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v6quewrlds · 1 day ago

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❝ candy paint, l. norris. ❞ ‎ ‎ ┉

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: lando norris is a lot of things: 100% honest is not one of them. good thing you're around to make sure he owns his weaknesses.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: first lando fic everyone cheer!! finding my footing writing lando's personality (dry asf) but I'll get there lmao day three of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, friends with benefits, the max mentioned is fewtrell not verstappen, oral (male receiving)protected sex, neither reader nor lando can shut the fuck up.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: lando norris x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2k.

"You're kidding, right?" you said into the phone, your voice laced with a hint of skepticism. The rain pattered against the window of your apartment, matching the rhythm of your thoughts. You had just returned from a week-long work trip and were looking forward to a quiet evening in.

Lando's voice was as persistent as the rain outside. "Come on, mate. It's been too long. You know I can't wait." His tone was a blend of playful and demanding, the kind that usually made your heart flutter. But this time, you had to draw a line.

"Lando, seriously," you said, a smirk playing on your lips. "What about your little bet with Max?" The mention of Max's name brought a mischievous glint to your eye. You knew how much he hated losing, especially to his friends.

Lando chuckled, the sound echoing through the line. "I wasn't sticking to the bet anyway. I've got to see you." His voice grew husky with desire, the kind of voice that made your knees wobble and your resolve waver. "I'll come to you."

You hesitated, your eyes narrowing as you considered his plea. The thought of seeing Lando sent a warm shiver down your spine. You could almost feel his strong hands gripping your hips, his breath hot on your neck. "Fine," you relented. "But if you want to come over, I'm telling Max you caved."

"You wouldn't," Lando said with mock horror, and you could almost hear his grin.

"Oh, I absolutely would," you replied, the challenge in your voice unmistakable. "You're the one begging to see me, remember?"

The line went quiet for a beat, and then Lando sighed dramatically. "Alright, fine, whatever. I'll be there in twenty."

Twenty minutes later, the sound of the door opening and closing was like music to your ears. You felt the heat of Lando's presence before you even saw him. He was soaking wet from the rain outside, his white t-shirt clinging to his muscular chest. You couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him. "You look like a drowned rat," you said, standing up from the couch where you had been scrolling through your phone.

"Charming," Lando shot back with a smirk, shaking his wet hair like a dog and spraying droplets across the floor. He stepped closer to you, and you could smell the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the freshness of rain. "But it's worth it if it means I get to see this gorgeous face." He leaned in to kiss you, but you playfully pushed him away. "What, no greeting for the man who braved the storm to see you?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide your smile. "Take off your clothes before you drench the whole place," you said, stepping aside. You watched as he peeled off his shirt, revealing the defined abdomen and muscular arms that had your knees growing weaker by the second. You made no effort to hide your eyes sweeping over his form as you bit your bottom lip.

He kicked off his shoes and socks, leaving a puddle by the door. "Better?" he asked, a glint in his eye as he moved closer.

"Marginally," you replied, trying to keep your cool. But when Lando's hands reached for your waist, pulling you into his warm embrace, you melted against him. His touch was like a warm blanket on a cold night, comforting and revitalizing all at once.

You kissed with an intensity that spoke of weeks of pent-up longing, your tongues dancing in a familiar rhythm. His hands slid down your back, cupping your ass, and you felt his erection pressing against your thigh. "You're going to be the end of me," he murmured against your lips.

You pulled away just enough to whisper, "You're the one who couldn't wait." You stepped back, taking his hand and leading him to the couch. With a swift motion, you straddled him, your cotton shorts riding up your thighs. Lando's hands roamed up your legs, his thumbs teasing the hem, hinting at what was to come.

Your round brown eyes searched his emerald ones, a silent question lingering between you two. "You sure you're ready to lose?" you asked, your voice low and sultry. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and the distant patter of rain.

Lando's grin was all the answer you needed. "Love, I'd do anything to taste you right now." His thumbs hooked into the waistband of your shorts, and with a quick pull, they were around your ankles. He groaned as he felt the heat of your bare skin against his.

You giggled, a sound that was music to his ears, and leaned back, placing your hands on his shoulders. "Well, you're in luck," you said, your voice dripping with seduction. "Because I'm feeling quite generous."

Without breaking eye contact, Lando reached for the waistband of his sweats pulling it down with a slow, deliberate movement. His erection sprang free, and you couldn't help but gasp. He was always so beautifully aroused, so ready for you. You slid your hand over it, feeling it pulse beneath your touch.

He groaned, his eyes closing briefly before snapping open again. "Don't tease me," he warned, his voice strained.

"Who's teasing?" you said, your smile wicked. You kneeled off the couch, your soft dark curls brushing against his chest, and took him in your mouth. Lando's grip tightened on the couch cushions, his body arching off the cushions with a hiss.

"Fuck, babe," he groaned, his eyes rolling back. Your mouth was warm and wet, moving over him with the kind of expertise that only came from knowing someone's body intimately. You took him deep, your tongue swirling around the head before pulling back to tease the sensitive underside. You knew every inch of him, every spot that made him squirm, and every spot that made him beg.

You felt a rush of power, your eyes sparkling with amusement as you watched Lando's reaction. You loved the way he lost control around you, the way his cocky exterior crumbled to reveal the desperate need beneath. You bobbed your head faster, taking him deeper each time, until you felt his thighs tense and his hips jerk upwards.

"Goddammit," he breathed, his hands finding their way into your hair, guiding your movements. "I can't wait anymore." He pulled you off him, his eyes dark with need. "Get on top," he said, his voice a gruff command.

Your heart raced as you straddled him, your own desire matching his. You watched as he reached into the pocket of his sweats, retrieving a condom he casually slid over his length. Then you felt him at your entrance, his fingers eagerly pushing your panties to the side, and with a little wiggle, you sank down, enveloping him in your warmth. Lando's eyes rolled back in his head, a silent groan escaping his lips. The sensation of him filling you was overwhelming, a sweet ache that you had missed.

You found your rhythm quickly, your bodies moving together as if you had been practicing this dance your whole life. Lando's hands roamed your body, cupping your breasts and squeezing your hips as you rode him. Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving little half-moons of pressure as you rose and fell. Each time you took him in, you felt like you were claiming a piece of him, a piece that was yours and yours alone.

The sound of your bodies slapping together filled the room, a testament to your passion. You leaned forward, your breasts brushing against Lando's chest, and whispered, "Couldn't even go two weeks, could you?" Your voice was teasing, but it held an underlying satisfaction. You knew you had the power to make him break his bet.

"Fuck the bet," Lando groaned, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. "You're all I need." His words were punctuated by his hips bucking upwards, pushing into you with a desperation that sent a shiver down your spine. The room grew hotter, the scent of your desire mixing with the dampness from the rain outside.

Your movements grew more frantic, their breaths mingling in the air. The couch creaked beneath you, a testament to the intensity of your passion. You felt yourself getting closer, your inner muscles tightening around him. Lando's grip on your hips grew firmer, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Come for me," he urged, his eyes burning into yours. "Let go, baby."

You threw your head back, your dark curls bouncing off your shoulders as you picked up your pace. The sensations grew more intense, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. Lando's hands moved from your hips to your breasts, his hands squeezing at the bouncing flesh before leaning down to bring his mouth to the peaks. You gasped, the pleasure shooting straight to your core.

"Yes, just like that," you moaned, your voice a little raspy. The warmth of his mouth on your breasts sent shockwaves through your body. You felt your orgasm approaching, the familiar coil tightening in your belly. You leaned into him, your movements becoming erratic as you chased the feeling.

Lando could feel you tightening around him, your breath coming in short gasps. He knew you were close, and it was his undoing. He thrust upwards, his own release building. "Fuck," he groaned, his eyes meeting yours, silently pleading for you to let go.

With a cry, you did. Your orgasm washed over you, making your body convulse. You felt him swell inside you, his own climax following closely behind. You held onto each other tightly, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony until the waves of pleasure subsided.

For a moment, you stayed just like that, panting and sweaty, your hearts hammering in your chests. Then, Lando leaned in to kiss you, a gentle brush of his lips that spoke of affection and satisfaction. He pulled out of you with a soft groan, and you felt a twinge of loss. But the warmth of his body remained, his arms still wrapped around your waist.

"You're amazing," he murmured against your neck, his voice a low rumble that made your skin prickle. You leaned into the embrace, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. This was your thing, your little slice of heaven, left uncomplicated despite your close friendship.

You lay there for a while, your bodies entwined and your breaths slowing. The rain outside had turned into a gentle pitter-patter, lulling you into a state of post-coital bliss. It was moments like these that made the world seem to stop spinning, where the only thing that mattered was the warmth of each other's skin and the sound of your hearts beating in unison.

You leaned back and looked into his green eyes, the corners of your mouth curling up in a knowing smile. "So," you began, "Are you going to man up and text Max now, or should I?"

Lando groaned, his head falling back against the couch cushion. "You're enjoying this way too much," he said, a hint of a grin playing on his lips.

"I like seeing you squirm," you replied, your voice light and playful. You reached for your phone on the coffee table, your eyes gleaming with mischief. You knew Lando was competitive to a fault and losing was not something he took kindly to, especially not when it came to something as serious as a bet with Max.

Lando's eyes narrowed playfully as he watched you type away, his arms still around your waist. "Don't be too detailed," he murmured, his grip tightening slightly.

You glanced up at him, your smile widening. "Oh, I won't," you said sweetly, sending the text. "But he's going to know you didn't last five minutes."

Lando's eyes shot open. "You didn't!"

"Oh, I did," you said with a laugh, the sound like a melody in the quiet room. "And you know what?"

He tugged on your hair gently, bringing you closer. "What?"

"It was worth it," you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity. "Every single second."

You kissed him softly, your tongue darting out to trace his bottom lip. Lando's eyes closed, savoring the moment, his arms tightening around you. He knew you were right, that the thrill of being with you was worth any bet.

#&. cassie writes.#&. nnn masterlist.#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris smut #lando norris x black!reader #x black fem reader #black!fem!reader #black!reader #x black reader

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purinfelix · 3 days ago

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you're here, that's the thing ˚⟡˖ ࣪ - franco colapinto

summary: your boyfriend tries his best to make your schedules, as a racer and student, work - even when miles apart w/c: 900

a/n: it's finals season for me and i needed to write something self-indulgent as a break from cramming forgive me 🙏

Being a full-time student was one thing, but being a full-time student in a relationship with an extremely clingy boyfriend, who also happened to be travelling the world to race in Formula One, was a whole other challenge.

You and Franco had had some time to adjust to a long-distance relationship since you started dating, having such different lives, and managed to make it work for the most part. But now, with him having to wholly commit to his racing and finals season rolling around for you, it put a strain on your relationship that neither of you was ready for.

It was a strange paradox - the less free time you had outside of classes and studying, the less you were able to spend talking to him, and the more you wanted just to drop everything and fly to where he was. Your morning texts and voice message updates stopped being enough, and before you knew it you struggled to go longer than an hour studying without sending your boyfriend a message to whine and complain.

You were fully aware of how immature and irresponsible this was, but this awareness did little to stop you. And it didn't exactly help that Franco seemed to share the same sentiment, telling you again and again how hard it was for him as well, how racing seemed almost impossible without you there to cheer him on. It hurt, but the two of you just had to do everything you could to get through it - for you to focus on your studies and for him to try his best at racing.

All this came to a head one Sunday though, the afternoon before one of your final exams and - because of the time difference - the night before Franco's next race. Sitting in your dorm alone, surrounded by piles of textbooks, notes and scattered pens you felt a sudden jolt of vulnerability and before you knew it you were reaching for your phone.

"Can you call?" you typed quickly to your boyfriend, your eyes lighting up upon seeing the three dots begin moving almost instantly.

"My gosh, I was just going to ask you the same thing," he replied, and before you knew it your phone was springing to life with a call from him. Clicking accept, you couldn't help but smile widely at the sight of his face.

"Hi," you say, almost shyly.

"Hi baby, how are you?"

"Good," you pause, "stressed."

He nods understandingly, "You're holding up okay, hm? Taking care of yourself?"

"Of course, Franco," you laugh at his almost motherly concern, "and you?"

"Nervous, of course."

"Well, that makes two of us." You pause after speaking, for some reason this call is turning out less enjoyable and more awkward than you hoped.

"I'm sorry, I'm just really tired," you hear your boyfriend say and when you look up you can definitely see it, his eyelids half closing over deep, dark circles under them.

"Do you want to sleep? I have to study anyways."

You watch as he chews his bottom lip, thinking of what to say though once he finally talks his voice is small, almost like a confession. "But I wanted to talk to you."

"We are talking Franco, and we can talk tomorrow once you rest."

This doesn't seem to quell his worries though, his brows still knitted in thought. "I just feel so useless knowing that you're struggling and stressed and I can't even keep you company like I normally do."

You nod sympathetically until an idea pops into your head. "We can keep the call on, carry me over to your bed - you'll sleep and I'll study."

Even through the fatigue pulling him down, Franco nods enthusiastically, doing as you say. You watch him sink into the plush white bedsheets of whatever hotel he's in, and whilst you feel a little jealous at his ability to rest right now, you turn back to your desk and start pulling out your notes.

