brows furrowed as he listened to our professor’s explanation, his hands hovering uncertainly over the keyboard. He was clearly still learning, still figuring things out, but he was determined.

He always came to face the same error for the past 5 minutes until he sighs, "I have to redo this again ..." I chuckle, pulling a chair beside him, "You just miss one step that's why you were facing this error ... let me help."

He glances at me before nodding. He followed my instructions, even explaining to him why it needs to apply or how it functions when applied. He nods as we finish the task, he sighs in relief, turning to me.

"You're good." Yunho compliments. I chuckle, waving off his compliment but that didn't stop my cheeks from burning.

"No I'm not. I barely started my task." He looks at my open computer then back to me. A playful look on his eyebrows, "Or you're just lying to me right now and finished hours ago."

I chuckle shaking my head, "Believe me, I haven't even open File explorer."

Somehow, without realizing it, we started spending more time together—small moments, like exchanging notes, grabbing snacks during breaks, or sharing casual stories. Weeks passed, turning into months, and something about him pulled me in.

And that's where I started to notice things.

February 13, 2025

The night air was crisp, the streetlights casting a soft yellow glow along the sidewalk. The usual post-class chatter had faded as our classmates rushed off to catch their trains, leaving just the two of us walking down the main road toward my bus stop.

The city was still alive—cars rolling past with their headlights cutting through the night, distant honks echoing, and the occasional murmur of people walking ahead. I pulled my jacket tighter around me, my bag slung over one shoulder, as Yunho walked in step beside me, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

I didn't think much of it at first, but as we walked, I noticed the way he moved—subtle, instinctive. When I unconsciously veered too close to the curb, he shifted, placing himself between me and the street without a word. I glanced up at him, but his face remained neutral, as if he hadn’t even realized he was doing it.

Curious, I tested it. I deliberately took a step closer to the road, pretending to adjust my bag strap.

Without missing a beat, he adjusted too, his shoulder brushing mine as he once again positioned himself between me and the passing cars.

I bit back a smile. But then I tried to walk in front of him, doing a little skip as I near to the road to see if he’d follow.

And he did.

A hand was suddenly were on my shoulder and pushes me gently back on the sidewalk and position himself beside me. A warmth spread through my chest. It wasn’t exaggerated. It wasn’t done for attention. He simply moved with me, like an unspoken promise to keep me safe.

"You know the rule" I finally murmured, breaking the comfortable silence. He turned his head slightly, looking down at me with mild confusion. "What rule?"

"The sidewalk rule." I lifted a brow, tilting my head toward him. For a moment, he didn’t respond, just kept walking. Then, he let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck, his ears turning red. "It’s just a habit, I guess."

"A habit?"

"Yeah." His voice was softer now. "I was raised to always walk on the side closest to the street when I’m with someone I—" He paused, clearing his throat, looking away. "—when I’m with someone important."

My breath hitched.

I turned my head away, hoping the cool air would calm the sudden rush of warmth creeping up my neck. My heart pounded so loudly I was certain he could hear it.

We walked in silence for a few more steps until the bus stop came into view. Yunho slowed his pace beside me, as if reluctant to reach it too soon.

And I realized, at that moment, I didn’t want the walk to end either.

February 21, 2025

It was late, the night air cool as our group made their way down the sidewalk towards the train station. Streetlights flickered overhead, their warm glow casting long shadows along the pavement. Conversations were scattered—some laughing, some yawning, everyone eager to get home after another long class.

As we approached my usual bus stop, the others barely slowed, waving quick goodbyes as they hurried off to catch their trains. I watched them disappear down the road, my breath fogging slightly in the chilly air.

All except one.

"You guys go ahead," Yunho’s voice came from beside me. His hands were stuffed into his jacket pockets, his posture relaxed, yet there was an undeniable certainty in his tone. "I'll wait for her til' the bus comes."

I froze.

My heart stuttered so hard I thought for sure he'd hear it. I turned slightly, expecting some kind of teasing grin, but there was none. Just him, standing there as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The others didn’t question it. They just nodded and waved, disappearing into the night. And suddenly, it was just the two of us.

The bus stop felt quieter than usual, the occasional car humming past as we stood beneath the soft glow of the streetlight. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened. "You really didn’t have to wait, you know," I murmured, glancing up at him.

He shrugged. "It’s fine." Then, a small smirk tugged at his lips. "Can’t have you standing out here all alone, can I?"

I swallowed, warmth creeping up my neck.

For the next few minutes, we talked—about class, about the ridiculous things our professor said that night, about how our classmates were still struggling with the configurations. His voice was smooth, casual, as if this was just another normal moment. But for me?

I was barely keeping it together.

The way he stood close enough that our arms almost brushed. The way his laughter rumbled softly in the quiet night. The way he looked down at me whenever I spoke, his eyes warm and focused, like nothing else existed in that moment but me.

Then, headlights appeared in the distance. My bus.

I felt a strange disappointment settle in my chest. As the bus slowed to a stop, I turned to him, unsure of what to say. "Thanks for waiting with me," I said, my voice softer than intended.

Yunho just smiled, tilting his head slightly. "Of course."

I took a step toward the open doors, but before I could climb in, I felt a gentle tug on my wrist.

I turned, wide-eyed. Yunho’s fingers curled lightly around mine, his grip warm even in the cold air, "Get home safe ... I-" he said, his voice quieter now, more intentional yet cutting himself off which made me curious.

And then, just like that, he let go, stepping back with an easy smile, as if he hadn’t just tilted my entire world.

I somehow managed to get on the bus, my legs feeling suspiciously weak. As the doors closed and the vehicle pulled away, I turned toward the window, watching as he stood there, hands back in his pockets, watching me leave.

He didn’t move until I was completely out of sight.

I barely survived that night without combusting.

February 26, 2025

I was late.

Again.

The clock glared at me with red, unrelenting numbers as I rushed out of my internship office, my heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion and urgency. The overtime had stretched longer than expected, eating into my class hours, and by the time I finally made it to the campus, an entire hour had slipped through my fingers.

I hated this. Hated the way I stumbled into the classroom, breathless, trying to make myself as invisible as possible while my professor continued the discussion without sparing me a glance. But I knew he noticed. His sharp, fleeting glance from the corner of his eye said enough.

I barely managed to slide into a chair before the weight of my lateness pressed into my chest like a cinderblock. The screen in front of me was filled with configuration steps and code I had no context for. My classmates were already deep into the task, their fingers flying over keyboards with an ease that only familiarity could bring.

I was lost.

The frustration built in my throat, burning hot and bitter. My fingers hovered uselessly over my touchpad as my eyes flickered between the screen and my classmates' progress. I tried to piece together what I had missed, but the more I stared, the more my thoughts tangled into a suffocating mess.

Then, a voice.

Low, familiar—steady.

"You okay?"

I blinked, snapping out of my panic just enough to register the presence beside me.

Yunho.

When had he moved closer? He had been at one of our classmate's table earlier helping on the task, but now he was right beside me, his presence a quiet force against my frazzled nerves. His scent—rich, chocolate-sweet cologne—wrapped around me, grounding and distracting all at once.

I turned my head slightly, and that’s when I realized just how close he was.

Too close.

He wasn’t even pretending to keep a respectable distance. His shoulder nearly brushed mine, his face mere inches away. The dim glow of the computer monitor cast soft shadows across his features, making the sharp angles of his jawline look impossibly gentle.

I nodded, moving to one of our friend's computer as he navigates the task, I watch the task unfolding, hoping I could catch up but with Yunho's presence really close to me was a challenge I don't think I'll success.

A small smile tugged at his lips, almost amused. "Focus," he murmured, voice dipping lower. "I need you to teach me."

Teach him?

The irony almost made me laugh. I was the one barely keeping my head above water, the one scrambling to understand what I had missed, and yet here he was—acting like I had everything under control.

But there was something in his tone. Something reassuring, something that pulled me away from my spiraling frustration and anchored me to the moment.

To him.

I swallowed, forcing myself to nod. "Right. Okay."

I tried to focus, I really did.

But every time he leaned in to ask our friend what he did, every time his voice brushed against my ear, my brain short-circuited. The deep timbre of his words sent shivers down my spine, making it nearly impossible to concentrate.

At one point, I had been leaning forward too long, my back protesting from the awkward position. I shifted, stretching slightly as I took a small step back—only for my heel to catch against something solid.

A box.

A stupid box filled with unused wires.

I barely had time to gasp before I lost my balance, the world tilting as I braced for impact. But I never hit the ground.

Warm hands caught me. One gripping my waist, firm and steady. The other securing my forearm, his fingers wrapping around my wrist like a lifeline.

My breath hitched.

For a moment, neither of us moved. The air between us was thick, electric, charged with something unspoken. My heart pounded wildly against my ribs as I slowly lifted my gaze, and that’s when I realized—he was staring at me.

Really staring.

His expression had shifted from his usual playful ease to something deeper, something unreadable. His dark eyes searched mine, his grip on me unwavering.

"You okay?" His voice had softened, laced with concern.

I could barely breathe. My entire body was frozen, caught in the intensity of his gaze, in the warmth of his hands still steadying me.

I nodded—too quickly. "Y-Yeah. I just—I should—" I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to sound normal. "I should get back to my seat."

His hands lingered for half a second longer before he finally let go, and I nearly stumbled again—not because of the wires this time, but because my knees felt ridiculously weak.

I didn’t dare look at him as I hurried back to my seat, my heart still hammering, my skin burning where his hands had been.

But minutes later, a chair scraped against the floor, and before I knew it, he was sitting behind me. I inhaled sharply, trying to calm my racing pulse, "Go to the partition first," Yunho instructed, his voice steady, as if nothing had just happened. "You need a drive to place your folder."

I nodded, gripping the mouse, determined to focus. But my fingers didn’t move the pointer to the right place.

He noticed, "There," he pointed, his patience unwavering.

I tried again. Fumbled. And then—his hand covered mine. Large. Warm. Steady. Guiding the mouse effortlessly, his fingers brushed against mine, sending a sharp jolt of electricity up my spine.

My breath hitched. My whole body stiffened. The world outside this moment ceased to exist. The quiet murmurs of our classmates, the soft hum of the computers, the faint tapping of keyboards—it all faded into nothingness.

All I could focus on was him.

His warmth against my skin.

The way his fingers curled slightly over mine, his grip neither forceful nor hesitant, just there—as if this wasn’t something he had to think about, as if guiding my hand was the most natural thing in the world.

Seconds stretched endlessly. I forgot how to breathe, forgot how to think, forgot how to function.

He didn’t move.

Neither did I.

The space between us shrank, charged with something unspoken, something that made the air feel heavier. I could feel his breath ghosting near my temple, slow and steady, in complete contrast to the erratic drumming of my own heartbeat.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

I should pull away. I should.

