#that girl gives no fucks and does what she wants

[cheftsunoda]

hiii i would love to request a fic w lando or oscar where reader is a famous actress/model/socialite and she’s always been deemed as problematic by the media. she’s more wild and has been seen smoking, partying, and getting w older guys so when the internet sees her w oscar/lando they lose it.

bad influence — op81

smau/blurbs

oscar piastri x !actress reader

Hollywood’s favorite wild child. Formula 1’s golden boy. Nobody saw it coming. While the world was busy turning her into a headline and him into a poster boy, they were sneaking around—hotel lobbies in the early hours, blurry FaceTimes after races, stolen weekends in countries neither of them were from. They’d been together for months. Quietly. Carefully. Until now. Because nothing stays secret forever.

fc : lily rose depp

—

ynluvsu

liked by troyesivan, oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux & 5,027,003 others.

ynluvsu : a wise man once told me…don’t just celebrate your birthday…celebrate the whole month 🍸

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alexandrasaintmleux : gnocchi and leo need to have a play date soon!!

liked by ynluvsu

↳ ynluvsu : omg yes. need to see your beautiful face soon!

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

username0 : ugh why is alex in her comments? she is so trashy and alex is so classy. i can’t stand it.

↳ username5 : her and alex are friends and you do not know her personally so hush.

troyesivan : my fave kind of chaos. love you forever.

liked by ynluvsu

↳ ynluvsu : my troye boy. love you alwaysssss

versace : you ate down.

liked by ynluvsu

↳ ynluvsu : thx for the new bday attire

liked by versace

username10 : ugh oscar is in the likes too. he is too…angelic for someone like her. she is so disgusting

↳ username15 : y’all can hate her all you want but she absolutely MOGS all of you and versace made her bday wardrobe so i doubt she cares

liked by ynluvsu

franciscagomes : face card is absolutely lethal.

liked by ynluvsu

↳ ynluvsu : my keeeeeeks. i adore you.

liked by franciscagomes

↳ username11 : KIKA NOOOOOOOOO

yourbff : matching tramp stamps next?

liked by ynluvsu

↳ ynluvsu : only if you pick the design

liked by yourbff

username22 : when is she gonna realize this party girl act isn’t cute??

liked by ynluvsu

↳ ynluvsu : your pussy is way too dry to be riding my dick like this.

liked by yourbff, oscarpiastri and troyesivan

↳ username15 : PLS no one ever PR train this woman. i love her.

liked by ynlovesu

↳ ynluvsu : love you baby angel x

liked by username15

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gossipnewsx

liked by ynluvsu and 907,437 others.

gossiproomx : Spotted- YN LN making her fourth exit from a nightclub this week. Does Hollywood’s favorite wild child even remember what a film set looks like?

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view 53,085 other comments.

ynluvsu : yes i do. just how your father remembers what i look like from behind x

top liked comment

↳ username25 : i fucking love her

↳ username7 : she is so distasteful. why do ppl continue to give her a platform?

↳ ynluvsu : why did your mum keep you??

top liked comment

trixiemattel : a true diva never clocks out

liked by ynluvsu

↳ ynluvsu : MOTHERRRRRR ILY

liked by trixiemattel

↳ username15 : MY MOTHERS OMG

username30 : y’all acting like you wouldn’t party too if you were hot, rich, young and unbothered.

liked by ynluvsu

username33 : i stg if oscar gets dragged into her mess im gonna lose it.

↳ ynluvsu : oscar don’t know you mama

liked by oscarpiastri

username72 : some of us actually respect ourselves. can’t say the same for her. 💅🏻

↳ ynluvsu : your mama didn’t respect herself when she stayed with your daddy after he cheated. 😘

username55 : why is she still getting jobs when there are so many more talented and sane people out there??

username75 : every week is the same. she will never change.

username35 : does she actually even act anymore or is she just famous for doing drugs and being hungover??

—

By the time I finally made it back to my penthouse, my feet were killing me. I kicked off my heels in the hallway, letting them clatter somewhere near the marble, and tossed my tiny bag onto the kitchen counter. My phone buzzed again in my hand — group chat chaos, Instagram tags, the usual tabloid alerts. I ignored them all.

Instead, I slid open the balcony doors, letting the city hum in, and lit a cigarette. The cool air bit against my bare legs. My black Versace dress was sticking to my skin from the dance floor, gold chains lightly clanking in the wind. Then my phone buzzed again — but this time, it was him.

Oscar 🧡 wants to FaceTime…

I didn’t even think twice before answering. His face lit up my screen, all soft curls and sleep-heavy eyes, wearing the McLaren hoodie I’d “borrowed” last time and definitely never planned to return. He was lying on his side, clearly in bed, a little pillow crease on his cheek.

“Hey, trouble,” he said, voice all gravel and grin. “You make it home?”

I smiled. Couldn’t help it.

“Barely. I think my ankles gave up on me halfway up the elevator.”

Oscar chuckled, the sound like honey over static. “You looked like chaos tonight.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly, taking a slow drag. “That’s the goal.”

He rolled his eyes but kept smiling. “You always look good, but the new tattoo? I was ready to fly out there and do sinful things to you.”

I snorted. “So dramatic.”

“You’re not even drunk, are you?”

“Just the right amount,” I murmured, flicking ash off the side of the balcony. “Buzzed enough to consider texting you something wildly inappropriate, but sober enough to know better.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want to?”

“Mm, maybe I do,” I teased, curling my legs beneath me on the couch. “You miss me or something?”

His expression shifted — softening around the eyes, his grin becoming something quieter. “Always,” he said, voice lower now, honest.

My heart actually flipped. Like an idiot.

“I know the whole world thinks you’re a menace,” he added, “but I just think you’re… an angel.”

I stared at him, stunned for a second, caught off guard. People always had opinions about me — too loud, too wild, too much — but he never tried to tame me. He didn’t flinch at the headlines or the chaos. He just kept showing up.

“You’re really bad for my reputation, Piastri,” I said finally, trying to keep it light.

“I can handle it,” he replied, smiling again. “Besides… I like being your secret.”

There was a long pause. Not awkward, just… full. Full of everything we weren’t ready to say out loud yet.

“I wish you were here,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

“I will be soon,” he promised. “Race weekend’s almost over. Then I’m all yours.”

I grinned, teeth and all, and said, “Good. Because I need my birthday present.”

Oscar laughed again, warm and fond and stupidly in love. “Then I guess I better it.”

“Bring yourself,” I said, already curling up on the couch with the phone still in my hand. “That’s all I want.”

He was still smiling when we hung up. My name softly leaving his lips as the screen dimmed to black. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t care what the headlines would say tomorrow.

—

ynluvsu added a post to her story!

seen by lando, alexandrasaintmleux, yourbff and 7,038,003 others.

lando : never thought id see oscar piastri whipped

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↳ ynluvsu : i just have that effect norris

liked by lando

↳ lando : but happy bday yn! can’t wait for tonight.

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↳ ynluvsu : ty lando. u dj tonight?

liked by lando

↳ lando : obv bday girl

yourbff : he is exactly what you deserve. glad he loves you like you need mamas. can’t wait to celebrate tonight.

liked by ynluvsu

↳ ynluvsu : love u sm

alexandrasaintmleux : omg so beautiful. happy birthday pretty girl! so excited to see you!

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↳ ynluvsu : tysm bbg. can’t wait to get an alex hug 🤍

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

—

I woke up with the sun creeping through the sheer curtains, golden and annoyingly cheerful for someone who fell asleep in last night’s makeup. My mascara was definitely somewhere on my pillow, my mouth tasted vaguely like tequila and cigarettes, and Gnocchi was sitting directly on my chest, staring into my soul like he’d been assigned the job.

“Happy birthday to me,” I groaned, shoving my hair back with one hand and reaching for my phone with the other.

42 unread messages.

15 missed calls.

I sat up slowly, wincing as I stretched — and then I saw them. The flowers. Bouquets. Everywhere. Lining the floor, flooding the counters, sitting on window ledges, tucked into corners. Roses, lilies, hydrangeas, wildflowers, peonies, sunflowers — like a full-blown garden had exploded in my penthouse. Each one had a tag. Some from brands. Some from friends. Some with questionable poetry. But the ones with the orange silk ribbons? All from him. Each card handwritten.

“To the girl who stole my heart.”

“In case I’m not the first one to say it—Happy Birthday, trouble.”

“Sorry in advance for burning your eggs. Love, Oscar.”

Wait—what? I stood up, still in my pink satin robe, and tiptoed through the flower maze toward the kitchen. And there he was. Oscar Piastri. In my kitchen. Wearing nothing but grey sweatpants, my actual “Birthday Girl” sash over one shoulder, and the softest smile I’d ever seen on him. Flipping pancakes like he belonged there. Which… he kind of did.

“You’re really here,” I whispered, still half-asleep, leaning against the wall like my knees might betray me.

He looked over his shoulder, dimples in full force. “Happy birthday, trouble.”

“You broke into my penthouse.”

“You gave me a key,” he said, placing a very wobbly pancake on a growing stack and walking over to me. “So technically, I broke in with consent.”

I laughed — messy, giddy.

“You’re insane,” I murmured, wrapping my arms around his bare waist as he tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear.

“And yet you keep letting me in.”

“You brought thirty bouquets.”

“You like dramatic entrances.”

“The sash?”

“You left it on the floor. Gnocchi told me to.”

I kissed him — because how could I not? And when I pulled back, he looked at me like I was the only thing that existed.

“You know,” he whispered, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

I pressed my forehead to his and whispered, “and you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

And somewhere behind us, the smoke alarm went off — because Oscar had absolutely burned the second pancake. But honestly? It was still the best birthday morning I’d ever had.

—

The thing about turning a year older when your public persona is “unhinged party girl with no chill” is that everyone expects you to go big. Which… fair. And I did. I went huge.

By the time we pulled up to the club, I was wearing a barely-there rhinestone dress that was glued to my body with sheer will and fashion tape, Oscar had that nervous-smiley look he always got when he knew he was about to be dragged into chaos, and Lando had already yelled “BIRTHDAY SHOTS” before we even got out of the car. Classic.

The VIP section was lit in gold and purple. My name was on the wall in LED lights. The DJ shouted, “THE BIRTHDAY GIRL IS HERE!” like I was royalty, and everyone screamed like I actually was. And honestly? It felt like I was.

Oscar held my hand as we walked in, his fingers laced through mine in a way that was casual but protective, like he already knew the cameras would find us eventually. He leaned down to whisper, “You look… amazing tonight.”

“Good,” I smirked. “Let’s make bad decisions.”

He laughed, kissed my cheek, and let me drag him into the glittering, smoky chaos. Charles and Alexandra showed up a few minutes later — she looked like a Vogue cover in a pink fluffy coat, and he was in that linen-shirt-slightly-unbuttoned. Alexandra handed me a shot with a wink and said, “You don’t age. That’s offensive.”

Lando was already dancing on the couch with two sparklers in his hands like an unhinged Sims character. I wasn’t sure he’d had dinner. Or water. Or a single coherent thought since 8 p.m.

Pierre and Kika arrived matching — in black and red — and honestly looked like the hottest Bond villains I’d ever seen. Kika handed me a wrapped box. Inside? A gold lighter. Iconic.

Everyone was drinking, dancing, laughing. Charles was trying to explain the Macarena to Alexandra, Oscar was holding my purse and swaying with Gnocchi who was currently wearing a rhinestone harnass, and Pierre and Lando were plotting to get the DJ to play One Direction. Again. And then the DJ cut the music and shouted:

“CAN WE HEAR IT FOR THE BIRTHDAY GIRL?”

The lights dimmed. Champagne popped. Sparklers erupted. And suddenly, my face was on the screens — behind-the-scenes pics, memes my friends had made, and a clip of Oscar in the corner of the frame saying, “She’s trouble, but I love it.”

I whipped around to glare at him — playful, not mad — and he just shrugged with that crooked grin, then mouthed, “Happy birthday, baby.”

And I melted. Right there in six-inch heels and too much body glitter. I didn’t care who saw. Because for once, I wasn’t just the wild girl in the headlines. I was the wild girl in love. With a boy who didn’t try to fix me. Just kept showing up with flowers, burnt pancakes, and that damn soft smile. And that? That was worth celebrating all month long.

—

The elevator doors slid open with a low chime, and suddenly it was quiet. No music, no flash photography, no champagne towers or DJ yelling my name like I was some kind of god in heels.

Just the echo of our steps on marble, the soft jingle of Gnocchi’s harness as he trotted ahead, and the sound of Oscar dropping the keys into the bowl by the door.

He had his arm around me the whole way home — not because I needed it, but because he wanted to. His thumb kept brushing over the inside of my wrist like he was grounding me, reminding me he was still here. Still real. Still mine.

I kicked off my shoes with a sigh that was mostly relief, and peeled my rhinestone dress down to the floor like shedding armor. I walked toward the kitchen in just his jacket and my makeup-smeared birthday sash, glitter sticking to the backs of my thighs and leftover adrenaline buzzing in my veins. Oscar was already there, barefoot, hair a mess, eyes on me like I was the most beautiful disaster he’d ever survived.

“You okay?” he asked softly, holding out a glass of water like I hadn’t just ruled an entire club.

“Yeah,” I whispered, voice rough from too much singing and shouting. “Just… tired.”

“Happy tired?” he asked.

I nodded and took a sip. “The happiest.”

He reached out, ran his hand down my arm, fingers brushing the curve of my new butterfly tattoo. “You were electric tonight. Like, everyone in that room felt it.”

I laughed quietly, leaning against the counter. “Good. I needed them to remember who they’re dealing with.”

“I never forget,” he said. “Even when you’re in sweatpants, yelling for Uber Eats.”

I rolled my eyes, smiling. “Romantic.”

Oscar stepped closer, his hands finding my waist, soft and slow. “You were magic tonight. You are magic. And not the kind that burns out.”

There was something different in his voice. Not tipsy, not playful. Just honest. I looked up at him, the boy who had spent the last few months loving me in secret — in the shadows of headlines and champagne-fueled chaos, behind closed doors and under his breath.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked.

His eyes searched mine.

“That I want to be the one you come home to. Not just tonight. All of it.”

The words sat in the air between us like something sacred.

“I’m a mess,” I whispered. “You know that, right?”

“You’re my mess,” he said, pulling me in. “And I’ve never wanted anything more.”

I leaned into him, forehead to chest, breathing him in. The scent of cologne, champagne, and whatever spell he had me under. And in that moment — glitter-streaked, mascara-smudged, barefoot in a penthouse I sometimes still couldn’t believe was mine — I felt like the luckiest girl alive. Because he didn’t just survive the chaos. He chose it. He chose me.

—

The sun was way too bright for how much tequila I drank. My head ached in that dull, post-party way that felt almost nostalgic — like a reminder that last night had been loud, and full of too many bodies, too much glitter, and one boy who kept looking at me like I was the only thing in the room.

I slipped out of bed carefully, trying not to wake Oscar. He was curled up on my side, hand splayed across where I’d been laying. I watched him for a second — soft, still, a little messy from sleep — and then padded out toward the balcony with Gnocchi trailing behind like a tiny hungover shadow.

The city felt quiet from up here. My phone had 87 unread messages. I didn’t want to check a single one. I lit a cigarette, took one slow drag, and leaned my elbows on the railing. The smoke curled upward, lazy in the morning haze, and I exhaled like I was trying to let go of everything still stuck to my ribs — the headlines, the labels, the glitter that never quite washes off.

“You okay?”

His voice was scratchy, sleepy, soft — the exact opposite of how I felt. I turned to see Oscar in one of his sweatshirts that I stole, hair sticking up, eyes still heavy.

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Just… felt like I needed air.”

He walked over without saying anything and stood next to me, silent for a beat before gently plucking the cigarette from between my fingers and taking a drag like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“I meant it, you know,” he said after a moment, eyes fixed on the skyline. “What I said last night.”

My heart tripped.

“You remember that?”

Oscar looked at me then — really looked at me — and nodded. “I remember everything you do. Even when I probably shouldn’t.”

I felt that in my chest. Like a bruise. Like a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding for months.

“It just… it sounded too good. The way you said it.”

He didn’t flinch. “Why’s it so hard for you to believe that someone could actually mean it?”

“Because people like the version of me that sparkles. They don’t stick around once I start to fade.”

Oscar leaned in closer, one hand resting on the railing next to mine. “I didn’t fall for the sparkle. I fell for the girl smoking on her balcony at 9 a.m., thinking too much.”

I turned toward him, lips parted, trying to find something to say. Something that wouldn’t make me sound like I was already in too deep. But then he kissed me. Soft. Slow. A little sleepy. The kind of kiss that didn’t need explaining.

And when he pulled away, he said, “You don’t have to burn out to be magic, YN. You just have to let someone stay long enough to see it.”

I blinked back the sting in my eyes and nodded. Because maybe, just maybe, I finally believed him. Even if my hangover still hurt like hell.

—

ynluvsu

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, lando, oscarpiastri and 11,090,002 others.

ynluvsu : if you ever think you know how to party...try partying with the grid. im hungover asf. thank uuu all for all the birthday wishes and thank u to all my friends for making my night the best :)

tagged : alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri, lando, charles_leclerc, pierregasly, franciscacgomes and yourbff

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view 295,044 other comments.

lando : i’m still at the club. send help.