"You'll be okay," you hear him mumble.

"What do you mean?"

"With your exams," he smiles sleepily, eyes flitting as he watches you pick up your highlighters and pens, "you're the smartest person I know."

"I don't know how much that's saying, you didn't even finish high school baby."

"Hey! I was trying to be nice," he says, feigning offence though there's a soft smile across his face.

"You're right, I'm sorry," you laugh, "you'll be okay as well, with your race tomorrow."

"I hope so."

"I know so."

"I wish you were here," he sighs, looking at you earnestly and all you can do is give him a nod in agreement.

"But for now," you wave your pen to hint at the fact that you need to get back to cramming and he seems to get the hint.

"Right, right, you won't even know I'm here," he assures you.

And despite that, the entire night passes without you once forgetting it. Not that he's distracting or anything, in fact he falls asleep mere minutes after telling you that - leaving you to work peacefully for the rest of the night. Instead, his presence, even as he sleeps, even through a screen and halfway across the world, is enough. You find yourself smiling as you study because maybe having a long-distance boyfriend, even one as clingy as Franco, has been a blessing in disguise all this time.

#franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto fluff #franco colapinto oneshot #williams racing #williams f1 #formula one fanfic #formula one x reader #formula one fluff #formula one #purinfelix #jet writes ★

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hoshifighting · 3 days ago

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Can you pleaseeee do staff joshua?

staff!joshua

WARNINGS: smut, figurine malfuncion, getting caught fingering, mentions of penetrative sex, limping after sex, dirty talk.

staff!joshua who was basically an angel in a designer hoodie, swooping in like he was born to save the day. he’d been recommended by an artist friend who was finally leaving the chaos of tour life behind, and, honestly, you’d had your doubts. you weren’t looking for another “helpful” stranger who’d end up tangled in the cables backstage or handing you the wrong mic.

you remember him showing up that first day, eyes bright and wide like he was taking in every damn inch of the chaos with some kinda awe. it was… annoying, actually, because who the hell has that much enthusiasm? the whole team couldn’t stop talking about him, whispering like he was some savior sent from above. you’d watch from across the dressing room, pretending not to notice, like, “oh sure, he’s cute or whatever,” but then he’d catch your eye and smile.

staff!joshua who somehow found himself in the middle of the most last-minute disaster ever. the accessories box—the one holding all your necklaces, rings, and that one choker that practically defines your stage look—got left at the hotel across town, hours away. designers scrambling, panic in the air, your manager about to lose it. you’re standing there, just praying that the team doesn’t fully spiral, and then joshua steps in, calm as you like. he asks for a spare box of beads, like it’s no big deal.

he actually sits on the floor, in the mddle of the dressing room, legs crossed like he’s chilling at some park, and starts putting together these bracelets. fast. you remember being half-stunned, watching him loop bead after bead with ridiculous speed, like he’s been doing it his whole life. and they weren’t just some random bracelets either—they actually looked good. he handed them over, “here you go, should work in a pinch.” like, who does that?

staff!joshua who ended up with half the crew wanting to know where he learned to make accessories like that, and he just shrugged, all humble, “oh, just a thing i used to do in high school.” as if that made sense.

next show, next country, you look out and see rows and rows of fans with identical bracelets. like, those beads? they’ve become a thing. suddenly, everyone wants one, and your socials are blowing up with people asking where they can get cute and colorful bracelets. you’d joked with him after, “might as well start selling these on the merch table,” and he’d laughed, soft and shy, scratching the back of his neck like he wasn’t used to the attention.

staff!joshua who, honestly, makes you wonder if he’s real, he’s always got everything covered, it’s late nights and early mornings, but somehow, he’s always there, making sure you have your coffee just the way you like it, that your schedule isn’t packed to the point of breaking. he’s the one who keeps track of your favorite snacks and stashes them in your backpack, knowing you’ll dig around for them at some ungodly hour.

staff!joshua who insists on walks when there’s downtime to make you less tense, taking you through narrow city streets, where he points out little cafes he researched beforehand, claiming it was just “a lucky find.” he laughs off your suspicions, saying, “it’s just a coincidence,” but you know he’s been studying maps like a tour guide, making sure you get to see more than just hotel lobbies and dressing rooms. he’ll hold your things so you can snap photos or just take in the sights, occasionally stepping back to give you a moment. always there, hovering just close enough to shield you if a crowd forms or if you need a break from everything.

staff!joshua who’s not just watching out for you but keeping an eye on every single person who shows up at airports or outside venues. he scans the crowd with that gentle look in his eyes, like he’s really seeing each one of them, making sure no one’s fainting or overheating. if he notices someone looking a bit off, he doesn’t hesitate, signaling to security or even paramedics to help them out, all while giving them this reassuring smile that somehow calms them down.

staff!joshua who knows when fans come up to you during your downtime and sees that look in your eyes, the tiny hesitation. he’ll lean over, voice soft, asking, “do you want to?” like it’s totally up to you, and it’s cool either way. if you’re not feeling it, he’s got the most polite, warm way of explaining, “i’m so sorry, but it’s y/n’s break right now.” no harshness, no impatience—just enough kindness that no one feels brushed off. but if you nod and say yes, he’s right there, practically crouching to make sure the angles are perfect, even telling the fan how to hold the camera for the best lighting. he gets the shots that’ll probably be framed on some bedroom wall or locked screens forever.

staff!joshua who goes from quietly fussing over your needs to casually slipping into a role that makes every fan interaction feel like the best one of their life. he’s got this way of making them feel comfortable, throwing in a gentle “don’t be nervous,” or even laughing softly to ease the anxiety.

staff!joshua who, without you even realizing it, has gone from that fresh-faced kid with the soft smile to a full-on bodyguard. he’s bulked up over time, muscles straining against the sleeves of his shirts, and when he’s guiding you through a crowded airport or weaving through backstage chaos, you catch more than a few fans sneaking glances his way. he doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he does, but he brushes it off.

staff!joshua who makes it a point to be in the hotel gym at whatever strange hour you decide to work out. he’s on his own schedule, of course, but he’s catching your attention even mid-workout. he doesn’t say much about it, but you know he’s thinking about your safety, wanting to be strong enough to keep you shielded with his... big chest.

staff!joshua who tries to stay professional when your hand naturally drifts to his arm. it’s like a habit now; his biceps have become your security blanket, something to hold onto when you’re being rushed through a crowd or stepping out of a car in sky-high heels. he’ll give you a quiet amused look, lips pressing together like he’s trying not to smile, but he never says anything about it.

staff!joshua who feels the burn of your touch whenever you steady yourself by pressing your hand against his muscular chest. maybe it’s to fix a shoe strap or straighten your skirt, his breath hitches every time, it’s like a test of his equilibrium, and you can tell he’s struggling to keep himself in check, especially when he catches your smirk.

staff!joshua who’s always one step ahead, guiding you with a gentle but firm hand on the small of your back when you’re navigating a crowded room.

staff!joshua who instinctively stands between you and the flash of cameras, positioning himself just enough to cover you from the harsh lights and endless stares. he doesn’t need to ask; he just knows when to move, leaning close “just stay behind me”

staff!joshua who never complains when you tug at his sleeve for attention, even if it’s the fifth time that hour. attentive look, ready to listen to whatever you need, whether it’s fixing a wardrobe mishap or finding the perfect hiding spot when the crowds get overwhelming.

staff!joshua who’s confused when you grab him and pull him into the wardrobe corner, pointing at the zipper like it’s some life-or-death situation. his face goes a little pink as he takes in the view—your tits all squished up, struggling against the fabric, and his hands practically itching to fix it. “are you sure?” he mumbles, glancing from you to the zipper and back, but there’s no time to pause; you’re due on stage any second.

staff!joshua who keeps his eyes fixed on that zipper, swallowing hard as he tries to get a grip on himself and on the stubborn thing trapping you. his fingers brush against your skin, and you feel him tense up, his breath quickening just slightly. he’s so close you can smell his cologne, fresh and warm, mixing with the backstage chaos, and it’s making it way harder for you to focus on anything else. “just… stay still..” he mutters, his voice a little shaky.

staff!joshua who practically loses it when the stylist finally throws up her hands and says, “just rip it off, joshua! we don’t have time.” his eyes go wide, panic flickering over his face, but then he nods, taking a deep breath. he plants his hands on either side of the fabric, his biceps flexing under his shirt as he grabs hold and gives one solid yank. there’s a loud rrrriiip, and the zipper splits apart, fabric tearing away like it’s nothing under his grip.

staff!joshua who is definitely not prepared for the way the fabric slips, your tits practically jumping in his face, leaving him blinking, wide-eyed, desperately trying to look anywhere else while you scramble to pull on your next outfit. he’s frozen for a second, like he’s processing what just happened, then quickly steps back.

staff!joshua who always insists on separate rooms whenever you’re on tour, like it’s some line in the sand he won’t cross, because he’s all about “boundaries.” but thank god for that, honestly, because the last thing you need is him realizing just how often your mind wanders to him in the quiet of your room after a show, the adrenaline still in your veins. nights like that, when you’re alone and all you can think about is the way he’s looked at you backstage, muscles tense as he keeps everything under control—never fails on making you horny.

staff!joshua who doesn’t know how many times you’ve slipped into your bed and imagined him there with you, his big hands choking you, slapping your face, his mouth kissing you, sucking you, that quiet and respectful control of his breaking just for you. you let yourself get lost in the thought of him, and in the safety of your own room, you give in to all those bottled-up feelings, whispering his name under your breath, touching yourself, feeling your pulse race as you imagine him actually being there.

staff!joshua who has no clue that some nights, you’re too far gone to even muffle the sounds you make, pressing a hand to your mouth as you cum, breathy little sighs slipping out, like he’s actually there. you always tell yourself you’ll be quieter next time, but every show seems to make it worse, every touch from him leaving a trail of him that lasts long after he’s gone.

staff!joshua who probably wouldn’t know what to do if he ever caught you like that—caught you in the middle of one of those late-night moments, your head thrown back, his name slipping from your lips, no shame. the thought alone is almost too much to handle, but you keep going back to it, night after night, letting yourself imagine just a little more.

staff!joshua who, one night, knocks on your door to deliver something you left behind in the venue dressing room, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re in there, already lost in thoughts of him. you dont even hear the knock over the sounds of your own pussy, and you don’t realize he’s actually come in, quietly calling your name, until you see his shadow across the wall.

staff!joshua who stands there frozen for a second, just staring, his fingers fumbling with the doorknob like he’s trying to make a quick exit but forgot how doors work.

when he finally remembers to turn the handle, ends up pulling it the wrong way, the door making this awkward little squeak as he fumbles to open it again. he’s all flushed and stuttering out apologies, but he’s rooted in place, eyes darting back to you like he’s trying to process what he just walked in on and failing miserably.

your heart its almost jumping from your chest, but you let the duvet slip just a little, the fabric falling away from your legs, exposing the curve of your thigh, the soft line of your hip. his eyes follow it, widening just slightly, his fingers gripping the door handle even tighter.

staff!joshua who, when you tug his wrist gently, doesn’t resist, he lets you pull him closer until he sits by your side, as you whine “joshua… come here,” in that low, inviting way, and something shines in his eyes, like you’ve struck a nerve he’s tried so hard to keep hidden.

staff!joshua who finally presses his lips to your neck, his hand moves up your thigh, fingers fastly pushing the duvet away, leaving you naked. when he finally slides his hand over you, through your damp folds, the feel of his fingers brushing your swollen clit, making your nipples harden.

his thumb presses the clit savoring the reaction he’s getting from you. you can tell he’s testing every little gesture, finding what makes you pant, what makes your hips move toward him.

staff!joshua who presses his fingers in, slipping past the wet folds, to the gummy walls, the first slide inside so warm, so deep, and you let out a moan—that you don't have to hold anymore, afraid that he would hear from the next room—your pussy already clenching around him. he groans softly, leaning over you, his arm flexing as he presses deeper, his other hand coming up to grip one of your wrist up your head, holding you steady as his fingers curl impossibly tight. you can feel the tension in him, the restraint, but the way his fingers move, lets you know he’s not holding back with his touch, at least.

“like that?” he asks, and you nod, swallowing down a shaky breath as he picks up the pace.

staff!joshua who starts to move his fingers a little deeper, making a funny wet sound, until you’re gripping the duvet, your head tipping back.

staff!joshua who, lets out a low chuckle everytime you moan a little louder. “what was that hm? a moan? for me? tell me..”

staff!joshua when he notices you squirming under his touch, about to cum he teases more “so needy... you don’t even have to say it.” he pauses, letting the fingers sink in, as you feel his other hand come up to grip your thigh, holding you as he continues. “what would they all say if they saw you right now?” he muses. “you know, you make it so hard for me to be professional sometimes.”

staff!joshua who, when he notices you clenching your fists in the duvet, laughs softly, a low, wicked sound. “go on,” he whispers, his fingers curling just right. “let me hear everything.”

staff!joshua that after every single time you thought you’d caught your breath, would lean down, “not done yet, sweetheart,” before sending you spiraling right back. destroying your poor swollen cunt after cumming multiple times..

staff!joshua next morning, is already at the hotel breakfast with the crew, sitting perfectly, like he didn’t just ruin you the night before. he watches you walk in, eyes glinting as he sees the way you’re moving—trying to walk normally, but the subtle limp gives it all away.

staff!joshua who has the audacity to pat the empty chair next to him, tilting his head with an innocent expression as if he’s not the reason you’re struggling to walk. “sleep well?” he asks, but you know he's holding back a laugh. you shoot him a glare, but he just raises an eyebro.

staff!joshua who leans in, voice quiet enough that only you can hear, and whispers, “if you need me to help you up to your room after this, just say the word,” his fingers brush against your knee under the table, so subtle that no one else would notice, but it’s enough to remind you of every. single. thing. he did to you last night.

staff!joshua who has no problem keeping that perfect poker face as the morning goes on, answering questions, making small talk with the crew, all while casting you the occasional glance. every time he catches you shifting in your seat, trying to get comfortable, he hides a smirk behind his coffee mug, thoroughly enjoying the sight of you flustered and sore, his own private victory.