But I didn’t. Because for all the chaos in my head, for all the ways my body betrayed me with its nervous tremors, there was one undeniable truth—

I liked this.

I like him.

March 14, 2025

Guilt settled heavily on my chest as I walked toward campus, my steps slower than usual.

I had clocked out overtime again, staying later than planned at my internship. It was becoming a habit, one that weighed on me more than I cared to admit. The familiar exhaustion clung to my body, but it was nothing compared to the quiet guilt pressing down on me.

By the time I arrived at my night class, the discussion had already been going on for an hour. I barely took a breath before sliding the door open.

The creak of the door was louder than I intended, loud enough to make heads turn. The room fell into momentary silence, the professor pausing mid-sentence.

I bowed my head slightly. "Sorry I’m late."

Keeping my voice steady, I gently closed the door behind me. My friends greeted me with small smiles as I passed, but I barely acknowledged them. My mind was still occupied—by my professor’s earlier warning, by the weight of my internship hours, by the nagging feeling that I was always two steps behind.

I settled into my seat, adjusting my chair as I exhaled quietly. It was only then that I felt it. I didn’t have to look to know whose they were.

Even as I focused on my computer, booting it up, I could feel his gaze lingering on me—not intrusive, just there. A quiet presence, unwavering, as if he had been waiting.

The soft glow of my friend’s screen pulled my attention. They were exchanging files, peer-to-peer, laughing as they successfully transferred them. The energy in the room felt light, carefree—so different from the tightness in my chest.

I sighed, rubbing at my temple before shifting my gaze to the board. The task was written clearly, the instructions laid out in neat bullet points. I had to catch up. Again.

"You'll catch up quickly." His voice cut through my thoughts just as a familiar scent—warm, chocolate-sweet cologne—wrapped around me.

My body instantly relaxed.

I leaned back slightly, eyes flickering to my side, where Yunho sat comfortably beside me. He wasn’t even looking at his own screen—just watching me with a quiet sort of amusement.

I scoffed lightly, turning back to my task. "Barely…"

He noticed something in my tone, something unspoken. His breath came out in a quiet sigh. "You don’t have to worry about being late when you can catch up this fast."

I turned to him, frowning slightly. "If only I wasn’t being called out…"

Before he could respond, one of our classmates announced that we could take a break. I grabbed my snacks and drink, slipping out of the room before the air inside became too suffocating.

The campus at night was quiet, peaceful.

Most of the buildings were dark, the hallways emptied out as students took their breaks in small groups. I walked up a few steps, my feet leading me instinctively to the open soccer field. It wasn’t particularly grand—just an expanse of grass surrounded by empty bleachers—but the sky above it made all the difference.

Stars.

They scattered across the vast darkness, twinkling softly, stretching endlessly beyond my reach. The sight alone eased some of the tightness in my chest, the weight of the day slowly lifting.

I sat on the benches, nibbling on a cookie from my container, my gaze locked onto the sky. The quiet, the solitude—it was exactly what I needed.

Until I felt presence sat beside me, his usual cologne had been my cravings ever since and I didn’t need to look to know who it was. He didn’t say anything at first, simply making himself comfortable next to me.

"Stars make you calm."

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A fact. A truth only he seemed to know.

I glanced at him, but he was already looking at the sky, his features relaxed in the dim glow of the field lights. Something about the way he sat beside me—so effortlessly, as if he belonged there—made my chest ache in a way I couldn’t quite name.

Without thinking, I tilted my cookie container toward him in silent offering. He glanced down, a small smile playing on his lips before he shook his head. "I’m good."

I shrugged, taking another bite, savoring the sweetness on my tongue as the night stretched around us. The air was cool, tinged with the distant scent of damp grass, and the silence between us was easy—comfortable in a way that made my heart ache.

Then I noticed an arm—his arm—outstretched just behind me.

Not quite touching. Not quite reaching. Just there.

I glanced down, my breath catching slightly when I saw his hand resting flat on the seat, fingers lightly curled against the worn wood, mere inches from where I sat. Close enough that if I leaned back even slightly, I would feel the warmth of him.

For a moment, my mind raced. Had he meant to do that? Or was it just a natural movement? But then I realized—this bench had no backrest. And his arm wasn’t just there.

It was there for me.

A quiet, unspoken shield. A presence that kept me from leaning too far back, from losing balance on the edge of the bench. A silent protection. My throat tightened, a warmth blooming in my chest that had nothing to do with the night air.

I swallowed hard, staring back up at the stars as if I hadn’t noticed. But I had. And from the way Yunho sat, his posture relaxed yet deliberate, I knew he had too.

Class had ended, but I wasn’t free just yet. I lingered in the quiet classroom, shifting my weight from foot to foot as my professor gave me a patient but pointed look.

"I know your internship keeps you busy," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. "But you’re missing too much of the discussion. Try to balance it better, alright?"

Guilt pricked at my chest. I nodded, murmuring an apology, though my mind was already running through the hours I had spent at my internship today. The exhaustion from overtime clung to me like a second skin, pressing into my shoulders, but I couldn’t let it show.

As I stepped out of the classroom, the hallway stretched before me, eerily empty. The faint hum of a vending machine buzzed from the corner, the overhead fluorescent lights flickering slightly, casting soft shadows on the polished tiles.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips. I adjusted the strap of my bag and headed for the exit. A shadow shifted near the corner of the hallway, just beyond the reach of the dim light. My breath hitched, my pulse jumping in surprise.

"Ah!—" I barely had time to react before a familiar chuckle cut through the silence.

"Did I scare you?" He stepped forward, emerging from the dim glow like a scene straight out of a dream. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his dark jacket, the fabric slightly wrinkled from the way he had been leaning against the wall. His hair was tousled, the strands catching the light in a way that made my heart stutter.

My shoulders relaxed, but my pulse refused to slow down. "Argh! Yunho!" He chuckles as we walk down the hallway, I turn to him frowning, "What are you doing here? I thought you left with the others."

He shrugged, falling into step beside me as we exited the building. "I figured you’d be held back."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You figured?" He turned his head slightly, giving me a look that made my stomach flip. "You were late today, figured Sir Coups will speak to you. Again."

Heat crept up my neck. I tried to look indifferent, but the knowing glint in his eyes told me he had already seen through me. Before I could defend myself, he nudged my arm lightly.

I blinked up at him. "What?"

"Smile… You look pretty." he murmured, his voice carried something unspoken. I shake my head but my lips still curled up into a small smile.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was charged—thick with something lingering between us, something neither of us had yet put into words. The air felt heavier, warmer, despite the cool night breeze brushing against my skin.

We reached the front gate, and I instinctively slowed my steps, scanning the road for any sign of my bus. But there was nothing. No buses, no jeepneys, no taxis—just the dimly lit street stretching into the distance, eerily quiet. I was hoping a bus or anything will pass by so I could climb in as soon as possible.

But looks like fate has different plans.

With a resigned sigh, I started walking toward the next stop, and as expected, Yunho followed without hesitation.

The streetlights cast long shadows as we walked, the soft glow bouncing off the pavement. The only sounds were the distant hum of traffic and the rhythmic steps of our shoes against the sidewalk.

I hesitated before speaking. "Won’t your parents worry about you getting home this late?" He exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "No, they don’t mind… as long as they know I get you home safely."

I stopped mid-step.

For a moment, everything around me faded—the city lights, the distant sounds of passing cars, even the cool breeze nipping at my skin. My heart thudded violently in my chest, so loud I was sure he could hear it.

My smartwatch vibrated against my wrist. Abnormal pulse detected.

Of course. Of course, it did. Not with him for always making my heart abnormally fast!

I swallowed thickly, my face burning. Get me home safely? Had he really just said that? So casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world? Before I could fully recover, Yunho turned slightly, his expression amused. "You okay? You look a little—"

"I’m fine!" I blurted out, shoving his arm lightly as I marched ahead, desperate to escape the warmth blooming across my face. He let out a soft laugh, the sound deep and rich, but he didn’t push me further. Instead, he fell back into step beside me, hands still tucked in his pockets.

A few more minutes passed before my bus finally appeared in the distance, its headlights cutting through the dim glow of the streetlamps. I exhaled in relief, stepping forward as it slowed to a stop.

But just as I reached for the handrails, something warm wrapped around my wrist.

I turned—and everything stopped.

Yunho’s fingers curled gently around mine, his grip neither loose nor forceful. Just enough to hold me there. Just enough to make my breath hitch.

The warmth of his touch seeped into my skin, spreading like wildfire through my veins. I looked up, wide-eyed, and he only smiled—a soft, knowing smile that made my stomach twist in the most unbearable way.

"Get home safe," he murmured, his voice quieter now, deeper, as if he were speaking directly into my soul. And there was no longer hesitation in his eyes. "I still need to take you out on a date."

My brain short-circuited.

A date?

Before I could even process it, before I could react, before I could breathe—

He lifted my hand and pressed a soft, feather-light kiss against the back of it.

The world blurred.

The sounds of the city dulled into silence.

Even my own heartbeat seemed to pause, as if it couldn’t decide whether to stop completely or speed up until it burst. His lips barely lingered for a second, but the warmth of his touch burned into my skin, leaving behind something I knew I’d never forget.

The bus doors hissed open behind me, but my feet refused to move. I stared at him, my mind racing, my heart a mess of erratic beats.

Yunho pulled away, his eyes never leaving mine. His fingers slowly slipped from my wrist, the absence of his touch leaving a void I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

The driver cleared his throat, snapping me out of my trance. Dazed, I stepped onto the bus, my legs trembling beneath me.

The doors slid shut. The bus rolled forward.

Through the glass window, I saw him—standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, watching with a smile on his lips until I was gone. A breath I hadn’t realized I was holding escaped my lips.

The bus driver chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced at me through the rearview mirror, "Young love," he mused, his voice tinged with amusement.

I swallowed, my fingers grazing the spot where Yunho’s lips had touched. A slow, giddy smile spread across my face.

[inkwellkitten]

Parenting Support (DP x DC)

Inspired by this post, but it ended up with a very different tone when I wrote it out. 🤷‍♀️

~~

Jazz Fenton really thought her lifelong parentification would have prepared her a lot more for actual parenting. Turns out, a newborn and a preschool to teenage child were not at all similar, despite the newborn being the same boy she had already raised. Being barely 19, in a new dimension, and trying not to think about what she left behind, she was drowning.

She hadn’t slept in 38 hours when she discovered a flyer for the Single Parents Support Meetup. This group seemed to be in a less shady part of town, plus with Danny wailing in the middle of the coffee shop, she knew they couldn’t go on this way. Isolation would be the death of them both at this rate.

