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julietsf1 · 5 months ago

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The Idiot I Call Mine - Lando Norris x BestFriend! Reader

summary: best friends are supposed to share laughs, inside jokes, fries and the occasional late-night drive. what they’re not supposed to do is flirt like it’s a competitive sport or make you question every unspoken rule of friendship. at least, unless your name is Lando Norris apparently. (7.1k words)

content: fluff! friends to lovers; flirty dynamic; mutual pining

an: whaaat? a fic about another driver? yes loves. this is me coming forward as a secret Lando fan. I hope you'll enjoy as much as I did writing this :)

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Lando Norris has this annoying habit of always being right. It’s not even about anything important—it’s just little things. Like the time he guessed exactly how long it would take before I caved and ordered dessert, or when he said I’d end up watching a rom-com tonight even though I claimed I wanted “something deep and meaningful.”

“See?” he said smugly, leaning back on the couch as the opening credits of The Holiday played. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Hardly,” I shot back, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “You just know I have a weak spot for Jude Law. That doesn’t make you psychic.”

“No, but it does make me an excellent best friend.” He winked, plucking the popcorn off his lap and popping it into his mouth like the show-off he was.

I rolled my eyes, pretending I wasn’t fighting a grin. Lando and I had been inseparable for years, the kind of best friends who finished each other’s sentences and shared a borderline unhealthy obsession with late-night McDonald’s runs. But lately, something had been… different.

Not bad, exactly. Just different. Maybe? I wasn’t even sure to be honest.

“You’re staring again,” Lando said, breaking into my thoughts. He was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest in a way that felt entirely too casual and yet completely deliberate. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, and his smirk was the kind that could make even the most confident person question their sanity.

“I wasn’t staring,” I lied, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it in my mouth for good measure.

“You were absolutely staring,” he teased, leaning closer. “What’s on your mind, hmm? Thinking about how devastatingly handsome I am? It’s okay—you can admit it.”

“You’re such a joke,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed but failing miserably. “Devastatingly handsome? Please. You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Exactly,” he said, flashing a grin. “And yet, here you are, spending your Friday night with me. Interesting choice.”

“I’m here for the popcorn,” I deadpanned, though even I didn’t believe myself. “And because you begged me.”

“I didn’t beg,” he protested. “I suggested strongly. There’s a difference.”

This was us—lighthearted insults, jokes at each other’s expense, and an ease in our conversations that felt like home. If there was something different lately, I told myself it was just my imagination running wild.

“Speaking of choices,” I said, leaning back against the couch. “What’s the deal with you and your phone wallpaper?”

“What about it?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Oh, come on, Lando,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You really expect me to believe you just happened to pick a picture of me for your wallpaper?”

“It’s a great photo,” he said with a shrug. “You look happy. And let’s not pretend your wallpaper isn’t me.”

I froze, caught. He was right—my wallpaper was him, but that wasn’t the point.

“That’s different,” I said quickly. “You look stupid in yours. It’s funny.”

“Ah, so I’m your personal clown now?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock offense. “Good to know my humiliation brings you joy.”

“Always,” I said sweetly, tossing another piece of popcorn his way.

The movie played on in the background, but neither of us was really paying attention. We were too busy pushing each other’s buttons, like always.

“Hey,” Lando said after a while, his tone a little softer. “You’re coming to dinner at Mum’s next weekend, right?”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “She’s already planning the menu. Something with pasta, probably. You know how she gets when you’re coming over.”

I smiled despite myself. His family had always treated me like one of their own, and his mum had a knack for making me feel special in ways that were both comforting and overwhelming.

“Well, in that case,” I said, pretending to think it over. “I guess I can clear my schedule.”

“Good,” he said, nudging me with his elbow. “I’d be bored without you there.”

It was moments like this—simple and familiar—that stuck with me longer than they should. The way he said things so casually, as if they didn’t carry any weight, even when they somehow did.

“You’ve got something on your face,” I said suddenly, trying to distract myself.

“Where?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Right there,” I said, tapping the corner of my mouth.

He smirked, deliberately licking the spot where I’d pointed. “Better?”

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” I said, shoving him away. But I was laughing, and so was he.

“You love it,” he said, and for once, I didn’t argue. Because maybe I did.

As the night went on, the teasing continued, each remark more loaded than the last. By the time the credits rolled, I wasn’t sure if it was the movie or Lando’s lingering glances that had me feeling so off-kilter.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he said, breaking the silence as he stood to clean up the popcorn bowl. “Something on your mind?”

“Just thinking,” I said vaguely, not meeting his gaze.

“About?” he pressed, leaning against the counter with a smirk that said he already knew the answer.

“Nothing important,” I said, grabbing my phone and pretending to scroll.

“Liar,” he said, his voice playful but probing. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know that?”

I glanced up at him, my heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it had been doing lately. He was standing there like he had all the time in the world, his green eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

“Goodnight, Lando,” I said finally, brushing past him on my way to the couch.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he called after me, his voice laced with amusement.

…

“You know, for someone who claims to be an athlete, you spend an alarming amount of time eating,” I said, glancing at Lando over the top of my menu.

“Carbs are fuel,” he replied, flashing me a grin. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand that we could’ve gone somewhere normal instead of whatever this place is,” I said, gesturing to the overly fancy restaurant. The kind of place where the wine glasses sparkled brighter than the chandeliers, and the menu was full of words I couldn’t pronounce.

“You’re so ungrateful,” he teased, leaning back in his chair. “Do you know how hard it was to get a table here? I had to name-drop myself.”

“Wow,” I said dryly. “The struggle.”

“Exactly. And now you’re here, about to enjoy the finest pasta in town, thanks to me. A little gratitude wouldn’t kill you.”

“Gratitude? You dragged me here under false pretenses. You said this was a ‘low-key spot.’”

“It is low-key,” he argued, gesturing around. “For Monte Carlo standards.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto my face. This was just how things were with Lando—effortless, easy, and borderline ridiculous.

“Alright, what are you getting?” Lando asked, lowering his menu.

“Fettuccine Alfredo,” I said without hesitation.

“Of course you are,” he said, smirking. “Predictable.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I shot back. “What are you getting, then? Something groundbreaking? Life-changing? Revolutionary?”

“Tagliatelle al tartufo,” he said with a mockingly posh accent.

“Wow,” I said, feigning awe. “Truffle pasta. You’re really pushing the boundaries, Norris.”

“Don’t be jealous just because I have sophisticated taste,” he replied, the smirk never leaving his face.

“‘Sophisticated’ is one way to put it,” I muttered, pretending to study the menu again. “Another is ‘pretentious.’”

“You’ll be begging for a bite,” he said confidently, setting the menu down.

“Please,” I said, scoffing. “You’ll be stealing mine before the plates even hit the table.”

He leaned forward, his grin widening. “You know me so well.”

The food arrived soon after, and, as predicted, we switched plates halfway through without even discussing it. It was second nature by now, like so many other things about us.

“You know,” Lando said, twirling a forkful of fettuccine, “if this whole racing thing doesn’t work out, I could be a food critic.”

“Sure,” I said, deadpan. “Because people are dying to know what Lando Norris thinks about pasta.”

“They would be,” he said, undeterred. “My palate is unparalleled.”

“Your palate consists of pizza, chicken nuggets, and whatever I’m eating,” I shot back.

“And yet, here we are,” he said, gesturing to the table. “Me, enjoying this culinary masterpiece, and you, enjoying my company. Life is good.��

It was shaping up to be another night of easy conversation and mindless teasing until a voice interrupted us.

“Lando?”

I looked up to see two women standing at the edge of our table. They were both tall, blonde, and effortlessly elegant, the kind of women who looked like they belonged in a magazine spread rather than real life.

“Oh, hey!” Lando said, his face lighting up in recognition.

I glanced at him, watching as his entire demeanor shifted ever so slightly. He straightened up, his grin widening just enough to make my stomach twist.

“We haven’t seen you in forever,” one of the women said, her smile bright and practiced.

“I know,” Lando said, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “It’s been a while.”

“You look great,” one of them said, her smile bright as she leaned in a little too close.

“So do you,” Lando replied, his tone polite but just warm enough to make me suddenly very interested in my water glass. The conversation floated around me, full of laughter and inside jokes I didn’t understand.

“And who’s this?” one of them finally asked, her gaze flicking to me with polite curiosity.

“This is Y/N,” Lando said, gesturing toward me with a casualness that felt too deliberate. “My best friend.”

Best friend. There it was again.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Likewise,” she replied, her tone perfectly pleasant.

They didn’t linger much longer—just enough to leave their mark before excusing themselves with a wave and a promise to “catch up soon.”

“Old friends of yours?” I asked once they were gone, my voice light but with a slight edge.

“Something like that,” Lando said, taking a sip of his water.

“Something like that?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, his smirk returning. “They’re sisters. I, uh… may have had a thing with both of them. At different times, obviously.”

My fork froze midair. “Both of them?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, laughing. “It’s not that weird.”

“It’s incredibly weird,” I said, shaking my head.

“I mean, it didn’t overlap or anything,” he added, as if that somehow made it better. “But yeah… sisters.”

I stared at him, equal parts amused and horrified. “That’s… impressive? I guess?”

“Thank you,” he said, grinning like he’d just been handed an award. “Think I should call them again?”

“Sure,” I forced a laugh, stabbing at my pasta. “And then ask if they have any other sisters you might’ve missed.”

He chuckled, clearly oblivious to the sarcasm in my tone. “Good idea. Always room for a hat trick.”

My stomach churned uncomfortably, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I focused on my plate, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way my mood had shifted.

…

The paddock was its usual chaotic self—teams rushing to prepare for practice sessions, fans peering over barriers for a glimpse of their favorite drivers, and media personnel darting between interviews. I decided to escape the madness for a bit, heading toward the staff catering building for a much-needed coffee.

The line was mercifully short, but as I joined it, I noticed someone already waiting near the front. Tall, dark-haired, and wearing a Ferrari polo with his name—Marco—stitched neatly on the chest. He turned slightly, catching my eye and offering a polite smile.

“Busy morning?” he asked, his tone warm and conversational.

“Something like that,” I replied with a small smile. “You?”

“Always,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But coffee makes it manageable, no?”

I nodded. “A universal truth.”

Marco stepped aside to let me order, a gesture so casual it almost went unnoticed. As I gave my order to the barista, I felt him glance at me again—not invasive, just curious.

“So, not Ferrari,” he said after I stepped back to wait for my coffee.

“Is it that obvious?” I joked.

“A little,” he admitted, his grin widening. “You’re far too relaxed to be one of us.”

“Should I be offended or flattered?” I asked, tilting my head playfully.

“Flattered,” he said easily. “Relaxed is a good thing.”

We fell into an easy rhythm as we waited. Marco was effortlessly charming, asking questions without prying and tossing in a few self-deprecating remarks about Ferrari’s chaos.

“You’re here with a team?” he asked eventually.

“A friend,” I said vaguely.

“Lucky friend,” he said, his tone light but genuine.

I laughed softly. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

Marco opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation.

“There you are.”

I turned to see Lando approaching, his expression relaxed but his eyes sharper than usual.

“Hey,” I said, surprised. “I thought you were doing media.”

“Finished early,” he said, stepping closer. His gaze flicked briefly to Marco, who stood quietly by my side. “And I figured I’d find you here.”

“Good instincts,” I said lightly, though something about his sudden appearance felt… deliberate.

Marco offered his hand to Lando, ever polite. “Marco. Ferrari engineering.”

“Lando,” he replied, shaking his hand. “McLaren driving.”

Marco chuckled. “I know who you are. Good to meet you.”

“You too,” Lando said, his tone friendly but with an edge I couldn’t quite place.

The barista called my name, and I turned to grab my coffee, giving them a moment to exchange polite words. By the time I returned, Marco was stepping away with his own drink.

“Enjoy the rest of your day,” he said, offering me a small wave before disappearing into the crowd.

Lando watched him go before turning back to me. “Who was that?”

“Marco,” I said simply.

“And what was Marco talking to you about?” he asked, his tone too casual to be entirely innocent.

I raised an eyebrow. “Coffee, mostly. Why?”

“No reason,” he said quickly, taking a sip of my drink.

I studied him for a moment, noting the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird,” he said defensively.

“You’re definitely acting weird.”

Lando sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely baffled.

“He was flirting,” Lando said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I blinked. “He was being nice.”

“Nice,” Lando repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. “Sure. That’s one way to put it.”

“Lando, he’s just a guy who works for Ferrari,” I said, shaking my head.

“Exactly,” he said, as if that proved his point.

There was a beat of silence as I processed his words.

“You sound jealous,” I said finally, testing the waters.

“Jealous?” he scoffed, though the flicker of something in his eyes gave him away. “Hardly. I just think you can do way better than some guy who chats you up in the coffee line.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he asked, smirking now.

“Yes,” I said firmly, though the warmth in my chest betrayed me.

We walked back toward the McLaren garage, his mood lightening with every step. By the time we arrived, he was back to his usual self—chatting with the mechanics and laughing at some joke I’d already missed.

But his words stayed with me, replaying in my mind as I sat down with my coffee. My coffee which Lando had somehow already drank half of.

…

The McLaren lounge was a rare oasis of calm in the chaos of a race weekend. Engineers hustled past the windows, radios crackled with updates, and somewhere in the distance, an engine roared to life. But in here, it was all plush couches, soft lighting, and a distinct lack of urgency.

I was curled up on one end of the couch, flipping through a magazine, while Oscar and Lando lounged on the other side. Lando, as usual, couldn’t sit still. He was draped sideways over the armrest, absently spinning a water bottle in his hands.

“Alright,” Lando announced, breaking the comfortable silence. “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses?”

I looked up from my magazine, narrowing my eyes. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“It’s an important question,” he insisted, his grin wide and mischievous.

I pretended to ponder for a moment. “One horse-sized duck. Definitely.”

Lando gaped at me like I’d just declared something outrageous. “Terrible answer. Absolutely terrible.”

“It’s the smart answer,” I shot back, sitting up straighter. “You outmaneuver one big target instead of exhausting yourself trying to wrangle a hundred tiny ones.”

“Do you even know how terrifying a horse-sized duck would be?” Lando asked, his voice rising in mock disbelief.

“And do you know how terrifying a hundred duck-sized horses would be?” I countered, raising an eyebrow.

Lando leaned forward, his grin widening. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me you’d rather face one giant, angry duck with a wingspan bigger than this couch?”

“Absolutely,” I said confidently. “Ducks aren’t that scary.”

“They can bite, you know,” he shot back, gesturing dramatically. “One snap, and you’re done for.”

I smirked, leaning closer. “I think I’d survive. Besides, I have a secret weapon.”

“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing playfully.

“You,” I said, deadpan. “I’ll just toss you in its path and run.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. “Wow. That’s cold, Y/N. I thought we were a team.”

“We are,” I said, grinning. “But only if you pick the right answer next time.”

For a moment, he was quiet, his grin faltering just slightly as he met my gaze. It wasn’t much, just a flicker of something softer beneath the banter. But it was enough to make my stomach do that annoying little flip I’d been trying to ignore.

“Lando,” Oscar interjected, his tone casual but pointed. “You’re staring.”

“I am not,” Lando said quickly, his ears turning the faintest shade of pink as he looked away.

“You are,” Oscar said, leaning back with a smirk.

“You’re imagining things,” Lando muttered, crossing his arms.

Oscar snorted but didn’t press the issue, instead grabbing his phone and scrolling through it idly. But the look he shot Lando wasn’t lost on me—or Lando, for that matter.

As the banter settled into silence, I decided to grab a drink from the catering area, leaving the two of them alone.

The moment the door swung shut behind me, Oscar struck. “Mate, you’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“About what?” Lando asked, feigning innocence as he fidgeted with the water bottle.

Oscar didn’t even look up from his phone. “About Y/N.”

“What about her?”

Oscar set his phone down, leveling Lando with a knowing look. “You’re acting like a lovesick puppy every time she’s around.”

Lando scoffed, though the tips of his ears betrayed him again. “That’s ridiculous. We’re just friends.”

“Sure,” Oscar said, dragging out the word like he was savoring it. “That’s why you light up like a Christmas tree whenever she walks in the room.”