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↳ ynluvsu : im coming buddy hold on.

liked by lando

↳ oscarpiastri : HELP IS ON THE WAY DEAR

liked by lando and ynluvsu

danielricciardo: i wasn’t there and yet i still feel hungover from these pics

liked by ynluvsu, oscarpiastri and lando

↳ ynluvsu : aw my 2nd fave aussie

↳ danielricciardo : i'll take it. happy bday yn!!

liked by ynluvsu

username8 : ugh she needs to stay away from all of them. she is gonna ruin their careers.

↳ lando : erm actually i am perfectly capable of ruining my career on my own. don't give yn all the credit

liked by ynluvsu and oscarpiastri

↳ mclaren : lando no. happy birthday queen yn!

liked by ynluvsu and oscarpiastri

alexandrasaintmleux : best night ever celebrating the prettiest angel i know. love u sm:)

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↳ ynluvsu : my babyyyyyyy <3

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

franciscagomes : omg i had so much fun. love you baby

liked by ynluvsu

charles_leclerc : i am never drinking again (until next weekend) HAPPY BDAY YNNNNNNN

liked by ynluvsu

username23: whole grid really said “watch me waste my career in real time”

↳ ynluvsu : don't be a killjoy. they can go out and have fun gma. i didn't force anyone to snort a line. chill.

liked by oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux, pierregasly, charles_leclerc and lando

yourbff : i legit watched lando lose the contents of his stomach and then take back to back shots.

liked by its_yn, lando and oscarpiastri

lando : like a champ ;)

—

f1gossipgirls

989,002 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Oscar Piastri and what looked like half the F1 grid were spotted at YN LN’s chaotic birthday bash in Hollywood last night — and while we’ve been hearing whispers about her and Oscar for months, no one wanted to believe the grid’s golden boy would be caught up in her mess. But then a certain photo surfaced — and let’s just say, it wasn’t giving “just friends.” More like “handsy in VIP with zero shame.” Steamy club moment? ✅ Oscar holding her dog. ✅ The internet combusting by sunrise? Also ✅ Thoughts? Reactions? Cries for help? We’re all ears.

—

view 120,374 other comments.

username38 : he was supposed to be the sweet one 😭😭

username7 : i’m gonna be sick actually. i did NOT sign up for this character arc

username17 : this is literally the hottest thing he's ever done idc

username33 : can we admit she’s a little too much for him???

↳ username15 : no. no we can't

username27 : imagine getting mad that a 24 yr old is acting 24 😭

username55 : praying for oscar’s PR team rn 💀

username75 : unpopular opinion but she gives 🚩🚩🚩

username70 : can’t wait for him to regret this in 3-5 business days

username22 : how do you go from being the sweetest guy on the grid to this

username100 : he’s gonna look back on this era and CRINGE so hard

—

two month time skip

twitter!

gossiproomx : has anyone else noticed that yn ln has been like invisible lately?? she hasn't been seen at a club in almost two months and she has completely stayed off all socials.

view 200,300 other replies.

username00 : no clubbing? no unhinged stories? she better not be entering a boring era

username0 : what if she’s just actually happy now?? terrifying concept i know

username1 : bet it’s rehab or another PR reset 😭

username5 : if i was her i’d disappear too after getting dragged for breathing

username7 : she’s GROWING!! she’s HEALING!! we’re in her character development arc!!

username10 : notice how she goes quiet and suddenly oscar’s thriving?? just saying

username11 : y’all acting like she’s batman she literally just got tired of y’all

username13 : shocking what happens when the cameras go off and there’s no attention to chase

username15 : hopefully she’s learning how to be a little less exhausting

username17 : as long as she is leaving oscar alone idgaf what happened to her.

username20 : heard she might be working on something. she was seen over seas like two days ago.

—

Two months ago, the internet was clawing at me, calling me everything from washed to wild to a walking PR stunt. Now? Now I’m standing barefoot in Oscar Piastri’s kitchen in Monaco, wearing his McLaren hoodie and absolutely nothing else, trying to get his fancy-ass espresso machine to work while my hair does its best Medusa impression.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice gravelly with sleep, wrapping his arms around me from behind like he’s magnetized. “You’re fighting the machine again?”

“I refuse to let a glorified kettle defeat me,” I mutter, still pressing buttons like I know what they do. “Besides, I like the dramatics. Keeps me grounded.”

Oscar laughs against my shoulder, warm and rumbling, and presses a kiss to my jaw. “It’s literally one button, baby.”

I roll my eyes, but lean back into him anyway, letting the quiet soak in. The espresso machine finally hisses to life — probably out of fear. It’s been like this every day. Mornings slow and sticky with sunlight. Toast we always burn. House or whatever weird playlist he’s gotten obsessed with that week. Walks along the harbor with Gnocchi tugging at the leash. Me working in secret, locked in the office with headphones and caffeine while Oscar trains or sim races or sneaks in to kiss my shoulder mid-edit. The media thinks I’ve vanished. The internet thinks I’m in hiding. But the truth? I’m just…happy. For the first time in what feels like forever.

“Your eyebrows are furrowed,” Oscar says, holding out a mug and watching me with sleepy eyes and bedhead that somehow still looks like a photoshoot. “Dangerous. You writing an essay in your head?”

“Maybe,” I say, curling up on the kitchen stool. “Or just plotting world domination. Same difference.”

He grins. “Still not gonna tell me what the secret project is?”

I smirk over my mug. “Not until I know it won’t flop.”

“It won’t,” he says, so certain it nearly stuns me. “Because it’s you.”

God, this boy. This quiet, ridiculous, big-hearted boy who never once tried to tame me — only held the fire steady. We eat breakfast with our legs tangled under the table, still yawning. Later, I’ll work until my brain fries. He’ll come home, kiss my forehead, read over my shoulder even when I tell him not to. And when the world comes knocking again — and it will — I’ll be ready. This time, I won’t be showing up in glitter and smoke. This time, I’ll be coming back with purpose. With peace. With him. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the biggest plot twist of all.

—

ynluvsu

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, franciscagomes & 11,403,123 others.

ynluvsu : retired menace.

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gossiproomx

2,037,003 likes.

gossiproomx : Miss YN LN was spotted for the first time in 2 months looking better and brighter than ever. She was seen two days in a row in Monaco. She was smiling, glowing and even signing things for fans. She recently posted a life dump which featured a few photos of her, a mystery man and two F1 Wags. What happened?? Y'all are gonna hate me for this but she looks GOOD.

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username00 : she really disappeared, got loved on, healed her skin, and came back glowing. legend

username0 : lowkey i feel like she just needed someone to love her and help her see she could heal.

username17 : the fact that kika and alexandra are in the dump too?? oh she’s in the circle now

username1 : she’s literally just soft launching peace and i love that for her

username5 : girl disappears for two months and suddenly everyone forgets the chaos 💀

↳ username15 : u must be fun at parties. let ppl grow asshole.

username10 : she’s still the same girl that started a fight over bottle service don’t let the lighting fool you

—

The countdown hit zero and the world exploded. I sank into the soft couch in Oscar’s Monaco apartment, phone warm in my hand, watching the trailer play on loop. This film — my film — the one I’d kept secret through months of silence and sweat and sleepless nights, was finally out there.

A story about pain, survival, and how the girl the tabloids called “problematic” was really just fighting to be seen. Not just a wild party girl. Not just a headline. But a survivor.

My phone buzzed nonstop — messages from friends, industry legends, even Reese Witherspoon calling it “brutally honest and beautifully done.” Tweets, posts, shares flooding in. Netflix was already asking about distribution.

Oscar came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, his breath warm against my neck.

“You did that,” he said softly, voice thick with pride. “Not just the movie. You bared yourself. You owned your story. And damn, you’re incredible.”

I leaned back into him, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I was so scared it wouldn’t be enough.”

He kissed my temple, fingers tracing lazy patterns along my arm. “It’s more than enough. It’s everything. You’re more than those headlines. And now? The whole world’s about to find out.”

For once, I didn’t have to hide behind the chaos. This was me. Every broken piece and every triumph. And for the first time, it felt like I was finally free.

—

f1gossipgirls

3,041,505 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Many many familiar faces at the premier of YN LN's new film. Over half the grid showed up and Oscar even walked her down the red carpet (we are totally crying). YN LN delivered a story that was raw, powerful, and hers. Say what you want, but there’s something special about watching a woman take back her narrative in front of the very world that once tried to write it for her. We love you, YN. The comeback era is officially cinematic.

—

view 902,124 other comments.

username15 : Oscar walking her down the carpet like she’s royalty?? yeah i’m sobbing

username1 : it’s the way he’s looking at her like she hung the moon. we’ve lost him for good

username00 : from scandal queen to respected filmmaker. this is the kind of character development i live for

username0 : never thought i'd be crying over her but here we are. wow.

username5 : i haven’t liked her before but… okay, that was powerful.

username7 : not oscar being a red carpet boyfriend… when did that happen

username10 : okay but how long until she’s back in the headlines for starting a fight at a brunch

username20 : i don’t care how “raw” it was, i’m still side-eyeing

—

It hit me when the lights of the red carpet blinded me—this was real. No turning back. No hiding. No editing who I was to fit what the world wanted me to be. This was my night. I clutched Oscar’s hand like a lifeline as the car door opened. The second our shoes hit the pavement, the flashbulbs started. A blur of camera shutters, yelling, people calling my name like they’d always known how to say it kindly.

Oscar leaned in close, his voice low and steady in my ear. “Breathe. You’ve got this.”

I glanced at him, trying not to cry too early in the night. “Do I?”

He smiled, that slow, steady one that always made me feel grounded. “You told your truth. The whole world’s just catching up.”

He didn’t let go of my hand once as we stepped onto the carpet. I could feel the buzz in the air — fans pressed against the barricades, calling out. I heard my name more than I ever had, and this time… it didn’t sound like an accusation. It sounded like love.

Oscar kept whispering things into my ear between stops for photos.

“You’re glowing.”

“You’re the most beautiful person here.”

“I’m so proud of you I could burst.”

“If they don’t give this movie ten awards, I’ll fight someone.”

And finally—

“I love you. You know that, right?”

I blinked up at him, stunned. I hadn’t expected him to say it here, now, while I was wearing a floor-length custom Valentino gown and trying not to trip in six-inch heels.

But I didn’t hesitate. “I love you too.”

The chaos quieted after that. At least in my head. When we entered the theater, I wasn’t prepared for the roar. The applause started before the movie even played. My eyes scanned the crowd and immediately welled with tears. There they were.

Lando, in a velvet jacket that was slightly wrinkled, standing and clapping like I’d just won an Oscar. Charles and Alexandra, hand in hand, Alexandra already crying. Pierre and Kika blowing me kisses. Even George and Carmen were there, grinning from ear to ear. I’d never seen so many people who had once just tolerated me — now celebrating me. When the film ended, there was silence for a second… and then it happened. A standing ovation. Long. Loud. Endless. My ears buzzed. My knees wobbled. I didn’t know where to look until Oscar pulled me in and kissed my forehead.

“You did it, baby,” he whispered. “You really did it.”

My mascara was already halfway down my cheeks when I turned to see Charles climb up to the stage to wrap me in a hug, followed by Pierre, then Kika, then Lando shouting, “Make room for your favorite nightmare!” as he shoved through and kissed my cheek.

The grid surrounded me. As friends. As family. They didn’t care about the scandals. The bad headlines. They’d seen me spiral and they’d stayed. And now they were watching me rise. And for the first time in a long, long time — I didn’t feel like a mess trying to be something better. I just felt like me. Whole. Loved. And finally, finally free.

—

oscarpiastri

liked by ynluvsu, lando, charles_leclerc & 14,007,543 others.

oscarpiastri : my love. my muse. my everything. i am endlessly proud.

tagged : ynluvsu

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

[tallymali]

i didnt expect this post to get notes but i wanted to expand on my thoughts on all this a little bit.

in recent years ive seen a huge rise in purity culture disguised as feminism. and it fundamentally misunderstands what the patriarchal standard of sexuality for women actually is. the patriarchy does not just want women to have sex with men. it wants women to be sexually malleable. the patriarchal standard is not to be sexy, its to be passive. you may only be sexy if instructed to by a man. you will not be sexual of your own accord.

a woman who knows herself as a sexual being, who has the agency to explore her own desires and boundaries, is actively repulsive the patriarchy. theres a reason every misogynistic man is obsessed with body counts and very very young women. they cannot bear the thought of having sex with a woman who has experience or standards or expectations. the most desirable thing in the world to them is a woman with no knowledge and no agency.

this is why many men will see an attractive woman, desire her, and become angry when she still exists in public as an attractive woman once they are in a relationship. he assumed without a single doubt that her attractiveness was FOR HIM. she was a product advertising her features, he bought her, and now that he owns her, he doesnt want anyone else to share his possession.

all this is to say, women who acknowledge themselves as the sole owners of their sexuality, are not a product of the patriarchy. they are not catering to misogynistic men, they are not trad wife propaganda. in my experience, they are actively good for women. bear with me.

from my personal experience, i think a lot of women who call any female sexuality degrading are not really having in depth conversations with women who have sex with men. they are not talking to their friends and mothers and grandmothers or any of the regular-private-citizen women around them about what their experiences with sex actually are. but im a neurodivergent woman with a special interest in sex, and i will absolutely talk about it.

i wanna clarify that im a feminine woman who has been in a relationship with a masculine man for 12 years. we are “school sweethearts”, we own a house together. we are both bisexual..but we’re not stupid, we know full well that most people see us as some kind of heterosexual goal. this combined with my willingness to talk openly about sex has made me somewhat of a safe space for other women who have relationships with men.

i cannot fucking believe i am doing a “let women be straight” here but in discussions of patriarchy, we do have to acknowledge that many women are going to be horny, and they’re going to be horny over men. we cannot responsibly say that women having sex with men is degrading and just draw a line under that. we know full well that the abstinence-only approach does fuck all for anyone. education and open discussion is a powerful tool against oppression. people are going to fuck, so we NEED to give them the tools to do so in a way that is healthy and positive for them.

to be quite honest i dont think people who have issues with candid discussion of sex are really understanding..the situation. girl, so many women are scared of their own desires and vaginas. some of them have never considered the fact that they can derive their own pleasure from sex, that there is more to be had than just the satisfaction of doing someone a favour. thats how a lot of them are having sex by the way. it is something men are doing TO them, not something they are active participants in. the enjoyment they have been socialised to believe is the only acceptable form of desire, is not sexual or physical, its in the act of allowing a man to get his own pleasure. we’re taught that the best thing we can be is selfless.

the women i have spoken to have such an ingrained puritanical belief that to be a woman and to engage with any kind of sexual content is to be tainted. im not talking about overtly erotic media here, im talking about educational resources. there is shame about learning their own anatomy. one of my best friends will not go to the gynaecologist because she cannot get over the idea that it is an inherently sexual and therefore dirty act for someone to see her vulva. her shame is preventing her from accessing medical care. it fucking breaks my heart to see a woman i love so much struggle like this.

and this is the main emotion i feel when having these conversations. straight up despair. women who dont know that sex isnt supposed to hurt, women who dont know they are supposed to feel safe with the person they’re having sex with, women who have never experienced an orgasm, women who didnt know there exists sex other than penetration, sex that acknowledges a woman’s body, not just a mans penis. what the fuck are we doing? as a culture we do need to make space for women’s desire. yes, women having sex with men has always been normalised, but women exercising sexual agency with men has almost never been accepted. marital rape is a very new concept in our culture. despair.

i have spoken to women who are shocked that my male partner cares about me in any way. shocked that my experience of the sex we have is a priority for him. shocked that we will have long serious discussions about sex that are not erotic in themselves (i.e. not dirty talk). shocked that in 12 years he has never treated my body as an object that exists for his pleasure. shocked that he fully respects and actively seeks out the agency i have over my body and sexuality. he doesnt WANT to do something unless he knows i genuinely desire it.

he and i both know that he doesnt get props for this. he knows he’s not doing some incredible act me here. he’s just treating me like a person. he has said that being complimented for treating me with respect feels like being complimented for not deliberately running down pedestrians with his car. “wow its so cool that you didnt do something horrifying!” what would be the alternative?

to some of these women, im the first person to communicate any of this. was it not for my exercising my own agency to have healthy sex and subsequently discuss said healthy sex, these women would perhaps have continued to think that the only form of female sexuality is the passivity that we are socialised into. im teaching these women about informed consent, about vaginismus, about STI testing, about vaginal arousal, about clitoral stimulation, about personal satisfaction, about safety, about FUN. if i believed, through “progressive” neopuritanism or regular old conservative repression, that my desires were dirty, that the sex i had was degrading, that its good for women to hide the fact that we can be sexual, who would have talked to my friends about these things?

and this is where i loop back to the the struggle people have with the difference between objectification and sexual agency. i dont think as a society we really have much of a reference for what female sexual satisfaction actually IS. if every time an adult woman in the spotlight expresses her sexuality we say she’s setting women back 100 years, if we can only see sexual women as degraded, then have we not normalised the idea that sex inherently leads to feelings of degradation? normalised sexual shame and guilt? by doing this we rob women of any reference to healthy sexuality that they can aspire to. we teach them that their sexual desire is essentially synonymous with the feelings one might feel after actually being exploited/abused/assaulted by a man. how then, will she know the difference?

i have a post sitting in my drafts about how i find the concept of sexual repression to be genuinely eerie, because if you feel guilt and disgust for having healthy consensual sex, how can you differentiate between that and unhealthy/harmful sex? when i have sex with my partner, i feel so positive. i feel joy. its fun and beautiful and wonderful. if we had sex and i started to feel shame or guilt, i would immediately know that something was off. i would stop what is happening, i would check in with myself and with my partner, we would have a good hard look at what happened. this ability for emotional discernment keeps us safe.

we should not be desensitising anyone to the genuine objectification and degradation of women by crying wolf every time a woman openly loves her body and her sexuality. if you see a woman in a skimpy outfit and decide she is objectifying herself, i beg you to question what part of her personhood she had to remove to wear her outfit. question whether place that her personhood was removed, was in your own head.

truly, women are not responsible for the abuse we face at the hands of men. if all women became perfectly chaste and dressed conservatively tomorrow, people would still be exploited and raped and abused. if a man takes one woman’s consent as all women’s consent, you will never make him a safe person by policing the women around him. you cannot enforce any standard of sexuality that all women will be happy with. people need to learn that women are not a monolith, we are whole human beings who need agency over our own lives. we need to give women the education and tools to set their own standards, and the safety to come forward, without the deterrent of societal shame, in the event that they are exploited. passivity is dangerous.

i dont really know how to eloquently end all this. i am typing with tears in my eyes. god, i just want people to know how to keep themselves safe. im not fucking speaking in hypotheticals, these women i love have looked in my eyes and told me all sorts of trauma that they were hesitant to even call trauma. how can we solve any of these problems when we live in a culture that cannot for 5 minutes drop the repression and purity that nurtures abuse and exploitation? pushed by people who claim to care, no less? despair.

the fact that a lot of progressive people truly cannot tell the difference between a woman who is sexually objectified, and a woman who is an active sexual participant is bad bad bad bad bad bad bad

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

"I fucking love you, okay?! I don't want to, but I do." Javier Peña

Angry Confessions ❤️‍😠

bio : this story is part of the Angry Confessions series (you can still be a part of it)

requested by : @lover-of-books-and-tea thank you!

warnings: angst, fuck buddies, jealousy, alcohol, one girl, fight, tears

He wasn't husband material, barely boyfriend material. But as a sex buddy - Javier Peña was perfect. However, things didn't go your way and fate decided to laugh at you.