This turned out to save both of their lives over and over. Arty, Grace, Roxanne, Bruce, Joanna, and Alexis got her in ways others didn’t. She couldn’t hide from them that she hadn’t given birth to Danny, and she didn’t want to. Grace and Bruce both adopted and still needed help. It didn’t matter if she was raising her brother to them at all.

After the end of the meeting, Danny woke up in his stroller. When she didn’t respond before he started crying, she learned for the first time that he definitely had his ghost powers when he managed to levitate almost a foot before she could catch him. When her wide eyes looked around, only Bruce had seen, and he had quickly moved to use his large frame to hide what was happening from view.

“Be careful,” he said, with an unusually serious expression. The same man who lamented his little Dickie climbing the chandelier during a recent snow day with a goofy grin, seemed to almost be covered in shadows like he was a ghost himself. “It can be really unsafe for metahumans in Gotham. If you ever need help, here’s my number. For anything.”

—

For all it started with formal messages about safe daycares and where to buy phase-proof restraints for Danny’s carseat, their messages quickly devolved.

Bruce: okay but seriously how do I get Dick to stop swinging from the chandeliers? It was cute when he was like 10 feet up but the ballroom is at least 30 feet!! How did he get up there?

Jazz: I’m assuming same way Danny got into my bed last night from his crib. Being smacked awake by a 6 month old at 2am is terrifying.

Bruce: fair enough. Alfred made Danny’s favorite sweet potatoes. Want to come over for a few hours and take a nap?

Jazz: you are a lifesaver. Be over in 30. Also, if you really don’t want him on the chandeliers, get him something up high that wobbles and swings. He’s probably seeking the stimuli he’s missing from the circus. He might still act out, but it probably won’t be as much if the other thing is more fun.

[starset21]

I Know Love Pt. 3

Pairing: Lando Norris x Piastri!sister reader

Summery: She spends race day convincing herself that Lando isn’t serious, that he’s off-limits, and that Oscar was right about everything. She buries herself in work, keeping emotions at bay, but when Lando wins, she avoids the celebration, telling herself it’s for the best. Lando shows up again—this time, knocking on her door.

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships.

Looking for more? I know Love Masterlist 

She tells herself she’s fine. She tells herself this as she moves through the paddock on race day, keeping busy, keeping her head down, pretending like last night never happened. Pretending like Oscar’s words didn’t burrow into her skull. Because Oscar was right, wasn’t he? Lando doesn’t do anything serious. Lando doesn’t do commitment. Lando is her brother’s teammate. Lando is off-limits.

She repeats these things over and over in her head as the race unfolds. She watches as Lando makes a great start with Oscar right behind him. She studies data, the radar, tracks strategies, keeps her headset on and her emotions off, though she knew the camera cut to her reaction when Oscar spun in the grass. By the time Lando crosses the finish line in first place, she’s convinced herself that’s the only thing that matters—the race, the job, the reason she’s here in the first place.

So she doesn’t go to the celebration. She takes the team photo and then tells Oscar and the family that she’s tired, that she needs to finish reports, that she’ll catch up later. He doesn’t question it, just gives her a small nod before disappearing into the crowd. And when she slips away from the garage, away from the flashing lights and champagne showers, she feels relief. At least, until she hears footsteps behind her. “You’re leaving?” Lando’s voice is quiet, but there’s something beneath it—something she doesn’t know how to handle.

She turns slowly, finding him standing a few feet away. He’s still in his race suit, the top half unzipped and tied around his waist, his fireproofs clinging to his frame. His hair is damp, curls sticking to his forehead, and there’s a trace of champagne on his skin. She crosses her arms, trying to steel herself. “I have work to do.” His lips twitch, but it’s not in amusement. “Right. So you just happened to leave before the party started? Before I could find you?” he asks. “You’re celebrating, Lando,” she says, forcing herself to sound detached. “You should be with your team. With the people who actually matter.” His jaw tightens. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you don’t matter.” Her breath catches, but she forces herself to keep her voice steady. “Lando—”

“No.” He steps closer, eyes locked onto hers. “You don’t get to shut me out just because Oscar thinks he knows how this ends.” Her stomach twists. “It’s not about Oscar.” His brows lift, unconvinced. “Isn’t it?” She swallows hard. “It’s about me not being stupid enough to believe that this—” she gestures vaguely between them “—is anything more than a game to you.” Something flickers in his expression. Not anger. Not frustration. But something deeper. Something that makes her pulse stutter. “You think I’m playing?” His voice is quieter now, rough around the edges. She doesn’t answer.

Lando exhales, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head, like he can’t believe they’re even having this conversation. “I don’t know what this is,” he admits, voice raw. “But I know I don’t want to lose it.” Her chest tightens. She doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to process the way he’s looking at her, the way his words settle into her bones, permanent and unshakable. So she does the only thing she can. She steps back. “We work together, Lando.” Her voice is quieter now, but still firm. “You’re my brother’s teammate.” His jaw clenches. “And?”

“And,” she exhales, “this is dangerous.” Lando scoffs, shaking his head. “Dangerous? It’s not like we’re plotting a crime.” She glares. “Don’t be an idiot.” 

“I’m not.” His voice is sharper now, more frustrated. “I just don’t get why you’re running from this like it’s some massive fucking mistake.”

“Because it is.” She forces the words out, even though they don’t sit right on her tongue. “Because if this goes wrong, it’s not just my mess. It’s Oscar’s. It’s the team’s. It’s yours.”

Lando exhales harshly, dragging a hand down his face. “Why does everything have to go wrong? Why can’t you just—” He stops himself, like he doesn’t know what he’s trying to say. Like he’s afraid of what he’s trying to say. She shakes her head, wrapping her arms around herself like it’ll hold everything in place. “This isn’t just about us.” He stares at her for a long moment. “Isn’t it?” he asks quietly.

She doesn’t answer. Because she doesn’t know anymore. Lando watches her for a beat longer, then exhales, stepping back, like he’s giving her space even though it’s the last thing he wants to do. “I meant what I said.” His voice is steady now, sure. “I don’t know what this is. But I know I don’t want to lose it.”

She stands there, frozen, as his words settle in the air between them. It would be easier if he were dismissive. If he laughed it off like it didn’t matter, like she didn’t matter. But he doesn’t. He just looks at her, waiting, like he’s willing to give her all the time in the world to come up with a response—even though they both know she won’t.

Because if she says something, if she lets herself acknowledge that this is real, then she has to face the truth: she wants this just as much as he does. And that? That’s terrifying. So she does what she always does—she pushes forward, past him, toward the paddock exit. “You should go back,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is your night.” She doesn’t wait for his reply. She doesn’t turn around to see if he follows. She just walks, keeping her head down, focusing on the rhythm of her footsteps instead of the ache in her chest. She tells herself she’s fine. She tells herself this as she slips into the quiet of the team motorhome, as she drops into a chair and stares blankly at the laptop screen in front of her.

She stares at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, but the words don’t come. The numbers, the data, the post-race reports—none of it registers. All she can hear is his voice. I don’t know what this is, but I know I don’t want to lose it. Her chest tightens as she forces herself to focus. This is what she does. She buries herself in work, in logic, in things that make sense. She doesn’t have the luxury of distractions. Not here. Not now. And certainly not with Lando. But her hands are shaking, and the screen is blurry, and the weight of everything is pressing down on her so hard she can barely breathe. She squeezes her eyes shut, inhaling deeply. She needs to pull it together. Needs to push him out of her head. Needs to remind herself of all the reasons this can’t happen. Because it can’t. She repeats that to herself like a mantra, over and over, like if she says it enough times, she’ll believe it.

But then there’s a knock at the door. She knows who it is before she even looks up. Lando. She should tell him to leave. Should ignore him, pretend she didn’t hear it, pretend she’s already left for the night. But she doesn’t. Instead, she just sits there, staring at the door, waiting for him to go away. The second knock is softer. More hesitant. And then— “I know you’re in there.” She exhales sharply, pressing her hands to her face. He sounds tired. Frustrated. But there’s something else in his voice, too. Something quieter. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond. A beat of silence. Then— “I’m not here to fight.” That’s the problem. If he were here to fight, if he were angry, it would be easier. But he’s not. He’s just him. And that’s what makes this so damn hard. Her fingers tighten into fists against her lap. “Lando—”

“Just open the door,” he says, softer this time. “Please.” She hesitates. She shouldn’t. She knows she shouldn’t. But she does. Slowly, she stands, crossing the small room, pausing with her hand on the handle. One last chance to stop this. One last chance to walk away before she does something reckless. Then, before she can talk herself out of it, she pulls the door open. Lando is standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, damp curls falling into his eyes. He looks at her, really looks at her, and she feels herself unraveling at the edges. For a long moment, neither of them speaks. Then— “You didn’t even stay for the podium.” His voice isn’t accusing. It’s just…quiet. She crosses her arms over her chest. “I told you. I had work.” He exhales, shaking his head. “Bullshit.”

Her jaw tightens. “Lando—”

“No.” He takes a step closer, not enough to crowd her, but enough that she feels the warmth of him, enough that she has to fight the urge to reach for him. “You’re scared.” She stiffens. “That’s not—”

“You are.” His eyes search hers, unwavering. “And I don’t blame you. But don’t lie to me. Not about this.” Her breath catches. She wants to deny it. Wants to push him away. Wants to tell him he’s wrong, that she’s fine, that this isn’t real.

But she can’t. Because he’s right. And that terrifies her more than anything. She swallows hard, trying to find something—anything—to say. But Lando beats her to it. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to lose this. And I don’t think you do either.” She looks away, staring at the floor, at the way his fingers curl into fists like he’s holding himself back. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. She opens her mouth. Nothing comes out. Because she can’t tell him that. Because she is scared. Because the truth is sitting in her throat, thick and heavy, and no matter how hard she tries, she can’t force herself to say the words that will make him walk away. Lando watches her for a moment longer, then nods—just once—like he understands. Like he already knows her answer, even if she can’t say it out loud. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says softly. And just like that, he’s gone. She stands there long after he’s disappeared down the hall, staring at the empty space where he stood, heart pounding, head spinning.

[oddlydescriptive]

Reset, Chapter Four

Series Masterlist

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August 26, 2022- Belgian Grand Prix, Post-FP2

The doors to the big meeting room at the Red Bull Energy Station close with a heavy clunk, the kind that feels just a little too final.

You catch a glimpse of Franz Tost’s profile through the window before the blinds shut with an audible snap. Mattia’s inside too, along with Helmut, and someone from Red Bull proper -  Paul Monaghan, maybe. It’s hard to tell. They’re all just team kits and tension right now.

You don’t know exactly what they’re talking about -  but you can guess. So you sit at a table just outside, within perfect sightline of the door, and you work. Emails first. Replying to the usual press inquiries -  bland, polite, saying just enough without giving anything real away. A short response to AlphaTauri’s PR team, confirming availability for whatever media obligations they decide, should you still be trackside tomorrow. It's almost laughable- polished corporate speak for hell yeah, I’d love to work for you tomorrow- I mean, if you’ll let me. 