“I do not,” Lando said defensively, but his voice lacked conviction.

“You do,” Oscar replied, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “Mate, you’re glaring holes into the back of her head every time she talks to someone else. And don’t even get me started on how you were watching her during the duck-and-horse debate like she’d just solved world peace.”

“That’s—” Lando started, then stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Right,” Oscar said, his smirk firmly in place. “It’s exactly like that, but go off.”

Lando opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly searching for the right words. “It’s… we’ve known each other forever. It’s Y/N.”

Oscar nodded, as if that made sense, but his smirk didn’t waver. “Don’t you think it would be time to change that soon? You two are exhausting.”

Lando shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You’re completely gone for her. Admit it already.”

Lando groaned, leaning back against the couch and running a hand through his hair. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, grinning now. “But I’m right.”

Lando didn’t respond, his gaze drifting to the door where I’d just left. And for the first time, he let himself wonder if maybe—just maybe—Oscar was onto something.

…

The moment we walked into George’s celebration, the energy hit like a wave. The room was packed with familiar faces—drivers, engineers, and friends—dressed to the nines in that effortless way people in motorsport always seemed to manage. String lights twinkled across the ceiling, soft jazz played over the speakers, and a steady hum of conversation filled the air.

“You’re going to owe me for this,” I teased, glancing at Lando. “Dragging me here after wasting twenty minutes deciding between two identical shirts.”

“They weren’t identical,” Lando replied with a roll of his eyes, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back as we weaved through the crowd. “One had a darker stitch.”

“Completely life-changing,” I said dryly, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

“See? You get it,” he shot back with a grin, steering us toward a booth near the bar.

The way his hand lingered, warm and steady, was something I tried not to think too much about. It was just Lando being Lando—playful, touchy, and completely oblivious to the little flips my stomach insisted on doing whenever he leaned too close.

We found our way to a booth not far from the bar, where Alexandra and Charles were already seated. Charles was gesturing animatedly about something, while Alexandra sat with her usual poised grace, sipping champagne. When she saw us, her face lit up.

“Enfin, vous êtes là !” Alexandra exclaimed, waving us over. (Finally, you’re here!)

“Lando a changé de chemise trois fois,” I replied, throwing him a look. (Lando changed his shirt three times.)

Charles chuckled, leaning back with a smirk. “Toujours dramatique, hein ?” (Always dramatic, huh?)

“English,” Lando whined as we slid into the booth. “You’re ganging up on me in French. It’s not fair.”

“Pauvre bébé,” I teased, patting his arm lightly. (Poor baby.)

“Whatever that means,” he muttered, though the grin tugging at his lips made it clear he wasn’t upset.

The conversation flowed easily between the four of us. Lando, of course, dominated the chatter, weaving an elaborate story about George’s awkward rookie days. His expressions were so animated, his gestures so over-the-top, that even Charles—usually the calm and composed one—was cracking up by the end.

“That’s not true,” I said, nudging Lando with my elbow. “You’re exaggerating again.”

“I’m not!” he protested, his green eyes wide with mock innocence. “It’s all true. Every word.”

“Sure it is,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Back me up here!” he said, turning to Charles.

Charles raised a brow, taking a deliberate sip of his drink. “I wasn’t there, but… I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Alexandra laughed softly, glancing at me. “Toujours l’acteur dramatique, ce Lando.” (Always the drama actor, that Lando.)

“Hey,” Lando said, pointing at her. “I know that wasn’t a compliment.”

I smirked, leaning closer. “It absolutely wasn’t.”

He gasped dramatically, his hand over his chest. “Betrayed by my own friends. I’ll never recover.”

“You’ll survive,” I said, brushing him off, though the warmth in his gaze lingered just a beat too long.

Lando eventually excused himself to grab drinks, leaving me to chat with Alexandra and Charles. As soon as he was out of earshot, Alexandra leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Il est tellement évident qu’il a un faible pour toi,” she said softly, her voice full of amusement. (It’s so obvious he has a thing for you.)

“Quoi?” I asked, my cheeks heating instantly. (What?)

“Ouvre les yeux,” she said, smirking. (Open your eyes.)

Charles chuckled, sipping his drink as he watched the exchange. “C’est écrit partout sur son visage.” (It’s written all over his face.)

“Stop,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re imagining things.”

Alexandra raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, her expression saying everything her words didn’t.

At the bar, Lando was cornered by Carlos, who leaned casually against the counter, his expression smug.

“You know,” Carlos said, his tone casual, “you’re not very subtle.”

“What are you talking about?” Lando asked, though his focus kept drifting toward the booth where I was sitting.

Carlos raised his drink, gesturing toward me. “You’ve been staring at her all night, hermano. Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

Lando stiffened, his grin faltering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just tell her,” Carlos said, swirling his drink lazily.

“It’s not that simple,” Lando replied, his voice quieter now.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because if I mess this up, I lose her,” Lando admitted, glancing toward our booth.

Carlos tilted his head, studying him. “You’re scared. That’s what this is.”

“Of course I’m scared,” Lando muttered, running a hand through his hair. “She’s my best friend. If it doesn’t work—”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Carlos interrupted, his voice softer now. “But you’d better do something soon.”

Carlos’s smirk softened slightly, but before Lando could reply, Liam Lawson appeared at the bar.

“Who’s the girl with Charles and Alexandra?” Liam asked, nodding toward the booth. “She single?”

Carlos grinned mischievously. “Yeah, she is—go for it.”

Lando’s head snapped toward Carlos, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Carlos.”

“What?” Carlos said, feigning innocence. “Just giving the kid a shot.”

…

Liam approached with the kind of confidence that only a Red Bull driver could pull off.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from me. “You’re Y/N, right?”

I blinked, momentarily surprised but recovering quickly. “That’s me. And you are?”

“Liam Lawson,” he said, extending a hand.

I shook it, his grip firm but not overbearing. “Nice to meet you.”

“How do you know George?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table as if he had all the time in the world.

“Through Lando,” I replied, keeping my tone polite but measured. His easy demeanor was almost disarming, but there was something about the way he looked at me that made me hyper-aware of my surroundings.

“Ah, Lando,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Lucky guy. You two seem pretty close.”

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” I said simply, taking a sip of my drink and trying not to overthink his comment.

“Well,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “his loss if he hasn’t made a move yet.”

That caught me off guard. My gaze flicked to his, searching for any hint of a joke, but he was entirely serious—or at least good at pretending to be.

“Excuse me?” I asked, my voice betraying my surprise.

Liam grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Just saying. If I were him, I wouldn’t be sitting over there, letting someone else steal your attention.”

The comment was bold, and I didn’t quite know how to respond. My thoughts were a mess of confusion, flattery, and something else I didn’t want to name. Before I could formulate a response, the familiar sound of Lando’s voice cut through the air.

“Liam,” he said smoothly, stepping up to the table. His tone was calm, but his green eyes held a sharpness that made me sit up a little straighter.

Liam glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Christian’s looking for you,” Lando said, his tone casual but firm. “Something about debrief notes.”

Liam frowned, clearly reluctant. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, nodding. “He seemed pretty keen.”

Liam hesitated, his gaze flicking between me and Lando like he was weighing his options. Finally, he sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “Alright. Nice meeting you, Y/N.”

“You too,” I replied, watching him leave with a mixture of relief and something I couldn’t quite pin down.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Lando lingered for a moment, his hands shoved into his pockets as he avoided my gaze.

“That,” Charles said, his tone thick with amusement, “was the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Lando shot him a glare, his ears turning faintly red. “Mind your own business, Charles.”

Charles just smirked, raising his glass in mock surrender. “Whatever you say.”

I didn’t say anything, but a flicker of suspicion settled in the back of my mind.

Had Lando just…? No. That would be ridiculous. Wouldn’t it?

“Let’s get a drink,” Alexandra said, pulling me to my feet.

…

As Alexandra and I made our way back toward the booth, she nudged me gently, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

“Lando looked like he was about to breathe fire earlier,” she said casually, sipping her drink.

I laughed softly, trying to deflect. “He’s always protective. It’s nothing.”

“Protective?” Alexandra repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That was not protective, chérie. That was jealousy.”

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped short as we neared the booth, Lando and Charles’s voices filtering through the hum of the room.

“It will just be awkward, mate,” Lando said, his tone low and almost resigned.

“Just talk about it,” Charles replied simply.

“It’s not that simple,” Lando muttered. “She will never be more than just a friend.”

The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. My chest tightened, and the air around me seemed to still. Alexandra’s hand touched my arm gently, but I barely noticed.

“I— I need some air,” I managed, turning away before she could respond.

The ache in my chest grew with every step I took, his words echoing in my head.

She will never be more than just a friend.

And just like that, everything I thought I’d imagined felt painfully real.

…

I turned my phone face down on the table at Gigi’s, willing myself not to glance at the screen again. The missed calls from Lando were piling up, his name lighting up my notifications every half hour like clockwork. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to him—I did. But every time I thought about his voice, his laugh, his damn words, the ache in my chest tightened.

She will never be more than just a friend.

I shook my head, forcing the thought away as the waiter arrived with my order. The smell of rich, cheesy pasta wafted up, comforting in the way only food could be. I twirled a forkful absentmindedly, hoping the carbs would somehow fill the space that had been hollowed out the night before.

The familiar growl of an engine outside pulled my attention from my plate. I glanced toward the window and froze.

The unmistakable silhouette of Lando’s Miura parked just outside, sleek and shining even under the soft glow of streetlights. A moment later, the door opened, and there he was, stepping out effortless as usual—but his expression wasn’t the easygoing grin I was used to. He looked… worried.

Before I could decide what to do, he spotted me through the window, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. He pushed through the door, his eyes locking onto mine immediately.

“There you are,” he said, relief evident in his tone as he approached my table.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Lando? What are you doing here?”

He pulled out the chair across from me, sitting down without asking. “Looking for you.”

My heart twisted. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been ignoring me all day,” he said, his voice quieter now.

I looked away, focusing on my fork. “I had my phone off that’s all.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he said finally, his voice softer but steady.

I glanced up, frowning. “What?”

“You always turn to cheesy Italian food when you’re upset,” he said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s your thing.”

The casual observation caught me off guard, a mix of warmth and frustration bubbling in my chest.

“So what?” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “You’re some kind of expert on me now?”

He sighed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Y/N, I know you better than anyone. And I know something’s wrong.”

I didn’t answer, twisting my fork in the pasta and pretending to be engrossed in my meal. But the usual comfort it brought was absent, replaced by the uncomfortable weight of his gaze.

“You’re not yourself,” Lando said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, my tone clipped.

“Don’t lie to me,” he replied, his tone more serious than I was used to.

I set my fork down, the clink of metal against porcelain louder than it should have been. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking.”

His eyes softened, his frustration giving way to concern. “Y/N…”

“Lando, I’m fine,” I interrupted, though the words felt hollow.

He didn’t push further, but I could see the gears turning in his head. He sat back, glancing down at my half-finished plate of pasta before gesturing to the waiter.

“Can we get the check, please?” he asked, pulling out his wallet.

I frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Paying,” he said simply, standing as the waiter approached.

“For me?”

“Yes,” he said, looking down at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Come on.”

“Come on where?” I asked, my brow furrowing.

“You’ll see,” he said, extending a hand.

I hesitated for a moment before letting him pull me to my feet.

The warm night air hit us as we stepped out of Gigi’s, the soft sound of waves in the distance mingling with the faint hum of the city. Lando didn’t say anything, his grip on my hand firm but gentle as he led me toward Larvotto Beach, just a short walk away.

“Lando, seriously,” I said as we reached the sand. “What’s going on?”

He stopped, turning to face me, his green eyes brighter under the moonlight.

“We need to talk.” he said simply.

And just like that, my heart started racing, even though I had no idea what he was going to say.

The beach stretched out before us, quiet except for the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore. The city lights glittered faintly in the distance, their reflection dancing on the dark water. Lando walked beside me, his shoulders tense, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

For once, I didn’t fill the silence. I didn’t trust myself to. My thoughts were a whirlwind—last night’s overheard words still fresh in my mind, colliding with the unexpected intensity of this moment.

We walked like that for a while, the sand soft beneath our feet, until Lando came to a sudden stop. He turned to face me, his green eyes catching the moonlight in a way that made my stomach twist.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

I crossed my arms, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. “Try the beginning.”

He huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “The beginning’s too far back. I’d be here all night.”

“Good thing I don’t have anywhere else to be,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

For a moment, he just looked at me, his expression softening. “Y/N, I have a lot of friends. Like, a lot of friends.”

I blinked, confused. “Okay?”

“But none of them get to me the way you do,” he said, his voice dropping.

I stared at him, my breath catching. “What are you saying?”

He glanced out at the water, like he was searching for courage in the rolling waves. “I mean… you’re not just anyone to me. You never have been. You’re the first person I think of when something happens—good or bad. And the idea of upsetting you? It’s unbearable.”

My throat tightened as his words sank in.

“Like today,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “You ignored my calls, and I couldn’t stop thinking about whether I’d done something wrong. Whether I hurt you somehow. Because if I did…” He stopped, exhaling sharply, and shook his head. “I can’t stand the thought of you being upset because of me.”

I didn’t respond, too caught up in the flood of emotions his words were pulling from me.

“When you’re upset, it breaks my heart,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “And when you laugh… it’s like my entire day gets brighter. When you’re sad, it feels like my world’s falling apart.”

“Lando,” I started, but he held up a hand, shaking his head.

“I’m not done,” he said, his words tumbling out now, faster and more frantic. “I’ve been feeling like this for so long, and I thought I could just push it aside or pretend it didn’t matter, but it does. It matters so much. And if I messed up—if I’ve ruined this somehow—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You didn’t—”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted, his eyes locking onto mine. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now, but I’ve been too scared to admit it. And I know this might change everything, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

I froze, his confession slamming into me with the force of a tidal wave.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know if this makes sense. I just… I can’t lose you, Y/N.”

Without thinking, I stepped closer, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

For a second, he was completely still, caught off guard. But then he kissed me back, his hands slipping to my waist as he pulled me closer. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it deepened quickly, making the world around me disappear.

When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us catching our breath.

“So… I’m guessing you feel the same?” he asked, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re so slow sometimes,” I murmured, shaking my head with a laugh.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” I said, smiling.

The relief on his face was almost comical. He pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me tightly like he never wanted to let go.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” he murmured into my hair.

“And I’ve wanted to hear it,” I admitted, my voice muffled against his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “But… yesterday. Did I say something? Did I—”

I hesitated, my stomach twisting. “I overheard you talking to Charles.”

His face paled. “Oh.”

“You said I’d never be more than a friend,” I said, my voice wavering.

Lando winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “God, Y/N, that’s not how I meant it at all. I said that because I thought I didn’t stand a chance. Like… you’re so important to me, and I didn’t want to mess up what we already had by wanting something I thought I could never have.”

He looked at me with a mix of regret and hope. “I’m an idiot. It wasn’t because I didn’t want more—it’s because I didn’t think I could have it.”

“You are an idiot,” I said, my lips twitching into a small smile. “But you’re my idiot.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Yours, huh? Bold claim.”

I tilted my head, my grin widening. “Think you can find someone else to deal with you the way I do?”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Deal with me? You mean worship my charm and tolerate my perfection?”

“Oh, please,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “The only thing I’m worshipping is the patience I’ve built up putting up with you.”

His hands slid to my waist, pulling me slightly closer, his smirk turning more mischievous. “You love me. Admit it.”

“Not a chance,” I said, even as my pulse quickened.

His gaze dropped to my lips for the briefest moment before meeting my eyes again, his voice softening but still teasing. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

Before I could respond, he closed the gap, kissing me again with a fierceness that took me by surprise. This wasn’t the hesitant, nervous kiss from before. It was confident, teasing, like everything we’d been holding back had finally snapped into place.

I kissed him back, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. His hands tightened on my waist, grounding me as he smiled against my lips, murmuring, “Still denying it?”

I broke the kiss just long enough to catch my breath, raising an eyebrow. “You think one kiss is going to make me fold?”