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rhube · 31 minutes ago

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Listen, having worked in university marketing, I am here to tell you that not all ads are evil or trying to deceive you. People work really hard at conveying precisely the information you need that will tell you if a product is for you.

There are people in advertising and marketing who are well aware of the laws about not deceiving customers and who think constantly about what they can provide evidence to claim, not making stuff up.

And yeah, they're trying to persuade you, but that doesn't automatically mean 'buy this piece of shit we're telling you is solid gold'. It means, 'we really believe in this, we have evidence that it's good and could be a great thing for you, but we need to find a way to tell you that and make you trust us' which takes a lot of thought.

And as a consumer there's a lot of stuff I just wouldn't know about if not for advertising. We need advertising to tell people there are solutions to problems, quality products, and fun things to get excited about.

Advertising isn't inherently BAD. And it's one of the few industries in which creative people can make a liveable wage with their art or writing.

The problem we have at the moment is that a lot of people with no training in making good ads, people who don't care about laws, or are based somewhere with less regulation, who are churning out annoying, misleading, not-accesdible garbage.

And these people aren't researching their audience and tailoring the content to people for whom its relevant. Instead a whole tech industry has grown up where people who know fuck all about marketing have companies that scrape and aggregate your data, who sell it to other tech companies that sell advertising space, which is bought up by yet another automated service that has been trained to get 'the best deal' for the company that wants to sell a product.

That's not how it works when you wanna make a useful ad. You should be doing customer research with your actual customers. Analysing the data you get to tailor both the advert and the advertising space.

But these automated systems talking to other automated systems don't do that.

Like, first off, the data is SHIT. It may not even differentiate content you noped out of from stuff you looked at for half an hour. And if it does, it treats all the content on the page equally. All the stuff you're ignoring is tagged as 'on sites this user spends a lot of time on'. Whereas human customer research, for which customers consent and usually receive some kind of reward, involves tracking eye movements, mouse movements, clicks, and an interview afterwards to ask what they were thinking about and why they stayed on one page over another. This is so much more helpful! It helps make content more useful to users and prevents wasted marketing effort.

But almost no one does it these days because, well, it's expensive. You gotta compensate the consumers you do your research with, design sensible things for them to test, have someone monitor and analyse what they do, and interview them after. That's very expensive compared to a bunch of lightning fast calculations that can all be automated. So companies don't pay to do it properly, and they don't actually tailor their ads to you, and they're not trying to be informative.

At best (and I can't stress enough how rare this is) ads that are based on this data and algorithms and/or machine learning deliver what will get you to look at the ad for longer or click the ad to go to a website. But if that means bright flashing colours and the world's tiniest 'x' so you can't actually close the ad without clicking through, these automated systems are designed to get you to do THAT, not buy the product.

Honestly, I know it sounds like I'm asking for sympathy for the devil, but I have seen this from the tech side, the marketing side, the researcher side, and the user doing the test. I have taken a course on content strategy and heard what academics in this field have to say, and it's honestly not evil. They're trying to adapt to an environment where you're constantly barraged with demands on your attention, so it is in the advertiser's best interest to be clear and tailored and not waste your time.

But unfortunately an awful lot of people have been sold on the idea that these automated systems ARE targeting people who would be interested with stuff that's relevant to them, and they're just NOT.

You can see it if you compare an entertaining TV ad by an established brand who can pay for the research to the vast majority of internet ads. They can be funny, entertaining, informative, even insightful. They can also be stereotyped and annoying of course, but on the whole they're much less of a headache than the nonsense funnel we get exposed to constantly online and in mobile games.

Tbh, advertisers, producers, and consumers have all been screwed over by VC-owned companies that are being squeezed from on high for every last drop of short term capital. And that means automating things because it's cheaper and quicker than human analysis, even if it means the whole thing becomes annoying, unhelpful garbage.

But scale it back and think about your artist friend. Your creator with a small etsy business. Your self-published author. Your inventor with a neat accessibility tool. They aren't producing groceries, but if they don't advertise, literally no one will know their products exist.

Advertising DOES have a good and important role. Under-regulated advertising in a toxic system not aimed at serving producers OR customers is hamstrung and cannot perform that role.

The only acceptable ads should be shit like "groceries on sale" and "free event at the local library"

#advertising

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solxamber · 1 day ago

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Desperate Confessions with: Riddle Rosehearts , Leona Kingscholar

Riddle Rosehearts

It’s almost dark when you finally step out of the library. The entire campus is steeped in the quiet warmth of the setting sun, casting long shadows and filling the air with a golden glow. You spot Riddle just a few paces away, standing by the ivy-laden wall, seemingly waiting for you. His usual composure is absent, replaced by an odd stillness in his posture, a tension that you can feel even from here.

"Riddle?" you ask, concern coloring your voice as you approach him. He turns, and for a moment, he doesn’t seem like himself. His face is flushed, his gaze intense, almost… desperate.

“You’re here,” he says quietly, almost in relief, though the softness of his words belies a turmoil simmering beneath. "I didn’t expect you to come out this late."

You tilt your head, trying to read the unspoken thoughts in his expression, but he doesn’t give you a chance. “I… need to tell you something.” His voice is tight, as though he’s struggling against himself to form the words. His hands are clenched at his sides, and he looks as if he’s trying to steady his breathing. “It’s—it’s been too much lately, and I don’t think I can keep pretending I’m…unaffected by you."

For a moment, he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they hold a vulnerability you’ve rarely seen. "You’ve haunted my thoughts, day and night. Every time I see you, I—I’m left wondering if I’ll be able to speak without… without feeling like my heart will burst. I feel like I’m losing control of myself whenever you’re near.”

His cheeks flush deeper, but he doesn’t look away. "I’m embarrassed by it. This—this lack of control.” His voice breaks, just a bit, and you can hear the self-criticism beneath his words. “I’ve spent my whole life restraining myself, and then you—” He takes a shaky breath. “You come into my life, and suddenly… I can’t.”

Your chest tightens at the rawness of his confession, at the deep-seated need he’s barely holding back. Before you can stop yourself, you close the gap between you, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him close.

Riddle’s breath catches, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyes are wide, a hint of disbelief mingling with hope as he gazes at you, unspoken words trembling on his lips. And in that moment, you realize that there’s no need for more words.

You surge forward, capturing his lips in a fierce, unrestrained kiss. It’s hard, almost desperate, and every ounce of feeling he’s kept bottled up seems to crash over both of you at once. Riddle’s arms wrap around you, and he clings to you as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

He kisses you back with the same intensity, almost a little shyly at first, but it quickly deepens into something far more passionate. His hand slips up to cup the side of your face, and you can feel his fingers tremble ever so slightly as he pulls you closer, kissing you like he’s wanted to for far too long.

When you finally part, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting together as you catch your breath. Riddle’s eyes are shining, his lips swollen from the kiss, his face flushed.

He looks at you with a kind of wonder, like he’s still not entirely certain this is real, and then, almost shyly, he whispers, “I didn’t… I didn’t know it could feel like this.” His voice is soft, reverent, as if he’s savoring each word, the remnants of his vulnerability lingering.

Leona Kingscholar

It sneaks up on Leona, this feeling he doesn't know what to name. At first, he thinks it's just irritation—that persistent gnawing that comes with your endless presence. You’re always around, talking, laughing, pulling him into things he swears he doesn’t care about. He assumes it’s only a matter of time before he finally snaps. But then you’re not there one day, and the world feels off-kilter.

He spends that entire afternoon restless, eyes flickering toward every entrance as if expecting you to walk through it. But you don’t. The gardens are too quiet, his naps too still, and he’s left with a strange emptiness that he can’t shake off.

The next day, you’re there again, and the weight lifts. He scowls when he catches himself relaxing, brushing it off, but it keeps happening. Days pass, and it’s clear—he misses you. This realization grates on him, bothers him in a way nothing else has. How could he, Leona Kingscholar, find himself so wrapped up in someone else?

Then, today, he’s back in his usual spot in the garden, the shade cooling his skin as he lounges, pretending to nap. He can hear your footsteps before he sees you, and he opens one eye as you approach, carrying a basket of food, smiling that soft, familiar smile of yours.

"Thought you’d like something to eat," you say, setting the basket down with that easy grace of yours that makes his chest ache.

And that’s it. That ache in his chest spills over, and he can’t hold it back anymore. It all comes rushing out, like a dam breaking.

"Why?" he says, his voice rougher than he intended. "Why do you keep coming here, even when I’ve given you every reason not to?" He’s sitting up now, leaning toward you, the intensity in his eyes making you blink.

He huffs, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you were a nuisance at first. Always hanging around, always in my space." His voice drops lower, rougher, almost as if he’s frustrated with himself. "But the truth is… I’m the one who’s a mess without you. You leave, and everything just… feels wrong."

There’s a pause, and he looks down, jaw clenched, hands clenched in his lap. "I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I don’t care anymore. All I know is… I want you here. Always." He raises his gaze to yours, the desperation flickering in his eyes a vulnerability that catches even him off guard.

Your heart swells, and as his words sink in, a smile breaks across your face. Tears well up in your eyes, unbidden, but you can’t help it. Before you know it, you’re leaning in, cupping his face, and pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s as gentle as it is profound. The warmth of him, the rough texture of his skin against yours, grounds you, and you kiss him deeply, tasting the intensity of his feelings, the rawness he’s bared just for you.

As you pull back, his thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a stray tear. He leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his own lips brushing lightly against the salt of your tears. "Even that," he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble, "even the taste of you like this… I want it all."

And you hold him close, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your palm, realizing that this is where you both belong.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar x you #leona x reader #twst leona #leona kingscholar #leona

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thelovehypothesis · 2 days ago

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You ramble, but it's adorable

Ollie Bearman x fem!reader

From this request

+1k words

a/n's: this was requested on my old account which I accidentally deleted but, hope this fic finds the person that requested it!

warnings: fluff!

summary: lost in your latest obsession, and he's completely captivated by your every word—because to Ollie, every ramble is just another reason to fall in love.

Ollie had always found it easy to get lost in the small moments—those quiet pauses between races, when the world slowed down just enough for him to savour the simplicity of life. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the way he felt right now, watching you animatedly explain your latest obsession.

You were sitting on the couch, knees tucked under you, eyes sparkling as you tried to unpack the complex universe that Taylor Swift had created with her "folklore" album. Your hands moved in quick gestures as you traced out what you called "the love triangle of all love triangles" between Betty, James, and August. Ollie leaned against the backrest, listening with a quiet smile, his eyes never leaving your face.

"And then—" you continued, your voice slightly higher in pitch with excitement, "in 'Cardigan,' Betty is talking about how she loved James even after he messed everything up. But, and here's the crazy part, 'August' is from the perspective of the girl James cheated on her with!" You waved your hands in a dramatic arc. "It’s so genius because it’s like each song is a different piece of the same story. I mean, can you even imagine the emotional depth it takes to create something like that?"

Ollie chuckled softly, shaking his head just enough for you to notice but not enough to interrupt you. You barely paused, too deep in your passionate analysis of the music to stop.

"But wait, I’m not done!" You looked at him, eyes wide. "You’ve got 'Betty' next, which is James' apology song. He’s basically trying to get Betty back after messing around with August, but you can tell he’s just a stupid kid who didn’t know what he had until he lost it!" You sighed dramatically, clutching a pillow to your chest. "It’s heartbreaking, but also like... I can't stop listening to it on repeat."

Ollie couldn't help it; his heart swelled at how much you cared about all these tiny details, how you put your whole soul into explaining it to him. He loved how your face lit up with excitement, how your voice carried the melody of your thoughts so effortlessly. And he especially loved how you didn’t care whether he knew every little detail or not—you just wanted to share it with him.

"You’re adorable, you know that?" Ollie said softly, his voice cutting through your rambling just enough to make you pause.

You blinked, thrown off for a second. "What?"

"You ramble, but it's adorable," he repeated, this time with that signature Ollie grin that made your stomach flip. He reached out, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered near your cheek, warm and soft.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. "I’m not rambling… am I?"

"You absolutely are," Ollie teased, leaning forward so that his face was inches from yours. "But don’t stop. I like it when you talk about stuff like this. It’s like... I can see how much it means to you, and I love seeing you so happy."

You playfully swatted his arm, but your heart was beating faster, the tender warmth of his words melting away any embarrassment. "Fine," you said, narrowing your eyes in mock seriousness, "but don’t complain when I start talking about the metaphors behind the lyrics."