Your fingers move over your phone screen with practiced ease, typing out responses, liking comments, keeping yourself busy. It’s a small thing, but it’s something you can control. Media obligations, sponsor tagging, social engagement- none of it means anything compared to what’s happening behind those closed doors, but at least here, in this moment, you can make choices. You can decide which comments to reply to, which messages to acknowledge, which words to put into the world.

Your Instagram is a mess- an avalanche of notifications so dense that your phone actually lags when you try to scroll. Thousands of new followers, a flood of blue-check accounts in your DMs, a mix of heart emojis and excited messages, and of course, the occasional go back to the kitchen comment buried in the mix. You don’t even blink at those. The hate is expected, inevitable. And frankly, it’s drowned out by everything else.

Your fingers hover over a few particularly thoughtful messages, ones that stand out from the noise- little kids in karting leagues tagging you in their stories, saying they watched you today. One girl- maybe thirteen, maybe fourteen- sent you a video of herself in a kart, the caption reading, Girls can be F1 material! Hope I can make a career of this too. 

You press like before you can think too hard about it, then tap out a quick reply. You can. You will. Keep pushing. 

It feels better than press quotes and sponsor reels. More real.

Your other hand, the one not holding your phone, flexes against the tabletop. It’s the only place your nerves show. You will not let them creep into your expression, into the careful posture you hold- composed, focused, unbothered. Your eyes flick toward the still-shut boardroom doors, willing them to just open already and put you out of your misery.

But they don’t.

So you go back to your post. The photo you’ve picked is simple -  just a clean shot of you pulling out of the garage, helmet down, sun catching the nose of the car. It’s optimistic. Professional. Completely concealing the fact that you spent nearly an hour today vibrating in rage at the back of the garage.

You re-read your caption- First taste of an F1 car. Unreal. Ready for more.- and wonder if it’s too hopeful, too eager. Would it be embarrassing to leave it up if they send you home tomorrow? Would it sting to read those words again if this is where it ends?

You post it anyway.

Because fuck it. You are ready for more. Whether or not they’re ready to give it to you is their problem.

The doors to the hospitality lounge swing open, and the world’s easiest, most carefree laughter floats through the air, cutting across the tension in your chest like a blade.

Your gaze flicks up, and of course, it’s them- Red Bull’s boys. 

Max and Checo stride in, and they look… easy. Max’s suit is half-unzipped, arms loose at his sides, the peak of nonchalance, while Checo grins at something one of their engineers mutters as they pass. No frantic debriefing, no worried huddles over data charts, just Max and Checo strolling through like they already know everything they needed to know and it’s all good news. It probably is. You’re sure they put down a beautiful set of laps. The RB18 is a monster, and both of them know exactly how to wield it. There’s no stress, no sense of urgency. Just the kind of relaxed ease that comes when you know you’ve put in the laps, done the job, and that everything is moving exactly the way it’s supposed to.

Must be fucking nice.

You force yourself to glance away before either of them can notice you watching. You’re not here to be impressed. You’re here to stay.

Your fingers still on your phone screen, mid-response, as someone drops into the seat across from you. The movement is smooth, unhurried- like they belong there, like this is their table and you just happen to be sitting at it. You glance up, brain taking half a second to process - who - expecting Mattia, or maybe a media rep- someone relevant to your situation- and then your stomach dips.

Jos Verstappen.

You don’t react, not outwardly. You sit a little straighter, blink once, and make sure your expression stays carefully neutral. His presence is like someone just opened a freezer door -  chilling, unexpected, impossible to ignore. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. No hello. No introduction. Just a sharp exhale through his nose and, “Strange decision, isn’t it?”

It takes you a beat too long to realize he’s talking to you. Your hand hovers over your phone, thumb poised to type, but you set it down slowly, folding both hands together on the table instead. Careful. Measured. “I suppose that depends on how you see it.”

His mouth twitches- not quite a smirk, not quite approval. Just interest. Noted. He leans back, eyes narrowing slightly, taking stock. “I see one driver who put in a clean session, did the job they were asked to do. And I see another who binned it. And yet, only one of them is in the car for FP2.”

The words settle between you, weighty. You know that he knows it should have been you. Anyone with goddamn eyes knows they shouldn’t have sent Liam out, and that was before he trashed the second car. So why the fuck is he here? You don’t bite. You might not know exactly what Jos is playing at, but you’re not dumb enough to stick you foot in a beartrap just to see if ti closes. If you agree, you’re openly criticizing the team. If you push back, you risk sounding naive.

"I go where they tell me," you say instead, like it’s just that simple. Like this is all above you, beyond you, something you have no stake in.

Jos studies you for a long moment, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. Calculating. “That’s a very polished answer.”

You offer a small shrug, controlled, careful. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

A quiet huff, something bordering amusement. He’s testing you, pressing at the edges, looking for a crack. For something emotional. You keep your face perfectly composed, let the silence settle. Jos watches you like he’s solving an equation. Like he knows the numbers, knows the variables, but something about the sum isn’t quite adding up.

His eyes are sharp, computing, the kind of look that makes you feel like you’re being inventoried. Measured. Weighed. You’re used to being looked at. Picked apart. Evaluated. You’ve sat across from engineers, managers, sponsors- people who hold the keys to your future, people who don’t waste their time with drivers they don’t think are worth something. You know the game. You’ve played it before. You’ve played it all week.

But this? This is different.

Because Jos Verstappen doesn’t hold the keys to anything you need. Not directly, anyway. He’s not scouting talent. He’s not making team decisions. He’s not trying to sell you anything. He’s just watching. So you watch him back. You watch him the way you might watch an unpredictable car in the mirrors- cautious, measured, prepared to react at the first sign of a sudden move. Because whatever he’s doing here, it’s not charity. It’s not a casual interest. Men like Jos Verstappen don’t waste their time on people who can’t be useful to them.

Jos Verstappen, the one you can read about online, is a cautionary career tale wrapped in the skin of a man who never got over it. A father who forged a world champion the hard way and made sure everyone knew exactly whose hands shaped the clay. 

You know better than to believe everything you read. You’ve seen firsthand how the media builds and burns its chosen heroes and villains, how the truth warps depending on who’s telling it. But you’re not naive- when there are enough whispers, enough half-truths, enough smoke, there’s usually fire.

“I’m sure the team has their reasons," you say, keeping your voice light, nonchalant, as if your entire career isn’t on the line behind those doors. "I can only control what I do with the opportunities I'm given."

Jos makes a noise- short, unimpressed. "Yeah. Their reason is they’re cowards."

You don’t touch that. Not with a ten-foot pole.

Because what are you supposed to say? That you agree? That you want to throw a chair through the glass walls of this building and demand your fucking car back? Or that you trust the process, that you’re grateful just to be here, that you’ll take whatever crumbs they give you and smile through your teeth if they hand Liam the rest of the weekend?

There’s no right answer. So you say nothing.

Jos taps his fingers against the table, a slow, considering rhythm. A hunter observing his prey. Then, after a long, stretched-out moment, he tilts his head just slightly. “I’ve seen worse drivers than you get a shot.”

You blink. That’s… maybe a compliment? 

Before you can decide, Jos is already pushing back from the table. He stands, gaze flicking over you like he’s cataloging something useful. For a second, it seems like he’s going to walk away without another word. But then he pauses, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, and murmurs, almost to himself, "We’ll see."

Then, just as abruptly as he arrived, he’s gone.

Inside the boardroom, the air is thick enough to cut with a knife -  the kind of tension that sticks to the walls, hangs heavy over the table, and clings to the backs of every suit jacket in the room. No one wants to say it out loud. That would make it real. But the truth is sitting in the center of the table like a live grenade, and every man in that room is trying to figure out who the hell is going to be the first one to touch it.

They never intended for her to get this far.

The plan had been simple -  safe. Bring her in for a single practice session, a feel-good story tailor-made for headlines. First woman to drive in a Formula 1 weekend in years. They’d trot her out for media, let the cameras eat her up in her fireproofs, paint her as the scrappy underdog, the token woman making waves in a man’s world. She’d get her laps, smile for the photos, then quietly board a flight back to wherever the hell she came from with a paycheck just generous enough to keep her grateful and a shiny badge for her resume to help her land a seat somewhere far, far away from here. Liam would step into the car for qualifying, everyone would feel good about diversity, and they’d still have their real driver on the grid come Sunday.

That was the plan.

But plans don’t mean shit when reality kicks the door down.

And reality is that she had been undeniable.

Not just competent. Not just “good for a girl.” No. She had put up times that left no room for spin or excuses. She’d gone quicker on inter tyres than Liam managed on softs -  and that was before he dragged both his own ass and a perfectly good chassis through the gravel and into the barriers. Twice.

She hadn’t just done well -  she’d outperformed him cleanly. In a way that made it impossible to justify putting him back in for qualifying without looking like absolute fucking morons.

Mattia Spini’s jaw works, grinding against itself as he stares down at the table like the woodgrain holds the answers. He was there, with her, through every SIM session that bordered on self-harm. All week long. He had seen the numbers, the work ethic, held her hand through the session. His mind’s made up. But he’s not here to make decisions. He’s here to say his piece and let the others do with it what they will. 

Franz Tost’s arms are crossed tight, knuckles pale where they press into the opposite sleeve. Helmut’s silence is its own brand of pressure, a presence that sits heavy at the head of the table like a storm cloud waiting to break.

Because promoting her to qualifying wasn’t the story they wanted to tell.

They wanted her to be good -  but not too good. They wanted to market her -  but not actually race her. They wanted the easy win -  Red Bull Junior Program empowers female driver, champions the next generation, what a feel-good headline -  without risking the uncomfortable reality of having to explain why their actual, academy-raised, Red Bull-groomed reserve driver had been shown up by an unpolished American wildcard.

They wanted the spectacle.

Not the problem.

Because now, they can’t just sideline her without losing credibility. If they shove Liam into the seat after that practice, everyone watching -  every journalist, every fan, every competitor up and down the paddock -  is going to know exactly what it is.

A fix. A cover-up. Proof that it was never about talent in the first place. The optics would be disastrous.

But putting her through to qualifying -  that opens a whole new can of worms.

If she delivers again, if she outqualifies expectations -  or god forbid, Pierre -  it will set fire to the whole development pipeline. It will force conversations they don’t want to have about who actually deserves these seats, about how many talented drivers they’ve ignored because they didn’t fit the mold. And if she tanks? If she spins or bins it or freezes under pressure? Teams up and down the pit-lane get to say, “See? This is why we don’t do this.”

No matter what happens, it’s a risk.

No matter what happens, she’s already blown up their plan.