“Two,” he said smugly, leaning in for another without waiting for an answer.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t stop him, meeting him halfway this time. His lips curved into a grin mid-kiss, and I could feel his stupid, insufferable smugness radiating off him.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked when we pulled apart, my voice laced with mock annoyance.

“Unbelievably,” he replied, his grin widening as he rested his forehead against mine. “And don’t pretend you’re not.”

“Maybe I am,” I admitted, smirking. “But if you keep talking, I might start regretting it.”

He laughed, pulling me closer. “Alright, no more talking. For now.”

“Good,” I said, leaning in again, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore fading into the background as everything else fell away.

The weight of everything unsaid was gone, replaced by the warmth of realizing we’d both been fighting our way toward the same truth: we’d always belonged to each other.

When we broke apart, Lando’s grin turned mischievous, and I immediately knew he was up to something. Before I could react, he scooped me up effortlessly and started toward the water.

“Lando! Don’t you dare!” I shrieked, squirming in his arms as laughter bubbled out of me.

“Payback for all those times you called me an idiot,” he teased, stopping just as the waves lapped at his shoes.

He finally set me down, his smirk smug and unapologetic. “Admit it. You love me anyway.”

Figures. I’m in love with someone who steals my fries and once confidently argued that dolphins were just “sea dogs.” I wouldn’t have it any other way though.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #lando x you #lando norris one shot #lando norris imagine #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine

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flwrkid14 · 6 months ago

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The Marriage Pact (But Make It Sabotage)

ahh tysm for 500 followers!!! i never thought so many people would actually like all my silly ideas! <3

Tim and Danny, somewhere in their early twenties, jokingly make a marriage pact: if they’re both single by the time they’re in their late twenties, they’ll just marry each other. It’s lighthearted, it’s casual—just two best friends making promises for a future they’re totally not worried about.

Except… it gets a little weird.

Danny gets set up on a blind date one Saturday. Tim, the supportive best friend he is, casually mentions there’s a case he could really use Danny’s help on. Nothing serious, of course—just something that totally can’t wait until Sunday. Danny, being the responsible friend he is, cancels the date.

Tim, meanwhile, gets roped into a coffee meetup with one of Steph’s friends. It’s not really a date, but it could turn into one. Or at least, it could’ve, if Danny hadn’t texted Tim about that new bakery he’s been dying to try. “We should go! Like, now. Before all the good pastries are gone.” Tim, naturally, reschedules the coffee meetup. After all, Danny takes priority, right?

It becomes a pattern.

Danny’s coworkers try to set him up with someone they think is his type. “Oh, sorry,” Danny says, “I already promised Tim I’d help him with his tech upgrades tonight.”

Tim gets invited to a fancy gala where he might meet someone. Danny shows up with two tickets to a concert Tim mentioned liking a month ago. “Come on, you deserve a break.”

Neither of them realizes what’s happening, at least not consciously. To them, it’s just normal. They’re best friends. Of course, they’re going to prioritize each other. Of course, they’d rather hang out together than with some random stranger. Of course, no one else really gets them the way they get each other.

Their friends, however, are losing their minds.

Steph is convinced Tim and Danny are already dating and just haven't told anyone yet. Tucker and Sam are taking bets on how long this can possibly last before one of them snaps. Cass is tempted to lock them in a room until they sort out their feelings.

The kicker? Tim and Danny both think the other one doesn’t feel the same. They’re sabotaging potential love interests out of sheer self-preservation because the idea of watching the other fall in love with someone else is unbearable. But they can’t say anything, because what if it ruins their friendship? What if the marriage pact is all they get?

So, they keep pretending it’s fine. Danny keeps canceling dates for “missions” that could definitely wait. Tim keeps skipping events to spend time with Danny.

The late twenties deadline creeps closer. Everyone else is waiting for the inevitable implosion. Tim and Danny, oblivious as ever, are just… biding their time.

#tim drake #danny phantom #danny fenton #brain dead #dead tired #dc x dp #idiots in love #tim and danny make a marriage pact #and sabotage eachothers attempts to go on dates #totally unintentionally tho!!#how was tim supposed to know that danny had a date the exact day he had taken him to a new disco club??#its not his fault danny had agreed to go!

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cosmicalily · 5 months ago

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'is it casual now?' with stray kids, ot8 headcanons by @cosmicalily

author’s note: ugh i’ve been reminiscing on all the boys and girls i’ve been knee deep in the passenger seat with (emotionally and physically) and thought omg i should share my angst with all of you!! although this is a lot more lighthearted, i’d consider it more so the mutual crushes before a relationship stage rather than a toxic situationship but take it as you’d like it! warnings: unspecified relationships/ situationships

casual…with chris

letting you sleep on his shoulder while he works in the studio. calling you at night and staying on the line until you’re asleep. driving you anywhere and everywhere because it’s “on the way” even when it isn’t. calling you ‘baby’, ‘darling’, ‘sweetheart’ more than your own name.

casual…with minho

buying groceries for the two of you without prompt. always cooking a double serve of dinner so you have something to eat. insane jealousy whenever anyone breathes near you. his hand on your thigh during drives. a photo of you and his cats as his phone wallpaper.

casual…with changbin

buying you presents for any and every occasion. sweaty, proud hugs after you finish a particularly difficult set at the gym. never ever letting you pay whenever you go out. constantly talking about you to his friends.

casual…with hyunjin

having not had a girlfriend since meeting you. resting his head on your lap when he’s sleepy. telling you how beautiful he thinks you are every hour of the day. having a sketchbook filled with portraits of you, and a folder filled with candids.

casual…with jisung

snuggles and tangled limbs under blankets while watching movies. spontaneous evening outings. making cd mixtapes for you of songs that remind him of you. drunk confessions and makeouts followed by sober apologies.

casual…with felix

calling you ‘his girl’, even if you aren’t officially his yet. sitting on his lap while he games, builds keyboards or scrolls on his phone. reposting love tiktoks that include suspiciously accurate descriptions of you. playing with and braiding each other’s hair.

casual…with seungmin

letting you take over the aux when he’s driving. wearing his hoodies more than your own. playful cuddles, tickles and cheek kisses. asking him to sing for you over the phone at midnight. prolonged eye contact. knowing your coffee order by heart and bringing it to you each morning.

casual…with jeongin

lingering touches to your waist, hips and sides. letting you borrow anything and everything from his closet. catching him staring at you in the mirror as you get ready. indirectly confessing by writing a love song about you on your birthday.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff - send an ask, reply or dm to be added!

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be4chywritez · 2 months ago

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serious | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

rec: #37 with oscar piastri please? maybe they’re arguing or smth and he says something without thinking and reader starts crying? thank u!!

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

warnings: none except me being really high and writing this

You weren’t even sure how the argument started.

The plan had been simple—spend a quiet night with Oscar, finally get some time together before his schedule got crazy again. You had been curled up on his couch, legs thrown over his lap, teasing him about how helpless he was when it came to assembling furniture. It was harmless, the way most of your jokes were.

“You’d be lost without me,” you said with a grin, nudging his thigh. “Like, I’m pretty sure you’d still be eating your takeaway off a cardboard box if I wasn’t around.”

He chuckled at first, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be lost—I’d just have a slightly more… minimalist lifestyle.”

“Minimalist?” You snorted. “Oscar, you didn’t even own proper plates before I got here.”

He rolled his eyes. “I had plates.”

“Oh, my bad, I meant one singular plate and a set of mismatched cutlery you probably stole from McDonald’s.”

You expected him to laugh, to play along like he always did. But instead, his expression shifted—his jaw tensed, his fingers drummed absently against your shin. The lighthearted teasing suddenly felt heavier, like you had unknowingly poked at something deeper.

You should’ve stopped there, but you didn’t.

“Face it,” you said, grinning. “You’d be a disaster without me.”

And that’s when he sighed, long and sharp, before muttering, “You never take anything seriously.”

Your smile faltered.

“What?”

Oscar ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “It’s like nothing matters to you.”

The words cut deeper than you expected. You blinked, suddenly unsure if you had misheard him.

“Nothing matters to me?” you repeated, voice quieter now, more careful.

He sighed again, still not looking at you. “I don’t know, sometimes it just feels like you don’t take me seriously.”

Your stomach twisted.

“Are you—” You let out a breath, trying to steady your voice. “Are you actually saying that? After everything?”

He exhaled through his nose, frustration evident in the way his shoulders tensed. “You’re always joking, always acting like nothing’s a big deal. I get that it’s just how you are, but sometimes… I don’t know, sometimes I just wish you’d be serious for once.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening.

It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said them, like he actually believed them.

Like he believed you didn’t care.

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as your vision blurred. You didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much that hurt. But the lump in your throat wouldn’t go away, and before you could stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek.

Oscar’s entire body stiffened.

“Shit,” he muttered, his frustration vanishing in an instant. His eyes widened as he reached for you, panic creeping into his voice. “Shit, shit, shit, c’mere.”

You turned your face away, wiping at your cheek quickly, but it was useless. Another tear followed, and Oscar groaned under his breath, like he physically hated himself for making you cry.

“I didn’t mean that,” he said hurriedly, shifting closer, his hands finding your face. “I swear I didn’t mean that.”

Your voice wobbled as you pulled back slightly. “Then why did you say it?”

He winced, his thumbs brushing over your damp cheeks, like he was trying to undo the damage. “I don’t know—I was frustrated, I wasn’t thinking.”

You let out a shaky breath. “You think I don’t take you seriously?”

“No,” he said instantly, voice thick with regret. “No, that’s not true. I know you do. I just—I was being a fucking idiot.”

You sniffled, eyes still glossy. “I always take you seriously, Oscar. I literally revolve my entire schedule around your ridiculous race calendar. I watch hours of onboard footage with you even though half the time I don’t even know what you’re analyzing. I show up to every race I can, I defend you when people online say dumb shit—”

“I know.” His hands were still on your face, his forehead now pressed against yours. His voice was softer now, desperate. “I know, baby. And I love that about you. I was just—I was just being an asshole.”

You swallowed hard, not fully ready to forgive him yet, but also not wanting to keep crying. His thumbs kept smoothing over your cheeks, his touch warm, grounding.

“I don’t like fighting with you,” you admitted, voice small.

“I hate fighting with you,” he murmured, tilting your face up slightly. “I especially hate making you cry.”

You let out a small, unsteady exhale, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. “You really were an asshole just now.”

“I know.” He kissed the tip of your nose, then your forehead. “Biggest asshole on the planet. Probably breaking some kind of world record.”

Despite everything, you huffed a quiet laugh. “I was this close to throwing a pillow at you.”

“I deserve worse.” He kissed your cheek this time, soft and lingering. “Like, I don’t know, maybe being forced to watch an entire season of your guilty pleasure reality show.”

You narrowed your eyes. “The Bachelor?”

He groaned but nodded. “Yeah. If that’s what it takes.”

You pretended to think about it. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

His lips finally twitched into something closer to a smile. “So lucky.”

And then, finally, he kissed you—soft and slow, like an apology woven between every press of his lips.

You let yourself sink into it, because even when he was frustrating, even when he made dumb mistakes, he was still yours.

And you took that seriously.

#be4chywrites #f1 x reader #oscar #oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #oscar x reader #osc #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri x reader

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neferaskingdom · 7 months ago

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♡ Good Luck Charm | CL16

PART OF MY IS IT CASUAL NOW? SERIES

Summary: If this was just supposed to be Casual, why is he acting like this? Why is he holding her close as if he never plans to let go?

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

It had started out as a casual thing. A friends-with-benefits arrangement, nothing more. At least, that’s what she told herself at first.

But Charles made it difficult to keep things casual. There was an undeniable charm to him, a sweetness she hadn't anticipated. He didn’t just text her at night or call her when he was back in Monaco. Instead, he called regularly, sometimes even when he was across the world for a race. He’d ask about her day, make her laugh with stories about his travels, and always ended with some version of, “I can’t wait to come home and see you.”

And then, there were the little things he did that went beyond what she’d expected. He’d bring her favorite coffee when they met up, remember small details she’d mentioned in passing, and leave her cute voice messages when he found something that reminded him of her. Charles was effortlessly thoughtful, as if caring for her was second nature.

One evening, after a tough qualifying session, he called her, his voice a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “You would not believe how bad the setup felt today,” he complained. “It’s like the car just… refused to cooperate.”

She listened as he vented, offering encouragement and making him laugh with a few lighthearted comments. By the end of the call, he sounded calmer, even managing a smile in his voice. “You know, you’re good at this. You make me feel better even from thousands of miles away.”

“Well, someone has to keep you sane,” she teased.

“Oh, you’re doing much more than that,” he replied warmly. “Really, I wish you could be here. You’d probably make the whole race go smoother, just by being around.”

“Is that so?” she teased, her heart swelling at the thought. “And how exactly would I do that?”

“Your mere presence would calm my nerves,” he insisted, the playful lilt in his voice making her laugh. “You know how competitive it gets. If I could just look up and see you, I’d feel so much better.”

“Maybe I’ll have to make an appearance then,” she said lightly, but in her heart, she felt a pang of longing at the thought of being close to him, sharing those moments in person.

As the weeks passed, the calls became a comforting routine. He’d check in after qualifying sessions, asking her opinion on his performance, or he’d call after a disappointing race, needing to vent. It was during those moments that she began to see how much he truly valued her support.

“Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to come in tenth?” he grumbled one afternoon, his voice low and strained as he paced in his hotel room.

“Pretty frustrating, I’d imagine,” she replied sympathetically. “But it’s just one race, right? You’ve got more coming up.”

“Yeah, but it’s Monaco next! I can’t mess that up. It’s my home! The pressure is insane.” He took a deep breath, and she could almost picture him running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I need to win this one.”

“Then you need to focus and stop overthinking it. You’re talented, Charles. Trust your instincts. You’ve got this,” she reassured him, her voice firm.

“You always know what to say. I can’t wait to come home and see you again.” He sounded lighter, a smile evident in his tone. “Maybe you should come see me race sometime.”

She laughed it off, but Charles was relentless. Every few days, he’d bring up the idea of her coming to watch him race. “Come on,” he’d say, “Just one weekend.”

But she kept brushing it off, always with a half-serious excuse. “Charles, I have a job, remember? I can’t just fly out to some random country you know”

One evening, he finally pulled out his best argument. “Monaco,” he said with a grin she could practically hear over the phone, “that's literally our backyard. No excuses this time.”

She groaned, pretending to resist. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“But charmingly so,” he countered, voice teasing but hopeful.

Eventually, she caved. “Fine. I’ll come. Just because you’ll never let me hear the end of it if I don’t.”

His laugh was practically a shout of victory. “You’re going to love it, I promise. And I’ll make sure you have the best seat in the house.”

When she arrived at the paddock on race day, Charles was waiting for her at the VIP entrance, practically bouncing on his feet. The moment he spotted her, he broke into a grin and quickly made his way over.

“You came!” He wrapped her in a hug, holding her close like he hadn’t seen her in years.

“I told you I’d be here,” she laughed, squeezing him back. “Though you owe me big time for putting up with all this noise and chaos.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I intend to make it up to you,” he replied with a smirk, keeping his arm around her as he led her inside. “Let me show you around.”

Charles walked her through the paddock, his hand resting possessively on her lower back as he guided her past the hustle and bustle of team members, mechanics, and engineers. He introduced her to some of the crew, who greeted her with warm smiles, and she couldn’t help but feel the pride radiating from Charles as he spoke about the work they put into the car.

“See that guy?” he said, pointing to a tall man with a headset who was deeply focused on the monitor. “That’s my race engineer. He’s the one who helps guide me during the race.”

She nodded, genuinely interested as Charles continued to explain the intricacies of the race preparations. “And this,” he said, leading her to the Ferrari garage, “is where all the magic happens.”

As they entered at the Ferrari garage, Charles spotted his brother Arthur nearby. “Ah, you have to meet Arthur,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile. “You’ll love him.”

Arthur approached, giving her a friendly grin as he shook her hand. “So, you’re the ‘lucky charm’ Charles keeps talking about,” he said, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

“Don’t start,” Charles muttered, clearly embarrassed, though he didn’t let go of her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Arthur,” she replied, feeling her cheeks heat up as she shot Charles a playful look. “I didn’t realize I had such a reputation around here.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Arthur chuckled, giving his brother a knowing look. Charles just rolled his eyes and nudged him away, muttering something about “family being an embarrassment.”