"I wouldn’t dream of it." He pulled you closer, his arm slipping around your waist. His eyes softened as they held yours, and for a moment, the world outside your little bubble disappeared.

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft at first, a gentle brush of affection. But then Ollie deepened it, his hand cupping the side of your face as he pulled you impossibly closer, his lips warm and insistent, making your heart race even faster.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, you couldn’t help but grin at him. "I think that was just a tactic to stop me from talking."

Ollie smirked, the mischievous glint in his eyes impossible to ignore. "Maybe," he admitted, his thumb grazing your lower lip, "but it worked, didn’t it?"

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny that you were already melting under his touch. He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing you in as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

"Seriously though," Ollie murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "I love listening to you talk. About Taylor Swift, about racing, about whatever it is that’s on your mind. You’re just so… passionate about everything, and it makes me love you even more."

The way he said it, so effortlessly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, made your heart skip a beat. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close again, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder.

"You’re too sweet, Ollie," you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

He chuckled lightly, his arms tightening around you. "Only for you."

For a while, you both stayed like that—curled up in each other’s arms, the TV flickering in the background, the weight of the world outside fading away. You weren’t sure how long you sat there, but you didn’t care. All you knew was that this moment, with him holding you so gently, was exactly where you wanted to be.

After a while, you shifted slightly, tilting your head up to look at him again. "Okay, but I’m serious about that love triangle. You have to admit it’s pretty genius, right?"

Ollie smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before nodding. "It’s genius," he agreed, even though he barely understood half of what you were saying. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way your eyes lit up, the way your voice danced with excitement. And if listening to Taylor Swift conspiracies made you this happy, then he would listen to every single one.

"Thanks for putting up with my rambling," you said, your voice softening.

Ollie smiled, brushing his lips against yours once more. "It’s not putting up with anything. I love it, and I love you."

And with that, he kissed you again—soft, sweet, and full of love. The kind of kiss that felt like home. The kind that made you feel like no matter what you rambled about, he would always be there to listen, to smile, and to love you through it all.

---The End---

-Lots of love, Em.

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peanutpinet · 2 days ago

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Biased - Sylus x Innocent Fem Reader (Under My Care Pt. 2)

Request: Can we have a part 2 where Innocent MC accidentally interrupting a meeting because she was exited about something and really wanted to tell Sylus? ( It can be simply as she got him a special crow plush or she won something but Sylus and the twins forgot to tell her about the meeting?)

A/N: some have been requesting a pt. 2 of Under My Care and one of you made a specific request about it. Just a lil fluff I decided to post for those who are looking for more Sylus fluff. I hope that this fic brightens up your day 🥰

Disclaimer: I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest and credit goes to the image's respective owners.

Warnings: fluff, slightly aggressive Sylus (not towards you, his men lmao), possessive and protective Slyus (not in a bad way)

After months of dating Sylus, he finally brought you to his penthouse at the N109 zone. Ever since the night when some of Sylus’ business partners barged into your dinner date, Sylus has shared more secrets of himself with you. But to Sylus’ surprise, you weren’t scared of him. You weren’t scared at the fact that he was the leader of a notorious bad group of people, the number one most wanted person in the N109 zone, the man who everyone practically feared.

Because to you, he’s just Sylus. He’s your first boyfriend and the first ever person to accept you for who you are. To not push your boundaries and be willing to do whatever it is that you enjoy. Knowing that you didn’t care about his title, money, or status made Sylus love you even more.

He would occasionally take you to his penthouse to stay over the weekend before bringing you back to Linkon, where you worked at a local bakery. He would also send you gifts and souvenirs whenever he was travelling. No matter where he was, or what time it was, Sylus would always be there whenever you needed him.

You suddenly got your period and want to cuddle with him? During your phone call, Sylus had teleported himself outside of your room. You wanted to visit a certain country? Sylus would immediately prepare his private jet and take you there, buying you all the things that your eyes lingered on. You want to try new hobbies? Sylus would pay for your lessons. All he asked is for you to stay by him which you had always done since the beginning.

This week, you had the whole week off and decided to stay with Sylus for the whole week which Sylus would tease about is; saying it was practice for when you two get married and settle down together. Despite your good baking and cooking skills, Sylus would still do most of the cooking. As for housework, you tried to be sneaky and do it while Sylus was in a meeting or something but Sylus would always know. He had Mephisto keep an eye on you and when he saw the chance, Sylus would immediately teleport behind you, wrapping his large hands around your waist, having a playful debate before finally coming to a middle ground and doing the housework together.

Today, however, you were determined to impress Sylus. You told Sylus that you wanted to head into town for a moment just to go to the grocery shop. But when you didn’t see him anywhere, you thought that this was the perfect chance to actually surprise him. But first, you tried to find Mephisto because you knew that even if you couldn’t find Sylus, he would always remind you to either text him or at least bring Mephisto with you.

Once you found Mephisto, you invited the mechanical bird who has taken a liking in you and texted Sylus before heading to the nearby grocery shop. You walked to the grocery store with Mephisto sitting on your shoulder, accompanying you as you stroll through the aisle, putting fresh produce, several baking materials, and snacks in your shopping cart.

After paying for the groceries with Sylus’ card; because the man hid your wallet whenever you came to visit him and would always put one of his cards in your wallet. You and Mephisto walked back to the penthouse where you started to prepare a feast for Sylus and the twins, Luke and Kieran.

Aside from Mephisto, you also bonded with the twins, Luke and Kieran, very well. They would often accompany you if Sylus were to have a sudden meeting or if you were bored but the twins were free and it ended up with the three of you playing kitty cards.

But again, today, it was just you and Mephisto. Even though the mechanical bird couldn’t talk, you kept on talking with it and even asked him to help take some ingredients for you as you cooked while you wait for your baked goods in the oven.

You decided to make some of Sylus’ favourite food which were braised beef with a side dish of sauteed vegetables along with some baked good which were brownies and chocolate chip cookies.

Once both the food you cooked and baked goods were done, you decided to plate them neatly and decided to search for Sylus in the penthouse because you know that when Sylus was out, he would always text you but because he didn’t, you were certain he was still in the penthouse.

After sometime, you finally heard Sylus’ voice, excitement surged through you as you barged into the room without thinking, expressing your happiness for making Sylus’ favourite food and some sweet treats for him and the twins.

“Sy, Luke, Kieran, I made lunch and some sweet and…” you exclaimed but didn’t even get to finish as you saw the situation in the room

Sylus was sitting in his chair with Luke and Kieran standing to either side of him, the entire room was filled with men who all wore black just like Luke and Kieran were. They didn’t looked like bodyguards, some were older than others, and you could tell that they were in an important meeting which reminded you of the time where Sylus’ business partner first barged in during your dinner date.

As if Sylus was able to read your mind without his aether core, Sylus immediately called out to you before anyone else could speak of something. “Hi sweetie, c’mere. Show me what you made for me and the twins, hmm?”

Sylus could sense your uncertainty with being watched by everyone in the room whom you didn’t know and honestly it was getting on his nerves because he could see how some of the men were eyeing you like you were a sweet treat.

“If any of you eye her or think about her in any way that displeases me, I’ll have to have an additional talk with you all. Personally” Sylus threatened as he motioned you to come closer to him. “It’s okay sweetie, come here”

You then started to walk cautiously towards Sylus who welcomed you with open arms and helped you sit on his lap as you held the lunch you made for him and the twins. “It’s okay sweetie, you weren’t disturbing anything too serious, hmm” Sylus gently held your chin between his fingers, rubbing it lovingly

You tried your best to seem like you’re okay and nodded towards Sylus who still wasn’t convinced but he didn’t want to push you too far. “Okay, sweetie. Let me wrap up this meeting real quick for you, yeah?”

Sylus kissed the top of your head before letting you lean on his broad chest as he quickly wrapped up the meeting which has gone for over half of the day. By the end of the meeting, Sylus managed to scare everyone in the room except the twins and you who immediately scurried out of the meeting room, not even daring to see Sylus’ eyes or look at you at all.

By the time everyone left, it was just you, Sylus, and the twins in the room. “So, what did you make for us, sweetie?”

Before you could show Sylus, the twins spoke up, apologising for not remembering to tell me that Sylus had a meeting. “We’re sorry boss and miss. We forgot to tell you about the meeting”

You looked at the twins and back at Sylus, worried that the twins were going to get scolded for forgetting but to your surprise, Sylus seemed unfazed and he dismissed the twins’ apology. “It happens. We were all busy. You both were with me during the meeting. I’m not mad that you both forgot or that (y/n) here suddenly came in. I’m more pissed that those fuckers had the audacity to look at her the way they did just now”

“Y-you’re not angry I, I suddenly came into your meeting?” you asked quietly and Sylus looked at you with a smirk, his eyes seemed to be hypnotised by the sight of you looking ever so small in his lap

“How could I ever be angry at you, sweetie? In fact, I much rather you interrupt any boring meeting I have and even accompany me if you’d like. I always love you being close to me and even sit on my lap like this” Sylus smirked, kissing the side of your temple

“You’re so biased, sy. What would your business partners or other men think?” you giggled as Sylus smiled and littered your face with kisses

“Let them see that I’m biased because nothing else matters” Sylus smiled, hugging you closer

“Alright miss, why don’t you just hand us our portion of food you prepared so we can leave the two of you alone” Luke stated making everyone in the room laugh

A/N: if you have any specific requests for Sylus do send me a request or message so I can refer back easily. Thank you for reading and have a great day :) xoxo peanutpinet

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thepossummoldypasta · 23 hours ago

Text

Hidden In The Woods

In the woods around Hawkins there is a van, and in that van lives an Eddie. Not a nasty beat-up van in constant need of repair, nor is it a creepy van that looks like it belongs to a serial killer; It’s Eddie's van and that means comfort. It has a perfectly undented body painted green and a mattress in the back. Or well, he doesn't actually live in the van. It's a nice van sure but Eddie lives in a doublewide trailer with his uncle, not his van–no matter how often they joke about it.

(and there is a small chance he’s lying when he says it doesn't constantly break down)

He’s heading to his van now actually.

Eddie longs for the ability to teleport at times like this; he’s trudging through the woods after a particularly fucked drug deal, and all he wants is to be in the back of his beloved shitbox, wrapped in blankets and smoking a joint.

But Eddie can't magically teleport to the van and he also can’t ban Tommy Hagan from buying his weed–who was a major ass today by the way–because he gets most of his income from the jerk.

He also can’t park closer to where he deals, which sucks. Eddie knows Hopper looks for his van parked on the side roads, so woods it is. Boo.

It's not that much farther….

And it's a nice day...

Plus the trees are pretty…

Eddie loves fall: the trees light up so magically in the sunbeams like a leafy fire, he sees more gray squirrels dancing about the forest floor this time of year, and Halloween is just awesome.

This Halloween especially. He led a bitchin’ Halloween one-shot with his new DnD club this year and nothing could sour his mood for almost a week afterward. Even though there was some weird pumpkin blight that year that meant no jack-o-lanterns and the controlled burns in the woods behind Forrest Hills kept him up at night all that month.

Plus he had a really good fall break so far.

Okay, maybe things aren't sooooo bad. Trust a walk in nature to clear his head. Now that he’s calmed down Eddie can appreciate how nice everything is.

Wait.

Eddie definitely didn't leave the back of the van open when he left.

Maybe things are shit and Eddie is an idiot.

Fuck

He’s lanky and gangly and has no weapon to defend himself with, but Eddie still creeps closer to the doors.

Hagan couldn't have gotten here before Eddie, so he’s probably not going to get jumped for selling him overpriced weed. Maybe a really smart, really lucky, raccoon just so happened to get the door open? More likely Eddie opened the damn thing himself, completely forgot about it, and is now making mountains out of molehills…

He props a hand on the closed door and peeks around it into the dim back. And promptly reels back in shock falling flat on his ass.

It's a total Occam's Razor moment. The easiest and most simple solution is that the universe hates Eddie Munson. Because that's definitely Steve Harrington in the back of his van. He’s snuggled deep into Eddie’s blankets and smelling distinctly more omega than the last time he saw the guy. But it's Steve alright.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

What the fuck is Steve Harrington doing in the back of Eddie’s van? He’s never even had a conversation with the guy!

What do you do in this situation!

Steve’s obviously nested back there, and if He was completely scentless before the fall break he’s gotta be fresh off his presentation heat, so like hell is Eddie going to go barging in–that's a surefire way to get his face ripped off–but Eddie also needs to get in that van eventually!

He Raises back up on shaky legs, poking his head fully into the back; and takes another good, hard, look.

There is still a person in the back of his van. A whole-ass person who wasn't in his van when he left. A person who is without a doubt, Steve.

A rustle of movement, a quick shifting of blankets, pulls Eddie back to reality. There’s a cute little chirr from the nest followed swiftly by chestnut waves of hair shimming out into the open. Eddie isn't even given time to react before doe-eyes bleary with sleep blink down at him.

“Eddie!”

And oh isn't that the sweetest little chirp. Eddie watches in astonishment as the omega wiggles to prop himself up against the back of the driver's seat, chirping adorably all the while. Eddie can't decide if he’s more mystified by The Prettiest Boy in Hawkins™ cuddled up back there, or That he knows Eddie’s name.