And the worst part -  the part none of them want to admit, even to themselves -  is that somewhere deep down, they already know what they have to do.

Because no matter how much they want this to be a neatly scripted feel-good PR stunt, the stopwatch doesn’t lie.

She’s fast.

And that’s all that fucking matters.

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It’s been over an hour.

You’ve counted. Checked the time on your phone so many times you’re sick of looking at your own homescreen. Every time the door to the Red Bull boardroom cracks open, your spine snaps straight, only to slump back into the chair when it’s someone else passing through. Engineers. Media handlers. A catering girl with a tray of coffee cups no one will drink.

You’ve stayed planted in the same spot, tapping out responses to press inquiries and running a comb through your own notes -  not because you need to, but because if you don’t keep your hands moving, you might actually shake apart.

It’s a long time to sit with your own imagination. Long enough for your mind to invent every possible outcome, each one worse than the last. They’re sending you home. They’re giving the seat to Liam anyway. They’ve decided you’re too much of a liability. They’ve found some technicality, some loophole that gives them the out they’re so obviously looking for. Some issue with your license or visa or-

And then, finally, the door opens.

It’s Mattia who calls for you, his voice even, no hint of the decision hanging off his words. Just your name, simple and sharp, cutting through the air.

You stand without hesitation, without letting your expression slip even a little. The first step into the room feels like walking into an execution chamber. But you’ve been preparing for this -  for every second of this -  your whole life. You know how to play the part, how to wield control over yourself when you have none over anything else.

You close the door softly behind you, a single breath held tight in your chest. Franz Tost sits at the head of the table, hands folded neatly. Helmut is present, but unreadable. The legal reps are tucked along one side, media relations on the other. Mattia stands near the door, hands in his pockets, his body angled slightly toward you like a quiet show of support.

You don’t sit until they tell you to.

“We’ve made our decision,” Franz begins, his voice clipped, no warmth, no unnecessary padding. “You’ll drive FP3. You’ll qualify the car. And you’ll race.”

It lands like a blow -  not from the words themselves, but from the sheer force of holding yourself perfectly still under the weight of them. You don’t flinch, don’t exhale too sharply, don’t let your hands twitch even though you want to slam your fist into the table and scream fuck yes so loud they hear it in the Haas building at the end of the paddock.

“Understood,” you say, measured and professional, the words flowing smooth like they’ve been rehearsed, because they have. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

You make eye contact with each person at the table. Just a beat. Just enough for each one to feel seen, acknowledged. One second, no more. Franz. Mattia. Helmut. Legal. Media. All the way down the line, calm and deliberate. It’s not just politeness -  it’s strategy. It’s laying the groundwork for future conversations, for the next time you need someone’s support. Let them remember you as composed, mature, the driver who handled herself perfectly under pressure.

No one explains why Liam got to drive FP2, and you don’t ask. Because asking would imply you care, and you cannot afford to care. You’ve won the round that matters. You have the car now, and once you have the car, the rest is up to you.

You stand when they dismiss you, walking out with the same careful poise you carried in. Not too fast, not too slow. Just right.

It’s only once you’re back in the hallway -  the door shut behind you -  that you let out the shallow breath you’ve been holding. Not a victory, not relief. Just air. You’ve broken no rules, made no mistakes, given them nothing to question.

It’s not joy. It’s not excitement. It’s just one step closer. Because this was never the finish line. It’s just the start.

AlphaTauri to Advance Female Driver to Qualifying- The news hits the paddock like a spark in dry grass, and by the time you make it twenty steps past the hospitality suite, it’s already started. Not a swarm — not yet — but a constant stream. Journalists with handheld mics, camera crews trailing like shadows, voices calling your name in half a dozen accents, all wanting a moment, a quote, a reaction.

It’s the first woman to race in Formula 1 in decades. The headline is writing itself before you’ve even had a chance to adjust your fireproofs. You knew it would happen, you’d prepared for it — but still, the sheer relentlessness of it catches the edges of your nerves, makes you want to recoil, to snap something defensive and sharp.

You don’t.

Because this?

This is your mother’s voice in your ear, her lessons in your bones, her spine straightening yours. This is the arena you were raised to thrive in — the dance floor Marissa LeChriste had owned for decades, teaching you every step, every pivot, every perfectly placed smile.

You know how to play this.

So you stop walking. You smile.

It’s the kind of smile that looks genuine because you’ve learned how to make it feel genuine, just for a second — that trick of letting your excitement bleed through the edges, like you’re still too green to fully mask it. You lean into your drawl, just a little- play up the soft, long vowels you’d picked up from a Texas bred mother and a junior career spent haunting Austin COTA. Like you’re the overwhelmed rookie with stars in her eyes, thrilled just to be here- we aren���t in Kansas anymore, Toto.  They love that shit. They eat it up.

And the questions come — fast, scattered, often the same one asked three different ways by three different people.

"How does it feel to be the first woman on the grid in so long?"

"Did you ever expect this opportunity?"

"What’s the pressure like, knowing how much attention is on you?"

"What does this mean for women in motorsport?"

You answer every single one — thoughtfully, with care, like each journalist is the only one you’ve spoken to today, despite your voice already wearing a bit thin from the afternoon media gauntlet. That’s the key. Make them feel important. Make them feel special. Your mama drilled that into you until it was muscle memory — people will work twice as hard to make you look good if you make them feel good first.

You frame every response to build the narrative you want — not just a lucky girl plucked from obscurity, not just a token woman filling a seat for clicks. No, you shape yourself into something more deliberate. You’re a hard worker. A student of the sport. Someone who clawed her way here and earned every inch. You talk about your time in the sim, the hours spent learning every inch of Spa, how the car feels, how you’re focused on performance above everything else.

You sidestep anything emotional — no sob stories, no tears, no “this is my lifelong dream and I’m so overwhelmed I could puke”. That’s bait for headlines, and you’re not giving them the satisfaction, even if you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.

What you do give them is a quiet kind of confidence — the type that plants a seed in every viewer’s mind. Not ‘Can she do this?’ but ‘I can’t wait to see this.’

And when they push — when one of the older, more jaded reporters leans in a little too close and asks, “Are you just here because you’re a woman?” — you smile, bright and easy, and say, “I’m here because I’m fast.”

You see the flicker in his eyes — the momentary surprise, the half-second where he realizes he walked straight into a quote that’s going to be plastered across every motorsport outlet by sundown.

Good. Let them print it. Let them put that on the front page, let the headlines frame you exactly the way you want to be framed. Sweet, marketable- but make no mistake- you’re here on merit.

You control the story now. And you have no intention of letting it go.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

Series Masterlist

[prlssprfctn]

BACK AGAIN-

This post popped up and my god im enamored-

https://www.tumblr.com/the--firevenus/778288180830027776/an-au-concept-where-bruce-wayne-die-but-the-batman?source=share

Thoughts???

(@batfambrainrotbeloved)

hi, darling! glad to see you in my inbox again! first of all (@the--firevenus) cooked with his concept, second of all, THANKS for showing it to me!!!

as a firm believer that Batman's cowl shall end on Bruce, i actually like this so-so much! and the amount of the angst potential coming along with it for his kids? muah-muah. imagine, trying to overcome your parent's death, while there is his shadowy, eerie and non-existing as a person *something* lurking on the background. it is quite literally an empty thing, a vessel, not even a person - and it somehow hurts more. and this vessel, this something, lurches to protect batkids sometimes (because Bruce would, and this eerie something copies his actions and movements) and it hurts even more.

because that is not their dad. but it is so tempting, to pretend for a minute that it is.

i imagine this eerie something cannot speak and generally doesn't have any real mind, thoughts etc, etc. but batkids still try to talk with it sometimes. they murmur things to it, hoping to receive some reactions, they yell, they cry, they ask advices - the only answer is silence.

just imagine, Cass sitting on the same roof with It, staring, knowing that it is nothing and no one, but still feeling an urge to be around. Dick, who tries to strike a conversation with It, and ends up screaming on it for hours until there is nothing but tears in his eyes, and It just leaves. Tim, feeling as a kid again, stalking Batman's shadow from the roof, but never coming closer - just watching, imagining things that cannot be real; this time for sure. Damian, who pointedly ignores It until once the shadow shields him, and Damian feverishly tries to catch the tip of the cloak of the shadow with his fingers like he would if Bruce would be here, and failing. Jason, who monologues with It unwillingly, intentionally saying things that would make Bruce mad, but getting nothing from his shadow.

urghhh, the angst potential is just *so-so*!

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @stobinmonth and @corrodedcoffinfest.

We've Been Over This

Stobin Month Prompt: Prom & CCF Spring Break Prompt: "I've got two words for you. Spring. Break." | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | POV: Steve | Pairing: Platonic Stobin, Pre-Steddie, Robin Pining for Vickie | CW: Mention of Temporary Character Death, Brief Vamp Biting/Feeding, Mild Sexual Content, Language | Tags: Post S4, Hawkins Sticking Its Head In The Sand, Vampire Eddie, Dinguses x 3

"Vickie's taking her boyfriend to Enzo's for the alternative prom thing," Robin says. "I can't believe we're even having prom."

"What? Why?" Steve asks.

"I've got two words for you: Spring. Break," then she rolls her eyes, "The town's still falling into itself, or haven't they noticed?"

"Yeah, but they don't know what really happened. They want to get dressed up and fuck in motel rooms. You know. High school."

"That's not everybody's high school experience, believe me," Robin says, then thunks her forehead to the table, mumbling, "I can't believe I actually want to go."

Steve's ears perk up at that, "You, Robin Buckley, want to go to the prom?"

"Shut up," she says, "Like, I'm not. Obviously. But I could, like, see her in a pretty dress."

"And you'd be wearing a dress? Borrowed from Nancy?"

"Absolutely not, you saw what she made me wear last time."

Steve smiles, "You should go. Eat. Look at Vickie."

"I'm not going to the prom alone, dingus. I'm a loser, but I'm not that big of one."

"I'll take you," Steve says, easily. Like, he can do that. He's not scared of prom. 

"We're not going to prom. We have other things to worry about," she says. "Dustin is adamant Eddie's a vampire."

"Eddie's not a vampire. Eddie's dead."

"Tell Dustin that."

"Henderson's trying to cope, leave him alone."

"Well, Gareth thinks so, too," Robin says. 

"Who's Gareth?" Steve asks. 

Robin rolls her eyes, "Curly hair, bit of a yapper."

"That's Henderson."

"That's also Gareth," Robin says. "He's in Eddie's band. Corroded Coffin. The drummer."

"Oh. Him," Steve says dryly. He doesn't care for that kid. Every time he's approached Steve, he's been all arrogant, and Steve wants nothing to do with it.

Eddie died, and Steve feels like that's his fault. He doesn't need some kid he doesn't know disappointed in him.

He feels that enough with Henderson, thanks.