Before long, Charles was called back for his final preparations, and he turned to her, his expression softening. “You’ll be watching, right?”

“Front row seat,” she promised, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

The race itself was a whirlwind of emotions. As the lights went out and the cars roared to life, she felt her heart racing in tandem with the engines. Each lap was a rollercoaster of tension and excitement, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Charles. He navigated the track with grace and determination, every move calculated, every turn precise.

With each passing lap, the anticipation built, and when he crossed the finish line in first place, she couldn’t help but scream with joy. The entire atmosphere erupted in cheers, but for her, it was all about Charles. He’d done it. He’d won!

As he climbed out of the car, sweat glistening on his forehead, he scanned the crowd until his eyes locked onto hers. A wide smile broke across his face, and he hurried over, not caring about the cameras or the noise.

“Did you see that? I did it!” he shouted, wrapping her in a tight hug that lifted her off the ground. She could hardly believe it as he peppered her face with kisses, excitement spilling over. “You’re my good luck charm!”

“I think you had it in you all along!” she laughed, overwhelmed by the joy radiating from him.

“Not without you here,” he insisted, his eyes sparkling with delight. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You make everything better.”

She laughed, still wrapped in his arms, as he planted quick, enthusiastic kisses all over her face. “Charles, everyone’s watching!”

“Let them watch,” he said, not even caring, still grinning as he peppered her face with kisses.

The celebration was in full swing when they stepped into the club, Charles was surrounded by friends, team members, and fans who were all there to revel in his long-awaited Monaco victory. The energy was infectious, and she couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride watching him receive endless pats on the back, his grin wide and eyes gleaming under the flashing lights. He never let her stray far from his side, keeping a steady arm around her waist as they moved through the crowd.

"Finally won my home race," he said, leaning close so she could hear him over the music, his voice filled with disbelief and joy. "It still doesn’t feel real."

She nudged him lightly, a teasing smile on her lips. "You sure it happened? You’re not dreaming right now?"

"Guess I’ll find out if I wake up," he said, laughing as he twirled her in place, pulling her back against his chest. "But you’re here, so I’d say this has to be real."

They both laughed, the shared warmth and excitement washing over them like a wave. He kept her close as they moved through the club, accepting congratulations and raising toasts with anyone who approached. But every few minutes, his hand would slide back to hers, squeezing her fingers or pulling her back to his side. His eyes would find hers, that familiar spark of mischief dancing in his gaze.

Eventually, they found themselves tucked into a quieter corner of the club, away from the crowd. Charles leaned against the wall, tugging her closer until her hands rested on his chest, his grin turning cheeky as he looked down at her.

“So, you’re not disappearing on me tonight, are you?” he teased, his fingers tracing a lazy line up her arm. “I kind of like having you around.”

“Disappearing?” she laughed. “Please, Leclerc, it’s like I’m glued to you tonight. You’ve barely let go of my hand.”

He smirked, his hands slipping down to her waist as he pulled her even closer. "Can you blame me? Best night of my life, and I want you right here."

The sincerity in his voice softened her, but he quickly masked it with a grin, tugging her back onto the dance floor. They spent hours laughing, dancing, and talking between sips of champagne, the atmosphere around them filled with lighthearted banter. Charles was in his element, his joy contagious as he celebrated with everyone around him, but his attention kept circling back to her—small glances, soft touches, lingering smiles.

At one point, he leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "Come with me."

Before she could respond, he was guiding her toward a secluded corridor at the back of the club, pressing her gently against the wall. His hands settled on her waist as he looked down at her, his gaze intense and filled with an energy that set her pulse racing. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was equal parts heated and sweet, his fingers tracing her sides as he held her close.

When he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead against hers, his voice a low murmur. "Thank you for being here tonight. Wouldn’t have wanted to celebrate with anyone else."

The words made her chest tighten, and before she could respond, he was kissing her again, a soft laugh escaping his lips as they stayed wrapped up in each other, oblivious to the world outside their small bubble.

Later, as the night wound down, they left the club together, Charles’ hand never leaving hers. Back at his apartment, he pulled her inside, his smile turning playful again. "One more toast, maybe?"

“Isn’t that what you said after the last toast?” she teased, following him into the kitchen as he poured them each a final glass of champagne.

“What can I say? It’s a big night,” he said, winking. They clinked glasses, his eyes never leaving hers as they sipped, and when she set her glass down, he was already pulling her close, his lips brushing along her jawline before settling on her lips.

They drifted into his bedroom, Charles’ touches growing more insistent as he held her close, a mix of laughter and whispered words filling the space between them. He was relentless, the intensity of the night fueling each kiss, each lingering touch as they stayed wrapped up in each other.

Finally, as the early hours of morning crept in, they lay tangled together in his bed, the celebrations fading into a comfortable quiet. Charles lay beside her, his face nestled against her neck as his breathing slowed, a soft smile on his face.

“Perfect night,” he mumbled, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

She smiled, her fingers running through his hair as she whispered, “Yeah, it was.”

In the quiet that followed, she felt his breathing even out, his arm around her tightening slightly as he drifted off to sleep, holding her close as if he never planned to let go.

Taglist: @dullypully @wintterily @sageskiesf1 @firefirevampire @eloriis

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loverstrings · 5 days ago

Text

Just a night in - Bucky Barnes x F!Reader | Platonic!Sam Wilson x F!Reader | Platonic!Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Post-TFATWS, Bucky and Y/N show up to Sam’s D.C. apartment for a night in with him and Joaquin. Just a quiet night with family, and the kind of peace that still feels a little new.

a.n - guys im alive!! im currently working on the edits for chapter eight and a lil sum extra hehehe so that should be up sometime this weekend or next week. i hope you guys enjoy this, wrote this in the car. so lmk if there are any grammar errors.

| can be read as a standalone or apart of project spindle |

——

They show up late. Again.

Bucky knocks like he’s not sure he’s welcome, which is stupid, because the second the door swings open, Joaquin beams and immediately hugs Y/N, then pulls Bucky into a back patting, manly slap on the shoulder kind of thing that makes both of them chuckle.

“You’re late,” Sam calls from the kitchen.

“Forty-seven minutes late,” Joaquin adds, grinning. “Not that anyone was counting. Except me. I was absolutely counting.”

Y/N smirks. “There was traffic.”

Sam snorts. “The drive is only ten minutes away.”

“Lot of red lights,” Bucky mutters, deadpan.

Joaquin raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh. And what color were the lights in your hotel room?”

“We don’t have to dignify that with a response,” Y/N says, immediately dignifying it by running a hand through her hair.

And that’s how the night begins.

They sit on Sam’s couch with mismatched mugs, half empty takeout containers, and a charcuterie board that’s been partially devoured. Music hums low from the Bluetooth speaker, a playlist that Joaquin made that none of them brave enough to change.

The conversation winds like it always does. Casual, then serious, then ridiculous again.

They talk about how hot D.C. is. How Brooklyn’s been quieter lately. Y/N wants a cat—a white one, she insists, something soft and bossy. Bucky pretends to protest, but it’s clear he’s already on board.

“What would you name it?” Joaquin asks, lounging sideways across the armchair.

“Something cute,” Y/N says. “Like Pearl. Or, I dunno. Banana.”

“Alpine,” Bucky offers without looking up from his drink.

Joaquin wheezes. “Banana the cat?”

The laughter fades eventually, softening into quieter talk. Joaquin leans back, fiddling with his drink.

“So, what was it like?” he asks. “Working with Steve. And Natasha.”

There’s a pause. Not an uncomfortable one. Just… weighty.

Bucky sets his cup down. “Steve was all heart. And all conviction. He’d throw himself off anything if he thought it was right.”

Y/N nods. “Nat… she knew things. Always one step ahead. But she made you feel like she saw you. Like, really saw you.”

“I wish I’d met them,” Joaquin says.

“You’d have liked Nat,” Sam says. “She’d have terrified you, but you’d have liked her.”

“What about Steve?” Joaquin asks.

“He’s around,” Sam says, more gently now. “Came back quiet. Keeps out of the spotlight. Mostly helps Wanda when she needs it.”

They all nod—briefly, solemnly.

“Have you seen her?” Joaquin asks Sam.

“Just once. After Westview.”

“Is it true she—”

“It’s true,” Sam says simply. “But she’s trying.”

Y/N’s quiet, jaw ticking. “She deserved a chance to grieve. They never gave her that.”

Eventually the night sways back into lighter things. Movies. Bad mission food. How Buck still can’t make coffee right (“That’s a war crime,” Y/N declares after one sip).

Joaquin starts dozing off, fully asleep halfway through a documentary, feet hanging off the couch at an awkward angle.

Y/N grabs a blanket from the armchair and tosses it over him with a practiced flick of her wrist.

“Mother instincts kicking in?” Bucky murmurs, amused.

She smirks. “He’ll thank me in the morning.”

Bucky chuckles under his breath, watching her walk off toward the kitchen.

She helps clear the dishes while Sam tidies the charcuterie tray.

Then, Y/N leans her hip against the counter. “Hey, Sam?”

He glances over, already expecting something lighthearted. “What, you finally gonna admit Bucky was right about the wine?”

She smiles faintly. “No. I meant… you doing okay?”

He tilts his head. “Tonight? Yeah, it’s good seeing you guys.”

She shakes her head. “No. I mean—being Cap. Being here. In D.C.”

Sam goes quiet for a moment, the weight of the question settling in.

He exhales, drying his hands on a dish towel. “It’s heavier than I thought. Some days…” He pauses, eyes distant for a moment. “Some days I wonder if I’m still earning it. Other days, I feel like I already did. It’s not just the shield. It’s what people see when I hold it. What they expect to see. And what they don’t.”

Y/N doesn’t interrupt. Just watches him, letting the silence stretch as long as he needs.

“You’re doing more than okay,” she says gently. “You’re making them see it. That matters.”

Sam nods once, grateful.

Back in the living room, Bucky’s sitting quietly, rubbing a thumb along a groove in his glass. Y/N returns to him, drops onto the couch, legs over his lap like she’s claiming territory.

He glances over, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Mission status?”

“Report filed,” she replies, mock formal. “Captain’s stable. Morale’s high. Whiskey stocks running low.”

Sam’s voice calls from the kitchen, dry as ever: “You forget to mention your field name, Sparkle Fingers.”

“Excuse you,” Y/N fires back. “It’s Agent Sparkle Fingers.”

“She’s got the pink glowy magic hands,” Sam adds, stepping into view with a grin. “I don’t make the rules.”

“She makes her own,” Bucky mutters, letting his hand rest lightly on her shin.

Y/N shoots Sam a smug look. “Good thing I’m the one writing Bucky’s post mission evaluation.”

Bucky raises a brow. “Am I passing?”

“Hm.” She pretends to consider it, then smirks. “Still under review. Might need another field test.”

He leans back with a soft laugh. “Terrifying.”

“Effective,” she says sweetly.

Sam walks to the bathroom, shaking his head. “God help us if she ever runs the briefing room.”

Y/N shrugs, raising her voice just enough for Sam to hear—but not enough to wake Joaquin. “Admit it, Wilson. You’d miss me if I didn’t.”

They stay like that for a while. Talking about nothing. Letting the night breathe around them.

Eventually Bucky says, “We should come visit more often.”

“Mm,” Y/N agrees, settling her head on his shoulder. “Next time I’ll bring Alpine.”

“We don’t have a cat yet.”

“Not yet,” she says sleepily. “But we will.”

——

keep up with project spindle and some other drabbles! masterlist

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #marvel masterlist #marvel #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes fluff

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sweetkpopmusings · 10 months ago

Text

stray kids soulmate aus | k. seungmin <3

a/n: these days i am QUITE the seungmin simp & it shows :,-) i had a lot of fun writing a very classic kpop fic meet-cute with this one ! if you need me, i'll be watching seungmin compilations <333 pics not mine~

content: fluff, soulmate au | wc: 1.9k | warnings: none really! | pairing: soulmate!seungmin x gn!reader | requests: open

on your 18th birthday, you receive a stack of sticky notes on which you can write to your soulmate. there is one note for every day leading up to when you meet.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

you settled into your desk chair, eager to see what anecdote seungmin has chosen for you today. it was always a thrill to get a peek into his daily life, and it was especially entertaining when he removed context from the situation to make you laugh. over the years, he developed a knack for telling stories just the way you liked them.

we went shopping today, in that area that always smells like ice cream cone batter. i bought a cool phone case. you better compliment me on it when we meet. i know it’s only ten days away, but i encourage you to put a reminder on your calendar, so you don’t forget to appreciate my taste in accessories.

-yours, seungmin

you scoffed. he was always extra sassy when he was excited about something. you tapped your pen against your desk, devising the perfect reply to seungmin’s daily update.

i promise i’ll tell you the phone case is cool, if and only if it actually is. we must be on the same wavelength because i went shopping today too (it didn’t smell like ice cream cone batter where i was though). i picked out new clothes for the day we meet, so you better compliment me on it as soon as you see me. should we make a joint calendar event since you’re quite forgetful?

-yours, y/n

not even 30 seconds passed when you saw seungmin’s handwriting appear near the bottom of the sticky note. you smiled, feeling his playful energy infect you.

like a wise person said, i’ll tell you the outfit is cool, if and only if it actually is. i’d love to make a joint calendar event, but we can’t share contact information yet, remember? i’ll have to trust you won’t forget the phone case…i guess that’s more important than remembering a basic rule about soulmates, so i’ll have faith in you :-)

-yours, seungmin

with another roll of your eyes, you wrote your last message to seungmin for the night.

you test my patience, kim seungmin. get some rest now. i know you’re working hard on your comeback, so i’ll be rooting for you!

-yours, y/n

you smiled at the tiny heart seungmin drew in the bottom corner of the page before you peeled the sticky note off the stack. electricity ran through you every time you noticed how much it shrank. soon, very soon, you would be teased by seungmin in person. you hoped that you’d deliver the perfect eye roll in response to his snarky comments, as a way to show him you truly loved him.

staring at the note, seungmin laughed at his desk, right when felix walked by.

“what’d y/n say?”

“none of your business.”

despite the nature of the retort, seungmin’s tone was lighthearted. felix laughed and left seungmin alone to place the completed sticky note in his not-so-secret box, where he kept every word you’ve ever exchanged safe from the rest of the world.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

hi soulmate~ let’s see if our tastes match. tell me your ideal meet-cute.

-yours, seungmin

you felt a blush on your skin at seungmin’s cute tone. you imagined he was feeling particularly sweet as your meeting was only three days away. you took your time mentally ranking the best meet-cutes you’d witnessed in books, movies, tv, and real life.

hi seungmin~ there are a lot of good ones, but i have to stick with the classic: locking eyes across a crowded room. what’s yours?

-yours, y/n

you stared at the note, eager to see whether seungmin had a romantic side after all. you laughed in disbelief when you read his answer.

wow, no “hi soulmate~”? rude :-( my favorite trope is spilling coffee on someone. i’d enjoy that as long as i’m not the one getting spilled on. let’s hope your outfit isn’t too cool!

-yours, seungmin

you imagined seungmin was laughing at his own joke, which balanced out his vague threat to spill coffee on you.

you’re such a menace :-( i’m about to revoke “soulmate” from your nicknames, as a matter of principle.