The first time you felt this strange feeling was when he complimented the nails of the new girl who started working a few desks away. Nothing special, you gritted your teeth and simply decided to ignore it.

The second time he didn't show up at your place, even though he promised. You drank a bottle of wine by yourself, honestly hating yourself for how disappointed you were and how much you wanted Javier to show up.

It was just sex, nothing more. He didn't promise you anything and you never expected it. However, being in Colombia, working and being alone made people stick to each other, and you came across Peña. Did he take advantage of that? Maybe. But you were also an adult and you decided on such an arrangement.

Quick sex, when adrenaline was pumping through your veins and you had to stop thinking, or when the day was really hard. A sweet and lazy morning in bed, when he woke up next to you. Sometimes in the car, or in some closed office.

"You're just perfect, hermosa..." he whispered, pounding into you with all his might, and you tightened your fingers around his broad shoulders.

And there you were. In one of the bars, with a drink in your hand and your gaze fixed on the girl on the other side. Peña was standing right next to her, wrapping her long locks of hair around his finger and smiling like he did many times in your direction. God! You hated him so much.

He must have sensed you, because he looked your way. He kissed the girl's hand, then walked over to you with lazy steps.

“Well, hello hermosa.” he greeted, leaning against the bar next to you. “I didn’t expect you here.”

“I noticed you already had company. I didn’t want to intrude.” You replied, taking a sip of your drink.

“You could always intrude.” His dark eyes slowly raked over your body. Shivers ran down your spine at the sight, it was sickening. “Maybe I should keep you company, huh? Or maybe you’d prefer I get a bottle and we could…”

“No.”

Your response was a shot, and Peña stopped mid-sentence. The smile disappeared from his face. He glanced around the bar.

“You didn’t come with anyone, did you?” he asked, leaning slightly toward you.

“Would you care? I think you were busy with someone.”

Javier glanced at the girl who was still standing where he left her, but his gaze quickly returned to you. “You’re the brightest diamond here, hermosa.”

You rolled your eyes. The alcohol only made your frustration, which had been building up in you for a dozen or so days, grow to enormous proportions. At that moment, you hated everything about him, from his raven hair to the tips of his shoes. Javier Peña was the sin you committed most often and for your own good, you should have stopped.

You didn’t answer. You grabbed your bag and quickly headed for the exit. But you should have known that Peña didn’t give up that easily. He was like a wolf hunting a lamb, and just outside the door you felt, in addition to the fresh air, his hand tighten on your shoulder.

“What’s that supposed to mean, hermosa?” he whispered in your ear. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

You looked at him defiantly. “I don’t have anyone I could be jealous of.” you replied.

“I think otherwise.” he smiled slyly. “You’re always so mad when you see me with someone else, and then we have amazing sex. That’s where this is going, right? You need me. Does she need me too?”

You wanted to punch him in the face. But at the same time, you felt like his words were hitting exactly where they were supposed to. You were dependent on him, he knew that perfectly well.

“You know, baby, you’re my favorite. I love teasing you, because then you turn into such a furious kitten.” His hand ran down your back, a shiver running through it. “I can feel it. You smell of desire... I can smell her all the way here.”

But then he saw it, the change in your eyes that made his heart stop for a moment. Tears were glistening, and you were looking at him in a way that made Javier feel like a fool.

“Fuck, I can’t believe I let you into my bed, Peña.” you hissed quietly. “I was so stupid…”

“What are you talking about?” he wondered. “We both wanted this, right? I didn’t force you to do anything.”

“I was just... stupid and naive.” you mumbled. You pulled away and Javier let go of you, watching you closely.

He didn't understand much. You were one of the closest people to him in the office. Yes, you had slept together. No, you hadn't talked about a relationship or feelings, but he thought that wasn't really what you expected. You knew what he was like. The office gossip was loud enough to get through to you, and you weren't stupid. Besides... You were out of his league. He was already lucky to have gotten to this point with you.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked a little louder, since you were already a few steps away from him, clearly heading home.

You stopped and turned to him. "Excuse me?"

"You've been walking around like crazy for the past few days. And when I get close, you're ready to sting me." He put his hands on his hips, watching you carefully. “What got into you, hermosa? I thought we were-”

“Fuck, I love you, okay?! I don’t want to, but I do.” You blurted out, blushing. “And I hate myself for how I feel when I look at you and those… those girls… Because I know I’m one of them.”

Javier’s eyes widened in understanding. He quickly rubbed his hand over his mouth, feeling his heart speed up. “This is a really bad idea, hermosa…” he finally said, “You know that-”

“I know.” You cut him off, “That’s why I’m mad.”

Javier looked around and slowly walked over to you. You felt so bad you just wanted to disappear. But when he spoke, God, you wanted to die.

“I’m not the guy who’s going to give you what you deserve, hermosa.” he said, “I’m sorry, but… You deserve better.”

You quickly wiped away a tear that rolled down your cheek. Your ears were ringing. "I know that perfectly well, Peña." You snorted. "That's why I'm not even asking you for anything. Just... foranget I said all that."

He knew he wouldn't forget, but he nodded. A moment later, he was watching your silhouette as you disappeared into the crowd of people, and he was still standing like an idiot where you left him.

This wasn't supposed to happen like this. He had screwed up.

[philosophical-goon]

Thinking about reader! Who can’t ride on it and have her clit touched at the same time. Doesn’t work. Her brain can’t comprehend it in tune, it’s like trying to rub your stomach and pat your head at the same time like one of those fourth graders in gym class who was just shown a new trick.

So when König gets agitated with her over something stupid, readers acting like a brat, blah blah blah, of course he makes her bounce on it.

If she wants to act like a brat, she can do all of the work and heavy lifting he usually does. See how she likes it.

She is his little pillow princess, don’t think otherwise, but there are times she pushes her limits, where she willfully acts like a little shit just to get put back in place. She likes it—how he can easily manhandle her, how all the strength it takes to put her back in her place, he possesses it in his pinky finger alone.

And when he finds out about this little spaz of yours..?

Oh, the punishment just got 10x worse.

It was already a struggle to work yourself down on the thicket of him, hands braced on his broad shoulders in a tight grip, digits trembling like your thighs as you slowly rocked your hips to work yourself down. You were whining and pouting, your words sweet and sugary as you begged, trying to appease him into fucking up into you, to flip you over and take it away— anything to help.

Of course, he just snorted at your misfortune, meaty paw-like hands grasping at your hips, a slight ‘tsk’ coming from him as he slowly pushed you further down his cock, a choked gasp lodging itself in the back of your throat, hips squirming in his kneading grasp.

“No help. Now, move- take your punishment well.” He spoke with a condescending sort of tone, the one that made you scowl and huff in irritation.

You weren’t given long before he jumpstarted your movements with a hefty smack on your ass, body lurching forward as your hips jerked, tight cunt clenching around him instinctively in a way that made him groan low in his throat.

Again, you could scowl and pout and whine all you wanted, but in reality, was it really doing anything, maus?

So, you put on your big girl boots and slowly started to move despite being the pillow princess you were, dragging your cunt up and down his length with a shudder. You were trying to adjust to having him so deep, but he wasn’t having none of that, not with how you had been acting today.

Spitting demands, talking back, arguing with him about every single little thing- and then you had the audacity to palm him through his pants mid argument?

Another sharp slap rang out, a yelp leaving your lips as the stinging sensation rippled through your left ass cheek, hushed words of “faster” ringing out near your ear, demanding encouraging your hips to move at the pace he wanted.

He wanted you to fuck yourself on him like he would. Moving at that desperate pace, hips smashing down on his, grinding as deep as he could get, tip crushing against your cervix. He would always be too big to take to the hilt, it was just the reality of his size.

“Don’t stop moving,” he gritted out, “not until I tell you.”

It would take you a good 25-30 minutes of you straight bouncing for him to even consider helping you out, much less giving you pity. He was getting a little free show, not to mention the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him so snuggly it was dizzying. The whines, the begging, pawing at him, crying for just even a little kiss.

There would be times you stopped because you were tired, even if your hips just stuttered, and he would smack your ass raw until you started back up. You quickly learned to keep moving, trying your hardest to appease him, to get what you so desperately wanted.

And finally, finally after enough begging and apologizing, through tears and sweat, he let you have a little taste of his thumb on your clit.

It was just barely, barely even there, but the feeling alone on your sore, over sensitive clit made your hips stutter, a garbled whimper leaving you with the pathetic nature of a mewling cat.

You couldn’t keep up, your rhythm was immediately thrown off—and it only worsened with the more pressure he put. Eventually, it was too overwhelming to the point your legs just couldn’t continue, hips stuttering to a stop as noises flooded out of you, legs shaking like leaves on each side of his wide hips.

A cruel smile spread across his features before you had time to notice it, too engrossed in the feeling of his calloused fingers rubbing tight circles in a way that had you holding onto him for dear life, hips unable to function aside from a few twitchy, pitiful jerks.

It felt like a goat locking up, everything was harder to control, to move. As much as you tried to move your hips, it was like trying to fight against an invisible force field. It was too overstimulating, your brain just couldn’t handle both at the same time without overheating :(

König’s waiting hand lashed out once again, palm smacking your ass with enough force that should snap you back into gear, but you don’t start moving, only a misplaced moan falling out as your cunt clenched around him tightly. You were trying, you really were, but you just couldn’t move properly with the way he was smothering your poor little cunny.

Your name rang out like a sharp warning despite his growing amusement, König’s tone a low reminder to keep moving as his thumb rubbed tighter movements on your clit, hips twitching with a groan from the feeling of your velvety walls squeezing around his pulsing length.

He knew the effect it was having on you, but he wanted to push you, to prey on that sweet weakness, exploiting your soft body and subjecting you to his mean, teasing touch just because he felt like it. He couldn’t help it, it was truly intoxicating for a man like him…

If you thought it was bad before, this was a whole nother level.

Smack after smack on your poor burning ass, sparks of pain shooting after each hit—he gave a mocking hum, feigning pity as he rubbed the sore skin momentarily, gripping the flesh in his calloused fingers before delivering another harsh slap.

“What’s wrong?” He cooed, thumb swirling, fingers chasing your pelvis as you tried to wriggle away with a cry.

You didn’t get far before his beefy arms wrapped tight around your back, pulling you flush against him once more, pulling you deeper, closer, cramming you as tight against him as he could get. He kept your poor cunny speared on him tight, not giving you any room to escape.

“Can’t do it? Hm? Can’t keep bouncing on my cock?” He picked through groans, his thumb spamming against your clit as he gripped onto your hip to keep you in place.

All that came out of you were gasping, high pitched noises, whimpering and hiccuping as your chest stuttered, body squirming against him instinctively to escape the sensation. It was a cute attempt to get away, really.

Your head shook on its own, a sob escaping through a sharp breath, hips squirming vigorously—but he just wouldn’t stop. He was too deep, too big, too close and too fucking consistent that it threw you over the edge quicker than you could realize, spasming all over his cock.

And of course, you’ll need to be punished for that too. All in good time.

—

Sorry this was a little self indulgent considering I was thinking of my own personal little experience :)) and I got lazy like halfway thru so hope it’s not trash idk.

[nvxzaa]

── .✦ Noona

Masterlist

Pairing : Yang Jeongin x reader

Genre : smut

Word : 745

Warning : unprotected sex, piv

At Stray Kids, no one really realises it - or maybe they do, but no one dares say it out loud - but between the two youngest members of the group, YN and Jeongin, there's something. A diffuse, discreet tension, never formulated. A kind of silent game, a fragile ground between childhood and what comes after. She's the youngest girl in the group, just a few months older than him, and yet he looks at her as if she has all the answers he hasn't yet dared to seek.

Every day, without exception, Jeongin asks her if she wants to go out with him. Always in a joking tone. Or almost. A "Do you want to go out with me?" dropped between sips of banana milk, in the middle of a rehearsal, or when she chooses her cereal in the morning. Always at the most banal moment. And every time, she answers "no". Always without mockery. Sometimes with a smile. Sometimes with a look that says a little too much.

He never stops. She never gives in. And in this daily back-and-forth, there's more sincerity than in many loud declarations. Because it's not just a game. It's a thread that runs between them, invisible to others. A habit. A strange balance. An expectation, perhaps.

One day she'll say yes. He knows she will. And she knows he knows.

But that evening, Jeongin asked her to dye a few strands of her hair blonde, nothing unusual, she's always the one who colours the boys' hair.

But tonight...

- You're such a liar..."

She say, when Jeongin pound into her, like an animal.

- "'m sorry Noona..you feel so good, fuck !"

She tries to contain herself as best she can, so as not to moan too loudly and have one of her Hyung hear her being fucked by the Maknae of the group.

Her breath catches more and more as Jeongin's pelvis slaps against her skin, as he breathes hard against her skin.

He kisses and sucks on her neck, just feeling entranced by her scent, and to contain his moans a little more.

- "Does it f-feel good Noona ? Am I making feel good for you?"

Yn doesn't answer, too focused on his pleasure.

Each of his moans is accentuated by Jeongin's thrusts, which make a steady sound against his skin.

Plap-plap-plap-

Her eyes are closed, and her stitches are tight against Jeongin's black top.

- You're the most incredible woman that a ever seen in my life-I-I swear..."

She doesn't answer, just moans beneath him as she buries her head in his neck.

Jeongin braced himself against the sofa, and accelerated his movements, feeling the pleasure rising more and more.

Her movements were probably too sudden, because the next thing she knew, her dick was slipping out of Yn's wall and landing on his pubis.

Yn groaned in frustration as she looked up at Jeongin.

- My bad. Sorry Noona...but you're so wet, it's...it's slippery... "

He didn't give himself time to reply as he grabbed his cock and slipped it into Yn's cunt without thinking, who groaned loudly as he felt himself being filled once more.

He begins his movements again, grabbing Yn's breast which is covered by her dressing gown.

- "F-fuck! Jeongin, I'm gonna-"

- "Yes! Please, Noona cum all over my cock! Pleasepleasepleasepleasease"

He repeats, over and over, burying his head in Yn's neck, his scent invading her nostrils, as Yn's legs begin to tremble with pleasure.

It doesn't take much for her to cum, all around Jeongin's cock, who moans almost too loudly as he feels her clench around him.

Yn's moans get a little louder, from the overstimulation, as Jeongin pounds into her again.

- "Oh, fuck..."

She almost sighs, as he feels himself coming.

- "D-dont..inside..."

She's almost unable to speak, so immobilised is she by the pleasure, she bites her lip hard as her eyes roll back as she feels herself coming again in such a short space of time.

And the next second, Jeongin withdraws, and places his reddened member on her stomach as he plays with her.

The two of them stand there in silence. Yn hides her face with both arms, while Jeongin stands still, panting.

He grabs both of Yn's arms and pulls her away from his face as he places a kiss next to her ear and wraps his arms around her neck.

- Do you want to be my girlfriend now?

[sturniololuvz]

“who the hell are you?”

meanmatt! x partygirl!reader — part 14

⸻

The TV is playing, but Matt’s not watching it.

Some half-watched crime documentary flashes muted across the screen. The volume is low. The lights are off, save for the soft glow coming from the kitchen under-cabinet strip.

You’re asleep in his lap.

And Matt’s heart is doing this stupid thing where it won’t calm the fuck down.

Your head is tucked under his chin, your body curled into him like it’s second nature. His arm is wrapped securely around your waist. The blanket’s bunched awkwardly over your legs, and your hand is fisted lightly in the hem of his hoodie like you grabbed it mid-dream and never let go.

He should move. He should shift you off, go to bed, put space between you like he always does.

But he can’t.

He physically can’t make himself move.