Now that the omega isn't completely cocooned, Eddie can smell that faintest hint of mint that Steve is throwing into the air paired with heady lavender and it draws him in. Before he even realizes he’s followed his nose and clambered into the back of the van… his van.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Eddie starts slowly. Are you comfy?” It's an innocent enough question. Hopefully, if he plays it casually, Steve won't decide Eddie’s a threat and rend him to dust for being in the poor Omega’s space.

Steve didn't seem to understand at first cooing a cute, drawn-out “Hi, Eddie” but eventually he blinked owlishly and replied with a smile “So cozy”.

“That’s nice sweetheart, but how bout we get you to your nest, hmm?” the alpha tries to suggest. Oh but now Steve looks a bit confused; drawing his brows together and pouting.

“Nest? ‘M in my nest?” Steve says (well actually he whines it, but Eddie is trying to ignore that lest his heart break). Crap what does he do now?

“I–I know you’re nesting right now, uh–but wouldn’t you be–wouldn't you feel better at home?” Eddie reasons.

“But there’s no nest there!” Steve whines again “They wont let me have a nest! I wanna stay here”

“Okay, Okay” Eddie soothes in a hushed voice,” you don't have to go anywhere you don't want to sweetheart” Eddie is in so much trouble. Now that he knows Steve won't be pissed at him for being so close, Eddie’s having a hell of a time not being closer.

Maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing.

Eddie coos from a distance until the whines and whimpers peter out and are replaced by soft sleepy snuffles.

“How did you even get here, big boy?” Eddie questions. The thought has been plaguing him, what happened while he was away?

“I was taking a walk” Steve starts, he lays his head down and his eyes flutter closed before he continues. “I needed to get away and I went into the woods. I got turned around but you saved me.”

“I saved you?” How the hell did he do that?

“Mmm hmmm, I smelled ya” Steve hums” smelled so good so I followed.” ok, even more confused now. Eddie has an…unconventional scent–basil and tobacco leaf–he can't imagine someone trekking through the woods to find something that smells like pasta sauce and cigarettes. And how long was Steve lost in the woods, how long was he wandering, cold and alone, with only a scent trail for comfort.

“Hey, Eddie?”

“Uh yes?” Eddie focuses back on reality, ready to face whatever he’s about to be asked.

“If I’m sleeping beauty, why didn't you wake me with a kiss?” nope not ready for that.

“Would you? Uh Do–did you want me to?” Steve nods against the soft blanket pillowed underneath him.

Oh.

Eddie feels his resolve crack and threatens to shatter. He can't take advantage of Steve when he’s so vulnerable. Is he vulnerable? Steve isn't still in heat, his mind is sound. But he is upset. Best to leave it be for now.

“Do you still want me to kiss you?”

Dang it.

Steve shoots up–ramrod-like–to nod ecstatically. Eddie's resolve shatters. Absolutely not helped by Steve’s little please, please, pleases.

“Okay”

It's not like there's anyone around to judge him.

It’s like the movies, the way they lean in close and steal each other's breath. Steve tastes like honeyed sunshine. It sweetens the omega’s lavender-mint tea smell in a way that Eddie knows he’ll crave till the day he gets buried six feet under. Eddie can't tell where he ends and his darling omega begins, drawn so close together that their purrs rattle in both chests.

Only the lack of oxygen drives them apart, though Eddie tries to fight it.

“I’ll do better next time princess” the alpha rumbles with care.

They seal the deal with another perfect kiss.

Hell yeah.

================================================

based on this post Special thanks to @starshideurfics for inspiring me to have Eddie call Steve sleeping beauty like a SIMP

#alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #omegaverse #they're not even dating #I'll do ya one better #they've never had a conversation before #fanfic

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hoshifighting · 1 day ago

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WARNINGS: jihoon dealing with an extremely horny reader, guided masturbation, smut, fingering, mentions of body fluids (cum/precum), humiliation, crying, overstimulation, lots of dirty talk, mentions of penetrative sex, teasing, clit stimulation, g'spot stimulation, degrading.

@jihootea ALWAYS planting jihoon brainrot on meeee!! now i cant stop picturing how jihoon would deal with his partner when she's drop-head horny… he would be a MEANIE, like, no mercy. AND he can almost smell the horniness from you. even though he's turned back with his producing chair.

except you know, know, he’s aware. he can probably feel your eyes drilling into him, can hear the way you’re struggling to sit still, thighs rubbing together just enough to keep your sanity hanging by a thread.

and then, without even looking at you, he says, “you good over there? squirming like you’ve got a problem or something.” his tone is so casual it makes you want to throw something. it’s not even a question—it’s pure fucking tease, dripping with this smugness that makes you want to melt and scream at the same time.

“jihoon…” you whisper begging, but he just lets out this tiny scoff, like he’s already bored of you. he leans back in his chair, finally giving you his attention, eyebrow cocked like he’s waiting for you to entertain him.

“what?” he drawls, eyes sliding down to your legs, then back up to your flushed face. “you slut can’t keep that little thing between your legs under control?”

it’s embarrassing, the way he says it, like he’s talking about some little pet that you can’t handle. you bite your lip, trying not to combust as he looks you up and down, arms crossed, manspreading, all arrogant and completely unimpressed.

“if you’re that desperate,” he says, eyes narrowing, “why don’t you show me? right here...”

your mouth goes dry, heart slamming against your ribcage. but you can’t ignore the way his voice gets lower, like he’s waiting, daring you.

your hand’s barely down there inside your shorts, fingers brushing against the clit, when you hear him snap, “who said you could keep those on?” his tone’s rougher than usual. you’re quick to slide them off, hooking your thumbs in the waistband and slipping out of your shorts and panties in one go like they were one piece only. you toss them at him with a grin, watching his eyes light up satisfied as he catches them, raising an eyebrow at you.

he takes the panties from the bundle and brings them up to his face, holding your gaze the whole time. smirking. the way he watches you squirm, vulnerable in a way you never quite do with anyone else. it’s him. “getting all shy now? didn’t think you had it in you.”

you swallow, cheeks burning, but you don’t drop his gaze, even as he tilts his head.

“are you waiting for permission or something?” he snaps, that edge back in his voice. “didn’t i tell you to touch yourself? whats the hold-up? are you just that pathetic that you need me to walk you through it?”

you pout, voice coming out soft and whiny, “aren’t you going to help me?”

“oh, no, sweetheart. if you’re that desperate, you’ll just have to do it yourself. all by yourself, since you’re such a big girl already.”

your hand slides between your legs, finding that slick, that had been bothering you for hours already, you shiver as your fingers spread it over your folds, teasing your clit. his ears twitch up almost like a cat when he hears how wet you are.

“barely even touching yourself and already making a mess. and here i thought you had some self-control.” he drawls.

you whimper, biting your lip as you roll your fingers over your clit, feeling that ache, that need, building up. but he’s just watching, eyes raking over every inch of you with that judgmental gaze, making you feel ten times more exposed than you are.

“is that the best you can do?” he sneers. “pathetic. thought you wanted this, but you’re just playing around, aren’t you? can’t even get yourself off without me telling you what to do.”

you let out a frustrated whine, pressing harder, slipping a finger inside, anything to relieve that pressure, but it’s like his voice is right there, mocking you, judging every little movement.

“keep going,” he says, voice so cold that makes your skin shiver up. “maybe if you try a little harder, you’ll actually be worth watching. spread that pussy f’me.”

your fingers obey trembling as you slide them out to spread yourself for him, he sees the mouthwatering cream being expelled from the tight little hole. “look at that,” he sneers, tilting his head as he takes in the view. “so messy. you’re really that worked up, babe? got yourself all soaked just sitting here like a needy little slut.”

your breath hitches, a moan slipping out despite yourself as you finally push two fingers in, hips bucking, feeling that burn. his eyes gleam, watching the way you struggle to keep quiet, and he smiles, soooo pleased.

“aw, you’re whining already?” he coos, tone mocking, like he’s talking to some helpless, needy thing. “that desperate? thought you could handle yourself, but look at you—just a mess on my couch. tell me… wishing it was my fingers instead?”

you can’t help the whimper that escapes, hips lifting, and he catches it, eyes sparking.

“oh?” he chuckles, leaning in slightly. “or is it my cock you want, huh? that’s it, isn’t it? poor baby, too worked up to even admit it.”

the moan that slips from your lips is helpless, your back arching as you dig your fingers deeper, feeling the heat coil tighter. his smirk widens.

“then show me how bad you want it,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower. “curl those fingers up, just like that… think you can even get yourself close to how good i’d make you feel?”

you nod, whimpering as you obey, curling your fingers up to hit that weak spot, feeling the way it makes your toes curl and your thighs tremble.

your warning slips out in a shaky breath, “ji… wanna cum,” as you meet his gaze, eyes pleading. he watches you, eyes heavy hunger, one hand squeezing his length through his pants, jaw tight as he throws his head back for a second, like he’s savoring the sight of you so worked up.

when he looks at you again. “go on,” he coos, smirking as he tilts his head. “didn’t last long, did you?”

you feel your body tremble, hips jerking as your hand moves faster, fingers slipping inside as you cry out, not caring anymore how loud you are, a mess being created on his studio's sofa. but just as you start to come down, just as you think it’s over, he speaks again.

“who said you could stop?” he sneers, eyes narrowing as he watches you with that amused smirk. “you’re not done yet. keep those fingers moving. keep going for me.”

a whimper escapes your lips as your overstimulated body obeys, fingers shaky but pushing in deeper, pressing against that sensitive spot again. your hips buck up involuntarily, every nerve screaming pleasure giving you a new ache that has you gasping.

“jihoon, but—” you try, voice breaking, but he cuts you off, voice sharp.

“if you don’t keep going, there’s no chance in hell i’ll give you what you want.”

you bite your lip, a desperate moan slipping out as you force yourself to keep moving. your fingers finally slip out, drenched and trembling, but instinct pulls you to the sensitive bud, fingers barely brushing over it as you start drawing slow, shaky circles. the touch is too much, making your eyes squeeze shut as your legs shake on either side, instinctively trying to close, but you keep them open, fighting against every urge to stop.

your face frown and you feel a hot prickle at the corners of your eyes, your voice breaking, choked, as you mutter, “ji… can’t… i can’t take it anymore…” your lower belly clenches, your body spasming at every soft circle you trace, a tear slips down your cheek, face flushed and damp, as you shudder, fingers shaking as they push you to that razor-thin edge again.

he leans forward, catching every broken sound, every little sob, his smirk widening as he coos, “oh, poor thing… already crying?” his words make you shake even harder, your body backstabbing you as you keep going, fingers pressed firmly on that nerve.

your thighs are burning from holding yourself open, your sobs grow louder, broken and dumb, and he’s just sitting back, arms crossed, his forearm muscles popping, veins standing out as he leans forward, eyes fixed on every shaky fingering.

“isn’t this what you wanted, slut?”

a whimper escapes you, eyes blurry with tears as you nod, “j-jihoon… can’t…” your hips buck up, trying to escape your own hand.

“keep going thought you were horny. or were you just pretending?”

another whimper, tears spilling down your cheeks as you press down on that sensitive bundle of nerves, every little touch pushing you higher, closer to that edge you’re not sure you can survive again. “please… too much…,” you cry, voice cracked.

“too much? aww poor baby...” he taunts, shaking his head slowly.

your insides twist, so intense you’re not sure where one ends and the other begins. you curl over yourself. each touch making your vision blur. nerves fried until you’re nothing but a quivering, soaked mess on the couch, every last bit of strength melting out of you. you don’t stop until he finally murmurs,

“good girl. that’s enough.”

you collapse, body going limp, fingers sliding away as you fall back, every limb heavy and useless. your chest heaves, cheeks flushed, face still damp with tears, and hes on you in a second, leaning over, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks, lips.

“there ya’ go… you did so good, baby...” he whispers, like he’s helping you piece yourself back together. “my good girl, so perfect.”

you close your eyes, he shifts, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you close against his chest, and you sink into the comfort of him, exhaustion pulling you under as he strokes your hair, fingers gentle, calming.

“get some rest,” he murmurs, pressing a final kiss to your temple. “you’ll need it, sweetheart. when you wake up, i’m going to make sure you really can’t move. gonna fuck you so hard...”