-yours, y/n

seungmin, despite himself, blushed at the thought of you having different nicknames picked out for him. his heart fluttered, feeling extra sweet because of you.

i’m YOUR menace. see you soon! i’ll be the handsome man holding two coffees <3

-yours, seungmin

you sighed, knowing there was a real chance he’d carry two coffees around that whole day. if there was one thing about seungmin, he’d commit to the bit.

i’ll run away from you, and i hope you spill one of the coffees on yourself while you chase me. at least we’ll be matching <3

-yours, y/n

from miles away, you and seungmin laughed at the same time. similarly, you both played out different meet-cute scenarios for the rest of the night. seungmin would never admit this to you, but he’d love to see the excited look on your face if your chosen meet-cute was what fate had in store.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

though you returned home later than usual, you were still surprised to see the sticky note halfway filled up by the time you sat at your desk.

my schedules start before sunrise tomorrow, so i have to go to bed early, like a grandpa. chan says this is a good time to go to bed…what else would we expect though? anyways, i’m sorry i won’t get to write back tonight. tell me about your day! i’ll read it as soon as i wake up. i promise. :-)

sleep well, and i’ll see you tomorrow~

-yours, seungmin

your heart sank a little at the fact you wouldn’t be able to interact directly with seungmin the night before the long-awaited day. however, the butterflies in your stomach reminded you that there was plenty to be excited about.

hi soulmate~ i’m jealous you’re sleeping so early. i was out late because i had to get everything ready before attending the live show recording tomorrow (i still can’t believe i won that ticket lottery!). i’m worried i won’t be able to sleep well from the excitement.

don’t forget about my outfit! just look for the best-dressed person and you’ll find me :-)

i’ll be sending you the strength to get through your schedules! i can’t wait to see you tomorrow~

-yours, y/n

you smiled to yourself, feeling in your heart that seungmin would start his day off happy, as you finally gave him the greeting he’d been waiting for.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

from the second he read your note, seungmin couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. everyone noticed the way he beamed, so it didn’t take long for them to put together that he’d be meeting you today. his members were painfully obvious about trying to catch a glimpse of you wherever they went. seungmin was in such a good mood that he didn’t even tease them that much.

realizing that the live show recording was almost definitely where you’d meet, seungmin noticed that his palms were sweatier than normal. he shook them out, taking deep breaths to calm his heart rate. this may not have been the first stage for their new song, but it was the first stage you’d be at, so the stakes were high.

despite the nerves from the night before, you were happily enjoying yourself at the show. of course, every performance was incredible, and the crowd was energetic. by the time there was only one act left, you felt your body start to grow tired. an adrenaline rush hit you full force, however, when you saw the name “stray kids” light up the stage.

jaw dropped, you were silent while the rest of the crowd screamed. your eyes raced to find seungmin. he was on the opposite end of the stage, giving you at least a chance at composing yourself before he saw your face. the music started, and you joined the crowd’s cheers. seungmin’s stage presence and vocals in person were breathtaking, and you felt a swell of pride knowing that your soulmate was so talented.

as though he could sense you were thinking of him, seungmin turned his head to the area where you stood. the second you locked eyes, seungmin grinned like an excited puppy. he waved to you, feeling giddy enough to make a heart with his hands. you matched his energy, smiling widely and bouncing from the magic of it all. there he was, just across the room, saying “hi” to you and only you.

per the instructions seungmin mouthed from the stage, you waited in your seat for a bit until a staff member brought you backstage. despite the recording being done, the halls were crowded with bustling employees and idols alike. all of the noise was drowned out by someone calling your name.

“hey y/n! i like your outfit!”

you turned around, seeing seungmin waving again. he beamed, and you rushed over to him.

“you remembered!”

seungmin laughed at your excitement, “i did forget my coffee though. it looks like your meet-cute won in the end.”

his eyes twinkled as he looked at you. rather than feeling nervous, you two chattered endlessly. you giggled at the way seungmin blushed when you complimented his performance. in turn, seungmin giggled at the way you blushed when he called you pretty. being able to have a conversation that exceeded the character limit of a sticky note left both of you with the zoomies, much to the entertainment of seungmin’s eavesdropping members.

“seungmin!” hyunjin yelled from a suspiciously nearby spot, “we have to leave soon!” hyunjin waved at you, “hi y/n!”

you waved back, and seungmin told you to ignore hyunjin, which made you laugh. as you exchanged contact information, you kept your promise and examined seungmin’s phone case.

“i like your phone case, seungmin! it matches your style perfectly,” you pointed at the object in his hand.

“thank you!” seungmin grinned for the umpteenth time that day, proudly holding the phone out for you to see, “this is the best part, if you ask me.”

you were surprised to see a sticky note in the back of his phone case. you leaned closer to examine it, and you felt a wave of fondness wash over you. in his hand, seungmin held one of your earliest sticky notes. on it, you had drawn a picture of what you thought seungmin looked like, purely based on how he wrote. you were way off, which you learned once you saw a picture of him online. it did accurately capture seungmin’s personality, though, so seungmin was quite proud of your artistry.

“it’s a one-of-a-kind drawing, so i wanted to show it off.”

seungmin’s tone was teasing, but you could feel the compliment, “you’re so sweet, seungmin! maybe i should have a matching one?”

he nodded, “i better see the portrait i drew of you in your phone case next time i see you.”

you laughed, “understood! i feel chan staring at us, so you should get going. call me when you get home?”

“of course!” seungmin smiled, “promise me one more thing?”

“hmm,” you feigned deep thought, “it depends on what it is.”

“next time you come to watch us perform, sit by my side of the stage.”

“only if i can see lee know too.”

seungmin glared at you momentarily, breaking into a laugh because he was so endeared by the pout you gave in response. after you said your goodbyes, you watched seungmin bound down the hall to meet his members. before he went around the corner, he turned to wave to you again, mouthing goodbye, soulmate!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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chaotic-for-good · 1 month ago

Text

peach card

Luigi Mangione x Reader

no use of y/n

NSFW as heck

summary: a lighthearted game inspires you and Luigi to explore lands yet untouched.

cw: anal sex, soft dom lulu, dirty talk, you know the drill

author’s note: first off, apologies I have not yet had the brain power to address prior requests. to be honest, I wasn’t really sure I’d come back to this, and all of my attempts to write anything else I’d discussed before had me nearly tearing out my hair. for whatever reason, the thing that finally yanked me from my grief cave and into a sexy enough mindset to write smut was… butt stuff. so! if that’s not your thing, this is not the fic for you. if it is! 🤭😏 hehehe

word count: 3.6k

🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑

“I mean, I’ve always been intrigued. Just… only if the other party was, too,” you clarified, arching a brow. “Not your thing?”

You cast him a look from across the picnic table. He looked unfairly radiant, all lit up with the late afternoon sun playing in his chocolate curls. You chuckled lightly—he was holding the card tight to his chest like one of the screaming kids playing tag nearby might somehow decode “have you ever done anal?” from four feet away.

The brewery probably hadn’t realized what kind of game this was when they stuck it on the shelf next to Uno and dominoes.

He’d pulled down his Ray-Bans, squinting slightly, pinching his lower lip with that pointy incisor you adored.

“I think I’m on the same page,” he said after a beat, exhaling. “It’s not something I’ve been dying to do, so it just never happened… but. I’d be down.”

He flushed as he finished the last swig of his beer, glancing over at you. “Now that I think about it? Be hot to have a first time with you.”

“One pure part of me left for you to have,” you teased, winking as you plucked the card from his hand. He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth turned upward as the two of you started scooping the rainbow of cards back into their cracked plastic container.

✨🍑✨🍑✨🍑

He was practically vibrating in the kitchen. Taut, contemplative, lips pressed together as he squinted down at the pan. He ran a hand along the back of his neck as he let the onions sweat—a dead giveaway. You always knew when that big brain of his was firing on multiple cylinders. It was like watching the air tense around a storm.

“Something on your mind, big guy?” you asked, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. You kissed the dip between his shoulder blades, resting your cheek against the solid warmth of his back.

He peeked at you over his shoulder, his fingers skimming gently along the forearm you had draped across his stomach.

“Remember that card game?” he asked, hesitant.

“The anal card?” you snorted, tracing lazy circles into the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

He huffed a quiet laugh, nodding as a flush crept into his cheeks.

You paused, sensing the shift. Peering up at him, your smile turned mischievous.

“You really are obsessed with my ass, huh, babe?” You squeezed his sides playfully for emphasis. He groaned, leaning into you, but your teasing cracked through his apprehension.

Turning around in your arms, he slid his palm down the small of your back.

“‘Kay, fine, pretend that’s news,” he said, voice soft, earnest. “I’m obsessed with you, alright? And… honestly? I want all of you.”

“Well, it just so happens—” you drew his chin down to yours, pressing a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “—I think about what that would feel like. Like… When I’m alone. Touching myself, thinking of you.”

His mouth dropped open, brows lifting. “Fuck,” he choked out, grabbing your chin in his hand.

He turned the dial on the stove off before backing you slowly against the wall across from the counter, moving his hand to wrap lightly but authoritatively around your neck.

“You think about me taking you like that, pretty girl?” He breathed, grazing his teeth along your lower lip.

“Yeah, baby,” you purred.

“Feels so good when you eat me,” you babbled. “Makes me want to feel it, feel that full of you.”

“Shit,” he groaned against your throat, your fingers threading through his hair. “Like, right now?”

He pawed at your breast, kicking one leg out to open you up, slotting himself between your hips. You were already warm, already buzzing.

“You’ll get me ready?” you asked him, voice smaller, but certain.

“It would be my honor,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock theater.

Then softer, eyes locking with yours: “Seriously. I just want to make you feel good. We can stop anytime. I’d be thrilled just to spend time with you. Especially in or around your perfect ass,” he added, winking.

You laughed, wrapping your arm around his neck. Somehow, he understood. No hesitation. No panic. Just the kind of yes that blooms quietly in your chest when you feel safe.

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding against his forehead.

He exhaled like you’d handed him a gift he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Then, wordlessly, he scooped you up—one arm under your thighs, the other wrapped around your back, pressing you close to his chest. You clung to him, heart thudding, grinning into the warmth of his neck.

He carried you out of the kitchen, turned the corner into the bedroom, and kicked the door shut with his heel.

“Obviously, I’m big on setting the vibe, as well you know,” he said, peppering you with kisses before tossing you—gently but deliberately—onto the bed.

“While I get to work on that front,” he added, tugging on the hem of your shirt, “take that off for me?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching as he pulled out his phone. A soft click of the screen and the lamps on either side of the bed dimmed to a warm, golden hue. The speaker on the dresser chimed to life, the low pulse of music filling the room.

He listened for a moment, then nodded in approval. “That’s better. Now I can focus on my girl.”

He pulled his shirt over his head, muscles flexing as the fabric dragged upward. His slightly crooked happy trail carved a line from his navel down. He was already half hard, and your mouth went dry just looking at him. Your thighs squeezed together instinctively.

He moved toward the bed with an easy kind of hunger, crouching over you just long enough to kiss your temple.

“You talk to me, yeah, baby?” he murmured, voice low as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts. “I need to know how you feel every second.”

He slid them down slowly, pressing his lips against your thighs as they were revealed inch by inch. He wasn’t in a rush. That was his way—especially in the bedroom. Every motion was measured.

“There she is,” he whispered against your belly, sighing. Then he licked a long stripe from your hole up through your slit.

You gasped, arching beneath him as his tongue got to work.

He half moaned, half mmm’ed, slashing his tongue back and forth over your clit with just the right pressure. His left hand stayed high, thumb circling your bud in sync with his mouth, while his right moved lower—rubbing soft, deliberate circles around your ass, teasing but patient.

He looked up at you through dark lashes, then plunged his tongue into your core. His thumb never left your clit as his other hand resumed its gentle, grounding rhythm below.

He groaned low in his throat as he pushed your legs up, presenting you. The sound vibrated against your skin. He began pressing soft kisses just below your entrance. Slinging one forearm over your thigh to keep his fingers on your clit, he worked with maddening patience—but his mouth shifted lower, breath hot against the tight circle of muscle.

His lips brushed against you.

He used both hands to part your cheeks, thumbs stroking lazy circles into your skin as his mouth lapped and sucked with slow, confident pressure.

You whimpered as he dipped the tip of one long finger inside, barely opening you.

“Yes,” you gasped, threading your fingers into his hair. You felt deliciously full. It made you wonder how it would feel to have a little bit of him in every hole you had.

“That’s it,” he groaned, voice thick as he pressed a kiss to your hip. Half a finger was inside you now. “God, you feel so fucking good already.”

He pulled back just far enough to reach for the bottle of lube on the nightstand. You watched him pump some onto his fingers, then rub them together—warming it, working it in. His expression was focused—tender, almost reverent.

“You’re doing perfect,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss your inner thigh as he brought his slick fingers back to your ass. “Tell me if anything feels off. We’ll take our time.”

You nodded, breath shaky, but your legs relaxed instinctively. You trusted him completely—there was no part of yourself you had to hide from him.

He resumed slowly—pressing the first finger in again, now slick and smooth, easing deeper with care. He didn’t rush. He worked in shallow, gentle strokes, stopping when your breath hitched and pulling back just enough to let you catch up.

“You’re opening up for me,” he whispered, nuzzling into your skin. “Just like that. That’s my good girl.”

You whimpered again, so loud you were almost embarrassed, as he worked you open a little more. He added more lube, circling your hole slowly before sliding in deeper.

His mouth found your clit again, and the combination sent heat curling low in your belly.

“Need more?” he asked against your mound, voice breathless but controlled.

“Yes,” you rasped. “Please.”

He moaned into you, grinding his hips against the bed. “Fuck. You don’t know what that does to me.”

Then he added a second finger—slower this time, stretching you just enough to make your back arch. His free hand cradled your hip, grounding you. His mouth stayed on you, lips working your clit like he wanted to undo you from the inside out.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he grunted, pumping two digits inside you in earnest now. “Almost ready to take me. Okay to keep going?”

He cocked his head, flashing that devilish half-smile of his. It made your nerves vanish and your pelvic floor flutter. You bit your lip, nodding.

“Use your words, baby,” he tutted, catching your clit between his lips and stilling his movements both there and behind. That tone always made your heart stutter, your body go weightless. Like you were floating right above your skin.

“Want more,” you breathed, squirming. “I can take it.”

At that he practically growled, deep in his chest, before reaching for the bottle again. You watched, breathless, as he pumped more lube onto his ring finger, rubbing it in with deliberate care.

“You sure?” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. “Gonna stretch you real slow, sweet thing. Want you to feel how ready you are.”

You nodded again, letting your mouth fall open. Needy and soft and completely his.

He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, then shifted, hand cupping your hip as the slick pads of his fingers circled your entrance once more. Then, with infinite patience, he began to push—two fingers already seated, the third easing in beside them.

You sucked in a breath, body going tense for half a second—until his other hand found yours, fingers lacing tight.

“Breathe for me,” he whispered. “That’s it. You’re doing so fucking good.”

Just like that, you opened for him.

An almost guttural moan punctuated by a sigh escaped his lips. Then you realized: the soft, rhythmic shudder of the bed wasn’t from you. It was him—rutting into the duvet, chasing relief like he couldn’t take one more second.

“Babe,” he gasped, voice breaking. “I’m dying to be inside you.”

Hearing him that desperate almost made you come on the spot—and the moan you let out in response was absolutely pornographic. “Please,” you panted, bucking into his fingers. “Please.”

He pulled all three digits from you, slow but urgent, making you gasp at the sudden emptiness. Then he was shoving down his shorts and briefs, cock springing free—pink tip flushed, leaking, beautifully hard.

“Oh! One sec,” he said suddenly, catching himself. His voice dropped into that commanding register you loved. “Touch that pretty clit for me. I wanna hear you from the hallway. Understood?”

You nodded, lips wrapping around two of your fingers before reaching down between your legs. He bolted from the room, heavy cock swinging obscenely, and your pussy pulsated in response. Oh, you could make noise for that boy.

“Lu—” you gasped, swirling slick fingers over your clit, “I need you—”

Your other hand found your breast, thumb teasing your nipple as you writhed on the sheets.

“Need you to take me,” you whispered, voice gravelly, trembling.

“Atta girl,” he said when he returned, tone thick. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, spreading a towel across the bed as his chest heaved.

“Roll over onto your side for me, love.”

You obeyed immediately—of course you did. You were his good girl.

He flopped down beside you, a small glass bottle of lube in one hand, already squirting it into his palm as he wrapped his fist around his dick.

“I’m gonna take you just like this,” he murmured, slotting himself behind you. “That okay, gorgeous? I read it’ll be more comfortable. And I can still see your face.”

Propped up on one elbow, he looked down at you—somehow soft and feral all at once. Then he brushed a strand of hair back from your cheek and kissed your temple, his voice barely a breath:

“We’ll go real slow. And we’ll stop whenever you need. You ready for me?”