And that scares him more than anything.

Because this — this was never supposed to happen.

Not with you.

Not with the girl who wears ripped eyeliner at 3AM and dances on tables and has the kind of laugh that makes people look twice. Not with the girl who takes up every room and still doesn’t believe she deserves to.

Not with the girl he swore he didn’t even like a few weeks ago.

He brushes his thumb over your spine absentmindedly, eyes locked on the screen but not seeing any of it.

Then he hears footsteps on the stairs.

Chris.

“Bro,” Chris says as soon as he reaches the top step, bowl of cereal in one hand, phone in the other. “Tell me you’re actually watching this shit.”

Matt glances over, unbothered. “What?”

Chris looks from the TV to the couch — and freezes when he sees you.

Or more specifically, sees you curled in Matt’s lap like it’s your fucking bed.

Matt doesn’t even flinch. He just goes back to staring at the TV.

Chris stares harder. “You good?”

“She fell asleep.”

“In your lap?”

Matt shrugs, trying to play it off. “She was tired.”

Chris walks over slowly and sets his cereal on the coffee table, eyeing the scene with visible suspicion. “You let someone fall asleep on you. That’s a new one.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything. I’m just saying—this is, like, emotionally mature shit. I don’t know how to act.”

Matt glares at him.

Chris smirks, but then his face softens a little. “You like her.”

Matt doesn’t answer.

Chris lowers his voice. “You really like her.”

Still, nothing.

Just the flicker of the TV and the sound of you breathing softly against Matt’s chest.

And then, so quietly Chris almost misses it:

“I’m scared.”

Chris blinks. “What?”

Matt finally looks at him. His eyes aren’t wide, or panicked — they’re just real. Honest in a way he hasn’t been in years.

“I think I’m falling for her,” Matt says. “And I’m scared.”

Chris sits on the edge of the coffee table, tone going serious for once. “Why?”

Matt exhales, glancing down at you.

You shift a little, still dead asleep.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Matt says. “The… caring about someone part. The letting them matter.”

Chris raises a brow. “You do it with us.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because you guys never leave.”

Matt’s voice is barely audible now. Like saying it too loud will make it real.

“With her… it’s like—I don’t know. I keep waiting for the moment she decides I’m too cold or too complicated or too fucking much, and she just… disappears.”

Chris is quiet for a second.

Then: “She’s not going anywhere.”

Matt laughs under his breath. “You don’t know that.”

“I don’t,” Chris says. “But I do know you look at her like she’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Matt doesn’t respond. He just rests his chin lightly on top of your head.

“She gets under my skin,” he says. “Like, I’ll be fine, and then she’s just… there. Saying dumb shit and stealing my hoodies and making me want things I didn’t even know I wanted.”

Chris smiles, just a little. “That’s called being in love, dumbass.”

Matt gives him a look.

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Matt’s jaw tenses.

“She’s a mess,” he says.

“So are you.”

“She drinks too much, and she says the wrong thing, and she pushes people away—”

“Sounds familiar.”

Matt glares at him, but Chris just shrugs.

“She’s not perfect, man. But you’re not either. That’s kind of the point.”

Matt looks down at you again. At your hair sprawled over his chest, your fingers still loosely gripping his hoodie.

“She makes me feel like I can’t breathe sometimes,” he says quietly.

Chris leans back. “But it’s a good kind of can’t breathe, right?”

Matt doesn’t answer.

But his hand tightens slightly around your waist.

And that says more than enough.

Chris stands, grabbing his cereal. “I’m just saying, man. If you care, don’t fuck it up. Don’t be so scared of feeling something real that you push it away before it even starts.”

Matt watches him go.

Then looks back down at you.

And for once, he doesn’t overthink it.

He just pulls the blanket a little higher over your body, shifts so you’re lying more comfortably against his chest, and lets his hand rest in your hair.

Your breathing is still slow. Steady.

And for the first time in a long time, Matt lets himself want it.

Want you.

All of it.

Even if it scares him to death.

⸻

taglist : @sturniolo-szn2 @fadedstvrn @tezzzzzzzz @stayingstromboli @ivysturnss @sturniolofreakk @ihateemetoo @sturniolo-tease @sturniololuv3r @sturnsclam @nxvasturns @csturniolo43 @mattspillowprincess @sturniolo-fann @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @bernardmatthews @bugs-tags @emely9274 @arianna1342 @stevielovesmatt @riggysworld @ph3ebssturniolo @whore4chris @amelia4chris @pizzapocketpocketpizza @strxn-2 @xxxxxxlovesstuff @whump-loverz @sarahsturnn @urloveanaa @k-pevensie28

[majoryeager104]

Oh my god oh my god oh my god I just saw your dad Tomura head cannons post and can you please please please do that for Touya and/or Keigo? I beg of you 🙏

yesyesyesyesYESSS SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG 🙏😩

☆ Keigo ☆

✦••······················••✦•······················•✦••······················••✦ 

girl dad

That’s it. That’s the post.

ill chant it to the day I die

but if he has a son that boy is gonna be EXACTLY like him 😔😔😔

rip your sanity bc now there’s two of them flapping and yapping all over the place

Im definitely getting big sister little brother vibes

idk why the order specifically comes to mind I can just see that being the case for some reason

and his parenting style for both is mostly the same

save for that one time he told his son to ‘lock the fuck in’ when his grades were down

bc if he did that to his daughter she would cry and then he’d cry too and it would all just be a mess-

bc i just know his daughter is the princess of the house

like idk if you watch tbhk

but Kou and Terus little sister Tiara?

Being spoiled silly and an absolute princess?

that’s basically Keigos daughter

and yeah little brother is his MINI ME ISTG

certified yapper he must be so proud 😩

honestly though it’s adorable and Imma tell you why SIT DOWN.

Keigo didn’t really have a childhood. He sees himself in his kids. he wants to make sure they can grow at their own pace and live happy lives, and not have to deal with the toxicity he did (and does)

Like I feel like he’d cry at their birthday parties guys 😭😭😭 and take a billion pictures of them 🙏🙏🙏 and spoil them both crazy 💔💔💔

it’s acc so sweet the more I think about it

him watching them play in the backyard with this cute little smile on his face because he gets to give them what he didn’t have

gonna go cry now

✦••······················••✦•······················•✦••······················••✦

☆ Touya ☆

✦••······················••✦•······················•✦••······················••✦ 

dad touyaaaaa

The muse to many a post of mine

i love this man sm

Like, imagining him holding his bby for the first time makes me wanna cry.

its not even funny

but on a comedic note he’s like that one parenting meme where one is coddling the baby the other is flinging it around

guess which he is

and he’s not even trying to be rough is what kills me he just doesn’t know wtf to do

and he tells you so like a million times 🙄

god forbid you ask him to change a diaper omg 💀🙏

he’s WILLING TO, DONT GET ME WRONG

but if you don’t give him a tutorial five or six times, he WILL fuck up 😔

and he always feels bad about it but let’s move on before I cry abt him too

I like to imagine that when his kid gets older he like takes them on random jobs

easy ones, something he can get them out of in a jiffy

Like imagine him and his kid giggling and running away after setting a flippin dumpster on fire 💀 that’s what goes on in my head

and he’s so proud too

and if they get into fights at school?

”did you win”

and obv they did bc whether they won the physical part or not they still set the other kids backpack up in smoke afterwards anyways, which is probably the biggest reason they were in trouble in the first place

one more thing chat

His kids look like him, buuuut

what really gives it away? Mannerisms

I just know his kid would have the same maniacal grin as him. I can just see it.

like the two of them sitting together and grinning at the same time it’s uncanny

and hilarious. Take tons of pictures pls

✦••······················••✦•······················•✦••······················••✦

[erwinsvow]

Love this. Please tell me you have more thoughts

i think they have a spoiled girlfriend who you might confuse for a sugar baby besides the fact that the only thing you want is their constant affection + orgasms. delusionally i think they'd convince you that you don't need a job when you have two attendings to take care of you and doubly delusionally i think it works when jack is telling you (post three orgasms sandwiched in bed between him and robby) that it's not very fair to him if you keep your job and you're at work all day because that's the only time he has with you :( and it works like immediately. like taking candy from a baby. additionally i think they take a very normal sweet girl that they both could and would have fallen for individually and turn her into a spoiled attention hungry dick hungry sort of girl because they think that is fun <3 maybe i'm projecting. but if they have to go into the hospital on their day off since it's an emergency.. cue the biggest fit ever and then when they come back home to find you sleeping like an angel they have to wake you up because your punishment is making them both finish twice before you get to... except robby always gives in and lets you cum and jack is standing there with his dick in your mouth shaking his head like... man she's never gonna learn if you give in all the time and robby's like i know, i know, just look at her... ummmm am i exposing myself rn?? good cop/bad cop.. i fully believe robby cannot resist puppy eyes because he knows you're a very very good girl like playing the perfect housewife for them and crying when they get you pretty gifts because you're overwhelmed from the affection. and jack keeps on this persona like he knows deep down what you're really like (he does) and when it's just the two of you he's so soft with you... and i think there's no jealousy EXCEPT one time jack had the day off and robby had to stay late and when he comes home you're so incredibly fucked out like can't even stay awake or hold your head up like four orgasms deep smushed against jack's chest mumbling nonsense and robby is like. forreal bro. this is the only thing that got me through the shift. and jack's like sorry. couldn't help it

[justmeinadaze]

In Your Corner: Part 3 (Steve X Plus Size Y/N)

Warnings: Boxer! Daddy Steve X Sub Fem Plus Size Y/N, SMUT, in the beginning there's mentions of rough smut, Y/N gets choked a bit to hard and gives the safe word signal, its mentioned that Steve isn't paying attention or all there, nearer the end there's fluffy smut, dirty talk, p in v, slightly public if you squint (its not their house), oral (f), I think that's it.

FLUFF, Steve and Y/N talk about how much they love each other and Steve does something for the reader to make up for his fuck up.

ANGST (because I'm me and thrive on this shit), the safe word signal is used (three taps), Steve kind of dips into toxic territory and gets jealous, why is briefly touched on but he does expand on how it affected his insecurities (he's always afraid of losing her), they do get into a heated fight that's touched on (called each other names, he calls reader a slut and she smacks him), Mr. Harrington is mentioned (its touched on VERY briefly how he's not a fan of the readers weight), bruises are mentioned throughout due to Steve choking her but when the safe signal is called he does stop.

Through this series I have mentioned Steve's temper so I wanted to touch on if for one moment he lost control and how that would affect them.

Word Count: 5924

Series here/ Donate to Me

You sat on the couch as you cried, your hands shaking underneath the sleeves of his button up shirt Steve draped around you before you screamed at him to leave you alone and commanded he got outside. 

He didn’t want to leave you knowing you needed aftercare but after utilzing the safe word, he wanted you to do what you needed to feel comfortable. 

You could feel his worried eyes on you through the glass of the patio door as he paced back and forth smoking a cigarette to calm his own rattled nerves. 

He never meant to hurt you, never meant to take it this far. 

Steve watched you get up and he tossed the stick between his fingers over the banister before coming back inside, lingering in the doorway of the bedroom. 

It was still a mess from the chaos that ensued as soon as you both got home from the party his manager invited him to so he could introduce Steve to potential sponsors that would pay him a lot of money to fight. 

They wanted to get to know him and you were very much a part of him. 

Things were going fine until they weren’t. 

He watched you effortlessly move about the room talking to people as if you had known them for years reminding him of high school. You could talk to anyone with a patient grace that he loved as he observed you smile and giggle at something someone had said. 

Some drunk fucker tripped and spilled some of his liquor on Steve’s new suit making him huff. The man laughed and apologized profusely, complimenting him and telling the boxer how much he loved his style in the ring. He asked if the former jock was taken but without waiting for an answer pointed to you and talked about how gorgeous you were with a vulgarity that had him hissing threats till the man stumbled away. 

Steve watched you like a hawk, ignoring the people around him. Now filled his former insecurities, he didn’t see his beautiful fiancée who knew how to mingle but a girl he could lose at any moment. In high school he wanted you but you were never his. When he came home, you were with someone else before he stole you away. Your father hated him and even his own father made cracks about how you could do better than his son. 

No.

You were his and he wasn’t going to lose you to one of these preppy fuckers. 

He began snapping at people and even pushed some guy away from you who absently touched your arm in the middle of a sentence. On the ride home, you two fought and you rolled your eyes at the insinuation that you would want anyone but him. 

You weren’t taking him seriously… or at least in his headspace that’s what he perceived. 

Steve called you a whore, saying if you wanted to fuck all the men at the party, he should have just left you there. 

You called him an asshole who was acting like the kid you ignored back in school. 

He said he could do better than you so you should feel lucky.

You smacked him and told him he sounded just like his father. 

He grabbed your throat then and pushed you against the mattress where you two fought each other. Steve ripped your new dress he had bought you and yanked the necklace that was dangling from your neck all night grunting about how sluts don’t deserve nice things. 

You tore at the buttons on his shirt and pushed his pants down with your feet before rubbing his cock with your knee, making a quip about how the men at that party probably had bigger dicks that could satisfy you. 

Steve guide himself inside you roughly, slamming his hips so hard the bed underneath you shook hitting the headboard against the wall. 

He had never been this rough with you before and even worse his rules that he always stuck to rigorously in the bedroom seemed to disappear from his mind. The worst offender being his palm that came up to grip your throat again except this time his head was down beside yours. 

He always insisted because he was a lot stronger, that if his fingers were around your neck, he wanted to see your face that way if you were uncomfortable or if something was wrong, he’d see it immediately. 

Steve didn’t notice this time when his grip tightened. 

You tried to speak but you couldn’t and he was still pinning your wrists to the bed. 

Another rule of his broken, to always have some part of your hands able to touch him so you could tap out if you needed to. 

Right as the panic set in, he released you as his palm slide down the comforter beside you and you wasted no time smacking his back three times in quick succession hard. 

Steve immediately stopped, pushing up on to his elbows to check on you before your own used all their strength to push him completely to the side. 

You got up but your legs betrayed you as you feel the floor, coughing as you tried to catch your breath, hearing him run past you before kneeling beside you with a glass of water that you promptly took from him to toss across the room in anger. 

He tried to move your hair away from your face and his utter dismay…you recoiled. 

You screamed at him to go away and after covering you with his shirt, he did what you asked.

As he watched you maneuver around the bedroom, his heart sank. You looked so small in his button up with your leggings underneath. It took him a moment to even realize, you were putting your clothes into a tiny suitcase you had laid out on the bed.

“Baby, please—” 

Your hand raised, a silent symbol for him to stop speaking. 

“I…I think I’m going to stay with my parents…for a while. I, um, I think maybe…maybe it’s best we take a break from each other.” 

At your final word, your voice cracked as his eyes closed. 

“We’re not even going to talk about it? I don’t get a say in this?”

“No, Steven, you don’t.”

“Y/N, just…just take a moment and breath. You’re still coming down from the headspace and—”

“Are you kidding me?!”, you snap, cutting him off as you turn to face him. “You seriously think either of us were in our headspaces during that?” His eyes flick towards the bed that your finger absently gestures to. “What happened there was NOT Daddy and if any part of that was Steve—”

“It’s not. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I seriously just got lost in my own head and—”

“Yeah well, you getting ‘lost’ seriously hurt me.” Your eyes became glassy as you began to tear up again and your bottom lip quivered. “What was that, Steve?”

“I don’t know. I—”

“You don’t know?! You…you’ve always insisted on me being able to tap out or say our word if I needed to but you made it to where I literally couldn’t. I mean were you trying to hurt me—”

“No, Y/N. I—fuck!” At his outburst, you hold your breath as he places his hands on his hips. “I fucked up.”

“And that’s just here, Steve. What about the party? You kept telling me how important it was but then you were rude to someone and almost punched another.”

His eyes flittered from left to right as he searched for the words to convey how he was feeling but all that filled his mind was the image of you sobbing on the couch.

“Talk to me.”

“I can’t…I… just please, baby, stay here. I can sleep on the couch and then tomorrow I can take you to breakfast and—”

“No. I don’t want…I CAN’T be anywhere near you right now—”

“Then I’ll go. I can get a hotel and you can stay here where I know you’re safe.”

“I’ll be safe with my parents.”

Steve’s heart fully collapsed in his chest as your words hung with heavy implications. You needed to be somewhere he wouldn’t have access to you. Somewhere he couldn’t come and go freely. 

Somewhere he couldn’t hurt you.

“O-O-Ok, um, let me…let me at least help you…carry your things…to your car.”

At the sound of him struggling to keep his emotions in check, you felt yourself start to let go once more as a single tear fell down your cheek. 

“I can carry it, Steven, thank you.”

With heavy eyes, he watched you head towards the front door before pausing by the kitchen counter. Hope filled him as he prayed you were rethinking leaving but it was promptly dashed as you slowly took off your engagement ring and left it behind.

##################

You had never been in this much pain before in your life. 

It had been a week since you even talked to Steve and his absence was killing you. Your parents constantly asked questions you didn’t want to or even knew how to answer. Your father flipped out when he saw the bruises on your wrists but when you tried to explain that was something different, he wouldn’t listen. 

How do you explain that the bruises and marks on your skin were from a sex life you usually enjoyed? 

You went to work hoping to distract yourself from the pain but when you were met with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a card that read, “I miss you so much, baby. Please don’t think I’m doing ok without you. – Steve” you cried till one of your coworkers offered to take you out to lunch. 

You knew he had a match coming up and since you two had begun dating you hadn’t missed one. You debated not going, telling yourself the goal was to take a break and sometime apart from one another but the thought of you not being there to cheer him on oddly enough hurt way more than anything else. 