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rubykgrant · 2 days ago

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if I want a burger, I'm MAKING it-

Ground beef, on a plate mix with garlic salt/pepper, a little bit of A1 steak sauce and mustard

Mush it up, make the patties

If I want to cook it inside, I put them in a big cooking pan, a little pit more garlic salt/pepper on the bottom of the pan. After I flip them over, I add chopped up mushrooms and red onion to simmer with the burgers (if they have enough grease on their own that works, if not a little bit of butter/margarine/cooking oil)

Near the end, I shred some cheese (I like cheddar best), place the amount I want on the burgers, and put a lid over the pan so the cheese melts

I like the Artisan Bread buns because they are very fluffy, but whatever is the personal favorite. Once the burgers/onions/mushrooms are done, I take them out and set them aside on a plate. I place the buns in the cooking pan for a bit to lightly toast them

If I want to cook them outside, I use my little mini camping BBQ, make sure the grill is clean, light the briquettes in a small pile (sorry Hank Hill... I use propane for the kitchen, though), and wait for them to be mostly pale before spreading them out evenly, put the grill on so it gets hot, then add the patties

I put the lid on for a few minutes, then check them to see if they are ready for a flip. After I flip them, I add a small amount of BBQ sauce to each (I rotate through different brands, but like ones that are both sweet and spicy). Again, I add shredded cheese near the end, and put the lid on the grill so it melts on the patties

Once they are done, I take them off the grill and put them on a plate. I take the buns outside and put them on the grill (now with low coals) to lightly toast them. I like chopping up raw red onions for the BBQ burgers (don't know why, just how I prefer the combo of flavors/textures. I'm weird, I know)

For condiments in either versions, I like to put ketchup on the top bun, spread mayo on the bottom with a swirl of mustard across the mayo (no, I don't know why. OK, I like the ketchup to touch the cheese first, and I like the way the yellow/white of the mustard/mayo looks. I SAID I WAS WEIRD). For the inside burgers, I like to eat the mushrooms/onions on the side, but they could be added as burger toppings. When I wave the BBQ burger, I usually like to slice up an avocado to eat on the side (with a little dash of salt/pepper)

The ones cooked inside are almost like eating small delicious steaks that you can just bite into, and the ones cooked on the BBQ is the epitome of a cookout burger

Best version of these is eaten with a milkshake, and best version of a milkshake is; french vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, and a banana (my favorite it Breyer's ice cream and Hershey chocolate syrup, but whatever works for you). Obviously, avoid anything that might cause issues with allergies/other health and dietary problems

Favorite things to have with burgers; Ore-Ida golden oven fries (cooked following instructions, but sprinkled with a little salt/pepper/paprika), corn on or off the cob (white sweet corn or peaches-n-cream corn), spiced peaches (I don't like to add sugar, but I do add cinnamon/nutmeg), black olives (I can eat the whole can in a bowl)

#tumblr polls #food #burgers

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insertdisc5 · 4 hours ago

Note

Hey! so Ima be honest... its taking awhile for me to write this, really because I'm nervous of what you'll say, but! I have an important question I have to ask because I couldn't find it if it was in the FAQ(s)… but! May I please make a fan-made isat ttrpg? I really like the game and story and would like to make a little love letter to it! I'm not that far with it and have only written only like 3 things for it and already have the character sheets halfway done, but I would love for your input if you do allow me! I just want to make something fun!

you don't have to answer if you don't want to! but I would really like to do this! Ever since I found isat through youtube, I've been obsessed with its characters and its world!

Much love! - The Collector

ok so as of now my Stance on fangames/mods/whatever is:

-if it's an rpgmaker game, go right ahead and make a fangame, but do NOT use the original game's assets. make up your own portraits and pixel character sheets! (you can use the environment pixel art because otherwise that'd be a whole lot of work lmao).

(red outline = dont use em. icons and battle animations etc are fair game)

-if it's a mod for another game (like that slay the spire ISAT mod I saw a while back), go right ahead, and you CAN use the original art for it!

my reasoning is, I don't want people to look at a fangame that's on rpgmaker and looks exactly like the original game, and for people to go "omg isat sequel" or whatever

and of course "don't make money off of any fangame/fun cool thing" as always, because, uh, common sense lol

#ask tag #in stars and time #is that an unusual take? maybe. BUT ITS MAI GAYME #“but can i trace the art in mspaint” yes that would be funny

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lovelookspretty · 2 days ago

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waking up to you

au!rafe cameron x reader

— in which you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.

warnings: Y/N & RAFE DATE 😋 teasing, pretty safe chapter

authors note: btw readers only “weird” around cynthia bc ngl id act like that if i came across her bc shes so annoying on the show omg. but EEE hi guys. if u still arent part of the tag list, feel free to lmk thru replies, anons, dms, or reblogs !!

you’re not surprised to wake up in rafe’s bed again. at this point, it’s almost routine, though every time still feels surreal.

you’ve gotten used to the soft sheets, the familiar scent of him on the pillows, and the way the morning light filters through the blinds just right, casting a warm glow over his peaceful, sleeping face.

he looks so different like this—calm, almost vulnerable. it’s a version of him that no one else really gets to see. and you? you don’t mind at all.

you take a quiet breath, just watching him for a moment longer. but then, his eyes flutter open, and you freeze, quickly closing your eyes to pretend like you’re still sleeping. maybe if you play it off well enough, he won’t—

a finger pokes at your side, and you can’t help the involuntary squirm and groan that escapes you. “rafe,” you mutter, barely opening one eye to glare at him. but he just grins, clearly pleased with himself for catching you.

“thought you were asleep,” he teases, voice rough from sleep, poking your side again until you half-heartedly swat at his hand.

“you’re so annoying,” you mumble, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “get off of me.”

the morning quickly slips into a blur, and before you know it, you're tagging along with rafe for a ride around the island—except not just any ride. he’s got his dirt bike out, the same one you’d seen on the show.

you were kind of surprised when you first saw it in the garage. in the world you knew, rafe got this bike after the first episode started, but here? no rules seem to apply anymore.

you’re wrapped tightly around his torso, his helmet snug on your head as he drives the bike through town, on the beaches, through quiet streets and long stretches of open road. the wind whips past your face, and you can’t help but smile into it, arms locked around him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

eventually, he pulls up to some kook-itorium, the bike coming to a slow stop. rafe kicks the stand down and hops off first, turning to help you off like he always does. his hands are warm as they slide into yours, and for a second, he just holds them, staring down at you with a grin.

“so, what do you think?” he asks, pulling you a little closer as you hop off the bike. he’s been practically advertising himself on the way over here. “a date? hrm? just you n’ me. anywhere you want.”

you smile up at him. “yeah,” you say softly. “i’d like that.”

he tugs you toward the entrance of the building, still holding onto your hand. “just don’t pick somewhere like the seaview grill or— god, that lame museum your mom likes.”

when you step inside the building, it takes you a moment to realize where rafe has brought you. the place has that unmistakable country club vibe—polished, pristine, like every corner of it has been touched by money. but it’s smaller, rounder in shape, and more modern than the main country club building next door. servers move swiftly between tables, balancing trays and drinks. rafe, of course, heads straight past all of this, not even glancing at the downstairs dining area.

you follow him upstairs, past the busy floor where people are eating, drinking, and talking in their quiet, refined way. upstairs, though, it’s a whole different world.

the second floor is open and airy, with barely any walls to box anything in. it’s just the floor, held up by tall pillars that support the roof above, letting the fresh air and views of the island spill right in. the only structure that really stands out is the bar in the middle—a sleek, modern setup that takes up a good portion of the space, all glossy wood and glass shelves stocked with high-end bottles.

the place is filled with kooks, most of them middle-aged. they don’t seem to notice you and rafe, or if they do, they don’t care. oh right, rafe should be about 22 now, legal to drink here. does that make the others 18 and 19?

anyway, rafe is clearly familiar here. a few nods are thrown his way as he leads you forward, and he nods back, murmuring casual greetings under his breath as you weave between tables. you’re amused, but there’s a small part of you that’s bothered.

you thought maybe rafe had brought you here for food downstairs, but it’s pretty clear now that this is just one of his regular stops to get a drink—probably whiskey or even scotch, knowing him. but you keep your mouth shut, not wanting to spoil the mood.

he finally lets go of your hand when he reaches the bar, leaning against the counter with crossed arms as he asks for his drink. you linger beside him for a second, glancing around the open space. the view from up here is stunning, with a perfect sightline to the docks and the country club’s main establishment just next door.

you rub your arm awkwardly, feeling a little out of place among all the well-dressed older folks. after a beat, you step closer to rafe, gently touching his arm to get his attention. “i’m gonna go use the restroom,” you say quietly.

he nods, not taking his eyes off the bartender. but before you can turn to leave, he grabs your arm, tugging you back toward him for a quick kiss. it’s his way of saying 'be safe,' you guess, a small gesture that makes you smile despite the surroundings. you give his arm a gentle squeeze in return, then slip away to head downstairs.

just as you’re descending the steps, though, a familiar voice drifts up toward you. and then you see him—topper, making his way up the stairs. your heart sinks in the half-second you have to process it.

great. the last time you talked to him was at the party, when he was stumbling over some half-assed apology. and now here he is, about to cross your path.

fantastic. just what you needed.

the moment his eyes land on you, there’s a flicker of recognition that lights up his face, just for a moment—like spotting an old acquaintance in a crowd.

“y/n!” he says, his hands coming up as if he’s presenting you to the world. he glances at his mom as if to say, ‘look who it is’. you can feel your heart rate pick up as you pause on the steps, furrowing your brows at them.

they were definitely just talking about you right before this.

you force a smile, but it’s small and tight, barely breaking through your unease. “hi, topper,” you mumble, glancing between him and his mom. there’s a brief moment of silence as you weigh your options—whether to continue this conversation or slip away.

ultimately, you choose the latter. you take a step forward, moving past them and continuing down the stairs, leaving them behind. as you go, you can feel topper’s eyes on you.

he glances down at his shoes and shifts awkwardly, but then, just as quickly, he looks up again. “come on, let’s just go upstairs,” he insists to his mom, trying to shake it off as they both start moving again.

it’s not that you wanted to dismiss topper and his mom or anything. really, you just don’t see the point in lingering in the middle of a public staircase, one of the only two that connected the floors of the country club. you don’t want to be rude, but you also don’t want to talk to topper—especially after your last encounter at the party.

topper and his mom step off the stairs, but the moment topper spots rafe, a grin spreads across his face.

“hey, good seein’ you back here again,” topper greets, approaching the bar with a friendly demeanor.

rafe daps him up casually. “you too, man,” rafe replies, genuinely glad to see him.

topper's mom stands just a foot away, carrying her purse and looking utterly uninterested in the interaction, her gaze flicking off to the side as if she’s assessing the other patrons. she’s never been a fan of rafe, just barely tolerating him because he comes from a good family, and it shows in the way she avoids direct eye contact.

pulling away from the handshake, toppers eyes glance back toward the staircase as if expecting you to appear at any moment. “saw you and y/n come in,” he adds, “just wanted to say hi.”

rafe nods with a smile as he leans back against the bar, one elbow resting casually on the counter. he glances at topper’s mom. “hey, cynthia,” he says, flashing her a grin.

her expression shifts from indifference to surprise, and then it hardens, almost offended by the casual familiarity. she’s always been the type to keep her distance from him, and rafe knows it. to her, he’s still just another troublemaker, another bad influence.

topper notices the slight tension and looks back to rafe, his brow furrowing slightly. “so, what’s up with y/n?” he asks, his tone casual but laced with a hint of concern.

rafe squints, his head cocking to the side as he regards topper. “what do you mean, ‘what’s up’?” he replies, his voice subtly defensive and carrying a hint of warning. “is there something wrong with her?”

topper realizes how that might sound and shakes his head quickly. “no, no, man. i just think she’s, like . . . avoiding me or something,” he clarifies, waving a hand dismissively as if trying to brush off any potential drama.

rafe chuckles, raising his glass up to his lips. “are you surprised?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at topper, the teasing tone evident. he shakes his head, a look of amusement on his face. “girls, man.”

cynthia catches the comment, her expression shifting to one of disapproval. she mutters a clipped ‘ten minutes’ to her son before leaving without a word, turning on her heel and heading toward the stairs to leaving topper there with him.

topper watches her go, feeling the weight of the awkwardness settle over him. he glances back at rafe, who is now watching the scene unfold with a smirk, clearly amused by the whole thing.

“so, what are you guys up to?” topper asks, trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

when you step out of the bathroom, you spot her immediately—cynthia, standing at the bottom of the stairs like she’s waiting for her son. you briefly consider turning around, maybe pretending not to notice, but it’s too late. her sharp gaze finds yours, and there’s no escaping it now.

this is great.

you adjust your posture, trying to look casual as you make your way toward the stairs, your mind racing for an excuse to cut this conversation short. the last thing you want is to get caught up with cynthia—if she’s anything like the way she was on the show, you are not open to a conversation.

but it’s like you’re trapped. her eyes lock on you, and she takes a few steps forward in those polished black heels. “y/n,” she says, and there’s a hint of something icy behind that tone, even though she’s putting on a smile.

you stop, eyebrows raising as you stand in place, trying to gauge the situation. her smile is forced, you can tell immediately, but so is yours as you mirror her expression. “cynthia, it’s so . . . nice to see you again,” you say, the words slipping out of your mouth because, well, kooks always know kooks, right? you assume this universe’s y/n has seen her before.

but as soon as the words leave your mouth, cynthia’s expression shifts—her lips purse, and her eyes narrow slightly, pulling her head back like you’ve just said something ridiculous. yep. that was wrong. completely wrong.