Instead of answering, you reached down and grasped his thick length, guiding it between your cheeks, dragging it right where you wanted him.

“Oh,” he rasped, grabbing your top thigh beneath the knee to open you up. He nodded in understanding, pressing the flushed head of his cock to your entrance. His eyes never left yours as he began to ease in—so slowly.

Just the tip.

“Holyfuckingshit,” he panted, voice fraying as an inch or two slid inside. Your breath hitched, chest rising, overwhelmed in the best way.

“How’s that feel?” he murmured against your lips. “Want me to stay like this for a second?”

Your sweet boy. Always checking in.

“Move,” you whispered, “but don’t go deeper yet.” You dragged your tongue along his in an open-mouthed kiss—the filthy kind he loved when he was buried inside you.

He groaned, low and broken. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

He eased out slightly, then pressed back in—just enough to make you clutch the sheets.

Yes.

You tilted your head back, pressing your cheek to his, your neck exposed. He didn’t hesitate—his tongue ran along the tender spot below your ear, teeth grazing just enough to make you shudder.

Restraint was written all over him: jaw clenched, breath shallow, eyes wide. He looked beautiful like this—lips pink and plush, sweat beading at his temple, every muscle in his body focused on not giving you too much, too fast.

“More, baby,” you crooned, pulling at his hip. “Make me yours, Gi.”

His breath caught—sharp and audible. He tilted your head up by the base of your skull, and he continued sliding in, centimeters at a time.

“Mine,” he gritted out. “All mine.”

You barely stopped yourself from crying out, stretched full, the ache blooming and exquisite. He was inside you, and somehow not done yet.

You wrapped a hand around the column of his neck, grounding yourself. “How much to go?”

He looked down at where your bodies met, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest—affectionate, familiar. Then he gave you that look: one corner of his mouth tugging down, brow dipping just slightly. Not quite a smile, not quite a wink. Like a shared joke. He knew how big he was—and that you’d still take all of him.

“Half,” he murmured, mouth twitching. “Not even.”

You took a steadying breath. Met his gaze.

“All the way,” you said. “I want you to.”

“That’s my girl.” His face lit with something like pride, and something hungry. He wrapped his hand around your inner thigh, lifting, holding you open.

“Take a deep breath,” he guided. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

His eyes never left yours as he pushed in deeper, slower than before.

You nodded, sucking in air as your whole body tensed. Your pussy and ass clenched together, trying to make sense of how full you were, how good it already felt.

And then he was seated fully inside you.

His hips nestled against yours, the coarse hairs on his thighs brushing the backs of yours. Holy. Fucking. Shit. You could barely breathe.

You weren’t sure where pain ended and pleasure began—the lines were so blurred, the sting in concert with the rapture. Your body was reeling, craving movement but not quite ready yet.

To steady yourself, you turned toward the hand cradling your head and slipped two of his long fingers into your mouth, sucking greedily, eyes fluttering closed.

He panted, mouth open, breath ragged. The sound alone made your body clench around him again.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder, mouth slack—like he was trying to make sense of what he was feeling, trying not to come from just being inside you.

You could see him fighting it—struggling to stay still, to not lose it.

“I want to feel myself inside you,” he nearly begged, sliding a hand between your thighs.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, fingers still partly in your mouth, the rest of you already unraveling.

He let out a ragged moan, swirling two slick fingers over your clit before sliding them lower, inside. His eyes locked on your face, studying every twitch and gasp.

His other hand steadied you at your neck, grounding you. You could feel the press of his cock inside you as his fingers slid into your pussy, the dual sensation dizzying.

And from the look on his face—jaw slack, lashes fluttering—you knew he felt it too: the surreal, world altering awareness of being in you twice, surrounded by you completely.

“You belong to me,” he breathed, voice hoarse with awe and want.

His fingers moved idly between your legs, stroking your pussy even as he began to thrust in earnest—pulling almost all the way out of your taut hole before plunging back in, slowly, taking you apart piece by piece.

You fucked him back as best you could, hips rocking, your back arching, your hands trailing down the length of his muscled arm like you were trying to hang on.

“Just like that, baby,” he cooed, undone by your responsiveness. His thumb found your clit again and circled, steady and skilled.

“Oh, shit,” you cried out, every nerve on fire. You could hardly believe how good he made you feel—your body adjusting around him, the press against both sets of walls sending you spiraling.

“Lu—” you gasped, voice trembling, confusion blooming with arousal. “I think—”

He hissed against your neck. “I can’t hold off if you come, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

His hips were stuttering now, thrusts sloppier, more erratic—but he never let up on your clit. Kept working you. Kept chasing it.

“I want it,” you whined. “I want it, I want it—”

The coil inside you was pulling tight, too tight, with different nerve endings flaring, both familiar and not. Shimmering on the edge of something bright and impossible, like you didn’t know if you were going to come or shatter.

What finally sent you both over the edge was your own voice, nearly screamed aloud: “You own me—”

You felt him swell suddenly, impossibly—his cock pulsing inside you as he cried out, voice wrecked, face contorted in ecstatic agony. His brows drew together, eyes squeezed shut.

And at the same time, you bucked beneath him, vision blowing white, ass and pussy clenching down hard. Your whole body convulsed in a release so deep it made time feel slippery, like the moment stretched out around you.

Your arm twitched. Your head lilted back against him, mouth open, trembling.

“Jesus,” you finally managed, laughing breathlessly in disbelief.

“Not Jesus,” he murmured, nudging a knuckle under your chin. “Luigi.”

You shook your head, letting out a husky, giddy giggle just as he gently pulled out. Cum spilled from you, warm and slick, making you flinch, still sensitive.

Smart guy, bringing that towel.

“You okay?” he whispered, already rolling you toward him, foreheads brushing.

“I was half a virgin when I met you!” you responded dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest.

He groaned. “I’ll take that as a good thing, Regina.”

You both laughed genuinely as he kissed you, deep and sweet. “Love you, baby.”

“Love you, mister,” you replied, dragging a fingernail along his cheek. “And I’m honored to take your virginity—even if it is a bullshit construct designed to commodify women.”

He snorted. “The pleasure was mine, beautiful.” Then, raising a brow and tilting his head like he was offering candy: “Bath time?”

“Mmm. That sounds incredible,” you sighed, stretching. The bed shifted as he rose.

You heard the squeak of the faucet, followed by a wicked little giggle.

The speaker chirped to life again as the song changed. Lyrics washed over the room: Booty had me like… Luigi cackled from the bathroom, clearly proud of himself.

“Fucking frat boys,” you muttered under your breath.

“What’s that, princess?” he called out, voice sing-song. “Come say it to my face! In the tub!” He punctuated with a splash, smacking the water with excitement.

You groaned, hoisting yourself up from the bed—but you were melting. His.

#luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione x yn #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione fic

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lemonlover1110 · 11 months ago

Text

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 13] Payback

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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: MDNI, Shiu x Reader, Smut, Handjob

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Toji takes you out to dinner, bringing Megumi along so it’s not seen as a date. He takes you to one of your favorite places to eat, and you’re sure he has something up his sleeve. What can Toji possibly do this time around? You try not to think too much as to what Toji can possibly do since you are eating something you like, and something your baby seems to enjoy.

You’re mostly talking with Megumi, completely forgetting about Toji’s existence while the two of you talk. Occasionally Toji chimes in with something stupid, it does earn a chuckle from you each and every time though. You eat in peace, and you almost feel like a family.

“We have to talk about something.” Toji ruins your peaceful moment after you order dessert. Your eyebrows perk up, and you wait for him to speak up. What does Toji need now? He’s not going to beg when his son is right there.

“What is it?” You ask him, not being patient enough to wait for him to spit it out. Megumi adverts his gaze, too embarrassed to look at his father.

“I’m seeing someone.” Toji reveals, and your eyes grow wide. The same man that was begging you to get back together not even a week ago is telling you that he’s seeing someone. It’s fair to say that you’re speechless with the announcement. You have no idea what one says with this type of announcement.

“That’s good…” You try to remain stoic with the news. He wants a reaction from you, and you’ll make sure not to give it to him. You have a lot of questions, but maybe it’s best if you keep them to yourself– Maybe ask Shiu or even Megumi.

“Don’t you have any questions?” Toji asks, and to his disappointment, you shake your head. Megumi still isn’t looking at his dad, and Toji sighs defeatedly. “I have to use the bathroom, I’ll be back.”

“He isn’t seeing anyone.” Megumi quickly reveals when Toji gets up and leaves to use the bathroom. You furrow your brows, knowing that a teenager is involved in his father’s affairs. You can’t help but roll your eyes, knowing that Toji just can’t help but share everything with the world, “There’s a woman that visits him and does like him a lot but he’s not into her. They went on a date… But he’s just doing this to make you jealous.”

“I figured as much.” You chuckle. It does make you feel better, but it also upsets you. He goes through great lengths to make your life more difficult. You click your tongue before saying, “Your dad’s a dumbass.”

“Tell me about it.” Megumi responds, and you two change the topic into something more lighthearted. The conversation dies when Toji comes back from the bathroom, but luckily for you, dessert gets to the table.

You dive right into the sweet treat, noticing how neither of them grab their spoons and begin to eat. You knew they would agree to order dessert but proceed to not eat any of it. They’ll just say anything to please you.

“Do you want to come over and watch a movie?” Toji asks, catching you off guard. You can’t help but roll your eyes at the audacity. First, he says that he’s seeing someone, then he proceeds to invite you back to his place; you know better than anyone that Toji doesn’t mean anything platonic when he invites you back to his home.

“I can’t.” You proceed to put your hand on your bump. “Baby makes me sleepy and I’d rather not fall asleep on your couch.”

“I’ll carry you to our bed.” Toji says, and you bite your tongue. You shake your head disappointedly.

“Aren’t you seeing someone, Toji?” You point out, and he remains unphased. He’s seeing someone but he couldn’t make it clear that he doesn’t respect them enough. Right then and there, the best idea comes to your mind, and you blurt out, “Plus, Shiu wouldn’t be okay with it.”

“What does that idiot have to do with anything?” Toji quickly asks, wondering why you're bringing his best friend into this.

“You’re not the only one seeing someone else.” You lie to him, and you know that it’ll cause some issues for Shiu but right now the look on Toji's face is priceless. He’s gone completely white, completely speechless.

“What do you mean?” Toji tries to see if his ears deceive him. But your next words reaffirm what he just heard,

“I’m seeing Shiu.”

“You..” He begins but for some reason he can’t finish his sentence. Toji Fushiguro, who is never at a loss for words, can’t speak. “You��re seeing my best friend? Romantically?”

“Yes.” You nod in response, and the man has to take a sip of his water to calm himself down. He’s a little too young to have a heart attack, no? Why is his heart beating so fast?

“Megumi, keep an ambulance on standby. I’m going to be sick.” Toji says, putting his hand over his chest, and Megumi rolls his eyes at how dramatic his father is.

“You’re so dramatic.” Megumi mutters, crossing his arms. “I thought you were seeing someone too?”

“She’s seeing my best friend!” Toji yells, and you take a deep breath. All eyes are on you. He’s so dramatic over nothing.

“You kept sending him over, what else did you expect?” You ask him, adding fuel to the fire. You don’t want to sit by and watch Toji act as if he’s a victim. “I’m not really in the mood tonight, Toji. If you need anything, text me.”

“Wait!” He yells, but his plea falls on deaf ears.

An hour after you get home, there’s a knock on your door. Your mind immediately goes to Toji, and you’re about to ignore it since you’re not really in the mood for talking. But after thinking it over, and as the knocking becomes more desperate, you realize that Toji wouldn’t be at your door yet.

“Shiu… He told you.” Are the first words to leave your mouth as you open the door. He doesn’t look as mad as you expected him to be… Matter of fact, he looks amused. “Sorry, he just said something and I wanted to piss him off.”

“I’m not mad. Well, maybe a bit.” He licks his lips. You’re trying to read his expression, trying to decipher what he’s feeling. Shiu is just like Toji, hard for you to read. But you luckily got to know Toji enough to be able to read him like the palm of your hand; Shiu, on the other hand, is still foreign to you.

“Why?” You ask him, moving aside to let him into the place. He takes the hint, stepping inside the apartment. He takes off his shoes and loosens the tie that’s around his neck before making himself comfortable on your couch.

“You got me in trouble with Toji and I didn’t get anything in return.” He says, and you can’t help but smirk. You walk over to him, sitting down beside him.

“What do you want in return then? I’m at your service.” You look mischievous, and he’s about to match your energy. You’re moving closer to him, and he doesn’t even try to move away.

“A nice candle lit dinner will do.” He answers, though it’s not what you have in mind. And you know that it isn’t what he has in mind either. You move closer until you’re practically breathing down his neck. He knows that whatever you’re going to do, you’ll do it with the sole purpose of getting back at Toji.

“How about I give you something else?” You whisper into his ear and a chill runs down his spine. He bites down his lips before nodding in response. He doesn’t care that this will have consequences. He can’t just tell Toji that you were lying because it did happen.

Your lips lightly press against his, quickly pulling away before you ask him, “Do you want this? I can stop.”

“I want it.” He confirms, your lips going back on his but not pulling away. Your tongue swipes over his bottom lip, before his mouth parts. Your tongue enters his mouth, quickly pressing against his own tongue, while your hand caresses his thigh.

All of Shiu’s blood rushes to his dick, and he could moan even if you’re not doing anything yet. Since the moment he laid eyes on you, Shiu has wanted to do this. He’s been waiting an eternity to feel your lips on his, and he can’t control himself when he finally feels you.

His hand goes to the back of your head, pulling you closer as his tongue takes control. Your hand goes to unbuckle his belt, struggling since you only use one hand. He helps you out, in a rush to feel your hands on him.

“Are you sure?” You pull away from the kiss to ask him. He feels your hand play with the waistband of his briefs. He wants to scream yes into the air, over and over again. He’s never wanted something more. “I don’t want to ruin your friendship with Toji.”

“You already did.” He chuckles before his lips land on yours again. Your hand goes into his briefs, your thumb circling over the tip of his cock before your hand moves down to the base. You begin to lazily stroking his cock, and the man moans into the kiss even when you’ve yet to do much.

You pull away from the kiss, taking your hand out and spitting on it before going back to pumping his cock. You peck his lips, before kissing his cheek and making your way to his ear. Your teeth begin to nibble on his earlobe as Shiu throws his head back and moans into the air.

He’s red, already sweating and out of breath with how good you’re making him feel. He shuts his eyes, moaning your name as your hand twists on his dick. It’s just a handjob, nothing that warrants the reaction that he gives you. But he couldn’t care less.

“Fuck– Like that.” He moans as your hand picks up speed. His cheek is pressing against your head, his hand gripping your shirt as he feels his release near. His mind is focused on you, and only you. Lately you’re all that he’s thinking about, and this isn’t going to help him.

Shiu will do just about anything for you.

He’s moaning your name over and over again until a groan leaves his lips, his cum ruining his shirt and coating your hand. He looks at you, eyes filled with lust. He’s in need of more. But just in a brief moment, guilt takes over.

“Do you want more?” You ask him, and he does. But he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be doing this in the first place, he swore to himself he wouldn’t do this to Toji. Moreover, you’re simply doing this to get back at Toji, and it doesn’t feel right.

Shiu was willing to do this no matter what at first, but tonight he doesn’t want to be used. Maybe his feelings for you go deeper than mere lust.

“Maybe another time.” He answers, and you get off him. He stands up and makes his way to your bathroom to fix himself up.

“Will this make up for the candle lit dinner or do you want something else?!” You shout, while you look for some tissues to clean yourself up as well.

“We’re even!” He yells back, and you’re fighting back a smirk, biting on the inside of your cheek. You know that he’s going to want more even though he claims you’re even.

You just have to give it some time before he comes knocking at your door again, asking for more.

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yveslogy · 3 months ago

Text

All along, baby

Pairing: Se-mi × Reader

A slow-burn romance with best friends, unspoken feelings, missed opportunities and a fear of losing each other. Themes of heartbreak, self-discovery, and the bittersweet knowledge that love was there all along courses through it.