"I'll take you to prom. Get a dress. Or slacks. Whatever," he declares, and as far as he's concerned, that's that.

Prom over, Steve's taking off his rented tux while Robin changes in the bathroom, when he catches movement outside his window. He whips towards it, expecting nothing. He's used to jumping at his own shadow. 

Instead, there are feet. Floating feet, near the top of his window. Black boots, untied laces.

He's imagining things. Boots don't float. 

Still, he reaches for his nailbat. He was hoping he wouldn't need this so soon, or ever, again.

He looks upwards, seeing the ripped jeans, the bullet belt. He taps on the glass.

Eddie floats down.

"Uh, hi, I thought I was hidden," he says, bobbing there.

"Like a baby playing peek-a-boo? I could see your feet."

"Shut up. I'm just saying hi."

"You're floating," Steve says, as if that's not obvious, following his every move. It seems rhythmic.

"Yeah, I can do that now," Eddie says, muffled through the glass.

Steve pulls up the window, even if it's a bad idea. Eddie doesn't move.

"You'll have to invite me in," Eddie says, "if you aren't scared."

"I'm not scared," Steve says. He's terrified, but it also seems like Eddie. He's never claimed to make good decisions.

"Henderson said you were a vampire."

"Yeah, Gareth told me," Eddie says. "Not sure how he figured it out. I've been laying low."

"Yeah, hovering outside my window is really laying low. Get in here, asshole."

And just like that, Eddie grabs a hold of the frame, and pulls himself inside. 

"Are you gonna kill me?" Steve asks.

"Wasn't planning on it," Eddie answers, flopping on Steve's bed, crossing his feet at the ankles. He's filthy. "Why so fancy?"

Steve pulls the necktie loose, "Robin's prom."

"You're dating Buckley? What happened to Wheeler?"

"I'm not dating either of them," Steve answers. He's not explaining their fake date to a fake prom.

He starts unbuttoning his shirt.

Eddie makes a noise, a guttural growl, and Steve slowly turns around, "I thought you said you weren't gonna kill me."

"I'm not," Eddie answers, but his eyes are blown wide, and have slipped from deep brown to yellow, his face changing.

"Eddie," Steve stresses, "your face says otherwise."

Eddie holds up his hands, and swallows, "I can hear your blood pumping. Can see your big, sexy neck veins pulsing."

Steve laughs, tossing back his head, and that makes Eddie groan louder.

"Harrington, you're killing me. This's like a second puberty. And I'm starving, while you're just laying out a buffet."

Oh.

Steve stops laughing.

"Do you…do you want to bite me?"

Eddie covers his eyes with his hands.

"I can still see you. We've been over this."

"I'm not gonna bite you," Eddie says, and now he has a lisp because of the fangs. It's not scary, it's funny, and Steve isn't sure why. He's something that crawled out of the depths of hell, just like a demodog, changed, mutated, but…it's Eddie.

He's pretty sure it's still Eddie.

"That's not what I asked. I asked if you wanted to bite me."

"Are you offering?" 

"Maybe."

Steve sits next to him, baring his throat, "Don't kill me." 

Eddie sinks his fangs in at the same time Robin opens the door, and screams bloody murder. 

Steve yanks away. He'd forgotten she was here. Now his neck's bleeding, and Eddie's scrambling.

"Sorry!" he lisps.

"Eddie IS a vampire!" Robin yells, and reaches for something, anything, coming up with Steve's lamp. It's still plugged in, but Steve is more worried about his bleeding neck. "You enthralled him!"

"I didn't mean to!" Eddie says, hands up.

"My neck," Steve says, and Robin and Eddie both move at once. Robin's yanked back by the cord, so Eddie gets there first. Peeling back Steve's hand. 

Tongue pressing to the wounds, fangs sliding back in, and Steve tilts his head back, dick going hard in his slacks.

Oh.

That's new.

He closes his eyes, ignoring Robin's unasked for two cents:

"Oh, that's just gross."

Steve definitely disagrees.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to read takes on Spring Break prompts, or to offer up your own!

For more Stobin, pop on over to @stobinmonth to follow along with the fun!

Notes: The floating outside the window is definitely inspired by the 1992 Buffy the Vampire Slayer movie. I loved it as a kid. Campy fun. "Oooh, aahhhh. Owww. Oooh." I feel like Eddie the Vamp would also be that kind of drama llama, for sure, lol.

[sailornymph]

dnd; sae itoshi

synopsis — the status of your relationship has been unclear for some time now, but showing up to the same event as him removed any confusion or doubt

content warning — agedup!sae, profootballer!sae, public bathroom sex

a/n — i’ve been working like crazy, but finally having a few days off soon, i’ll be able to post a little more

checking your phone for what felt like the millionth time, you could only sigh at the results. nothing. you hadn't talked to sae in nearly two weeks and you were beginning to think things were over. swallowing the dismay, you put on the best fake smile you could, as your friend talked.

"you okay? still nothing from sae?" yuki asked. there wasn't much you could hide from her, she always seemed to catch the slightest change in your mood.

"i’ll be okay," you shrugged, straightening your posture, as sana, your makeup artist came back into the room. you were an editorial fashion model, and while you technically were on a hiatus, you were modeling a close friend's new clothing brand.

yuki and sana began talking, laughing at whatever they had seen earlier on social media, while you sat quietly. sae consumed your thoughts, you wanted to be the bigger person and text him, but you couldn't - it was you who caused the rift to begin with.

"what are you doing?" you flinched, hearing his voice, you thought he was asleep.

"i need to get back to my room, my team will be over in a-

"you didn't want to get ready here?" he asked, sitting up, and stretching.

"no, i...i don't want them to talk," you mumbled. the choice of words seemed to wake him up a bit more, scoffing, before climbing out of the bed.

you bit your lip, shifting your eyes, as he stood tall, reaching for the boxer briefs. slipping into them, he approached you, as you wiggled back into the dress. wrapping his long arms around you, he groaned, taking in your scent.

"talk about what?"

"us? i don't-we don't need a scandal, you're here for your photoshoot, and i'm here for work-

"work? what work do you have in tokyo? you said last night you were here to spend time with me," he said, raising an eyebrow at you.

"i am, but as far as the media knows, i am here for work," you said, briefly poking his toned abdomen.

"you want to stay a secret?" he frowned lightly, shaking his head, as he moved past you to go to the bathroom.

"sae, try to understand, as far as your fans know, you are single and not looking for a relationship, i don't want to have to deal with crazy fans," you expressed.

"i couldn’t give a damn what anyone had to say about my decisions, so i don't see the issue unless you just wanted to remain a secret," he said, as he began to brush his teeth.

"you're making it like i am just purposely hiding you away, i'm not ashamed of our relationship, if that's what you're insinuating. i'm trying to prevent backlash, your fans will drag me through the mud if i don't fit their standard," you said, reaching to touch him, but he struggled your hand off.

"fine, i won't force you to understand," you said, grabbing your handbag, and leaving his hotel room, making sure to slam the door.

your behavior was immature and unnecessary, but you wanted him to see things from your perspective. his fans were a bit obsessive, and while you had thick skin, you didn't want to deal with harassment in the country he was born in.

he had been single for some time when you met him on a girl's trip in spain. you were familiar with him, seeing a few clips of him playing on social media, while his friends teased that you were his crush. you felt like a young schoolgirl, exchanging numbers due to his lack of social media and texting constantly. his responses were always short, but he stayed consistent. it wasn't long before he flew to london, meeting you in between your photoshoots.

your first kiss, your first time making love, visiting his homeland, meeting his family. he was a breath of fresh air, the perfect concoction of consideration and coldness - you had never experienced anyone like him. despite knowing these things, you were afraid, you hadn't been in any public relationship before and you weren't sure how you'd be treated.

while the football season was over, his team still found a way to continue to have him in the media, he had been in japan for last-minute photo shoots, being that he had recently become an ambassador for a sports brand. you planned to stay with him the entire time, but your schedule overlapping his, as well as paparazzi trying to inquire about your business in the city, forced you to be more secretive.

naturally, you pushed away from him and ended up pushing him too far. now well over two weeks later, you were sure you had ruined your chance at love over your anxious thoughts.

posing for the photographer, your eyes were clouded, as your form moved guilelessly. yuki stared at you, frowning, as your assistant and best friend, she had to do something about this. you seemed to be the only person stressing about what fans would think when you didn't have to. she had seen the way sae stared at you, how he'd bite inside his jaw, his gaze on you, watching you, eagerly, despite his dull expression, sharing his culture with you to guarantee you felt comfortable.

"once you finish, meet me back in the dressing room, we have things needing to be done," yuki smiled, going into the room, as she ordered your black dress.

"where are we going again?" you asked, climbing into the suv. you didn't know where you needed to be with the strapless form-fitting dress, and the dark hair and makeup look.

"a small event," yuki said, as you glanced at her. another week had gone by since the photoshoot and she had been working hard to make sure you would arrive on time.

"what event-

"a gala, it's mostly athletes who are going, but i figured you should go, there will be plenty of paparazzi," she interrupted, making you snap your head over at her.

"yuki," you shook your head, you knew what she was doing instantly.

"y/n, you need to see him, neither of you has texted each other, and face-to-face clarity is what you need, to know if things are over or not. plus, respectfully, he looked really good in his pictures, so when i saw that you had been invited, i accepted immediately," she cheered.

"and you look amazing, he won't be able to keep his eyes off of you," she told you, reassuringly. gulping, you nodded at her words, looking out the window.

feeling an uneasy knot in your stomach, as the black carpet came into view, yuki squeezed your hand.

"just focus on the camera and he'll come to you," she whispered before the car slowed down and the door was opened.

your heart sped up, seeing him a good distance away, taking pictures next to aiku oliver. they made casual conversation while posing for their pictures, well, he mumbled a few words, as aiku talked his ear off, smiling brightly.

"oh my gosh, y/n!" one of the many paparazzi members screamed, snapping a photo. instantly, it felt like all of the different cameras were flashing. they shouted praise at you, asking which team is your favorite? who was your favorite player? did you intend on wearing the brand? as security went to lead you away from the carpet, your eyes discreetly widened, seeing that he stood watching you.

"thank you," you told security, going to approach a few blue lock members.

"hi," you and bachira said, giggling, as you hugged each other. while you hadn't followed each other until recently, the two of you had been mutual on social media for some time now.

"i can't wait for this to be over, i need food," bachira whined to you, as you nodded in agreement. you could still feel his eyes on you, but you couldn't face him.

"y/n, do you want to sit with us?" meguru asked, already pulling you to his table.