“last time i saw you, you were just a kid! every time you come over to my home now, it’s like you’re always sneaking around,” she remarks, her voice dripping with that fake kindness, the kind that’s so transparently bitter it almost stings.

your stomach twists. yeah, this is definitely not the conversation you wanted. “and how are your parents?” cynthia continues, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.

you wave your hand, trying to shrug it off like it’s no big deal. “they’re great! in costa rica right now, on vacation,” you respond, trying to keep things light.

but cynthia hums, her expression a little too knowing. “i heard it was a business trip?” she says, tilting her head slightly.

you clear your throat, feeling the tension grow. this woman is the worst. you’re slipping up so bad. “mix of both,” you say, your voice strained as you force another fake smile.

there’s a brief, uncomfortable silence before the two of you lean forward, laughing in that awkward, forced way where neither of you are actually amused. the laugh dies quickly, and as soon as it does, you drop the pretense, turning on your heel as you head back upstairs, feeling weird about the interaction.

you feel like you were just quizzed. and you failed.

once you’re back upstairs, you immediately catch rafe’s eye as you step into the room. he’s leaning casually against one of the tables, a glint in his eye that matches the small smirk tugging at his lips the second he spots you.

his whole demeanor shifts, but topper, who’s mid-sentence, doesn’t seem to notice right away—until he realizes rafe isn’t paying attention. topper twists around to follow his line of sight, spotting you before continuing whatever rant he was on.

rafe briefly glances back at him, half-listening, as you approach the two of them. when you get close enough, you quietly reach for rafe’s glass, bringing it to your nose to smell whatever’s left of his drink. without a word, you tilt your head back and down what’s left, swallowing with a grimace as you place the empty glass back on the table.

both boys stare at you, each reacting differently. topper furrows his brow, eyes flicking to the glass to see if there’s anything left. “what’s up with you?” he asks, confused, clearly sensing something off.

rafe, on the other hand, is looking at you with a blank expression, though there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth—because he knows. “she was definitely just talking to your mom, top,” rafe says with a knowing smile, his tone carrying just the right amount of humor to suggest that, naturally, a conversation with cynthia would drive someone to drink.

topper’s face falls slightly, but he doesn’t even argue. he just glances between the two of you in silence because he knows rafe’s probably right. with a quick check of his phone, he pushes away from the table, his energy deflating. “alright, i’ve gotta go. see you guys.”

“bye, top,” you murmur, watching as he walks off, leaving just you and rafe standing together. once topper’s out of sight, you tilt your head all the way up, meeting rafe’s gaze with a lazy, playful smile.

“you decide on where we’re going?” rafe asks, sliding an arm around you, pulling you close as he starts guiding you toward the stairs.

you hum for a long moment, trying to think, before making something up on the spot. “let’s go jet skiing,” you say, half-joking but testing the waters to see what he’d say.

rafe raises his eyebrows, a slight chuckle escaping him. “you wanna go to monty’s?” he repeats, and you assume it could be some jet ski rental place you must go to. he’s amused but surprisingly open to it. “we can go to monty’s, darlin’.”

rafe drives the two of you out to some place a mile or two away, the sign out front reading ‘montgomery’s jet ski rentals’ in bold blue letters. it’s tucked away along a small marina.

you step out of the car. it’s here that you notice the way rafe moves—a kind of quiet confidence that’s hard to ignore. he strides toward the dock with his head held high, like he’s done this a hundred times. you can’t tell if it’s because you two have apparently been here so often that he just knows his way around or if he’s just naturally this confident.

while rafe chats easily with the staff, laughing and slapping one guy on the back like they’re old friends, you find yourself preparing for the ride. you slip into a life vest, adjusting the straps so it fits snugly.

then you’re stepping onto the dock, the jet ski bobbing gently in the water. rafe climbs on first, settling into the front seat, and turns back to offer you his hand. you take it, letting him guide you into place behind him, and then you wrap your arms around his waist. it feels natural, like you’re meant to be there, holding onto him like this.

and, god, the thought hits you—this is probably a dream for hundreds, maybe thousands of people. to be on a jet ski with drew starkey, any version of him, arms wrapped around his waist, close enough to feel the warmth of his back.

it’s a little surreal, and you can’t help but feel grateful for this weird fucking alternate universe you’re in. being a kook, being rafe cameron’s girlfriend, living out days like this—you could get used to it. you could live like this forever.

rafe glances forward, that cocky smirk barely visible at the corner of his lips. without looking back at you, he mutters, “hold on.” and before you have a chance to reply, he twists the throttle, and the jet ski leaps forward, tearing across the water. your arms instinctively tighten around his waist as the engine roars, and you feel the force of the speed pushing you back slightly.

your eyes widen as you’re propelled across the open water. the jet ski skims over waves. you can barely keep from laughing as the wind whips through your hair. it’s fast—so much faster than you expected—and your heart is beating more than ever.

rafe steers you two in wide, looping turns and tight figure-eights, shouting the loudest, most carefree ‘woo!’ that you think you’ve ever heard. his voice carries over the hum of the engine and the slap of the waves, his laughter echoing as you cling on, a laughing mess yourself.

as the jet ski finally begins to slow, you let your chin rest on his back, just near his shoulder so you can look out ahead. you’re both breathing heavily from the ride, and he’s still grinning, clearly thrilled by his own reckless route. he isn’t heading anywhere specific, just weaving around, but that’s what makes it even better. there’s no destination—just you, him, and the freedom of open water.

“wanna take over?” rafe calls out, and you laugh, thinking he’s kidding. but when he glances back over his shoulder, you catch his expression and feel your own smile falter, realizing he’s dead serious.

next thing you know, you’re seated in front, fingers gripping the throttle while rafe sits behind you, holding on with that unshakeable grin of his. the jet ski jolts forward as you try to get the hang of the controls, and you immediately feel the panic rise, the machine moving faster than you expected.

“rafe, i don’t know what i’m doing!” you shout over your shoulder, but rafe’s only response is laughter.

“just go easy on the throttle,” he says, half-shouting and half-laughing as you attempt to steer. but the jet ski wobbles, veering off a bit too quickly, and your grip slips.

“rafe!” you yell, barely keeping control as he’s practically doubled over behind you, finding the whole thing hysterical. he tries to guide you through it, but it’s impossible to listen when you’re both shouting and laughing, the jet ski zigzagging across the water.

but it slows. he wants to teach you properly.

you feel rafe's hands slip over yours, his fingers resting gently against yours as he takes control of the throttle from behind. his touch is firm but relaxed, guiding your grip as he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “steady now,” he murmurs. “ease it forward like this, yeah?”

you nod. his voice is a steady hum as he talks you through it. “just a little pressure here,” he says, pressing lightly against the throttle. “see? easy.” his fingers guide yours over the controls until you can feel how each movement changes the jet ski’s pace.

after a minute or two, he lets you take over, his hands staying in place to catch you if needed, but he’s not pushing or pulling anymore. you start to feel it, understanding the rhythm of the throttle and how to steer, and rafe just chuckles.

“that’s my girl,” he says, patting his hand on the spot between your thigh and hip, sending a flutter through you as his hand settles back around you.

a grin stretches across your face, and before you know it, you’re letting out a loud scream that echoes across the water as you pick up speed, trusting yourself more with every second. you’re moving faster, the wind whipping past, and for a moment you feel invincible.

when you decide to slow down, you ease off the throttle, leaning back just enough to press into rafe’s chest. you feel his laugh rumble against you. it makes you smile as you let out a breathy laugh of your own. then, you’re off again, speeding forward with rafe’s steadying hands nearby, the two of you gliding over the waves like you were born to do this together.

you’re both sitting across from each other at a little table outside a bayside café. you pick up your sandwich and take a big, satisfying bite, eyes rolling back with a muffled oh my god because it's just that good.

you didn’t realize how hungry you were until now. you lean your head back, savoring the taste, a content sigh escaping as you sit up again, still chewing, and glance at rafe across the table.

he’s got his phone out, scrolling with his eyebrows furrowed, the lines on his forehead deepening behind his sunglasses. he’s squinting slightly, or maybe he’s just annoyed by whatever’s on the screen. you pause mid-bite, lowering your sandwich slightly before asking, “you okay?”

rafe clears his throat, not looking at you just yet, and clicks his phone off. he flips it over on the table, his hand rubbing down the front of his shorts like he’s brushing something off. “yeah, all good,” he says, reaching for his own food, voice casual, but there’s a tension you can sense from his reaction.

it doesn’t add up, but you decide not to push it. you’ve learned when to give him space, and right now, you’re way more into this sandwich than trying to open up that conversation.

you take another bite, glancing around at the scene in front of you as you chew. it’s a perfect day, bay glistening in the sunlight, people passing. by with relaxed smiles, stopping in at shops or heading toward the water. montgomery’s rentals is right across the street, jet skis and kayaks lining the dock.

rafe leans back in his chair, “dad’s finally starting to trust me to, like, step into his position at the company.” he pauses for a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “he’s flying out of state next week, and he’s leavin’ me in charge while he’s gone.”

you just stare at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips without even realizing it. you can feel the pride in your expression as you tell him, “rafe, that’s really good. i’m proud of you.”

he grins wider, clearly trying to play it cool, and then takes a massive, messy bite of his sandwich. he chews with the gusto of someone who thinks a bite is a whole experience, sauce smearing slightly at the corner of his mouth.

you reach over instinctively, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a napkin and tossing it back down on the table before going back to your sandwich like it’s second nature.

he swallows and continues, “he hasn’t really told me much, but i figure he’s got some new properties lined up, maybe working out deals or, like, finalizing stuff with investors. you know how he is.”

“yeah, that sounds like ward,” you say, taking another bite, your eyes never leaving him.

“so he’s gonna give me this schedule,” he adds, “a ‘run-down’ or whatever, of what i’ll need to cover. probably sit at the office, sign some stuff, and meet with clients or partners who can’t be pushed off until he’s back.”

“sounds pretty official,” you say, trying to imagine rafe at a desk, talking clients through real estate deals like he was born for it. “do you know what kind of properties he’s working on?”

he shrugs, a small smirk still lingering as he speaks. “knowing him? probably something big—new development or another investment property he wants to secure. he’s been hinting at something ‘game-changing’, like some waterfront project.”

you hum thoughtfully. “so you’ll be doing the groundwork? like, maybe even closing a deal?”

“yeah, maybe,” he says, sounding a little impressed with himself. “i’ll actually get to see if i can handle it.”

it's nice to see rafe so eager to step up, to take on something this big, probably just to prove himself to his dad. he always acts so casual about the family business, but there’s a spark in his eyes today, and you think . . . he can maybe handle being ward cameron for a week.

you just hope you can stay here long enough to see him prove it.

he’s finishing his sandwich, wiping his mouth with a crumpled napkin, and suddenly he’s looking right at you. “oh, yeah—did you ever tell me how that call went with your mom?”

it takes you a second. right, that call with your mom. you remember mentioning it to sarah, but rafe? he still doesn’t even know you hung out with sarah and the others while he was off fishing with ward.

“oh, yeah,” you say, smiling as if the thought just occurred to you. “it was fine. nice to hear from her, i guess. i miss them.” you shrug, playing it casual. but the truth is, you kind of do.

rafe nods, shifting his empty plate and leaning back in his chair, still watching you as he says, “that’s good. i mean, you get so wrapped up in life on the island, it’s easy to go a while without catching up.”

he talks on, making small comments about family and how he totally gets it, but as you sit there, nodding occasionally, your mind is somewhere else entirely.

you almost forgot about that call with your ‘in-this-universe mom.’ it seems so strange—no, it’s stranger that you forgot about it at all. and dad . . . right, your i.t.u. dad was there, too, wasn’t he?

wait . . what?

you feel a slight prickle of discomfort, shifting in your seat as you try to catch every third word rafe’s saying, but really, your mind is circling back to that call.

dad. mom. two words, so familiar. but why are they slipping through your fingers, blurring just a bit?

you force yourself to remember something about them, to pull up a memory, clear as day.

oh! like that one time you and mom spent the whole afternoon baking, sugar and flour coating every surface in the kitchen . . . and dad was there, wasn’t he? but what did he do? your chest tightens, just slightly, and you fidget with your napkin.

okay, try again.

dad. right. he was . . . wait, no, he was definitely there��no, he was doing something.

and then, just like that, the memory clicks into place. right, he’d taken one look at the mess you and mom made, then grabbed the dog and headed out, calling back that he’d be home ‘once the tornado’s over,’ and you and mom laughed.

you exhale, relief washing over you, but there’s still a flicker of something unsettling. why couldn’t you remember that right away?

you try another memory, to reassure yourself. dad did this, mom did that. you’re sifting through so many small, precious fragments, but there’s something strange about each one, something hollow.

the parents you remember—your parents—were so vivid before. but as you replay these memories in your head, they feel softer, blurred at the edges. somehow, they seem more like your parents here—the way they’re talking, laughing, looking at you with the same expressions as your i.t.u. parents.

your stomach twists, realization beginning to dawn, but you can’t even hold onto what that realization is. the longer you stay in this world, the harder it seems to be to grasp what was real and what was . . . this.

are you forgetting your memories?

authors note: okay poor execution LMAO but i know if i was y/n, i wouldve wanted to stay in this universe but we cant have that, so essentially the conflict / the thing that makes her work harder to solve all the relationships in this life for obx!y/n is that shes losing her memories from her real life the longer shes there.

does that make sense?? 😭 like she cant have her cake n eat it too, she can only have one lifetimes memories, her real ones or the ones that belong to the y/n who lives in this universe. makes her work faster to get back to her world so she doesnt feel like she can stay !!

tags: @v2los @cosmixstar @meeuhsworld @lovdrew @lilithblackkk @rovckwells @cherrylooney @iissza @namelesslosers @cocolovey @rafeyswrd @odairtrqsh @gretag13 @vivian-555 @lunaleah @smol-coffee-addict @twinge-vix @drewsephrry @behindviolettwrites @avngrssckr @stonerroadbull @cali-888 @coquettajob @simpingcorner @nymphetkoo @pinkpantheris @ilyrafe @romaescapes @thereallifebambi @inaluvrsworld @rafesweetie @faephoria @solo-pitstop-vibes @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @sgecorrow @rafesgiirl @ravisinghs-wife @booksntings @tinyfairies @maybankslover @honeyluvsatj @darleneslane @alysaaaa444 @w4nnabeurs @thewrittenpodcast @watersquirtpewpewboomm @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @benbarneslut @illicit-affcirs @helo1281917 ++

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redclercs · 24 hours ago

Text

DELICATE✰CHARLES LECLERC.

xv. he was sunshine, i was midnight rain

— the one where you broke his heart 'cause he was nice.