After a healthy mental debate and a long pep-talk, you threw on your most casual dress with your black flats and made your way to the small building that was already packed to the rafters with screaming patrons.

“Are you Miss Y/L/N?!”, an usher screeches before you could make your way to the front seat that was usually designated for you. “Mr. Harrington’s coach asked to speak with you!”

Before you can retort or protest, you were whisked away towards the locker area where his coach and manager were pacing. 

“Y/N, oh thank God.”, he sighs. “Steve said you weren’t going to make it and wants to forfeit.”

“What?”, you ask, genuinely confused. 

“He started getting ready but then right as he began taping up his fist, he said he wanted to forfeit the match tonight. Can you go in there and talk to him? Convince him that would be a terrible idea.”

Sighing, you open the locker room door to find the boxer sitting on one of the benches with his hair blocking his face as his head hung, his fingers fiddling with the tape in his hands. 

“Look, Jim, I’m not budging on this so—shit.”, Steve pauses when he notices it’s you walking towards him and not his coach. “Hey, Y/N, I, uh, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve never missed a fight before and I couldn’t bring myself to miss one.”, you mumble, your eyes carefully taking him in. “Why are you forfeiting? That’s not like you, Steve.”

“Yeah, well, neither is hurting you the way I did so…”, he huffs as his angry irises glare towards the mirror at himself before dropping once more. “You’re the reason I started boxing, Y/N. You’re the reason I fought so hard to get where I am. The idea of going out there and not seeing you in the crowd… I can’t do it. This past week has been hard enough…I can’t…”

“Please, Steve…please don’t make me the reason you give up on something you love doing.”

“I love you more.”

Air escapes from your nostrils as you heavily exhale and fold your arms over your chest. The little movement allows him a window to see the fading but still prominent purple ring around your neck. 

“Y/N.”, he whispers as he gets to his feet and places himself in front of you. “Let me see…please…”

When he reaches up to move your arms, you take one step back and he blinks away the pain. It takes you a moment but you do what he asks, lowering your sweater to show him what he had done; the imprints of his fingers till glowing against your skin. His glassy eyes took everything in, even the rings of lighter purple he could see around your wrists. 

“Jesus… you—you did the right thing, honey, leaving me.”

“I said we should take a break. I’m not sure about our relationship but—”

“No, Y/N, you should stay away from me. If I’m capable of that then—”

“Steve, this isn’t normal for you. You—”

“It may not be normal but that doesn’t change the fact that—”

“Are you going to keep interrupting me?!”, you shout eliciting a sigh from him as he takes a seat and you do the same. “I don’t care about the marks you left on me. It’s not abnormal for you to leave your imprint on me. What was different was…you. From the beginning, you’ve always been so steadfast about our rules in bed. ‘I’ll always want some part of your hands on me especially if you can’t speak so you can get my attention.’ It was like…you weren’t present…you do that sometimes when you’re mad enough. Usually, I don’t mind…to a point…like when you lose a fight.

I know you need to get that energy out and you know I can handle it. But that…that wasn’t Daddy Steve nor was it Steve, Steve. And at the party…it was like watching high school Steve. Add in what you said…a-about how I should feel lucky to be with you…like I’m beneath you.”

“Fuck, baby, no. I—”

“That hurt way more than this.”, you add as you gesture towards your throat. “That’s why I said you were like your dad. I wanted you to hurt as badly I was.”

“Steven?”, his coach called through the door. “Time is running out here, kid. What’s the plan?”

“Give me one minute, Jim!”

“Look.”, you begin as you stand and collect yourself. “Go out there and do what you’ve worked so hard for. I’ll be in my usual seat screaming your name like I always do. You got this.”

“Y/N.”, he calls, giving you pause as you start to leave the area. “Will you meet me after the fight? So we can talk and I can show you something?”

You smile even as the lie comes out of your mouth. 

“Of course, sweetheart.”

***

You couldn’t wait for him. 

You knew you needed to stick to your guns and allow you both time apart. You were glad you were able to tell him how feel but just like when you two were in school together, he didn’t reciprocate. You knew Steve struggled sometimes to say what was on his mind which is why you were patient with him and allowed him time to find his own way. 

This was different. 

You needed him to tell you why he behaved the way he did because you refused to be married to a man like Bill Harrington. When you met Steve’s dad, you noticed it immediately. The same air of arrogance that the boxer used to carry before you both graduated. He explained to you once that he believed that’s why he was an asshole, to impress his dad. 

“I thought maybe if I was like him then maybe he’d finally accept me. MVP swimmer and basketball player who’s friends with the popular kids with a pretty cheerleader type girl on my arm. Little did I know I could never make him proud of me.”

Bill was always polite to you when you were in front of him but you know he wasn’t a fan of you and your “image”.

“Sweetheart, she’s a sweet girl and incredibly smart.”, his mother had praised from her spot near the pool outside. 

“Yeah, if she lost a couple of pounds, she’d be perfect.”, his dad chuckled, seemingly not aware of the open window in his son’s bedroom. 

“I’m going to tell him off.”, Steve growled as he started to stomp towards the door. 

“No, no you’re not but I appreciate the thought.”, you coo as you wrap your arms around his waist. 

“You’re perfect to me, baby, NO MATTER WHAT YOU WEIGH!”, he shouts towards his window making you both giggle as you hastily snap it shut. 

Loud knocking on the front door startled you but not as much as the raised voices coming from downstairs. 

After opening the door to your bedroom, you quickly run down the stairs to be met with a rain- soaked Steve whose eyes locked with yours before trying to move your father to the side. 

“You didn’t wait for me after the fight and I completely understand but I really need to show you something.”, he rushed out even as your dad continued to block him. 

“No. Your relationship with my daughter is over. Now if you don’t leave my house, I swear to God, I will hurt you much worse than you did her. The only reason you aren’t already dead is because of her so you should thank her.”

“I love your daughter and I never meant to hurt her—”

“YET YOU DID! I’ve seen the bruises!”

“Dad, he didn’t…It’s not what you think…”

“Oh, so he didn’t put his hands on you?!”

“No, not like that…but he did cross a boundary with his words.”, you calmly reply and again Steve tries to step towards you. 

“I know I did. I’ve been thinking about what I said to you all week and I’m so fucking stupid, Y/N. I let my insecurities get that better of me. Some drunk asshole said some shit about how sexy you were and what he wanted to do with you, that’s why I went after him. He staggered away but I couldn’t get the words out of my head. I saw you laughing with those other people and talking to them so easily the way you always do but I saw red. 

Men kept grazing your arm or leaning in too close and then I saw that asshole head your way and I just lost it. That’s why I almost hit him. I didn’t care about my career or how people would perceive me. All I could think about was this fucker who told me he wanted to bend you over was about to touch what was mine… I should have talked to you. I should have told you everything but you were right. I turned into high school Steve and I got jealous. Like I told you at the fight, baby, everything I’ve worked so hard for is because of you. I literally fought to become a better man so I could come back to you and spend the rest of my life with you. I know I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for hurting you but I’ll do it, gladly, on my knees, sweetheart.”

At his last sentence, he falls to the floor on his knees and your dad scoffs in disgust. 

“Please, Y/N. Just come with me and let me show you what I want to show you. If you still don’t want anything to do with me, I’ll leave you alone, I promise.”

***

Steve glances your way as you lean your head against his car window to stare at the homes and businesses that pass. 

It takes every ounce of energy for him to keep his palms on the steering wheel and not reach out to hold your hand like he normally did when you both were in the car together. He knew he messed up and what killed him even more was your explanation about why you left. 

He had promised himself he would never treat any woman the way his dad treated his mother even though she acted like he hung the moon. That’s one of the many things he loved about you. You weren’t the kind of woman to push all that down and pretend with him. 

In bed you were submissive but in the world you were a force to be reconned with. In high school he would watch you talk back to teachers or his friends and he was in awe. How could you do that? How did you have the confidence or sarcasm to stand up to people?

Later on, he learned from you it wasn’t easy. Some days you just wanted to be fought for or taken care of; to have someone be as passionate about you and the things around you like you were with others. 

He wanted to be that for you. 

Every day, Steve did his best to be the man you needed and to him it was easy. He loved taking care of you and hearing the way you talked about everything. 

As long as he got to see you smile, that’s all he wanted. 

To be the reason you were in so much pain, physically and emotionally, it killed him. 

Your head straightened as he pulled into a drive way just outside of town and turned off his engine. 

“Where are we? Whose house is this?”

Softly smiling, he came around to open your car door and extended his hand to help you out which you take allowing him to relish a bit at the small amount of contact.

After digging into his pocket, he produces a set of keys and you follow him inside as he effortlessly opens the door. 

“Take a look around.”, Steve urges. 

It was a nice two-bedroom house with two stories and a big backyard that had an inground pool near the back. 

“The garage is pretty spacious. I was thinking I could put an AC unit in there and convert it to like a gym so I could train.” Your wide confused eyes meet his and he tosses you a small smile as he shuffles his feet with his hands in his pockets. “I hated being in the apartment without you so I would go for a drive or a walk to clear my head. I saw a for sale sign and when I came to check it out, I thought it would be perfect.”

“Perfect for what?”

“Our family.” Steve takes long strides till he’s practically chest to chest with you. “I messed up, Y/N. I messed up bad and I know that. I’m so sorry I lashed out at you and said what I said. You said you called me my dad to hurt me but you were right. I was acting just like him. You did nothing wrong but I treated you like you did. I acted like high school Steve… agreeing with something I know isn’t true…which in this case is my insecurities.

I was watching you talk to those pricks and seeing them touch you or you laugh at something they said…My brain kept telling me I was going to lose you or someone was going to take you away from me but in the end it was my fault. I’M the reason I almost lost you. 

Fuck, honey, nothing will ever hurt me more than seeing you crying on our couch. I couldn’t get that image out of my head…you sitting there alone, shaking, scared…because of me. That’s never going to happen again, Y/N, I swear. I don’t care what I have to do.”

Your eyes close as you try to suffocate the tears that start to fall and he gradually reaches out to wipe them away. 

“I haven’t put a down payment on this yet because I didn’t want you to feel like I was guilting you into staying. I want you to know though that the apartment is yours. I can move out within the week and I’ll keep paying the rent. I just want to know you’re somewhere safe and you don’t have to worry.”

At his promise, you cry harder and he internally panics as cups your cheeks, tangling his long fingers in your hair behind your head to guide your forehead to his lips. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking, baby.”

“I hated not being with you. I missed you so much, Steve.” Your arms circled around his waist, feeling him suck in a breath when you squeeze him. “Fuck, I’m sorry. He hit you a lot below the neck during your fight—”

“No, no, no, it’s ok. It’s nothing compared to not having you next me and I can’t even…you’ve probably been in a lot of pain to.” When you let him go, he pulls back as his eyes and fingers trace the marks on your neck. “I didn’t even realize I was grabbing you so hard…I didn’t realize both my hands had you pinned that way. I was…so in my head… I can’t even think about…if I had…if you weren’t able to get my attention.”

His lips kiss your bruises, open mouthed and gentle as your hands pet his hair and he sinks down on to his knees. 

“You trusted me to be in control and I failed you. I’m so sorry.”, he apologizes as his eyes meet yours and his palms settle on your hips. “I’m so fucking sorry.” His lips kiss your belly over your shirt before pressing his nose against the fabric. “I hated not being with you either. I was so terrified you would think I was ok with out you. Every time my mom left my dad, he called the nearest side piece to come over to make him ‘feel better’.”, he growls. 

“I spent so much time either hitting the bag or driving around the city thinking about you and what I had done…what I could lose…because I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Stop.”, you huff as you fall to your own knees in front of him so you can be eye level with his honey irises. “Stop talking about yourself that way. You do it so much…don’t let him win. Don’t let him take away the man you’ve become…the man I fell in love with.”

Steve chuckles lightly, flashing you all his teeth before kissing your lips. 

“We sound like we’re in a fucking romance movie.”, he jests making you laugh along with him and his heart bursts at the sound. “I love you so much, Y/N.”

His mouth crashes back to yours and you relish the taste as you cling to him again, guiding you both onto the floor of the living room. You lifted off his jacket, giggling again when rain drops fell against your skin. 

“If it’s not one thing, it’s another. One day it’s sweat and today it’s rain.”

“You like it.”, Steve teases as he takes off your own top, pausing slightly as he allows his lips to linger again along your bruises. “Daddy’s so sorry he hurt you, honey. You’re still so beautiful.”

“Will you make it up to me, Daddy? Make me feel good?”

“Yeah, baby, I can do that.”

As his mouth attached to your throat, his large, calloused palms slid along your chest, bringing your bra with it before tossing it to the side and trailing his tongue along your skin down the valley of your breasts. 

After pulling off your sweats with your panties, he took off his own shirt and you marveled at his toned abs slightly obscured by purple bruises of their own. You exhaled the way you always did, hating to see marks on his body like that, pushing up into a sitting position to allow your lips to kiss the wound. 

Steve sighed in pleasure at the feeling, petting your head before tilting it back so he could kiss you and lay you back down against the floor. 

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

Your back arched as he laid flat on his tummy and his wide tongue licked between your folds. Back, forth, up and down; the boy definitely knew how to move his mouth and your fingers clung to his perfect hair for dear life as his own hands refamiliarized themselves with your soft frame.

“Fuck, you taste like heaven.”, he panted, his humid breath making you shiver. 

Your mouth dropped open as you mewled, grinding your hips against his tongue to chase your high. When your thighs closed around his head, there was nowhere else he would have rather been, clinging to your legs as your lower half lifted off the ground while he licked you through your orgasm. 

“Atta girl, that’s my beautiful girl.”, he praised, kissing up your body till his lips found yours once more. 

Reaching between you both, he sloppily lowered his sweats to free his cock, groaning under his breath as he lined himself up with your entrance and slowly began to push himself in. 

“Shit…fuck, baby, I missed you. I don’t know w-what I would have done without you.”, he moaned out in a strained voice as he pushed up onto his palms to allow for more control of his waist as he gradually thrust his hips. 

“I missed you to…I love you, Steve…”

“Oh my God, I love you to, Y/N. Since the day I saw you, pretty girl.”

Taking a hold of his cheeks, you force him to look at you as he finds a steady pace, firmly punctuating each thrust with the smack of his hips against yours turning you into the equivalent of goo as only he knew how. 

“J-Just like that, Daddy.”

Falling fully on top of you, he encases you with his massive, warm frame as your arms circle around his back and cling to his shoulders. The sound of his grunts as Steve rolls his waist is like music as your pussy clenches tighter around him, begging him to continue on your behalf as he continuously hits that sensitive spot inside you that had your eye lids fluttering. 

“Imagine…us doing this once…this house is—fuck—ours… Daddy can have you every room…”

“Yes.”

“Any time I want…when you come home from work…w-when I’m all sweaty after a workout…” He pauses when he hears you laugh, smiling against your skin. “On our wedding night…”

“Fuck—in sexy lingerie?”

“Of course. I wish I could have been your first.”, he moans as his rhythm hastens. “But—Jesus—I’m happy to be your last. Cum for Daddy, baby.”

Your heels lock behind his lower back as your fingers thread through his hair, holding him tightly to you while your body trembles against him as you do what he commands. His muscular frame does the same as his hips falter before you hear him mewl and he empties his release inside you. 

You both continue to pant as you try to catch your breath and he tenderly nuzzles his nose into your neck while you continue to pet the back of his head. 

“I love it by the way; the house.”, you clarify when he pushes up onto his elbows and quirks his eyebrow. “I’m sorry I smacked you and for what I said. I’m not blameless in our fight—”

“No, no, honey. You don’t have to apologize—”

“Yes, I do. We both escalated.”

“Yeah…”, he sighs as his forehead tilts to rest on yours. “You and I know how to get under the others skin but doesn’t change what I did. In our dynamic, Y/N, part of my job is being in control and I wasn’t. I should have recognized that.”

“I knew you weren’t…I can tell when you’re present and when you’re not but…I thought I could help. I thought maybe if we got that aggression out, we’d be able to talk after like we always do.” Your little voice shakes causing him to replace his forehead with his lips before carefully pulling out and falling onto his side, bringing you with him so he could continue comforting you. “I wasn’t ok without you either. It felt weird not coming home to you.”

“I know. I hope you know I didn’t think you were out doing anything…I mean even if you were, I would understand. I just kept thinking about… what I lost if you decided not to take me back. Christmas by the fire while we watch those Claymation movies you like and our anniversaries at the lake.”, Steve grins as you smile and scoot your body closer to his, resting your head on his extended arm. 

“My cheering section in the stands during a match where I can hear you screaming my name over everyone else.”

“I still don’t believe you can.”, you tease and he reaches out to caress your cheek. 

“Seeing you in a gorgeous white dress while you say ‘I do’ in front of all our friends and then seeing that beautiful smile on our honeymoon. Having a little us running around with your laugh and my hair.” You bite your bottom lip to stifle your giggle as you slide closer till your nose is touching his and his palm glides down your back. 

“Having a woman who cares about me and not my name or what I can give her. A woman who gave me purpose, who is the most gorgeous, sexy, and perfect person I’ve ever met. That’s what ran through my mind as I watched you take off your engagement ring.”

Your lips gently connected to his as you hugged him before feeling him wince again. 

“Shit, Steve, I’m—”

“It’s ok, it’s just sore. Come on, baby, let me take you back to your parents.”

“Can we go home?”, you ask as you both rise to your feet and he begins grabbing your clothes to help redress you. 