"i-sure," you nodded as he giggled.

intertwining his arm with your own, you both began to make your way into the building, to your seats. talking with bachira eased the nervousness that once filled your stomach, and soon you found yourself enjoying the event, as the two of you shared commentary.

just as the event began to end, you excused yourself to the restroom. once you were finished, you stood washing your hands, before touching up your makeup. suddenly, the door opened, and sae waltzed into the women's restroom, locking the door.

"sae-

"were you going to speak to me, or just flaunt yourself around like eye candy?" he asked, approaching you. even with the high heels, he managed to tower over you.

"i didn't know we were on speaking terms, i haven't heard from you in almost a month," you said, wrapping your arms around your body.

"i have been busy, i hardly have any time with my phone, how have you been?" he asked.

"i’m okay," you shrugged.

"i've missed you," he confessed.

"i've missed you...too," you agreed.

"i don't want to be a secret, i'm not asking you to wear it on a shirt, but i don't want to hide you" he said, as his fingers went to your waist, pulling you closer. nodding at his words, your breathing was shallow as he kissed your lips.

"you look beautiful," he complimented, kissing you again, moving down to your jaw. humming as he kissed your neck, you looked up into his eyes, biting your lip.

"i want you," you whispered, and in an instant, he had you in his arms, leading you back into the large stall, as you kissed his soft pink lips.

lifting the dress, he passionately kissed your lips, as you lowered the black thong. immediately, he took them, shoving them into his pants pocket. his large hands explored your figure, missing every curve from your perfect body. unbuttoning his pants, you hungrily accepted his kisses, as he stroked his cock.

picking you up from the ground, your legs went around his waist, your hands around his neck, while he aligned with your entrance.

"y/n...i love you," he said, as his cock slid smoothly into your creaming cunt.

gasping in pleasure, you were silenced by his tongue going into your mouth. bouncing you in the air, your low moans were drowned out by his grunting.

"you're fucking me so good," you whimpered to him, feeling yourself unraveling.

"i want you to release all over me," he encouraged you, as you began clenching around him repeatedly.

breathing ruggedly, you nodded earnestly, trying to concentrate, as the knot tugged in your abdomen yearning to be released.

"i’m close," you cried out, the sound of your skin slapping filled the restroom before your face was buried in his shoulder, as you moaned. your body visibly vibrated a few times before you pulled away, looking at him.

his cheeks were flushed, as the corners of his mouth turned upward, kissing your lips as he pulled out, slowly letting your heels touch the floor. holding your waist, he leaned down, kissing you a few more times, before he pulled away, allowing you both to fix yourselves. lowering your dress, you went to reach for his pocket, when he grabbed your hand - kissing your knuckles.

"you can get them back later," he smirked, as you adjusted the dress and your hair. turning to leaving the stall, he held your waist once more.

"don't go that long without reaching out again, i thought we were done," he continued, his eyes widening, as you pecked his lips.

"come on, bachira invited me out for food with him and yoichi," you grinned, leading him out of the stall and out of the bathroom.

the two of you got a few questioning glances, but no one said anything as they headed out to their cars, some going home, to after parties, or food. holding his hand, you began heading out of the building, when he stopped you.

"what are you doing?"

"you said private, but not a secret right? i can do that," you told him, puckering your lips as he leaned down to kiss you. wrapping an arm around your waist, he bit his lip as the two of you exited the building.

"y/n, when did you and bachira meguru become friends?"

"sae itoshi, the two of you seem close, are you together?" they threw question after question at the two of you, but this one seemed to catch his attention.

"yes," he nodded, pecking your forehead.

"and how long have you been together?"

"a while," he replied stoically, walking away, and helping you into the suv.

"you're going to have an article out about us by morning," you laughed, as he sat next to you, shutting the door. instantly, he was kissing your lips once again.

"when we get to my suite, this dress is coming off," he groaned, feeling your hand pressed against his print.

"i need to text yuki and meguru-

"they’ll understand when they see the blogs, silence your phone silent, tonight is just us, no distractions," he told you. nodding in agreement, you put your phone on dnd, tossing it to the side, before laying back in his arms. oh, how much you’ve missed this.

[boooweirdo]

Radio Statics

Pairing: Alastor x Female!Reader

Description: Since joining the hotel, you haven’t spoken a word to Alastor. The both of you knew each other from past human lives and it slowly comes to haunt the both of you. Maybe words being spoken that were once unsaid.

Warnings: violence (choking, fighting), arguing, and mentions of murder.

A/N: Hello! I hope y’all doing well. It’s been a real while since i posted about Alastor so it’s time for him to make a little return. This is a little different on what I’m used to but I hope y’all love it (and maybe hear your own interpretation of the ending) anyways enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night was quiet.

Quiet as a dead mouse much would say. Inside of the hotel it seems to lock away all the disrupted noises and explosions that occur a few miles away from the city of Hell.

Even standing out on the balcony and observing the pure mess that is drawn out below us. 

You can always feel everyone’s anger out in the street. With their own mindless story that involves a sprinkle of trauma and death in it. 

Yet I suppose that’s what Hell is all about. Their own lesson that ended up here.

With days of trying to convince the people in the city to redeem themselves to get to heaven it seems to question a bit on everyone’s beliefs, or bring a dilemma of a past that you try to set behind you. 

And for me all I have been doing is running from the past. Dying alone was the best part of anything, yet knowing half of the people you loved weren’t exactly good beings was the worst part.

Ending up here was hard enough to accept; but knowing the true reason of being here was harsh.

Knowing a sick man in the past that you trusted and stay loyal with—was killing people for fun.

And now he’s in the damn same place in the same damn hotel as I am.

Looking at each other, passing each other, and not sparing a word to each other.

Small looks and glances that send me revolting with pity, sadness and anger that have held since I found out about his death in the woods.

Finding out the truth from the detectives as they tell you the amount of bodies found. Turn my stomach sick the next few days not being able to eat.

It was at least a decade ever since and even with much time helping to mend those wounds; It never seemed to be enough seeing his face appear with such a sadistic smile.

My feet were worn tired after staring outside for a solid moment. Staring down below of Hell raging on with all committed sins right down there.

For a second I felt a breeze hit my back. And clicks that sounded almost like shoes walking on the hardwood floor. These flickers of unnerving radio statics that peak in the middle of silence.

The clicks became ever more present. A figure next to me with a cane and smile that tucked into his real personality. Sharp as ever with a suit.

He stood still.

I stay still. 

So still someone may have called me a statue.

His presence was noticeable and I knew that the longer time went on, I couldn’t pretend he wasn’t there. 

“It's certainly an interesting view isn’t it?

First words to break the silence. Only coming from Alastor.

My eyes seem curiously glance beside me. Catching the sight of him. I couldn’t seem to believe the fact he was clearly ignoring the undeniable tension that grew once stepping into my room.

He was so tall. He always was but here in Hell, it looks like he took up some couple of inches. With a sewn on smile on his face and signature radio like voice that he emitted.

I look away and focus on the view again. Drowning out the emotions and thoughts merging.

“Looks awfully pretty, but horrible.”

A chuckle came out of him hearing my response. “Oh come now, don’t be so harsh. Hell has its own…unique charm.”

“Sure. If unique charm is probably getting harassed or assaulted by every living thing here.”

The corners of his lips seem to be tugged into a makeshift amused smile. Another spike of radio static came through.

“My dear, that’s exactly the unique charm of Hell. The chaos, the violence, the absolute anarchy that reigns supreme. You know this very well yourself.”

A pause took place. Alastor peeks to see me before continuing.

“After all, haven’t you experienced it firsthand?”

My hand gripped the rail of the balcony and faced away from the view. Getting the hint of my emotions getting angrier the more he spoke with that aggravating tone and radio statics of his.

“I would say the same to you too, asshole.”

Facing away from the balcony, I saw him tilted his head with a slightly mocking smile. I knew inside of him he enjoyed revealing the anger out of his sick amusement in it.

“My, my. What vocabulary you have there. I wasn’t aware you were such a potty mouth, darling.”

He chuckled, the radio static becoming more pronounced for a moment. He knew he was pushing my buttons, but he couldn’t help himself.

“And you’re still the annoying prick thinking he’s better than anyone else. That radio show sure made you jerk.”

I spat out with a taste of venom. That kind of venom that sits inside for a long time and comes out hot.

“Someone’s particularly moody today. I must admit, I’ve missed that fiery side of yours. Still, such rude manners are unbecoming.”

He tutted, circling around to stand in front of me, his gaze fixed on me. “Besides, dear, even with my radio show you never went running away from me.”

“You didn’t either. The both of us never ran away from each other.”

The sentence suddenly made him went silent for a second. Unsure if it made him think or angry. In the midst of it, I made my way to the dark fill of my room to sit on the edge of my bed. 

I couldn’t help but frown as I saw him still in the same position. Standing out and staring at whatever caught his eye in the city. Thinking about all those memories that seem to be blurb of mess that didn’t interlock with each other. 

“I have to admit, I’m surprised that you’re even here in first place,” said Alastor. “Makes me think why you ended up here in the first place for such perfect morals for a person like you.” 

“You thinking?” I scoffed. “I thought you had to stop doing that, especially after killing those people.”

He lets out a hum that almost seems to vibrate inside of me and sends shivers that crawls down my skin. His walking getting heavy, with each step that weighed down on the old rickety brown floors, and his head trying to peek at my face to get high on how much I despise him—with every fiber that strung in me.

My fingers tangled themselves in my bed sheets and my courage built up once his eyes had met mine. 

Alastor continued to smile. “Don’t act so dumb. For a smart girl like you, don’t ever try to insult your own intelligence over mine.”

I furrowed my eyebrows but his radio statics were muffler louder.

“You knew. You always knew and you didn’t try to stop me either, right darlin’?”

My brain was clouded. Before I could function, I stood up and my hand grabbed one of the vases with red roses on my nightstand and threw it. Landing and crashing into bits of pieces, an inch closer it could’ve landed on Alastor. 

The roses landing right in the middle between us and there was pause of just me catching onto my breath.

Alastor stood there completely unfazed. If anything, a small chuckle spurt out of him. “Careful darlin’, or someone would get the idea you’re trying to kill me.”

He teased and stood directly in front of me, crowding me on the edge of the bed and forcing me into him.

“Kill you?” I spat out. “It will be the last thing I would do to you if I ever had you.”

Alastor's smile never falters. His eyes twitch.

My chest begins to heave and my hands tremble. 

“What do you want from me?” I cried out. “You’ve stolen everything that I ever had with me when I was just human? I gave everything to you and cracked almost every singular part just so for you to be reminded of me. I gave up every ordinary thing and yet you couldn’t get enough of it last time!”

My face flush and my head begins to reel into my emotions and my hands push him. Taking more steps, taking up the space that had left between us.

I continued. “So why again, huh? Why? Why do you love torturing me? Did you get high from it? Do you love seeing me being fucking possessed from you? Do you think about me all alone when nobody isn’t there to bother you and you can’t help but imagine me alone in a room with you?”