❝𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘨𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨? 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘨𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨? 𝘖𝘩, 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥? 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥? 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥?❞ —𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐘, 𝟏𝟑.

warnings: angst, not proofread and pls go easy on me i'm coming out of the worst block everrrrrrrrrr. our girlie is making poor choices pls hate her a bit for it, the last bit is charles centered. 2.23k words (+articles!)

masterlist ✢ next

by Tom Gill

The worst time to have a carreer on Public Relations is when your client is as unhinged as y/n y/ln has proven to be. Many people, myself included, can't help but feel sorry for whoever is on her team because there's only so much someone can do to put out a fire when the person burning is the same one who keeps lighting the matches.

y/n just can't stop messing up, can she? Just when her fans thought she would rise from the ashes with an outstanding movie deal, the 'Queen of Romcoms' has to go ahead and mess things up by proving that people who aren't blinded by her master manipulations are right: y/n y/ln is in fact a cheating snake.

The Deuxmoi post talking about an actress involved with a Formula 1 driver and her presence at the Italian Grand Prix last Sunday are enough confirmation of the fact. y/n is not ashamed to be seen on broad daylight with the guy that broke off her engagement.

Don't kill the messenger, y/n fans. Aidan Kim and Victoria Presley did warn you.

New York, United States, September 10th.

It feels like you've just finished unpacking when you find yourself throwing stuff in a suitcase once again. There is little to none excitement in you as you decide between a couple of blouses and recite Amy's lines outloud inside your messy apartment.

"Wait—that's not right," you huff, unaware that you've let the blouse you like the least inside the suitcase. The lines slip your mind like butter on a pan. Honestly, you've started to wonder if several of your braincells died in the past month. Nothing other than 'I want to be great or nothing' seem to have stuck. So much for how well that single line applies to your life.

"'It looks like it's never done a day of work in its life'," you mutter, picking the script up from the dining table. You have studied it a million times, gone through lines and rehearsals and a thousand other things. You have called Greta and Timothée and Saoirse and they have called you on their own accord to agree the accurate tones of scenes and interactions, and yet you are sure you are still going to mess everything up once the camera starts rolling. "God, help me."

The clock on your phone tells you it's 9:30 a.m. and you are nowhere being done with your luggage. Also, Charles' plane lands in less than an hour and you are not making it to the airport in time. He has a busy month race-wise and he has still made some time to come to New York before you leave for Boston in a couple days and you are both turned upside down with the Asian race-tour.

There is one reason—and one reason only— that Mildred has agreed that you should have these two days off. That reason is not Charles Leclerc, given the fact that she has grown to hate him even if she can admit, albeit to herself only, that he has done nothing wrong. You are supposed to be preparing more interviews and then a prolonged stage of silence while you focus on filming Little Women. Mildred has a whole plan laid out and that is another script you have to follow. No improvisations though, you have been warned.

─────────

Time has a funny way of passing by when it comes to Charles and yourself. Your whole relationship feels contained in a moment and also in a century, and every time you see each other again, even after just a few days a whole other bubble of time seems to have passed. You think it's Charles' way of making it feel special, making you feel special by looking at you like you're a part of him he's constantly missing when you're not right next to him. A 'lovesick fool' you have heard him been nicknamed by people who try to be nice, at least a little bit. Others sneer at how they can't wait for the 'honeymoon phase' to be over.

And it's precisely the way he looks at you before he's crushing you against his chest that makes you hold your tongue for the rest of the day. You cannot bring yourself to tell him the plan the people around you have made without asking for your input—much lesser his— to salvage your career and your reputation.

It nags at you how stupid you're being. Maybe some part of your brain did die between Sunday and today, but you are certain you won't be able to bear the disappointment in Charles' eyes when he finds out what you agreed to.

This visit is less touristy than the last time Charles came to New York. He's leaving tomorrow and you, the day after for Boston, so you want to bask in each other's company as much as possible. You go to a cupcake place and take pictures, all while Charles re-tells everything people have said about his win on Sunday. He's become even more of the Golden Boy he already was in the eyes of Ferrari fans, and you feel love swell in your chest at the fact. You love that he's loved, there's nothing he deserves more than to be loved.

"Will you show me the script now?" Charles asks, taking his light jacket off as he crosses the door to your apartment. A slight feeling of embarrassment flashes through you when you focus on the different disasters around the house but Charles either doesn't notice or doesn't mind as he makes himself comfortable on the couch where several pairs of your shoes are scattered.

"I think it would violate my contract somehow if I did," you chuckle, noticing that your travel kit toothbrush and toiletries are on the coffee table. "I was sure I had those in my luggage already," you groan, pointing at them.

Charles laughs, patting the spot next to him and motioning you over excitedly. "Can I see it please?" he elongates the 'e', with a mocking puppy eye look on his face. "Read me some of your favorite lines," he's suggested so several times and you refuse him every single one. It's not like he hasn't seen you act, Charles admitted in one of your phone calls to have binged all of your movies.

"I can't," you fall into the couch next to him, wrapping one arm around his neck. "You make me nervous, it won't turn out good."

"You see me work all the time," he grumbles against your hair, "And you too, make me nervous. You're being unfair."

"Oh, booohooo," you mock, nuzzling into his neck. "Your job is far more exciting than me reciting lines."

"It is not—"

His complaint is cut short as you kiss him, once, twice, so many times you lose count and he kisses you back between snickers and fake complaints about how there's only so much his heart can take before it explodes. It's so cheesy it makes you both cringe and burst with laughter before starting the scene all over again.

A re-run of a Foodnetwork reality show is playing in the background when you open your eyes after a short-lived nap. Charles is swiping through his phone with his other arm around you, the light in the apartment has faded almost completely giving way to late evening.

"Do you want to go out for dinner?" you ask pushing off of Charles' body and sit and rub your eyes. "Or should we order something?"

He locks his phone and stretches, still laying on his back. "Whatever you want to do, soleil."

You two are way too comfortable in your little cocoon to mess it up by going outside just to eat. Charles smiles, knowing you've already made your mind up.

You argue on the couch for ten minutes about what take-out to get and after you've finally placed the order on your phone, you get up to make some space the dining table.

"Here," you throw the bunch of papers at him softly. The 'Little Women' script is anotated from page one, and it is true that you probably shouldn't be showing it to him, but it doesn't really hurt anyone either. "Not a word, do you hear me, Leclerc?"

Charles laughs before crossing his heart with his index finger, eager to read about your next big thing.

You throw more stuff on your open suitcase, wipe the table down and look through your kitchen for an unopened bottle of wine while Charles reads and occassionally shouts something from the living room. He's so genuinely excited about seeing you bring Amy to life on the silver screen.

"Gooodddd, what's taking them so long?" you whine as you return to the living room. The 'your order is in progress' notification still alive on the screen of your phone. Charles doesn't seem to mind as he makes space for you to sit with him again.

"Couch potato," you stick your tongue out at him, placing your feet on his lap after reaching for the TV remote. You surf through a few channels, trying to remember what the name was of that crime documentary you wanted to watch on Netflix.

"...y/n y/ln making headlines again with her messy love life," the E! Show that's starting has your picture and Charles' next to each other.

Charles' eyes move from the last pages of the script to the TV and then to you. "Change the channel, love," he says as he reaches for the remote himself.

"Yeah," you click on the Netflix logo on the remote and the screen goes black as your phone pings, letting you know your food has been delivered to your apartment complex's lobby.

─────────

There is something beautiful about domestic life with Charles even if it just exists for scarce moments like this. The smell of coffee and the sound of his humming lull you into a peaceful state of mind as you prepare breakfast before once again leaving for the airport.

Messages from Mildred, three or four already, remind you that you must be ready for the list of things she had also reminded you of a million times already.

'how did he take it?' you read from your phone, Mildred again.

You look at Charles and open your mouth. Maybe now that he's leaving in a couple hours you'll work up the courage to tell him about how Mildred is staging your break-up right this second. Which means nothing, right? Keeping it lowkey is for the best, even for him.

Right?

You open your mouth and close it several times looking at your disheveled boyfriend and his sweet smile.

"What?"

"There's something I have to tell you," you breathe out, screwing the already too tight cap on the empty bottle of orange juice that rests on the table.

"So tell me," Charles' smile widens as he puts both elbows on the table, ready to listen.

"I'm really going to miss you." you chuckle awkwardly, and there is momentary gesture, barely perceptible, in Charles' face that tells you he knows that's not what you really wanted to say.

"Me too soleil, but we'll figure it out," he's reaching for your hand with a weaker smile on his face this time.

AFTER months of speculation about the nature of y/n's relationship with Formula 1 Pilot Charles Leclerc, a spokesperson for the actress has made an exclusive statemen for PEOPLE.

"They have never been romantically-involved," the source said. "Their friendship is undeniable but there's nothing more than that."

y/ln and Leclerc have been linked since April and spotted in public together several times, including at the Italian Grand Prix on September 3rd.

"Since becoming friendly they've ran into each other at several events," the source continues, "They are often surrounded by friends they have in common, such as Matilde Bassi and Timothée Chalamet. y/n knows it's too soon to put herself out there romantically."

Despite a rumor surfacing on an online gossip site that they took a romantic vacation together in Greece, y/n's spokesperson tells PEOPLE that "pictures are often released without context to create controversy."

Charles Leclerc has been blind-sided. Which, to be fair, in his career field is something he should be used to. But the feeling doesn't compare to being blind-sided by the person who is supposed to be your partner.

Charles understands, he always understands, or at least tries his best to do so. But this time, it really feels like he's reached his limit. It's not even about how he's become even more of the laughing-stock within his group of friends about how he's been parading y/n around and defending her honor for her to call their relationship 'casual' rather than not even getting a heads-up from her about the matter.

"Is there something you would like to talk about now, y/n?" Charles questions, trying his best not to let the anger flow into his voice.

Charles thinks the worst part is how long she stays silent, but it's not even close to what comes next.

"I tried telling you," she lies.

"When?" there is no point in hiding his anger anymore, even if he doesn't want to fight. This is one of those unavoidable things you expect to hit somewhere down the road in the relationship, not a month into it.

"I TRIED!" she repeats, unable to come up with any argument in her defense.

"You never tried! See that's the thing about you, you just wait for things to happen and then you 'try' to deal with the mess!" His accent is thickening with every word.

"If it bothers you so much—"

"What bothers me," he cuts her off, "Is how you cannot trust me with these things? What did you think I would say?!"

"Exactly what you're saying now, Charles," she sounds defeated and it manages to irk him an extra mile. "You don't understand—"

"I don't understand how you still care more about what people are going to say than about talking to me. I'm your boyfriend!"

There is another long silence during which he can hear faint yelling in the background of her side of the line. On his side of the world it's nearly midnight.

"I've been thinking," y/n nearly gasps, "That maybe we rushed things."

"Rushed things?" his voice is so small now he wonders if it can really travel half-way through the world.

"I— Maybe Mildred is right— I wasn't, I am not ready for a relationship." She stammers, and Charles can picture her pinching her thigh in that nervous tick she can't quite manage to get rid of.

"You can't even take responsibility for your own feelings?"

It's always Aidan, Victoria, Mildred... a handy list of people to put part of the blame on for when she doesn't want to say things herself.

And Charles accepts it. He accepts her messes because he wants her, but now apparently y/n doesn't even want him back.

"What do you even mean by that?" y/n scoffs.

"Can you even be honest with me, then? Say that it is you who doesn't want this relationship, y/n, don't put it on—"

"I'M NOT PUTTING IT ON ANYONE! THIS HAS BEEN A MISTAKE SINCE WE LEFT MYKONOS I—"

Charles didn't want to fight and now there is nothing to fight for, anyway. So he hangs the phone up, because sometimes things end in silence.

It's three am, and Charles Leclerc just got his heart broken.

─── team principal radio: ❝why hello there, i don't even know if you remember this fic but it is for my own peace of mind that I have to finish it!!! also i love these characters a lot, even when they're acting so selfish and stupid—looking at you y/n. Thank you if you are still here and like me, had to reread it to get to this chapter.❞

✰ paddock club members: NO PADDOCK CLUB THIS TIME BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW IF ANYONE STILL WANTS TO BE TAGGED.

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