“Of course. You don’t need to get your stuff?”

“I can get it later. I don’t really want to hear my dad tell me to stay. I didn’t tell him what happened but my sweater didn’t cover everything one morning and he saw my bruises. I told him you didn’t hurt me but it’s hard to explain without going into detail about our sex life. I feel more comfortable giving my mom the basics so I thought maybe she could calm him down.”

“I can talk to him if you want me to.”

“I appreciate that but I feel like it will be less combative if my mom and I try first.”

“That’s fair.”, he grins, leaning down to kiss you and wrapping his jacket around your body.

As you adjust it around you, something in the pocket catches your attention and you reach in to find your engagement ring. 

“Oh, um, yeah, I carried that with me everywhere…made me feel close to you and helped me…kind of think everything over.”

Beaming up at him, he matches your smile as you slide the ring back onto your finger before wrapping his arms around you to lift you off your feet and spin you around before kissing your lips. 

[sissylittlefeather]

True Love Travels on a Gravel Road

Chapter 1

A/N: Alright, I got enough votes on the poll to convince me to post this! I've been very discouraged about my writing lately, so if you enjoy it, please let me know. It's hard to keep writing when it feels like I'm screaming into the void. Those of you who have been loyal commenters, THANK YOU. You seriously keep me living. I wouldn't be me without you.

Now, about this fic. This is gonna be a looooong road, so buckle up and get ready. I hope you love the stick of dynamite in heels that is Leona Moretti as much as I do.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, no slow burn here. These two are magnets. Sex, smut, nudity, cussing, alcohol, all the good stuff.

Word count: ~3.2k

“Fucking ridiculous.” Elvis mutters under his breath as he stomps backstage, aggressively tugging at his white tie until it comes loose and he throws it across the room. He continues to rip off pieces of the tuxedo he'd been dressed in for his appearance on the Steve Allen show, throwing them all over the room. He yells at his band members in frustration, and they don't hesitate to yell back. In general, the atmosphere is tense at best as they debrief the performance. 

Leona stands hidden in the shadows, pen and pad in hand, watching the scene in front of her unfold. Her eyes are narrowed, and her lips are curled into a smirk. All she's heard from the other journalists is how sweet and humble this boy is supposed to be, but it would appear she's witnessing a different side of him. Truth be told, it turns her on a little bit. 

Eventually, he seems to run out of steam and just stands in the middle of the room, half-dressed and panting like a bull. She takes this as her moment and steps into the light. 

“Mr. Presley, do you have a moment?” Her voice is low and honey-smooth, and she immediately catches his attention. He turns to her quickly, ready to glare and fume, but he's completely caught off guard. It's the summer of 1956, and if most of the women he's met are baby dolls, this one is downright vampiric. Her black pencil skirt is scandalously tight, but long enough to still be respectable. The white silk blouse tucked into it is tailored perfectly and unbuttoned just a little too far, the soft roundness of her bosom evident in the opening. Her black hair is styled impeccably, teased and smoothed so well it gives the impression of a kind of effortless perfection, and the sharpness of her red nails is matched only by her black winged eyeliner. He does his best to keep his mouth closed, but the overall effect is shocking. She looks dangerous. “Well?” 

He shakes his head just a little to try to get his bearings back. “What?”

“You gotta minute for the press?” She points to the badge clipped to her shirt, and he tries not to focus on what's underneath it. Her accent is unfamiliar, crisp and sassy, but he wants to hear more of it. 

“Oh, um, yes. I guess so.” He shrugs and tries to rearrange his face to be nonchalant, even though he's standing in the middle of the room shirtless. She taps her pen on the pad and gives him a swift nod. 

“Good. You got somewhere we can talk?” A hush has fallen over the rest of the room as they watch Elvis and Leona size each other up. The two of them seem to have forgotten there's anyone else in the room. 

“Sure. Um. This way.” He points to a small dressing room, and she moves smoothly, her black patent heels clicking on the hard floor. Elvis looks over at Scotty, who raises his eyebrows. He shrugs and follows her into the room, carefully closing the door behind himself. 

“You seem upset. Did the performance bother you in some way?” Leona turns to face him as she waits for his answer. He sighs deeply.  

“I didn't catch your name, honey.” 

“Oh. Leona Moretti, Starlite Press.” He crinkles his nose, and she crosses her arms. “You gotta problem with the Starlite Press?” 

“No, honey, I just didn't expect a classy little girl like you to be workin’ for that rag.” 

“I ain't a little girl.”

“Sorry, honey, it's a southern thing.” She purses her lips. At 22, she's seen a thing or two, but she's never been south of the Mason-Dixon, so his accent is throwing her off too. 

“Well, you gonna answer me or not?” She puts her knuckles on her hips and stares him down. Something bubbles up inside him, and he has to look away for a bit. Then, he looks back at her and puts on a charming smile. 

“Where'd you say you're from?”

“I didn't.” But he just continues to stare at her sweetly. “Chicago.” 

“Leona Moretti from Chicago. Damn. Your daddy a gangster?” He chuckles, obviously joking, but Leona bristles a bit. 

“Nothing has ever been proven about Pop. Don't you worry about him. Unless you plan to fall in love with me.” Now it's her turn to smile, but there's a devilish twinkle to it that makes him swallow hard. 

“Wouldn't dream of it.” They stare at each other for a while, and then she sighs. 

“Fuck it. You wanna get a drink?” He blinks a couple of times, shocked first by her language and second by her suggestion that they get a drink. 

“I don't drink.” She rolls her eyes. 

“Well, then you can watch me drink. Let's go.” Elvis grabs a shirt and throws it on as she heads for the door. He doesn't even bother to change out of the tuxedo pants or shoes. He just follows her. 

******

Leona takes him to some local Italian spot where the smoke hangs heavy and the drinks are strong. Everyone in the place sounds like her, and Elvis does his best not to stick out like a sore thumb, but his haircut and accent don't do him any favors. He calls the waitress “honey” and she rolls her eyes. Leona giggles a little, and he's surprised at how sweet the sound of it is. Maybe there is some softness to her in there somewhere. 

“You really gonna just drink a Coke?” She asks over her Manhattan. He was amazed when she didn't even have to order it; the waitress just knew. 

“I wouldn't even know what to get.” He shrugs a bit, completely lost, but not ready to walk away yet. She clicks her tongue, and the waitress reappears magically. 

“He'll have a bourbon. With lotsa ice. He's just a baby.” Elvis frowns, not even noticing that he's going to have to drink alcohol. He's more worried about being called a baby. 

“I ain't a baby.”

“Sorry, doll, must be a Chicago thing.” She smirks at him, and he realizes she's making a joke. Her sense of humor is razor sharp, but he doesn't exactly not like it. A slow smile creeps across his face. 

“You're pretty tough, huh?” The waitress brings his drink, and he takes a sip, grimacing and coughing.  

“You'll get used to it. My father owns an Italian restaurant in Chicago. I was raised by hard men in a dangerous town. I had to be tough.” She throws back the last of her glass, and another one appears on the table for her. Elvis stares in a kind of reverent disbelief. She's unlike anything he's ever seen before, and he knows he should turn and run, but he doesn't. It's like he's under some kind of spell. Her spell. 

“What about your mama? Was she tough too?” Leona darkens and looks down at her glass. 

“Wouldn't know. She died giving birth to me.” There's a familiar ache in her voice when she says it, and Elvis watches her carefully.

“I had a brother. Twin. Died when I was born too.” She looks up at him, and there's a moment of something that passes between them. And then Leona smiles a little softer this time, but catches it quickly. 

“Your mama probably makes biscuits and fried chicken on Sundays, don't she?” Her biting tone is back, but now he knows she's just joking. 

“Oh yeah. A full southern feast. What do you eat on Sundays? Spaghetti and meatballs?” She laughs. 

“Nah. I prefer to eat sweet Southern boys. But I don't just do that on Sundays.” Elvis coughs and chokes on his drink, he's laughing so hard. 

“Damn, baby. You don't hold back, do ya?” Leona giggles. 

“Can't say that I do.” Elvis’s eyes glaze a bit as she orders him another drink. He's feeling nice and relaxed, ready to do just about anything she asks. 

The rest of the evening passes in teasing and laughter. At some point, he gets up and moves in to sit next to her on the booth instead of across from her. She giggles and leans into him without thinking, his arm slung around her shoulders. The last thing he remembers is pressing his lips to her neck, just under her ear, and the little satisfied moan she makes in response. 

******

Elvis groans as Leona throws open the curtains to let the light stream in and then climbs back into the bed next to him. He rolls over a little and looks at her, his eyes bleary, not sure who she is for a second. Then it hits him. Leona. 

He sits up a little too fast and grabs his head, moaning again. “What happened last night?!”

“You had a good time.” He pulls his hands from his face quickly. 

“Oh God… did we…?” She giggles a little, lights a cigarette, and lets him sit in the panic before she shakes her head. 

“No, baby. You passed out the second we got to the bed.” He notices that he's under the covers with his shirt and shoes off. It dawns on him that she took care of him, and he softens a bit. She laughs again. “You wanted to, though. You really wanted to.” 

He covers his face in embarrassment again and groans. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be. I enjoyed it. You don't remember us getting kicked out for kissing at the bar?” 

“We did what?!” 

“Yeah. You had one hand up my shirt and the other–”

“Jesus. Okay. That's enough. Is there any water?” Leona gestures to the side table, where she's left him a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. He chugs half the water and then takes two of the pills. “We got kicked out?”

“Well, asked to leave really. And then you did a whole performance in the street. If you check your pockets, I think you made about three bucks.” Leona smirks and takes a drag from her cigarette. He reaches into his pockets and chuckles. 

“I'll be damned.” They sit for a bit, her smoking and him sipping the water. Eventually, she speaks softly. 

“I have toast and coffee, if you'd like to stick around for a bit.” He looks over at her. Her makeup is not as sharp this morning, and her hair is everywhere, but somehow she's even prettier like this. There's a kind of vulnerability in her asking him to stay that touches him. It doesn't seem like she lets many people see her like this. 

“Yeah, I'd like that.” She immediately perks up, her face breaking into a wide, relaxed smile. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, honey, sure. You got any bacon?” She nods and hops out of bed. “Burn it black.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” She laughs, but does exactly as he asks. Then, she brings him toast, coffee, and his crispy bacon in bed. He's surprised at how willing she is to care for him and keep him around. 

After they eat, they sit and talk for a while about everything and nothing all at once. Eventually, he stretches and yawns. 

“You mind if I take a quick shower?” She’s standing up, gathering the breakfast dishes, so she shrugs and shakes her head. 

“Won't bother me. Towels are under the sink.” He slides out of the bed and makes his way to the bathroom. Before he gets there, though, he steps up close to her and wraps his arms around her waist. She looks up at him with her eyelashes fluttering. 

“Thank you for taking care of me last night.” His voice is so sincere that it catches her off guard. For a second, she struggles to make words. He's so beautiful up close like this, and it makes her heart skip a beat. 

“Y-yeah. I wasn't gonna let you sleep in the street.” He breathes out a soft laugh, leans down, and kisses her cheek. Then, he unwraps himself from around her and walks to the bathroom, closing the door behind himself. Leona stands in the middle of her bedroom, touching the place where his lips were. He might be the most dangerous man she's ever met. 

******

Elvis is in the shower, steam curling around his legs, humming quietly, when he hears the door open and close gently. He freezes, not sure what to expect. 

“L-Leona?” The shower curtain opens, and there she is, naked. 

“Miss me yet?” She gives him another devilish smile as his mouth drops and his eyes rake over her body. He was already half hard just being in her apartment, but staring at her perfectly rounded breasts, slim waist, and the curve of her hips that meet at the dark patch of hair in the middle has him achingly erect. 

“Goddamn baby. You sure?” She steps into the shower and closes the curtain. 

“I'm always sure.” And then he's on her, his mouth crashing into hers with a feverish frenzy, his hands roaming over her soft skin, squeezing any inch he can grab onto. Their tongues tangle in the middle as she moans into him. He grabs her thighs and lifts her, pressing her back against the cold tile frantically. She reaches a hand in between them to stroke him a bit before lining him up with her entrance, soaking wet but not from the shower. She whispers into his lips. “Fuck me like you mean it, Presley.”

He groans as he slides deep inside her, her walls tightening around him as she takes him in. She clings to his shoulders, and the water slides down their skin as he begins to thrust into her, slow at first but quickly picking up speed. “God, Le, it feels so fucking good.”

“Yes, oh fuck, don't stop!” He drives into her with a passion he's never experienced before. It's not his first time, but something about this feels different. Like two souls meeting in the place they were always intended to be. He grunts, pulling her hips in closer to his, and she lets out tiny moans with each impact. She starts out kissing his shoulder, but it quickly turns to little nibbles, and he moans deeply. 

“You keep doin’ that and I'm gonna cum, baby.”

“Good. Cum for me, babe.” He presses his forehead to hers and bites his bottom lip. 

“Not inside. Can't do that.” He stops himself from saying not yet, but the thought is there. 

“I'm so close. Please!” She whimpers, and her thighs tremble with the nearness of her orgasm. He quickly finds her clit with his thumb and goes to work, pushing her over the edge. “FUCK!” 

She tumbles into oblivion and sinks her teeth into him, her climax pulsing through her body like lightning. He pulls out at the very last second, shooting cum all over her pussy and the inside of her legs. 

“Yeah, baby!” He groans as his cock twitches, emptying onto her. She leans her head back against the wall, and he kisses her neck tenderly. “Fuck, that was incredible.” 

“Yes, it was. Wow.” They stand there for a minute, both of them trying to catch their breath, before he gently sets her feet back down on the ground. She settles her head on his chest and they let the water run over them, both of them trying desperately not to give away that they're absolutely reeling. Eventually, they pull apart and just look at each other. 

“Le, I–” Suddenly, there's a loud knock on the front door of the apartment. It's so powerful that they can hear it even in the bathroom with the water running. 

“Who the fuck–?”

“It's the Colonel. Goddamnit. How did he find me here?!” 

“The who?!” Elvis cuts the water off quickly and jumps out of the shower, grabbing a towel. He hands one to her, too, and they dry off as fast as possible. Leona wraps herself in a robe, and Elvis pulls his pants back on, not even bothering to do anything with his hair. There's a booming voice from the outside. 

“I know you're in there! Open this damn door!” Elvis rolls his eyes, and Leona gives him a threatening look. Then, he walks to the door and opens it. 

“How did you find me?!” A fat man in a suit with a cigar between his teeth enters her apartment. 

“How is less important than why. What exactly do you think you're doing?!” The Colonel’s eyes drift over to Leona, who tightens her robe around herself instinctively. 

“I'm a man, Colonel. I can do what I want.” Elvis pulls on the rest of his clothes defiantly, but also trying to hide the marks Leona has left on him. 

“I did not bring you to the city to cavort with whores.”

“With what?!” Leona matches him in volume. Elvis cuts in. 

“She’s not a whore. She's a journalist.” The Colonel scoffs. 

“I think I'd rather she be a whore.” 

“She's right here and she can speak for herself, damn it!” She's almost shaking with rage at this point. 

“Le, please. Lemme handle this.” Her mouth drops open, and she laughs a cold, brutal laugh. 

“Sure. You handle it. Outside my home. Get the fuck out, both a’yous.” She starts to push Elvis towards the door. The Colonel walks out on his own, but Elvis tries to turn back to her. 

“Le, please. He doesn't control me. I can stay.” She looks up at him for half a second, and then something inside her snaps. She can't afford to feel this way. 

“No. You should go. Goodbye, Elvis.” She shoves him through the door. 

“Wait!” He shouts as she slams it and turns the lock. 

Outside the door, Elvis rounds on the Colonel and is just about to give him a piece of his mind, but at the last second, he can't. He stares at him in silent defiance and then walks away, back to his gilded cage. 

Leona crawls into bed with her hair wet and sobs into the pillow that still smells like him. 

******

Two weeks later, Elvis and Scotty, Bill, and DJ are back on the road in some little backwater town in Texas when the Colonel walks into the room and slams something on the table. 

“I told you it would've been better if she were a whore.” The other guys look around confused, but Elvis knows exactly who he's talking about. He hasn't stopped thinking about her. Still, he's not sure what the Colonel means, so he approaches the table carefully. 

There, under the Colonel’s hand, is a copy of the Starlite Press with the headline, “My Night with the Hip-Wiggling Sensation was Anything But” by Leona Moretti. 

Elvis snatches the paper up and starts reading furiously. He's absolutely floored by lines like “more boy than man, he's less than impressive in every way” and “still a sucker for mama’s cooking, he’s the exact opposite of cultured”. But the thing that gets him the most is the very end. 

“At the end of the day, this sad little boy will always be a disappointment. He just doesn't have what it takes to be memorable. I've already forgotten him.” 

He turns and throws the paper as hard as he can against the wall and then sinks into a chair, his head in his hands. 

“You see, my boy. No one is to be trusted. Especially not loudmouthed little girls with a pen and pad and something to prove.” Elvis looks up at the ceiling. 

“She’s not a little girl.”

****** 

Now what?

Taglist:

@ccab @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy @angelriley222 @iloveelvis2 @epletsplayhouse

I feel like half my taglist isn't even on tumblr anymore. Let me know if you want to be added or taken off!

[rosezzzzzzz]

Fem Peter Parker

Okay so I have been reading a lot of trans Peter Parker (ftm) and I LOVE it BUT lets now do ....

Tom Holland Peter Parker transported to Gotham and the whole thing where in every Peter Parker in Gotham fanfic happens.