Note: This story is a work of creative writing based on my real-life events. Names, characters and details have been changed for privacy and storytelling purposes. Any similarity to actual persons, is purely coincidental.

Word count: 971

Heartbreak looks ugly on you.

Se-mi doesn’t actually say it, but she thinks it every time she sees you hunched in a ball on her couch, swaddled in a blanket like a butterfly in a cocoon, staring blankly at the ceiling. Your eyes are rimmed with red, your throat hoarse from all the crying you pretend not to be doing. It’s been weeks since the breakup, and while you’re getting better, there are still nights you show up at her door, looking lost.

And every time, no questions asked, she opens the door for you.

“You know,” you mumble one night with your head on her shoulder, “if you were my girlfriend, I think I’d be over this heartbreak thing by now.”

Se-mi scoffs, drinking another gulp of her beer. “Please. You'd be just as annoying.”

“You love me,” you say, poking her in the side.

“Debatable.”

You smile, and for the first time in a long time, it’s real. Se-mi tries to ignore how her stomach flips.

It’s after that, that you start calling her baby.

At first, it’s only a joke—something for you to toss carelessly, something for you to get lighthearted with when there is a big heavy weight in your chest. You say it with whimsy when she brings you your favorite snacks, melodrama when she picks up your calls at midnight, chortling when she rolls her eyes.

“You’re such a clingy,” she says one afternoon, but she doesn’t pull away when you put your arm through hers.

“Hush, baby,” you hummed, patting her head.

She stares at you, but she doesn’t tell you to stop.

Months go by and you begin to heal. The cracks in you are still there, but they’ve lost their depth. You begin laughing more, going out more, and eventually you stop showing up at her doorstep with heartbreak in your eyes. Se-mi reminds herself that this is a good thing.

And then one day she learns you’re dating someone new.

Someone else tells her first—one of your mutual friends, mentioning it casually over dinner. “Did you know? Yeah, just a couple weeks ago. They seem happy.”

Happy.

Se-mi acts like it doesn’t bother her. She smiles, nods, plays along as if that’s just another piece of information, nothing to see here. But later that night, when she sees you uploading pictures with your new girlfriend, all soft smiles and twisted fingers, something inside her grips.

She insists to herself that it’s nothing.

She doesn’t like you.

She never has.

Right?

But then she feels it the way you look at her—your new girlfriend—the same way you used to look at her when you were sad and needed her to lean onto for comfort. She knows how you call her baby now, the way you laugh at her texts the same way you used to laugh at Se-mi’s. And it hits her like a sucker punch—an ugly, twisting realization.

She misses you.

No, worse.

She wants you.

But it’s too late.

She watches, swallowing down the bitter taste in her mouth, pretending that all is well. She stops responding as promptly, stops calling you as regularly. And you notice.

“Are you avoiding me?” you say one day, cocking your head at her.

“No,” she lies.

You don’t press further. You simply nod but something hangs in your face—a feeling like disappointment.

You don’t hear back for weeks, and then suddenly you and your girlfriend split.

Se-mi doesn’t want the details.

She doesn’t call, doesn’t knock on your door with ice cream and bad movies as she did the last time. Because this time she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to.

And then you and Se-mi stop talking for the first time in months.

The silence stretches. Days turn into weeks.

She tells herself to move on. That she’s being ridiculous. That she doesn’t even know what she wants.

But then she runs into you again—randomly, unexpectedly, at some coffee shop you both used to frequent. You look the same and you look different all at once—calmer, maybe, but tired in such a way that she wonders if you miss her, too.

She hesitates. For as long as she simply watches you, fingers wrapped tight around her cup, weighing whether she should turn around and leave.

But she’s tired of running.

Now she doesn’t think twice.

She marches right up to you and says, “I like you.”

You blink at her, surprised. “Se-mi-”

“I should’ve told you earlier,” she interjects, a flurry of nerves, hands tight. “I didn’t think I did. I thought I was just being your friend, but then you went and started calling someone else baby, and it was like—like my brain finally figured out what my heart already knew.” She exhales sharply. “I like you. I have for a long time.”

You stare at her, silent.

Seconds drag, and for the first time Se-mi is really, truly scared.

Then you laugh, a low laugh, and shake your head. “You’re an idiot.”

Se-mi frowns. “Excuse me-”

You move near enough that your fingers graze hers and she freezes. “I think … I think I knew,” you say quietly. “But guess what, I didn’t want to push you. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Her breath catches.

She doesn’t know what to say.

But then you squeeze her hand, hesitantly but resolutely, and that is enough.

It takes time.

You take your time, you don’t go all in on something too quickly. You move slowly—figuring it out, negotiating the shift from camaraderie to something deeper.

But one day, when you are sitting next to her, fingers intertwined idly, you lean into her and tend to whisper, Baby.

And this time when she rolls her eyes, she’s smiling.

Because she no longer needs to pretend.

She’s yours.

And you are hers.

Author’s Note: Love, timing and heartbreak are tricky things. Often, you don’t know how important someone is to you until you lost them. This is a story about missed opportunities, self-discovery and the bravery it takes to finally speak your truth. It reflects on love being something that happens slowly, the bittersweet agony of watching someone be ready to move on long before you.

This is for anyone who has ever loved a friend in silence, hesitated out of fear, or shown up too late. Love doesn’t always look and feel the way we might think it should, but when it’s real, it will come home.

#lesbian #wlw #player 380 #player 380 x reader #se mi #se mi squid game #se mi x reader #se-mi #se-mi squid game #se-mi x reader #semi x reader #squid game #squid game 2 #squid game fic #squid games #squid game player 380 #won ji an

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 1 year ago

Text

Tom Blyth x Actress!Reader

TBOSAS Vogue Interviews — Rachel + Tom

(next part will be you and Josh’s interview)

no descriptors other than reader being shorter than tom but i use she / her. click [HERE] for the table of contents for all things tom x actress!reader

for the interviews, rachel and tom are still paired up since they’re the leads, and you’re with josh. sorry hunter hshxhsdi. also in this tbosas has been out for a month so the cast is allowed to talk specific scenes and give “spoilers”

The first bit of the video shows short clips of some answers, but no context as to what the questions are.

“Oh that’s an easy one, my girlfriend,” Tom can’t help but smile.

Rachel playfully slaps him with the card. “I was going to say her!”

“Pepper jack,” Rachel shrugs.

“Maybe… maybe a sharp cheddar?” Tom laughs.

Tom sighs, “that was quite a hard scene to film. After each take I’d ask if she was alright at least a couple of times.”

“Honestly the games as a whole, because I missed a lot of the stunt training.”

THE INTERVIEW —

“Hi Vogue, I’m Rachel Zegler.”

“And I’m Tom Blyth. Today we’re here to ask each other some questions, rapid fire.”

Rachel shuffles the interview cards around. “Okay first question, what would you say was the most difficult scene to film and why? Ooh I have my answer already.”

“You go first, I’m still thinking,” Tom laughs.

“Well for me, the most difficult scenes physically were honestly… the games as a whole. I missed a lot of the stunt training so to have one of my first scenes be me running like crazy screaming for Jessup, it was pretty intense.”

Tom blushes a little. “Sort of piggy backing off of Rachel’s answer, the hardest physically I’d definitely say my scene with Josh when we’re running out of the arena. The first few takes were stopped fairly quickly because either he or I would trip. But the most difficult emotionally, the scene in the cabin with Coriolanus and Nova May.”

“Aww,” Rachel puts her hand over her heart. “That’s was so cool to watch you both but yeah I can for sure see why it would be difficult. Did you guys rehearse it a lot?”

Tom shakes his head. “Not at all actually. We ran through the lines a few times but as far as acting out the whole scene, not until we were on set and they wanted a run through. And thankfully after the third take they were satisfied. That was quite a hard scene to film. After each take I’d ask if she was alright at least a couple of times.”

Off camera, someone asks “how long have you guys been together?”

“Pretty much since we met,” Tom tries, and fails to hide his smile. “So she and Josh were actually cast on the same day in June of 2022. At that point Rachel and I had already been cast, and the 4 of us, it just so happened that we were all in London for one thing or another and we all went out to dinner that night. Knew I fancied her right away, and I wanna say it wasn’t even a couple of weeks later that I asked her to be my girlfriend. Sorry I know I went off topic. To answer your actual question, almost a year and a half.”

Tom and Rachel chat for a couple of minutes as cameras are moved around to capture different angles.

“Next question, something a lot more lighthearted. If you were a cheese, what—”

“Pepper jack,” Rachel shrugs, not elaborating.

Tom bursts out laughing. “You had that answer ready awfully quick.”

“What can I say, I’m a cheese girly.”

“I guess that’s my go. Pepper jack is a good answer by the way. I’ll go cheddar. Maybe… maybe a sharp cheddar?”

Rachel taps her chin as if considering what Tom just said. “Yeah, I could see sharp cheddar. Okay guys sorry they’re motioning behind cameras that we have to speed it up. This is rapid fire and we’ve only answered two questions, sorry!”

“Sorry guys! Okay okay next question. Who is your favorite person to run lines with? Oh that’s an easy one, my girlfriend.”

“I was gonna say her!” Rachel faces the camera. “You guys, she’s seriously the best person for that. She memorizes lines sooo fast. By the end she won’t need a script to help you and she’ll be able to still correct you if you mess up!”

“What — oh wait I’ve already asked that question,” Tom flips through the cards, “okay here we go. If you could play any other character in the film, who would you play?”

Rachel claps and points at Tom. “We were just talking about this! I’d either want to play your character because I think it would be so fun to kind of switch to the villain. Or Nova May because hello she’s a badass.”

“Do you know what, and I swear I’m not making this up, my answers are the same as yours. either Nova May because I feel like she’s the opposite of Coriolanus in a way. Or Lucy Gray because I love that even after the games, she’s stayed true to who she is and she doesn’t let Coriolanus corrupt her.”

Rachel and Tom chat again as cameras and lights are moved around. They each do 2 questions.

“Okay we’ve each got one more question. Ooh this one’s fun! You’re stuck on a deserted island for a month and can have five things with you, what do you bring? And it says people don’t count,” Rachel thinks for a moment, “you go first because I need to give this some real thought.”

“No people, okay let’s see… my phone, one of those solar power generators so I could plug things in, phone charger, a book, and mini fridge. I’m sure I could cook some things up and be able to save them for later.”

Rachel nods in approval. “I am going to copy your first three things because I think I’d go crazy not being able to at least write out my thoughts in my notes app or something, or record what’s happening on my camera. But for my last two things, a guitar now that I can play, and… oh crap this is harder than I thought. And… a surfboard! If you’re stuck on an island that’s the perfect time to pick up a new hobby.”

“I think we’re finally getting the hang of this, of course right at the end. Oh I have the last question that’s right. Let’s see… what three characters from other shows or films do you think would do well in the Hunger Games?”

“I love that question!” Rachel nearly falls out of her chair. “Definitely someone from Game of Thrones — ooh or House of the Dragon! You know what, Juliette would do really good. A bow and arrow can take you really far in the games and that’s her go-to weapon.”

Tom smiles and blushes once again at the mention of his girlfriend, or at least the character she plays.

Rachel thinks about her last two answers. “Joel Miller from The Last of Us, and Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds.”

“Why Spencer?”

“He’s a literal genius. I bet he’d be able to rig a bunch of traps that no one would suspect and he’d be able to eliminate most of the other tributes without any physical contact.”

“Ahh I didn’t think of that. Hmm also from House of the Dragon, Aemond Targaryen. He’s quite ruthless isn’t he, he’d have no problem getting rid of the other tributes. And also Clint Barton, like you said because a bow and arrow is a really good weapon to have. Also… Uhtred Ragnarsson from The Last Kingdom.”

Someone behind the camera says it’s time to wrap it up.

Tom smiles at the camera, “thank you so much for having us.”

“We hope you enjoyed watching, bye!”

TOM BLYTH x ACTRESS!READER TAGLIST —

@callsignwidow | @spencerstits | @coconut-dreamz | @daenerysqueenofhearts

#tom blyth x f!reader #tom blyth x fem!reader #tom blyth x actress!reader #tom blyth x you #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth fluff #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow angst #tom blyth fic #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x f!reader #coriolanus snow x reader #social media au #tom blyth au #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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aventurineswife · 7 months ago

Note

Hello again! I was wondering if you could make a pastry reader.

Which makes them mostly try their desserts until one day they are given a dessert inspired by them, for example; Aventurine = It would be a small vanilla cake with chocolate and blackberry and strawberry filling.

Just to give an example, with the characters Aventurine, Sampo, Childe and Kaeya (separated). Take your time!

-🩵

Inspired by You

Tags: Childe x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Kaeya x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Fluff, Lighthearted Romance, Lighthearted, Pastry Chef!Reader, Playful Banter, Hidden Vulnerabilities.

(Header credit)

It had started with a simple request.

"Just a little something to brighten the day!" Childe had said, leaning casually against the counter where you worked. He always had that mischievous gleam in his eyes, like he knew something you didn’t. You had become used to his presence in the bakery, coming and going with his usual swagger, always asking for something new, something bold, something that would surprise him. Today was no different.

“Do you have anything... intense?" he asked, his smirk unwavering.

Intense? It was a word you could easily work with. You nodded and began to prepare the dessert—something wild and dangerous, much like Childe himself. You wanted to capture his essence in pastry form. The result: a dark chocolate torte filled with a rich, blackberry-strawberry compote and finished with a hint of vanilla bean cream. It was decadent, layered with complexity, and every bite burst with a different flavor, just like Childe’s unpredictable nature.

When you handed it to him, he raised an eyebrow. “This... this is for me?”

“You asked for something intense.” you replied with a playful grin.

He took a bite, and his face lit up with that familiar grin. “Not bad, pastry chef. It’s got layers... I like it. Bold, but sweet.” He paused, eyes glinting. “Just like me, huh?”

“Maybe," you said with a wink. "But you’ll have to try more of it to find out."

The sweet aroma of pastries filled the cozy bakery as you carefully arranged trays of desserts, each one crafted with precision. Aventurine, who had come in to visit you between meetings, watched with his usual amused smile, one hand resting on the counter. He loved tasting your creations, and you enjoyed surprising him with new flavors each time.

Today, however, you had prepared something truly special. "I have something just for you," you said, smiling as you set a small cake before him. The cake was adorned with a delicate chocolate glaze, and inside, layers of vanilla, blackberry, and strawberry hinted at a decadent surprise.

Aventurine raised an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. "Inspired by me, hmm? I didn't know I was worthy of such treatment," he teased, running a finger along the glaze before taking a careful bite.

The flavors unfolded slowly—smooth vanilla balanced with rich chocolate, and the tartness of blackberry and strawberry that left an unexpected zing. He paused, caught off guard by the mix of sweetness and slight bitterness, a taste that somehow mirrored the guarded depths he kept hidden.

"You’ve outdone yourself," he finally said, his smile softer, almost reflective. "Sweet, a touch bitter, and altogether surprising... I’d say you captured me quite well." He took another bite, savoring the thoughtfulness behind the cake as much as the flavor itself.

In that quiet moment, it felt like he was lowering his mask, just for you. And as you watched him, you realized that perhaps a simple dessert could reveal the hidden depths of someone you thought you knew so well.

(Header credit)

After weeks of watching Kaeya sample your treats with his usual charm, you finally set your sights on something special. You prepare a caramel tart with salted almonds, accented with a drizzle of dark chocolate—complex, balanced, and just a bit indulgent.

When you hand it to him, Kaeya raises a brow, a smirk playing at his lips. "You really do know how to get my attention, don’t you?" he murmurs, bringing it up to his lips for a small, thoughtful bite.

He lets out a pleased hum, clearly savoring it. "Ah, a perfect mix of sweetness and bite. I think you’ve outdone yourself this time," he says, his voice softer than usual. "Dare I ask what inspired this masterpiece?"

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. "Just something… layered, with a bit of a hidden edge. Thought it suited you."

He chuckles, leaning closer. "You’re quite the charmer," he says, his fingers brushing yours briefly. "Perhaps I’ll need to return the favor someday." His words carry a promise, and you wonder just how many layers there are to him, waiting to be revealed.