The amount of pushes and my yelling, his ears twitch and smile begin to crinkle. His fingers dented into his cane. The longer I stared at him, I felt woozy and each deep breath felt shallow making my feet stumble.

“Torture you? I would never—“

“Oh please. I’ve seen the way you look at me. You love it,” I interrupted him.

I push him again pressing on his chest and he stumbles backwards this time off guard. 

Alastor still smiled but through his little wrinkle inner corners of his eyes, I knew his irritation was growing more present.

“You think you know me so well, don’t you? You act as if you know my every word and intention,” he said.

“Like you said, we are good pals and I think I have rather good painting of who you really are. I knew you when you were nothing but a man with dreams.”

His eyes narrowed and his smile became tighter, for a split second with light leaking into the room, a shadow passed by behind him. 

“You think merely knowing my past makes you better than me, Is that it? You believe that you are the only sinner here that knows the real truth of the Radio Demon, simply because you knew me when we were just humans?”

Alastor bent down to my level and his eyes drowned in some kind of mockery, and something else. 

“You want that,” He added. “You love the idea of being the only being to ever understand a man like me with such gruesome intentions. This isn’t about me but really, you.”

My eyes flicker away from him and a tight ball develops in my throat. It suffocated me and it made my eyes teary

“Now don’t lie to yourself, I’ll only start to pity you,” Alastor smiled. 

Alastor stood up properly. Bringing the space back and letting the cold air hit me once again. He dusts himself off from his shoulders and fix his bowtie. His eyes flicker down to me if I was gonna say anything back to him, but I didn’t. My gaze was stuck on his chest and it was clouded by thoughts that led to remembrance.

It’s been a decade. I have swore to never let myself sink to the slight nostalgia. It made me feel sick and guilty that it lasted in my body for hours. It felt too nice, too reassuring. Nostalgia is meant to be a warm blanket for buried truths, but now it feels like im standing with a shovel in hand

Alastor twirls his staff and hummed a tune, preparing to leave and making his way to the closed door of the room. A couple steps in and he wears a winning smile that stretches over his face.

“You didn’t have a microphone.”

Alastor stops halfway. His back faced away from me. Alastor peeks behind his shoulder. 

“Say that again, dear.”

“You looked everywhere and even attempted to steal one from town market shops. It was risky and I remember you chicken out, but with the money troubles—you stole it. It was…Mister…Mister Brody. That was his name. The man that owns the shop. He made sure you never came back. Yet he never wanted to admit how proud he was of you.

I watch him stay there, no catch of any wind or movement of him.

“You had a suit. A raggedy suit that had fabrics falling off and had to be patch up with a sewing kit. It was only suit you ever own and given to you by your mother—“

His fists clenched and my wrists were pulled by green mist created by thin air. I yelped from the sudden pull and there I could see it was magic turn into chains he had finally got me. 

Yet I push.

“You were so insecure that everyone thought you would look bad, but with your charm and humour—it didn’t matter if you wore a bad suit or not. If anything it made you a man who only wanted to give people simple entertainment from the struggles people had.”

The green chains weigh heavy, causing me to fall to the floor. I didn’t react fast enough by then there was one wrapped around my neck.

“You were—shining! Everytime you—got the chance—“

His hand pulled the chains and I was dragged on the floor. I struggle to stand up or try to run, he dragged me harder. By then I was laying on the ground, and he tighten the chain around my neck.

“Everyone called you sad and pathetic! I always remember those words being told left and right—no one had any chance of believing in you, no one care!”

The metal on my neck dig deep and by any chance I knew it could rip through my skin enough for it bleed. The oxygen was slowly being suck out of my head and I gripped on the chain.

“You thought for the longest maybe,” A dying breath escape out of me. “Maybe they were right—but they weren’t.”

“You were never sad and pathetic,” I continue with the last breath I could contain. “I believe you weren’t sad and pathetic—you were my best friend, Alastor. No one could’ve done anything to change my mind about you, even how awful and cruel you were to the end.”

My voice begin to break without the air. Tears begin to distort the last bit my vision. The last bit of being able to see Alastor, and his sinister smile that was slowly crumbling.

Inside, I slowly gave up and my weight became almost limp. My hands were nearly pale and blood was being drawn out. 

I didn’t know if there was no “afterlife” for the after life. Maybe I can picture the black void. Maybe that’s enough to comfort me now.

Before I could imagine anymore of the black void, the chains went loose and nearly fell through thin air and disappeared for good. 

The green mist flowed against the hot air lingering in the room and Alastor almost fell to the ground as to where I was. 

I try to catch a glance or peek of him—yet his arms soon found around me. Alastor dug his head to my neck and his ears appeared out from it. His body pressed against mine and his radio glitchy statics became sorrowful the longer he hold me tighter.

Alastor didn't speak or do anything as he kept me closer between his hands placed on the small spot of my back.

Only the radio statics fill the silence. 

[f2delity]

Burning Desire

a little something special i had wrote for valentine's day <3

fem!reader x cho hyun-ju

nsfw

note: this was supposed to be on valentine's day, but I've been extremely busy :( i'm soooo sorry for the late post!

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

It was the night of Valentine’s Day, and while Hyun-ju was at work, you made sure everything was perfect for the night the two of you would have. Rose petals were placed on the floor, the trail following to the bedroom door. Candles were lit, two glasses of wine were on the dresser for the two of you, and gentle music played in the background as you sat on the bed in the red lingerie set you bought yourself to surprise your girlfriend; patiently waiting for her to be back home. 

*click click click*

You could hear the lock from the front door turning, your girlfriend was home from work. A gentle smirk appeared on your lips as you stayed in the bedroom, waiting for her to make her way to you. 

“Y/N, baby I’m home!” Hyun-ju exclaimed as she walked through the front door, closing the door behind her and locking it. 

Her eyes began to wander around the living room, trying to see where you could be after she took off her shoes and placed them by yours next to the front door. “Well, she’s still home..her shoes are still here.” She thought to herself as she started to search for any clues that could’ve been left by you.  She continued looking around, minutes later, she looked down at the floor; seeing a trail of rose petals leading from the living room to the hallway where the guest bedroom, bathroom, and master bedroom were. 

She began following the trail, the trail was leading to their bedroom. As she got closer and closer, she could hear the music coming from the room. Her hand reached for the doorknob, turning it to open the bedroom door. 

“Baby?” Hyun-ju asked as she opened the door before she looked into the room. 

“Did you not he–” Before she could finish her sentence, her eyes laid directly on you. Her eyes shifted up and down as she admired you from afar, a gentle smile appearing on her lips while her cheeks flushed. 

When she walked into the bedroom, she closed the door behind her and made her way towards you. You stared into her eyes as she approached the bed, she climbed onto the bed; the mattress dipping now that she was there. 

Her hand brushed up against her cheek, giving you a gentle peck on the lips. 

“This was very sweet of you.” She said before she went in with another kiss. 

Her other hand moved its way behind your back, as the kiss began to become more passionate with a burning sexual desire. She was hungry for you, she wanted to eat you out right then and there like it was her last meal. You grabbed her hand from behind your back, helping her slide down the straps from your shoulders; doing whatever you could to help her hurry up and take the lingerie off from your body. She moved her lips away from yours, and the two of you stared into each other’s eyes as she pulled it down from your chest; revealing your breasts. 

“Boy oh boy..someone’s hungry.” You thought to yourself as she continued to pull it down your body, now tossing the clothing to the side. You took a moment to catch your breath, trying to read Hyun-ju’s face for what her next move could be. 

Her lips crashed against yours instantly again as she wrapped one of her hands around your neck, the other one moved down to one of your breasts; gently squeezing it as the kiss deepened. 

She began leaving a trail of kisses from your lips to your jawline, proceeding to move down to your neck and then your chest; taking her sweet time as she continued down your body. Once she reached your stomach, she opened your legs and proceeded to plant kisses from your thigh; now moving toward your inner thigh up your leg, completely teasing you. 

Hyun-ju made her way up your body, your nipples hardening as you felt her lips against them before you could feel her lips against yours again. One of her hands moved down towards your core, her thumb gently caressing your clit as she slid two fingers into your entrance; slowly pumping them in and out. You moaned into her mouth as the two of you continued kissing, as soon as she heard you; she proceeded to pick up the pace and move them a bit deeper inside you. 

You instantly pulled your lips away from hers, hiding your face in the crook of her neck as she went faster and curled her fingers against your spongy g-spot. 

“Hyun-ju..” you quietly cried out as she kept hitting all the right spots, your body slightly shaking as your cries of pleasure continued to get louder and louder in the bedroom. 

“It’s okay baby..let me take care of you.” She whispered in your ear. 

You could start to feel a knot in your stomach form as she continued fingering you, your walls tightening around her fingers; letting your girlfriend know that you were close to your climax. She could tell that you were close, but she wasn’t done with you just yet. She wanted to be able to eat you out before you could even climax. 

“Don’t cum just yet, baby..” She cooed as she slowed down the pace and moved her thumb away from your clit. 

You moved your head away from the crook of her neck and watched her move down your body until she reached your core, a smirk appeared on her lips as she looked up at you in the current state that you’re in. 

“I can’t hold it..” You whispered.

“Please.” You begged.

She didn’t say a word to you, the pace of her fingers continued at a slow pace as she pressed her tongue against your clit; gently licking your clit as she worked her fingers inside you. You placed your hand on top of her head, your fingers began to get tangled in her hair as she picked up the pace again. You pushed her head closer to your core as you threw your head back. 

“Fuck,” you breathed out as you felt her tongue put more pressure against your clit and her fingers curling against your sweet spot. 

The knot in your stomach began to become more powerful, your legs shaking as you felt yourself inching closer and closer to your release. Hyun-ju was not any better than a man, she was much worse especially when she LOVES to use the finger and tongue combo on you. Her fingers continued to work inside you and your legs started to shake more as you felt her fingers curl one last time against your g-spot, causing you to cry louder than ever as your warm juices coated her fingers.

She began to slow down the pace and moved her tongue away from your clit, helping you catch your breath. Two fingers became one, then one became none once she removed them from your entrance. She looked into your eyes as she took her fingers that were coated in your juices to her mouth and licked them clean before she could move up your body again, pressing her lips against yours. 

“You did so well, just breathe now love..” She cooed. 

She placed her hands around your waist, helping you onto her lap, and kissed your cheek. One of her hands moved from your waist to your back, rubbing your back as you hid your face in the crook of her neck. Your legs wrapped around her waist while you gently held onto her, doing whatever you could to help catch your breath and sync your breathing with hers.

“Just breathe now, take small deep breaths..” she whispered in your ear.

Your cheeks instantly flushed.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Hyun-ju.” You whispered.

“Happy Valentine’s day to you too, baby.” She whispered back.