Peter gets out of a Lazarus pit, finds clothes, wonders where he is, goes to the library and meets Barbara etc etc etc and at one point he needs to use the restroom and he looks down and goes

"uh where's my dick at?" and then---

"wait a minute......" and finds out he is biologically a female now and he is all confused and concerned because what do you mean ?? What if this is not his body and what poor girl did he steal the body from omg he feels bad because what if he gets hurt then it would be like hurting someone else omg....but at the same time he does a DNA test (idk how but he does) and yes its biologically him but as a girl and omg what will he do when he gets his first period ???!!!

Also it could go either way where it continues being like other trans. peter parker cause he identifies as male OR he doesn't really mind since he was always gender fluid and didn't mind being called (he/him) cause he can't worry about that as much since he is saving the world and this just means that now he technically has to go through period cramps and stuff and MJ will most definitely be cackling if she knew because now he will know just how bad cramps can be lmaoooo

But yeah I thought it would be a nice twist to it and if he decides that you know what hell yeah he wants to wear skirts and dresses (after being kidnapped by the Batfam) and use makeup and he is still a little shit so....

Bruce: "No you cannot fight crime"

Peter: " This is sexism"

Bruce: "..."

Steph: "Yeah Bruce what the heck"

Cass: *nods*

Bruce: " Peter (or whatever name he wants now ) you have 3 broken ribs and missing a leg"

Peter: "Ha ! My leg isn't missing I know where it is....at the bottom of the building (this peter can grow limbs again) "

Bruce: "......"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bonus:

Peter: "Bruce ! Do I look bonita?"

Bruce: ".......Yes"

Peter: \(^v^)/

Bruce: *hands Peter $1,000*

Peter: /(o-o)\

Bruce: ".......for clothes or something"

Peter: "Thanks !" *Buys a fucking tank* (idk man lets assume he saved up a lot of money since Bruce doesn't know how to show emotion Wayne keeps giving him money every time he finds Peter cute which is pretty much everyday)

Bruce: "......who sold you a pink tank?"

Peter: " Oh ! Jason painted it !!!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason (loves causing chaos) Todd : "This is going to be so fucking funny" *cackles*

Peter (loves causing chaos the 2nd) Parker: "This needs glitter!!"

[music4soul]

John and his father used to be thick as thieves before his parents divorced.

They’d play ball out in the front yard, stole freshly baked cookies from the tray(got popped for it), and loved reading old books. His father used to give him the ones he finished reading, and John would give him the ones he couldn’t understand so that he could help him to.

The days leading up to the divorce was messy; yelling almost every night, no dinner sometimes due to his mother being exhausted, his father leaving early afternoon and coming back shit-face drunk late mornings.

And the divorce itself was hell.

John’s father tried getting custody of him, fought tooth and nail for his son. Even tried alienating him from his mother too; would make him sit on the porch while he smoked a cigar and asked him about what kind of bed he’d want at his house and their daily fishing trips, and for a moment John considered it. Considered going to live with his father, waking up and being able to do whatever he’d like without any repercussions because what kid wouldn’t want that?

Until his mother fell ill and John was too anxious to leave her side for a single second. What if she stumbled one day and hit her head? If she cried because her migraines felt like a parasite was gnawing away at the tissue in her brain? If she didn’t eat or drink and just wilted away slowly while John was out doing fuck knows what?

When he made his decision, his father just went blank faced. Didn’t scream or cry or beg, just stood there and look at him, even when the boy tried to explain that he’d visit often. After that, his father just walked off their porch and never came back, no matter how many times John called and tried to plan a date for them to hang or just to check up on him.

And with time, their connection drifted apart.

John grew up into his teen years with a now healthy and happier mother who now takes up gardening and still bakes cookies that John still steals off the tray and gets popped for, and they like to watch shitty rom-coms for the hell of it every Friday just cause.

However, it’s not the same. Not the same as when his father was here doing it all with them, happy and careless. John’s mother mentions something about John talking to his father more, checking up on him here and there just to see how he’s getting along. Despite all he put her through, she still wants him to have a relationship with his father.

What a saint.

And John tries every once in a while. Calls him, even if their conversations are brief. Hugs him whenever they unexpectedly meet in a random place. Speaks when he comes over to the house to talk to his mother about getting back together after his many failed relationships(one of which the girl threatened to kill herself). But no matter how hard John tries, he still can’t help but feel awkward around his father now. Their connection had been long gone, broken the day he made the decision to stay with his mother instead of going with his father to ‘hold him down’.

He hates asking him for things too, makes him feel more and more like a burden within the passing years because each time he does he always gets a lecture on how ‘a phone works two ways’, and how John only speaks to him when he needs something, which is why he became so independent from a young age. Learned how to drive on his own, how to fix a tire, how to shave, how to make his own bank account, how to save. He did all that without asking, because asking means a lecture, and a lecture is obviously gonna be stemmed from another person’s displeasures about something you did, right?

Anyhow, both his parents are dead now, both buried in separate cemeteries next to different people they’ve known for a lifetime or have known for a week. And John can’t help but feel a lingering guilt as he stands at his father’s grace because— what was his last thought of his only son? Was it good? Was it bad? Was it damning? He also feels a whirlpool of lingering guilt when he doesn’t bother visiting his father’s grave unless he’s shit-face drunk and in need of comfort.

[blu3fiish]

Asking about Caroline and Bart~

GRRAAAHHH OKAY OKAY OKAY

So Bart and Caroline. On the surface, they're so cute and so perfect for each other. But right understand there are so many different little things that just makes them not work.

So, Caroline. She's Tim Drake. Now name me all the things wrong with Tim Drake.

There is a lot of things wrong.

He's like the other bats. Ignoring most, if not all, of the fandom stuff they've given to Tim. Tim is pretty fucked up. He's pretty manipulative, his emotions are kinda haywire, all over the place, and sure, he's logical, he's got his critical thinking. But there are a bunch of things wrong with Tim that doesn't leave him good for a relationship, with Bart in specific.

Now, Caroline. She is Tim Drake. People I talk to tend to forget that considering she's prettier, and a girl.

Going to the tumblr lore with @car0line-hill and @speedywithadhd. The first date that Caroline and Bart had was terrible. Utterly terrible. Bart thought that Caroline didn't want to be on the date, so he was pretty down and sad the entire time. Caroline took that as Bart not wanting to be with her. So she kinda went overboard, ignoring all of her friends, isolating herself, she "disabled" her account for a while. And hid away for the tumblr equivalent of about a week.

Bart did not take that as a red flag, seeing as he was completely head over heels for her and was just in love with her. So when finally they got to talking, Bart and Caroline got together.

Caroline doesn't even realize it, but she's manipulating Bart. Using the fact that he's completely in love with her to her advantage.

But does she realize she's doing that? Almost. She understands it minimally and is choosing not to focus more into it, to make it seem better.

Bart doesn't know the better. He just thinks he's doing everything he can to make his girlfriend happy.

But Caroline wants the attention from Bart. She knows she can get it, but she wants the desperate attention that Bart gives her when she wants it.

Bart is so close to having her, that when he does have her, it doesn't feel different. So he chases more, to take the attention that he wants from Caroline, feeding into Caroline's own obsession when having Bart want her.

They break up over the smallest of things. But they want each other. They almost need each other. When they first break up? Caroline was the one who established the break up. After a small bit, Bart goes back running to her. They feel that love, that need from eachother.

Once it dies out again, they break up. And back together again, chasing that need.

They want eachother, they need eachother. And yet? They shouldn't have eachother. They're exactly what the other needs. But not in the way that they should be given it.

[cosycryptid]

Cold, Shiny, Hard Plastic - Part 2

Steve's mouth gets him in trouble, but also earns him a new friend. Also on AO3 [here]

When Steve passes by Billy’s car the next day, he’s leaning against it, a group of girls around him trying their best to get his undivided attention. Steve’s about to roll his eyes at the sight but then notices the ends of Billy’s hair are suddenly looking a lot softer than they did the day before. He stifles a grin.

“Morning Hargrove, finally discover conditioner?” he teases as he walks past. The group of girls standing around Billy giggle a little and he scowls.

“Fuck you, Steve!” Billy spits.

“Only in your wet dreams, Hargrove,” Steve retorts. “And that’s King Steve to you.”

Steve honestly thinks he would cringe so hard his soul would leave his body if anyone whose opinion actually meant something to him called him that. Something about the idea of having a bunch of bravado filled, ego driven idiots like Billy, Tommy and their friends address him as such seems too good to pass up though. It kind of gives him a bit of a power trip if he’s being honest.

Word seems to have spread about the scene in the gym and the lunch hall the day before. Steve can feel people’s eyes on him as he walks to his locker.

They’re curious, like people don’t know what to make of him yet, whether he’s cool again or just like any other social outcast who happens to be good at running their mouth. That’s fine, for once Steve doesn’t care if he proves himself or not, just the catharsis of being able to say exactly what he thinks of the people who annoy him is enough. It felt so freeing to just let it out.

Steve supposes he should probably start preparing himself in case words ever turn into physical altercations if he’s going to keep up this new attitude. At some point, people are bound to get used to his cutting remarks and be less impacted by them. The ones who think with their fists might be a challenge as soon as the surprise factor wears off as they also tend to have the most fragile tempers.

With his nail bat, Steve is a pretty formidable fighter, but he can’t exactly carry that around in public. Also, as much as people like Billy Hargrove infuriate him, he doesn’t want to kill or maim anyone, it’s just fun destroying their overly inflated self-importance a little. He decides to look for self-defense classes or something soon, just in case.

“Hey, trumpet girl! Where are the rest of your band nerds today?” A voice calls somewhere behind Steve as he reaches his locker.

He peers over his shoulder as subtly as possible to see what’s happening and notices a girl he thinks he shares a history class with. She’s holding a stack of books and is cursing under her breath as two jocks approach her. Steve doesn’t remember their first names because they’re not in his grade and not on the swim team, but he knows of them and has heard them referred to by their surnames in the past.

They almost look like carbon copies of each other with pretty much the same height, same build and same shade of brunette hair, but there are some differences. The one guy, Sweeney, has blue eyes, slightly longer hair and a blank look on his face, like there’s nothing but tumbleweed drifting through his brain at all times. His friend, Kelly – if Steve remembers correctly – has short hair, brown eyes and seems a little more switched on, but that’s only if Steve’s being extremely generous.

They go to a lot of the same parties as Steve, and he’s heard some rumors about them from people who run in the same circles. He’s also overheard his mom gossiping about their parents to the ladies she does brunch with. The rumors are ones they probably wouldn’t want to get out, but whether they will or not remains to be seen.

“I don’t know, have you tried checking in your mom’s bed?” the girl retorts. Steve barely holds back a laugh.

“You really messed up turning my friend here down, Bucky,” Kelly says, gesturing at Sweeney, who is leaning on his shoulder.

“First of all, it’s Buckley, but it’s not like I expected you to have listening comprehension skills,” she answers with a sneer, like they’re both nothing but a bad smell lingering under her nose. “Second, would it kill you guys to use someone’s first name occasionally? it’s Robin, by the way,” she points out. “I know we’ve been in the same grade for years now, but I thought I’d help you out since you don’t have the best attention spans.”

“Okay then, Robin. It doesn’t matter what your name is, you’re gonna regret saying no to a date with my buddy Sweeney,” he reiterates. “You’re a loser and he’s at the top of the social ladder, you’re not gonna get an opportunity like this again.”

“Oh no! how will I ever go on? I can’t believe I messed up my one opportunity to go on a date with a guy who smells like an old sweaty sock and doesn’t know how to read!” She puts on an overly dramatic, woeful voice as she says it. “What will I ever do now I no longer have a future as Mrs. Robin Sweeney? I was so looking forward to washing his jockstraps for him while he sits on his ass and asks me what's for dinner.”

Steve can’t help the smile that takes over his face. He’s been sitting in front of Buckley in history class since the start of term and he never realised she was funny. Maybe he should try talking to her next time.

Thinking she’s got the situation handled, Steve turns back to open his locker. However, the next sound he hears is the loud smack of a hand coming down on top of her pile of books followed by scattering and sliding noises as they drop to the floor. He whips around to face them, no longer trying to hide that he’s watching as they’ve now drawn the attention of a number of curious onlookers.

Steve’s finally able to fully see Robin’s exasperated and slightly anxious expression. For a moment, his brain dredges up the memory Barbara Holland sitting by the side of his pool and looking at him and his friends as if they would hunt her down like prey if she made the wrong move. He hates that he didn’t do anything to make Barb feel more included then, and part of him will always carry guilt about the way things ended. So, he’s not about to let another nerdy girl feel isolated now.

"Hey, you’re name’s Sweeney, right?” Steve asks, stepping forward to insert himself into the conversation.

Robin watches him with wide, nervous eyes, like she’s afraid he’s come to join forces with the two meatheads harassing her. He tries his best not to look in her direction, hoping she’ll realise his vicious smile is not directed at her.

“Yeah,” Sweeney says, his signature confused expression written across his face. “What did you want, Harrington?”

“Nothing really,” Steve replies, feigning nonchalance. “I just was wondering if you were the same Sweeney who has a micropenis according to the rumors. What’s that like, dude? Can’t imagine it’s easy finding a girl who won’t laugh at you as soon as you take off your pants. Maybe that’s why you need your little buddy here to play wingman and avenger for you.”

Sweeney’s face pales and he attempts to stutter out a defensive response, giving entirely too much away about the validity of the rumors with his inability to form a rebuttal. Robin makes a sound halfway between a laugh, a snort and a choking noise.

“Wow, what a catch,” she comments.

“That’s not fucking true!” Kelly pipes up. “It was JUST a rumor started by some ugly chick who was butthurt he didn’t want to sleep with her.”

“Why are you running defense so strongly, Kelly?” Steve questions. “It’s almost as if you owe him for some reason. Weird. You know, I kind of remember hearing something about-”

“Don’t,” Kelly grits out, his eyes both furious and frightened.

“Maybe I won’t,” Steve says. “But only if you both fuck off out of here and don’t bother Robin again. You got it?” They both nod. “Good. Now run along. You’ve got classes to fail.”

The bell rings as if on cue and the jocks scamper off down the hallway. As soon as they’re out of sight, Steve shifts to his knees to start helping Robin gather her scattered books and papers. As he reaches out to pick up a particular notebook that’s open and face down, Robin seems to instantly go into panic.

“Wait! Not that-” Robin drops to the floor to reach for Steve’s arm. It’s too little, too late, he’s already turned it to reveal two pages full of hearts. Most of them have ‘RB & TT’ written in the middle, but there’s one particularly big heart in the middle of the right page with ‘Tammy Thompson’ written in a delicate, looping cursive that leaves absolutely no room for interpretation. “-one.”

Robin looks positively shell shocked, like her whole world is coming down in flames around her. Steve knows how it must look to her. He used to be top dog within the popular crowd. He’s captain of a sports team, goes to parties and generally steers clear of any activities that are thought to be for nerds. In Robin’s mind, he’s not much different from Kelly and Sweeney. She must be terrified that he’s about to hurt her or do some other fucked up shit.

“Don’t freak out. It’s okay, I’m cool,” he says quietly, so only Robin can hear. He quickly snaps the notebook shut before anyone else can catch a glimpse of the incriminating pages. Robin doesn’t seem to react, a horrified look still on her face as her breath comes out a bit too quick for comfort.

Upon inspecting the surroundings, Steve notes that the hallway is now considerably emptier, but there are still a few stragglers hanging around. He makes an executive decision to finish collecting Robin’s belongings and move the conversation somewhere quieter. He rises to his feet and motions for Robin to follow him. She seems reluctant at first but eventually goes along with it and follows him to the nearest empty classroom.

As soon as the door shuts behind Robin, she backs up into it and slides to the floor.

“Look, if you’re going to bribe me for your silence, you should probably know I’m broke and there’s not much I have that I think you’d be interested in.”

Steve sighs and sets Robin’s books down on the nearest desk before moving to sit on the floor opposite her.

“I’m not going to bribe you,” he promises. “I just have to ask or it’s going to bug me for the rest of the year...” he takes a deep breath and levels her with a critical look. “Tammy Thompson? Really? Of all the girls in this school – or shit, even just our class - you could have chosen from, she’s the one you’re drawing hearts in your notebook over?” he asks. “Not to mention that’s just a little bit obsessive, Robin. Might come off kind of stalkerish.”

“Oh, you don’t even know the half of it, that’s not the only page,” Robin groans, pressing her hands to her face. A couple of seconds later, she seems to fully process what Steve’s said and her hands abruptly drop to her lap, revealing an astounded expression. “Wait, you’re not-”

“Homophobic? No, it’s none of my business if you like boobies.”

“Okay, never say that to me again.”

“What that you like boobies?” Steve asks with a mischievous grin. “It’s true though, isn’t it?”

Robin runs her hands through her hair and exhales loudly. “God, this is so weird. Steve Harrington’s an ally and he’s saying the word boobies at me.”

“An ally?” Steve asks, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, like you support queer people, Dingus.”

“No, I know that,” Steve says, frustrated. “Robin, I don’t know if you happened to be there yesterday or hear about it, but I very openly implied to Billy Hargrove in front of an entire cafeteria full of people that he would be my type if he took better care of his hair. I don’t support queer people; I AM queer people.” Steve stressed, pointing to himself for extra emphasis to really get it across to her. “I’m Bisexual.”