The bustling bakery quieted as Sampo strolled in with his usual carefree grin, tipping an imaginary hat in your direction. "Fancy seeing you here! You got anything for a tired traveler like me?" he asked, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You smirked, setting down a treat that had been prepared with him in mind. "As a matter of fact, yes. Here’s something inspired by you." you said, revealing a tart topped with fresh mint leaves, chocolate shavings, and a dusting of powdered sugar. Inside, the tart held a mix of light cream and hints of citrus—a refreshing and vibrant combination that seemed fitting.

Sampo’s eyes lit up as he leaned in, sniffing appreciatively. "Inspired by me, you say? You sure know how to charm a guy." Without hesitation, he took a large bite, savoring the blend of rich cream and zesty citrus, the mint adding a touch of surprise. He let out a satisfied hum.

"This is fantastic," he declared with a wink. "Just the right amount of sweet and a hint of bite. But are you saying I'm a little... tart?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Well, you do have that sharpness beneath the charm."

Sampo laughed, a genuine sound that softened his usual sharp demeanor. He took another bite, glancing up at you with a rare, thoughtful expression. "Y’know, not many people go to this much trouble for me." He leaned in, lowering his voice with that signature smirk. "Better be careful, or you’ll make me feel... special."

You felt your cheeks warm as he took another bite, clearly enjoying every bit. And in that small exchange, it was as if the tart, like Sampo himself, had revealed something sweet beneath its complex layers.

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lfcforever · 16 days ago

Text

First it was Travlot getting called ‘siblings’ JUST BECAUSE THEY (apparently) LOOK ALIKE

AND NOW TWITTER WANTS TO DO IT TO LOTTIESHAUNA

FUCK AWFFFF

Go back to fucking HOTD istg

‘Sisterly’

Sisterly.

SISTERLY??

They’re only fucking saying this to promote Lottienat, I swearrr 😭

The same way Travis gets hated on so hard, so that they can make space for Lottienat

Nothing wrong with the ship (personally I prefer Travnat and Mistynat, but each to their own, it’s just preference c:) it’s just that- you don’t need to invalidate EVERY OTHER SHIP that’s related to those characters just for YOUR SHIP!! 😭

Like, I beg of these people to actually watch the show with their eyes open

At what point in time did they look at Lottieshauna and say ‘ah, yes, good old sisterly love right there’

HUHHH????

Same with Lottie and Travis, babes, they have tried to kill eachother

Multiple. Times.

PLEASEEE 😭

It’s actually fucking me up, because WTF

Lottieshauna is MY SHITTT

Fav ship in Yellowjackets. Hands down. And i’m not going to sit here and be manipulated into feeling like I’m shipping some form of fucking incest??

I don’t even ship Lottie and Travis, but their not like siblings. AT ALL.

It also means that he gets, and has GOTTEN, so much unprovoked hate, with the same old excuse of ‘he’s a misogynist’

WHAT??

It was five minutes in season 1, and it represented his perception of what masculinity is. In how he treated Javi with the whole gum thing, and then dug up his own father’s grave to give him a family heirloom, JUST SO HE COULD FEEL BETTER.

Because despite his rougher character moments, and the way he could be an asshole, deep down he is compassionate, he is empathetic.

I’d also like to point out that in this same scene, Nat is there with him and cuts of her coaches finger just so he could do that, which, may I add, was THEE turn point into their relationship turning romantic. Because she saw him be vulnerable, and instead of ridiculing that, like calling him ‘flex’, she sat there in that plane, listened to him tell the story behind it, and managed to turn it into something lighthearted instead of what it was, which is plain cruel bullying.

They bonded over having shitty dads, and how it felt when they were gone.

The constant argument of ‘their toxic so they shouldn’t be together’ is so fucking old, because if anything they are one of the most healthy ships in the show. That’s not to say that they had a healthy bond, no. But, they cared for one another, LOVED one another, Nat continued to help him try find Javi for MONTHS in the middle of winter, despite her personal beliefs, JUST SO THAT SHE COULD HELP HIM.

She didn’t abandon him just because of his emotions, she always stuck by him and understood that he needed time. There was no pressure or ridicule, she cared, and he felt guilty, because he cared as well.

Even after his brother died, he holds her hand to his heart, because deep down he knows, if it wasn’t him it would’ve been her.

His fucking brother died and he still managed to have compassion for the person who’s heart he was supposed to eat. Who was complacent in his little brothers death.

Despite his own struggling, he recognises others, and takes their perspective into consideration , rethinks his own approach towards things and corrects it, which is more than a lot of people can manage to do.

Sorry about the rant.

I’m an avid Travis Martinez defender 😭

POINT IS

Travnat is great

Lottieshauna is great

Calling lottieshauna and travlot’s dynamics ‘sibling-like’ is dumb.

In translation that just means

Travlot - they look similar

Lottieshauna - they’re both crazy fuckers

Which are both really shit reason to call a bond alike to siblings 😭

As someone who has two older brothers myself

Not to ruffle any feathers, but to be honest, Lottienat is one of the ships in Yellowjackets that I’ve never really felt drawn to, but I can still see why it’s liked

Which is exactly the problem here

Just because you like something, doesn’t mean everyone else has to

Some of you guys are really starting to sound like Shauna they way your attacking people for not agreeing with you

Ahem- exhibit A.

Crazily everyone’s opinions vary based on how you consume specific media 🤯

This whole rant is an absolute mess, but I just had to get it out, so do with this what you will

#travis martinez #natalie scatorccio #shauna shipman #lottie matthews #Lottieshauna #travnat #travlot #Lottienat #yellowjackets

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amora1tarada · 7 months ago

Text

Notes: This is the first fanfiction that I had the courage to post! I’m super excited but also a little nervous. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it. English isn’t my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes, and I’d be grateful for any tips you have! I’m considering a part two with some smut, but I’m still building up my confidence in English to try it. Have a nice reading, and please don’t forget to repost, leave kudos and comments—your thoughts mean the world to me!

World count: 2k

nightwing/dick grayson

The sound of footsteps dragging across the hardwood floor was what broke the silence of your apartment, jarring you awake from a fitful sleep. The clock on your nightstand blinked red: 2:47 a.m. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. You’d recognize his tread anywhere, the slightly uneven steps that meant he’d probably taken another beating tonight. A familiar knot of fear tightened in your chest, but a wave of relief washed over you as well. He was here. He was alive, at least for now.

With a sigh, you threw on the robe hanging by the bed, clutching it tightly around your body as you moved through the darkened hallway. You were so tired—exhausted in a way that no amount of sleep could ever fix. It was a weariness that lived in your bones, a heaviness that came from watching someone you loved throw themselves into the jaws of danger night after night. You tried, every time, to tell yourself it wouldn’t happen again, that you’d close the window and let him figure it out on his own. But the truth was, you could never turn him away. Every time he stumbled through that window, beaten, bruised, and bleeding, you were there to catch him.

When you reached the kitchen, he was standing by the sink, his back to you, gulping down water like he’d been running for miles. His shoulders slumped in fatigue, his usually immaculate hair disheveled, and from the faint reflection in the window above the sink, you could see a small cut on his lip, a bruise darkening along his jaw. He looked… worn. He always looked a little worn, but tonight there was something different. The way he leaned against the counter, his hand gripping the edge so hard his knuckles had gone white, it was like he was trying to keep himself anchored to the ground.

“Hey, sweets,” he said, not even turning around. His voice was rough, more from exhaustion than pain, but you could hear the tension in it. “Sorry for waking you.”

You took a shaky breath, closing the distance between you and him. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.” You tried to sound lighthearted, but the words felt hollow. How many times had you said this? How many nights had he apologized, and how many times had you brushed it off like it didn’t matter?

In truth, it did matter. Every time he came to you like this, a little more of your heart chipped away. Every bruise, every scar—it was like you were carrying them too, bearing his pain in silence. There were so many times you wanted to scream at him to stop, to beg him to leave this life behind. But you knew he never would.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and loaded. He finished his water, setting the glass down on the counter with a dull thud. You could feel the question hanging in the air, the one you always asked even though you knew the answer would be the same.

“What happened?” you asked softly, stepping closer, your hand brushing lightly against his back. His muscles tensed under your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“It’s nothing. Just… a long night,” he replied, his voice barely a whisper. But you knew him well enough to know it wasn’t just that. He leaned into your touch for a moment, letting out a long, shuddering breath, and then you felt his body sag, as if all the weight he’d been carrying suddenly became too much.

He turned to face you, and that’s when you saw the rawness in his eyes. There was guilt there, a deep, gnawing pain that he was trying so hard to hide, but it was spilling over, cracking the mask he always wore. He reached up, his hand trembling slightly as he touched your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “A woman got shot tonight,” he said finally, the words falling heavily into the quiet. “She… she was just an innocent bystander. If I had been faster, more careful… maybe…”

“Dick,” you murmured, placing your hand over his, trying to still his shaking fingers. “It’s not your fault.” You spoke the words gently, firmly, hoping he would believe you, though you knew he wouldn’t.

But he just shook his head, a haunted look in his eyes. “It feels like it is. Every time someone gets hurt, I… I can’t shake the feeling that I should have been better. Done more.”

You took a deep breath, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. You wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to be perfect, that he didn’t have to carry the world on his shoulders. But you knew he wouldn’t listen. His mission, his need to protect Gotham, was woven so deeply into his soul that nothing you said would change it.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He stiffened at first, but then he melted against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel his breath, warm and uneven against your skin, and his grip tightened, like he was afraid that if he let go, he would fall apart.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered, the words barely audible. You could feel the exhaustion in him, the weight of every battle he’d fought, every person he hadn’t been able to save. And for a moment, you wondered if he would finally break, if he would finally let you in, let you carry some of that burden with him.

But then he pulled back, his expression shuttered once again, and you knew that he wouldn’t. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

Still, you took his hand, leading him toward the bathroom. He followed silently, and you could feel the tension radiating off him, the heaviness of everything he couldn’t say. You wanted to tell him how much it hurt you to see him like this, how every bruise and scar he bore felt like one etched into your own skin. But instead, you just filled the bathtub with warm water, your fingers brushing against his as you gently helped him undress.

As he sank into the tub, you knelt beside him, reaching for the shampoo. Your hands moved carefully, massaging the lather into his hair, washing away the dirt and blood from his night. His eyes drifted shut, his body slowly relaxing under your touch, and you could see some of the tension melting away. Here, in this quiet, dimly lit bathroom, it was almost like everything was normal. Like he was just a man, and you were just the woman who loved him.

You could feel your own tears slipping down your cheeks, though you tried to hold them back. Watching him like this, so vulnerable, broke something in you. You wanted so desperately for him to stop, to give up this life and just… live. With you. But that was a dream, one that would never come true.

When you were done, you helped him out of the tub, drying him off with slow, careful strokes, your hands lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You dressed him in fresh clothes, guiding him to the bed, and he didn’t resist as you brushed through his hair, letting your fingers trail gently against his scalp.

“It’s enough, sweets,” he murmured, his voice soft and thick with sleep. “Can we just… go to bed now?"

You hesitated, looking down at him. You wanted to tell him everything you felt, all the fear and pain that you kept bottled up inside. But he looked so tired, so worn down, and you couldn’t bring yourself to add to his burden. So you just nodded, slipping under the covers beside him.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his face buried in your hair. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you pressed your face against his chest, hiding it from him. “It’s fine, Dick,” you whispered. “I’d do it all again.”

The silence filled the room and it was almost sacred, a rare moment of peace in a life filled with chaos. He was holding you close, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as if he was afraid you’d slip away, vanish into the dark. You could feel his heartbeat, steady and grounding beneath your hand on his chest, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this was your life—that he wasn’t Nightwing, that he was just Dick, and that he was yours.

A sliver of moonlight streamed through the curtains, casting a pale glow across his face. His eyes were closed, his lashes casting faint shadows over his cheeks, and you let yourself study him, unguarded and still. Every line of his face was familiar to you, etched into your memory from a thousand stolen glances. But there was something fragile about him tonight, something that made you want to reach out, to hold him a little tighter, as if you could shield him from the life he’d chosen.

He must have sensed your gaze, because his eyes fluttered open, soft and filled with an exhaustion that went beyond the physical. For a long moment, he just looked at you, as if he was searching for something, some answer hidden in your face. And you held his gaze, your own heart pounding as the weight of all your unsaid words settled between you, heavy and unbreakable.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he raised a hand to your cheek, his fingers brushing against your skin with a tenderness that stole the breath from your lungs. “I don’t… deserve this,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, covering his hand with yours, feeling the roughness of his calloused fingers beneath your touch. “Don’t say that,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “It’s not you who decides.”

For a moment, he looked like he was going to argue, to turn away from you ignoring your feelings. But you saw the vulnerability so clearly in his eyes in a way you’d only seen glimpses of before. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and your breath caught as his forehead rested against yours, the warmth of his skin grounding you.

“Why?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Why do you keep doing this, night after night? Why do you keep letting me in?”

You swallowed hard, should you tell him you love him? That you had always loved him and always will? That you just couldn’t leave? No matter how hard you tried? The words were almost spilling from your lips, But you couldn’t bring yourself to say them out loud. “I don’t know, I just care so much about you, that it hurts. I can't seem to let you go.”

A shuddering breath escaped him, and he closed his eyes, his face a mix of pain and guilt. “I’m just so sorry for everything I put you through. I…I thought you hated me at this point.” he murmured, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles at the base of your neck. “For dragging you into this shit. I’m sorry, I really am.”

You shook your head, your fingers reaching up to tangle in his hair, holding him close. “I could never hate you. I just… I wish you didn’t have to carry this alone. I wish… you could let me in.”

His eyes opened, locking onto yours, and in the soft glow of the moonlight, you could see everything he’d kept hidden—the fear, the longing, and now there was a new feeling that you couldn’t quite decypher what it was.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours in the lightest, most delicate kiss, as if he was afraid that if he pressed too hard, you’d disappear. It was a kiss filled with hesitation, with years of longing and fear, with all the words he’d never found the courage to say. And as his lips moved against yours, slow and tender, you felt your heart shatter and mend all at once, as if this was the moment you’d been waiting for, the moment you’d always known would come but never truly believed.

You kissed him back, your hand moving to cup his face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, the faint scrape of stubble against your palm. It was soft, unhurried, a gentle exploration that spoke of all the times you’d imagined this, the way his lips would feel against yours, the way his breath would mingle with yours. And in that kiss, you poured everything—all the nights you’d spent worrying, the tears you’d shed for him, the love that had grown quietly in the depths of your heart, waiting for this very moment.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a faint, almost disbelieving smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His thumb traced slow, lazy circles on your back, grounding you, and for the first time, you saw a glimmer of peace in his expression.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it. “Just… stay with me, like this. Please.”

You nodded, your hand moving to brush a stray lock of hair from his face. “Always,” you whispered, and you knew, deep down, that it was a promise you would keep, no matter how many nights he stumbled through your door, broken and battered. Because this was where you belonged—right here, by his side, in the quiet hours of the night, holding him together even as he held you.

As he pulled you back into his arms, his lips found yours again, a little more certain this time, a little less hesitant. And under the soft glow of the moonlight, in the silence of your shared space, you kissed him like you’d always dreamed, like he was the air you needed to breathe, like he was the very heartbeat of your soul. Because, in a way, he was. He always had been.

The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, a gentle exploration of everything you’d both kept hidden. His hands moved up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones as if he was committing every detail to memory. And in that kiss, you felt years of pain and fear melting away, replaced by something softer, something that felt like hope.

When you finally broke apart, he held you close, his head resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet. Neither of you spoke, because words felt unnecessary. Everything you needed to say had been shared in that kiss, in the way his hands held you, in the way his eyes met yours with a vulnerability he’d never let anyone else see.

And as you lay together in the quiet, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten, you knew that this was what you’d been waiting for, what you’d been fighting for. In that moment, you knew that you would always stay with him, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much you wished he would stop, you knew you would always be there for him. Because even though he was breaking you, piece by piece, you loved him. You loved him more than you loved your own heart, and you knew you would stay by his side, no matter how many nights he stumbled through your door, broken and bleeding.

Because that was what love was, wasn’t it? Holding on, even when everything in you wanted to let go.

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