Robin was staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Like I get that everyone else wouldn’t think anything of it because jocks say and do some pretty gay shit, especially the straight ones.” Steve says. “But I thought as a lesbian you were supposed to have a sixth sense for other queer people.”

Robin rubs at her temples, her expression a mix between surprised and distressed. “So, let me get this straight because I’m starting to feel like I’ve either slipped into a parallel universe, or you’re pulling a really elaborate prank on me,” Robin says. “You... like wiener?”

“Now who’s using embarrassing words?” Steve asks. “But yes. No pranks or any other kind of fuckery. I like wiener and boobies. And I expect you to keep that secret the same way I’ll be staying quiet about you. Otherwise, I’ll have to find some dirt on you to expose because I’m not about to out someone, that would be a dick move. Do we have a deal? Can we pinky promise on it?” he holds out the pinky finger on his right hand.

“You won’t find anything else on me Steve, my record is squeaky-clean.” Robin says with a wicked grin. “I have a condition in return for my silence instead.”

“Everyone has something in their past,” Steve argues. “But what is it?”

“I want a ride to and from school for the foreseeable future, starting from today,” Robin demands. “I can’t take one more day on that school bus. It’s literal torture.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Steve pretends to think about it for a moment. “But sure.”

“Okay then, deal,” Robin smiles, linking her pinky with Steve’s. “I’m making a pinky promise with Steve Harrington. What is happening right now?” she questions. Then a strange look crosses her face, her eyes narrowing. She drops Steve’s hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Billy Hargrove? Really?” Robin questions in a flat tone. “You had the nerve to criticise my taste in women over Tammy Thompson, but ‘openly implied’ your type is Billy Hargrove?”

“I said ‘would be my type’, Robin. I don’t have a crush on the guy, ew, that’s gross. He has the personality of wet garbage,” Steve protests as he stands and offers his hand to Robin to help her up, which she accepts with a grateful expression.

“It’s just that I can see that he’s objectively attractive looks wise because I have functioning eyes and I’ve showered naked in the same room as him,” he explains. “Tammy Thompson is a total dud, Robin. You could have picked someone so much more interesting than her.”

“I think you’re protesting too much Steve, you’ve definitely had at least one weird dream about Billy Hargrove. Also, fuck you, Tammy’s a complex and interesting woman,” Robin argues as she picks up her books from the desk and begins to head to the door, turning her head to speak to Steve over her shoulder as he follows. “She has dreams, she’s going to move to Nashville to be a singer.”

“Yeah, and they’ll send her right back when they hear her singing voice,” Steve deadpans. “She sounds exactly like a Muppet, Robin. Come on.”

“No offense, but you’re kind of a bitch, Steve,” Robin points out, turning to face him as they re-enter the hallway.

“Am I wrong though?” Steve questions. “Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, both waiting for the other to back down. At a certain point Robin’s lip twitches, and then they’re both gone, both almost doubled over laughing.

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” Robin admits. “Shit now I’m going to have to rethink my choices.”

“I’m willing to help you find better taste in girls,” Steve offers. “I know a lot about the babes around here.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that about you. Slut.”

“And I’m the bitchy one?” Steve says, putting on his best wounded expression.

“Maybe we’re just two sides of the same bitchy coin,” Robin suggests.

“Hmm,” Steve ponders. “We should exchange notes. I could always use more creative insults.”

Robin takes him in for a second, as if she’s meeting him for the first time and starting to get a good read on him. A wide smile takes over her face. “You know, Steve. I think this may be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“Me too,” Steve agrees, feeling warmth spread through his chest at her words. “I’m looking forward to terrorising the assholes of this town with you, Robin Buckley.” He reaches out to shake her hand.

“The feeling is mutual, Steve Harrington.” She accepts the handshake. “Now I’ve got to go because you’re not making me late for next period too, but don’t forget that your side of our bargain starts now. I expect you to be outside by your car waiting to drive me home at the end of the day.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve sold my soul to the devil?” Steve rolls his eyes, but this time he does so with a smile. “See you later, Robin.”

“See you later, Steve.”

Steve should probably have considered sooner that he might one day fly too close to the sun on his metaphorical new bitchy wings. However, this whole thing is a learning process and he’s still finding his feet, clumsy like a newborn deer. He’s testing the waters and figuring out just how far he can take things.

Turns out, maybe teachers are not to be messed with, no matter how shitty they are.

He’s in math class when he makes a crucial misstep in his journey. They’re copying down instructions from the board in their notebooks as Mr. Mundy comes around to collect their homework.

As he reaches Eddie Munson – he had listened out for the guy’s name as the register was being taken – Steve stops writing and watches curiously. Eddie looks up at Mr. Mundy with a sheepish expression. He seems more tired than the last time Steve saw him, there are dark circles under his eyes indicating he hasn’t slept. He also generally seems more stressed and twitchier than usual, like he’s constantly prepared to dash out of the room at a moment’s notice.

“Mr. Munson,” Mr. Mundy addresses him, leaning over in a way that makes Steve wince in sympathy because Eddie can definitely smell his potent coffee breath at that angle. “Do you have the homework or not?” he asks.

Steve immediately takes a dislike to the impatient tone he uses. Can he not see that Eddie is clearly going through something?

“I’m so sorry, Sir,” Eddie says, sounding genuinely regretful. “My uncle’s sick at the moment and I didn’t have the chance to do it because I was looking after him. We don’t have any other family around to-”

“Save me the sob story, that’ll be two weeks detention,” Mr. Mundy interrupts rudely. “You’re on thin ice, Mr. Munson. I’ll have to fail you if you keep this up.”

Eddie’s face drops. “Yeah, that’s fine.” he mumbles.

“No, that’s not fine,” Steve blurts out, drawing the full attention of the otherwise quiet class.

“Excuse me, Mr. Harrington?” Mr. Mundy says slowly, taken aback. “Do you have a problem with the way I run my classroom?”

It’s clear that he expects Steve to back down in the face of his authority. However, authority’s kind of a weak deterrent once you’ve fought monstrosities that shouldn’t exist and lived. It only serves to make Steve want to double down.

“Yeah, for a start you need to crack open a window open or start using some deodorant once in a while because it’s hard to concentrate on learning when all I can smell is your body odor,” he says, internally delighting in the red hue Mr. Mundy’s face takes on. “But aside from that I don’t get why Bobby back there gets a ‘bring it in tomorrow’ when he literally told you he accidentally ran over his homework in his car, but someone who has a good reason is given two weeks detention and threatened with failure? Math is supposed to be about logic, right? How is that logical?”

His peers are staring at him, bug eyed, and the teacher is locked in a silent state of fury. Steve chances a glance at Eddie and he’s already looking in his direction with a stricken expression.

“Have you decided to take out your resentment over your miserable life on Eddie or something?” Steve presses.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Eddie mouths at him, his face anxious.

Mr. Mundy lets out a long, slow, suffering breath, and Steve can almost hear him counting to ten in his head in an attempt to calm himself down.

“Steven Harrington,” he says quietly. Steve scrunches his face up because it sounds exactly like how his dad addresses him when he’s got a stick up his ass about something. “Do you or do you not have your homework?”

The swift pivot in the conversation catches Steve off guard, but he quickly catches on. Mr. Mundy’s clearly not issuing fair treatment here at all. Steve should be on his way to the principal's office right this second, but it’s clear that Mr. Mundy is trying to hold back. Most likely because all the teachers are well aware of Steve’s parents’ standing in the community. Somehow, Steve finds that only further irritates him.

Looking Mr. Mundy dead in the eyes, Steve holds up the sheet of paper with his homework on it and tears it in half, then tears the two halves down the middle. He lets the pieces flutter to the floor, still looking directly at Mr. Mundy, challenging him to do something about it.

“Oh shit, I guess not,” he shrugs.

The pure rage that Mr. Mundy eminates is strong enough to rival his aforementioned body odor, which is truly saying something.

“Congratulations, Mr. Harrington,” Mr. Mundy says, his voice dripping with venom as he strides to his desk like he’s on a mission and begins furiously scribbling out two detention slips. “You just earned yourself a spot in detention with Mr. Munson starting next week, and a phone call to your parents.”

The first part doesn’t faze Steve, but the second sends an ice like chill down his spine. Maybe he would have benefitted from keeping his mouth shut this time.

Part 1 -

[chaos-chloe]

From Mustache to Munch

Summary: A clip inspired story

Clip: https://www.twitch.tv/elasticdroid/clip/CarefulTubularCobraOSsloth-8vh-4J0wBOsUyVrb

TW: Established relationship, kisses, flirting, cursing,

The hum of the stream filled Droid's apartment. He ran a hand over his freshly shaven upper lip, the skin tingling from the razor. "I feel like the stash," he announced, his voice echoing slightly in the mic, "makes me like – I always preached that if you have a stash, you're a fucking munch; you're an ass eater, bruh. I feel like I should rep it."

Grizzy's voice boomed through the headset. "Aye, go for it, but aye." Droid felt a surge of confidence. Grizzy, the king of chaotic encouragement.

Puffer, as usual, was the voice of reason, or at least, attempted reason. He started to speak, but Grizzy cut him off. "Sorry, Puffer, but I feel like you're giving fatherly energy right now. Imagine all the girls with daddy issues."

A beat of silence. Then, Pezzy, irrepressible as ever, popped the question: "Are you calling him, Daddy?"

Droid's hand flew to his hair, nervously smoothing it back. He slammed his right hand on the desk, the thud echoing loud in the stream.

"Damn, I think you might have," Puffer chuckled.

"No, fatherly vibes," Grizzy insisted.

"Deadass, I think you did," Puffer countered, the argument escalating into playful banter.

"I'll be that kid's father!" Droid screamed, punctuating his statement with another desk slam.

"Aye, think about all the daddy issues. You just went up a notch," Grizzy said, the mischievous glint practically audible in his voice.

Then Puffer, always the strategist, shifted gears. "Wait, what does __ think about the stash? I know she helped you shave a bit earlier."

"Oooo! Let's see! Lemme call her in here real quick!" Droid ripped off his headphones and placed them on his desk. He swiveled in his chair, facing the doorway. "BABE, BABY! C'mere!" he yelled, his voice reverberating through the house..

A moment later, you appeared in the doorway, clad in comfy lounge clothes, a playful frown etched on your face. "What is it?" you asked, feigning annoyance. "You know I hate it when you interrupt my reading…"

"The stream wants to know what you think of the stash," Droid said, grinning mischievously. "And they wanna know...am I a munch?"

Your eyes widened, and you feigned a dramatic gasp. "Oh, the beard is gone! Tragic! My poor, rugged mountain-man prince has been reduced to… a baby-faced boy!" You walked over, playfully swatting him on the arm. "I'm devastated! I’ll never recover!"

Droid caught your hand and tugged you closer, pulling you into his lap. The camera caught a glimpse of your face, a flush creeping up your neck as you realized you were on camera.

"But," you continued, a playful glint in your eyes, "the mustache...it's...intriguing. It adds a certain...je ne sais quoi. A certain… 'I know what I'm doing, and you're gonna like it' kind of vibe.”

Droid laughed, a low, rumbling sound. "So, you approve?"

You leaned in close, whispering in his ear, just loud enough for the stream to pick up. "Let's just say, I'm willing to explore the possibilities." You punctuated the statement with a playful nip on his earlobe.

The chat exploded. Emoticons flooded the screen, along with a deluge of thirsty comments. Grizzy was cackling. Puffer was shaking his head, a smile playing on his lips. Pezzy was making kissing noises into his mic.

You pulled back, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. "Okay, okay, you've had your fun," you said, pushing yourself off his lap. "I'm going back to my book. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." You winked, then turned and sauntered out of the room, leaving Droid grinning like a fool and the stream in a state of utter chaos.

Droid turned back to the camera, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, there you have it, folks. The verdict is in. Apparently, I'm a certified munch. At least, according to her." He chuckled, running a hand over his newly mustachioed upper lip.

"So, I guess I gotta live up to the hype now, huh?" He winked at the camera. "Alright, let's get back to gaming. But be warned… I might just be a little… distracted.”

He put his headphones back on, the sounds of Grizzy, Puffer, and Pezzy's ribbing washing over him. But underneath the playful banter, he could still hear the echo of your words, the promise of exploration, the playful invitation to live up to the hype. He grinned. He had a feeling things were about to get very interesting.

[justmeinadaze]

Louder Than Hell: Part 2 (First Date)( Eddie X Plus Size Y/N)

A/N: Completely self-indulgent fluff with a pinch of angst <3

Warnings: Eddie X Plus Size Fem Y/N on their first date after this . The people that read it wanted a first date for them and I did to. I needed some cute adorable fluff. May write some more firsts for them later on <3. Jason does cameo and makes a crack about the readers weight. Very brief and Eddie defends.

Word Count: 1003

Eddie Asks

You smiled as Eddie’s tongue stuck out towards the side of his mouth as he aimed the dart where he wanted it before tossing it towards the balloon and missing entirely. 

“Ah, fuck me.”, he scolds himself as his arms slap loudly to his sides. “Well, I wanted to get you a big bear but, alas, the carnival Gods don’t seem to be on my side tonight.”

“It’s ok.”, you murmur with a grin. 

When he said dinner, you anticipated him taking you to a restaurant but when his van skidded into the parking lot of the Hawkins Carnival, you were surprised; pleasantly so. The metalhead guided you to each ride and game, talking to you in-between each one and making you laugh constantly. 

“You don’t talk very much, do you?”

“I talk…I’m just…I’m a little nervous.”

“Of me? I swear I’m not as big of an asshole as these other people make me out to be.”

“Oh, no! I meant…I just don’t want to embarrass you or anything. I, um, I think you’re really cool.”

Eddie grins wide at your compliment and pauses at the Ski ball game near an area with other arcade games.

“Holy shit. Someone thinks I’m cool.” He pauses before throwing the ball up the ramp. “Wait, you’re not a crazy person, are you?”

His grin grows as you laugh and your energy comes to life; he could get used to this. 

“Here, freak, why don’t you give it a try?”

After taking the ball from him, you pull your arm back and roll it lightly up the ramp barely making any impact as it falls into the lower-level hole.

 “Wow, ok, um, not bad but…” Without hesitation, he places his chest to your back and encapsulates your hand with his. “You want to really put some energy behind it.”

You bite your bottom lip as he pushes your hand forward and you let the ball go watching as it rolls aggressively up the ramp before bouncing to the top slot.

“Atta girl! See? You’re cool.”

You crane your neck to meet his eyeline just as he does the same and those warm fuzzy feelings fill up your stomach while he prays this moment lasts so he doesn’t have to let you go. 

Your both abruptly pushed forward and you catch yourself on the ramp as Eddie’s hand shoots out to keep him from crushing you with his weight. 

“What’s going on here? Freaks date night?”, Jason sneered as his friend’s snickered behind him. The metalhead’s jaw clenched as he stood up and took your hand in his to help you to your feet, eyeing you up and down while you smooth out your outfit.

“Are you alright?”, he whispers, thankful when you nod. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go check out the rides.”

“You’ll wanna be careful, Munson! The ride may break down as soon as she takes a seat!”

In one swift motion, Eddie spins around on his heels and grabs the jocks jacket collar, lifting him up onto his toes. 

“I’m real fucking tired of you picking on my girl, Carver. If you even so much as think about saying something involving her or her body again and I’ll show you how much of a freak I really am. Do I make myself clear?”

Jason tries desperately to wiggle out of the metalhead’s hold but fails.

“I SAID DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!”, he shouts before the boy nods his head aggressively. 

Eddie tossed him to the side and his friends hastily scramble to collect him as he turns around to wrap his arm protectively around your waist to lead you towards the Ferris Wheel.

***

“I hope I didn’t scare you.”, he hurries out almost forcefully when you hadn’t said a word since his interaction. “Jason said what he said and I just couldn’t let him get away with it. I would never hurt you like that or—”

“You called me your girl.”

“Huh?”

“You said you were tired of him picking on ‘your girl’.” 

Eddie thinks for a moment until a small smile paints his lips. 

“Yeah, I guess I did. Did that…bother you?”

Your eyes shift down to your feet that were dangling over the carriage next his sneakers.   

“No…I, um, I kind of liked it.”

The metalhead beams widely, showing off all his teeth as he tries to hide the deep crimson that springs up on his cheeks. 

“Cool. Very cool.”

You bite your bottom lip to stifle your giggle as he closes his eyes and silently mouths the words “Really, Munson?”

A few seconds pass and the Ferris Wheel stops with your carriage nestled at the very top allowing you both to see all of Hawkins lit up across the town. Feeling slight movement, he glances your way to notice you were scooting closer to his side, your hips and thighs pressed ever so slightly against him. 

Shifting his irises into the void, Eddie slowly lifted his arms as if he was stretching adding a little extra groan of stress to sell the illusion before placing the limb closest to you around your shoulders with his hand on your bicep. 

On impulse, your head leaned against him and at the action, he exhaled making you laugh. 

“Your heart is beating really fast.”

“Yeah, that’s, um, that’s cause I’m a little nervous myself.”

“About what?”, you ask as you lift your head to see him smirk as his throat vibrates with the low rumble of a laugh.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do all night…”

“You should do it.”, you encourage. “Be louder than hell, right?”

His grin grows as he turns to face you before tilting down to place a soft kiss on your lips. Your palm cups his cheek as his own nestles on the back of your neck and you both relish in the taste of the other. 

When he pulls away, Eddie’s thumb comes around to caress your bottom lip. 

“That’s right, baby, louder than hell.”

#############

@spiderxbatty @soph342 @parodsal000 @mrsjellymunson @myherometalhead @guiltyasquinn